Footy

MERIMBULA (34)

September. Spring.

Adam had the idea of them all going down to the cottage for a long weekend.

“There’re only three bedrooms, Ads.” Fiona was dubious. “And one bathroom and toilet.”

“Well, the guys can sleep in tents. And we blokes can always go and pee in the bush.”

“How delicious. But it’ll be freezing, too cold to spend the night in a tent. It’s only September.”

“Not that cold. Merimbula is five degrees warmer than Melbourne. Anyway we can keep each other warm.” He leered at her suggestively.

“Yeah, lemme guess. The guys having constant nookie in the tents while the women do all the work. Forget it, bro.”

“Ah, c’mon, Fee. We can buy take-aways. And we’ll all promise to do the washing up. The blokes too.”

“Yeah, I bet. ’Course you will. Meanwhile you’ll be having fun in the tents,” her tone was very dry, “while we women have nothing.”

“Jeez, Fee, what can you do in a tent?”

“A lot. D’you remember Damian? When he and I went to the Otways... ”

“No, no no! I so do not want to know what you and Damian did.”

“It was fun. It rained all the time. We spent a lot of time under wraps.” Fiona smiled a little wistfully.

“Things OK with Jas and Markie, Fee?” Adam was suddenly serious.

“Why?”

“You looked a bit sad about Damo, that’s all.”

“Well, you get fond of people. But we’re pretty good.”

Adam grinned. “Well... I mean, two guys, both studs, jeez... if that can’t keep you happy, then...”

“Women,” said Fiona coldly, “are more interested in character that studs.” She managed to make the word sound as if she’d tramped in dog droppings. “It’s men who are obsessed with the bits and bobs.”

“Yeah. We’re a bit shallow that way, I admit. But I think, Fee darling, that the six gay-shaded men you know are different. C’mon, you really saying we’re sex-obsessed? Even Jas isn’t... ”

Fiona just laughed. “Don’t start. Just because he was an arsehole once doesn’t mean that he’s still one.”

“I know.” He took her hand. “I’m so glad it worked out, Fee. I know how much you love Markie.”

“I love Jas too, Ads. He’s... a good man. He’s trying really hard to be a better person.”

Adams let go of her hand, stretched out and stared at his feet, then yawned. “Yeah, I know. They’re both top blokes.”

“You should know.” Fiona’s tone was ironic.

“I said top blokes not tops! Anyway, I thought you were too innocent to know all about topping and bottoming.” His eyes glinted with sardonic amusement, his slight smile irreverent and teasing. He sipped his tea. They were sitting on the patio behind the kitchen on a Saturday morning, enjoying the warm spring sunshine. “Isn’t its weird how we’re all connected through me?” he continued, after a moment. “I mean Mark and Jasper, my friends. Then Sean and Jasper, which brought Will and Emma to us.” He put his mug down and looked directly at Fiona. “Does it still worry you that I slept with Mark and was in love with Jasper?”

“No. As long as it stays in the past!” She was only half joking.

“Too right. I do love them both, Fee, but not like that. I dunno. Mark and I were friends for much longer than we were lovers. And Jas... Well, it’s true I loved him. So much. And I still love him now as a friend. But in love has well and truly gone. Even if I didn’t have Tom.”

“I know.” And she did.

“It’s nice having friends who get it. I mean, so many people would freak if they knew about our ménage.”

“We’ve made our own rules. We don’t harm anybody. We’re just as moral as them. Just different.” Fiona was firm.

Adam knew she was thinking of their mother. “Yeah. We’re different all right.” His mind went back to the night before. After they’d made love, Tom had again talked about a project dear to his heart. “Fee, guess what?”

“Yeah?”

“Tom and I are going to foster a child.”

“Uh-huh?” Fiona didn’t sound particularly enthused.

“What?”

“It can be hard, Ads. So many of those kids are very damaged. They come from broken homes, with drug addict or drunk parents.” She’d seen the problems in her job.

“I know. But... we want kids. And we can’t have them.”

“Without making medical history.” Fiona grinned.

“And there aren’t enough babies here for adoption. It’s stupid. There are thousands of abortions. Which means people like us can’t adopt. Ironic, neh? Once they wouldn’t let homos adopt but there were plenty of babies who needed adoption, and now they will, but there aren’t enough babies. So, the best chance of us having kids is fostering. And suddenly they’re all quite keen on us homos fostering. There’re ads in all the gay papers. No one else will do it, so it’s OK to let us try.” Adam was bitter.

“It will be hard, Ads.”

“Yeah. We know. But, Fee, we’ve been so lucky, Tom and me. So effing lucky. We want to put something back. Tom’s mom wants grandkids, and Tom’s been thinking of a way to give her some given all the biological obstacles. And there’s the footy coaching he’s doing, up in Somersetville. He’s enjoying it. He likes kids. And think of Sean. He had a fucking miserable life. How many Seans are there out there? Tom and me, we could make a difference to some kids.” He stopped for a bit, then went on, “It’s just, with us all here, any kid any of us has will have four dads. I mean, maybe we won’t be together in one house for ever, but we do fit well together. And even if Tom and me move into a different house, I reckon we’ll be visiting often and doing stuff with you guys. And I can’t imagine not being there for your children.”

“Are you sure you want a kid? Is it you or Tom?”

“Yeah, well, he does want one. Maybe more than me. But I would like some too. And it doesn’t look as if you guys are planning on doing anything about having kids! You’re a disgrace, all three of you.” Adam paused for a moment. His eyes were alight with love and affection. “He’ll be good with them, you know. He’s a nurturing kind of bloke.”

Fiona smiled. “Yeah. He’s that. But, Ads, our unusual household might make the fostering people get nervous.”

“We share a house, sis. That’s all. As far as they know.”

“Anyway, what you said earlier, maybe Jas and Markie do want kids.”

“Really? Do they? That’d be excellent!”

“Markie got all incoherent the other night and started talking about a house in the suburbs and a Labrador and two kids.”

“He’s very endearing when he goes all broody.”

“Has he talked to you about it?”

“Not recently. But since he stopped being principal at the ballet, he’s wanted to settle down. Dunno about Jas though.”

“Jas would either be a terrible father or a totally devoted one.”

“Devoted,” said Adam firmly. “His mother is a cow of the first order, but the General was – is – a good dad to him. He’ll be a good father. Prolly too indulgent. But, Fiona mine, it’s all very well if they want to reproduce themselves, but you need to agree, too.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not getting any younger. I don’t want to wait much longer. And these are my blokes. There isn’t going to be anybody else. But... you do realise how weird our kids will be? Footy, ballet, music, four dads, only one mum?”

“I’m not very much in favour of the nuclear family, Fee.”

“I know. Nor’m I.” They were both silent while they thought about the disastrous families they’d known, their own and other people’s, and then about their own unusual clan. “I’ve seen too many problems when one or both of the parents are troubled. Diversification is good. Having more than two significant adults in a child’s life gives them more models on how to grow up. Besides, there are too many people in the world so there can’t be too much harm in having fewer children. You blokes would be good dads, I know that.”

“Me and Tom?”

“All of you. We would have interesting children.”

“Yeah.” Adam put his hands behind his head and looked at her. “Oh, by the way, I also want to ask Beryl down to the cottage.”

“That’ll make, um, let’s see, nine people. In three bedrooms?”

“Plus the tents.”

“Oh, silly me, I forgot the tents.”

“They might not all come. Beryl might feel she’d be out of it, Sean and them might not want to join in a big group like that right now. Why don’t I just ask them and we can see?”

“Why’d you ask me first, then?”

“It’s your cottage too, remember?”

Fiona noticed that it had become ‘Sean and them’, not “Will and Sean and Emma’, and she was pleased. Sean and Adam had become friends. She would never have thought it would happen, given Sean’s dark macho nature and Adam’s slightly queeny brilliance, but they had. Something had happened between them when Will had tried to kill himself that had made Sean respect and admire Adam, and Adam like and respect Sean. It was the first time that Adam had a straight friend. Straight? She supposed most people would not have thought of Sean as straight, if they’d known about his relationship with Will. But she thought of Sean as a straight man. One who loved a man, but just one man. Like Tom, he was wired to love women, but somehow, events had conspired to lead him into love with a man. In her book, that was straight. She decided that maybe after all, the labels meant nothing. “Well, OK, you organise it,” she said.

Adam took his mug and hers and went through to the kitchen. She heard, “Sean, mate... ,” his voice affectionate, sure of his welcome and his worth. She smiled to herself, and leaned back to let the sunshine warm her face.

--oo--

The cottage was as welcoming as ever. Its worn weatherboards, rusty corrugated iron roof, and leaf-strewn yard were comforting and familiar to Adam and Fiona. They’d inherited it from an uncle when they were in their early twenties, so they didn’t have any childhood memories of times spent there, but they’d been coming down to stay every year for nearly ten years. For Tom, this was the place where he’d been happy for the first time after he’d left Archbishop’s; where he’d declared his love and had it returned; and had his first time with a man, with his man. He hoped it would never have to be sold. Even to those who hadn’t been there before, it had the appearance of exactly what it was; an unpretentious family holiday place, where happy memories were made. There was nothing glamorous or trendy or fashionable about it. Its shabby friendly comfort was just right.

Will and Adam had organised to have their calls from the office forwarded to their mobiles, even though it meant they’d have to drive once a day into the town or up a nearby hill to get a signal. Their main clients were Lady Tremontaine and General Sir Roger Sutton. Adam phoned them both and told them the office would be closed on Friday, because they were taking the weekend off. And of course, the other main client was Tom himself. Adam took his laptop with its internet dongle, so he could place deals on the stock exchange if he had to. He sincerely hoped that that wouldn’t be necessary. He would have to connect from the town, for there was no signal at the cottage, but they’d be going into the settlement anyway to buy provisions and to have coffee or meals at the local cafés, so it wouldn’t be too much of a burden.

And as far as Adam was concerned, their weekend away was completed when Beryl accepted his invitation with delight. “I haven’t been down to Merimbula for years. Not since Johnny was killed. There’s no pleasure in going by yourself.”

“Even for you?” Adam teased.

“Even for me.”

“I’m glad you’re coming, You get a bed, did you know that? We mere blokes have tents.”

“I should hope so. A person of my dignity and worth.”

“The women in the house, the men outside.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t rain!” Privately, Beryl had wondered about just how they organised their sleeping arrangements. Steady rain might make things interesting.

“I suppose we could sleep on the floor in the lounge room or on the verandah if we have to. Anyway, you’ll come?”

They’d driven down in three cars, in convoy, rotating drivers within and between the cars. When Mark drove Emma’s BMW he’d felt a pang and wondered what it would be like to have money. His Volkswagen might also be a German car, but it was very different to the sleek luxury of the BMW, even without taking into account its age.

“Nice!” he’d commented to Will.

“Very. But Emma’s mum, Patrice, gave us the money to buy it. So it’s safe. Even if we wanted to we couldn’t sell it. She’d have a fit. We’re selling the house, though. And my car’s gone.”

“Where’re you going to live?”

“Oh, you know, a bit further up the Lygon Street or Nicholson Street tram lines. Where the rents are lower. I’ll be catching the tram to work. No free parking place for me now.”

“How’s it going? You OK?” Mark liked Will. Some people might have despised Will for trying to kill himself (and failing), others for losing his lucrative job, his car and his house, but Mark knew the harder sides of life, and knew also the unpalatable choices facing bisexuals like him and Will. There were no easy answers, and he wasn’t sure Emma accepted Will’s nature completely. He liked Will’s new humbleness and he saw all too clearly the sadness etched into the lines around his eyes. He didn’t think Will was safe, yet.

“I’m good,” said Will. “It’s slow, we’ve only got a few clients, but some of my old clients have come with me. Adam’s been great, and Tom too. But we’re all poor as church mice.”

“Tom isn’t. He’s a millionaire.”

“Yeah, but we don’t want to use his money if we can afford not to. And we’re not. We’re covering the rent and other expenses, and Adam and I earn a little, Enough to pay for coffee each day. Well maybe a bit more. We’re profitable and can afford to pay ourselves tiny salaries.” He flicked Mark a wry smile.

“It’ll take time, won’t it?”

“Yeah. A year or two. Things’ll get better, slowly. Adam’s fantastic at picking shares. So we’ll get new clients in time.”

“Yeah.” Mark believed in happiness, now. There was a time when he’d almost lost the faith, but he and Fiona and Jasper were so in love and so close that he couldn’t imagine what it had been like before he’d had both of them. He wanted to share his happiness and optimism with everyone.

“Mark... ” Will’s voice was tentative.

“Yeah, mate?”

“Thanks for everything.”

“No worries, Will.” Mark knew exactly what Will was talking about. “You’re one of us now.” He wanted to take the other man into his arms and hug him tightly. Each one of them in their clan had travelled a long road to get to an accommodation with their own natures and the natures of those they loved.

In the back seat, Beryl smiled a little sadly, thinking of her own doomed love, and wondering what it would be like to have grown up in a different time, to have not lost Johnny, to have not lost an embittered Barry. But she was not someone to waste time or emotion on regrets. What was, was, and she would make of it the best she could. At first, Emma and Will and Sean had treated her with the exaggerated respect due to a maiden aunt, but that had soon worn off. She had detected a kindred spirit in Sean, a toughness which masked a soft heart, and even his damaged heart and soul warmed her compassion rather than her disdain. I must, she thought, be getting soft in my old age. There was a time when she’d have easily labelled Sean ‘bogan yob’ and written him off.

She hadn’t had much time for Will or Emma, yet she had seen Emma’s struggle and Will’s brittle, somewhat febrile happiness and had suspended judgement. They might all be much younger than her, and less cynical (though Fiona had been pleasingly unsentimental about her relationships with the gay-shaded men she shared a house and a bed with), but they thought music and art and ideas mattered, even Will and Emma, even Tom despite being a footy player, and she felt at home with them. She believed that the world divided into those people who could only talk about possessions and other trivia, and the much smaller minority who had wider horizons. They were rare enough that she valued them when she found them.

She knew Barry was half in love with her, and someone else to share your house was perhaps better than being completely alone, yet he didn’t believe in the importance of ideas. But then Johnny hadn’t either, really. He’d been fun though, and poor Barry wasn’t. Despair and bitterness is very unappealing. She wondered how she appeared to others, whether she came across like he did. The pleasure with which she was greeted by these young people reassured her that she didn’t, and she resolved to try and soften Barry towards them and to let him find the space to grow again and to heal. It had been too long.

As their little convoy passed over the rise at Lake’s Entrance and she saw the lagoon where she and Johnny and Barry had spent many happy holidays, she felt anew the value and worth of hope, in a world where courage isn’t always about facing things you are afraid of, but often – more often – about summoning the strength to resist despair. She had gained a family, a couple of families, and it alarmed her how much that pleased her.

It was raining when they arrived in Merimbula, and there was much groaning. Tom insisted on setting up his and Adam’s tent on the rough grass next to the house. He’d been camping in the bush in far worse weather, and he would have been perfectly happy to have gone anywhere with Adam, just the two of them. Adam had wanted them all to come along, to give them all pleasure, and Tom loved Adam for that. But his world was complete with Adam.

They had a party that night. Tom had brought his guitar, and Adam his clarinet, and they played busker tunes and drank too much and talked and laughed. In the tent, Tom had unzipped the sleeping bags so that he and Adam could sleep together, and they made love drunkenly as the rain pattered on the tent walls. Jasper and Mark inspected the bed in Fiona’s room and decided that there just wasn’t any way they would all three of them be able to fit in it, which Fiona had known all along, but had let the blokes confirm for themselves. The two of them decided not to put up a tent because of the rain, to Tom’s scorn, and set out their sleeping bags next to each other on the floor of the lounge room. As they kissed goodnight, Jasper whispered “Love you, big guy”.

Mark whispered back “Tomorrow we erect the tent... and other things. You’ll see just how big I can be.”

“Cocktease!” And Jasper kissed him again, and slid his hand down into Mark’s sleeping bag and gave his cock a squeeze.

“You two havin’ fun?” was Sean’s ironic comment from the other side of the room as Jasper’s and Mark’s foreplay threatened to get out of hand. “Ya reckon you could stop makin’ whoopee?” Sean was amused. They’d gotten able to tell his moods over the last few weeks, so their response was ribald and irreverent. “Yeah, well,” said Sean, “I’m not doin’ it in fronna you blokes, so you’re not gonna do it in fronna me!”

“Spoilsport.”

“Jeez, you blokes never get enough.” Sean had never belonged to a group of guys. He’d never had friends. Now he had five, teasing him, joking with him, accepting him, Sean MacDonald, the bogan, whose father was an alkie, whose mother died from an overdose. As one of them. And he was in love, and his love was returned. He couldn’t believe his own joy. He didn’t mind not being able to have sex with Will. Just being with him was enough. Lying next to him in his sleeping bag, watching Will’s toffee-colored eyes shine with love and happiness, filled his heart.

--oo--

They woke to a perfect day. The rain has stopped during the night, leaving the sky washed clean and pure. After breakfast, where true to his promise Adam roped in all the men to do the cooking and the washing up, they went to the beach. It was too cool to swim, in truth, but most of them ran into the sea anyway, whooping and yelling. That night they had a huge bonfire, and roasted marshmallows and veggie sausages and meat frankfurters on sticks and talked about life and love and all the things one talks about with friends, while the flames and the sparks rose up brilliant into the shining silken black of an Australian night.

That night, exactly as prophesied by Fiona, the men did make love, in each of the three separate tents. The tents were too small for acrobatics, but they coped well enough.

In the morning, Will kissed Sean and went through to Emma. As he climbed into bed next to her, she grumbled about how cold he was.

“Why d’you think I’m here?” he teased. “It’s freezing outside.”

Afterwards, they lay entwined and half asleep until Sean brought them both tea. Emma was a bit shy about being in bed with Will when Sean knocked on the door. She was sure the room smelled of sex. It did. Sean was amused and the twinkle in his eyes as he wished her good morning embarrassed her as much as it warmed her heart.

“Did you and Sean make love last night?” she asked when Sean closed the door.

“Yeah.” Will’s eyes were suddenly watchful.

“Good,” she said. “Then he won’t mind if we do it again, will he?”

Their tea got cold.

The day warmed. It was a perfect spring day at the seaside. They went to the beach again. The blokes played footy wearing their swim briefs. Only Sean wore board shorts. They looked like any group of young men. No one could have told that they were gay or bi or different to the rest of mankind. Emma and Fiona and Beryl talked, and Emma, who had been feeling somewhat left out, felt better. At one point, the guys were all playing the fool, like small boys, scuffling and joking and being silly, and the three women all caught each other’s eye and simultaneously said “Men!”

Fiona told the other two about Tom’s and Adam’s plans to adopt, and for the first time mentioned her hopes. “We, I mean me and Mark and Jasper, want to have kids at some time. I dunno how we’re going to organize stuff, but I’d like to have one with each bloke. Maybe. One day.” She felt a little weird discussing this in front of the other two women, but it was something you wanted to talk about with women. Men just push the button when it comes to having babies. It’s the women who bear the biggest burden.

“Do you worry about it?” asked Beryl.

“What? The two husbands stuff?”

“Well, yes. And the having different fathers for your kids.”

“I did at first. But I’ve come a long way. When I found out that Mark loved Jasper, I was... so... Oh, it was horrible! But Markie wasn’t a bad man, and Jasper was... well, he grows on you. And I’ve seen so many dysfunctional ‘normal’ families in my work, I thought ‘why not?’ But having kids does make a difference in any family. Makes things harder in some ways, but then you gain so much. So I dunno.”

Beryl turned to Emma. “What about you and your guys?”

“Oh, well... ” Emma stumbled through her answer. “Um, Sean isn’t my lover. He’s Will’s.”

“I’m so sorry... I just assumed... ”

“Oh, no, it’s OK. Really!”

There was a silence between them. Then Emma added, “I like Sean very much. And I think he’s sexy and attractive. But I don’t love him.”

Beryl replied, “There are so many differently shaded meaning to the word ‘love’ aren’t there? We love our dogs, our garden, our parents, our friends, our husbands, our lovers. And each love is different. Yet there is a core that’s the same to all those kinds of love, and that’s that they’re unselfish.”

“Not always.”

Breyl nodded. “No. True ’nough. Love seeketh only self to please, and all that. But with you, all of you, I can see that you care about the other people in the relationship. It’s not just a selfish search for self-satisfaction. It’s deeper than that.”

“Yes.” Fiona linked her arm through the older woman’s, all at once finding she liked her immensely. “Even Jasper’s trying.” She told them about his history, and his relationship with Adam.

Emma listened and wondered. Everything was so different to the way she’d been, before. Before Will had tried to kill himself. Before Sean.

Beryl told the other two women about Johnny and Barry. Their warm interest felt good to her, and she was glad she had talked about it. It had been a secret for so long.

“Did you love Barry, ever?” Emma asked.

“No, not in the way you mean. But it was always the three of us. Barry was married for a bit, after Johnny was killed. But it didn’t work. I think Johnny was always present in their marriage bed.”

“He’d be present in yours, too,” observed Fiona.

“I know. And Barry and I are very different. But... Johnny would have made a way for us three to be together. Like you have with your blokes. Even though things were so different then. I think he’d have wanted us to try.”

“Ours may not work,” said Fiona dryly.

“Don’t say that!” Emma was filled with a sudden terror. “It has to work.” She thought back over the last few weeks, the horror of finding Sean’s note, the vigil by Will’s bed, the hard-earned accommodation between Sean and her. “It has to.”

“If you feel like that, it will!” Beryl was firm. “Everybody says – when they see a happy marriage or a successful friendship – everybody says that it’s luck. But it isn’t. It’s hard work. Never-ending work.”

“It’s so hard. So many... awkwardnesses.” Emma still felt a little embarrassed by the whole situation of her and Will and Sean.

“Yeah well. The goal is worth it. Does Sean feel the same way as you?”

“Definitely. The whole arrangement was his idea.”

“If Sean slept with you, would Will mind?”

“I dunno. It... wouldn’t feel right to me though.” Emma was silent for several yards of beach. She was thinking of her dream where a toddler looking a lot like Sean was playing in the drawing room of the Carlton house, of how it had felt to have Sean pressed against her, his hard-on down one leg of his jeans, his breath sweet and warm on her lips. “Not yet, anyway!” she added, firmly, pushing the seductive images out of her mind.

That night they had red wine and take-away Thai, and another sing-along. The next morning was to be their last day.

It was another perfect day, though high cirrus suggested rain on the way. They went for a stroll along the boardwalk next to the lagoon. They had a quick swim on the long beach near the cottage even though it really wasn’t quite warm enough for swimming. Then they ended the holiday with a walk in the national park, where Tom and Adam had seen the dolphins when they had come down before. There were none this time, but the deserted wild beach chimed perfectly with their mood. After lunch, a little depressed and down, they packed the cars and began the long drive back to Melbourne, already making plans to come down again in a month or two.

<<Chapter 33

© 2009 Nigel Puerasch. All rights reserved.
Romantic m2m novels and short stories