This is a work of fiction. Names of characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously; any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2011 by Dennis Milholland – All rights reserved. Other than for private, not-for-profit use, no part of this work may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in any form or by any means, other than that intended by the author, without written permission from the copyright holder.

 

Careful! This is a work of fiction containing graphic descriptions of sex between males and critiques of religion and governments.

 

Love It or Leave It

by Dennis Milholland

questions and comments are welcome. www.milholland.eu / dennis@milholland.eu

 

Forty

(Sunday, October 16th)

I have no idea what time it is, and I have no desire to find out. Raph is cuddled up to me, and I have the urge to do things to him, of which others may not approve. But first, I have to piss.

I walk out of the bedroom, which looks out onto the terrace overlooking Sussex Square and into the sitting room, which also looks onto the wide terrace. I walk through the kitchen and traipse down the corridor toward the back entrance in search of the bathroom. I open the door. Holy shit!

There is a very nice bathtub and a shower stall and a washbasin all in marble but no toilet. What am I going to do? This can’t be. I look around again. But my eyesight is okay, and there is no feckin’ toilet. I have to pee something fierce. So, I opt for the bathtub, since it doesn’t seem quite as gross as the washbasin or shower stall.

Dad and Marty’s place downstairs has a toilet; I used it last night. I’m halfway to finishing into the tub, when I remember that the toilet and bidet are separate downstairs. That must be it. I shake my dick and rinse the tub with the hand shower.

Back out in the corridor, I switch on the light and open the second door. It's what Dad calls a hot press, the small closet that contains the water heater and where you can hang clothes to dry. But, there is only one more door other than the back entrance. That has to be it. And it’s spot on. There they are, the loo, as Vince calls it, and the bidet.

When I let out a sigh of relief, a hand grabs my nuts from behind. Raph’s voice is still laden with sleep. “I almost panicked.”

Yeah, huh?” I turn to kiss him on the lips. "I already pissed in the bathtub ‘cause I couldn't find the john."

But it is extremely civilized." He looks at the marble floor and elegant porcelain fixtures before sitting to piss, not letting go of my hand. The toilet, bidet and washbasin match the bathtub, washbasin and shower stall in the bathroom. Of a sudden, I have to laugh.

What's funny?"

Remember when we were kids and we'd say that we had to go to the bathroom and Dad would tell us not to drown, and we thought that he was totally nuts?" I grip his hand tighter for emphasis.

Yeah,” Raph’s head starts to nod. “because here you go to the bathroom to take a bath, and you go to what they seem to call the loo for other needs." And just as he says this, the lights go out.

We hurry to the bedroom to get dressed, in case there is a short and some kind of fire hazard. After all, this house is almost a hundred years old and no telling how old the wiring is. We arrive downstairs and knock at the door to Dad’s and Marty’s kitchen, which is under the landing. Marty opens. “Hey, what’s up? You two look spooked.”

And when he hears this, Dad comes pelting up the kitchen’s stairs from the basement. “Anythin’ the matter?”

Yeah, I think there might be a short in the wiring upstairs. Raph and I were using the toilet, when the lights went out.”

I sort of bristle, when Seph raises his eyebrows and has a good laugh. Raph and Marty are also giving him stressed looks. "You’re grand, Dan." He wipes his eyes. "There are loads of things that are different to what you're used to. First of all we have wacky money--”

--We know,” Raph sounds very impatient. “pounds, shillings and pence, of which there are 12 pence to the shilling and 20 shillings to the pound. Now, get to the point, Seph. What does that have to do with the lights going out upstairs?”

For the first time in a very long while, our father is speechless. So, to cash in on this, again, I use my Algernon Moncrieff accent. “To reiterate what I told the good Wing Commander last evening, we learn quickly.” Then back to my normal Missourian. “Now, how do we get the lights back on?”

The grin that now crosses Seph’s face is telling me to be prepared for him to get his own back. He grabs a cloth sack, full of coins, off a hook by the door. “Come. Let’s see if yus feckin’ ‘quick studies’ can dig this one. Short circuit, me arse." He trots up the grand, granite staircase; the rest of us follow a bit more appropriately. “Are yus left or right?”

On your right." Raph points to underscore it. "Where the door's open." We follow Dad into the corridor behind the kitchen, where the bathroom, toilet and hot press are.

He reaches into the bag and produces a coin about the size of an American quarter. “D’yus know what this is?”

A bob,” Raph grins with extreme satisfaction. “or a shilling, if you’re in the presence of a school teacher.”

All right, Son,” Seph grins with a no lesser amount of satisfaction of his own. “can you tell me why we are standin’ here in the back corridor with a shillin’ in me hand?”

Raph snickers and holds up his hands. “I have no idea. You got me. Now, please make the lights go back on.”

He opens the door to the hot press, reaches in, and we hear the coin make a clunking sound as if he’d just dropped it into a tin box. And, lo and behold, the lights go on. “You have to feed the meter, Lads." He looks pleased with himself. "So get yourselves a bag and load it up with shilling pieces. One shilling will buy you several day’s worth of electricity. That is unless you bake a cake or iron a stack of shirts.” He chuckles to himself at the thought.

So, each of us has a good look at the coin-operated meter, and each of us, including Marty, inserts a coin, and we watch the small dial register another shilling. And the point is that you never get a bill for electricity. The meter reader comes once a quarter to count the coins and compare it to the amount used.

And, of course,” Seph adds as sort of an afterthought. “to make sure that you haven't been feedin’ it slugs, Swiss francs or German marks.”

Would that work?” I wonder aloud, never having been confronted with more than one currency.

A German mark is exactly the size of a shilling, according to military scuttlebutt.” Vince’s voice rings through the kitchen, as he and Ron enter from the sitting room. “But of course, it’s about twice the value, so you’d be on the wrong end of the deal. Good morning to the lot of ya.”

Mornin’.” Seph greets them with his usual amicable smile. “Did yus sleep well?”

Comatose.” Ron replies. And I’m sure, he didn‘t learn that word at East High. He just about manages to cover his yawn.

Uh,” Vince blushes a little. “Could we get a couple of bob off you? All we’ve got is US.”

Seph counts out ten shillings. “That should get yus through till you can get to a bank.”

That could even get us through the two weeks.” Ron doesn't seem to know that Vince will not be going back to the United States. "Hell, that's a buck and a half."

Dad gives Vince a serious look and Vince seems puzzles as to why. "He doesn't know, then?"

Doesn’t know what, Joseph?” Vince seems apprehensive and glances around the group for a hint.

That your application has been approved.” Seph now seems to realise that he was meant to inform Vince.

Has it?” He appears more than excited; he looks as if he may faint. "A fucking dream come true. How did you find out?"

I phoned Richard Ashton in Winnipeg from Goose Bay, and he told me. I assumed that you already knew, or I would have told you sooner.”

So, was that what it was about, was it?” He hugs Ron from behind. “About making this place permanent?”

You do need a place to stay.” Seph grins wickedly. “Can't have yus shackin’ up at yer folks in Lewes, now can we? Besides, can’t imagine that your separation pay will be much. And we can't have rent eating up all your university grant.”

I hadn’t even made up my mind about university.” Vince's face expresses aggravated incredulity at first, and then it looks as if he is actually making that decision on the spot. "Push me in a truck. I guess I shall. Yes. That takes care of the next four to five years." He lets go of Ron and walks over to Dad and gives him a peck on the cheek. “Thank you, Comrade Joe.”

If you aren’t going back to Kansas City, I sure the Hell ain’t, either.” Ron asserts himself.

Yeah,” Dad grins with a hint of mockery. “that was the idea. Breakfast downstairs in ten. Oh, and Vincent, do bring the dope, please.”

When we hear the door to the flat close behind the four of them, I take a towel from the hot press and steer Raph to the bathroom. "We need a shower, and I need to tell Comrade Winky, that I've missed him."

In the massive marble dish, the still-wrapped bar claims to be Wright's Coal Tar Soap, making both of us sceptical. But since the orange-colour soap smells all right, we give it a try. And, what can I say? It does the job nicely.

Once under the shower, I return the favour of lathering Raph up and massaging him into submission. But as opposed to the brief suck I gave him at Goose Bay, I treat Comrade Winky to a full range of pleasurable tongue teasing.

First, I flick the underside of his glans, causing spasms to bring his erection to full bloom. Raph’s purring is guttural; his muscles are tensed in anticipation. The fingers of my right hand taunt his perineum, while the fingers of the left use their nails to lightly scratch the area of his lower back, just above his hips. My mouth engulfs his cock and I begin my rhythmic sucking and slurping up his copious lubricating liquid.

It doesn’t take long for the tangy, slightly salty mix to demonstrate how long it has been. A few hours more than an entire day seem like an eternity. And the amount is in keeping with his growl. He shivers and shakes a few times and pulls me to my feet, as he sinks to take my cock into his mouth.

Let’s continue this after breakfast.” I suggest and pull him up.

He sounds slightly rejected. “You’re not in the mood?”

Oh, but I am.” I kiss him with a lot of tongue. “But I don’t want any discussion with our landlord and his rough-trade boyfriend.”

I’m going to tell Marty, that you think he's rough trade." Raph teases.

You do, and I’ll tell everyone, you wear lace panties.” Yes, this causes Raph to blush. Then, I feel like a total shit for causing him discomfort. “You do know, I wouldn't do that, don't you?"

He giggles and nods. “C’mon, let’s get dressed.”

Putting on our well-worn, slightly sweaty clothes feels disgusting, but we don't have any other choice. Maybe, we’ll stay in bed, while we wash our clothes in the front-loader, I saw in the kitchen. Or we could wash our uniforms first and then our civvies. Or we can wait for the shops to open tomorrow and buy some new things. At any rate, we get ready and leave.

Out of force of habit, I lock the apartment door. Then, I have a look out the large sash window in the ornate hallway, separating Vince’s and Ron’s place from ours, onto the long terrace that we share. Fast moving fluffy clouds cause the sun to dim, then brighten in rapid succession.

On the square, the leaves of the perennial trees in the gardens, fenced in with what looks like black, iron spears, are turning yellow. The lawn is an amazing green, not the dried burnt brown that we’re used to, and the grounds are very well kept. The brilliance of colour, however, isn’t as flash as it is in Missouri, but I have it on good authority, that there are no poisonous snakes or tornados, so I think I can cope with the absence of autumn colours.

The granite steps on the grand staircase are covered with a thick, bright-red straw runner, fastened to the back of each step with a brass rod. Raph looks as if he is about to throw a leg over the polished mahogany banister to slide down. When, I guess, panic scrolls across my face, since it is a long way down to the black and white marble squares of the entry floor, he hugs me to indicate that he is only teasing.

My sigh of relief tells me, however, that I am exhausted and that we are way far away from the houses on Norton and Quincy, where we grew up. There, we did slide down the respective banisters, but the distance down wasn’t as far, and there was definitely no marble entry upon which to splatter, if things went wrong.

We walk into the downstairs kitchen, to the back of two large, formal reception areas, which open out onto Sussex Square at street level. These rooms are directly under our flat. Under Ron’s and Vince’s flat, are part of this huge kitchen and two other high-ceilinged rooms, the one being the library and the other, the formal dining room. It looks like no one is around, until we hear voices from downstairs. Raph leads the way down.

Now, the basement is much more liveable. It has a kitchen with a dining cum sitting area, which opens out onto the patio and garden through French doors. There are four bedrooms, two full baths and, of course, two separate toilets with bidets.

The breeze coming up from the doors smells vaguely of seaweed in brine, which I know from Chinese restaurants. Then I remember that we are only blocks from the seafront.

When we come down the stairs, I notice for the first time that both Vince and Ron are wearing civilian clothes. They must have had a change in their backpacks, along with the dope.

Seph takes one look at us and shakes his head. “You aren’t very inquisitive, are yus? Wearing the same old nasty smellin’ clothes.”

Huh?” I look to Vince and raise my inexpressive eyebrows for an explanation, since Seph is apparently determined on playing silly buggers.

Your cousin, Doris, who is about our age and is studying at Sussex University here in Brighton, and who is the Wing Commander’s daughter, lives on the second floor with her boyfriend Clive, directly above Ron and me, was sent out to shop for us after Seph announced our arrival and sizes to the Wing Commander on the phone from Winnipeg before we got there.” Vince takes a well-deserved deep breath before continuing. “And you’ll find the stuff in the wardrobe in your bedroom.”

I can only assume that Vince and Dad hear our ‘thank you’ as we race up the stairs from the basement out of the flat into the entry and up the stairs to our place. Raph is already prancing in place as I fish out the key and open the door.

The wardrobe is full of brand new clothes. I try on a shirt and it fits perfectly. The label reads, ‘St. Michael', just like the Catholic Church at 24th and Brighton. Now, if that’s not a coincidence? And there are two pairs of shoes for each of us. But there are no jeans. So, I put on a pair of buff-brown corduroy trousers to match the cream colour shirt and the dark brown shoes. Raph has gone for the blue shirt, navy woollen trousers and black shoes. And we’re off to breakfast.

Half-way through breakfast, which is happening in the early afternoon, that’s how long we slept, a young, blonde woman in her early twenties and who looks as if she could be my sister, had I had one, knocks at the open French doors. Standing next to her is a man, about her age, who could be Raph’s cousin.

Dad motions them in. “Doris?”

Hullo, Uncle Seph.” She laughs lightly. “I’ve grown some, since last time.”

And this must be Clive.” Seph extends his hand, which is met with a firm grip. “Let me do the rounds. These are my three sons, Martin, Daniel and Yves-Raphaël. Ron and Vincent are close friends, who are now living below you. Please, do have a seat.” Dad motions to the table and the unoccupied chairs. “A cuppa?”

Yes, please. After two pints down the Rock, I could do with something non-alcoholic.” Clive's accent is New University, as is Clive's whole appearance. His thick, black hair is touching his shoulders, his round, nickel glasses have a habit of sliding down his nose, which he habitually corrects. He looks at Raph and smiles. “My mum’s from West Bengal. What part of India are you from?”

Uh, sorry, I’m not from India.” Raph has to laugh at his assumption.

Clive glares at Doris, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Didn’t you tell me that he’s part Indian, like me?”

I said that he’s part Indian, but not like you, Mate.”

Sorry, my mistake.” Clive glows similar rosewood red as does Raph, when blushing. “So, you’re American Indian?”

Yeah,” Raphaël blushes in solidarity and takes a gulp of coffee. “a mix of Osage, Choctaw, Caucasian and West African, which makes me illegitimate in most States of the US."

A tense silence ensues, which waits to be broken by Clive’s: “Fucking Hell! Thought I was a crazy bastard.”

Sighs of relief, but no chuckles are heard, except those of Raph and Clive. Apparently, ethnicity is also an issue in England.

Uh, by the way, Doris, thanks for the shopping.” Raph adds, most likely to get the topic off of race, but smiles at her very friendly.

All I did was to organise it.” She pats Clive on the knee. “Our Clive, here, and my brother, Keith, had to try everything on.”

I'll bet that was fun." is my addition to the round, thinking that trying on clothes for somebody else must be about the dullest of dull duties.

Actually, it was great fun.” Clive is serious. “Keith is always so camp. He's from the white-socked brigade, you know?"

White-socked brigade?” And as soon as I pose the question, it dawns on me what he means. But leave it to Dad to hit the nail on the head.

It’s Brightonian for the Bertie Woofter clan.” Seph explains to us. We nod in appreciation. And, it’s only a matter of seconds before Vince, Clive and Doris undo the Cockney rhyme and burst into laughter.

It’s a bit naughty, that.” Doris scolds while laughing. “It’s sort of like calling him queer.”

What’s wrong with calling him queer?” I know that this is going to lead to a discussion, but I decide to get things out in the open with family, just to set things straight, as it were. Pun intended.

Dad gets up to take the kettle off the ring, and probably to avoid the debate. Doris bristles at the thought of anyone calling her brother queer. But Clive takes it upon himself to explain the touchy situation. “At least on this side of the Atlantic, we consider it rude."

I think it’s totally fitting.” Tension solidifies. “I’d much rather have people call me queer than gay or homophile.” Glances are exchanged. First, Clive notices that I’m holding Raph’s hand. He glances back at Doris. Doris does a mental headcount, and comes up with three couples, not including her and Clive. She glances at Clive.

Now, you know one of the deep, dark family secrets.” Seph brings on the pot of tea for Doris and Clive. “That’s the reason why my father forced me into going to work for the Directorate of Military Intelligence, Section 6, or the group that dare not speak its name. And that’s why I sued the ol’ fecker’s estate for this house and some minor property holdings, and won the feckin’ case. Speaking of which,” He looks at Marty. “we even own the lease on several cow pastures in Fulking proper.”

Fulking?” Vince wants to know its whereabouts.

Up the Downs. Just past Dyke.” is Clive’s explanation, to which Vince nods that he understands.

And at that, I seriously need a joint. I motion to Vince; he passes the bag. Raph and I roll one for each. Doris’ and Clive’s eyes are the size of saucers. And in no time at all, the atmosphere mellows.

Jesus, Uncle Seph,” Doris takes a deep toke. “my father doesn't even know what this stuff is, and here you are passing it round, Sunday teatime.

But back to what you said,” she takes another toke. “we do, after all, have an Official Secrets Act. Aren’t you afraid that someone will report you for divulging the existence of MI6?”

Or for wearing white socks, or for blowing dope?” Seph chuckles with a slight hint of sarcasm. “If anyone as much as expresses the wish to try, I’ll take down some of Wilson’s cabinet members, many of those sitting in the House of Lords and several members of the Royal Family with me.

It’s still a criminal offense to have collaborated with the Nazis. And I know who did,” Seph takes a long, satisfying drag and exhales it after more than five seconds. “and I can jolly well prove it.”

You can,” Clive’s toke is stronger than he obviously anticipated. He pushes his spectacles back up his nose and fights not to cough. “prove it?”

Indeed.” Seph sips his tea, which is probably also laced with Bob’s grass. “Years back, when I was first coerced into digging about in rubbish bins in the name of His Majesty, George V, to get the dirt on virtually anyone for whom dirt existed, I decided to acquire my own collection, which I keep in a Bank vault in Genève.”

Vince is all ears. “Can you give us a hint of what you've got?

Just a sampling now.” Seph takes a sip of tea. Yup, the stuff is spiked. He clears his throat. “Our illustrious Prince Philip has an older sister, Sophie, who was married, until the wee fecker snuffed it, to Prince Christoph of Hessen, who was an SS-Führer directly subordinate to Reichsführer SS Heinrich Himmler.”

Fuck me!” Vince glances at Clive. And Clive is nodding. Doris has her hand over her mouth, too gobsmacked to talk. "Do you mean to say that the brother-in-law of Phil the Greek was a high-ranking Nazi?”

"Precisely." Seph is glowing with a self-satisfied smirk “Also legally, the brother-in-law of HM the Q.”

And how do you know this?” Vince is sceptical.

I have a photographed copy of their marriage certificate from the Registrar’s Office in Kronberg, Prussia where they were married on December the 15th 1930, and a photo of his NSDAP membership card--”

--NSDAP?” Marty interrupts.

That’s the German abbreviation for the Nazi Party, a mhuirnín.” Seph pours himself some more tea. “He and the rest of his family joined in 1933. And I have an original copy of the orders from Reichsführer SS, assigning Prince Christoph as head of the Reich’s Research Agency, which belonged to the Reich’s Aeronautics Ministry under Göring.”

Is this perhaps just common knowledge that is being hushed up by Buck House?” Doris clearly still can’t believe that her ‘Uncle Seph’ was a spy.

T’ain’t common knowledge yet.” Dad gives her a modified version of his Irish look. “But if someone should decide to piss on me leg for whatever reason, I’ll take down the whole feckin’ house of cards.”

But you were spying for the British in America, weren’t you?” Clive is still not quite getting the gist.

Look, Lad, virtually every feckin’ middle-class poofter on the British Mainland is likely to be asked to join the Secret Intelligence Service. That’s how the establishment works. They keep the feckin’ Offences against the Person Act of 1861 on the bleedin’ books, so that if you refuse their generous offer, they can put you in the slammer." Seph turns to Marty and Ron. "Slammer means gaol.”

He’s on a tirade, so Raph and I sit back and listen. Dad rolls himself another J and takes a sip of tea before he lights it. “And ol’ Victoria’s Offences against the Person Act of 1861, which is presently the law here, was the epitome of reform. Ya no longer go to the gallows for expressin’ your love for another man; ya go to prison for life.”

Yeah, like in Missouri.” Marty explains.

Uh, in Missouri, it’s two to life.” I think that our listeners should get an accurate account. “But in Kansas, they can give you life and cut your nuts off.” I watch Clive and Vince flinch.

And since they force us to do their dirty work," Seph takes a very long toke. "many go to work for the enemy, just to get their own back, like yer man Guy Burgess or Kim Philby. But in my case, since I’ve always been me own man, I went to work for m’self. I collect dirt, of which I have an abundant supply on many people, which just may save my sons and friends loads of grief on the long term.”

But isn’t that blackmail?” Doris giggles looking for support in the round.

Naught, Lass, it’s ‘turnabout is fair play’.” Seph chuckles sarcastically. “They threatened me with life in prison, if I didn’t co-operate with them, so, I’m threatening to destroy their anachronistic political and economic system, if they don’t bugger off and leave me and me loved ones in peace.”

Hear, hear!” Vince is enthused.

Absolutely.” Clive chimes in.

Doris thinks about it, sipping tea. “May I have Keith come by to have a chat with you lot? Sometimes, I get the feeling that he could..." Her voice drifts off, and she grabs for Clive’s hand.

What Doris is trying to say, is” Clive readjusts his specs with his left hand. “that Keith is sometimes very dramatic and, well, thinks aloud about suicide. He was talking again last night.”

By all means.” Seph relights his joint. “He’s family; he’s welcome any time.”

Marty is nodding, but staring at the table top. I assume that he’s reliving his own times of self-doubt. “Does he live near here?”

Upstairs.” Doris looks at Marty, as if she’s seeing him for the first time. “Across the landing from us.”

Why don’t you give him a call and have him come down now?” Marty first looks at Seph and then at Raph and me for approval. Seph is nodding and Raph gives him the thumbs up.

The phone is on the wee table under the stairs.” Seph underscores his directions by pointing her in the right direction.

So,” Clive pulls out a pack of Senior Service and offers them around. I take one and the rest decline. When I pull out my Zippo, Clive places his box of matches next to his cigarettes and leans across the table. "you lot are the real McCoy, I guess."

Not knowing exactly where he’s coming from, I pry: “Meaning?” maybe a little too assertively. Raph squeezes my hand.

At least in this country,” He blows smoke rings. He’s going to have to teach me that. “gay, uh, sorry, queer families are only a theoretical possibility.” He sort of flinches when he says ‘queer’. Social programming can be very strong.

Doris returns with a worried face. “He doesn’t answer. He wouldn’t have gone up to our parents’ in London, not after the falling out they had.” She looks at Marty. “They chucked him out for possibly being gay and not wanting to go to mass.”

Do you have a key to his place?” Marty’s voice has a hint of urgency to it.

It’s usually on the latch.” She is still standing and moving toward the door.

Marty looks at Seph, as he gets up. “Huh?”

It’s unlocked.” Dad explains and darts out the French doors into the garden and back inside through the bright red door to the back stairwell, following Doris.

Marty overtakes them on the stairs arriving at the top and barging into Keith’s flat. He is sitting on the bed next to Keith, when we arrive. Marty is shaking him slightly. “Can you hear me?”

Keith gurgles an incomprehensible answer. His eyelids flutter. “I don’t feel well.”

Vince takes an amber pill bottle off the nightstand. “Barbiturates. Get a bucket!”

Dad runs to the kitchen, as Doris goes to get a bucket from her place. And from the sounds coming out of the kitchen, Seph is rummaging about in the cupboards. He returns with a large glass with warm water that smells of vinegar, and he’s right behind Doris with the clanking metal bucket. “Here, get him over the bucket. This should do the trick. Hold your nose and drink this, Lad.”

Before Keith can get all the contents of the pint glass down, he heaves into the galvanised bucket and keeps heaving. When he raises his head a little, we see that the contents of the bucket are a bright yellow with yellow and red chunks. But there are no obvious remnants of pills.

Before Keith can get his head away from the bucket, Doris takes a seat on the bed to the opposite side of her brother from Marty. She wipes his mouth with a damp cloth and holds him tight, but Marty doesn’t let go. He is obviously staking a claim; they even look like father and son.

Doris gasps. “I’m so sorry, Keith.”

Keith, now fully conscious, grins at Marty. “Sorry for what?”

"That you wanted to, uh, hurt yourself." Tears are flowing silently.

He forces his eyes off Marty and turns his attention to Doris. “What on earth are you on about, and why is this gorgeous man holding on to me?”

I’m Marty," He flashes his radiant, genuine smile to the kid, who is more than likely only a year or so younger than Raph and me,. “and we thought you had taken an overdose of tranquilizers.”

No,” He giggles and snuggles closer to Marty. “I had an overdose of curry at the cheap place over by the clock tower. That’s why I said that I didn’t feel well. My stomach was upset, but not anymore.” At least, that explains the yellow colour and chunks. He looks shyly at Dad. “But what was in that pint glass you gave me to drink, Sir. I thought it was cider.”

Warm water, vinegar, salt and a dash of HP sauce.” Seph laughs. “Sort of looks like cider, but it was supposed to make you vomit not make you drunk. Uh, and please don’t call me ‘Sir’. I’m your cousin Seph, Françoise’ brother.”

Cider? Drunk?” Raph laughs.

Cider is an alcoholic drink here.” Seph explains.

You’re crazy Auntie Françoise’s brother?” Keith gets looks of rebuke from his sister. “Well, she is. Mad as a hatter. But I love her. She's great fun."

Doris takes her hand from in front of her mouth as yet another family skeleton pries open its cupboard door. “They were asked to leave British Home Stores last year,” She looks at Raph and me “for trying on miniskirts.” and giggles.

And that makes her crazy?” Raph laughs.

That and the fact that she fought off the Gestapo single-handedly in Paris.” Keith snickers.

Your sister was in the resistance?” I’m looking directly at Seph and grinning.

Of sorts.” When I give him the don’t-bullshit-me look, he reconsiders. “Yeah, she worked for British intelligence.”

Great!” Raph enthuses. “Can’t wait to meet her.”

Yeah,” Marty hugs Keith closer. “Sounds like my kind of woman.” Everyone laughs, and Marty turns the colour of a tomato.

Wow,” This news is sinking in, and I like it. “looks like I don’t have to be ashamed of my family anymore.”

Seph gives me a quizzical expression, as if asking if I were ever ashamed of him. I walk over to him. “You and Geneviève were the only ones of the Kansas City bunch, I wasn’t ashamed of.” I squeeze him tightly. “let’s be truthful. You could dress Mildred and Busby up, but you couldn’t take them anywhere other than a prayer meeting. And even then, it would be pushing things.”

Hear, hear!” Raphaël spouts, mimicking Vince. Then he sheepishly explains his outburst to Seph. “You can’t say that she was my favourite person, especially after overhearing her refer to me as a darky.” He turns to Clive, who has a surprised expression plastered across his face. “Dan’s step-mother, Mildred, thought that my skin colour would rub off onto her white sheets.”

Oh Fuck. Really?" Clive almost shouts and harvests another disapproving glare from Doris. “You have to be joking.” He rephrases and subdues his voice. “But, hold on, was she not your stepmother too?"

No, Dad adopted me after Dan blew her head off with Marty’s gun.” Now, that’s a show stopper. Every presumption any Brit may have ever harboured about Americans’ being the most violent, gun-slinging people on the planet has just been confirmed. Once again, glances are exchanged. Only Clive grins and gives me the thumbs up.

Totally ignoring the awkward situation, as only Seph can, he pats Keith on the head. “Feelin’ a bit peckish?”

A bit.” Keith replies with a sweet grin.

Why don’t we all go downstairs, where Marty and I can fix all of us something to eat? It’s getting a bit stuffy here in yer bedroom.” Seph picks up the bucket and takes it to the toilet.