He stopped to check whether he'd forgotten anything. He didn't think so -- everything was in order, ready to return to work after this year's long winter vacation was over. His colleagues all seemed excited, looking forward to the long break from work. Neil was not happy -- ahead of him loomed long days of loneliness, and being alone when everybody else is having fun, when everyone around you is excited about the holiday, is even harder to bear. Betty had invited him to visit, but he'd told her that he would be at his relative's home, and had declined the invitation. In reality he didn't want his colleagues to know that he would be on his own, that he had nobody, that he would neither be giving nor receiving any Christmas presents, as had been the case for years now.
Martin asked him, as they were finishing for the day, if he would be joining his colleagues at the Wellington for a pre-holiday drink. He nodded yes, even though he really didn't feel like going. But he had to be sociable -- for if he became isolated from his colleagues, his solitude would become total. He remembered that there was another document that needed to be included in the file he had prepared, of work to be done on his return -- on the third of January in the new year.
Eleven days of vacation, eleven days of terrible solitude to look forward to... but he would survive them -- somehow, as he always did.
They swarmed out of the office, laughing and joking. They went to the pub and noisily occupied half of it. Pamela sat beside him and began to tell him about her plans for the Christmas vacation. He listened, nodded, and punctuated her flow of words with comments, to make her feel that he was interested in her chat. Robert asked him where he would be spending his vacation, and he rattled off the fib he had prepared -- he would be in Lincolnshire, at his cousin's home...
But his mind was elsewhere. He was asking himself why Christmas was traditionally connected with the image of snow, when for years it hadn't started to snow until well after Christmas day. He was asking himself when it was that all the magic of colored lights and church carols had ended for him. The festive air now seemed to him so empty, so false, so similar to the reconstruction of a scene on a stage -- if you look from the stalls at first glance, everything seems real, convincing. But it is all is false, painted, artificial. One had only to go behind the wings to discover the fraud. And now he lived behind the wings, no longer in the stalls. "Perhaps I've lost the capacity to fantasize, to dream," he thought as he smiled and nodded at what Pamela was saying.
Finally his colleagues started saying goodbye and leaving. Neil waited, sticking to his secret rule, until about half of them had left then, in his turn, said goodbye and left the pub. He felt better, alone at last, one of several anonymous passersby. He went to take the underground, passed the automated barrier, went down on the escalator then changed his mind, went up on the other escalator and left the station. He didn't feel like going back home yet. He would be spending too many hours there as it was, over the coming days. He decided to go to the Brief Encounter. He didn't really expect to meet somebody, to find someone who would want to go with him. He didn't hope for that... but one never knew. When you are waiting for it, it never happens, and yet...
He walked slowly, barely looking at the shop windows filled with colors and Christmas parcels, almost certainly empty, arranged just for the display. These empty parcels possibly represented the most accurate symbol of what Christmas had become... "We have killed Christmas", he thought tiredly. He stopped to read a couple of playbills in front of the theatres. And finally he reached the pub. He hesitated for a moment before entering, as he always did on each of the rare occasions he had been there -- almost as though he were having second thoughts -- then he pulled the door open and slipped inside. He was at once surrounded by the noise, by the sound of the jukebox, of the fruit machines, by the warmth of the place, by the thin haze of cigarette smoke that floated in the atmosphere and permeated it.
He looked around he as he made his way toward the bar. He saw three or four faces he recognized -- regular patrons of the pub -- but he didn't exchange any greeting. He had never known their names and in the past he had exchanged no more than a dozen words with only two or three of them. He ordered a mug of beer and paid for it. Looking around, he realized there wasn't a single empty seat. He managed to find a free space against the wall and leaned there. While he slowly sipped his beer, he looked around him. More than half of the patrons were young people. But there were also quite a few people that didn't appeal to him, either because they were ugly, or effeminate, or too old for him. He noticed a man of around twenty-eight, with a good body, who was talking to a boy of around twenty-two. He could see his profile. The man had a fairly pleasant, smiling face and was listening to the younger man, nodding briefly from time to time. Neil saw that he had long, tapered hands, like a piano player, and tried to imagine what it would be like to feel these hands on his skin, touching his body. The younger man had a slightly rough air about him, with the squat hands of a manual laborer; perhaps he was a mechanic, a tradesman or craftsman... who knows. He wouldn't like to feel these hands on him; they'd probably feel rather course... Also, the boy's face had a crudely sensual expression, especially his lips, which were full and fleshy. A cocksucker's lips, Neil thought with a smile. His eyes lowered to investigate what lay between the legs of the pair but, from the position they were in, he couldn't see enough to get any clues. A little disappointed, he looked away.
He noticed an old queen, his fingers loaded with gold, who was speaking, while gesticulating dramatically, to a black boy -- evidently a body builder -- who was laughing as though he were amused, but who was probably in reality laughing at his companion and not at what he was saying. The black boy had a huge basket between his legs, emphasized by his tight gray leather trousers. All his clothes were intended to show off the quality of the goods that he had to offer. Neil asked himself whether the boy might be a hustler, and hoped he wasn't. Whenever he saw a handsome boy, he always hoped he didn't sell his body, even if Neil had no intention of going to bed with him. The idea of a person selling his beauty seemed to him a sad thing.
He lazily looked around again. His eyes were drawn to a couple, embracing tenderly in the corner behind the fruit machines. They were around the same age, each with a blond mustache and an earring. The hands of the one leaning against the wall were resting possessively on his companion's buttocks. Now and then they exchanged a kiss, which lasted a little longer than between two friends, a little shorter than between two lovers. They were not talking, but were looking into each other's eyes and kissed while remaining in a languid embrace, as though unaware of everything and everybody around them -- in their own private Eden.
Yes, there were four or five people with whom he would have liked to make love but, as usual, none of them seemed to notice him. The ones that attracted him never seemed to be interested in him, and the ones who showed an interest in him, didn't appeal to him -- it was always the way. Therefore, his visits to the Brief Encounter always seemed doomed to be a waste of time. Nevertheless, every so often he went back there, perhaps once a month or once every second week. "Spes ultima dea?" he asked, smiling to himself. And yet, he had also made three or four conquests there, the last one having been about three months ago.
The outside door opened and four boys entered the pub. They were evidently together. Two of them didn't appeal to him, but the other two did. Anyway all four had a clean look about them -- simple and almost naive. It contrasted strangely with that of the majority of the other patrons, and it gave him pleasure like a breath of fresh air. For a moment he wondered if perhaps the boys didn't know that it was a gay pub. But then he saw one of them go straight to the corner where the latest issues of Capital Gay and The Pink Paper were available, and take a copy of each. Then he saw another of the boys greeting one of the patrons with a kiss. Evidently they hadn't entered the wrong premises. He followed them with his eyes and saw that they were heading towards the stairs leading to the lower floor. So, beer in hand, he followed them, making his way through the crowd.
The lower floor was less crowded than the ground floor, and the music less deafening. The four boys were buying drinks. Neil looked around and saw a group in one corner stand up and put on their windcheaters and coats. He pushed his way through the crowd and reached one of the now empty spaces. He was putting his mug on the low table when he noticed other people coming and sitting in the empty spaces beside him. It was the four boys. The most handsome of them sat almost opposite to him, the other one he liked was at his left and the other two sat between them.
The four chatted away quietly, exchanging short sentences and smiling, without attracting attention. Neil enjoyed observing them discretely. He thought that he would have liked to get to know them. Every now and then the boys would look around, then again exchange some words -- almost certainly making observations about the other patrons. Even though he was so close to them, Neil couldn't make out their words, and only picked up the odd fragment here and there. Judging from their expressions, they didn't seem to be making sarcastic or wicked observations -- their remarks were made with just a slight smile. If he hadn't been sitting beside them, what might they have said about him?
Neil looked at the most handsome boy. He was not really beautiful, but he certainly had a clean and fresh look. They must have been barely eighteen or perhaps even younger, as two of them had ordered beer, but two had ordered just Coke. Maybe they just looked younger than they were. He noticed that none of them wore an earring, and that they were dressed in a youthful, but definitely not a showy way. The one beside him, while he was talking, reached out and picked up the wrong beer mug -- Neil's! He noticed it but said nothing. The boy raised the mug and it had almost reached his lips when he noticed that it was only half full.
He looked down at the table, put down the mug and turned toward Neil, looking slightly confused, and said to him simply, "Oh, sorry!" He then picked up his own mug and sipped his beer.
Neil answered with a smile, "No problem, no problem".
Their eyes had met for a moment and Neil liked the boy's half-ashamed, half-amused glance. Then he also noticed the amused look on the face of the handsome boy sitting opposite to him, and the light shrug of his shoulders -- almost as though he wanted to make excuses for his friend's mistake. So Neil smiled back at him and nodded to let him know that everything was OK. The boy's eyes immediately turned back toward his friends and the small incident was forgotten.
One of the boys began thumbing through Capital Gay, and he drew his companions' attention to the picture accompanying an ad -- it was a photo of a half-naked body builder.
The others looked at the picture and commented. Then the boy sitting beside Neil asked the others, "Would you like to be like him?"
The one sitting opposite Neil smiled and answered, "No, I would like to be WITH him..." and the others laughed.
Neil thought that, if that was the boys' ideal, he was very unlikely to interest them. In fact Neil had a lean body that was well built, but without all those highly developed muscles that seemed to appeal to those boys. In any case he wouldn't like to have a body like that. He found it unnatural. And then, he thought, those hunks who were all muscle and no brain were often also not very well endowed or at any rate, THAT muscle was not in proportion to the rest of their bodies -- and Neil smiled to himself.
He stood up to order another beer, leaving his overcoat behind to keep his place. When he got back, the four boys were still sitting there. The one beside him lit his fourth cigarette. He had been smoking since he sat down.
Neil was thinking that it was a pity for such a young boy to be smoking so heavily, when he heard one of his companions ask the smoker, "Why are you smoking so much today?"
"Nervous!"
"Problems at home?"
"Yes, the usual ones."
Neil tried to imagine the families of the four boys, but realized that he couldn't. He also wondered if the four of them might be lovers or if they were just close friends. One thing, he thought, was evident -- they were not hustlers. In fact they did nothing to attract the attention of the other patrons. "Or, if they are hustlers", he told himself with irony, "they are on leave...". But he bet that his first hypothesis was right. All the hustlers he had seen had a shrewder, more brazen and impudent air about them. No, these boys really were too clean-cut to be hustlers... Also their clothes were certainly not those of men who are "in the trade" and have to advertise their wares...
Standing near to their table was an extremely effeminate boy who was talking and gesturing, flamboyantly and non-stop, to a frowning young man with a hard expression. Neil noticed that the four boys were also observing them, and saw them smiling amongst themselves at the young queen's attitude. A little further on, two other men were standing one in front of the other, and Neil noticed that the hand of one of them was feeling between the other's legs, as though nobody could see them. He looked up and saw that the one being felt was smiling, pleased. Neil thought that it would bother him to be touched in that way in public. But the scene excited him a little.
He sipped his beer and asked himself whether he would like to take to his bed one of the two boys sitting beside him that had attracted his attention. Perhaps he would, even though he considered that they were too young. But he probably would have preferred simply to get to know them. Anyway, he would not begin a relationship with a boy younger than 21, as he didn't want to take risks with the law, even if at times, some of these boys exuded so much sensuality that he found them to be highly desirable. But he told himself that if they are too young, apart from the legal problem there is another factor -- they are almost always too inexperienced and in bed they are not skilled. And even if they are skilled in bed, they are usually emotionally immature. No, a boy between 21 and 22 would be much better, definitely!
The boy sitting to his left moved his leg and it touched Neil's leg. Neil froze, wondering whether the boy had done it on purpose or not. He started trembling slightly, waiting to see if the boy would move his leg away or, instead, press it against his own as a signal of interest in him. For a while the boy didn't move and Neil could feel the gentle warmth of the leg against his own. Then the boy moved and the contact ended. It had been an accidental movement, Neil concluded, half way between disappointment and relief.
The boy took out his fifth cigarette and tried to light it, but his lighter seemed to be empty. He asked his companions for a light but they didn't have one.
So he turned toward Neil and asked him for a light. "Sorry, I don't smoke..." Neil answered, and thought that he should always carry a lighter with him -- at times it might prove to be a good way of approaching someone.
"Bah, it's better if I don't smoke anyway..." the boy said, smiling at him as he returned the cigarette to its box and turned back toward his friends.
It was the second time that Neil had met the boy's eyes, and that the boy had smiled at him. Yes, he would have liked to take him to his bed, all things considered. But Neil was too shy to make the first move, especially if the other didn't give him any sign of interest. He had always been this way, since he was a boy. Who knows how many possibilities, how many chances did he had missed because of his damned shyness. But he couldn't help it. That's the way he was.
Apart from the last quickie in the car, three months before, how long had it been since he had made love, for god's sake? Since spring, over eight months ago. It had been a one-night stand at the place of a handsome thirty-year-old man that he had met at Riders Bar. After that night, they hadn't met again. They hadn't exchanged telephone numbers or addresses. Neil didn't even remember his name. But he remembered his body perfectly -- his beautiful chest covered by a fine, light brown down; his smooth, strong member; his nice ass warm and welcoming...
He checked his watch -- he would have to go if he didn't want to miss the last train. Time had passed much faster than he had realized. He drank his beer quickly, stood up and for a moment he thought about saying goodbye to the four boys, but he didn't have the courage and went out without even looking at them. He checked his watch again -- he was in time, there was no risk of missing the last train. Besides, he could always catch the night bus, even though it was really less convenient. He could even go back home by taxi, just for once. But, all things considered, he preferred to take the last train, and went towards the station. Inside, he looked at the electronic boards to check which platform his train was on that night. Who knows why they always changed the platform?
Beside him, sitting on the floor, his back leaning against a pillar, there was a boy with blond, softly curly hair, his head tilted back. Their eyes met.
"Do you have some change?" the boy asked, without smiling.
Neil looked at him. He wore a green shirt, jeans, and sandals on bare feet. Neil thought that the boy must have surely been feeling cold. He put a hand into his pocket and pulled out a five-pound note.
"Here, take this..."
The boy looked at the note, looked Neil in the eye, slightly astounded, and pocketed it without thanking him. Then he asked, "Do you have a cigarette?"
"I'm sorry, I don't smoke."
"Shit! It's cold." the boy said, more to himself than to Neil, and looked away.
Neil looked at the board again and saw that now the train was leaving from platform four. He was about to go then he pulled his woollen scarf from around his neck, folded it and handed it to the boy. The boy again looked at him in amazement, but took it and put it around his own neck. Neil smiled at him and went to his train, flashing his ticket in the direction of the sleepy ticket collector at the platform's gate. He wondered whether the man mightn't actually be sleeping... He thought about the boy again -- he hadn't returned his smile, but had accepted both the five pounds and the scarf. Neil walked halfway along the platform and got on a carriage. There were few passengers, so he chose a seat near a door, so that he was sitting facing the direction in which the train would be travelling, as he preferred.
He checked his watch again -- still seven minutes to departure. He settled more comfortably on the seat. In front of him, but across the aisle, a black boy was sitting. He was really beautiful, around twenty five years old. Neil was aware that he found black people to be either extremely ugly or extremely beautiful. He had never seen a black man who was in between. Who knows why? He had made love with a black man just a couple of years before, and it had been really pleasant. And he, anyway, had not been super-hung as all blacks are said to be. Either he was an exception, or it was just a myth. Anyway, the boy had been skilled at using it... Orientals, on the other hand, seemed to Neil to be neither handsome nor ugly... Funny, isn't it? But he had never had the opportunity to make love with an oriental.
"I must try, sooner or later" he told himself. But that black boy, there in the train... he would have him lying on the seats and he would have made love with him right there... He also was of the right age...
The door near to him opened and somebody entered the carriage. He turned to look. It was the boy with his scarf. The boy entered without looking at him, passed in front of him and sat in front of the black boy. The black boy, who was reading a newspaper, looked up momentarily then continued reading. Neil felt the desire to turn and look at the boy with his scarf, but didn't have the courage. The train started moving. Neil looked out of the window, into the darkness, at the lights of the city passing by. The train crossed the Thames. But Neil wasn't really looking at the lights, he was thinking about the boy with his scarf, who was wearing summer clothes in the middle of winter. Who knew where he might be going? Did he have a home? "Possibly he didn't even pay for his ticket", he thought. Probably the collector had indeed been sleeping. The boy was tall, probably a little taller than Neil, and was skinny. He looked around twenty years old and he hadn't smiled. "Probably he doesn't have too much to smile about", Neil told himself. The train stopped at Waterloo East, then at London Bridge. Neither the black boy, nor the blond boy got out. The train stopped at New Cross, then at Lewisham. Neil got off and closed the carriage door behind him. He went through the deserted barrier and went out of the station.
Halfway down the hill, for no reason, he looked back and saw the boy with his scarf. He hadn't realized that he had also got off the train. Evidently he hadn't got off immediately, because Neil had closed the carriage door behind him. Reaching the bottom of the hill, Neil turned right and went under a bridge, After a while he looked back and the boy with his scarf was following him. He walked faster, but didn't run. He crossed the road and continued to walk fast. He went under another bridge without looking back, and walked past the door of his house, turning right into a blind alley and stopped around the corner. Through the two corner shop windows he watched the street he had come from. After a short while he saw the boy with the scarf coming. When the boy reached the junction, Neil walked out in front of him, blocking his path. The boy was startled but looked Neil straight in the eye, in silence.
"Why are you following me? What do you want?"
"Nothing."
"But you are following me."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"To talk?" the boy said, more as a question than an answer.
"To talk? With me? You could have done it at the station, or on the train..."
"No, I didn't want it to be quick. Do you have some time?"
"Yes..."
"There's nobody waiting for you?"
"No, and for you?"
"Nobody."
"Pubs are closed. I don't feel comfortable about taking you to my home. I don't know you."
"Let's walk."
"Walk? At this hour?"
"Let's go out into the open, where there's more light."
"Light?"
"So that you won't be afraid."
"Afraid? Of you? Why should I be afraid?"
"You said it -- you don't want me at your place."
"Let's go then. Come on inside with me."