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.I even attempted some sort of jig.I know I saw my mother do the same – and I’m pretty sure it was with more decorum than me.Decorum – it was a word I didn’t think I would ever be able to use in connection with myself again.A knock on my bedroom door was followed by a cheerful hello from Sam who walked in, looking fresh as a daisy, and sat down beside me.“A good night?” he asked with a smirk.“I don’t really remember,” I grimaced as he handed me a glass of water and two paracetamol.“I have other treats for you too,” he said, taking a few boxes from his pockets.“Here, take a Berocca – it’s a vitamin – it will bring you round a bit.And some Milk Thistle, perfect for hangovers.”“I’m not sure this is a hangover,” I said as I glugged at the cool glass of water.“I’m pretty sure this is what dying feels like.”“And you said you didn’t really drink?” he laughed.“Don’t,” I warned, the very thought of alcohol making my stomach start to turn.“Did you know Uncle Peter even bought you a second drink? The Derry Journal was nearly called, and Ripley’s Believe it or Not.”I couldn’t help but laugh.“Did I make an ass of myself?”“No, cousin, you didn’t.You let your hair down.I have a feeling you haven’t done that in a while.”I shook my head (gently, this was no time for rapid movements) and tried to remember the last time I had let myself go with such abandon, quickly coming to the conclusion that actually I had never let myself go with such abandon ever before.Ever.Sam stood up and walked to the en suite where he switched the shower on full blast.“I’ve slipped some aromatherapy goodies in there – stuff perfect for the morning after the night before.You may get yourself washed and dressed and I’ll have some breakfast ready.Take your time – no rush!”“Do you not have to go to work today?” I asked him, aware that time was marching on.“Shop doesn’t open on Sundays,” he said.“Actually, we have something a lot more hellish to do than work today.It’s Sunday roast in my mother’s house, which is a treat all of its own.And by saying it’s a treat I don’t necessarily mean in a good way.But count yourself lucky, Annabel – we could have had to go to Mass with them.Lucky for you and me both, I told them we went last night at half seven.If anyone asks, it was Father Paul, the Gospel was according to Saint Luke and the homily was about the perils of drink.” He raised an eyebrow as he left the room and I gingerly set about getting ready.* * *It seemed the healing powers of a shower, Sam’s patented hangover cure and his breakfast of bacon and cream-cheese bagels were doing the trick.As we sat and chatted at the kitchen table, his glass doors open to the balmy summer morning sunshine, it struck me that of all the people and all the random memories which were coming back to me from the night before I couldn’t remember too much of Sam.Of course I remembered him sitting with me, and I’m sure there was a challenge or two involving a drink of undetermined provenance, and I know he had cheered as I reached the high notes in my party piece, but still.“Sam,” I asked, “did I miss your party piece or do you still owe me that honour?”“Ah, my friend, I should have told you.I’m exempt from party pieces.In fact, my mother strictly forbids it.”“Surely you can’t be that bad? You’ve heard me sing? Surely no one can be worse than that?” I blushed involuntarily once again at the memory of my crooning.“It’s not my singing she’s afraid of,” he said, lifting another bagel and liberally spreading cream cheese on it.“I’ve quite a good voice if I say so myself.She just doesn’t really like me drawing attention to myself.Not in any kind of flamboyant manner.”I thought of Auntie Dolores and her ‘Lipstick on Your Collar’ routine which left little to the imagination and I felt confused.As if it was written all over my face, Sam piped up: “Anna, I’m not just the only single in the village.I’m the only gay in the village too – and my mother, well, she hasn’t really come to terms with that yet.”I looked at him, startled and not sure how to react – not because I was horrified at him being gay – I was, at worst, a little shocked by it – but mostly because I’d just assumed he.well, I hadn’t really assumed anything.I’d just seen him as Sam.“Everyone knows, of course,” he went on.“It’s not something I keep secret.I don’t announce it on first meeting people – because, well, there is nothing to announce.It’s just who I am – but I’m not in the closet.My mother, well, she pretends to get it.And she even pretends to be cool about it – but I very quickly learned that she doesn’t really understand at all.She still thinks it’s just a phase and when I get it all out of my system I’ll settle down with a nice woman and furnish her with 2.4 grandchildren and a dog called Buster.”The great boy his mother was so keen to marry off.How must that feel? In that moment I felt my heart ache for him a little.“She tolerates it,” he said.“She tolerates me.”“I think she loves you very much,” I said and I meant it.I was sure there was more than mere tolerating going on.“Okay, to word it better, she tolerates my lifestyle – only just.As I said, she keeps thinking, for whatever reason, that it’s a phase.I try to tell her that twenty years is a bit more than a phase, and that before I came out I was gay and always had known I was, but I think there is a part of her which will always think I’m nothing more than an attention-seeker [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]