Chapter Text
August
When his therapist told him he tended to invest in unhealthy relationships, Captain Ted Williamson had rolled his eyes at her, and had explained that he was just making up for lost time. The Captain knew he was a difficult person to love - or even like sometimes - and so he wasn’t surprised by his inability to make a relationship last. Too many years in the army left him with a limited sense of humour, a face that liked to frown and a body that needed routines. But at the same time, his realisation of his sexuality had left him unanchored while leaving the army just felt like someone had come along and kicked him while he was already down. That had been nearly two years ago, and he’d been freefalling ever since, searching for anything that might help him find his balance again. He knew he couldn’t go back to how things had been before - both blissfully unaware of his attraction to men, and yet to be disillusioned with the armed services - but surely this couldn’t be it for him.
And now, as he buttoned up his shirt and carefully tiptoed across the floor in search of his other sock, holding his shoes in his hand so he wouldn’t make a noise and wake up the lightly snoring lump under the covers, he thought his therapist just might be onto something for once.
How to describe Damian, the snoring lump? He was certainly charming when he wanted to be. He was tall, with short curly hair and a lot of expensive suits to go with a high-powered job that he didn’t talk about and the Captain knew not to ask about. He didn’t like to be woken up in the morning.
It wasn’t even that he wasn’t a morning person. Apparently, he just thought the sight of the Captain leaving in the morning was too pathetic and he would rather wake up with the Captain already gone than see him waiting 'like a dog for his master to let him out', if the Captain remembered the exact phrasing.
He hadn’t known how to respond when Damian said that to him. He told himself he would save him the hassle and just never go back, but here he was, tying his shoes in the kitchen, about to leave out of the back door, so no one would see him.
His therapist had asked him why he kept going back to Damian in particular. The Captain had stared at her for a long time before he answered.
“He’s the only person who’s stayed. In his own way.” He had shrugged, “And it’s not like I’ll find anyone better.”
“You could try to get a steady boyfriend for a change.” She smiled politely at him, “Or perhaps just a friend.”
He couldn’t help but feel like she was blaming him, or shaming him. Or both. She never seemed to understand that he had genuinely used to want to find someone who might be good for him. However, as time went on, and the more he tried, the more he realised that there just must be something inherently wrong with him or simply repellent. He didn’t know how to explain it more than that so he settled for -
“I’m not boyfriend material.”
“And why do you think that?”
She asked him that a lot. Too much. The Captain thought back to the nights with strangers once he had realised he was, in fact, gay, when he tried desperately to search for any sort of connection in his lonely little world.
He had been generally inexperienced in all areas of love and found himself suddenly prone to falling for people at the drop of a hat. His first boyfriend (who rode a motorbike) occurred on a period of extended leave right before he left the army for good, and was probably actually not a boyfriend, now he gave the whole thing more thought.
He had been a fan of dirty talk - if that was supposed to involve holding the Captain down with a hand on the base of his throat and telling him how good he looked when he begged, how this was all he was good for, and ordering him to say that he loved him. The Captain did, because he was in his late thirties and had never had sex with a man before. It was embarrassing at the time, sure, and even more so afterwards, but it had made sense to him that he was in love with this man already. So he had no problem saying the words, and believing them too, until about three weeks later when the man disappeared completely from his life, citing ‘boredom’ as the main reason. It was only then that the Captain realised his words had never been reciprocated.
He had told Damian about that man once, and about a few others who had called themselves boyfriends, and had allowed or even asked the Captain to open his heart to them and say he loved them and then dropped him after not too long. That was back when Damian thought he still had to pay attention to the Captain to keep his interest. When the Captain had brought it up, something in Damian’s expression changed and with a tilt of his head, his lips quirked into a smile.
That night Damian had held the Captain down at the base of his throat and smiled. The Captain watched the previous months of their not-relationship flash before his eyes; every time he had got caught up in their passion and the words had burst from him, unrestrained.
From that point on, the Captain knew the parameters of their not-relationship had shifted and what little romance they’d previously had was over. No more coffee in the kitchen where Damian would ask how his day was going, and then pretend to be interested in what he said. No more showering together in the middle of the night, going home smelling like Damian’s body wash - which had always seemed so intimate to the Captain. No, Damian had realised that while he had been half-heartedly trying to keep him interested enough, the Captain himself was busy counting his lucky stars that someone had stayed this long.
From then, and for nearly a year after that, the Captain would go over when Damian beckoned him and then would leave as soon as he could, with as little fuss as possible, and without talking to the neighbours. The Captain constantly told himself that it suited him better, like his heart didn’t squeeze with jealousy when he witnessed the easy affection of couples holding hands in the supermarket. He buried that bitterness instead and continued as he was.
He considered his therapist’s question and actually knew the answer for once. He thought these things because it was what he’d been told, and what he’d been taught by multiple men while he was in a physically and emotionally vulnerable stage of his life and was susceptible to the words of others. And that made it a difficult thing to break away from.
“I don’t know.” The Captain had answered instead, shrugging. He often thought about getting a new therapist; one who didn’t look so disappointed in him.
****
He walked down the road. It was nearly 0800 - later than he’d normally leave, but he hadn’t actually got to Damian’s house until 0400 - and the sun was up already and shining brightly. The sky was clear blue, the kind that needed sunglasses just to look at. He could already tell it was going to be another hot day, though there were some clouds right on the horizon.
He just about had time for breakfast and a shower before he had arranged to meet his mother at 0930 for a walk at the local woods. It had become a routine between them to go for a walk together every Saturday since he had moved back to live near her.
His milk had gone off so he ate toast with honey for breakfast. The sun dried his hair on the walk to his mother’s house. He rapped on the door lightly.
She greeted him with a smile that matched the sunny weather. She was wearing a pair of light khaki knee length shorts, wellingtons, a mauve shirt and the gilet that he’d got her several Christmases ago that she never went without on their walks. Her hair was tied away from her face with a bandana.
“You look like an explorer, Mother.”
“You’re charming this morning.” She said coolly and slipped a pair of sunglasses on.
He tried to refuse the tin of coffee and walnut cake that she thrust at him.
“It’s not just for you, you silly boy. We’re eating it on the walk.” She smiled at him, “You’re just the pack horse, love. Take this too. I’m old and weak and couldn’t possibly carry it.”
She held out a backpack to him.
“What’s in here?” He asked as he slung it over his shoulders, mindful of the cake tin in his hands, and clipped the buckle over his chest too, just to be safe.
“Napkins. Oh, and I made two flasks up for us.”
“Mother, it’s August. I don’t think we’ll be needing tea on the walk. And do you not want to wear trainers instead? It’s a bit too hot for wellies.” He squinted, gesturing at the sun.
“Oh thank you dear, I forgot it was my first time experiencing a British summer, oh wait, no it’s not.” She tutted at him and locked the front door, “And for your information, it’s going to rain later. One must always be prepared. You should know that, you were a Scout.”
“Believe me, I know. But the weather didn’t say anything about rain.” He said, and then repeated, “It’s August.”
“I’m wise, I know when there’s a storm in the air, dear. By this evening you’ll be wishing for the sun again.”
They started walking down the driveway and onto the quiet road.
“Also,” She said, breaking their calm silence, “It’s iced tea. I know you liked to drink that with Joanie in summer so I did a little experiment yesterday with flavourings. Hopefully it’s sufficiently peachy.”
“It’ll be lovely, Mother, I’m sure.”
She hummed to herself.
“Anyway, did I tell you what Janet said at book club the other day? No wonder Carly doesn’t want to bring the grandkids to visit.”
The Captain mmm’d and nodded in all the right places. He’d heard all about Janet, he could probably write a book about Janet with all the different stories his mother had about her every week.
Halfway round the walk, they sat on a bench by the lake in the woods and he found out that the backpack also contained some pieces of stale bread. His mother unpacked the bag and gave him some bread to throw for the ducks while she cut up the cake. She smelt like sun cream and it comforted him; made him think of childhood summers at the beach.
“So what’s new with you?” She asked, as she inevitably always did.
He floundered for a second, as he in turn always did, unable to lie to his mother.
“Oh you know, nothing new really. Just the same old nonsense.”
“Oh really, Teddy?”
He didn’t know what to say and so a quiet moment passed between them. He ripped a piece of bread and threw it with gusto at a duck. It squawked at him in alarm.
“Have you ever thought about moving away?” His mother asked suddenly.
“Excuse me?” He turned to look at her but with her eyes hidden behind her sunglasses, her expression was unreadable.
“Not that I don’t love having you so close by, but I just wonder whether you might be happier elsewhere.”
“But I-” He didn’t know what he wanted to say, and sighed, deflating, “I’m fine here.”
“No, you’re not. You’re forty years old. You’re directionless. You’re miserable. You have been since you left the army. I know you don’t like to talk about it but there we are.”
She was certainly telling it like it was. He shrugged, feeling about five years old.
She sighed softly, and patted his knee.
“I just want to see you happy. Joanie went off and explored the world and settled down with Peter and had her two little sprogs and I wish I could see the same kind of thing happen for you.”
A lump formed in his throat.
“Mother.” He tried to speak but his voice broke halfway through and he coughed suddenly.
“Have some iced tea and try again in a minute.” She patted his back with an amused smile.
He drank. It was peachy.
“I’ll think about it.” He said eventually, “I’ll think about moving away.”
“That’s all I wanted you to say. Maybe when you move away you can find your own Peter.” She said delicately.
He choked on his drink. She sipped hers from her little metal mug with a sly smile.
“Sorry.” She raised an eyebrow, “We can go back to pretending you’re not gay if you like.”
“How did you -” He spluttered.
“I’m your mother, Teddy. I know you to your soul. I know it’s scary but you needn’t have worried about telling me.”
“Well, technically I didn’t tell you anything. You inferred.” He said petulantly, embarrassed.
“Inferred.” She repeated, her eyes sparkling, “Oh Teddy, you do make me laugh. You know, when you were eight years old you told me you were going to marry River Phoenix.”
“...I do not remember that.” He admitted, blushing and then coughing awkwardly.
“Yes, well, I do.” She smiled, “And I had thought it was only a matter of time until you came out. But it sort of never happened. I almost thought we’d had the conversation already without my knowing, but we haven’t, have we?”
“No, mother, we haven’t. I only realised myself about two years ago.”
“Two years ago? Oh Teddy.” She said ever so softly, then with the confidence that only a mother had, “Well, you know now, don’t you! So you can buck up and get out there a bit.”
She patted his knee again and he laughed. They didn’t speak again for a little while, until his mother broke the comfortable silence to point at some fluffy clouds in the distance.
“Those’ll be storm clouds soon. We best get going.”
He walked her back to the house. They hovered outside to say goodbye.
“We don’t talk enough, Teddy.”
“We meet for walks every weekend, Mother.”
“And yet…” She left the sentence hanging, taking off her sunglasses. She looked tired.
“Keep the coffee cake.” She said, and then added in a tone of voice that was simultaneously loving and reprimanding, “And do try to come up with something exciting to tell me next week for once. And do think about moving away. You can send me links to houses on The Facebook Messenger.”
His heart twanged with affection for her.
“Oh,” She pointed at the sky, “Here’s the rain. Off you trot. See you next week, same time.”
“Right you are, Mother.” He smiled, “See you next week.”
He made sure she got in the house and when the door closed, he jogged home. The rain was in full throttle by the time he got to his flat. He couldn’t believe the sudden change. He ran inside and towelled off his hair, which would no doubt go fluffy.
He changed into soft slacks and a sweatshirt and curled up on the sofa. He warmed his hands on a cup of tea, watching the rain splash against the window and found the noise was lulling him into dazed trance. He supposed he had been tired lately; keeping odd hours. A nap wouldn’t go amiss.
The phone woke him. He jerked up, glad he’d had the sense to put his tea on the floor before he’d nodded off. His room was dark; the rain really hammering down. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
With an uneasy feeling in his stomach that he couldn’t place, he picked up the phone.
****
The Captain walked out of the hospital with his back straight and his head up. They had told him he was in shock, and he readily agreed. He had greeted Janet, he had signed things, he had stared for an unknown amount of time at his mother’s dead body in the bed, eyes closed, unseeing, but oddly peaceful. Janet cried quietly the entire time. The Captain hadn’t yet.
He tried to call Joanie twice. She didn’t pick up. It was school run time; he remembered blearily that Scottish schools went back before English ones. He would try again later. He didn’t have Peter’s number to try him. And he knew Joanie would hate him forever if Peter found out before her, though he did think her husband would perhaps be better at breaking the news.
Janet had told him she would call his mother’s other friends and let them know. And that he should try to go home and get some rest - which meant continuing to try to get through to Joanie, of course.
He parked his car at his mother’s house by mistake and found he couldn’t go in. The absence of her would be too much to bear right now. He got out of the car and started to wander. It wasn’t until he was knocking on the door that he realised how far he’d walked.
“Twice in one day?” Damian was leaning in the doorway, staring down at him, “What’s the occasion? We don’t do birthdays, remember?” He added warily.
“My mother has died.” His words got stuck in his throat and twisted through his lips as his face started to screw-up with the force of fighting back tears.
“Christ, Ted.” Damian made no effort to move.
The Captain sniffed.
“Can I come in?”
Damian walked back inside the house, leaving the door open for him to follow him. They walked into the kitchen. Damian leant against the counter, his arms crossed. He gave him a cursory glance up and down.
“So, how’re you holding up?” He asked, a bit redundantly, considering the slow tears that made their way down his cheeks.
“Not great.” The Captain admitted. He sniffed loudly and brought a hand up over his brow to squeeze his temples.
“Oh dear.” Damian shook his head, “That won’t do, will it?”
He reached forward and bundled the Captain up in an awkward hug, patting him roughly on the back. The Captain could feel his tears start to seep into the soft material of Damian’s shirt. The other man leant back slightly to look at him and tutted.
“Oh Ted, you can’t expect me to make you feel better when you look like that. Come on, wipe your eyes.”
“What are you talking about?” The Captain shuffled out of Damian’s arms and rubbed at his cheeks furiously. He found his lips were still struggling to form words properly, like they did when it was particularly cold outside and they went numb, “I don’t want that right now.”
“You can say ‘sex’, man. It’s not going to kill you.” Damian stood in front of him and massaged his shoulders. .
Sometimes the Captain begged to differ.
“Fine.” He straightened up, shrugging off Damian’s hands, “I don’t want to have sex.”
“Well, that’s a first.”
“My mother just died. I need a friend.”
“You should probably go and find one then.” Damian said simply.
“I -” The Captain faltered, frowning, “I thought I had.”
“Jesus Christ.” Damian seemed genuinely shocked, “Tell me you’re joking right now.”
The Captain didn’t know what to say. Damian maintained eye contact for long enough to be uncomfortable then glanced at his watch impatiently.
“Ok, moving on from that, are you staying or going?”
The Captain didn’t answer and Damian rolled his eyes.
“I thought you were here for a quickie to make you feel better but if you’re not then I’ve got an anniversary dinner later to get ready for.” He tapped his watch.
The world tilted on its axis slightly when the words settled into the Captain’s brain.
“...anniversary?” It was a miracle that he could get the word out, when his mouth was made of cotton wool.
“Yeah. My wife’s been nagging me for ages to reserve a table.”
“...wife?”
“I didn’t tell you?” Damian shrugged, “Alright, that’s my bad. But also, knowing you, I doubt it’s the first time you’ve slept with a married man.”
The Captain felt the air gush out of him. He stared uncomprehendingly at a space just to the side of Damian. In a single moment, he felt as if his life was flashing before his eyes, but more specifically, every moment with Damian replayed with startling clarity. Everything clicked softly into place.
He took an unsteady step forward, faltering at the feeling of Damian’s hand on his arm. He glanced at it without really seeing for a moment before peeling it off him, and continuing. Damian was calling after him, telling him to go out the back door. He carried on to the front door, pulling it open wordlessly and slamming it shut behind him as loudly as he could. He walked down the front steps, down the front path, down the street. At some point Damian stopped shouting. The Captain walked, and walked and walked.
****
He was in a daze for a long time, moving robotically down the roads. But he found that the further he walked, the more clarity he got. He grabbed his phone from his pocket and took some screenshots just for prosperity and then blocked Damian’s number. He could hear the cheers and applause of therapists across the country.
With the number now blocked, the Captain found he had very little trouble taking every bad feeling he’d felt during their not-relationship and burying them as far down as they could possibly go until all that was left was his usual endless self-hatred.
And grief, all-encompassing, for his mother. Which reminded him. He had other things to worry about.
Like Joanie calling him back. He jabbed the green button with his thumb and brought the phone to his ear.
She was calling his name down the phone.
It took him a minute to make any sort of noise at all. He was astonished to find that he was already crying.
****
At 0900 the next day, someone started knocking on his mother’s front door. The Captain had spent the night in his childhood bedroom, curled up on a twin-sized mattress. He slept badly, and had been awake since 0600, staring at the ceiling, unmoving.
He thought about not answering the door, but they started to ring the bell. He heaved himself out of bed and padded downstairs in yesterday’s wrinkled clothes that he’d slept in.
He took a deep breath and opened the door to find -
“Hello. It’s me.”
Joanie smiled at him, her eyes shining. She looked ridiculously youthful in the early morning sun. Her light auburn hair shone in this light. It was only recently that she started going slightly grey too, as he had begun to do many years ago. It was hard to believe they were twins sometimes.
“I bought a frozen lasagne with me.” She held up a ridiculously massive pyrex dish for him to see. “Well, it was frozen. But 8 hours on the sleeper train thawed it considerably. I made it the other day.”
“Joanie. What are you doing here?”
“What do you think, you pillock?” She snapped suddenly, “You called me and told me mum died? Was I supposed to not get on the sleeper train from Edinburgh to give you a lasagne and sort out the current shit show?”
She held his gaze for a moment before dissolving into soft tears. Joanie had always had more of their mother in her than he did, yet he was the one who had spent every Saturday morning with her for a year. These things were never fair.
“Oh dear, Joanie.” He rushed forward, taking the lasagne from her with one hand and wrapping his other around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest.
“It’s not fair.” She mumbled into his shirt. “I didn’t get to say goodbye.”
“Me neither, Joanie.” He rubbed her back, “Me neither. It’s ok. We’ll be alright.”
****
They ate leftover coffee cake for breakfast and drank buckets of tea and discussed the practicalities of their mother’s will and house.
“If we sell it, we have to split the money, that’s what we all agreed. I’ll keep mine for the kids. You take yours for a house.” Joanie said practically. She gestured with a fork to emphasise.
“A house?”
“Oh sweetie.” She placed her hand over his and squeezed for a second, understanding what he was thinking, “You don’t want to stay here. You really don’t.”
“Who says?”
“Me says.” She smiled.
He deflated.
“And Mother.”
Joanie looked away from him around the kitchen at the special china in the cabinet in the corner.
“She wanted you to move away. To find somewhere nice to live and be happy.”
“I know. She told me yesterday.”
Joanie’s eyes welled up again.
“That’s so lovely.” She put her head in her hands, “God, I hope you were nice to her.”
The Captain nodded quickly.
“Yes. We ate cake and drank iced tea and fed the ducks.”
“Oh,” Joanie pressed her forehead with her fingers, “That’s perfect. A perfect day.” She whispered.
That night after they ate half the heated up lasagne, he helped Joanie to move his mattress onto his bedroom floor and push his bed frame to lean against the wall. Like regular Chuckle brothers, they hauled her twin mattress from her old bedroom too and squished in next to his on the floor. They held hands until they fell asleep, huddled under separate duvets and blankets. The Captain had never felt so young and old at the same time.
****
The days started to blur together after that. Joanie wholeheartedly rallied behind the idea of his moving house. It was something to focus on that wasn’t the absence of their mother, but was still real and present and exciting. She wrote a strongly-worded email to his current landlord and somehow got him out of the contract early so they went to his flat together and collected his things. Joanie wrinkled her nose at the bare walls and near empty rooms. He’d never felt the need to get more than the furniture had been there when he moved in.
She helped him to pack his clothes into a suitcase. At one point she peered into his suit-bag that hung in his wardrobe and contained his old no.2s. She zipped it back up quickly without a word, only a sheepish look.
“Do you have to call off work or anything?” She asked him.
“No,” The Captain replied, “I’m in between things at the moment.”
“Oh?” She passed him a jumper to fold.
“Yes.”
“That job at the auditors didn’t work out?”
“That was just a temp job. They wouldn’t take me on full time.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Not really. It wasn’t exactly my calling, was it?”
She hummed in agreement and passed him another jumper.
With a suitcase, a bag of shoes and his winter coat, a large plastic box with ‘kitchen essentials’ printed neatly with sharpie, and a cardboard box filled with ‘books & miscellaneous’ in Joanie’s chicken scrawl, they left his flat for the last time.
“You’ve got dismally few possessions.” Joanie said as they made the first trip down to his car. “Remind me to actually start buying you permanent presents for Christmas and birthdays rather than just food. It worked when you were in the army and didn’t technically have anywhere to live but now it’s just fucking sad.”
“Yes, thank you Joanie.” He snapped as he hefted his box of kitchen supplies into the boot of his car.
****
They started to pack away things from their mother’s house, as well, which took considerably longer.
One day, they stood at the table, carefully wrapping her precious china in bubble wrap and placing them in boxes that would be shipped to Scotland for Joanie to look after. The rest of her things were being divided between their mum’s friends, the charity shops, and the Captain - when he had a house for things to be shipped to.
“You could move to Scotland?”
“Too cold. And the novelty of visiting would wear off.”
“You could go to Yorkshire, or Cornwall!” Joanie said excitedly, slipping bubble wrap carefully around a plate.
It was an avoidance tactic that he was happy to go along with. If they were talking about where he would live, then they weren’t thinking about their mother.
“You could move to Devon! Oh, tell me you’ll move to a small village like in Hot Fuzz where everyone knows everyone else but your village won’t be weird, it’ll be charming. And you’ll meet a cute person in the bakery, who’ll be your sweetheart.” Her lips quirked as she imagined, “You can stroll hand in hand on the village green and go to fetes and stuff.”
“Joanie, I’m gay.” He said, placing his plate gently into the box, “And I don’t know what Hot Fuzz is.”
She paused for a second in her daydreaming.
“Oh ok, this is finally happening. Alright.” She smiled again, “You’ll meet a cute man in the bakery then, or the bookshop.”
The Captain gave her a watery smile and shrugged.
“Yes, maybe.”
“Oh, Ted.” She walked round the table to him and bundled him in her arms. He rested his head on her shoulder.
“It’s ok. It’s alright, Teddy. You’re ok.” She murmured in time as she cradled the back of his head with one hand and soothingly stroked his back with the other.
“You knew then?”
“I had my suspicions. When we were little, you kept buying me magazines just so I’d stick the photos of River Phoenix on our wall. You know, back when we shared a room.”
“Why does everyone remember River Phoenix?” He asked, pushing out of her arms, genuinely perturbed, “I certainly don’t.”
A few moments passed, when Joanie piped up again.
“Is there someone on the scene I should know about?” She nudged him in the stomach.
“No.” He chuckled weakly, “I’m a bit useless at all that romance nonsense.”
“Oh dear.” She said soothingly, “That’s a bit shite.”
“Yes.” He paused, debating whether to tell her and decided to jump right in, “There was this one man.”
“Oh yeah?” She smirked again.
“Oh no.” He smiled joylessly, shaking his head, then watched her face fall again, “Turns out he was married the whole time.”
“Oh God, Teddy.” Joanie said softly, “I’m so sorry.”
“Yes, it’s not ideal. He was always a twat really. Don’t know why I was sleeping with him.”
“Ooh okay, let’s draw the line at discussing sex, right now. I’m nice but I’m not that nice.”
“Right you are, Joanie.” He nodded swiftly. “Let’s get back to work.”
He went back to silently wrapping the china in bubble wrap. Joanie was humming a tune to herself. She stopped abruptly, staring straight ahead and very slowly placed her plate down on the table. Suddenly, she looked at him, eyes piercing.
“You haven’t watched Hot Fuzz?” She whispered, “God, I could kill you right now. I could kill you and smile while I did it.”
That evening Joanie found the film on Netflix. Neither of them could figure out how to get it on to their mother’s TV so they ate pizza on the floor in front of Joanie’s laptop. Joanie could quote parts of the film with alarming accuracy. The Captain found himself genuinely smiling for the first time in a while, even before his mother died.
****
Time continued to move alarmingly quickly with Joanie by his side; the same way summers used to pass in a hazy flash when he was a child. One day in the future he knew he would be grateful that the time just seemed to slip past them.
He showed two different families around the house with Joanie and the estate agents. They both agreed who they preferred - the family with two children who had run around excitedly and immediately made the big tree with a rope swing their home. It had been made by the Captain, when he was in the Cub Scouts and wanted to test out his knot tying skills which were, apparently, impeccable. The children were also enamoured by the ladder that dropped from Joanie’s room to the pantry, especially when Joanie and the Captain snuck them both some chocolate digestives.
In his spare moments, he busied himself trawling through houses he could just about afford online. And one day he found one, and was drawn in by the yellow door and honeysuckle growing on the outside. He clicked further and saw a large kitchen with a massive oak table and cupboards. Before he looked anymore or got his hopes up, he sent a link to Joanie. She replied with several exclamation marks and he knew the feeling in his stomach was a positive one.
It turned out that that house was empty. The person who owned it had refurbished it as a project and wanted to sell now he was finished. It was just a matter of selling their mother’s house and the cottage would be his.
It almost seemed too easy. The family with the two children had put in an offer a few days later, at the insistence of their kids. Apparently the rope swing and the ladder to the pantry had been the unique selling points.
He wouldn’t believe it until he was in, and was definitely waiting for the other shoe to drop, but suddenly, his mother’s house was empty, and he was organising a small van to bring the things he couldn’t fit in his car to his new house.
****
He stood leaning against his car. August had ended and tripped suddenly into September while he hadn’t been paying attention. And now Joanie was standing next to him with her bag, waiting for the taxi to take her to the train station. His own car was packed with the boxes and suitcase that they’d taken from his flat.
They would both travel back for the funeral, of course, but for now they were getting out while they could. And so they stood with the early morning sun breaking through the clouds, unsure how to say goodbye after such a fraught time where they had only had each other to lean on.
“I’ll come and visit you.” Joanie said suddenly, shielding her eyes from the sun.
“I’d bloody hope so.”
She rolled her eyes at him.
“Will you let me know when you get there? I’ll probably still be on the train. But still.”
He nodded.
“Are you gonna go then?” She said it like she thought he was losing his nerve. Barring the fact that he literally had to leave soon, if he didn’t want the new family just moving in around him.
“I’m waiting for your taxi. And then I have to do something before I leave.” He didn’t know why he said it.
“Intriguing. Do I get more information or..?”
“No. It’s nothing important.”
“You look like you’re about to shit yourself, but sure.”
He glared at her. They were silent for a few more minutes. There was a blackbird in the bushes opposite him that was kicking up a storm.
“Are you scared about making friends?” She piped up again, an understanding look on her face.
He hadn’t been but mostly because he wasn’t planning on making any friends. He was going to move to a gentle cottage in a sleepy village and he was going to keep to himself, and not invite any trouble, and specifically any Damian-type figures into his new life.
But Joanie didn’t know that was his plan.
“Good lord.” He huffed, “I am now.”
She laughed then looked him up and down.
“Don’t worry, in those jeans, you’ll have no problem making friends.”
He stared down at himself.
“What’s wrong with my jeans?”
“Well, they’ve either shrunk in the wash or your arse has grown overnight.”
“Joanie!”
“I’m just saying!”
“Well don’t!” He looked at his jeans again, and crossed his arms, “Now I’m self-conscious.”
She snorted.
“I’m just joshing with you. The jeans are fine. You’ve got a very hipster dad look going on with the beard and the plaid.”
He was wearing a plaid shirt - but only because it was the most comfortable thing he owned. It was practical for the current weather with the sleeves rolled up and to wear while transporting boxes into a new house, and probably cleaning said house, because other people’s cleaning never matched his own level. The beard was also new - just a bit more than stubble, he supposed - because he hadn’t had time to shave recently. It was something he planned to get rid of as soon as possible.
Joanie caught sight of his horrified expression.
“It’s a nice look!” She said earnestly, “You look approachable!”
“That’s worse.” He frowned in disgust, “I don’t want people approaching me.”
Joanie thought he was joking and chuckled at him. A car pulled up to the side of the road outside their mother’s driveway.
“That’s me.” Joanie gestured towards it, waving.
“Oh?” He couldn’t help it, “You’re going already?”
“Didja think we were standing out here for the good of my health?”
“No, I know, I know.” He said wearily, “Sorry, I just. I don’t know if I can manage this without you.”
He was just as thrown by the words as she was. She walked over to him and tugged him into a swift hug then touched his cheek gently.
“Buck up, dickhead.” She patted him twice on the cheek and stepped back. “You just don’t want to unpack your stuff from the car at the other end. I’m going home so I can see my kids, rather than your ugly mug for a change. I’ll see you in a week or so.”
She turned to walk away.
“Give my love to Peter and the kids.” He called out.
“Yeah, yeah.” She paused as she got into the car and waved him away, smiling, “Piss off already!”
The Captain stood at the end of the driveway with his arms crossed, squinting in the sun, until Joanie’s taxi pulled away.
He walked to his own car, which he’d managed to turn around where the driveway widened nearer the front door, to avoid having to reverse out instead. He couldn’t hack reversing in a car.
The Captain sat down and turned the car on so the radio could play. He didn’t know whatever was playing, but was too nervous to change the channel. He plucked his laptop from its bag on the passenger seat. His mouth was dry as he opened up Facebook and typed in the name he knew - Damian Watts. He scrolled through the account he’d never bothered to look at before this day, and there, clear as day, was a woman, his wife. She had dark hair and dark eyes, and laughter lines, and oh god - two children too, apparently.
He leant back against the headrest and closed his eyes for a second, unsure if he could do this. He thought about what Joanie might want in this situation and knew the answer immediately. Joanie would want to know.
So he clicked on her account, opened messenger and began to type. He added the screenshots he’d taken weeks ago - even then he’d been preparing for this - and after reading through several times, he clicked send.
He stared at the screen intently, the poppy music on the radio blurring into the background. He waited, and waited as one song faded into the next, and the next, until her mini profile picture moved down his messages and three dots formed at the bottom of his page.
With a lurch, he closed the tab and then his laptop, shoving it back into his bag - buckling the seatbelt over it to hold it in place.
He stalled the car immediately when he went to drive away, and leant his head on the steering wheel while he tried to calm his breathing, and turned the car back on. The radio blaring gave him a minor heart attack before he realised he actually knew the song - Joanie had played it incessantly throughout her Stevie Nicks/Fleetwood Mac phase in the early 90s. It had been the first CD she’d got - she had played it in the car, on her CD player when they’d shared a room, on her walkman when they’d walked to school together, sharing the headphones.
With the Edge of Seventeen drowning out the rattling of his box labelled ‘kitchen essentials’ in the back, he peeled out of the driveway and onto the road, and was on his way.
****
Barclay Beg-Chetwynde had agreed to meet him at the house at around 1200. The Captain made good time, stopping at a service station to get petrol and elevenses from Greggs. At some point, the landscape had gotten greener and lusher and he saw more cows and sheep and horses than other cars.
The man was standing outside when the Captain arrived. The front garden was mostly grass and flowers with a little wooden fence round it and a little pathway leading up to the front door. But thankfully, there was a space for his car and next-door’s car, in between the houses, so Beg-Chetwynde didn’t have to witness him attempt to parallel park on this little road.
The Captain took a deep breath before he switched the car off and got out.
“Hello, old chap!” Beg-Chetwynde held his hand out to shake and the Captain shook it firmly.
Less of the old, thank you. He thought, frowning. He was hardly ancient.
Beg-Chetwynde started to talk, gesturing at the house, which actually somehow looked even better than the photos. The Captain squinted in the sunlight, trying to pay attention, but mainly thinking about the set of keys in the other man’s hands and how they would soon be his, and he would be able to shut a door against the outside world.
“So do you want to go in and I can give you the tour?”
The Captain nodded, nerves seizing him briefly.
They walked together up the garden path and Beg-Chetwynde handed him the keys with an expectant look. The door opened smoothly, thank god, so there was no embarrassment there.
The front door led to the large kitchen with the enormous oak dining table in the middle, counters round the outside and exposed beams all around. There was an open doorway on the left to the living room that had a log burner and a cosy looking sofa.
There was a small utility room out the back of the kitchen with the washing machine and tumble dryer (he’d never had one of those before!), which then in itself led to a garden. He would have time to look at that later.
The stairs were on the right hand side of the kitchen and led to a large master bedroom with even more exposed beams. The bed would have seemed ridiculously large even if he hadn’t been sharing two twin sized mattresses on the floor with his sister for a month.
There was a small study, which he might be able to turn into a room for Joanie to stay in when she visited if he added a sofa bed against the wall.
The bathroom was also ridiculous, with a deep bath that was also a shower. He tested the water pressure and would have laughed aloud if Beg-Chetwynde wasn’t standing there because it was just fantastic, just like the rest of the house. His house.
“Do you need help bringing things in from your van later?”
“No, thank you.” They were back in the front garden and he gestured to his car, “This is it for today. There should be a small van coming tomorrow with a few more things.”
“Alrighty then!” Beg-Chetwynde clapped his hands together, “I’ll leave you to get settled then. Any problems and just send me a quick messiagio, I left my contact details on the docs on the kitchen table.”
“Right-o.” The Captain said, disturbed that he was the kind of person who said that now.
The Captain walked over to his car and got the most delicate of all his possessions, and frankly the one thing he wanted tidied away (hidden) before he sorted out anything else. He removed his no.2s from where they had been hanging from the grab handle in the backseat. He held them up, frowning and picked off a small bit of fluff from the lapel.
“Army man, are we?”
Beg-Chetwynde hadn’t gone. He was still loitering behind the Captain.
“I’m a Captain.” He replied automatically, used to correcting people, and still stuck in his boastful ways from his youth apparently.
“Ooh, very exciting!” He saluted at the Captain.
The Captain chuckled uncomfortably and smiled stiffly as he walked back up the path with his no.2s over one arm. He put the door on the latch on his way in, and jogged up the stairs to hang the uniform up in the furthest, darkest part of the wardrobe.
When he came back downstairs, Beg-Chetwynde was mercifully gone.
He brought in his suitcase next, dumping it in the kitchen, then went back for his kitchen essentials. Then came the books and miscellaneous box, the several shoes he owned and the new bedding that Joanie made him get. It was plain and grey, but it was very soft. He’d got a new duvet and a memory foam pillow too. She said it would help his back, which was apparently too ‘clicky’ and ‘annoying’.
He cast a cursory glance at the documents that Beg-Chetwynde had left - mainly manuals for everything; the oven, the fridge, the kettle, the microwave, the washing machine.
With everything loaded from the car, he found he didn’t want to unpack, but instead wanted to explore the village he was meant to call home now, and most importantly, find the nearest supermarket and buy some food. A Greggs sausage roll at 1100 would only last him so long.
He had already written a list out the previous morning with Joanie - both of them figuring out exactly what he might need - grouped into an order that was different to his normal one, because he didn’t know the layout of his new store.
It turned out he was only round the corner from where the road changed into a small ‘high street’ - there was a pub on the corner, a bakery/cafe, a bookshop, some charity shops, a pharmacy. There were street signs which told him there was a school nearby, a leisure centre, and at the end of the high - street was a medium sized Tesco, and just beyond that, a large village green.
He wandered round with his list, crossing things off when he put them in his trolley. He’d even remembered to bring his bags-for-life, hanging them on the hoop on his trolley so they bumped his knees as he walked.
There were several roads which led off from his - he thought he saw when he drove in - that seemed relatively even, and would be perfect for running. He’d told Joanie he was going to get back into running, because he was an idiot apparently.
But as he hefted the shopping bags back to his house, he figured it might not be such a bad idea to start getting fit again. Joanie would definitely hold him to it.
He got his mother’s old radio to work and placed it on the kitchen counter top while he started to half-heartedly unpack his food. He could imagine himself taking his time to cook here, washing vegetables, chopping onions (without crying), with the window open and the radio playing.
He’d bought tea, of course. And would be having a cup as soon as humanly possible. There was pasta, rice, fresh vegetables, tinned tomatoes, stock cubes. He laid all the food out on the table to arrange neatly into the fridge and the cupboards. What he really needed to do was unpack the kitchen utensils and figure out where they would go before he moved onto the food.
Instead he tried to boil the kettle. But the same time that he flicked the button, the lightbulb above him flickered and blew.
He was sensible enough to know there was no correlation between the kettle and the lightbulb, but he still glared up at it, annoyed at the prospect of traipsing back to Tesco for a replacement lightbulb. He slammed his mug down on the counter and looked around for his keys.
There was a heavy knock at the door. He crossed the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up, a tea towel flung over his shoulder.
“Boo!” A voice shouted as he opened the door. The Captain jumped, and glared.
The man was chuckling breathlessly. He was covered in dirt, wearing a white t-shirt and clearly homemade cutdown shorts that were slightly too high on the leg to be decent. A tool belt hung loosely around his waist. He had unruly auburn hair, a matching bushy beard and thick eyebrows that moved as he gave the Captain a good look up and down.
“It wasn’t me!” He said suddenly, raising his hands as if in surrender, and then looked at the Captain through his eyelashes, his voice softening, “Nah, it was me.”
“Excuse me?”
“The lights!” He said, pointing into the Captain’s house as though that explained everything, “I live next door. Got an issue with the fuses. When my lights go, yours do too.”
“Oh joy.” The Captain replied sarcastically.
But the man was still standing there, grinning. He held up a box of lightbulbs.
“You’re new today, so let me put you this: if you let me in, I can sort the fuse box out and change the bulbs.”
It was then the Captain realised how tightly he was gripping the doorframe. He really didn’t want to go back to Tesco - that would be more embarrassing than allowing this man in for five minutes to change the bulbs.
“Right you are.” He opened the door and beckoned the man in.
He looked around the kitchen as he walked in.
“I’m Ted. Ted Williamson.” The Captain offered up, alarmed by his own uncharacteristic friendliness.
“Heard you’re a Captain too. I like what you’ve done with the place.” He gestured to the unopened boxes, and the food meticulously organised on the kitchen table.
The Captain huffed.
“Word spreads quickly.”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.” The man smiled again and reached out to shake the Captain’s hand, “Nice to meet you Captain Ted, Ted Williamson. I’m Robin.”
He walked over to the cupboard under the stairs that the Captain hadn’t noticed yet and did some funny manoeuvring to open the door. He crouched down to get inside and produced a torch from his back pocket.
“Ah, there it is.” Robin called out, “You just go about your business, I’ve got this sorted.”
The Captain started to unpack his box of kitchen essentials - he had two plates, one bowl, four mugs, two saucepans, a frying pan, a pyrex dish and a variety of cutlery. Nothing matched, and it angered him greatly but he’d garnered all his items at different times so it was hardly his fault. Every mug had been a gift from Joanie. The latest had been a plain white one that said ‘world’s okayest gay’ in large black font. He had laughed when he opened it, but now he cast a look at Robin (still with his head in the cupboard) and slipped the mug into the back of a random cupboard.
He made sure everything else found its place neatly - utensils in the lower cupboards and food in the top cupboards as his mother had always taught him. He and Robin moved around the kitchen in a weird harmony, always nearly bumping into each other but not quite. The next time the Captain checked on him properly was when the man dragged a chair across the floor to stand and replace the lightbulb. The Captain frowned as Robin swayed until the man caught his eye, and he turned away. He heard Robin get down and move the chair back to its place. He went back into the cupboard, muttering to himself.
He emerged, wiping his hands on his ridiculous shorts.
“All done.” He said, and then pointed behind him at the cupboard, “I fixed the hinges and the lock too.”
“Oh, why?” The Captain said, reaching up to put a four-pack of tinned tomatoes on a shelf in the cupboard.
“It was annoying me.” Robin shrugged.
“Oh.” The Captain said, quite thrown. Surely it had to be more than that? “That was nice of you. How do I repay you?” He asked simply.
“Well, I can certainly think of something you can do, if you’re up for it.”
It took a second for Robin’s words to sink in, but once they did, an uneasy feeling settled in the Captain’s stomach. He narrowed his eyes for a moment.
Because there it was. The number of times he’d heard a similar sentiment from Damian. He had moved across the country and yet here was a man leering at him in his own kitchen. He had no idea why he thought things would change so soon.
We’ve been here before. He thought. And you never learn. Then he gave Robin a quick smile. It would be more effort to send him away than to just go along with it.
“Right. Can we make this quick though?” He pointed to the stairs behind Robin, “I’ve got plans later.”
He didn’t have plans later, unless you counted trying to Facetime Joanie, which he hadn't even asked her about yet.
Robin just frowned at him quizzically, turning around to look up the stairs.
“Uhh. What d’ya mean?” Robin gave a small confused but amused laugh.
Now the Captain was puzzled too. With a frown, he stared at Robin, who held his gaze patiently.
“I was going to ask for a cup of tea or something.” Robin clarified, speaking slowly, “Or if you wanted to get a pint with me and my friends.”
The words hung in the air for a second. Robin squinted at him.
“Oh.”
“What did you think I meant?”
The Captain shook his head firmly.
“No, no, ignore me. Doesn’t matter. One cup of tea coming up. How do you take it?”
“Milk and 4 sugars, ta.”
The Captain’s eyes widened for a second. He shook his head in disgust and clicked the kettle on. The lights did not blow this time, thankfully.
He could feel Robin’s eyes on him as he waited for the kettle to boil. He unpacked his mother’s old tea pot from where it was still wrapped carefully in bubble wrap. Robin did not talk to him while the tea was stewing. The Captain carefully counted out the sugar in Robin’s mug - one from Joanie with an artistic kingfisher on it - and waited. The silence was awkward, no doubt about that, but he would much rather stay like this than try to break it with small talk.
He poured the tea and held it out to Robin, who was leaning against the cupboard under the stairs.
“You’re a star, thanks.” He grabbed the mug gratefully and chugged it in one go. The Captain watched, alarmed.
“...Not a problem.” He murmured quietly.
Robin slammed the mug down on the kitchen table. The noise echoed around the room.
“Well!” Robin slapped his own leg playfully, “I better go!”
The Captain nodded.
“I best get back to...this.” He gestured around himself.
He followed Robin to the door. Just as the man was on the threshold of the house, he turned back.
“Hey, Captain?”
“Hmm?” He couldn't work out if he wanted to reject that name or not.
“Do you want to come to the pub with me and my friends later?” He asked, walking backwards down the pathway.
“Maybe another time.” The Captain lied easily, his hands now gripping the door tightly again, “Buh-bye now.”
He slammed it shut.
For a moment the Captain stood facing the front door, breathing deeply. He moved slowly to the kitchen table, sitting so he was facing the front door instead. He placed his head in his hands. Everything was too quiet, which he knew would be perfect most of the time, but ghastly right now, when the gravity of his current situation hit him.
He thought about his mother, about Damian, about his wasted years, and what might come next. He thought about how close he’d come to accidentally propositioning his next-door neighbour, despite being utterly disinterested in the man. It must have been the shorts, and the fact that the man was doing something nice for him without expecting anything weird in return.
For a while, he thought he might cry, but he didn’t. Instead he just stared robotically ahead, his hands cupped around his tea as it slipped from hot to lukewarm to stone cold.
As quick as he’d lost himself in this minor breakdown, he managed to partially shake himself out of it to make and eat a sandwich.
He washed up his plate slowly and left it to drain on the side.
He leant back against the sink and scrubbed his face with his hands. He cringed at his beard and stalked across the room to grab the radio and take it upstairs with him to the bathroom.
He shaved delicately and precisely. If he didn’t have grey hair and such obvious frown lines then shaving his beard would make him look ridiculously young. As he stared at himself in the mirror, he had the strangest urge to grow a moustache but he knew Joanie would mock him relentlessly, and he would look far too much like the army captain he used to be. A moustache would rather clash with his civies as well, he thought. He stroked his cheeks softly, and scraped the razor against his skin a few more times. He would stay clean shaven for the time being.
He walked to his new room, currently bare except for his new bedsheets, which were meticulously neat. He unpacked his white t-shirt and plaid pyjama bottoms and folded them onto the end of the bed.
He showered. He unpacked the rest of his clothes.
He made a vat of chilli - enough to feed an army, his mother would say - and sat at the kitchen table, watching it simmer for a long time. He ate in front of the TV and put the rest in sandwich bags in the freezer. He felt Joanie’s absence more than his mother’s. He sent her photos of each room in the house and waited for her reply while he logged into her Netflix account on his TV and watched Blue Planet II. Joanie sent him a photo of his nephew - a blur moving across the screen wearing one of those hooded towel ponchos that looked like a dinosaur. ‘Bath time :)’ she captioned it, then sent another message.
‘House looks fabulous. Can’t wait to see it soon!’
The Captain didn’t reply. He wasn’t about to disturb the first evening she had with her kids in weeks. Instead he washed up, and dried up, and packed everything back into its place in the cupboard.
He didn’t sleep for a long time that night. He spent what felt like hours staring at the ceiling replaying his misunderstanding with Robin earlier and what a disaster that would have been if the other man had actually understood what he was offering. He needed to restrain himself from making stupid mistakes like he was known to do, and getting attached to people who weren’t good for him. Just because he’d moved, it didn’t mean that there weren’t people in this village that would be equally bad for him, and might exploit his emotions like others had done before. Mainly he couldn’t stop thinking about how he couldn’t afford to mess this up. His heart clenched with worry. Best to stick to his original plan and keep to himself, and avoid all trouble.
He wasn’t lonely, he was just alone. He would be just fine here by himself. He repeated the sentiment until he believed it and then drifted off into an uneasy sleep.