Yes, Minister - Part Three
In which the Jim/Bernard slash actually becomes Jim/Bernard slash...
Rating: R18+ (or thereabouts)
Part Three
In the end it was Bernard who needed help getting to bed. He stumbled on the stairs; thankfully Hacker was there to steady him. They walked the rest of the way with their arms around each other like they’d just left Wembley Stadium, laughing at nothing in particular.
“What’s the matter, Bernard? You’ve had hardly anything to drink.”
“Only five scotches and a bottle of wine-then there was the port, of course.”
“Well, I did say hardly anything. You know, sometimes I wish it could be like this-just the two of us, and no Humphrey.” They stopped outside the door to Hacker’s room. “Now, where’s my key?”
Bernard leaned against the wall while the minister checked his pockets. “Have you tried your briefcase?”
“My briefcase is in the room.”
“With the key in it?”
“I don’t know,” Hacker confessed.
“Well, here’s mine.” Bernard produced it instantly. He may have been drunk but he was still better organised than a cabinet minister. “Come in and turn out your pockets.” Actually opening the door was a different matter, however. Bernard fumbled, trying to line up blurry key with blurry hole, until the minister came and opened it for him. Hacker was drunk too, but he had more practice.
Bernard went inside and Hacker followed, still patting his pockets. Without thinking about what he was doing, Bernard started patting his pockets, too.
“Might it have got into the lining, minister?”
“I don’t think so.”
Hacker emptied out his trouser pockets and shook his coat upside down, but the key was nowhere to be found.
“I didn’t give it to you, did I?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Bernard.
“I should have.” Hacker sighed. The reception desk was closed and he didn’t want to make a fuss by ringing the night bell. ‘Hacker locks himself out’-that wouldn’t look very good in the Sunday papers. “I don’t know what to do, Bernard.”
“Why not stay here? There are two beds.”
So there were. Hacker had been so busy looking for the key that he hadn’t noticed it was a twin room. “You don’t mind? I might snore.”
“You don’t,” said Bernard.
Hacker was about to ask why Bernard knew that, but then he remembered what happened on the train. “If you’re sure,” he said. “It would be embarrassing getting the caretaker involved.”
“So long as you don’t mind sharing with me,” said Bernard. He supposed it was the minister’s prerogative to send him looking for new lodgings, even if it was the minister who had lost his key.
“Why should I mind? It’s your room-besides which, I’m used to having you around. You know, I was telling Annie just the other day, it seems strange when you’re not there on weekends. I suppose the Civil Service does take over one’s life.”
The minister took the first shower. As he undressed, he could hear Bernard put the television on. He wondered if they were in time for the late news-not that he was likely to be on it. It had been a quiet week for the DAA, which made it all the more frustrating that he hadn’t been able to make any progress with his computers policy. But he would not think about that now-he didn’t really want his job to take over his life, even if he was sharing a room with his private secretary.
Hacker had a quick shower and dried off, thinking it was a good thing that the mirror had steamed up. He couldn’t brush his teeth because he hadn’t brought his toothbrush-or a razor, or a change of clothes. He tied the towel around his waist. He would have to sleep in his underpants if he didn’t want to look a complete mess on the train down tomorrow.
“Isn’t this fun,” Hacker declared as he left the bathroom. “Like being a boy again-that’s what Annie said, you know: don’t you boys get into any mischief. She said I sounded drunk, and that was at seven o’clock!”
Bernard didn’t reply. He was curled up on the bed, still fully clothed but fast asleep, with the TV playing in the background. He hadn’t even taken his shoes off.
“Bernard?” Hacker put his bundle of clothes down and touched Bernard’s shoulder. “Bernard, I’ve finished in the bathroom.”
Bernard’s only reply was a soft sleepy sound.
“Bernard,” Hacker said, louder, but Bernard still didn’t stir. Evidently he was out for the night, and all Hacker could do was try to make him more comfortable.
Bernard wasn’t big, but undressing a sleeping man in a three-piece suit was harder than it looked. He got Bernard’s shoes and tie off without difficulty, but he couldn’t believe Bernard didn’t wake up when he wrestled off his jacket and rolled him out of his waistcoat-Hacker nearly lost his towel in the process, but the sleeper slept on. Then he unbuckled Bernard’s belt, and hung it over a chair with his coat, but that was as far as he was prepared to go. Bernard would have to sleep in his clothes.
“Good night Bernard,” Hacker said and got into bed, ready for a few minutes of whatever the BBC saw fit to screen at midnight in Sheffield. He was about to doze off when he noticed Bernard shivering-of course, it was a cold night and he was only in shirt-sleeves, with nothing over him. So Hacker got out of bed again to look for a spare blanket. He couldn’t find one, so he tried to manoeuvre Bernard under the bedclothes. It would have been much easier if Bernard were awake, or if either of them were sober, but Bernard had been most obliging and he owed it to him to try. First Hacker rolled him to one side of the bed and untucked the blankets. Then he rolled him to the other side and dragged the bedding out from under him. It wasn’t easy but with a heave he managed it-and tumbled onto the bed.
Bernard opened his eyes to see Hacker lying on top of him in nothing but his underpants. “Minister?” he stammered. Bernard could feel the other man’s heart beating through the thin fabric that separated them. “It’s cold,” he observed, still stupid with sleep. But the minister was not cold; his body felt warm where it pressed against his.
“I know,” said Hacker, his breath coming hard thanks to his wrestling-match with the sheets-or the fact that he found himself in Bernard’s bed. “I was trying to tuck you in.”
“That’s very kind of you, minister.”
Hacker supposed he should get up, but he wasn’t sure that he could. He must have been drunker than he thought.
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” said Bernard.
“I wouldn’t worry about that-you saw me on the train this morning.”
“Yes, minister.” Bernard looked at him; it was hard to focus at that distance. “But I didn’t mind, minister.”
“Are you sure you can’t call me Jim, not even when we’re in bed together?”
The joke was out before he could stop himself. He supposed Bernard would never speak to him again-but Bernard was speaking. “I’d rather call you minister, minister.” It was almost the first thing Bernard had said to him; perhaps Bernard was talking in his sleep as he recalled it now. Perhaps they were both asleep, for something extraordinary happened next: the distance between them disappeared and Bernard kissed him-or did he kiss Bernard? It was impossible to say and impossible to stop. It was strange how touch could transform a man. He might not give sex a moment’s thought, but the instant he felt lips on lips-anybody’s lips-he could think of nothing else. And so Jim Hacker, 54, more interested in the weekend papers than a weekend in Paris, became a tangle of lusty limbs. He raked his hands through Bernard’s hair, Bernard’s arms were around his neck, and their lips pressed fiercely while their pricks hardened against each other-good God, what was he doing? Hacker drew back. He wasn’t drunk enough to do this and he oughtn’t dream it either, but when he opened his eyes Bernard was still there, looking at him like he hoped he’d come back, and there he was, sitting up like a flagpole so he could hardly pretend he’d been an unwilling participant. Cripes, not since he was a fourteen-year-old school boy had he done anything like that.
Bernard pushed the hair out of his eyes. “Minister, what just happened?” He was panting a little-in passion or panic, Hacker couldn’t tell, but it wasn’t hard to imagine the fate of a civil servant sullied by such a scandal.
“I think we should have got the train,” he answered.
“Forgive me, minister.” Bernard closed his eyes for a moment. “But you did want to stay.”
“Yes. I did.”
After that they disentangled themselves, Bernard had a shower and Hacker got back in his own bed. But he could not stop thinking about what had just happened-the lost key, the bedclothes, the mad unthinking kiss. How much of it had Bernard wanted? How much of it had he planned-Bachelor Bernard, as he’d pointed out that evening? It was not difficult to make up disgusting stories; he didn’t put it past Bernard to steal his key-after all, he had Sir Humphrey for his teacher! But he knew he was being unkind, transferring his own guilt onto Bernard, who was probably as shocked as he was. After all, how could he have planned it? None of it would have happened if he hadn’t decided to stay in Sheffield.
Hacker heard the bathroom door and squeezed his eyes shut, feigning sleep. Bernard got into bed and turned off the light. The two men lay still for some time. Neither of them made a sound but the whole room hummed with tension. The day had been a battle to stay awake, but Hacker was sure he wouldn’t sleep that night. He knew he shouldn’t blame Bernard, but he could not stop thinking; he could still feel Bernard’s touch inflaming his shoulders and neck.
Half an hour passed-maybe more, maybe less. Then Bernard let out a breath like he’d been holding it the whole time. He was clearly not asleep either. Hacker couldn’t let it go on-both of them, in purgatory. So he reached out-the beds were close enough to touch-and found Bernard’s hand. He wasn’t sure what that touch meant or whom he meant to comfort, and at first Bernard did not respond; he only trembled slightly, so Hacker wondered if he was asleep after all. But then Bernard’s hand closed around his with a desperate grip. Somewhere in the minister’s nether-regions, that squeeze stirred memories of their earlier embrace, and he felt his cheeks heat with shame. But his voice was perfectly steady as he said, “Good night, Bernard.”
Bernard whispered, “Good night, minister.”
*
When Hacker got the hotel staff to let him into his room the next morning, he found the key in his briefcase, exactly where he had left it. He also found the minutes from the meeting with Miss Eagles-another headache to add to last night’s legacy.
He hurried back to Bernard’s room, any awkwardness forgotten. “I just found this.”
“I hoped you would.”
“But what do I do?” Hacker skimmed through the report. “Three years’ supply of typewriter ribbons! Humphrey’s set me up.”
Bernard didn’t know why the minister looked so surprised. “Well, it’s not my place to advise you, minister, but if I were to advise you, I would advise you to watch what you sign. Universal is sending the contract to your office and Sir Humphrey will try to slip it under your nose.”
“Yes, but then what do I do?”
“Refuse to sign it.”
“Refuse? But we’ll need some of this, won’t we?” He flapped the document. “Even if I have my way, computers won’t replace paperwork completely. Not immediately.”
“No, minister.” Bernard did not think computers would ever replace paper, at least not in the Civil Service. “But we’ve always ordered supplies on a needs-basis. There’s no reason why we can’t continue. Sir Humphrey’s only set up a long-term contract now so he can-”
“Oh, I know what he’s doing. Imagine the headlines: ‘Hacker wastes public money’, ‘£250,000 ribbons for new computers’… I wouldn’t look modern and progressive, I’d look like an idiot and a spendthrift! Thank God I found out in time. Thank you, Bernard.”
*
The return journey seemed longer than the train up, though this time there were no delays. Hacker took out his reading and Bernard took out his speech, but neither of them could concentrate. Hacker read the same paragraph six times without registering a word. Bernard’s pen stalled mid-comma. Their minds recurred to the same moment, but neither of them spoke of it. Bernard supposed they would never speak of that night in Sheffield. For however long they worked together, they would carry on like nothing had happened-unless Hacker found himself a new private secretary and saved himself the bother.
The idea saddened Bernard. In past weeks and particularly in the last few days, he had found himself growing closer to the minister. Hacker trusted him and, more and more, he treated him like a friend. Were it not for that new-found closeness they would never have wound up in each other’s arms-but the fact that they had would tear them apart. To Bernard it seemed inevitable: they had enjoyed themselves in Sheffield, in the pub, in the restaurant, but how could they enjoy themselves again when neither of them could forget what happened next? Bernard’s heart plummeted as the train ploughed on. He didn’t know how he would endure another two hours together-yet he wished the journey would never end. He was acutely aware of Hacker beside him, even the smell of him, faint and pleasant without his usual scent, and for a moment he was back in Sheffield, with the minister leaning over him... The memory ached. It should not have happened, it could not happen again, but if that night was going to change everything, he wished it could have lasted a little longer.
The sun climbed in a clear sky as the train rolled through the midlands. Fields gave way to towns and fields again. Then they rounded a bend and Bernard felt Hacker’s shoulder against his shoulder, put there by the banked track. Bernard closed his eyes and wished the bend would go on forever-it was easy to pretend it was not gravity but some other force that brought them together. But then the track straightened out and Hacker was still there. Bernard’s heart skipped. He didn’t dare look to see if Hacker was awake or if he had simply fallen asleep again; he didn’t dare move in case he disturbed him. So Bernard sat perfectly still until his palms grew sweaty and he was sure Hacker must be able to hear his heart beat. At last he could bear it no longer. He opened his eyes and saw the minister looking calmly out the window while they sat together, shoulder to shoulder.
It couldn’t be accidental, could it? Bernard had to know. He held his breath and slid one hand slowly so it was only an inch from Hacker’s. It was such a slight movement that the minister might not even notice it; Bernard didn’t know why his heart was pounding. An eternity seemed to pass before anything happened. Then Hacker replied with a little finger placed lightly against his. Bernard froze. He supposed he should laugh out loud-grown men linking pinkies!-but the catch in Hacker’s breath told Bernard what that touch meant.
They travelled like that all the way to Leicester, unable to say a word lest they felt compelled to explain why they were sitting so close; unable to move, as if they carried something between them so secret and fragile that the lightest breath could destroy it like a house of cards. They could continue only as long as they didn’t admit what they were doing-and when another passenger appeared they snapped apart. The spell was broken. Hacker took up his report and Bernard took up his pen but, even after they parted in London, Bernard imagined he could still feel the minister’s shoulder, warm against his.