Too Much Rain, Chapter 135
Here is the next chapter: a major skeleton falls out of the closet. (No pun intended).
THIS IS FICTION, but I hope you enjoy reading it anyway.
Chapter 135
“El Nido”
February 26 - March 4, 2000
A Serious Talk
(Continued)
Paul listened to the banging pots and the slamming cabinet doors for at least five minutes before he couldn’t stand it any longer. What had they fought about? It was ridiculous! He had been making a mental list, and John resented it. How stupid of a thing was that to fight about? Paul allowed the feelings of outrage and resentment to course through him. He knew that once he had exorcised those feelings his natural mental strength would kick in and he would have more balanced reflections. Sure enough, after another 5 minutes, Paul was piecing it all together. John had decided to ask him about his need to be alone in a way that sounded offhand when in fact it was a very serious sore spot for John. From Paul’s perspective, John’s approach was bait and switch. Paul could be angry about how that played out, or he could ask himself how hard had it been for John to raise the subject at all? Paul didn’t like to think he was the sort of person others had to tiptoe around, but what if that is how it felt to John? A subject so sore that when raised it could ruin the rest of their vacation - John must really have been bothered about it to take that risk.
With his balance thus restored, Paul got up, took a deep breath (as if he were off to skirmish with a dragon), and headed towards the angry kitchen sounds. When he stepped inside the house and saw John in the kitchen, banging around with great purpose and an affronted scowl on his face, Paul first felt amused affection, and then sympathy. He approached the island that separated the kitchen area from the living space, stopping a few feet from it.
“Johnny...” he said, in a conciliatory tone.
John stopped his busy hands, and looked up, glaring at him. “What?”
Paul was a little afraid of that look. A little. But he knew John’s rage was really only skin deep. It was his go-to tactic to protect himself from being hurt. Paul wasn’t sure where to put his hands, so he kind of bunched them up in two nervous fists. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
John heard this, but his scowl didn’t waver. “You meant it though, so why not say it?”
Paul was holding on to his exasperation with all his might. “There’s what I meant, and then there's what I said. I said it wrong.” He felt very exposed standing there in front of John’s blazing disapproval.
“So what did you ‘mean’?” John asked. He was still angry, but now also a little sarcastic.
“I’m the kind of person who needs time alone, if only just in my head. It isn’t like I am specifically excluding you. I guess it’s like a phone that needs to be charged, and when it is charging you shouldn’t use it.” Paul looked a little frustrated by his inability to explain himself more clearly.
John, of course, had always known this about Paul, but it had also always bothered him. He felt his anger loosing its grip somewhat. “I don’t want you to do that when I’m sitting there with you. I want you to be on the same page with me when we’re alone together.” John said this in a not-very-graceful way, his face in a kind of pout as he did so.
Paul sighed and moved closer, until he was right across the kitchen island from John. He said, “I can’t always help doing it. You can just snap me out of it if you want - shake my arm or something. Isn’t that what you usually do?”
John sighed heavily. “I guess I resent having to ‘snap you out of it.’ I guess maybe I want you to want to be with me like I want to be with you.”
“You’re gonna have to meet me halfway on this one, John. I am whom I am, and at some point you are going to have to accept the things about me that you don’t like. I’m never going to be perfect, you know. You shouldn’t expect it of me.”
Paul’s voice was so endearingly beseeching that John softened. The anger and irritation had left his face. He said, sweetly and sincerely, “You’re so very nearly perfect that I guess I expect more of you than I do anyone else. I’ve always said that about you, you know.”
Paul smiled, relieved that the dragon had gone back in his cave. He said, “Hmmm. That ‘perfection’ thing. I’ve been telling you since we met that you’re wrong. I’m not perfect; I’m full of holes like everyone else. Maybe I just do a better job of hiding them.”
John’s expression reflected surrender to Paul’s calming words. “I think I’m getting worried about going back to London. That’s part of it too.”
“What worries you about it?” Paul asked gently.
“I don’t want to leave here. But I know if we stayed here always it wouldn’t be special. But then again I hate leaving it behind and going back to all the stresses.”
Paul said, “I know what you mean. It’s so exciting when you arrive, and it seems like you have forever ahead of you. But next thing you know, it’s over. Vacations are almost painful because they always end.”
John chuckled. “I want to come here more often. Let’s come back in six months or so.”
Paul considered that. His practical mind was already thumbing through what other commitments the two of them had in six months. But then he stopped himself. Instead he said, “I’m sure we can find a block of time sometime in the next 6 to 8 months to come back here.”
Somehow this made John feel much better. He said, somewhat sheepishly, “I’ve been making dinner.”
“Yes, I heard,” Paul said, making a funny face.
John laughed. “So, why don’t you set the table, asshole. It’ll be ready in about 10 minutes.”
*****
The Next Day
The makeup sex had been great the night before, and John was in a much better mood as he lay under the umbrella out by the pool. Paul was doing his daily morning laps. That man has enough energy to power a small country, John thought. Sometimes John grew exhausted just watching him. Far from feeling bruised about the previous evening’s painful discussion, John felt invigorated. There were so many things he wanted to talk to Paul about - things that he never could manage to bring up because it never seemed to be ‘the right time.’ John realized that this place and time was perfect for these probing questions. So he waited patiently while Paul finished his 30 minutes of laps.
Paul felt refreshed, too. He had managed to face down his own fear of exposure sufficiently to communicate effectively with John on a difficult subject, and then they’d had that amazing sex afterwards. And this morning, John was all mellow and cuddly, like a fluffy cat. Paul smiled warmly and playfully at John as he strode across the pool patio to get his towel, which he used to wipe himself off. He was nude, and John was lifting his eyebrows up and down in appreciation. Paul wrapped the towel around his waist, and sat down in the chair next to John’s.
“I’ve been enjoying the view,” John said apropos of nothing.
Paul looked up and saw the green canopy, and the blue sky, and the ocean on the horizon. “Yes, it’s stunning,” he agreed.
“I wasn’t talking about that view,” John said naughtily. He was delighted when Paul actually blushed a little. He reached over and grabbed Paul’s hand and squeezed it. Paul chuckled and squeezed John’s hand in return. John waited a few more moments, until Paul was settled in his chair with his head back, eyes closed, sun worshipping. Then John said, “You know, I’ve wanted to ask a tricky question. Do you trust me? I know you’ve had issues with that in the past, and wonder where you are with it.”
Paul heard the words and thought, Damn! Can’t I just have a quiet moment with him without talking about painful shit? Outwardly, however, this turmoil did not show. He tried to think of something to say - some bromide - that would reassure John and close the subject. He really, really didn’t want to have that discussion now. If ever. He turned his head - which was leaning back against the chair rest - and smiled at John. He said, “That’s a pretty heavy subject for so early in the morning.”
John said, “I actually think it’s better to talk about such things in the morning. We’re not tired, we’re in a good mood...”
“We won’t be for long if you keep raising these issues.” The words were out before Paul could stop them. He actually surprised himself as he heard the words coming out of his mouth.
John wasn’t going to back away, however. He’d learned the night before that he could raise touchy issues, and he could get Paul to speak openly with him, so he had no desire to back off now. “Oh, I think we can manage to have a civilized discussion, don’t you?”
Paul was surprised that John had checkmated him. He thought his ominous comment would have scared John away from the discussion. But John looked very much in control and at peace with the situation, which was a new one on Paul. He said, reluctantly, (because he couldn’t think of a way out of it), “I trust you, of course I do.”
“Do you really?” John asked. John's voice sounded clinical rather than emotional. Paul could tell that John didn’t believe his glib answer. “Be honest, Paul. It goes deeper than that, doesn’t it?” John added, probing.
“Intellectually, I know I can trust you,” Paul clarified.
“But emotionally?” John prompted.
“Emotionally - well, I struggle with that a bit,” Paul admitted.
“That’s what I want to talk about!” John said excitedly. “If you’re having those feelings, I think you should tell me about them. Maybe I can help you make sense of them.”
Inwardly, Paul groaned. This was the last thing he wanted to do right now. But he knew that he could not get out of this conversation without incurring John’s rage. Maybe that is where he should start, if John really wanted to know the truth. “I never know if I can really tell you my true feelings,” he said honestly. “I never know if you just want to hear what you want to hear, and if I say something else you might fly into a rage. I don’t want to make you angry or unhappy.”
John considered this disclosure. In truth, he knew that he was reactive and fearful of hearing anything less than what he wanted to hear. He figured he’d have to control this fear in order to have this conversation with Paul, because apparently Paul had things to tell him that he, John, would not like to hear. He said, “Fair enough. I do that, I know. But I’ll try not to if you tell me now.”
Paul was not trustful of this offer. John might manage to contain his hurt and anger for now, but it would definitely come out later - when Paul least expected it no doubt! And then he’d be sorry he opened his big mouth. And it didn’t help that Paul didn’t say things well when he was upset or talking about his darker emotions. But John was staring at him - willing him to talk. Paul tried to revert to the person who showed up for his therapy sessions with Marc. He turned his face back to the horizon, laid his head back against the chair rest, closed his eyes, and began to speak.
“I’ve been working on this with my therapist. I haven’t gotten very far yet.”
John was intrigued. Paul never spoke about his therapy. “How far have you gotten?” He asked, deeply curious.
Paul sighed. He felt like he was in a minefield, and anywhere he stepped might cause an explosion. “Well, we’ve talked about it generally, but not in too much depth.”
“Is it me you don’t trust? Or is it just a general fear of the future and what might happen with us? Is there something I’m doing to make it worse?” John couldn’t stop the questions.
Paul thought about lying to John, and taking the easier ‘out’ John had just presented him with. But for whatever reason, he didn’t. “I admit that I’m not the most trusting person. I really have to know people a long time before I can trust them, and then I still hold myself back.” Paul paused, desperately searching for the right words that wouldn’t come. He’d just have to say it in his own clumsy way. He turned to John again. “But, well, I do worry about whether I can trust you. I mean, I know a lot of the stuff was in the past, and I ought to let it go, but it’s hard.”
John heard the soft words. They had been projected out into the air between the two men. He didn’t feel fear. Miraculously, he felt strong. He felt empowered. Paul was telling him the truth, and it wasn’t as horrible as he had feared. “The ‘stuff.’ Let’s talk about the ‘stuff’ then. If it is festering inside you, take it out, and we’ll clear it up if we can.” John’s voice was gentle - cajoling.
Paul was shaking his head ‘no’. He really didn’t want to talk about those open sores. He had only just recently been able to peer into aspects of the past and look at them full on, without whitewashing and justifying and rationalizing what he saw. Now that he could see the naked pain he had been in as a teenager it was embarrassing to him that he had felt so vulnerable and dejected. He never liked to see himself as the rejected one; in his conscious memories he always portrayed himself as the strong, silent type, patiently enduring the slings and arrows of John’s outrageous whims. This newer insight of himself as a weak, lonely, and rejected boy had shaken him to his roots.
John saw the reactive head shaking, and knew that this was not going to be easy. Paul was not going to want to talk about such painful memories. He never liked to do that. He liked to swathe his memories in gauze and golden glitter - so much easier to tolerate that way. But if Paul never confronted the real memories, how could the two of them ever get past the damage those memories caused? “Paul, don’t clam up on me. You know how I hate that. It’s just me - John. You can tell me. We both want the same thing - we want to be happy together for what’s left of our lives.”
Paul said, “You already know the things that hurt me, John. I’m surprised you have to ask.”
John looked ashamed. “Nigel, and that Brad thing. I know. I really hurt you with those, didn’t I?”
Paul nodded, but not with as much conviction as John would have expected. Paul said, “If I’m going to let myself love somebody, I want to believe that they want to be with me. Life’s too short to spend even one minute in the company of someone who’d rather be with someone else.”
“That’s kind of a bloodless way to look at it, don’t you think?” John responded. “You don’t get jealous, or angry. You don’t remonstrate with me. You always act as though you don't care that I was off having sex with someone else.”
“We both did that, John,” Paul said defensively. “Back in the '60s. We were always sleeping with other people. Women.” Paul had corrected himself with that comment.
John said, “But you wanted to, or needed to, and I would have been much happier just to be with you.”
“You’re the one who was always going off with other people, John. Maybe I slept with a lot of women, but I didn’t share my work and my life with them. For me it was good company and fun sex for a few hours. For you, it was like you would change your whole life to accommodate these people who seemed to pop up out of nowhere. And then you’d reject the life that you and I had shared just days before.” Paul’s tone had become resentful. Once he had started his download, he couldn't seem to stop it.
John’s mouth was a perfect ‘oh’ as he heard this prickly download. “What are you talking about?” He asked. He was truly mystified (even though he probably shouldn’t have been).
Paul couldn’t talk about Stu, and he couldn’t talk about Brian. Those were too humiliating. It was easier to talk about one of the later betrayals. “Yoko.” It was a one-word answer.
John couldn’t help himself - he sneered. “Oh for chrissakes Paul, Yoko? I thought for sure we’d been all through that a thousand times. I wanted you, you wanted a woman; I decided that Yoko might as well be the one for me since I couldn’t have you, you got married and had hundreds of babies, and off we went. Anyway, you keep saying you weren’t jealous of me sleeping with women. Was that a lie?”
Paul said, “You misunderstand me.”
“That’s easy enough, given how maddeningly cryptic you are,” John snapped.
“You think I was jealous about sex. I was not jealous about sex. I was jealous about your friendship, and our creative partnership.” The words came out in a flood. Paul didn’t realize he had just admitted to ‘jealousy.’ He didn’t like to think of himself as a jealous man.
John sat back. He had a flash of insight. To John, having Paul physically - in his life, and as his lover - was the most important thing. But to Paul, their friendship and their conjoined muses were more important. John saw in that moment that all those years of trying to make Paul jealous with sex was wasted effort. Nothing would touch Paul if it didn’t involve their intimate friendship. He felt compassion for Paul in that moment. He lowered his voice to a gentler tone. “When you told me you were going to get married and live a straight life, what did you expect me to do? I had to fill the space you abdicated with someone who was willing to be everything to me, because that is what I need. I need a person to be everything to me.”
Paul's face was turned towards John as he spoke. He realized in that moment that he couldn’t make his point properly if he didn’t explain the earlier betrayals - when John had gone searching for newer, more interesting people and cut him out. Well, Paul admitted, he and John weren’t lovers when the Stu thing happened. But he had been John’s best and closest friend and creative partner, and suddenly he was rejected in favor of Stu. Paul had suspected that John had gone to Stu for sex, and, receiving it, had made Stu his ‘everything.’ This theory was supported by the fact that he and John didn’t become lovers until after the Stu thing ended for good, and then John had repeated his possessive friendship with Paul as if he were just continuing the one he had just lost with Stu. Paul decided that maybe he shouldn’t be the only one on the hot seat:
“Is that what Stu was to you? Your ‘everything’?” The angry question cut through the morning peacefulness like a flashing knife.
John was taken aback. “Stu? What the fuck has he got to do with Yoko?”
“Everything! It’s just another example of how you find it so easy to blot me out of your life when you grow bored with me.” Paul’s voice was resentful, and charged with a strong underlying emotion that worried John.
“What are you suggesting?” John's tone was almost a growl.
“That you and Stu were lovers,” Paul said flatly. He stared at John, daring him to deny it.
“I’ve told you we weren’t,” John said. The ground seemed to have fallen away from under him.
“I think you’re lying to me. I’ve always thought you lied about that to me.”
John was dumbfounded. He had no idea that Paul felt so strongly about this. Should he tell him the truth? It might be hurtful, but not as hurtful as what Paul already thought. He took a deep breath and jumped in with both feet. “Okay, since you want to know the truth, I’ll tell you the truth. I did want to have an affair with Stu. I was attracted to him sexually. You were too young, too innocent about such things. You would never have agreed to have sex with me, and your father would have killed me if he found out, which he probably would have because you were so slavishly devoted to him. But Stu was older, more of a bohemian. I thought while we were living in that apartment together we would become lovers, you know, and have this kind of arty salon. But Stu wasn’t interested in sex with me, and I didn’t have the courage to raise the issue directly. My subtle attempts fell flat. So it was this unspoken desire thing that I struggled with.” There. He’d said it.
Paul didn’t know why, but now he felt worse. Now he knew for sure that he was John’s second choice, after Stu. John didn’t even think about having sex with him until Stu was lost to him for good. He gulped. And I was the one - the ‘easy’ one - that gave in to John’s advances. Seen in this light, he felt much smaller and less worthy than he had just moments before. Paul had known nothing good would come of raking up the past. That is why he hadn’t wanted to do it! Now here he was - he was in possession of the ‘truth’ whether he wanted it or not. And the truth was far more painful than he’d imagined. He felt all his drawbridges going up, as he raced to protect himself again behind the high walls of his fortress. He said, with as much sangfroid as he could muster (although the bitterness came through all the same), “I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you with Stu; I wonder what would have happened to the band if it had.”
“Oh for... Paul! Don’t be stupid. I don’t regret that it never happened with Stu. I don’t give it a moment's thought. I was struggling with my sexual identity at the time, and he was so liberated and gifted and beautiful...”
Great, Paul thought, this is just lovely. “John. Please stop. You made your point. And you also made my point. You became Stu’s best friend because you wanted him for your lover. And my mere friendship didn’t matter to you anymore once you had Stu’s. Do you have any idea how many times you’ve done that to me?”
“That isn’t fair. You’re the one who always said that our sexual relationship should be open. I was just following the rules you had set up.”
“I set up the rules?” Paul was practically stuttering now.
“You made it clear to me that you weren’t giving up women, so - yes - it was your rule.” John’s chin had risen stubbornly as he said this. “And you had all sorts of rules about it that I didn’t like, but I lived with ‘em.”
Paul sat back in his chair and clammed up. It was true that he had rimmed their sexual relationship ‘round with rules. He had done it to protect himself, yes, but there was no doubt that John had been hurt by it. He had felt very guilty about that for years. He said in a low voice, “I see your point. That was wrong of me.”
John’s anger, which had flared, died down again. He hadn’t wanted this to devolve into Paul feeling bad again. He had wanted to try to communicate to Paul that he could be trusted. He was doing a fuck all job of it. He changed tack. “Pud, I didn’t want this to become a tit for tat thing. I just wanted to talk with you about why you don’t trust me, and maybe we could make it better, not worse.”
Paul felt beaten up and exhausted now. The cheerful morning had clouded over, figuratively if not literally. He was willing to do or say almost anything to put an end to this agony. “I told you the most important thing right at the start - intellectually, I know I can trust you. I have doubts, but I am able to talk myself out of them. I’m here with you, aren’t I? I’m wearing your ring. I’m hoping for the best. What else do you want from me?”
When put like that, John wasn’t sure what he wanted. But he knew this much - whatever it was that he wanted, he wasn’t going to get it today. “I can see that we’ve beaten this dead horse too long. Let’s just put it aside for now. But I hope you will think about what I said. I don’t want you to even have doubts about me. I don’t want you in a place where you have to talk yourself into trusting me. I want it to be natural, freely given, and instinctive. Will you think about that? Will you work on that with your therapist?”
Finally, a way out of this labyrinth! Paul said, “Yes, I will. Of course I will.”
And John had to satisfy himself with that. But he did know a few things now that he didn’t know before: Paul had been extremely jealous and hurt by his friendship with Stu, so much so that he had carried that hurt with him all these decades. And somehow the ‘Stu Thing’ was the main trigger for all of Paul’s feelings of rejection and distrust. John sincerely had not understood before how deep that injury went. He had to think of a way to soothe that sore spot if he ever were to gain Paul’s full, open trust.
*****
Departure
John had let sleeping dogs lie for the rest of the final week. Paul seemed relieved not to have to deal with such stressful conversations, and did his best to act as though they had never happened. This wasn’t exactly what John had hoped for, but at least now he had hold of the end of a thread, and he could start unraveling from there. He was sure that Fiona would have some good ideas. He also wondered if Paul would live up to his word and talk about this issue in his therapy. In truth, John often wished he could be a fly on the wall during one of Paul’s therapy sessions to see and hear what was going on.
Paul was lumping the luggage out of the house and into the boot of the jeep. The jeep’s engine was running, and was causing Paul anxiety. He didn’t like transitions. He wanted to move as quickly as possible from one thing to the other, so he couldn’t regret the old, and he could move on immediately to the new.
*****
Cavendish
It was late evening when John and Paul walked through the front door at Cavendish. John was actually relieved to get home, despite his mournfulness about leaving at the beginning of their travels. Paul, as usual, was bustling about, moving their de minimis luggage upstairs, and talking to himself as he did so. John had to smile. His own little busy bee. Paul had been very thoughtful on the trip back. He had talked to John without being distracted, and only put on his earphones when John had drifted off to sleep. John could tell that Paul was trying very hard to be ‘present’, and he appreciated it. But he also felt a little guilty about what he’d put Paul through to get to this point.
During their argument the week before, Paul had said something interesting that - at the time - John had glossed over. But later the words came back to John, and they had been playing in his head off and on for days:
“I never know if I can really tell you my true feelings. I never know if you just want to hear what you want to hear, and if I say something else you might fly into a rage...”
Those words stuck because John knew they were painfully accurate. How many times had he begged Paul to tell him what he was feeling, and then had a breakdown when he actually heard it? Truthfully, more times than John could possibly remember. Paul, however, seemed to remember every single time it happened. In a way, John realized, he had put Paul in a double bind: he was damned if he didn’t tell John his feelings, and he was damned if he did. From Paul’s point of view, John thought, it was safer to not say anything, based on the old world adage, ‘Least said, soonest mended.’ In quiet moments, when thinking to himself and there was nothing immediately at stake, John could see that this was a very unhealthy cycle. Not for the first time in a long time did he wish they could have therapy together. But the time they had tried had ended in disaster. He doubted Paul would ever give that a go again. He would have to talk with Fiona about that. He thought of Fiona as his safety valve. When all the tension built up in him, she would turn the faucet and it would all come pouring out. Two whole months without his safety valve was a very long time. No wonder he was frazzled!
Paul, meanwhile, was having similar (although mirror opposite) reflections. I shouldn’t have closed up like that when John broached those subjects. Marc is always on me about that. I only end up talking about it anyway, so why make it so difficult? He found himself, surprisingly, looking forward to seeing his therapist again. This not only surprised him, but it alarmed him a little. He didn’t like to think of himself as someone who relied on therapy. Still, the urge to unload all of the thoughts that had filled his head after his confrontations with John was very strong. What could he have done differently to avoid snapping at John? Maybe Marc would have some ideas...
*****
The Next Evening
Cavendish
The family - or that part of it living in London - came to dinner the day after John and Paul returned from Costa Rica. Thus it was Stella and her husband Alistair with baby Arthur, and Mary with her boyfriend, a real estate investor named Charles, who made up the party.
Stella had been dating Charles (called ‘Chas’) for some time, but the magic was beginning to fade from the relationship. He had not been happy when he was asked to sign a non-disclosure agreement when they had begun to date in earnest. But Stella was incredibly protective of her father, and made it clear from day one that in her family no one told tales out of school. It wasn’t that Chas wanted to gossip about Stella’s father; it was just that he found it insulting to have to sign an agreement saying he wouldn’t. After that, their relationship had begun to degrade, what with Chas’s simmering resentment and moping, and Stella’s impatience with the childishness of it all. Anyway, when they went out together, such as on this night, they made every effort to look as though things were fine, and even Mary didn’t see the cracks that had begun to form in her sister’s relationship.
Mary had issues of her own with Alistair. He hadn’t been working. He called himself a producer and director, but as of yet his accomplishments were few. Her father kept throwing him little jobs, but he didn’t seem to excel at any of them. He was a good father to their son, however, and a loving husband. She told herself repeatedly that she had been spoiled growing up in a household where her father was active in the family, active at his work, and who still maintained a healthy and sexy relationship with his wife (not to mention John, too.) To top it off he was funny, adorable and good-looking. Her father was so multi-talented and great at juggling and compartmentalizing that somehow every guy she had met since she had started dating always somehow let her down in some strategic way. Knowing this, Mary pushed the feelings about Alistair’s lack of real ambition to the back of her mind. She had a small family now, and hoped to have more children. Consequently, she too was showing a happy face to her family. Stella didn’t notice anything wrong either, despite the closeness between the sisters.
Most of the evening Mary and Stella took turns trying to talk their father and John into telling them where they had gone for two months. Their differing styles were thrown into bas-relief by their attempts.
“You both have such wonderful tans,” Mary said sweetly to John as she was helping him prepare the meal. “Did you go to the Mediterranean or the Caribbean?”
“Caribbean,” John said absent-mindedly. “Hey, can you get the ghee out of the fridge for me?”
“We used to holiday in the Caribbean,” Mary continued, after she brought the ghee over to John’s workspace. “I think I’ve been to the Bahamas, Jamaica and Bermuda. Did you go to one of those?”
“No,” John answered pleasantly. “Can you dish out that casserole into the serving dish please?”
Eventually Mary gave up.
But Stella was giving it a go in the sitting room. “So Dad - where did you and John steal off to?” She asked bluntly.
“We didn’t actually ‘steal off,’ Stella. It was planned for weeks.” Paul knew where Stella was going with this, and he was going to try to head her off at the pass.
“You’re so literal, Daddy. Mum always said so,” Stella remarked.
“John says so too,” Paul said, looking completely unbothered by this critique as he studied the remote control in order to find some football on TV.
Stella sighed heavily. “What’s the big secret? Why can’t you tell us where you went?” Stella was grumbling now.
Paul laughed, and reached over to pinch Stella’s nose. “You’re such a nosy bunny,” he said cheerfully.
*****
THIS IS FICTION, but I hope you enjoy reading it anyway.
Chapter 135
“El Nido”
February 26 - March 4, 2000
A Serious Talk
(Continued)
Paul listened to the banging pots and the slamming cabinet doors for at least five minutes before he couldn’t stand it any longer. What had they fought about? It was ridiculous! He had been making a mental list, and John resented it. How stupid of a thing was that to fight about? Paul allowed the feelings of outrage and resentment to course through him. He knew that once he had exorcised those feelings his natural mental strength would kick in and he would have more balanced reflections. Sure enough, after another 5 minutes, Paul was piecing it all together. John had decided to ask him about his need to be alone in a way that sounded offhand when in fact it was a very serious sore spot for John. From Paul’s perspective, John’s approach was bait and switch. Paul could be angry about how that played out, or he could ask himself how hard had it been for John to raise the subject at all? Paul didn’t like to think he was the sort of person others had to tiptoe around, but what if that is how it felt to John? A subject so sore that when raised it could ruin the rest of their vacation - John must really have been bothered about it to take that risk.
With his balance thus restored, Paul got up, took a deep breath (as if he were off to skirmish with a dragon), and headed towards the angry kitchen sounds. When he stepped inside the house and saw John in the kitchen, banging around with great purpose and an affronted scowl on his face, Paul first felt amused affection, and then sympathy. He approached the island that separated the kitchen area from the living space, stopping a few feet from it.
“Johnny...” he said, in a conciliatory tone.
John stopped his busy hands, and looked up, glaring at him. “What?”
Paul was a little afraid of that look. A little. But he knew John’s rage was really only skin deep. It was his go-to tactic to protect himself from being hurt. Paul wasn’t sure where to put his hands, so he kind of bunched them up in two nervous fists. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
John heard this, but his scowl didn’t waver. “You meant it though, so why not say it?”
Paul was holding on to his exasperation with all his might. “There’s what I meant, and then there's what I said. I said it wrong.” He felt very exposed standing there in front of John’s blazing disapproval.
“So what did you ‘mean’?” John asked. He was still angry, but now also a little sarcastic.
“I’m the kind of person who needs time alone, if only just in my head. It isn’t like I am specifically excluding you. I guess it’s like a phone that needs to be charged, and when it is charging you shouldn’t use it.” Paul looked a little frustrated by his inability to explain himself more clearly.
John, of course, had always known this about Paul, but it had also always bothered him. He felt his anger loosing its grip somewhat. “I don’t want you to do that when I’m sitting there with you. I want you to be on the same page with me when we’re alone together.” John said this in a not-very-graceful way, his face in a kind of pout as he did so.
Paul sighed and moved closer, until he was right across the kitchen island from John. He said, “I can’t always help doing it. You can just snap me out of it if you want - shake my arm or something. Isn’t that what you usually do?”
John sighed heavily. “I guess I resent having to ‘snap you out of it.’ I guess maybe I want you to want to be with me like I want to be with you.”
“You’re gonna have to meet me halfway on this one, John. I am whom I am, and at some point you are going to have to accept the things about me that you don’t like. I’m never going to be perfect, you know. You shouldn’t expect it of me.”
Paul’s voice was so endearingly beseeching that John softened. The anger and irritation had left his face. He said, sweetly and sincerely, “You’re so very nearly perfect that I guess I expect more of you than I do anyone else. I’ve always said that about you, you know.”
Paul smiled, relieved that the dragon had gone back in his cave. He said, “Hmmm. That ‘perfection’ thing. I’ve been telling you since we met that you’re wrong. I’m not perfect; I’m full of holes like everyone else. Maybe I just do a better job of hiding them.”
John’s expression reflected surrender to Paul’s calming words. “I think I’m getting worried about going back to London. That’s part of it too.”
“What worries you about it?” Paul asked gently.
“I don’t want to leave here. But I know if we stayed here always it wouldn’t be special. But then again I hate leaving it behind and going back to all the stresses.”
Paul said, “I know what you mean. It’s so exciting when you arrive, and it seems like you have forever ahead of you. But next thing you know, it’s over. Vacations are almost painful because they always end.”
John chuckled. “I want to come here more often. Let’s come back in six months or so.”
Paul considered that. His practical mind was already thumbing through what other commitments the two of them had in six months. But then he stopped himself. Instead he said, “I’m sure we can find a block of time sometime in the next 6 to 8 months to come back here.”
Somehow this made John feel much better. He said, somewhat sheepishly, “I’ve been making dinner.”
“Yes, I heard,” Paul said, making a funny face.
John laughed. “So, why don’t you set the table, asshole. It’ll be ready in about 10 minutes.”
*****
The Next Day
The makeup sex had been great the night before, and John was in a much better mood as he lay under the umbrella out by the pool. Paul was doing his daily morning laps. That man has enough energy to power a small country, John thought. Sometimes John grew exhausted just watching him. Far from feeling bruised about the previous evening’s painful discussion, John felt invigorated. There were so many things he wanted to talk to Paul about - things that he never could manage to bring up because it never seemed to be ‘the right time.’ John realized that this place and time was perfect for these probing questions. So he waited patiently while Paul finished his 30 minutes of laps.
Paul felt refreshed, too. He had managed to face down his own fear of exposure sufficiently to communicate effectively with John on a difficult subject, and then they’d had that amazing sex afterwards. And this morning, John was all mellow and cuddly, like a fluffy cat. Paul smiled warmly and playfully at John as he strode across the pool patio to get his towel, which he used to wipe himself off. He was nude, and John was lifting his eyebrows up and down in appreciation. Paul wrapped the towel around his waist, and sat down in the chair next to John’s.
“I’ve been enjoying the view,” John said apropos of nothing.
Paul looked up and saw the green canopy, and the blue sky, and the ocean on the horizon. “Yes, it’s stunning,” he agreed.
“I wasn’t talking about that view,” John said naughtily. He was delighted when Paul actually blushed a little. He reached over and grabbed Paul’s hand and squeezed it. Paul chuckled and squeezed John’s hand in return. John waited a few more moments, until Paul was settled in his chair with his head back, eyes closed, sun worshipping. Then John said, “You know, I’ve wanted to ask a tricky question. Do you trust me? I know you’ve had issues with that in the past, and wonder where you are with it.”
Paul heard the words and thought, Damn! Can’t I just have a quiet moment with him without talking about painful shit? Outwardly, however, this turmoil did not show. He tried to think of something to say - some bromide - that would reassure John and close the subject. He really, really didn’t want to have that discussion now. If ever. He turned his head - which was leaning back against the chair rest - and smiled at John. He said, “That’s a pretty heavy subject for so early in the morning.”
John said, “I actually think it’s better to talk about such things in the morning. We’re not tired, we’re in a good mood...”
“We won’t be for long if you keep raising these issues.” The words were out before Paul could stop them. He actually surprised himself as he heard the words coming out of his mouth.
John wasn’t going to back away, however. He’d learned the night before that he could raise touchy issues, and he could get Paul to speak openly with him, so he had no desire to back off now. “Oh, I think we can manage to have a civilized discussion, don’t you?”
Paul was surprised that John had checkmated him. He thought his ominous comment would have scared John away from the discussion. But John looked very much in control and at peace with the situation, which was a new one on Paul. He said, reluctantly, (because he couldn’t think of a way out of it), “I trust you, of course I do.”
“Do you really?” John asked. John's voice sounded clinical rather than emotional. Paul could tell that John didn’t believe his glib answer. “Be honest, Paul. It goes deeper than that, doesn’t it?” John added, probing.
“Intellectually, I know I can trust you,” Paul clarified.
“But emotionally?” John prompted.
“Emotionally - well, I struggle with that a bit,” Paul admitted.
“That’s what I want to talk about!” John said excitedly. “If you’re having those feelings, I think you should tell me about them. Maybe I can help you make sense of them.”
Inwardly, Paul groaned. This was the last thing he wanted to do right now. But he knew that he could not get out of this conversation without incurring John’s rage. Maybe that is where he should start, if John really wanted to know the truth. “I never know if I can really tell you my true feelings,” he said honestly. “I never know if you just want to hear what you want to hear, and if I say something else you might fly into a rage. I don’t want to make you angry or unhappy.”
John considered this disclosure. In truth, he knew that he was reactive and fearful of hearing anything less than what he wanted to hear. He figured he’d have to control this fear in order to have this conversation with Paul, because apparently Paul had things to tell him that he, John, would not like to hear. He said, “Fair enough. I do that, I know. But I’ll try not to if you tell me now.”
Paul was not trustful of this offer. John might manage to contain his hurt and anger for now, but it would definitely come out later - when Paul least expected it no doubt! And then he’d be sorry he opened his big mouth. And it didn’t help that Paul didn’t say things well when he was upset or talking about his darker emotions. But John was staring at him - willing him to talk. Paul tried to revert to the person who showed up for his therapy sessions with Marc. He turned his face back to the horizon, laid his head back against the chair rest, closed his eyes, and began to speak.
“I’ve been working on this with my therapist. I haven’t gotten very far yet.”
John was intrigued. Paul never spoke about his therapy. “How far have you gotten?” He asked, deeply curious.
Paul sighed. He felt like he was in a minefield, and anywhere he stepped might cause an explosion. “Well, we’ve talked about it generally, but not in too much depth.”
“Is it me you don’t trust? Or is it just a general fear of the future and what might happen with us? Is there something I’m doing to make it worse?” John couldn’t stop the questions.
Paul thought about lying to John, and taking the easier ‘out’ John had just presented him with. But for whatever reason, he didn’t. “I admit that I’m not the most trusting person. I really have to know people a long time before I can trust them, and then I still hold myself back.” Paul paused, desperately searching for the right words that wouldn’t come. He’d just have to say it in his own clumsy way. He turned to John again. “But, well, I do worry about whether I can trust you. I mean, I know a lot of the stuff was in the past, and I ought to let it go, but it’s hard.”
John heard the soft words. They had been projected out into the air between the two men. He didn’t feel fear. Miraculously, he felt strong. He felt empowered. Paul was telling him the truth, and it wasn’t as horrible as he had feared. “The ‘stuff.’ Let’s talk about the ‘stuff’ then. If it is festering inside you, take it out, and we’ll clear it up if we can.” John’s voice was gentle - cajoling.
Paul was shaking his head ‘no’. He really didn’t want to talk about those open sores. He had only just recently been able to peer into aspects of the past and look at them full on, without whitewashing and justifying and rationalizing what he saw. Now that he could see the naked pain he had been in as a teenager it was embarrassing to him that he had felt so vulnerable and dejected. He never liked to see himself as the rejected one; in his conscious memories he always portrayed himself as the strong, silent type, patiently enduring the slings and arrows of John’s outrageous whims. This newer insight of himself as a weak, lonely, and rejected boy had shaken him to his roots.
John saw the reactive head shaking, and knew that this was not going to be easy. Paul was not going to want to talk about such painful memories. He never liked to do that. He liked to swathe his memories in gauze and golden glitter - so much easier to tolerate that way. But if Paul never confronted the real memories, how could the two of them ever get past the damage those memories caused? “Paul, don’t clam up on me. You know how I hate that. It’s just me - John. You can tell me. We both want the same thing - we want to be happy together for what’s left of our lives.”
Paul said, “You already know the things that hurt me, John. I’m surprised you have to ask.”
John looked ashamed. “Nigel, and that Brad thing. I know. I really hurt you with those, didn’t I?”
Paul nodded, but not with as much conviction as John would have expected. Paul said, “If I’m going to let myself love somebody, I want to believe that they want to be with me. Life’s too short to spend even one minute in the company of someone who’d rather be with someone else.”
“That’s kind of a bloodless way to look at it, don’t you think?” John responded. “You don’t get jealous, or angry. You don’t remonstrate with me. You always act as though you don't care that I was off having sex with someone else.”
“We both did that, John,” Paul said defensively. “Back in the '60s. We were always sleeping with other people. Women.” Paul had corrected himself with that comment.
John said, “But you wanted to, or needed to, and I would have been much happier just to be with you.”
“You’re the one who was always going off with other people, John. Maybe I slept with a lot of women, but I didn’t share my work and my life with them. For me it was good company and fun sex for a few hours. For you, it was like you would change your whole life to accommodate these people who seemed to pop up out of nowhere. And then you’d reject the life that you and I had shared just days before.” Paul’s tone had become resentful. Once he had started his download, he couldn't seem to stop it.
John’s mouth was a perfect ‘oh’ as he heard this prickly download. “What are you talking about?” He asked. He was truly mystified (even though he probably shouldn’t have been).
Paul couldn’t talk about Stu, and he couldn’t talk about Brian. Those were too humiliating. It was easier to talk about one of the later betrayals. “Yoko.” It was a one-word answer.
John couldn’t help himself - he sneered. “Oh for chrissakes Paul, Yoko? I thought for sure we’d been all through that a thousand times. I wanted you, you wanted a woman; I decided that Yoko might as well be the one for me since I couldn’t have you, you got married and had hundreds of babies, and off we went. Anyway, you keep saying you weren’t jealous of me sleeping with women. Was that a lie?”
Paul said, “You misunderstand me.”
“That’s easy enough, given how maddeningly cryptic you are,” John snapped.
“You think I was jealous about sex. I was not jealous about sex. I was jealous about your friendship, and our creative partnership.” The words came out in a flood. Paul didn’t realize he had just admitted to ‘jealousy.’ He didn’t like to think of himself as a jealous man.
John sat back. He had a flash of insight. To John, having Paul physically - in his life, and as his lover - was the most important thing. But to Paul, their friendship and their conjoined muses were more important. John saw in that moment that all those years of trying to make Paul jealous with sex was wasted effort. Nothing would touch Paul if it didn’t involve their intimate friendship. He felt compassion for Paul in that moment. He lowered his voice to a gentler tone. “When you told me you were going to get married and live a straight life, what did you expect me to do? I had to fill the space you abdicated with someone who was willing to be everything to me, because that is what I need. I need a person to be everything to me.”
Paul's face was turned towards John as he spoke. He realized in that moment that he couldn’t make his point properly if he didn’t explain the earlier betrayals - when John had gone searching for newer, more interesting people and cut him out. Well, Paul admitted, he and John weren’t lovers when the Stu thing happened. But he had been John’s best and closest friend and creative partner, and suddenly he was rejected in favor of Stu. Paul had suspected that John had gone to Stu for sex, and, receiving it, had made Stu his ‘everything.’ This theory was supported by the fact that he and John didn’t become lovers until after the Stu thing ended for good, and then John had repeated his possessive friendship with Paul as if he were just continuing the one he had just lost with Stu. Paul decided that maybe he shouldn’t be the only one on the hot seat:
“Is that what Stu was to you? Your ‘everything’?” The angry question cut through the morning peacefulness like a flashing knife.
John was taken aback. “Stu? What the fuck has he got to do with Yoko?”
“Everything! It’s just another example of how you find it so easy to blot me out of your life when you grow bored with me.” Paul’s voice was resentful, and charged with a strong underlying emotion that worried John.
“What are you suggesting?” John's tone was almost a growl.
“That you and Stu were lovers,” Paul said flatly. He stared at John, daring him to deny it.
“I’ve told you we weren’t,” John said. The ground seemed to have fallen away from under him.
“I think you’re lying to me. I’ve always thought you lied about that to me.”
John was dumbfounded. He had no idea that Paul felt so strongly about this. Should he tell him the truth? It might be hurtful, but not as hurtful as what Paul already thought. He took a deep breath and jumped in with both feet. “Okay, since you want to know the truth, I’ll tell you the truth. I did want to have an affair with Stu. I was attracted to him sexually. You were too young, too innocent about such things. You would never have agreed to have sex with me, and your father would have killed me if he found out, which he probably would have because you were so slavishly devoted to him. But Stu was older, more of a bohemian. I thought while we were living in that apartment together we would become lovers, you know, and have this kind of arty salon. But Stu wasn’t interested in sex with me, and I didn’t have the courage to raise the issue directly. My subtle attempts fell flat. So it was this unspoken desire thing that I struggled with.” There. He’d said it.
Paul didn’t know why, but now he felt worse. Now he knew for sure that he was John’s second choice, after Stu. John didn’t even think about having sex with him until Stu was lost to him for good. He gulped. And I was the one - the ‘easy’ one - that gave in to John’s advances. Seen in this light, he felt much smaller and less worthy than he had just moments before. Paul had known nothing good would come of raking up the past. That is why he hadn’t wanted to do it! Now here he was - he was in possession of the ‘truth’ whether he wanted it or not. And the truth was far more painful than he’d imagined. He felt all his drawbridges going up, as he raced to protect himself again behind the high walls of his fortress. He said, with as much sangfroid as he could muster (although the bitterness came through all the same), “I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you with Stu; I wonder what would have happened to the band if it had.”
“Oh for... Paul! Don’t be stupid. I don’t regret that it never happened with Stu. I don’t give it a moment's thought. I was struggling with my sexual identity at the time, and he was so liberated and gifted and beautiful...”
Great, Paul thought, this is just lovely. “John. Please stop. You made your point. And you also made my point. You became Stu’s best friend because you wanted him for your lover. And my mere friendship didn’t matter to you anymore once you had Stu’s. Do you have any idea how many times you’ve done that to me?”
“That isn’t fair. You’re the one who always said that our sexual relationship should be open. I was just following the rules you had set up.”
“I set up the rules?” Paul was practically stuttering now.
“You made it clear to me that you weren’t giving up women, so - yes - it was your rule.” John’s chin had risen stubbornly as he said this. “And you had all sorts of rules about it that I didn’t like, but I lived with ‘em.”
Paul sat back in his chair and clammed up. It was true that he had rimmed their sexual relationship ‘round with rules. He had done it to protect himself, yes, but there was no doubt that John had been hurt by it. He had felt very guilty about that for years. He said in a low voice, “I see your point. That was wrong of me.”
John’s anger, which had flared, died down again. He hadn’t wanted this to devolve into Paul feeling bad again. He had wanted to try to communicate to Paul that he could be trusted. He was doing a fuck all job of it. He changed tack. “Pud, I didn’t want this to become a tit for tat thing. I just wanted to talk with you about why you don’t trust me, and maybe we could make it better, not worse.”
Paul felt beaten up and exhausted now. The cheerful morning had clouded over, figuratively if not literally. He was willing to do or say almost anything to put an end to this agony. “I told you the most important thing right at the start - intellectually, I know I can trust you. I have doubts, but I am able to talk myself out of them. I’m here with you, aren’t I? I’m wearing your ring. I’m hoping for the best. What else do you want from me?”
When put like that, John wasn’t sure what he wanted. But he knew this much - whatever it was that he wanted, he wasn’t going to get it today. “I can see that we’ve beaten this dead horse too long. Let’s just put it aside for now. But I hope you will think about what I said. I don’t want you to even have doubts about me. I don’t want you in a place where you have to talk yourself into trusting me. I want it to be natural, freely given, and instinctive. Will you think about that? Will you work on that with your therapist?”
Finally, a way out of this labyrinth! Paul said, “Yes, I will. Of course I will.”
And John had to satisfy himself with that. But he did know a few things now that he didn’t know before: Paul had been extremely jealous and hurt by his friendship with Stu, so much so that he had carried that hurt with him all these decades. And somehow the ‘Stu Thing’ was the main trigger for all of Paul’s feelings of rejection and distrust. John sincerely had not understood before how deep that injury went. He had to think of a way to soothe that sore spot if he ever were to gain Paul’s full, open trust.
*****
Departure
John had let sleeping dogs lie for the rest of the final week. Paul seemed relieved not to have to deal with such stressful conversations, and did his best to act as though they had never happened. This wasn’t exactly what John had hoped for, but at least now he had hold of the end of a thread, and he could start unraveling from there. He was sure that Fiona would have some good ideas. He also wondered if Paul would live up to his word and talk about this issue in his therapy. In truth, John often wished he could be a fly on the wall during one of Paul’s therapy sessions to see and hear what was going on.
Paul was lumping the luggage out of the house and into the boot of the jeep. The jeep’s engine was running, and was causing Paul anxiety. He didn’t like transitions. He wanted to move as quickly as possible from one thing to the other, so he couldn’t regret the old, and he could move on immediately to the new.
*****
Cavendish
It was late evening when John and Paul walked through the front door at Cavendish. John was actually relieved to get home, despite his mournfulness about leaving at the beginning of their travels. Paul, as usual, was bustling about, moving their de minimis luggage upstairs, and talking to himself as he did so. John had to smile. His own little busy bee. Paul had been very thoughtful on the trip back. He had talked to John without being distracted, and only put on his earphones when John had drifted off to sleep. John could tell that Paul was trying very hard to be ‘present’, and he appreciated it. But he also felt a little guilty about what he’d put Paul through to get to this point.
During their argument the week before, Paul had said something interesting that - at the time - John had glossed over. But later the words came back to John, and they had been playing in his head off and on for days:
“I never know if I can really tell you my true feelings. I never know if you just want to hear what you want to hear, and if I say something else you might fly into a rage...”
Those words stuck because John knew they were painfully accurate. How many times had he begged Paul to tell him what he was feeling, and then had a breakdown when he actually heard it? Truthfully, more times than John could possibly remember. Paul, however, seemed to remember every single time it happened. In a way, John realized, he had put Paul in a double bind: he was damned if he didn’t tell John his feelings, and he was damned if he did. From Paul’s point of view, John thought, it was safer to not say anything, based on the old world adage, ‘Least said, soonest mended.’ In quiet moments, when thinking to himself and there was nothing immediately at stake, John could see that this was a very unhealthy cycle. Not for the first time in a long time did he wish they could have therapy together. But the time they had tried had ended in disaster. He doubted Paul would ever give that a go again. He would have to talk with Fiona about that. He thought of Fiona as his safety valve. When all the tension built up in him, she would turn the faucet and it would all come pouring out. Two whole months without his safety valve was a very long time. No wonder he was frazzled!
Paul, meanwhile, was having similar (although mirror opposite) reflections. I shouldn’t have closed up like that when John broached those subjects. Marc is always on me about that. I only end up talking about it anyway, so why make it so difficult? He found himself, surprisingly, looking forward to seeing his therapist again. This not only surprised him, but it alarmed him a little. He didn’t like to think of himself as someone who relied on therapy. Still, the urge to unload all of the thoughts that had filled his head after his confrontations with John was very strong. What could he have done differently to avoid snapping at John? Maybe Marc would have some ideas...
*****
The Next Evening
Cavendish
The family - or that part of it living in London - came to dinner the day after John and Paul returned from Costa Rica. Thus it was Stella and her husband Alistair with baby Arthur, and Mary with her boyfriend, a real estate investor named Charles, who made up the party.
Stella had been dating Charles (called ‘Chas’) for some time, but the magic was beginning to fade from the relationship. He had not been happy when he was asked to sign a non-disclosure agreement when they had begun to date in earnest. But Stella was incredibly protective of her father, and made it clear from day one that in her family no one told tales out of school. It wasn’t that Chas wanted to gossip about Stella’s father; it was just that he found it insulting to have to sign an agreement saying he wouldn’t. After that, their relationship had begun to degrade, what with Chas’s simmering resentment and moping, and Stella’s impatience with the childishness of it all. Anyway, when they went out together, such as on this night, they made every effort to look as though things were fine, and even Mary didn’t see the cracks that had begun to form in her sister’s relationship.
Mary had issues of her own with Alistair. He hadn’t been working. He called himself a producer and director, but as of yet his accomplishments were few. Her father kept throwing him little jobs, but he didn’t seem to excel at any of them. He was a good father to their son, however, and a loving husband. She told herself repeatedly that she had been spoiled growing up in a household where her father was active in the family, active at his work, and who still maintained a healthy and sexy relationship with his wife (not to mention John, too.) To top it off he was funny, adorable and good-looking. Her father was so multi-talented and great at juggling and compartmentalizing that somehow every guy she had met since she had started dating always somehow let her down in some strategic way. Knowing this, Mary pushed the feelings about Alistair’s lack of real ambition to the back of her mind. She had a small family now, and hoped to have more children. Consequently, she too was showing a happy face to her family. Stella didn’t notice anything wrong either, despite the closeness between the sisters.
Most of the evening Mary and Stella took turns trying to talk their father and John into telling them where they had gone for two months. Their differing styles were thrown into bas-relief by their attempts.
“You both have such wonderful tans,” Mary said sweetly to John as she was helping him prepare the meal. “Did you go to the Mediterranean or the Caribbean?”
“Caribbean,” John said absent-mindedly. “Hey, can you get the ghee out of the fridge for me?”
“We used to holiday in the Caribbean,” Mary continued, after she brought the ghee over to John’s workspace. “I think I’ve been to the Bahamas, Jamaica and Bermuda. Did you go to one of those?”
“No,” John answered pleasantly. “Can you dish out that casserole into the serving dish please?”
Eventually Mary gave up.
But Stella was giving it a go in the sitting room. “So Dad - where did you and John steal off to?” She asked bluntly.
“We didn’t actually ‘steal off,’ Stella. It was planned for weeks.” Paul knew where Stella was going with this, and he was going to try to head her off at the pass.
“You’re so literal, Daddy. Mum always said so,” Stella remarked.
“John says so too,” Paul said, looking completely unbothered by this critique as he studied the remote control in order to find some football on TV.
Stella sighed heavily. “What’s the big secret? Why can’t you tell us where you went?” Stella was grumbling now.
Paul laughed, and reached over to pinch Stella’s nose. “You’re such a nosy bunny,” he said cheerfully.
*****