Published: 11 Dec 2023

It was a strange evening, anyone about did so in silence while estimating losses from the fire and thankful that no more than twenty properties had been burned in the immediate vicinity, not including another six at Erskine falls and two nearby Straw falls, although it would take some weeks for the true picture to be known as many properties were owned by weekend farmers who seldom visited their properties.

After Taylor’s unexpected encounter with his father he lost most of his usual nonchalant persona and for the first time since their introduction he was displaying uncertainty and lack of judgment. By closing of the bar that evening Taylor was obviously drunk and could hardly keep to his feet, Alun had to all but carry him to their room.

“Right my friend, what am I gonna’ do with you,” Alun rhetorically questions while dumping Taylor backwards onto his bed.

Taylor is giggling.

“You’re drunk! And stink of booze!”

“Yep,” Taylor agrees with further giggling.

Alun strips away Taylor’s trousers.

“You’ve got an erection!”

“How embarrassing, sorry being drunk always does that to me,” and even through his apology the giggling continues.

“It does the opposite for me.”

Taylor passes out but remains erect.

Alun is fascinated and can’t resist touching and as nervous fingers make contact with warm erectile flesh it is as if they are shocked by electricity. He springs away then gently slaps at Taylors grinning face.

“Wakie-wakie it is under the shower for you.”

“What the – what’s up?” Taylor’s eyes spring open.

“You need to take a shower.”

“I’m naked.”

“You are, come on take a shower; it will help to sober you.”

“When I close my eyes, my head spins – no not my head it’s the flaming room.”

“Then don’t close them, do you want to chuck?”

“I never chuck from drinking.”

Alun is laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“Your dick was as stiff as a board.”

“Beer does that to me.”

“So you said.”

“Now I’m embarrassed.”

“You also said that.”

“How embarrassing,” Taylor giggles out the words.

“Don’t be, come on I’ll help you to the shower.”

Harsh morning light leaks through the broken gaps in the room’s Venetian louvers.

Eyes open and Alun glances about, Taylor’s bed is empty with the bedclothes scattered.

“Taylor.” Alun softly calls but his request remains unanswered. He calls once again and goes to the bathroom but no sign of Taylor. The room has a separate toilet, the door is closed. Alun knocks as he softly calls Taylor’s name. “Taylor, are you in there?” He imagines his friend knees bent to the floor with his head aimed at the bowl; still no answer. He opens the door but the toilet is vacant. Alun is puzzled but not for long as the room’s door opens and Taylor enters as bright as the summer’s day.

“Where have you been?”

“You sound like my mother.”

“I am only curious with you up so early after the skinful of grog you consumed last night.”

“I’ve never had a hangover. I went to that Foodland store at the end of the street and got some cheese and things for breakfast.” Taylor places his shopping bag on the bench and fills the kettle with water, “the power is back on so do you want coffee?”

“Is the Pope Catholic?”

“He professes to be.”

“What did you get?”

“Come have a look and you can make yourself useful with the coffee, I got a small jar of Moccona as I can’t stomach hotel coffee.” Taylor spreads his goodies out on the bench top with Alun hanging over his shoulder for advantage, “anything you like?” Taylor asks.

“All of it, especially the tasty cheese and crackers.”

“No ham, it was spoiled because of the power outage. I was going to get a tin of Bully-beef but wasn’t sure if you would like it.”

“As well, the old man used to feed it to us when we first arrived in Australia as we were poor and now I can’t stand the stuff.”

Alun makes the coffee as Taylor finds a plate and loads it with crackers and toppers.

“You are cheerful this morning,” Alun suggests.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’ve got over the shock of meeting you father then?”

“I must admit it was a shock, especially his assumption about us.”

“Alright share.”

“He thought you and I are in a relationship, or he wouldn’t have been so forthcoming.”

“Yes I heard him say that.”

“Silly isn’t it?”

Alun gives a cheeky grin, “I guess we are in a way.”

Taylor’s expression is obviously one in need of clarification.

“That is professionally as Chance and Logan.”

“You had me going for a moment. I thought there was something I didn’t know.”

“Why Taylor would you like it to be so?” Alun is teasing.

“What do you think?” Taylor reverses the question back to Alun.

“I don’t think – come on let us enjoy this breakfast you have designed.”

“Changing the subject, are we going to stay for the New Year concert.” Taylor asks.

“I’ve lost enthusiasm besides I hear The Back Seat Boys have pulled out.”

“I suppose we could go home.” Taylor suggests.

“Home you say.”

“We still have almost two weeks before filming commences.”

“Truthfully I no longer know where home is,” Alun candidly admits.

“Wouldn’t you stay at Jillian’s?”

“Jillian has a mate staying at her apartment for the next two months while she is touring.”

“What about your parent’s.”

“I’ve really screwed my welcome there. I may simply return and stay on the property at Buninyong, besides I’ve already told Simon and he is arranging an early return with the owner.”

“What about Peter, you said he has now his own apartment.”

“It has only a single bedroom and by what he said hardly big enough to twirl a pussy.”

“You do realise the saying swing a cat hasn’t anything to do with a cat?”

“I’ve never thought about it, I simply thought a cat was the kind of animal you would like to swing and needed room to do it.”

“It comes from the navy, meaning not enough space to swing the cat-and-nine tails.”

“Well what do you know?”

“I have an idea.”

“Go on.”

“My mother will be home tomorrow and you would need to share a room but why not come home and stay with me?”

“Would you mother mind?”

“No she likes company.”

“Yes I would like to meet your mother. If so I better call Simon and let him know there is a change of plan.”

The Hardwick house was a small two bedroom workers cottage in the suburb of Carnegie. Although similar in design to others in the street, it was fully detached with a small passage of land along both sides, just wide enough to wheel through the rubbish bin. Towards the back there was space for a clothes line and grow a few vegetables.

After parking the car Taylor invites Alun through a wire gate in a hedge fence then along a cobbled path to a green door still retaining a Christmas decoration of bells and holly.

Before they entered Alun has a question, “are you going to tell your mother you met your dad?

“I feel I must.”

“When you’re ready, give me the nod and I’ll make myself scarce.”

Without the need to broadcast their arrival the door opens and a slight well groomed gray haired women appears, “I heard the car,” she says.

“More than likely you were snooping from behind the curtains,” Taylor suggests.

“Now Taylor, don’t be cheeky, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend.”

“Sorry mum – meet the leading man from our movie, Alun Hughes.”

“Welcome to our little home Alun.”

“Thank you Mrs. Hardwick.”

“Please call me Jane. Do I detect an accent Alun?”

“You do, Welsh through England with a touch of Aussie.”

“I have the jug on, would you like coffee, or something stronger?”

“Coffee would be just dandy.”

“I’ll make it while Tay shows you to your room.”

“What’s this Tay?” Alun asks as they enter into the room.

“It is mum’s pet name for me.”

“It could be your porn star name,” Alun suggests.

Taylor dumps his bag on one the single beds, “you have that one, as it is more comfortable.”

“Are you sure, as I’m easy and could sleep on a plank.”

“Positive – do know how to choose your porn star name?”

“I reckon you are about to tell me.”

“Easy-peasy, you take the name of your first pet and that of the first street you lived on.”

“Ha!” Alun loudly huffs, “I don’t think so.”

“Come on out with it.”

“Sookie Beatrice.”

“Yea I agree.”

“So what would yours be Taylor?”

“I think that would be best unspoken.”

“Come on out with it; fair is fair, it can’t be any worse than Sookie Beatrice.”

“Fluffy Eccles.”

“I think with those names we should give up any idea of making it in porn.”

“I don’t know with your body and looks, even with the name Sookie Beatrice, you could be a porn star.”

Alun stretches out on his bed and bounces his arse about, “do you think so?”

“I believe Jack Cowper dabbled and it didn’t do his career any harm.”

“What I gleaned from the little contact I had with Cowper, I can guess the genre,” Alun smirks.

“They say male porn pays more,”

Alun then backs away from the topic, “I wouldn’t know and don’t rightly wish to know.”

Alun found his time with Jane and Taylor comforting, giving realization what home life could have been without his father’s excessive demands and need to dominate. With that aside Alun often called his parents where they were fishing with Sally and Fred but refused Sylvia’s suggestions to come and visit at the Barmah forest riverside house as he didn’t wish to jeopardize the harmony he was developing.

As the city remained in holiday mode there wasn’t a lot of entertainment available until New Year’s Eve, which in the most would be city centric with its elaborate pyrotechnic display, milling crowds and overcrowded transport.

New Year’s Eve came and went with the boys remaining home enjoying conversation until past midnight and with a happy New Year’s greeting they had retired sober to their beds.

New Year’s Day was as quiet and that night while alone Alun approached Taylor.

“Have you told your mother yet?”Alun asks.

“Are you referring to meeting dad?”

“Yes that’s the one.”

“Not yet, I’ve been building the courage to do so and intended to tell her tomorrow.”

“When you do I’ll take a walk, there is a shopping centre close by with a food court, so I’ll have lunch there.”

“I appreciate your offer.”

“How will you word it?”

“With difficulty; I suppose I’ll open my gob and whatever comes out but I will need to be careful not to appear accusing.”

“Does it concern you that your mother lied about your father being dead?”

“She never actually said he was dead, only she believed he died. I guess to her he was dead and mum didn’t want me to go looking for him.”

“When I was a boy I often wished my dad was dead. I had heard of voodoo and sticking pins in some doll that represented your victim.”

“Did you actually do that?”

“No I used imaginary pins and doll but with all the mental chanting it didn’t work and at breakfast the following morning there he was at the head of the table wearing that same accusing expression.”

“Your childhood must have been difficult.”

“In retrospect it wasn’t as bad as I portray; only I missed out on feeling as if I was part of a family. I thought we were like chattels and when dad sold our first home, I had the impression we would be entered onto the bill of sale with the drapes and floor coverings.”

“What about your mother?”

“She did her best but it is difficult to display a loving nature when you are permanently stressed.”

“How did Peter and your sister fair?”

“Peter simply gave as much as received before being bundled off to boarding school for a couple of troublesome years, Dianne got herself banged up at seventeen and married a short time later.”

“Boarding school,” Taylor quietly repeats with a muted shudder as memories return from a time in his life he had all but forgotten. It was after Jane’s failed relationship with Taffy Jones when his mother found necessity to board the young Taylor. His time at boarding school was when he realized there was a world beyond horses and miles of open country that fed into a young lad’s imagination.

At the tender age of six and a little more, Taylor lost the simplicity of country and found the boisterous complexity of the many. It was as if he became transported from paradise to Lord of the Flies. During his internment at the hostel he learned not to concern about his misfortune but to accept all that came his way and simply say, oh well that’s life so get on with it, possibly the sun will shine more happily tomorrow.

Taylor quickly shakes away the worse of him memories while listening to Alun’s childhood woes, “you never went to boarding school?” he asks.

“Almost,” Alun says, “but that was the year dad bought the house in Brighton and became a member of the MCC and Brighton Yacht club and was so involved in networking with his business cronies he all but forgot he had a family.”

“Did your father play cricket?”

“You don’t need to play cricket to be a member of the Melbourne Cricket Club, simply have contacts and money.”

“That I realise but being British I thought he may enjoy swinging the bat on a sunny Sunday afternoon.”

“Dad isn’t very sporting, to be a sportsman you need to know how to lose on the occasion, dad isn’t into losing.”

Early morning and Alun receives a call from Simon, there had been a change in the filming schedule and their holiday is to be cut short by two days. Alun finds Taylor in the kitchen with Jane. “Simon just called,” he says while interrupting what appeared to be a conversation about their life on some past and distant cattle property, with Taylor remembering the better days and Jane nothing by heat and hard work and loneliness.

Taylor breaks from his conversation with Jane, “what did Simon have to say?”

“They have rescheduled filming and we are needed back tomorrow.”

“I’m ready,” Taylor admits.

“Are you tired of my company Tay?” Jane says.

Without replying, Taylor laughs.

“What would you boys like for lunch?” Jane asks with breakfast barely over.

“Not for me Jane, I have some business to attend to and I noticed a sport’s shop in the mall, I need a new pair of runners, so I’ll grab something at the food court while I’m out.”

“What about you Tay?”

“I’ll be in.”

“Alun if you are passing the newsagency, would you put on my tattslotto numbers for me? First prize is ten million this week and I’d love to get a share of that.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

“Do you take a ticket Alun?”

“No never – well not for a long time. I have an adage about my luck.”

“What would that be?” Jane asks.

“Do you remember how pubs once raffled a roasting chicken to entice people to drink?”

“I do and when we lived in Torrens Creek I won on a couple of occasions, except then it wasn’t chickens but half a dozen bottles,” Jane happily recollects and continues, “so what is your little story on luck.”

“If I was the only one in a chicken raffle, the chicken would win.”

“You have to be in it to win it, they say.”

“True Jane, have you ever won anything.”

“I did win two hundred dollars and a couple of smaller prizes but one lives in hope.”

Alun couldn’t decide on which runners to buy and realising what he liked was far too expensive, he decided to leave off until the autumn sales. On departing Rebel Sports he soon found the newsagency and entered to place Jane’s weekly numbers. He offers up the selection and her five dollars.

The girl runs the numbers through her computer and it spits out a chit.

“Will there be anything else I can do for you?” the girl asks as she tills the money.

“I don’t think so,” Alun admits and is about to leave.

“I haven’t taken a ticket in years, how does it work these days?”

“Do you have favorite numbers?”

“Not really.”

“You can let the computer choose randomly if you like.”

“How many chances does five dollars buy?”

“Eight,”

“Alun offers up a ten dollar note. I’ll take ten dollars worth.”

More keys pressed and two tickets fly out of the machine, “good luck,” the girl says.

“I’d need more that luck, a miracle would be more to point.” Alun again shares his adage on luck as he folds the tickets into his pocket, smiles then with a friendly nod he departs. Once outside Alun retrieves his lotto tickets giving a gentle huff, “why did I bother,” he softly shares with the warm morning air before returning the tickets to his pocket. Again he passes the sports store, this time he enters.

‘I can afford them so why not,’ he thinks.

‘One hundred and fifty isn’t that much.’ Yet he hesitates. He was brought up frugally even with his father’s wealth and David’s often spoken words, if you save a penny you save the pound, again sounded in his mind.

‘The dollars,’ he thinks realising David was still living in the past. He remembered British pounds but pounds issued in Aussie had long gone by his arrival.

‘Bugger the dollars, if I want them, I’ll get them.’

Alun remained at the shops while Taylor prepares to explain the meeting with his father, believing he had put off doing so for long enough and as they would be leaving in the morning he was almost out of time. Even so he remained void of how to approach the situation while remembering what he had said to Alun when he asked how he would approach the situation, ‘I’ll open my mouth and whatever comes out;’ “Huh;” ‘that is easier said than done.’ With that thought Taylor exhales a deep and worrying breath.

Jane had put on a load of washing and is back in the kitchen clearing the breakfast table.

“I’ll give you a hand with the dishes,” Taylor offers.

“That will be nice.” Jane releases a gentle chuckle, “I am remembering another time you gave me help with the dishes.”

“Mum I was only six. It was just before you sent me off to the hostel.”

“I know I was a terrible mother.”

“Never say that mum you did the best you could, although I do remember the dishwashing incident.”

“And I should have had more sense than to let you.”

“How did you explain the breakage to Mrs. Marshall?”

“I didn’t, fortunately the set had so many plates that three weren’t missed.” Jane plunges the first of the breakfast dishes into the soapy water, her small hands almost covered to the elbows in pink latex as she begins to wash. She pauses. “Alun seems to be a nice boy,” she says and passes the first plate to her son.

“He is hardly a boy mum.”

“You know what I mean.”

“He’s a good actor.”

“Is Alun your boyfriend?”

“Of course he isn’t my boyfriend and don’t you dare suggest anything to him, Alun finds it difficult enough to perform a gay part in the film without others making suggestions.”

“Then he doesn’t know?”

“No mum he doesn’t and I want to keep it that way.”

“Tay you appear nervous, is there something wrong?”

“Why do you think there is a problem?”

“I’ve known you long enough to know your every mood Tay.”

“Mum you use too much dishwashing liquid.”

“You are dodging my question Tay.” Jane passes the last plate and empties the sink water, “put the jug on and we’ll have a nice cup of coffee.”

Taylor falls silent as he switches on the jug.

“Are you going to tell me what is worrying you?”

The jug boils, then with a teaspoon of coffee in two large mugs; he fills both with water.

Taylor is slow in responding; “mum why did you lie to me?”

“What makes you say I lied to you Tay?’

“About dad, why did you say my father was dead?”

Jane is obviously hurt by her son’s accusation, “If you recollect what I told you on a number of occasions, being I only thought your father had died, I never said he was dead.”

“True but it amounted to the same thing, while allowing me to believe it was so.”

“What has brought this on Tay?”

“Dad is alive and he introduced himself to me with his self proclaimed husband at the pub in Lorne.”

“Oh.”

“Why did dad leave?” Taylor asks.

“You have answered your own question Tay and this is one conversation I hoped never to have had.”

“I’m sorry to bring up the past but I feel I should know.”

“It is out now, so I should tell you the half of it.”

“Was dad violent to you like Taffy Jones was when we lived in Torrens Creek?”

“No not your father was a gentleman. I asked him to leave because there were three in our marriage, the third being a young man from town. I was nineteen at the time and we were only married for a short while when I became pregnant with you. I loved your father very much but knew what the outcome would eventually be.”

“Where did all this happen?”

“We were living on a commune near Nimbin in New South Wales and soon after your dad left I was offered work on a sheep station in central Queensland, thinking under the circumstances, it was best to be as far away as possible. I’m sorry Tay but I couldn’t have you chasing across the country looking for Steve and being rejected.”

Taylor takes a deep breath, “I understand what you are saying but I’ve spent half my life wondering who my father was. At one time I thought Taffy Jones was my father.”

“I told you often enough that Taffy wasn’t your father.”

“I guess I didn’t believe you.”

“I’m truly sorry Tay but I had no other choice, if I didn’t ask Steve to leave he would have eventually gone, making life harder for me and you.”

“I only wish you have told me.”

“How do you explain to a child his father prefers to bed with men?”

“It must have been difficult for you,” Taylor sympathizes.

“What did Steve have to say for himself?”

“I didn’t give him much opportunity to say anything.”

“How did Steve look?” Jane asks.

“Like any forty-plus gay man, over confident and dressed too young, while hanging of the arm of someone young enough to be his son.”

“How did Steve recognize you?”

“He said he had been watching my progress since I went to boarding school. Come to think of it, while there I sometimes received packages of chocolate and biscuits and I believed they were from you.”

“No, I could never afford more than your boarding fees.”

“As for meeting him, it was a consequence that we were in the same bar at the same time.”

“Was it here in the city?”

“No, as I said it was at Lorne, Alun and I had a van there before the fire took it.”

“Will you see Steve again?” There was caution in Jane’s tone.

“I don’t know, probably not.”

Jane is developing tears and with open arms invites Taylor to approach. He accepts the cuddle. “If you do Tay, I would understand but I should explain how we were back then.”

“It doesn’t matter mum, you did well by me.”

“No I must, in those days love was free and varied and we were experimenting while attempting to relive the sixties and the so called flower people but your father would never have been happy tied down to a marriage. I understood Steve’s dilemma and had to ask him to leave.” Jane breaks away to avoid her building tension.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter now,” Taylor says.

Jane’s back is turned to her son. “Experts say that sexual preference isn’t inherited.”

“Why do you say that mum?”

“Even with your father being gay;” it is obvious Jane finds the conversation difficult but she continues, “I hoped your father’s infliction wouldn’t come down to you.”

“You call it an infliction.”

“It is only a word Tay.”

“But obviously it did.”

“And Tay I love you no matter what, don’t you ever forget that. Have you told Alun about meeting with Steve?”

“He was there at the time.”

“How did he accept Steve being gay?’

“I don’t think Alun has a problem with it.”

Alun allows more than two hours for Taylor to have his conversation and nervously he returns. Inside the house he finds Jane busy with the night’s meal and Taylor in his room. “I put on your tattslotto,” he says and places the ticket on the kitchen table. He notices Jane appears a little flustered but he doesn’t comment.

“Thank you Alun, it would be nice to win.”

“What would you do with your winnings Jane?”

“I should think Tay would get most of it.”

“Do you need anything done?”

“No thank you Alun.”

Alun leaves Jane to her work and approaches their bedroom door. He knocks.

“Is that you mum?’

“No its Alun.”

“You don’t need to knock, come in.”

“Is it done?”

“It is and was much easier than I thought it would be.”

Alun doesn’t ask further, instead he shows off his new runners.

“What did they cost?”

“Don’t ask, I suppose we will be off tomorrow.”

“True, will you visit your parents on the way?”

“They are still away for the holidays and Peter has moved out, so no.”

“Alun,” Taylor’s voice lowers to serious as if he intended to divulge the world’s greatest secret.”

Alun is attentive but doesn’t answer.

“Do you remember me saying there was something I could tell you but I wasn’t ready at that time?”

“They weren’t your exact words but go on.”

“I think I’m ready now.”

“Are you going to tell me you are gay?”

“How did you know?”

“I’ve thought so from day one.”

“Will it be a problem with us working together?”

“Why should it?”

Gary’s stories are about life for gay men in Australia’s past and present. Your emails to him are the only payment he receives. Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Conder 333 at Hotmail dot Com

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