There was a knock at the front door. I lambasted myself for having stupidly lulled myself into a false sense of security that I was about to enjoy some alone time. That was an odd knock I thought to myself as I half heartedly detached myself from the sofa. It wasn't a knock with conviction, more a knock that suggested maybe they were hoping that it wouldn't be answered as much as I didn't want to answer it. Hmmm I wonder, had I been seen through the window by the person knocking? I'd not seen anyone in my peripheral vision. If they'd come down the road from the way behind where I'd just sat down then maybe I could hide and get away with it? Jesus man you're a grown adult, go answer the fucking door. I sighed heavily with disdain at myself. At some point maybe we try to become a better version of ourselves? Not today though. Today we've booked in some me time. Or at least we thought we had. I could see a shadow through the door, whoever it was that had half heartedly knocked was still half heartedly hoping someone would answer it. Answer it I did and pulled down the handle and swung it open to the sight of my god son stood quite ashen faced.
“Jesus almighty lad you look like shit. Come in, come in,” and I stepped back to let him through the door beckoning him with my free hand like a reverse Royal wave. I looked closer at his out of place pale complexion.
“Is it contagious? Are you ill?” I asked him part concerned at his health, part concerned with my own. He shook his head.
“Good, come give me a hug then,” and no sooner had I opened my arms then he had buried himself in them. I closed them and held the lad tight. Planted a kiss on top of his forehead as if he was my own flesh and blood and then finally when it felt right released him from my clench.
“Come on into the kitchen, I'll put the kettle on and you can tell me all about it.” He nodded and trotted behind like a well trained dog.
“Take a seat. Do you want biscuits?” He nodded his head, tried a smile, slight twitch from the left side of his mouth but it didn't come to fruition. Christ must be serious if you can't even smile at the prospect of biscuits. No, that can't be right. I'll try again.
“Good lad, everything feels better with a brew and biscuits. Just wait for the kettle to finish boiling before you start talking though lad otherwise I'll not hear a thing.” Usually he'd have laughed, called me old, but not today. Whatever was on his mind it was clearly serious business. No smiling at biscuits and no laughing at my jokes. Not even pretend laughing and so I made us both a brew, picked the tin of biscuits up and we transposed ourselves into the living room. Me on the spot on the sofa in front of the TV I hadn't yet managed to switch on, him on the chair opposite. I could see his hands shaking as he picked up the mug. “I'd have made sure the tide was out if I'd known your hands were shaking.” Even that half derogatory comment wasn't enough to make him laugh. Jesus must be proper fucking serious. Should have hidden when I had the chance.
“Whatever it is you take your time lad OK? Just, well if you feel like you're about to wobble tea over the carpet, maybe don't.” He nodded again and put the mug down. Jesus Christ now I've got a proper attack of the guilts. I mean I wasn't joking but still all the same.
Then there was silence. Like awkward silence. Do I say something? Do I wait for him to speak? Here's this lad I've known all his life, now 16 years of age, tall as a man but not yet a man. Not far off mind. I say all his life. Maybe minus two days. One of the proudest moments of my life being asked to be his Godfather. Always taken it seriously especially as me and the wife couldn't have kids of our own. Lost count of the times we've been told we spoil the boy too much. We're allowed to, besides he's never complained about it. He's thrown up on me, shat in my lap, wiped snot on me, covered me with jam fingers and that were all when he were 15. Imagine what he was like as a baby.
Finally he plucks up the courage to speak, wets his whistle first with a gulp of tea. Didn't spill any. God lad. We'd both be in trouble with the missus when she gets home otherwise. “I… I… I've g-g-g-g-got something important I need to t-t-t-ell you.” He didn't as much trip over his words as stumble over them like he was about to plant face first on the floor. I almost moved from the sofa to catch him even though it would have been a metaphorical fall of course. Then something fell into my hand. Again metaphorically although it could have also been a crumb from the biscuit I'd just taken a nibble from. Not a bite because talking with your mouthful is rude and you should set kids a good example and I might have needed to talk at some point when the silence finally broke. But now, oh how the penny has dropped. I'd been waiting for this moment for the best part of two years. He didn't know that though. How could he have known? Before he had a chance to get to his point I smiled at him and told him “I know.”
His face dropped. I say his face dropped, his jaw dropped actually. Stunned into silence. No that's not right he was already silent wasn't he. Finally,
“H-h-h-how do you know?” Well the stammer has almost gone. That's good I thought to myself.
“I've known for a couple of years lad. I'm not your Godfather for nothing you know.”
“Fuck,” was all he could say.
“Oi watch your language.”
“Oh yeah sorry. I'm just … surprised that's all. I'd been trying to think of the words to tell you. Worried what you'd say. How you'd react. I've said it in my head a thousand times and none of them ever came out how I wanted them to and well, you know there's me thinking come on, be brave and you go I know. I wasn't…” his voice tails off.
“Expecting that?” I say finishing the sentence for him.
“Yeah,” is all he could say.
“Maybe I better check something, you weren't about to tell me you'd got some young lass up the duff were you?”
He shakes his head mortified at the suggestion.
“Oh good just checking because that would be embarrassing. This is about liking lads then?” He pursed his lips as if fearing the worst and gave the subtlest of nods.
“Oh well that's alright then lad. You can stop your shaking now and have a biscuit, sugar will do you good and put some colour in your cheeks. Jesus I'll be seeing that there white face in my dreams later lad and having fucking nightmares.”
“You shouldn't swear.”
“Fuck off you cheeky little bastard. You're right though. Is this going better than you hoped?”
This time his nod was more succinct. With that in mind I shoved the entire biscuit in my big mouth so as to let the lad do some talking.
“How did you know?”
I point at my mouth now full of biscuit which I'm trying to hurriedly chomp my way through. Swearing is one thing but talking with your mouthful is a no, no. Finally I get my way throught it.
“Did you see me shove that all in me gob in one go?”
“Yeah sorry. My bad.”
“I should say my bad. Thought I was doing you a favour. Let you talk a bit. Didn't expect a bloody question straight after ramming the whole bloody digestive in me gob. You silly bugger. Anyways what were your question again? Oh how did I know? Your dad.”
His face froze in fear again. “Dad knows?”
“Don't be fucking daft you. Of course he doesn't fucking know. Jesus lad that's nearly as daft as asking a question just after I've shoved a full digestive in me gob. Did you just shit yourself on that chair by the way when I said your Dad cause if you did we'll both be dead by the end of the day. Tea on the carpet is one thing, but shitting on the chair will get us both strung up on the washing line outside.”
He looks at me with a look that lets me know this is not helping. Fair point well made.
“Hang on. When was it? Oh …” I paused to think. “Cakes!” I exclaimed somewhat over triumphantly if I do say so myself. “Cakes and your old man going off on one.”
“Narrows it down,” he says confused. Can't blame him. Think I'd be confused if I was sat opposite me right now too.
“Northern Ireland. Was it Northern Ireland?” I looked to the ceiling for help. Google would have been more help in hindsight, that or if the missus had been home. She'd have been much better at this than me. There was me looking forward to some alone time and now I'm sat wishing she'd walk through the door at any second and say sorry forgot something and then roll her eyes as I'd to say what am I like hey?
“You're not making any sense you know.”
Again the lads got another good point.
“I know, I know. I wrote it in my diary on the day,” I reply like that's going to help the situation immediately.
“You what?” Now he really looks confused.
“Well it seemed important. Don't remember why. It'll all come to me. Mind if I have another biscuit and think about it?”
He shrugged his shoulders like a typical teenage boy thinking his all nonchalant and cool like. I picked up the biscuit like a typical middle aged man and had a think about it whilst enjoying a chew and additional time to think this all through so I sounded less like a raving lunatic. Finally it all came back to me. Mouthful of brew for luck and off I went to the races.
“We were all sat around your mum and dad's for dinner. I don't remember how the conversation came up. Probably something to do with cakes I'm guessing and your old man starts rambling on about a bakery that has refused to make a wedding cake in Northern Ireland. Too fucking right.. blah blah blah. He's coming out with all this homophobic nonsense and we're all sat rolling our eyes except you. You… Jesus kid, you looked like you'd been punched in the stomach and were sat wriggling all uncomfortable in your seat and I kicked the missus under the table and gave a little move of the head your way and she clocked it too. We didn't say anything to anyone about it, least of all your old man but we talked about it on the way home in the car. She asked how I felt about it, if you were gay and I went doesn't bother me as long as he's happy and if he finds someone I love as much as you dear then all the better. Made a note in my diary that one day we'll have the conversation and here you are.”
“Really?”
“No I made it up on the fucking spot. Did it sound believable? You fucking idiot. Yes really.”
“Oh.”
“Oh? Best you've got. I tell you my hope for you is to find true love and all you can say is oh.”
“Well I've got to find a boyfriend first.”
“Oh.”
“Oh, is that the best you've got?”
“Do you want me to phone your old man and break the news?” Sometimes I wish I'd engage my brain before making jokes. Suddenly he's four years old again looking at me with sad watery eyes and his bottom lip looks like it's about to start quivering.
“”Shit I'm sorry son. Bad joke. I'm not telling him anything. I didn't tell him then, not told him in between, not telling him now. Don't shit yourself. I'll clean it up if you do. The missus will have to hang me for it alone.”
He shifted nervously in his seat the same way he did a couple of years back when his old man was going off on one about how unnatural it all was. No point trying to tell him any different. Like my mum would say to us as kids be better off talking to the wall you see. Usually she had a point.
“See! That's how I knew. That little wiggle you did that screams Jesus fucking Christ this is awful. Who knew your godfather had … what do they call it? Gaydar?”
“What the fuck is gaydar?”
“You know like radar in the wars for picking up planes like but … you know for erm spotting gays.”
“Oh.”
“You say oh one more time and … you know what I'll not finish that sentence.”
“Are you OK with it?”
“Did you not pick up on the subtle clue about you finding love?”
“Yeah I suppose. Just wanted to check...you know…”
“Aye fair enough come give me a hug.”
We both stood up and just as we embraced I heard the key go in the front door followed seconds later by the missus as she popped her head through the door.
“Awwww look at you two having a cuddle you soppy sods. Anything I should know?” She looked down at the coffee table “Oh tea and biscuits must have been serious…” and then the penny dropped. Thankfully it did it at a much faster rate than it did for me.
“Oh my God has he just told you want I think he told you love?”
“Yep!” I say upon which she lets out a squeal of excitement, claps her hands together frantically before she pushes me out of the way and throws her arms around the baby boy she could never have and nearly killed the poor lad like a boa constrictor crushing it's dinner complete with the wiggle from side to side.
“Jesus Christ almighty love let the poor lad go before you shake him to death.”
She let go of him just long enough to smack me hard on the arm and then go back to crushing the poor bugger. Still I'm sure he'd have preferred that reaction to the one he might get at home.
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