Fireside Romance Box Set

Chapter 2-2

I got back to the empty house, looked around and decided I’d have a bite to eat. I wasn’t very hungry, so after heating up a few leftovers and eating them standing up in the kitchen, I went back into the living room and settled in front of the television news. I cuddled up with a big cushion. It wasn’t a patch on snuggling up with Mark, but beggars can’t be choosers, as my Gran would say—though I sincerely doubt she was talking about cushions and male prostitutes when she came up with that particular pearl of wisdom.

My mind drifted to thoughts of Gran. She’s the closest relative I have. I love mum and dad, but I just don’t have a close connection to them. But Gran—my mother’s mother—is so in tune with me, it’s scary at times. I remember coming out to her, trying to explain to the old dear how I felt about other men. The term gay didn’t seem to explain things to her.

“Yes, love, I know you’re happy,” she’d said.

Eventually I’d just said, “Gran, I prefer to sleep with men. I honestly don’t think I’d want to lie down with a woman.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” she’d said, waving a hand in dismissal. “I slept with your Auntie Flo for years: Auntie Flo was her sister; there were three brothers and two sisters in Gran’s parents’ three-bedroom house. Bless the old dear: she hadn’t got a clue what I was talking about. As I’d stood there deciding whether to try and explain further, a twinkle had come into her eye. “Don’t look at me like that. I know what a homosexual is. There was a talk on Woman’s Hour on the wireless a couple of years ago about it. I was only pulling your leg. I don’t mind who you love, so long as you truly love them.”

“Aw, thanks, Gran, you’re the best,” I’d said as I gave her a squeeze and a kiss on her cheek.

My attention came back to the TV news: more killing in Northern Ireland. However, my mind soon drifted again.

I couldn’t really remember my grandfather. He’d died when I was about five years old. He’d worked in a coalmine since he was a teenager, and the coal dust had gotten into his lungs. I had vague memories of a white haired old man coughing so hard I didn’t think he’d ever be able to catch his breath. Mercifully he died quietly in his sleep, I think it was a heart attack, not directly related to his lungs. Gran didn’t talk about him much, and I didn’t like dredging up bad memories for her.

I never knew my grandparents on my father’s side. A few years before I was born they died in a car accident while they were driving through Scotland.

The closing credits of the evening news brought me back to the present. Finding nothing else worth watching on the telly, I switched it off and put on a cassette.

I’d grown quite fond of classical music. I was able to borrow tapes from the ‘audio-visual’ section of the library, so I didn’t have to lay out much expenditure on music. The hi-fi was a housewarming present from the folks back home. To the accompaniment of Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony, I got out a relatively recently published book on the moons of Jupiter that I’d borrowed from the library. I’d thought about getting a telescope, but a good one was out of my price range. Also, living in a town meant there was too much light at night to be able to see much. The book did say a good pair of binoculars was as effective as a reasonable telescope, and much cheaper. I’d have to give that some more thought.

I’d changed tapes a couple of times before my eyes began to droop, so I performed the usual nightly rituals before climbing the wooden hill to Bedfordshire, as Gran used to say to me when I spent the odd weekend at her house when I was little.