Stardust Diaries Read online

  Before many moments had passed the silence was broken by the cryptic proclamation: 'they've got a Sale on. 70% off.' I didn’t respond because I had a good idea who had a Sale on and what had 70% off. I also had an idea he was looking to use it as an excuse to goad me and challenge my authority because he was still cross at me for attending Dominic’s party. He elaborated, confirming my theory that the Christmas reindeers he had so long lusted after were on Sale in Strickland’s, adding: ‘they're an absolute bargain they are.' I nodded and said yes they were undoubtedly a bargain for those who liked them enough and had the spare money to buy them. However I didn't like them enough. He didn't have any spare money, so the subject was closed. It was never to be re-opened again by so much as a single syllable, or there would be serious trouble. Was I making myself very plain? He narrowed his eyes and said caustically, 'you couldn't be plainer if you tried, Tarn dear. You are the very epitome of plainness to this boy.' I smiled sweetly and said I was glad to hear it.

  A sour silence took us a mile down the road and then he asked if Dominic had missed him and I said, ‘yes I think so,’ to which Twinkles responded, 'you think so? What does that mean? Dominic didn't really miss me, because he had you? You'll be on the photographs and when he's twenty-one and looking back at his life he'll see you and say, oh look there's my nice godfather, Tarn, at my first birthday party, but my other nasty godfather, Twinkles, couldn't be bothered to attend. Is that what you mean?'

  Taking a steadying breath I said, SHUT UP, JONATHAN!

  He was still in a huff when we got home and declared an intention to have a bath. I told him not to have it too hot (it makes him dizzy) and to be careful not to dampen his cast. He was to give me a shout if he needed a hand.

  I was busily stir-frying chicken and vegetables when I heard a panicked screeching of my name. Quickly turning the cooker off I raced upstairs and burst into the bathroom, aquaplaning straight across the saturated floor and smacking hard into the shower unit door before bouncing back and falling flat on my back.

  Twinkles was stranded in the bathwater. Every time he gripped the side of the bath his hand slipped and he went back under. He was in a hell of a panic, floundering and spluttering. I tried desperately to get up to help, but my feet refused to remain in contact with the floor, skating out from under me whenever I tried. It was like that scene from Bambi when he's trying to walk on the ice. By a supreme effort I got to my feet and lunged for the bath, yanking out the plug and grabbing at Twinkles to pull him out. I couldn't get a grip on him, his skin was coated in a thick layer of oil and he kept slipping out of my grasp. Thankfully he managed to grab the front of my top with his good hand and hold on until the bath drained.

  Swathing him in a big fluffy towel enabled me to get enough grip on his body to heave him out of the lubricated bath, though once out we both lost our footing on the slippery floor and crashed over several times before making it to the safety of the carpeted landing where I demanded to know what passing crude oil carrier had shed its load in our bathroom? HMS Twinkles as it transpired.

  Someone had given him a bottle of very expensive bath oil for Christmas. The instruction on the bottle was clear, it said to use very sparingly, suggesting a capful to a bath of water. So of course mister-do-everything-to-excess felt obliged to tip in just over half the contents of the bottle to see if it helped the dry skin on his heels. It was lovely, until it came to getting out of the bath that is. He had taken hold of the safety rail to use as a lever, but with his skin being so oily he couldn't get enough purchase on it to push himself up one handed. He'd eventually managed to stand up in the water, only to feel his feet begin to slide from beneath him. He jammed his good hand against the tiled wall to steady himself, but of course it slipped and so did the rest of him - straight up into the air and back down into the bathwater, arm cast and all, sending oily water spraying all over the floor. He had then panicked, gasping and spluttering as he surfaced and resurfaced, fearing he was going to drown as he failed to get a grip of anything to save himself. He then had the temerity to say that if Greenpeace took as long to reach an oil disaster as I took to reach him there'd be no marine life left to save. Fright made me irascible and I smacked his sleeked buttocks several times.

  His cast was ruined. He had hit it hard against the side of the bath and cracked it. It was also soaked inside and out, perfumed oily water dripping from the sopping lining. A trip to casualty was called for. Lulu arrived as we were setting off. I warned him to be cautious in the bathroom and told him to lock up if we didn't make it home before he left for the PP. I told him there was some stir-fry for dinner, but he said he'd bought a pie to heat up.

  We got to the hospital and I inwardly groaned as I observed the packed waiting room and what it was packed with. There had been a football match that afternoon and the home team had lost. The place was bulging with fans who had obviously been brawling with the away team’s supporters. Wonderful. I glared at Twinks. What a perfect way for two gay men to spend an evening, in a roomful of sport-maddened thugs. The place looked like a recruiting centre for the National Front.

  The receptionist cheerfully advised us we were in for a long wait due to the volume of business and told us to grab a seat. I was deeply conscious of being watched as we made our way over to the only vacant seats left in the room. I was also deeply conscious of some of the murmured and not so murmured comments that people were making as they observed Twinkles and his soggy pink and blue arm cast. He was wearing his beloved pink sequinned boots, red jeans and the t-shirt that had been one of his Christmas presents from Lulu. It bore the slogan Support Gay Marriage...Marriage is about love not gender. They were not complimentary comments and most were partnered with the F word. Plainer creatures do so love to tear apart anything with a hint of the exotic about it. Twinks was a budgie amongst sparrows and the fact he was a budgie who just wanted acceptance and equality mattered not to the sparrows. I quietly told Twinks, who was getting agitated, to completely ignore the mutterers. It was best not to react, especially as we were heavily outnumbered.

  We reached the seats but didn’t get chance to sit down. A big rough looking bloke sporting a cut cheek and a blood stained Boro shirt swung his feet across the chairs saying that he didn't want any filthy, AIDS ridden backdoor bandits sitting near him and we could piss off. I politely informed him we had a perfect right to sit down and if he didn't move his feet I would ask the receptionist to call security and have him evicted. He grinned, showing a set of unpleasant sepia teeth, saying it would take more than a fucking ponce and a half-baked security guard to move him.

  To my annoyance Twinkles piped up with: 'that's true. It would take a JCB to move a big fat bastard like you. I bet Boro lost the match today because you mooned the other team with that mound of blubber you call an arse, causing a total eclipse of the sun and they couldn't play in the dark.'

  There was some laughter at the comment, though not from me and certainly not from the Boro man. He called Twinks a dick licker. Twinkles immediately retorted that he'd offer to suck his dick, but it would need a team of search and rescue dogs to locate it under all the frigging fat first. The Boro man lumbered to his feet and made a lunge for Twinkles saying he was going to beat his faggot face to a pulp.

  I'd had enough. Shoving Twinks behind me I quietly but vehemently told Boro man I would boot his tiny balls up into the roof of his big mouth and then punch them out through the back of his head if he didn’t back off. Tragically, the only way to get through to some people is to descend to their level. It worked. He backed off, contenting himself with muttering under his breath. Twinkles was inclined to be triumphant, until he caught my eye and the look that said, wait until I get you home.

  Three hours later his wrist was freshly swathed in a new black cast. The colour might have been different, but to his disappointment the cast was still an angled one, encasing him from thumb to above the elbow. He'd been hoping they'd put a smaller one on, but the doctor said the break wasn't sufficiently
healed. As luck and the devil would have it our exit from the hospital coincided with the exit of the Boro man who let fly with a barrage of vile insults about bum boys. I sharply told Twinkles not to say a word and just head for the car. To be fair Twinkles obeyed me insofar as he never said a word. He didn't need to because his gestures said it all. Thrusting his pelvis invitingly forward he mimed masturbation with his hand while moving his tongue in a manner suggestive of, well, you know what I mean. In short he invited Boro man to suck his dick.

  The Boro man moved like a freight train. Grabbing Twinkles by the front of his t-shirt he spat nicotine stained vitriol in his face and then drew back a ham fist in preparation to punch his lights out. I intervened and ended up taking the blow. It was a hard one and my nose painfully erupted. I lost my temper. Gripping Boro man by his ears I powered my knee into his groin twice in rapid succession before letting go of him. He doubled over and I smashed my elbow between his shoulder blades so he dropped to the ground where he crouched gasping for breath. I had a strong urge to kick him in the face, but overcame it. I was already feeling less than proud of the animal satisfaction I'd gained from kneeing him in the balls. I don't like fighting, but I will defend the people I love and I will defend myself when I have to.

  Spying an exodus of patched up football fans spilling from the hospital building and fearing more trouble I took Twinkles by the arm and propelled him across the car park sharply telling him to shut up as he tearfully babbled apologies and begged me to go back into the hospital to have my nose attended to. I knew it wasn't broken and all I wanted to do was get away from the place, before it did get broken along with a few other things. I drove home with blood running down my face and Twinkles sobbing in mortification besides me. He kept trying to mop the blood with tissues, but I slapped his hand away. Safely parked outside the house, I tipped my head back and pinched the bridge of my nose until it stopped bleeding and then examined it in the car mirror. It was bruised and swollen and I also had the makings of a fine black eye. I was not a happy bunny.

  I was an even less happy bunny, as I strode up the path and heard what sounded like the smoke alarm sounding from inside the house. There was no sign of flames licking around the front door so I inserted my key and pushed it open to be greeted by the acrid smell of burning and a thick smoky haze in the hall. I ordered Twinkles to stay outside while I investigated.

  The smoke was originating from the kitchen. Our cooker has a waist level grill and it was this that seemed to be the source of the smoke. It was also emitting a strange metallic crackling noise and I guessed it was the grill pan bending and twisting under the heat I could feel coming from the cooker even though I was several feet away. There was no way I was going to open the grill door and risk a fireball rushing out as oxygen rushed in, so I switched the cooker off at the mains.

  Whatever was burning was at least confined and with the power off it would burn itself out and cool down. Coughing, I opened the back door to dissipate the worst of the smoke, turning round in time to see Twinkles reaching for the grill door on the cooker. He gave a yelp of fright as I grabbed him by the back of the t-shirt and yanked him away before he could drop the flap. I was furious, bellowing about him having a bloody death wish.

  I was so angry my blood pressure shot up and I saw stars. I’d told him to stay outside and he’d completely ignored me. He’d done nothing but cause trouble all day. I simply didn't trust myself to deal with him fairly or kindly and told him to get to bed, sending him on his way with a slap to the seat of his jeans. I resorted to having several stiff drinks to try and soothe my nerves.

  A note on the table from Lulu explained all. He'd intended to heat the pie for dinner, but found the stir-fry more tempting and had eaten that instead. He kindly left the remains of the stir-fry and the pie keeping warm in the oven for us when we got back from the hospital. Of course, scatterbrained airhead that he is, he'd turned the grill on instead of the oven and the grease in the bottom of the grill pan had eventually caught fire. I would have ripped his head off for his carelessness if he'd been to hand that night. I had a sore swollen nose, a black eye and a bruise on my forehead from smacking into the shower unit and all in all I was thoroughly pissed off with life. We were lucky. If we'd got home any later I reckon the cooker would have exploded or the units next to it would have caught fire, one of them was scorched from the heat generated by the grill.

  When Twinks began yelling my name it was the last straw. I thundered upstairs fully intent on murder, only to find him staggering around the bedroom like a headless horseman. In his haste to get undressed and into bed as I'd ordered, he'd pulled his t-shirt over his head but forgotten to take off his sling and the t-shirt ended up hopelessly tangled in the sling so he could get it neither off nor on. I untangled him and he reached for me sobbing apologies for getting me thumped. I regretted my loss of patience. My murderous inclinations evaporated and I cuddled him.

  I got him undressed and safely tucked up in bed. He said he knew he shouldn't have reacted to Boro man’s taunts, but sometimes he got so sick of the derisive comments he attracted, he wanted to hit back. I understood, of course I did. Why should one person degrade another person just because they don’t fit their view of the world? I find it very depressing that the desire to stone someone different to death still persists in so many individuals. Human beings of every cast, colour and persuasion seem to need a scapegoat of one kind or another.

  As a postscript to that night's events I woke up at three in the morning on hearing Lulu's key in the door. I got up intending to have a word with him about his carelessness with the cooker. He was galloping up the stairs hauling the mini skirt he was dressed in above his waist while tugging down his tights, knickers and dance belt and frantically trying to un-tuck himself. He was clearly in desperate need of the toilet. He raced past me into the bathroom and promptly shot up into the air as his stilettos failed to grip the floor, which despite my cleaning efforts was still oily. Crashing back down onto his back he lay there stunned, while his penis did an impression of an untended garden hose and sprayed water in all directions. It was not a pretty sight and once again I was less than enamoured of Lulu.

  However, he was genuinely mortified by his grill mistake, apologising so profusely and tearfully that I ended up hugging him. It seems to be one of my major roles in life, being a hugger.

  Once Lulu left to visit his parents on Sunday morning, Twinkles found himself sitting on a chair facing a corner of the bedroom wall in order to think over the issue of doing as he was told. I'd told him not to react several times at the hospital and he disobeyed. I'd told him to stay outside while I investigated a potential fire and he ignored me. He was very lucky not to be getting a good spanking. I made him serve an hour of sentence in the corner and then paroled him.

  After lunch we went for a walk around a local nature reserve. It was deserted due to it being winter so we felt safe enough to hold hands. We watched a lone swan glide sadly up and down the water as if it were seeking a lost mate. I kissed Twinkles, suddenly glad that this particular swan had its mate close by.

  15th January 2006: A Prayer For Lulu

  We had a late breakfast this morning. Twinks took it upon himself to give Lulu hell about not removing his makeup before going to bed the night before. He told him he was a lazy slut whose face looked like a brick wall covered in graffiti, and not the kind signed by Banksy. He'd regret it when his skin aged prematurely. Lu had just given Twinks the middle finger and told him to shut it when his mobile phone rang. It was his dad, but his smile and greeting faltered and we knew something was dreadfully wrong when his face crumpled and he lurched to his feet saying he'd be there as soon as he could.

  His mother had suffered a stroke and was in intensive care. We took Lu to the hospital. When we got there his dad was standing in the corridor outside the room as the nursing staff attended his wife. Lulu ran down the corridor and his dad embraced him, rocking him in his arms as he sobbed. We stayed a little while, and t
hen left them together, telling Lu to call us if he needed us.

  So far the news is grim. She’s seriously ill and Lu and his dad have more or less been told to prepare for the worst. Twinkles asked me to go to church with him this evening, so he could say a prayer for Emily (Lulu's mother) and light a votive candle. Sometimes in some situations, whatever you believe, or don't believe, the only thing left to do is pray.

  17th January 2006: A Waiting Game

  I was awakened in the early hours of Monday morning by Twinkles, who was sitting up beside me in bed making a phone call: ‘hello, Shirley, hello, baby, are you there (lip smacking noises) It's just Twinkles, Shirley darling, you know me (more lip smacking) don't you worry, sweetheart, everything is going to be fine. Emily is going to be fine, she's at the hospital and she will get well, I promise. Can you hear me Shirl (frenzied lip smacking) give me a sign...’

  I briskly plucked his mobile from his hand before he used up all the space on the answer machine. Shirley in case you're wondering is Lulu's mum's beloved tabby cat. Twinks had been fretting about her all night in case she was wondering what had happened to Lulu's parents. I had assured him that cats were very resilient and she had access in and out of the house, but he'd still been unable to sleep and decided to reassure Shirley via the telephone answer machine. I resigned myself to being sleepless and asked if he wanted a drink and he said yes please he'd have a large vodka and lime. I made him a cup of tea, much to his disgust.

  He was worrying about more than Shirley. He was worrying about Emily and about whether he was being supportive enough to Lulu in his time of grief. Shouldn't he be by his side at the hospital waiting with him, not lounging in bed drinking tea when he would have preferred vodka? I offered the opinion that Lulu and his father just needed each other at this moment in time. He then had a grumble because Lu hadn't called. I pointed out that mobiles were not permitted in hospitals and that no news was good news and he would call when he had something to tell us. I mixed some sweet almond oil with a few drops of lavender oil and used it to massage his good hand and the fingers of his injured hand. He enjoys a hand massage. It always relaxes him.