Date: Thu, 15 Apr 2004 12:51:28 +0100
From: Drew Hunt <drew.hunt@blueyonder.co.uk>
Subject: The House On The Hill 9

This work is copyright.  I have given permission for a copy of this story
to be placed on the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission
agreement.  But This work may not be copied or archived onto any other
website or newsgroup without the prior written permission of the author.

This story is fiction, it didn't happen, to the best of the author's
knowledge no one in the story exists in real life.

If you have a problem with reading stories of a homosexual nature, then
bugger off.  Also you shouldn't read on if you are below the age of
consent, or you have the misfortune to reside in an area where reading and
downloading this kind of material is against the law.

Thanks to Lars, John and Tom W for their editorial help.

Chapter 9

Robbie waved goodbye to his lover and his adorable son at lunchtime on
Sunday.  Carl had to attend the obligatory meal at his parents'
house. Though Robbie was sad to see them depart, he knew that they would
have to go at some point.  Carl had told him that he absolutely had to do
some housework.  Although he'd brought their dirty laundry up to the house,
Carl still had to attend to the vacuuming, the dusting and numerous other
duties, too.

Robbie closed the front door and trudged into the Drawing room.  Sitting
himself down on the sofa, Robbie picked up one of the scatter cushions and
hugged it.  He closed his eyes and relived some of the events of that
weekend.

Like any couple who had just discovered their love for one another, the
pair had gone around the place holding hands most of the time, treating
each other to silly grins.

Saturday morning had seen the three men go out for a walk.  They went into
town, via the small wood that covered part of Barrow's Rise, the hill on
which Robbie's house stood.  When they were in the thickest part of the
wood, Robbie stopped and faced Carl.  "Will you let me hold your hand for a
bit?"

Carl smiled; he really appreciated the fact that Robbie was taking things
slowly.  "Yeah, love, why not."

"You two at it again?" Ben said seeing the happy couple.

"Are you complaining?" Carl asked.

"What do you think?" Ben said, giggling.

When the trees began to thin out, Carl dropped Robbie's hand.  "Sorry."

"It's fine, we'll always have to be careful, I'm afraid."

Once they reached the town, Carl went off to get his hair cut; Ben decided
he'd go for a quick trim, too, and Robbie made his way to the shoe menders
to collect a pair of boots he'd put in for re-soling.

After picking up his boots, Robbie did some window shopping outside the few
antiques shops that were to be found down a narrow cobbled lane hidden away
behind the large supermarket.  Not seeing anything that piqued his
interest, he made his way to the town square where he had agreed to meet up
with Carl and Ben.  He knew that he'd have plenty of time to spare, because
the barber's would be very busy on a Saturday morning.

Robbie was still on the lookout for a sofa and two chairs to replace the
uncomfortable and hopelessly old-fashioned ones in the drawing room.  He
knew he couldn't buy anything modern in design, as it would look too out of
place.  He hadn't seen anything in the antique shops that met his needs.
Passing a shop that had a sign in its window announcing 'custom made
furniture', he decided to investigate.

The movement of the shop door being opened caused a bell to begin clanging.
The interior seemed rather dark and a little musty.

"I won't keep you a moment," a voice said from another room.

Robbie cast his eyes around the rather drab interior.  He was beginning to
think that he'd made a mistake, and was thinking up an excuse to leave the
premises without causing offence, when the proprietor entered the front
part of the shop.  The man, who seemed to Robbie to be in his mid forties,
stood just over six feet tall, however his stoop made him look a little
shorter.  He wore round steel rimmed spectacles, but his most striking
feature as far as Robbie was concerned was his smile.  It set off an
otherwise rather ordinary face.  "Ah yes, sorry about that," the man said a
little distractedly.  "I was just seeing to mother."

"Oh, right," Robbie said.  There wasn't much else he could reply really.
"I saw the sign about custom made furniture, and I might be interested."

"Oh yes, excellent," the man said.  "Oh, forgive my manners, I'm Simon
Featherstone, owner of this admittedly rather uninspiring temple of
commerce," Simon said holding out his hand to shake.

Robbie was rather taken by the man's self-deprecating and gentle humour.
Simon's smile was also a little infectious, too.

"Robbie, Robbie Foster.  I was thinking about a three-piece suite, large
sofa with two armchairs, and maybe a footstool, too.  I want something
comfortable, but traditional in style."

"Yes, sounds most interesting, most interesting," Simon said rubbing his
hands and tilting his head slightly to one side.  "Tell you what, I've got
a few brochures around the place somewhere.  Now where were they?"  Simon
lifted the lids on a couple of boxes.  "No, not in there.  Oh yes, of
course, I remember," he said, treating Robbie to an even broader smile.  He
walked over to a large leather-topped desk in one corner, opened a drawer
and proclaimed that he'd found what he was looking for.

Simon switched on a brass reading lamp that stood on the desk, and pulled
over a couple of wooden chairs, the two spent about 15 minutes looking at
the various styles and materials that were on offer.  They ended up with a
classic Chesterfield, but with 'more forgiving padding,' as Simon described
it.  He went into the back, emerging a little while later holding a block
of foam.  "This is the type of filling material I would use, Mr Foster."

"Oh please, call me Robbie," Robbie said as he took the foam into his
hands.  He put it on the wooden seat and sat down on it.  To Robbie it had
just enough give in it; it was neither too firm nor too soft.

"If possible could I have the seats slightly higher than standard?  My cook
is a little arthritic, as is a young friend of mine."

Simon didn't bat an eyelid at his customer mentioning that he had a cook.
In his time, Simon had dealt with all kinds.  The fact that Robbie spoke
well, with no trace of the local accent, meant that he was probably from
money.

"That won't be a problem at all."

The two spent a little longer in discussions, it would take between 6 to 8
weeks for the furniture to be made.

This was agreeable to Robbie, who had to get off to meet up with Carl and
Ben.  Robbie wrote out a cheque for the deposit, and after leaving his name
and address, departed, glad that he was making inroads into moulding the
house into a more comfortable living space.

As he walked towards the town square, Robbie mused at his encounter with
Simon.  Although his gaydar wasn't all that well attuned, he thought he'd
detected a few blips on the screen.  Simon was most definitely a mother's
boy.  During his visit to the shop, the pair had heard a thumping on the
ceiling a couple of times, Simon excusing himself to go "and see to
mother."  He'd return a minute later telling Robbie that she'd dropped her
reading glasses or whatever.  Robbie didn't think it polite to enquire why
the old lady didn't pick the glasses up herself.  Yes, Simon was definitely
under the thumb.

Robbie couldn't help breaking out into a wide smile when he saw his lover
and his son sitting on a bench in the square waiting for his return.  Their
shopping complete, the three made their way back up to the house, holding
hands again during their walk through the woods.

* * * * *

Robbie came out of his musings, the chiming of the clock in the hallway
bringing him back to the present.  He made note of the preceding twelve
chimes, denoting the fact that the clock had reached the hour, and then a
single louder bong informed him that it was one o-clock.  He got up, went
upstairs to dress for lunch.  Sarah would permit him to dress down for most
meals, but she always insisted that they made a special effort on Sundays.
Robbie knew the meal would be on the table at half past one on the dot.  He
realised with a chuckle that he was probably as much under the thumb as
Simon Featherstone, the furniture maker.

Once the meal was ended, his offer to help clean up denied, Robbie went
back into the Drawing room and resumed his replaying of the events of the
weekend.

Once the three had gotten back to the house after their trip into town,
Robbie had told Carl that although he liked the longer haired look, the
shorter style made him appear "Even more hunky."  He then treated Carl to a
short peck on the lips.

Before they'd eaten Saturday's tea, the three had agreed to go for a swim.
Carl and Robbie had made sure that Ben did his exercises, and then they
mucked about until Sarah called them out to eat.

After tea, the three sat in the drawing room and watched the end of the
sports programmes.  Robbie, though not all that interested in the TV,
greatly enjoyed snuggling up to Carl on the sofa.  Robbie rarely looked at
the screen; he was more interested in gazing at his lover.  He still felt
the urge to pinch himself; having great difficulty in believing that it was
all real.

Carl would occasionally look over at his partner, he would smile, and the
two would share a tender look, or a light caress.  Robbie couldn't ever
remember feeling happier, safer, or more loved.

Ben eventually decided it was his bedtime.  It was still early, and at the
weekends Carl was far less strict, but Ben wanted the two adults to have
some alone time.

"Okay, son, see you in the morning," Carl said as he gave Ben a light peck
on the cheek.  Robbie gave Ben a hug.

"Do you want to listen to a bit of music?" Robbie asked once they were
alone.

"Yeah, okay then."

Carl got up and looked through Robbie's CD collection.  It was in
alphabetical order by artist; Carl chuckled at Robbie's neatness.

"Bloody hell, I didn't think you'd have any Abba," Carl said spotting the
disks.

At first Robbie felt like saying that they belonged to his mother or his
late father, but he ended up grinning.  "I'm a man with many hidden
depths."

Carl smiled warmly.  He inserted a disc into the top of the range Hi-Fi.
Once it began to play, Carl showed Robbie the CD cover.  It read, 'Songs
For Lovers'.  Robbie smiled.

The two sat snuggled up to one another on the couch.  Robbie unbuttoned a
couple of Carl's shirt buttons and then looked up.  "Is this okay?" he said
before putting his hand through the gap.

Carl smiled, marvelling at how Robbie was consulting him at every stage of
them getting to know one another. "Yeah, babe, it's fine."

Robbie thrilled at being called 'babe'.  He reached into the gap in Carl's
shirt and slowly ran his fingers through the lush chest hair.  He then
rested his head on Carl's shoulder as the wonderfully relaxing music washed
over them.  They remained in the same position seemingly for hours, with
Robbie nestling contentedly in the crook of Carl's shoulder.

"Wake up, love, its time for bed," Carl said rousing Robbie from a most
satisfying doze.

"Huh?"

Carl smiled down at his lover.  "You fell asleep."

"Sorry," Robbie said sheepishly.

"It's fine.  It's actually a bit of a compliment, you feeling secure enough
to fall asleep in my arms."

"I feel so secure and safe around you Car, it's like all my dreams have
come true."

Carl smiled, his dimples on full view. "Come on then, let's get you into
your pyjamas."

"I don't wear pyjamas."

"Then I'll have to wrap my body around you to keep you warm, won't I?"
Carl wiggled his eyebrows.

As Carl used the bathroom, Robbie lay on the bed, listening to the splash
of water coming from the next-door room.  He shook his head in an effort to
wake up, it all had to be a dream.  It just couldn't be real.  After years
of hoping, Carl was finally sharing his heart with him.

* * * * *

The next thing Robbie had been aware of was a light tapping at the bedroom
door.  He opened his eyes; light was streaming through the gaps in the
curtains.  The tapping resumed.

"Erm, come in."

Ben poked his head around the door.  "Breakfast."

"Oh right, I, sorry, we'll be down in a few minutes."

"No, it's okay," Ben said coming into the room holding a large tray.  "I've
brought it up to you."

Carl stirred then.  "Uh, what is it?"

"Ben's brought us breakfast in bed."  Robbie smiled at Carl's unkempt
appearance.

"Wow, what a treat."

Ben set the tray down on the bed, and hesitated slightly.

"What's wrong?" Carl enquired.

"Oh nothing, it's just great to see the two people I love the most in the
world, getting on so well," Ben admitted before slipping out of the room.

"He's a smashing kid, Car, he really is," Robbie said looking at the now
closed bedroom door.

Carl said something around a mouthful of toast.

The two men spent a lazy Sunday morning, lounging around the house reading
the newspapers, which had been delivered up to the house earlier.  Then all
too soon Carl said that he and Ben would have to get going.  They had to go
home first, then over to Carl's mother's for Sunday lunch.

"I'll be back tomorrow morning to drop Ben off as usual," Carl said
advancing down the hall.

"Hang on a minute," Robbie said.  He went into the kitchen, coming out a
moment later carrying a medium sized box.  "For your mother.  I did a bit
of research on the Internet, and I've managed to get a few replacement
plates and things for her dinner service."

"Oh wow, Rob, thanks, she'll be ever so grateful.  It must have cost a fair
bit, will you...?"

Robbie gave Carl a look.  "Don't spoil it by mentioning money, it's a gift
to my lover's mother, that's all."

Robbie carried the box outside and saw that it was carefully placed inside
Carl's van.  He then went over to the driver's door, treated Carl to a long
slow loving kiss; he stepped backwards, closed the door, and waved them
off.

"Drive safely my love, see you tomorrow," Robbie said quietly as the van
disappeared down the hill.

* * * * *

Monday morning found Carl driving to the building site at the other end of
the county.  He began to reflect.  In truth he hadn't had a good night's
rest; he'd tossed and turned, his emerging relationship with Robbie
occupying his thoughts.  He kept running through the scene in the woods as
they walked towards the town that Saturday morning.  Carl remembered
letting go of Robbie's hand as the trees thinned out.  He'd been ashamed of
his actions, but Robbie's words had disturbed him, they kept echoing round
in his head "We'll always have to be careful, I'm afraid."

Carl remembered that he'd held hands with Maureen whenever the two had felt
like it; they didn't give it a second thought, it was just natural.
However, the fact that he couldn't ever do the same with Robbie worried him
enormously.  If he couldn't hold hands with his partner, because of
society's attitudes towards same sex relationships, then maybe such
relationships were wrong.  Carl's unease grew as he'd sat in the barber's
chair.  Maurice, a rather flamboyant queen had minced around the shop,
dropping double-entendres constantly, his frequent innuendoes and camp
banter with the other patrons had irked Carl.  If he were to be in a same
sex relationship with someone, then surely this placed him in the same boat
as the likes of Maurice.

Carl remembered sitting on the bench in the town square, growing
increasingly uneasy.  Then he saw Robbie approaching, when Robbie had
spotted he and Ben, Robbie's face lit up, Carl could never remember seeing
anyone ever look so glad to see him before.  Noticing the joy writ large on
his lover's face helped to ease Carl's mind.  To have such a happy effect
on a person, someone as fundamentally kind and decent as Robbie couldn't be
wrong, could it?

Carl then remembered the overwhelming joy and satisfaction of the remainder
of Saturday, snuggling up on the sofa, enjoying those oh so wonderful
touches and kisses.  And to wake up with Robbie in the same bed, the two
feeding one another breakfast.  The remembered images caused Carl to glow
inwardly.

Finally arriving at the site, Carl alighted from his van, picked up the
lunch bucket which Robbie and Sarah had jointly prepared for him.  He knew
the pair of them insisted on doing it together causing a little friction
between them.  The end result was enough sandwiches and other snacks to
feed three rather hungry people.  Carl knew however that the food wouldn't
go to waste, the other guys on the building site would see to that.  Carl
also picked up a large thermos flask filled with ice-cold home made
lemonade.  Robbie had told him that the Met Office had predicted a hot day,
and he didn't want Carl to become dehydrated.  Carl smiled at how kind and
thoughtful Robbie was.  Though his previous thoughts on living openly with
another man still troubled him.

Carl went to see Henry, the site foreman to find out where he was to work
that day.  Due to a disagreement between two of the joiners who were
working on one of the houses, Henry was forced to re-assign people in order
to keep the peace.

Carl therefore walked to the far side of the building site, picking his way
through the bricks, bags of cement and stray pieces of timber that littered
the landscape.  He entered the empty shell of the house he was assigned to,
and began to measure up and cut the floor boarding for the upper storey.
He had to work alongside Frank Snaipe.  Frank was a particularly
loudmouthed individual, who had an opinion on every subject, and was wont
to express his views, misinformed as they often were, rather loudly and at
great length.  It seemed that Jerry Bolton, the joiner who had been working
with Frank, had threatened to quit the previous Friday because Frank had
been getting on his case.  Jerry had a son, Peter, whom everyone knew was
gay.  Jerry was quite ambivalent towards his son's homosexuality, however
this was not the case with Frank, or Fat Frank as he was none too
affectionately termed.  The label was not inappropriate given the rolls of
blubber that hung from Frank's body.  He was only 5 foot 6 inches tall.
His weight gain had been achieved by frequent sessions of beer drinking at
his local pub.  Frank would then pick up a take away meal consisting of
deep-fried foodstuffs; Frank had never learned how to cook, judging it to
be 'woman's work'.  He lived alone; his wife had given up on his
unreasonable behaviour many years earlier.  Of course Frank blamed his wife
for the break-up.

Frank began the day by grumbling that he had indigestion.  "Bad pie last
night," he said, loosing off a particularly noxious fart.  Frank was a
slob, and few men would work with him, because he was lazy, often
semi-paralytic, and his endless proselytising didn't endear him to his
fellow workers, either.

Carl did his best to tune out Frank's grumbles, getting on with his work as
best he could, but when Frank began to condemn "those bloody fairies," Carl
grew agitated.  Through a super-human effort, Carl remained tight-lipped.
He'd try and have a word with the foreman when they broke for lunch to get
moved off that particular job.  Though Carl knew his chances of escaping
Frank were slim, because Frank had managed to piss off most of the others
already.

Carl was relieved when they were all ordered to down tools for lunch.  As
the men sat in the shade of one of the houses, eating their sandwiches,
Frank began to hold court.

"Well, it ain't natural.  Jerry ought to get his lad down the pub, stick a
few beers in 'im and then get 'im 'itched with a bird for the night.  A
roll in the sack with a woman 'ud soon cure 'im of being a pansy."

Most of the time, the others would just ignore Frank as he preached, but
Carl was disturbed to see several of the other guys on the building team
agree more or less with Frank's views.  This naturally enough did nothing
to decrease Carl's unease.

Gary, one of the bricklayers, a heavily muscled and tattooed individual,
spoke up to say that he'd once let a queer suck his dick. "He made a good
job of it too, but you're right, Frank, it ain't right.  After the poof had
got me off, I punched him, sent him flying it did, then as I still had my
dick out, I pissed on 'im."

The others laughed at the 'joke', then someone said, "He might have enjoyed
being pissed on."

Carl felt sick.  He couldn't finish the rest of his sandwich; he stood up
and began to weave his way out from the other labourers.  Before he was out
of earshot, another worker told how he'd once walked down a street in
Manchester and saw "loads of 'em kissin' and 'olding 'ands, blatant it
was."

Carl went back to his work, grateful for the time alone.  He began to
brood, his earlier fears about how gays were reviled were proved to be
correct.  What upset Carl the most was that a few weeks earlier he'd have
probably joined in on the laughter of the guys as they poked fun at gay
people.

Mercifully, Frank was less belligerent during the afternoon.  His liquid
lunch, combined with a few of Carl's sandwiches, had quieted him somewhat.
Though this quiet mood was accompanied by Frank doing even less work than
usual.  Carl just got on with his work, trying to sort out his feelings,
though he failed miserably.  He came to the conclusion that he needed some
time to think, time away from Robbie.  He knew that if he talked with his
friend, he'd feel better for a while, because he'd always felt so
comfortable and at home in his presence, but he knew that spending time
with Robbie wouldn't solve his dilemma.

Driving home that evening, Carl decided that he wouldn't stay for tea at
Robbie's house, he'd just pick up Ben and go back home to think.

Pulling up outside the house, Carl tooted his horn, hoping to see Ben, then
he could gesture over to him, and get him in the van.  However, the
sounding of the horn didn't yield the expected result.  Instead a beaming
Robbie tripped lightly down the few steps and came towards the van.

"Hello love," Robbie said opening the van door next to Carl.  "Ben's been
in the pool, he's just getting changed.  He said he'd meet us in the
kitchen, Sarah's done one of her famous Lancashire hotpots in your honour."

Robbie stuck his head inside the van and moved towards Carl to kiss him.

"Erm, no, Rob," Carl said putting up a hand to block him.  "I'm not feeling
so great, hard day at work, I just want to go back to mine and kick back."

A little nonplussed at his lover's actions, Robbie said that the meal was
almost ready, and Carl was most welcome to relax there.  "I'll even give
you a back massage if you like," Robbie said in an effort to try and get
Carl to stay.

"No, honestly, I just want to go home.  Will you go and get Ben for me?"

Robbie trailed back into the house, worried at how drawn and tired looking
his lover seemed.  'All that hard work, plus the long drive isn't good for
him,' Robbie told himself as he rounded up Ben.

Returning to the van with Ben in tow, Robbie approached Carl's side of the
van once again.  "Okay, sweetheart, you have a good rest tonight."  Robbie
reached in through the open window and ruffled Carl's hair.  "Love you,
Car."

"Yeah," was Carl's only response as he started up the engine and drove
away, leaving a rather confused Robbie standing there.

* * * * *

Ben knew that something was troubling his father, but not knowing exactly
what, plus the fact that Carl didn't seem to be in a talkative mood, caused
him to keep his own counsel.

Ben helped Carl to prepare a meal, he'd been looking forward to sampling
the hotpot at Robbie's, the smell had been wafting through the house for
over an hour, causing his mouth to water.  During his time at Robbie's, Ben
had persuaded Sarah to give him a few cooking lessons.  She'd been
initially a little hesitant; in her book the male of the species didn't
cook, though Ben in a surprising flash of wisdom told her that there were
many famous male chefs, he illustrated his point by picking up one of
Sarah's cookery books, the author being Escoffier.

Robbie had chuckled from the sidelines. "He's got you there, Sarah."

She just harrumphed and began to teach him the rudiments of domestic
science.

Armed with this knowledge, Ben was able to prepare a decent enough repast
for his father and himself.

"You're getting good at this," Carl said once the meal had been set out on
the table.  These had been the most words that Carl had strung together
that evening.

"Yeah, Uncle Rob and me ganged up on Sarah to start teaching me stuff."

The mention of Robbie's name caused Carl to clam up again.  The meal was
eaten in virtual silence.

After the cleaned dishes had been put away, Ben looked at his dad.  "Do you
want to go to bed early?  You said that you'd had a hard day today."

"Yeah, son, I think I will."

Ben then treated his dad to a hug.  "I'll go up and start the bathwater for
you then.  That'll help you to relax."

"Thanks, son," Carl said returning the hug.

* * * * *

Carl's feelings were no nearer being resolved on Tuesday morning.  He'd had
another restless night, not seeming to be able to get comfortable in his
bed.  He dropped Ben off outside Robbie's house; he was about to drive off
without going inside.

"Hey dad, aren't you going to come in for a minute?  Uncle Rob will have
your sandwiches ready I guess."

Though uncomfortable about seeing Robbie, Carl knew that he had to go into
the house, even if it was just for a minute.  "Okay, son," he said getting
out of the van.

The two hadn't even got to the steps leading up to the front door, before
Robbie had the door wide open, a cautious smile on his face.  He, too,
hadn't had the best of nights.  He eventually got to sleep, promising
himself that Carl had just been tired, and he'd be fine again the next
morning.

"Hi Carl, you okay?" Robbie said going over to his lover and hugging him.
He then gave him a kiss on the lips.  Carl remained rather unresponsive,
not really joining in on the hug, and he didn't return Robbie's kiss,
either.

"Can't stay too long, it'll be another heavy day on the site."

"You can't stay for a coffee?" Robbie hoped his disappointment wasn't
coming across in his voice.

"Sorry, Rob, better get off."

"Right," Robbie said feeling a little dejected.  "Hang on, I'll get your
sandwiches.  You didn't give us back the lunch bucket from yesterday."

"Err, sorry."

"It's okay, we have a spare."  Robbie smiled before going into the kitchen.

He emerged a minute later, handed over the food and another thermos flask.
Carl turned to exit.  Robbie put out a hand to stop him.  "I'm getting a
bit worried about you, Car, all that driving and everything, you don't look
so good."

"No, hopefully it'll ease up in a day or two," Carl said evasively.

"Take care of yourself."

"I will," Carl said head down, making for the door again.

He had the door open and had stepped over the threshold before Robbie said,
"Carl, I love you."

"Erm, yeah, same for me," Carl said before closing the door quickly.

Robbie tried his best to hide his pain.  He had young Ben to consider.  Ben
too was a bit perplexed and more than a little unsure as to why his dad was
behaving like he was.

Robbie plastered a fake smile on his face before turning back to Ben.  "Now
young fellow, I imagine you're still hungry, shall we see what Sarah's
cooking up?"

* * * * *

Carl's day at work was just as unsettling as the previous one.  Frank had a
new topic on which to grumble about, this seemed to occupy his thoughts
until Jerry had appeared; it seemed he'd left one of his drill bits in the
house that he and Frank had been working on.  As soon as Frank spotted
Jerry, the same homophobic crap began to spill from his lips.

"Oh piss off, Frank, it's getting fucking old," Jerry said whilst trying to
locate the missing tool.

"If you were any sort of dad to that kid, you'd beat some sense into 'im."

"You can talk, you're hardly a model dad are you?  When was the last time
you even saw your kids?"

This enraged Frank.  The subject of he and his wife's break-up was always a
sensitive one with him.

Jerry, not one to start a fight, in fact he was a pretty mild mannered man
most of the time, got out of Frank's way before the latter could advance on
him.

Jerry's visit naturally enough exercised Frank for the rest of the morning.
Carl was treated to a seemingly endless stream of garbage about Jerry, the
infidelity of his ex-wife, and his most favourite topic, the putting down
of anything remotely connected with homosexuality.  Carl was glad when
lunchtime came around, he snatched up his lunch bucket and took it to a
remote corner of the building site.  He didn't want to sit with the others,
fearing that Frank would start up another discussion about "those bloody
queers."

As Carl ate, he came to the uncomfortable realisation that he just couldn't
be gay; he was a man, a real man.  He wasn't like the fairies he'd seen on
the TV, waving their flags in the parades that had been shown on the
evening news.  He didn't wear make-up, his wrists weren't limp.  No, he
wasn't gay, and because of that, he couldn't be in love with another man.
Coming to that realisation made Carl feel a little better.  Though when he
closed his eyes for a moment, a vision of Robbie swam into view.  Carl saw
Robbie's gentle, warm and trusting face smiling at him.

"Oh God, this is awful," Carl said to himself.  He left the rest of his
sandwiches untouched; he'd lost his appetite.

* * * * *

Carl resumed his work; he and Frank had moved onto another house where they
were fixing the wooden architrave around all the internal doors.  At least
this meant that Carl didn't have to be in the same room as Frank.  Carl's
earlier self-revelation, flawed as it was, cheered him somewhat for the
rest of the day.  So, once packing up time arrived, Carl left the building
site, and began his journey home.  He'd been working on a plan of action,
which involved telling Robbie that there was no future in continuing their
relationship.  However, the nearer the van got to Greenville, and Robbie's
house, the less sure Carl was of his position.  Hadn't he really enjoyed
the previous weekend spent up at the house?  Hadn't snuggling up with
Robbie been one of the most satisfying things he'd done in years?  And
those kisses, they were far more pleasurable than the ones he'd had with
his ex-wife.  The firm foundations of Carl's original hypothesis proved to
be built on shifting sand.

Carl got out of his van and walked up to the house and knocked on the door.
Robbie greeted him with another one of his cautious smiles.  "Hard day,
love?"

Fearing rejection, Robbie didn't advance on Carl to hug him.

"Yeah Rob, bit of a bitch."  Carl handed over the two lunch buckets, plus
the thermos flasks.  "Thanks for these."  Carl cleared his throat before
continuing.  "Look if it's okay with you, I won't stop for tea ..."

Robbie cut him off.  "Fine, I'll go and get Ben for you."  Robbie turned
away; he didn't want to let Carl witness the misery etched on his face.
Carl hadn't smiled at him once during the previous exchange, nor had he
offered to hug him.  In fact once he'd handed over his lunch items, Carl
had taken a step backwards to prevent Robbie from becoming more intimate
with him.

Ben got into his dad's van, Carl started the engine, and they were away.

Once settled in at home, Ben didn't think he could keep silent any longer.
"Dad?"

"Yes, son?"

"You and Uncle Rob, erm, is everything okay?"

"I'm tired, I think I'll go and have a bath, then I'm off to bed."  Carl
left the room before Ben could ask anymore awkward questions.

* * * * *

Nothing seemed to get resolved for the rest of the week.  Carl's emotions
cycled from being in love with Robbie and accepting the fact totally, to
being revolted that he was allowing himself to be pulled into a
relationship that was wrong according to most people's views.  Carl also
considered what his parents would think of him falling in love with another
man.  Although his mother might be okay about it, Carl was pretty certain
that his dad would have a hard time accepting it.  Stan had been angry when
Carl's marriage had broken up.  Though he never said it, it was fairly
obvious to Carl that Stan had blamed his son for the breakdown in the
relationship.  Carl had always tried his best to please his parents; a
relationship with another man wouldn't exactly make them happy.  This was a
major minus point in continuing to remain with Robbie.  Then, as if Carl
had a courtroom battle playing itself out in his head, the barrister for
the plaintiff started to put forward his case.  'You let your parents lead
you into your last relationship, which didn't last, so maybe it's time you
made your own mind up.'

Carl shook his head trying to put an end to the battle going on inside it.

On Friday afternoon, Carl got wind of a trip into the nearby town, which a
group of the lads were planning.  It seemed there was a pub that served up
cheap ale; you could get a room above the pub too.  "The landlord's got a
back room where we can drink after hours," Simon, one of the brickies,
informed Carl.

"And there's usually plenty of birds begging for it, too," Frank announced,
when he'd invited himself to the pub, as well.  Carl thought that an
evening with the lads might be just the thing to 'straighten' him out.
He'd not had a night out with his fellow workers in a long time.  So he
said he'd join them.  This decided upon, Carl worked for the rest of the
day, feeling a bit happier with himself.

Once he'd driven to the pub, and got himself a room, he used the payphone
in the entranceway to ring Robbie to ask him if he'd look after Ben for the
night.  Fortunately for Carl, Sarah answered the phone, Carl told her of
his need to work late and the fact that he was staying near the jobsite
overnight.

Although fully aware of the strained relationship between Robbie and Carl,
Sarah held her tongue; she told Carl that she and Robbie would be glad to
look after Ben for him.  Carl returned to the bar, got himself a drink and
joined the others at a table, just as a pack of cards emerged from
someone's pocket.

To be continued.