Date: Sat, 26 Feb 2005 10:30:36 -0000
From: Mike Arram <marram@wanadoo.co.uk>
Subject: the-decent-inn-11

Something like siege conditions descended on their home.  Andy got into the
habit of staring round the curtains at the street.  Matt was determined to
keep up normality, shopping and going to the library, and thought Andy was
being a bit excessive in his reactions.  But then, he reflected, it was
Andy who was at the storm centre, not him.
   Matt dragged Andy out for their usual Friday with Leo and the gang.  As
usual they met up for pool at the Union.  It was probably only his
imagination that a lot of students were looking curiously round the door to
catch sight of Andy.  As usual, Andy lost to Katy.  It was a misjudgement
on her part to offer him a rematch for a million pounds.  He certainly
wasn't amused, and was on edge all evening.
   In the end Andy disappeared on Saturday for a week to his mum's.  Matt
suspected that he just wanted to enjoy a joint hate session over his dad
with someone who he knew would sympathise thoroughly.  But Mrs Peacher
unfortunately did not confine herself to running down her ex-husband; her
anger broke over the university.  She savagely attacked the vice-chancellor
in the local press for his indiscretion and the consequent lack of privacy
for her son.  The university certainly looked foolish, but as damage
limitation the strategy was a big failure.  The national press picked it
up.  The tabloids ignored it for the moment, but the quality dailies and
the educational supplements ran quite lengthy features on the issue.  Matt
had the frisson of seeing Andy's face in a run of photos of celebrity
students.  He thought Andy looked quite nice next to the undergraduate
royal princes, and cut the feature out.
  Matt's phone hummed with calls from relatives ... was his friend Andy,
that Andy.  His mum was particularly charmed; what a nice boy he had been
when he'd come and stayed after Carol had died, no airs and graces at all,
quite happy to sleep on a camp bed.  Feel free to bring him back anytime.
His dad wanted him to put up Andy's rent.
  Matt was a historian born.  His mind instinctively ran on chains of cause
and effect, and at present it was working feverishly in overdrive.  The
photo in the national papers had not been the one in the local paper, or
one of Andy he had otherwise seen.  It had been taken since his last
haircut, when Andy had started gelling out his fringe.  It had been snapped
while he was out walking in a park, but not one he knew.  He texted Andy
and warned him that he thought he was being watched by freelance
photographers, and began watching his own road from behind the curtains.
He didn't see anything, but then, Andy was still in Nuneaton.
  The next appalling step his logic warned him about was that the tabloids
had been alerted to a potential target in Andy.  The news buzzards were
circling and he had seen enough of their methods in his short lifetime to
know what would follow.  The bitter and frightening conclusion was one that
he did not dare to avoid.  A few questions round the university and his big
secret would be public property.  It would be terrible if his parents
learned the truth about him and Andy from the papers.  He agonised and
agonised, pacing the lounge nervously for the best part of a day.  But the
conclusion was unavoidable.  It was time to be a grown-up at last.
  Matt went home, fretting and nervous on the long bus ride.  His dad was
waiting for him at the station.  They hugged and went back home, with Matt
silent at his side.  There he sat them down and told his parents what had
to be told.  He told them what had happened, how he had fallen in love with
Andy, that they slept together and suggested what the tabloids were likely
to make of their relationship.  They took it all well, although his dad
kept asking in his confusion whether he was sure he was a homosexual.  It
was heartbreaking, and Matt cried about it in his bedroom, something he had
not done about anything for several years.  But it was done, and although
he could not look at his mother and say he was glad it was done, still, in
the long run, it had closed off a terrible possibility.
  He came back depressed, and an even more depressed Andy returned the next
day.
 'Andy, I understand now why you were so secretive.  I'm sorry I resented
it.  You're a wise person.'
  'Not that wise.  Mum has really blown it this time, hasn't she?  I jumped
from the frying pan into the crematorium furnace, didn't I?  So typical.
She's really quite pleased with her contribution to my miseries.  She
thinks she's sorted out the vice- chancellor and begun a productive
national debate.  Oh, and just in case you were interested she just passed
the milestone of 5,000th in line for the throne, who is, you will be very
interested to know - and gosh, I was - the 13th Earl of Stirling.'
  Matt sighed.  It seemed there was no refuge anywhere, a reflection that
gave him a premonitory chill, although he was not sure why.
  They went back to university, but to a different world.  Eyes followed
both of them.  Katy and most of the gang were really good and kind about it
all, but one or two former friends seemed reluctant to talk to them in fear
of being seen to be celebrity groupies; while strangers seemed all too keen
on getting to know them.  These they avoided.  Only Leo was completely
unmoved by the whole business.  This would have reassured Matt more if he
hadn't known that a nuclear bomb going off next to Leo would only have
caused him to be mildly interested in the colour effects of the mushroom
cloud.  Andy was only happy on the soccer field and in Matt's arms.  'You
make me feel safe,' he said again and again.
  In March the real horror finally commenced.  Non-stories began to appear
in the press.  The redtops reported the wild lifestyle of public school
billionaire Andrew Peacher - 'England's Richest Student', 'Randy Andy',
'Party Peacher'.  Unnamed female students reported his bizarre appetites.
The university was apparently investigating rumours of booze and
drug-fuelled parties.  Former schoolfriends (named this time) added colour
about arrogant and spoiled Andrew, maladjusted product of a bitter divorce
battle.
  'Arrogant?  You're the nicest and mildest person I've ever met!'
protested Matt, and Paul vigorously agreed.
  'It's in the eye of the beholder.  I was withdrawn and standoffish at
school; but then, they knew who I was there.  I didn't like the attention.
Still, it's horrible to find how much some of them hated me.  One of the
sources was a guy I quite liked.'
  Then the next generation of stories began surfacing as the tabloid
journalists began to get to serious grips with their lives.  Andy
apparently swung both ways.  At last a photo appeared of 'good-looking
boyfriend of Randy Andy', Matthew Anthony White (20), of Northampton.
Comprehensive-educated White was known to be his local 'bit of rough'. The
source this time was student Stephen Wharton (21) of Thetford.  White, he
said, was a well-known predatory and promiscuous gay, and Andy and Matt
were apparently queens of the local scene, hosting fiestas in city gay
clubs.  Police were investigating but had no comment.  The vice-chancellor
had launched an inquiry in the Faculty of Arts.
  Actually the vice-chancellor sent the dean to Andy to ask him please to
stay out of the limelight for a bit, if he possibly could, as the
university's reputation was beginning to suffer.  Andy was speechless.
  'So, when did they get that photo of me?' Matt asked, holding up the one
of him that was plastered over several tabloids.
  'Thank God you told your parents when you did.'
  'Yeah.  My mum was actually quite funny about the "Good-looking"
description.  She said that I could get some modelling on the strength of
it.  She belted the bloke who doorstepped her about the story.  She gave
him predatory and promiscuous.  And you might be interested to know that
she also thumped him again for all the nasty things they'd said about you.
She told him that you were a lovely lad.  It's not a bad photo, though.  I
think I look ...'
  'Scared shitless, worried ...'
  'Dashing, energetic and very gay.  Thank God it was after my last
haircut.  I think it was when we left the pub three days ago.  Evil Steve
must have tipped them off.  That's your blue top I borrowed.'  Matt
continued hesitantly, 'So how about Santa Barbara?  Do you think they know
yet?'
  'Not a word, Matt.  But you can be sure they know.  The press will have
been on to the Peacher Foundation, and the web will be alive with all of
it.  What will dad say?  Scares me.'
  'And your mum?'
  'I had that phonecall yesterday.  Apparently my great-great uncle Alfred
was sentenced to hard labour in 1899 for buggery.'
  'So it's alright with your mum, then?'
  'Seems so.'
  Matt paused, and then asked, 'Is your dad going to do the Victorian thing
and cut you off without a penny?'
  'Since I don't want his cash, that might be hard for him.  But I never
wanted to hurt him, and this will hurt him.  He's very conventional, you
know.  I guess that there'll be enemies in the American establishment who
will try to get at him through my ...  indiscretions.'
  'You must have known it would come out sooner or later.'
  'Yeah, I knew.  But I thought we'd have a couple of years to ourselves
first.  I wanted to put the big scene off till I'd finished university and
was more in control of my life.  If only he'd kept his nose out of things
for just a bit longer.  I just can't work out why he suddenly decided to
barge into my life here.'  Andy sighed heavily, then looked up and gave a
brave grin, 'OK, my bit of rough, how about a kiss?'
  'Not till I've checked the road for men on ladders with telephoto
lenses.'

That was about the last cheerful day they spent.  The house came under
fitful siege and Andy stopped going to lectures and seminars, though Matt
kept on toughing it out.  They were doorstepped daily over the next week,
and Matt was often pursued down the road.  It was embarrassing.  Paul
started leaving over the back wall, through an obliging neighbour's side
gate after one reporter had offered him an obscene amount of money to wire
the house for him; he laughed in the man's face.  'I would have spat on
him, but he was beneath that sort of notice.'  He said he was very much
envied at school, and even the teachers tried to pump him for details.
   When they left the house, Matt and Andy brushed past the journalists
with no comment.  These were generally in their forties, pudgy and balding.
A different approach was from Gay Universe, which pushed a letter under
their door offering them a chance to model (mostly) naked and tell their
story about their gay awakenings.  It was willing to offer a surprisingly
large amount of money.
  At the end of the week Andy was clearly sinking deeper and deeper into
depression.  There was nothing Matt could do about it.  He was taking bad
hits himself.  An e-mail from Zav had reached him, and had left him in no
doubt that Zav thought he had betrayed the family and humiliated them.  He
had lost one of his oldest and closest friends and allies, and the shock of
Zav's letter had made him physically sick.  He actually threw up in the
loo, much to Paul and Andy's concern.  The world was not as liberal as he
had hoped, and not all his family had rallied to him.
  'I think we're handling this quite well, all in all.'  Matt observed
hopefully after they'd spent all Friday under cover.  They hadn't swum in a
fortnight.
  'We're not handling it; we're surviving it ... just.  And it isn't going
away.  There doesn't seem any escape from it.  I had an approach from a
consultant, would you believe.  A motorbike messenger arrived this morning
with brochures about his media management package.  Here, take a look.'  He
tossed the packet to Matt.
  Matt marvelled, 'Look at the prices!  Look at his client list ... phew!'
  'Yeah, the prices.  How much have we got?'
  'Between us?  About 5,000 quid left I think.'
  'That should buy thirty minutes of his time.  It's money you need to get
protection.  Money hires consultants, lawyers and pitbulls.  Unfortunately
"England's Richest Student" hasn't got any.  Only his dad's got that sort
of cash.'
  Matt's heart sagged.  He knew what was coming.  Andy had been on the
phone in the back room a long time the day before.
  'Dad was finally on the phone last night.  After we'd got past the gay
bombshell, he was actually quite kind.  He's had this sort of treatment
himself off and on, although it's not so common in the USA.  And it was his
suggestion that I go to him.'
  'And you're going to take up his offer?'
  'He's got a big umbrella, Matt.  No one can protect me here.'  Tears
started in Matt's eyes, 'I can!'  It sounded plaintive even to him.
  'I wish it was as easy as you standing up and punching journalists, but
the royal family's tried that, and it didn't work.  Look at you.  You're
gibbetted across the national press as a sleazy coke-sniffing giggolo when
they should be composing tributes on stone to you because of your brilliant
talents.  But these people, they're not interested in humanity or truth.
They are lice.'  He gave a sad little smile, 'I would have said cockroaches
... but I know you're quite fond of them.'
  Matt made a strange sound, half sob and half laugh.  There was a very
long silence, during which tears brimmed in Matt's eyes and slowly began to
trickle down his cheeks.  He blew his nose.  He felt like he was ten again.
He pulled himself together.
  'So ... so you've decided.'
  'It's me that's to blame for all this, Matt.  And only I can make it go
away.  You'll have no future if I stay here.  I'm leaving tomorrow.'
  'What!  That soon!'
  'It's been time to go for a long while now, since the day the idiot dean
patted me on the shoulder.'
  Tears were no longer sufficient relief.  Matt choked with grief.  He had
no words for this sort of pain.  Andy sat looking through the net curtains
at the suburban roofs and chimneys.  Matt wanted to say anything to make
him stay, and had no words or arguments.  They sat silent for a long, long
time, Matt watching the shining lines of tears running down his lover's
face.