Date: Sat, 26 Feb 2005 10:32:57 -0000
From: Mike Arram <marram@wanadoo.co.uk>
Subject: the-decent-inn-15

England seemed warm by comparison with New York State.  Paul and he said
their goodbyes.  One of his university girlfriends had asked Paul home for
Christmas, which eased one of Matt's worries.  So they shut up the little
house, and left the heating on a low setting.  Matt headed back home and
passed a difficult holiday.  It was not that everybody wasn't pleasant, but
there was a completely new family dynamic to get used to.  His male cousins
and relatives were more distant, and his female relatives were more
friendly.  He thought he could work out why.  His mother was great until
his grandmother White, who was a little out of the loop, asked him if was
courting.  His mother disappeared and Matt found her in tears in the
kitchen.  She hugged him and told him that she was silly, that he was still
her little Matty and she knew that.  But he could tell that all she could
see at that moment were the pale phantoms of grandchildren who would never
now be.
  Carl was difficult to read.  He was after all, a hormonal adolescent, and
developing fast.  Mostly he seemed embarrassed to be near his brother, as
if afraid his homosexuality would rub off.  His dad made things worse for
Matt by explaining that Carl had a bad time from his peer group when the
news of his and Andy's relationship was spread across the national press.
The guilt struck at the region of his heart.  The only time he saw Zav, he
was decisively snubbed.
  At last January came, and he returned with some relief to university.
His first major purchase with his new wealth was an internet connection and
a big new laptop.  He planned to give his old one to Paul.  His second was
a course of driving lessons for him and Paul.  Paul returned after a tour
of all his friends and begged for a satellite TV connection, and Matt
didn't see why not.  They went into campus and for the last time downloaded
Andy's e-mails from his university account.  He read them carefully.  Andy
seemed to have had a good holiday season, improving his skiing and having
fun with his younger siblings, apart, that is, from the developing civil
war with Peter.  There had been difficult scenes over Christmas.
  Matt stopped off at the departmental office and found several phone
messages for him.  Mrs Roberts looked conspiratorial, 'It's the media, my
love, the BBC.'
  Matt wasn't that impressed.  Media was a dirty word to him.  But he rang
the number anyway and was put through to a researcher with the morning
radio programme.  To his surprise the call was nothing to do with last
year's media frenzy.
  'Dr White, thanks for calling back,' said a bright young female voice.
We're doing a feature on the article you're publishing in the Historical
Journal.'
  'It's Mr White.'
  'Sorry.  We'd like you to come in and tape a brief interview, if that's
OK.  We can pay your expenses.'
  Matt talked it over with Dr Faber, who couldn't quite hide his
professional jealousy.  First the boy makes the discovery of the decade,
right under his nose, and then he gets to appear on national radio.  But he
cleared him to go ahead, and they discussed angles that he might take in
the interview.
  So early the next morning he surfaced from the tube in Oxford Circus and
made his way up to Broadcasting House.  He registered at reception and
waited till a young lady with a clipboard came and swept him off to an art
deco lift.
  He was ushered into a small studio that couldn't have changed much since
the days of Lord Reith and Somerset Maugham.  A senior radio presenter
famous enough to be recognisable in the flesh came smiling round the door
in his shirtsleeves, holding a mug of coffee with a sheaf of papers under
his arm.  He stacked them carefully in front of him and shook hands.
  'Can I call you Matt, or do you prefer Matthew?
  'I'm usually Matt.'
  'Fine.  What we're doing here is recording a brief feature that'll we
play some time over the next day or two.  It's not all live as I'm sure you
realise.  This has the advantages that we can edit it, and do retakes if
it's necessary.'
  'Now you're not even a graduate student at your university, is that
right?'  Matt acknowledged that it was.  'Amazing.  And you discovered a
new source for the regicide of Charles I never previously suspected by
historians?'
  'They're calling it the Marlowe memoir.'
  'OK.  I'm going to talk you through the discovery and then the new
evidence it gives.  That alright?  Good, put these headphones on.  OK.
Deep breath.  Excellent'.
  The interview was quite relaxed, and Matt didn't get the nerves he
expected he would.  His interrogator was affable, and if he wasn't
knowledgeable, he was at least well briefed.  Matt thought he made some
quite colourful points, especially about the moment of execution, when John
Evelyn had said that there was heard such a groan from the crowd that none
would wish to hear ever again.  But Evelyn had not been there, much though
he enjoyed executions.  Marlowe, from his vantage point in the Whitehall
palace windows, did hear that gasp and said Cromwell faltered at that
point, turned away from the window and momentarily covered his face.
  His interviewer ended the session with a smile and told him he'd done
very well.  He asked him what his plans were.  Then he said, 'You were in
the press for other reasons last year, if I'm not mistaken.'
  'No, you're not mistaken.'
  'Would you like to talk about it?'
  'No. Not really.  A section of the media ruined my life.  Nothing's ever
going to change that now.'
  'Do you still see your partner, Mr Peacher.'
  'It's not something I want to talk about.'
  'I understand.  I don't even blame you.  It was the worst example of
media harassment I can remember in years.  Two innocent lads gibbeted for
the prurient amusement of the public: almost seventeenth-century in its
nastiness.  Now, bear with me for a moment.  Your partner's mother is Mrs
Eleanor Marquesa Peacher, is that right?'
  'No.  She's his stepmother.  His mother lives in Nuneaton.'
  'I've had the great pleasure of meeting the second Mrs Peacher.  Charming
lady.  She's the UNICEF special envoy to children in Bosnia.  We
interviewed her about the wretched living conditions of children even this
long after the war.'
  'Yes I remember, it was last March'
  'No, actually I think it was the December before that.  Anyway, she
mentioned then that she had a - yes, she must have said stepson - in
university in England.  After the interview, she made a comment about
Bosnian children sharing houses in conditions even the poorest students
would look twice at.  I said I imagined that Richard Peacher's child at
least would be living in comfortable circumstances.  She said that, no, he
was independent of his father and living in an ordinary house-share with
two other students.'
  Matt was puzzled, 'Are you sure that you aren't mistaking the date?  She
made a visit in March, when I met her.'
  'Couldn't say off hand for certain; so many interviews, so little
meaningful conversation.  Hang on.'  He picked up a phone and talked into
it, after some seconds waiting he got the information he needed.
  'The office can't say for sure.  But we've got it on tape still.'  Matt
shrugged internally.  He couldn't quite remember precisely when it was that
he swam into the Stepmom's purview.
  They said their farewells, and Matt was warned to listen to morning radio
at about 8.15am.  The BBC man promised to send a recording.
  Matt was on the phone as soon as he got back to every relative he could
reach.  He typed an account of his day late into the night and sent it off
to Andy.  It was thrilling to hear himself on the radio, but he didn't
quite realise how high and youthful a voice he had until he heard it.  He
sounded like a little kid.  But Paul said he was brilliant, 'Quite moved
me.  Really.'
  'Really?'
  'Would I lie?'  Matt wasn't always sure how to take Paul's comments.
They went off to their driving lessons.  The tests were set for February.
Matt failed dismally just before his twenty-first birthday, but Paul sailed
through.  Matt rang up Andy to tell him all about it, and they talked for
an hour at transatlantic rates, exchanging birthday greetings, news and
regrets.  Andy's twenty-first was going to be quite an occasion, involving
a trip back to California, and a huge party at Santa Barbara.  Matt wasn't
invited, and they both understood why that must be so.  Andy said that it
would not be tactful for Matt to be in his dad's house.  But he e-mailed
the guest list to Matt and Paul, who shared it with the old gang sitting
round a table in the Union, all temporarily speechless.
  'Wow,' said Katy, 'talk about entertaining angels unawares.'
  'He'd still rather be here,' insisted Matt.
  'Oh, I believe you, Chalky,' agreed Leo, without much enthusiasm.  'So is
the prime minister, the lord lieutenant of Northamptonshire, and the
chairman of the BBC coming to your twenty-first then?'
  Matt felt dashed, 'I just wish Andy could be there,' he said quietly.
Katy clipped Leo round the ear, 'Insensitive brute.'
  'Ouch!'
  'Who's Edward Roedenbeck?' asked Alex, grabbing the list.  Paul caught
Matt's eye.
  'The son of the Viscount Tuschet,' answered Paul.
  'Who?  A nob?' Katy said, 'What's his connection with Andy?'
  Paul raised an eyebrow at Matt, then gave a grin.  'He was at school with
Andy.  One of the few people there Andy could stomach, he told me.'  Matt
smiled ruefully back at Paul feeling a bit silly.  He'd never aired his
jealousy over the Hon. Edward with Andy.
  So Matt, Leo, Katy, Alex and Paul went up to Northampton to celebrate the
birthday with all his many relatives, but no national celebrities.  The
local papers were full of congratulations and silly pictures of him as a
little kid: his uncle Darren had found one of him dressed up for an infant
school play as a fairy, in tights with wings.  It caused a major row
between Darren and his dad, which livened up the party no end.  But Zav was
not there, he had stayed at Warwick despite a warm invitation, and Matt was
deeply grieved.  There was going to be no reconciliation with his cousin.
  The next week, with his dad's help, Matt bought a car, a recent model but
second- hand silver Rover, and insured both him and Paul at an exorbitant
cost.  Paul drove it back down the M1, M25 and M4: a great and scary
adventure.  With a bit of extra tuition from Paul he passed on his second
go, and life became a lot more mobile, if also more expensive.  In the
meantime, Matt tracked down a whole range of scholarships and grants to
finance his future postgraduate work.

  There was a stream of e-mails still crossing the Atlantic, but now they
could access them conveniently at home.  The volume of those from Rachel to
Paul began to eclipse those from Andy to Matt.  Before Easter, the number
from Andy was slackening noticeably, although without them becoming any
less affectionate.  Nonetheless Matt kept up his own volume of messages.
But from daily, by the end of March Andy's had become more or less weekly
and Matt was anxious.  Paul too was troubled, although he would not say
why.
  Matt had hoped that Andy would come and see them around Easter, but a
visit was referred to increasingly as a distant prospect.  Matt was
twitching with anxiety to cross back to America, but now it was the time
for his final examinations and that was not possible.  Too much rested on
his results.
  Paul however did cross, under his own steam with increasing confidence as
an international traveller.  He stayed not with Andy but with Rachel at her
apartment in Collegetown.  They had a blissful week and it became clear
that their relationship was becoming rather more than platonic.
  'So you and Rachel are, you know, an item.'
  'We've graduated to having sex, if that's what you mean,'
  'OK, I'm not prying, but there's one thing that puzzles me.  You you sort
of hinted that you had sex with guys once.'
  'I think you're forgetting that I'm a teenager and therefore fact and
fantasy merge - especially about sex.  But if you must know, me mate Terry
has a thing about me, and I lived with it, because he's been my best mate
and I've known him since he was four, also I didn't want to upset him after
all the help he gave me with the trouble with me mum.  It was the price for
taking refuge in his bedroom when thing were really bad, but we never
actually did much about it apart from a bit of ... y'know, oral stuff.'
  'Er, sorry.  I didn't understand.'
  'Matt, for such a cool and alternative guy you're a bit conventional.
Pains me to say that, mate.  I don't think that things are as simple and
straightforward as boy meets boy, boy sleeps with boy.  I liked Terry, I
still like Terry, although I don't know what he sees in me.  And I might
just have sex with another guy if I fancied one enough.'  His face had gone
bright red, and he paused briefly.  Matt wondered precisely which man Paul
had in mind, and realised with a sudden sense of panic that it might be
him.  Paul shot a glance at him, before continuing.  'Matt, I think I'm
basically straight.  I like girls and they like me.  Rachel is really hot,
and she's exotic and American.  I'm still finding out what I am.  How
confident did you feel at the age of eighteen?'
  Matt felt he had been told off.  'Fair point,' he admitted.
  Paul was reticent when he talked about Andy, although he said he seemed
well, and they had met twice, although at parties, not at his house.  Paul
did say wryly that the card parties had ended.  Matt fretted but was unable
to find out more.  The sideways glances he thought that he caught from Paul
did not reassure him.  He suspected that there were things that he was not
hearing.  The worst fear was that Andy had found another lover.
  One morning over breakfast, after a bad night, he burst out, 'Is he
seeing someone else?  You can tell me.  I've got to know.'
  Paul surprised him with a look of compassion.  He took Matt's hand in his
own; it was a warm gesture, and quite characteristic of the sympathetic and
gentle man that Paul had become.  'I don't think he's in love with anybody
else.  Really.  It is you he loves, if he loves anyone.'
  Matt was not entirely reassured by Paul's frankness.  It seemed to leave
a certain amount unsaid and unacknowledged.  But he had to be content with
a scheme to meet Andy for a summer holiday of their own arranging.  Andy
still seemed very keen on this plan.  They talked of Andy returning to
Britain to see his mum and then of meeting and going on to the Continent.
The old idea of going to Prague and Berlin was resurrected, and in more
style.
  The finals in May squeezed out everything else.  University ended.
Friends departed in a haze of alcohol.  Leo was going to Leeds to learn to
be a teacher.  Dave was going to stay at the university and had applied to
join the history MA course.  'It's so's I can follow you around hopelessly
for yet another year, Matt,' he said.  Matt smiled at him.  Dave had grown
up a lot this last year.  He hugged him and Dave hugged back, resting his
head on Matt's shoulder.  But he was laughing, not sad, when they parted.
  Katy was going to the Inns of Court Law School to do a conversion course,
she fancied being a barrister, although whether it was the prospect of the
money or of inexhaustible arguments that interested her was a moot point.
Alex found a rather amazing job with Reuters while Ben had still to find
something, and was heading back to West Yorkshire.  To Matt both of them
seemed a bit depressed, although Ben's depression seemed more accountable.
His eyes followed Alex everywhere.  Evil Steve just disappeared.  Paul got
first class marks in his end of year assessments, and Matt was only sorry
that Andy was not there to celebrate with them properly.