As Good As Guitars Ch. 14

November 2011

I stand on Rachel's doorstep for a moment, gathering my thoughts. She still lives in the Richmond flat she used to share with Gil, before he bought the new place in Chelsea and sold this place to her at mate's rates. It's somehow comforting that he's staying here now - coming home, in a way. Psyching myself up, I ring the doorbell.

When she comes to the door, she pulls me into a hug. "I'm so glad you're here." She lets me go and we walk in, Rachel still talking to me over her shoulder. "Gil's asleep, I think. He's not done much else for days... I'll wake him up in a minute. Come through to the kitchen and I'll put the kettle on. D'you want something to drink?"

"Uh, tea is fine, if it's no bother." Her welcome has taken me by surprise - I'd thought she didn't like me that much. Although we're the same age she's always seemed older, and I've always been a bit wary of her. Perhaps she's just protective of Gil.

"No bother at all. Simon rang me a little while ago. He said it sounded like you'd decided to give Gil a second chance?" Her expression's hopeful.

I lean against the counter, drinking slowly. "I'm not sure, but I think so. How is he? Simon said it's not been good... I really didn't expect Gil to take it this badly."

Rachel gives me a look. "Frankly, he's a basket case. If there hadn't been any change this weekend I was going to call out a doctor - I've been that worried. I've been working from home so I can be around. Thank god it's November and no-one's expecting to see him at training."

I'm stricken with guilt. "I'm so sorry. I can't believe I've caused all this trouble... you must be really pissed off at me."

"Leigh, I don't know what happened between you guys and I don't need to, but I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that it was Gil who screwed up?"

I suck in a breath, gathering my courage. "He was cheating on me. That's why... why all this."

Rachel nods. "I thought so. Simon's not told me a lot, but he didn't really need to. And much as I love Gil, he made his own bed and he should lie in it." She puts her mug down. "Talking of which, let me go and get him up."

"I can go through to him."

She smiles. "If he's got to win you back, at least give him the chance to make himself presentable."

It takes Gil nearly an hour. When he finally walks into the living room his appearance makes me want to cry. He reminds me of an abandoned dog, half-starved and wary. His hair's still damp from the shower and he's very pale, which somehow makes his eyes look even bigger in his face. His clothes hang off him - he's lost of lot of weight.

Rachel hovers in the doorway, looking anxious. "I'll be in the back bedroom. If either of you need anything, just shout." She disappears and I turn my attention back to Gil. He's only moved a few steps into the room, as if he's afraid to come any closer to me.

I stand up slowly, not wanting to startle him. "Hey Gil. You look..." I don't know how to finish the sentence.

"Like shit." His voice is a croak, but his observation is accurate enough.

"When did you last eat?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know."

He takes a couple of hesitant steps towards me, so I close the gap and put my arms around him. I can feel his ribs, and he's shivering despite wearing a jumper. After a second he lifts his arms and hugs me back. "I thought I'd never see you again." His voice is so quiet I can barely hear him.

"I needed time, Gil." We stand there for a while, until his trembling starts to worry me. "Go and sit down. If I get you something, will you eat it?" He nods silently.

When I find Rachel, her face lights up. "Thank god... he turned his back every time anyone tried. It was all I could do to get him to drink something. I'll make some soup and bring it in - you go back and sit with him."

Gil's curled up in his old spot on the sofa, still shivering and still wary. I sit close but not touching, facing him. "Lunch is on its way."

He doesn't reply and I don't really know what to say, and it's a relief when Rachel appears with a bowl of tomato soup on a tray. She balances it carefully on Gil's lap, then bends down to kiss the top of his head. "Please eat, sweetheart." He nods again, and she leaves.

Gil eats the soup slowly, as if he's remembering how. While I watch, his trembling finally stops and a little colour returns to his cheeks. His eyes dart constantly to where I'm sitting, as if he's checking that I'm still there. Eventually he scrapes the bowl clean and puts the tray on the floor before turning to look at me properly. I can see fear in his eyes.

"Are you going away again?"

I take his hand. "No." As I say it, I realise that I've made my decision. I will do my utmost to get us through this.

His eyes fill with tears and his mouth twists, but he takes a deep breath. "I'm so sorry, Leigh. I fucked up monumentally and I'm so sorry. If you give me a second chance I won't screw up again, I promise."

I'm choked up and don't answer immediately, and he tries again. "I'll do anything... If you want me to give her up, or get therapy, or... I don't know, whatever, I'll do it. Just let me try, please?"

"You don't need to get therapy. And..." I summon the courage to say it out loud. "You don't have to give her up. Although I do have a couple of conditions."

"Anything. I'll do anything."

My fingers are intertwined with his, and I lift his hand and kiss it. "No, not 'anything'. But we have to talk, Gil - properly. No more secrets. I need you to tell me everything, and I need you to give me time to process what you've told me, and I need you never to lie to me or hide anything from me again. I can deal with what I know about, but I can't live with being frightened that there's something else you've not told me."

His fearful expression returns and he looks close to tears. "But what if I tell you and you can't deal with it? What if you leave me again anyway?"

"I'll do my very best to be okay with whatever you tell me, but you're right, I can't promise you that it won't be too much."

He closes his eyes.

I continue, making my voice hard. "But what I can promise is that if I find out that you've hidden anything from me again, I will leave you. I don't care if it's next week, or if it's in ten years' time and we're married with four kids. It will break my heart, but I'll leave, and there won't be a third chance. You can choose which risk you'd rather take."

He's silent for a long time, staring at the floor while I wonder what's he thinking and which choice he'll make. Finally he looks up at me.

"You remind me of Olivia. The first time I ever visited her she told me that she didn't keep clients who couldn't be honest. She beat me until I bruised to make sure that I got the point." His voice shakes. "I'll tell you everything."

~

Gil stays with Rachel for another night, but the following morning I take him back to his flat. I've taken some more time off work, and agreed that I'll stay with him until we're all happy that he's functioning normally again. This time Simon doesn't help with the move, but he and Rachel reassure me that they'll be on standby if I need them. It brings it home to me how much Gil's friends love him.

I've already restocked the kitchen, and for the first two days we don't do much but eat and talk. I'm not sure exactly how much I want to know, and to start with I don't ask for explicit details. But the more Gil tells me, the more I understand that he's been running an entirely separate second life in parallel with the one I've known about. More than once I find myself hiding away, crying silently over a new detail. I understand logically that Olivia isn't going to try and break up our relationship, but I'm still frightened that I'm not enough for Gil.

He's as scared as I am. At first he hesitates to answer my questions, as if he's sure that I'll leave if he says the wrong thing. I spend a lot of time reassuring him, and slowly he seems to get used to revealing himself to me.

At some point during the second afternoon we're on the sofa together, Gil's head resting on my lap. Although I've been feeding him up, his body, usually firm and solid, feels bony and fragile. His t-shirt swamps him and his shoulder blades dig into my thighs when he moves.

He looks up at me. "You're very quiet?"

I drag my thoughts back from worrying about his health. "I was thinking about you being at Rachel's. I'd half-expected to hear that you'd gone to..."

"Olivia?"

"Yes."

He closes his eyes. "She wouldn't have looked after me. That's not her style."

That doesn't seem to quite fit with the Olivia I met, but I don't want to get into it with him. "So tell me, what is her style? What is it that she does for you, Gil? I don't mean the physical side of it, I mean emotionally. Why do you go back to her in particular?"

He lies quietly for so long before he answers that I'm not sure he hasn't fallen asleep. Finally he stirs. "When I was a kid, twelve maybe - too young to really understand about sex, anyway - I was given a book about World War 2. It wasn't very interesting, until I got to a section about the Japanese prisoner of war camps. Then..."

It's a moment before he continues. "I didn't understand what I was feeling, why reading about prisoners being tortured or beaten gave me that funny feeling in my stomach. I liked the funny feeling, but I didn't like that I felt that way. Does that make sense?"

"Sort of."

"Yeah. So anyway, as I got older, I figured out exactly what worked for me, which books to read or what porn to look for. And as soon as I could, I bought my own laptop and got internet access. But all the time, I knew I couldn't talk about it. When I was out with the lads and they'd be talking about some popstar or actress or whatever, I couldn't join in and admit to what I liked."

"Did you know back then that you liked boys too?"

Gil smiles for the first time. "No, actually. I didn't figure that out until after I met Olivia. Does it bother you?"

I lean down and kiss his forehead. "No. But how are you so upfront about that when you're so secretive about the other?"

"Being gay is practically mainstream. People know how to deal with it... the first time my parents met a boyfriend they didn't bat an eyelid. But think what people would say about me if they knew what I go to Olivia for."

I stroke his hair, wanting to comfort him.

"I spent years wishing I wasn't so twisted and sick, even while I was searching for new stuff online. I'd go weeks without, telling myself I could change - but eventually I'd cave in. Every time. And every time I hated myself a little bit more."

He sits up suddenly, curling into himself and still not looking at me. "It got to the point where... I was 23 and broke, living in rural Yorkshire, engaged to the world's most vanilla girl. I was expecting to spend the rest of my life miserable, craving something I didn't want to want and would never get to have anyway. And then by complete chance, I went to a party in London."

"The one she was co-hosting?"

He looks up, surprised. "You know about that?"

"She told me that's how you met. That's all she said."

He swallows. "Well... no-one was ashamed of why they were there - Dom or sub. They welcomed me in, even though I didn't have a clue what I was doing. Olivia was the first person who ever told me that it's okay to feel the way I do. She let me be honest about it. And then she helped me to actually do it... She waived her fee to start with, but I would have paid anything she asked. She had faith in me long before anyone else did, and she's never judged me."

I'm beginning to understand what she means to him, and it scares me. How can I possibly compete with her? "She doesn't judge you... is she easy on you? I thought you wanted the opposite?"

I see a half-smile, his old character beginning to re-emerge. "I didn't mean it quite like that. She's rarely easy on me, especially if I do something she doesn't like. Sometimes she's brutal."

I brace myself. "Give me an example."

"Are you sure?" I nod. "Okay..." He thinks for a moment. "Well, you know you've said more than once how nice it is that I'm always on time? She taught me that habit."

"Taught you? What, she made you draw pictures of the big hand and the little hand?" I can't help smiling at the idea.

He laughs. "Not quite. I used to be pretty slack about time-keeping outside of work - five minutes here or there never seemed to matter very much. But one afternoon I got it badly wrong, and I kept her waiting twenty-three and a half minutes."

"And a half?"

"Mm. The half mattered by the end, trust me."

I'm intrigued, despite myself. "What did she do?"

He exhales, embarrassed. "There's a piece of equipment called a horse - it's a bit like the balance beam in gymnastics, but narrower... Much worse than a racing saddle. You sit astride it, usually with just your toes on the ground, but sometimes not even that." He looks at me, trying to gauge my reaction.

I think about it. "It sounds painful."

"It is. She, um, put me in position, and then she made me wait."

"For twenty-three and a half minutes?"

"Oh no, that would have been far too easy. No - three minutes for every one I kept her waiting, plus one for luck. Seventy-one minutes and thirty seconds... She kept me off-kilter the whole time, and she didn't tell me how long it would be until it was finished. I got to watch every single minute tick past, not knowing how many were left."

I stare at him. "Jesus. Gil, that's..." Insane. Torture. Perverted. All of the above.

"Yeah. A very effective lesson on time-keeping."

If I think about it happening to another version of Gil I've never met, it's not quite so disconcerting. "What would she have done if you'd not been late?"

I see the half-smile again. "Something else. Or found a different justification to do what she was already planning to do. But the point is, she's not easy on me."

"And that's what keeps you going back for more?"

"Yes." It's little more than a sigh.

It's time to change the subject. "Are you hungry? If you can wait, I think there's a joint I could chuck in the oven."

He smiles and stands up. "That sounds good. Let me help."

~

I'm sleeping in the spare room. Gil hadn't demurred when I'd said I wanted my privacy, and in a way that was a relief. All the same, I'm a little scared that he's not once tried to push his luck. Despite everything he's said about wanting me back, I can't help wondering if he prefers sex with Olivia.

The next morning I wake to an empty bed as usual, but for the first time in a while that doesn't feel right. I lie there, thinking about the day before and wondering what new revelations I'll hear today. I'm lost in thought when there's a gentle knock on the door. When I answer, Gil pushes the door open.

He's carrying a tray, and although he's smiling, he looks nervous. "Room service."

I remember the Twickenham Marriott. "I hope the croissants are fresh?"

He visibly relaxes. "Of course, madam. And the coffee's freshly brewed. May I join you?"

"My pleasure." I take the tray and he sits down. I divide a croissant between us while he pours the coffee, and for a moment it's as if Olivia's never existed.

But she does. "Leigh..."

"Mm?"

Gil picks at his pastry, reducing it to crumbs. "I need to show you something. In Cornwall."

"What?"

"I'm scared it'll be too much."

Fear sits in my stomach like a lead weight. "What, Gil?"

He turns to look at me. "There's a playroom."

For a moment I don't understand, but then realisation dawns. "For...? I thought..." I stop, not quite sure what I had thought. "I imagined you went to clubs, something like that. I didn't realise she made house calls." Even as I say it, I remember Simon saying he'd met her in Cornwall.

Gil's voice is careful. "She's been down to Cornwall several times, although I usually go to her. She lives just outside London."

"Is that the real reason you moved down from Yorkshire?"

"Partly, yes."

My mind's racing as I try to make sense of what he's told me. "Wouldn't I have noticed a dungeon?" Suddenly I see the third door on the first floor landing - the door that's never been open any time I've visited. I'd assumed it led to some sort of roof storage. "It's upstairs, isn't it?"

"Yes."

I sigh. "Just when I think I'm starting to get a handle on it all."

"I'm sorry." He reaches for my hand tentatively, and I don't pull away. "I'm so sorry, Leigh. I wish I could make it up to you."

There's nothing I can say to that.

After breakfast I suggest going out. Before all this happened we would sometimes wander up to Kensington Gardens and watch the tourists, and it's about time Gil got some fresh air. We walk unhurriedly north towards the museums, holding hands like nothing's changed.

There are so many things I want to ask him. "She said she sees you something like ten times a year. How do you decide when? Do you make an appointment?"

If he's fed up with the questioning, he doesn't let it show. "Normally I ring her and ask if she can see me that day. She knows when I'm likely to call and she's usually free, but sometimes she'll suggest an alternative. If I'm in London she'll send her driver out to collect me. If I'm in Cornwall she flies down." He pauses. "She used to turn up randomly in Cornwall sometimes... I'd never know quite when, which was part of the fun. We stopped doing that after I met you."

"In case I met her by mistake." It's a statement rather than a question, and he doesn't deny it. "I suppose at least you can afford it, coughing up for all those plane tickets."

When I look at him he's blushing. "I pay her a monthly flat rate that covers everything. My accountant thinks she's a very expensive PA. God knows what her accountant thinks she is."

For a fleeting second I wonder about shopping her to the Revenue, but perhaps the taxman doesn't care as long as he gets his slice. In any case, I'm not sure Gil would ever forgive me if he found out.

"You didn't answer my question. How do you decide when to see her? Is it regular - every sixth Thursday, something like that?"

He's quiet for a moment, thinking. "I don't know, I've never really tried to analyse it. Sometimes it's if I'm fed up, sometimes when I want to treat myself. But usually it's just..."

When he doesn't finish the sentence, I squeeze his hand. "Just what?"

"It's like a craving. It builds up..." He trails off. "Every five or six weeks seems to work."

I think about it as we walk, but don't come to any useful conclusion. I want to be supportive and understanding, and I think I am, but sometimes I want to cry at the unfairness of it all. I don't want him to be wired this way. But he is. And although I'm beginning to accept that, I just wish we could get past all the deceit and be happy together again.

Crossing Kensington Road is the usual life-or-death gamble, but on the other side I see something that gives me an idea. I stop, and wait for Gil to realise what I'm looking at. He comes to a halt next to me. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Look."

"What?" Realisation dawns. "No way. There is no way. Never. I am not riding one of those."

I can't help grinning. "Really? Never? The great sprinter Mark Gilwood is afraid of a Boris bike? What, you think you'll fall off?"

He glares at me. "I'm not afraid I'll fall off. I'm afraid someone will take a photo."

"Think of the publicity. Boris himself will thank you. Come on, I dare you."

Suddenly he laughs. "Okay, okay, you win. But I will look ridiculous."

"No more than you usually do, my love." I stick my tongue out at him and fumble in my bag for my wallet. Two minutes later we're cycling through the park.

Even I can tell that the bikes are geared so that they won't go too fast, although that doesn't stop Gil from trying. But he's a long way from full fitness and the paths are full of tourists getting in his way, and I'm just about able to stay with him. We pick up speed heading east towards Speaker's Corner, and again heading south. By the time we're on Rotten Row I'm pedalling hard and even Gil looks puffed. As we approach the docking station he finds an extra burst of power and finishes with a flourish, his arms over his head in his usual style. Even here and now I'm in awe of his talent, and I feel strangely privileged to have been allowed to race him.