Luke at University Pt. 04

Still reeling from the shock of our sudden acquisition of wealth, Tom and I took the train from Nice to Verona, 'La Città del Amore' (the city of love) as Dad called it because of its association with Romeo and Juliet, and continued on the short rail trip to the small town where the Mascagnolis lived. Tom said to me, "It will be nice to meet your other family without the presence of Dad and Pop. In particular, your brother seemed a nice boy." The hotel was only a short walk from the station, and after we had checked in, I called my mother on my cellphone to say that we had arrived. She immediately invited us to dinner, so after showering and changing our clothes, not without some sexual fooling around, we set off on the short walk to Via Guglielmo Marconi.

The weather was gloriously warm, compared with the damp, cool weather that we had left behind in Ixfordshire. It was about 5 pm, and my brother Alessandro was home from school and he came excitedly down the stairs to let us in when we rang. I greeted him with a kiss and he greeted Tom with a handshake. I always felt uneasy when I met Massimo, my mother's husband, as I was a walking reminder of my and Sandro's biological father, a man whom Massimo had every reason to resent and to wish to forget, the man who had twice seduced the woman who became his wife! This however did not seem to worry him. He was sitting with my mother on their beautiful broad balcony, adorned with pot plants and creepers and shaded by two trees in big pots. They were drinking Prosecco, and we were immediately offered a glass each after Tom and I had kissed my mother and shaken Massimo's hand. Tom was rapidly getting used to the kissy-kissiness of the Scarboroughs! Also it seemed less unusual in Italy than it did in England.

It was a wonderful evening. We spoke in English much of the time, though I often had to translate things into Italian for Sandro and sometimes into English for Tom. The Mascagnolis were obviously very pleased to see us. Tom came out of his shell in a way that surprised me, he was obviously very taken with my mother, and went out of his way to chat to her, leaving me to talk in Italian to Massimo and Sandro. She in turn welcomed the opportunity to speak her native language after years of speaking nothing but Italian. We arranged to spend most evenings with them and the whole of the coming weekend. They said that they would take us on the Saturday to Verona to see 'Aïda' in the great Roman arena there. When I told them that I was to spend the better part of the following academic year in Bologna, they said that I should spend most of the weekends with them, which I thought was very generous of them, especially on the part of Massimo, who had no good reason to be nice to me. But to Italians, family is very important, just as it is to my grandparents, and I was after all, his son's brother and technically if not legally his stepson!

Tom had taken a great liking to my mother. He was beginning to give her the same kind of adoration that he had hitherto reserved for her brother. It seemed possible that she might become for him the mother figure that all gays are supposed to have, but that I had never missed!

We spent most of the week exploring the town or sunbathing in the hotel garden. On the Saturday Massimo drove Tom, myself, my mother and Sandro to Verona. Massimo's daughter Bianca went to stay with friends for the day. The open-air opera performance started at 4 pm in the ancient Roman amphitheatre. It was magnificent. Even without his favourite artist, Tom was deeply impressed by the singing. There was quite a long interval when most of the audience including ourselves tucked into a picnic of ham and cheese panini with white wine. Sandro seemed to enjoy it too. He had seen more opera than even a very musical English boy of his age would have experienced.

We returned late and tired. On the Monday, Tom and I paid a visit to Verona and we kitted him out with some casual clothes from Giorgio Armani and Dolce and Gabbana, including a beautiful blouson jacket in green soft leather. When Tom complained about the prices, I told him that I would pay half the bill. "You're a wealthy man, now!" I told him.

Two days later we flew back to Bristol from Valerio-Catullo airport, and took a train from Bristol back to Ixfordingworth. Cathy was back at school, Pop was in Camford and Dad had flown to Amsterdam for a short recital tour of the Netherlands, where Brian was to join him. Tom and I were left with Rockwell's Barn to ourselves for ten days.

I would get up early, cook eggs or bacon and serve them to Tom in bed. After breakfast, I retired to study, Tom did household chores and then fifty lengths in the pool. After lunch he would go for a walk, and I would continue revision until 4 pm, after which I would take a turn in the pool while Tom cooked dinner. After eating we would watch television. Each day I got some music from Dad's extensive library and accompanied Tom in singing two songs. It was interesting to play the piano after years without practice, but I managed well enough. Tom's voice was very good and the object was merely to get him used to singing the kind of test piece that he would get in his audition for the Bach Choir. This routine would vary with dinner at the Jellycotes Arms on some days. But merely the bliss of a decent-sized bed and silk sheets was in itself enough to make the period memorable for both of us. However in no time at all we were back in college. I resolved that I should make Tom get a few decent clothes, not necessarily fashionable brands, but smart and durable male garments, so one Saturday we took the train to London and paid a visit to Savile Row.

Chapter 55

Jealousy and its consequences

The Pentecost term began. I had stopped going with Tom on his Friday night pub visit with his fellow chemists after Nic Aspergini had turned up at one of them. I did not want to meet Nic again. So I would usually stay in on Friday nights and either practise our piece for Sunday evensong, or do some work, especially on my French. One Friday, about 10 pm, I heard Tom's key in the lock and the sound of voices. Tom entered the room, accompanied by a rather attractive girl. "Hi, Luke, this is Margaret," he said, "Please could you make us some coffee? I can never get the hang of that machine of yours."

"What sort of coffee?" I asked.

"Espresso for me, cappuccino for Margaret, he replied.

"I'm not sure if we've got any milk," I said, but I found a little in our small refrigerator. It took a few minutes to make the coffee and Tom continued to chat animatedly with the visitor. I was amazed. No tongue-tied monosyllabic talk on Tom's part, but lively chat in the same way as he had talked to my mother, the conversation of a man fully at ease with himself and the world around him. Tom was no longer the 'strong silent man' with whom I had fallen in love. He had fallen victim to the worldly society of Camford. At the same time as I was thinking these stupid thoughts, my common sense was telling me that instead of resenting the attention that Margaret was receiving, I should be congratulating myself on my success in integrating Tom into the academic world of the university. I tried to put away jealous thoughts and made an effort to be as charming as I could.

It turned out that Margaret was a first year chemistry student who had just plucked up courage to go to one of the chemists' pub sessions. In conversation with Tom, it turned out that she was having difficulty with some thermodynamic problem that her tutor had set her, and Tom had shown her how to do it. He had then invited her back for coffee. It was not clear to me whether or not she knew that Tom was gay. It turned out that she was keen on classical music and Tom had invited her to go with him to a song recital in M College later that week. She had accepted, apparently with alacrity. Most of the girls she knew were pop fans. We spent a pleasant hour or so chatting before Tom offered to see her back to her college, which was only a couple of streets away.

When they had gone, I started to get ready for bed, trying to decide what if anything I should say to my boy when he got back. I decided to say nothing, and leave any comment to Tom. I did not want to seem jealous or to admit to secret fears that Tom might be bi. When he came in, he said nothing, just kissed me goodnight and went into his room and shut the door.

Nothing more was said about Margaret for the next few days, until the evening of the recital. We ate together in Hall as usual, and Tom then rushed back to our room and changed his clothes. Instead of wearing 'casual,' he had moved up to 'smart casual' including his new green leather jacket, as he left for his date. I sat down and did some final revision work for one of my French papers, feeling jealous and excluded. I knew that it was irrational: even if Tom were so gay that he was unable to get it up when offered the opportunity to fuck a woman, and in spite of knowing that we each had lives of our own and could not live in each other's pockets, I still could not forget about him and concentrate on my work. I poured myself a glass of Rochefort 10, an ultra-strong (11.4% abv.) Trappist beer, and tried to get on with the work. As 11 o'clock approached and I had consumed a further two bottles of beer, and there was no sign of Tom, I started to feel a bit anxious. Suppose he was invited to spent the night in Margaret's bed? Suppose that he took a liking to cunt sex, and lost interest in me? Suppose that Margaret turned out to be transexual? Suppose that she was into SM or bondage? My imagination, fired by alcohol, envisaged more and more sexually lurid ideas. By midnight he was still not back, and made sleepy by the alcohol, I went to bed.

When my alarm clock went off the next morning, I staggered out of bed with a slight headache and went to waken Tom. I went into his room. He lay asleep, snoring gently. I knelt beside his bed as usual and gently kissed him awake. The cross he had given me and which I always wore round my neck, tickled his neck as he awoke. He smiled at me and pulled me down on top of him. He kissed me passionately on the lips, and opened his mouth so that I could my tongue in. He wrapped his arms tightly round me, and pulled away from my mouth and said, "I love you, darling Luke!" I felt very relieved. Whatever he had done the previous evening, he had not forgotten me! By now my common sense had reasserted itself. I did not ask what Tom had done the night before, but over breakfast he mentioned that he would be seeing Margaret again the following week for another recital, this time in the University Music Department, where years ago Dad had had his singing lessons from Marcello.

I decided that there was probably nothing sexual about Tom's friendship, in which case it was none of my business. We had our own lives to live. If any sex happened with Margaret, I trusted Tom to tell me. But I could not put the girl out of my mind. From time to time I still had lurid visions of her and Tom in bed together and Tom going to meet her with condoms in his pocket. I had always considered Tom to be the possessive one in our relationship, the one who insisted that I belonged to him. But now that he had wakened up to a social life outside our close-coupled relationship, I was jealous, frightened that this girl might take him away from me! Every moment I had to remind myself that I was being irrational and selfish, and that getting Tom adjusted to the Camford world was actually more important than me getting laid!

Tom and Margaret seemed to go to a concert or recital every week, so towards the end of May I asked him if he wanted to invite Margaret to his birthday party early in June. I knew that if he said yes, if he had not already told her that he was gay, that he would have to do so at or before the party. He said that he would think about it and let me know before I made a booking, which of course failed to resolve the situation from my point of view.

In the end, I decided that I would seek advice about how to deal with my jealousy problem, and I E-mailed Edward Bairstow, asking for an appointment for some spiritual counsel. I did not actually have a spiritual director, but Edward was my godfather and a man whose judgement I respected. He asked me to come to his rooms in Sanguis one day at 5 pm. I explained that I was suffering from pointless jealousy. After further discussion about my daily routine, he said, "Your problem is simple. You and Tom are seeing too much of one another. You don't sleep together, but you eat together twice a day, you do cinema visits and choir activities together, you swim together twice a week. What are you going to do next year when you will not see one another for months on end? And more to the point, what is Tom going to do? Many of his regular activities will disappear when you go to Bologna, and unlike you, he will not be doing much else in its place. He needs to break out of this now, and seeing Margaret is from his point of view, the first step in widening his activities. Maybe you should encourage him to go to the cinema or swimming with Margaret. Or maybe, if she sings, they could audition for the Bach choir. Maybe he should stay in college rather than going to live with Jon in Fountain Street. There are all sorts of possibilities. But you need to know more about their relationship. Get some beer in one night and discuss it with Tom!

"Now do you need absolution? I don't think so, I think you need a blessing and a prayer for God's guidance." And Edward blessed me and prayed for God's help for me. I thanked him and went back to college in a thoughtful mood.

That same night, Tom said that he was not going out or doing any work, could we go for a drink together? I replied that I had some beer in my bedroom and could we stay in for an hour, as there was something that I wanted to discuss with him. We settled down with a couple of bottles of White Shield, and I said that we should discuss next year. It was clear that we were going to miss one another very much, and I wanted to discuss what was best for him. For example, maybe he should go out with Margaret more often. Did she for example like swimming or foreign language cinema? And was it really best that he should go and live in Fountain Street, or would he be better living in college? "I'm glad that you've raised the topic," he said, "because I am not sure that moving to Fountain Street is the best thing for me."

"That's not a problem" I replied, "living with a man in his fifties is not necessarily what someone of our age would want to do. Moreover, the fact that Pop is a faculty member in your department makes it even more undesirable. A gay man of his age might well be suspected of wanting a relationship with a young undergraduate, which would be disastrous for his career. Pop got a four-year ban on teaching when Dad moved in with him. He would certainly not want to lose his fellowship now. The more I think about it, the better it seems that you should stay in college, provided that you do not fall into loneliness and depression. Maybe, if you think it appropriate, I should ask Margaret to keep an eye on you. Or is that the last thing that you want? I don't want to upset your friendship. I don't know how close you are. Does Margaret sing? If so, you could both consider joining the Bach Choir."

"She's already a member," Tom replied, "but I don't think I'm good enough!"

"How do you know, without an audition? Ask Margaret to fix one up for you. Tenors are always needed."

"I'm a bit frightened of getting too close to her."

"Why, haven't you told her that you're gay?"

"No, I thought that it would scare her off!"

"But can't you see that unless you tell her, you may be giving her false hopes of a relationship? And that is a form of deception. Or maybe YOU want a relationship. Maybe you're bi! Telling her the truth about you and me will only upset her if she fancies you in bed. Don't forget that a lot of women like to be friends with gays, because they don't feel threatened or tempted. It all depends I suppose whether she has any other men or women in her life. Decide what you want from Margaret. If you want to experiment by having sex with her, I don't mind, as long as you tell me. If you just want to be friends with her, and she feels the same, no problem. But you have to tell her about us. If you want to finish with me and become hetero, I would be very upset, but I would respect your decision. But you need to lay your cards on the table with Margaret. You don't know what she gets up to when you are not around, any more than she knows that you spend a lot of time poking me up the bum! That is not the basis of honest friendship."

"I'm frightened that if she knows I'm gay that she will stop going out with me."

"That will only happen if she fancies you. And then you have to make a decision about your own sexuality. You think you're gay, I'm telling you that you might not be, you might be bi or straight. If then, knowing that she wants you, you want to continue going out with her, you will have to finish with me. I would be upset, but you have to be honest with yourself. Has Margaret mentioned any boyfriends?"

"No, but then if she fancied me, she wouldn't mention other boys."

"It looks bad to me, it looks as if she does want more than friendship. Have you decided about your birthday dinner? You've got to tell her you're gay if you want her to be there!"

"I suppose that I've got to put my cards on the table. But I like going out with her!"

"It's good that you should. We can't live all the time in each other's pockets. And you will need company next year. So let's hope that she just wants to be friends. Whatever the outcome, Tom, I will stand by you and do whatever you want, except cancelling my time in Bologna."

Tom had arranged to go out with Margaret to a concert the following Monday. My exams were only two weeks away, lectures and tutorials continued, so I needed time in the evenings to revise. But that night I found it difficult to concentrate. I struggled with my French literature and kept stopping to drink coffee. About 11 pm, Tom came in looking very happy. "It's all OK!" he said exultantly. You'll never believe this! She just wants to be friends with me, no sex, because she's a LESBIAN and has a regular girlfriend! The only snag is that her girlfriend doesn't like classical music, so she needs someone to go to concerts with. Not only that, she knew that I was gay. She said the minute that she saw you look at me, she knew that we were an item. Her gaydar must be very strong. And she is coming to the party, so she will be company for Cathy!"

"Tell her that she'll need glad rags, because we're not going to the Venezia, we're going to the Magic Python!" I said, naming Camford's Michelin-starred restaurant, "and it will be a black tie do! Dad is flying back from Munich, where he's singing in 'Fidelio,' specially for his big fan-boy's birthday!"

Chapter 56

Tom's twentieth birthday

I wanted to ensure that Tom's birthday dinner was a special occasion, because this year he had no exams, and we were still celebrating in a way his confident success in the previous year. Although he hated fuss, and was embarrassed when money was spent on him, I wanted to make this a big event to express my love and celebrate his newly found social confidence. We went back to the hire-shop for his dinner suit, Cathy went out and bought a new outfit, and Margaret was equal to the occasion with a very smart calf-length maroon dress. My parents pulled out all the stops: Dad even wore the insignia of his C.B.E. Two surprise guests were Edward and his wife and Brian and his daughter, also appropriately dressed, Edward in clerical evening dress. Marcello and Caterina, in spite of now being in their eighties, were unfortunately away in Italy for their granddaughter's wedding. They were determined to go on what might be their last trip abroad.