One
‘An envelope with a black border? I wonder what that could be,’ asked Peter as he peeled off one of his big curly eyelashes and plopped it into a small tray on his dressing table. ‘I don’t know but you’d better get home as soon as you can. It looks important,’ said Bill as Peter removed the other eyelash and lined it up next to the first one and then snapped closed the little case.
‘Barry’s just stripping me down now. I’ll be as quick as I can dear. Love you.’
Peter flipped the top half of his mobile phone down and it snapped closed with a clunk. He squinted as he looked in the mirror above the dressing table.
Its surface was littered with makeup, eyebrow pencils and little bottles of glitter. Some gold, some silver and some green – Peter’s favourite colour. He looked at the figure before him, with its long, flowing white wig and enormous bosom. He chuckled to himself and leant closer to the mirror so he could see what he was doing. He wiped away the thick makeup that made him who he was on stage and slowly revealed the man beneath the dress.
He could hear the voice of the singer now on stage. She was singing one of Tammy Wynette’s songs, Stand by Your Man. Peter listened for a moment and hummed along to the song and swung his head from side to side as he undid the clips that held his wig in place. Behind him he heard a knock at the door and then it opened ajar slightly.
‘Great performance, Peter, Great!’ said Barry as he slipped in through the small gap left by the poster-covered door. ‘The audience loved you tonight,’ he said, helping Peter off with his dress and putting it onto a wide coat hanger before slipping a plastic cover over it and hanging it on the back of the door.
‘Ah, my adoring fans,’ said Peter as he cocked his leg up onto the dresser and undid the clips of his suspenders, rolling the stockings along his hairy legs. Barry collected them as they were peeled away and carefully folded them and packed them away.
‘Give us a hand to get me tits off dear,’ said Peter as he undid the hook on the back of the prosthetic bosom he was wearing. Barry, without thinking twice about it, cupped a hand under each of the heavy rubber breasts and supported them as Peter lifted it clear of his hairy shoulders and packed it away in its case.
Barry fingered the imitation diamond necklace Peter had put into its box and spread it out straight as he admired it. ‘If this was real, it would be worth a fortune,’ said Barry. Peter, tying the bootlaces of his Doc Martins’, looked up and smiled.
‘If they were real, my dear, I wouldn’t be playing in a shit-hole like this!’ Barry grinned and continued to pack away Peter’s things and made sure the room was ready for the next act. ‘Right my darling. I think we’re all done,’ said Peter, giving the room the once-over to make sure nothing had been overlooked. ‘Best get home or hubby will be worried.’
They pulled the stiff door behind them and Barry, remembering something, turned and trotted back down the filthy corridor and unstuck the paper sign that had been taped on the front of the door. He read it: ‘Dolly Parton’. Barry scrunched up the paper and threw it in the corner where he was sure it wouldn’t be noticed amongst the other rubbish piled up there. He sang the words to Peter’s last song, Jolene, as he rushed to catch up with his uncle Peter.
It was a narrow corridor and Peter went first. At the end, by the fire exit were a couple of young men. One was kneeling in front of the other and Peter knew what they were up to. They didn’t stop as Peter approached but the man on his knees continued with his task. The man standing noticed Peter getting closer but simply smiled.
Peter pushed on the heavy fire door and manhandled his baggage past the two men. He couldn’t help himself; he just had to look down as he passed. ‘My. That looks like a mouthful,’ he said just as Barry arrived and pushed him through the door and out into the carpark.
Bill was in the kitchen when Peter and Barry returned. He was expecting them and he had already got their tea ready. He stood in front of the cooker, wearing his little piny, stretched across his wide belly and when he heard the door he knew that was his cue to take the plates out of the oven. He bent over and, using a terry-towelling tea cloth, he retrieved the hot plates from the warm oven and placed them on the table he had prepared for their return.
Barry swung his bags down on to the sofa and came thorough to the kitchen. He noticed the fish and chips Bill had laid out for them. Barry licked his lips and looked in the kitchen cupboard for some tomato ketchup. Bill noticed and told him it was on the table already.
Peter kissed Bill and hugged him gently. ‘It’s nice to be home dear,’ he said as he hugged Bill closer and rubbed his back. Bill pulled away and, indicating at the table, told Peter to sit. He poured him out some strong tea – just the way he liked it and Peter looked at the portion of chips on his plate.
It was the size of a small hillock, thought Peter. ‘My god!’ he said, ‘Are you trying to get me fat?’ Barry looked at them greedily and Peter spotted his attention. He scraped some of the chips onto Barry’s plate and it made him grin.
‘Cheers uncle Peter,’ he said as he squirted extra ketchup over the new addition to his plate.
‘So how was the venue tonight?’ asked Bill as he pulled off his piny and joined them at the table. Peter rolled his eyes dramatically and Bill knew what that meant.
‘The crowd was good but the facilities...Puh!’ sputtered Peter. ‘I wouldn’t let a dog use their gents and the dressing room...’ Peter pointed to Barry with his knife. ‘You saw it Barry. You can tell him, it wasn’t fit for a star of my stature.’ He spread out his arms like Marilyn Monroe and they all laughed.
Bill remembered something and he suddenly stood up and retrieved an envelope from the sideboard. ‘Here,’ he said placing it gently by Peter’s plate, as if able to sense it wasn’t something good. ‘It was put through the door when you were out.’ Peter looked at the envelope.
It was thick and quite square, with a solid black border around its four edges. It looked like a card of some sort. Peter was bemused. It wasn’t anyone’s birthday or anniversary and he was curious why someone had sent him a card. On the front of the envelope was the single word, Peter, written in blue ink in a nervous hand.
Peter wiped his knife on the side of his plate and used it to slice along the edge of the stiff paper envelope. You could tell it was quality paper by the crisp sound it made as the knife cut through it. He slid out the card, expecting some garish, colourful scene but no; the card was a simple design with a black border. The cover simply said Joe Trolley 1944-2010. Peter looked at the words and he recognised the name. He looked across at Bill who was curious to know what the card was for. Bill could see that Peter was upset.
Peter opened the card and read the contents: Joe Trolley died on the 17th of October 2010. He will be missed by all. His funeral will be held on the 25th of October at 11:30AM at St Andrew’s Church, Lowfield. As a good friend of Joe, you are invited to attend.
It was signed by Agnes. Peter placed the card down on the table and stared at it in disbelief. Bill could sense something was wrong and he squeezed Peter’s hand and waited for him to tell him in his own time. Peter sensed the squeeze and it brought him round and he turned and looked at Bill. ‘Joe’s dead,’ he said.
Barry stopped eating mid chip and placed his knife and fork down, not sure what he was meant to do in this sort of situation. He had never experienced a death before and decided it would be best if he just sat and listened quietly.
Bill stood up and placed his arm around Peter’s shoulder. He nuzzled into his neck and said, ‘Sorry... I’ll get you a drink.’ He went to the kitchen and came back with a small tray with a bottle of Peter’s favourite tipple and three glasses.
Barry looked confused. He didn’t know who Joe was and couldn’t recall there being a Joe in the family. He looked at Peter. He hadn’t seen him look so out of sorts like this before. He wondered if he should get up and give him a hug. After all, he was his uncle Pete and if he was feeling sad at the loss of someone he loved then it was his duty to be there for him and comfort him. He was just about to get up and go over to kiss his uncle when Peter took in a big, dramatic deep breath and said, ‘Ah! Life’s a bitch...and then you die, as they say.’
Peter folded the card and pushed it under his plate. He looked up at Barry and noticed the concern on his face and he thought his puzzled expression deserved a response. ‘Joe was my ex,’ he said as Bill poured him a drink into the small tumbler sitting on the tray. ‘We were together for almost ten years, before...’ Peter took Bill’s arm and rubbed his elbow. ‘Before Joe decided he needed a younger model.’ He smiled at his Bill and he smiled back in his gentle, cuddly way.
Barry sat and listened. He had always known his uncle was gay. He had lived with his aunty Bill for all of Barry’s life and they were like his parents now. His own mum and dad found it difficult to deal with the fact that Barry was also gay and it was agreed in the family that it would be best if he lived with his uncle and his partner; to be brought up in an understanding and accepting environment. Barry didn’t mind. He loved his uncle and aunty and he couldn’t think of a better place to be brought up in.
Bill sat back in his seat and squeezed Peter’s hand again. ‘I wonder what he died of. He wasn’t that old, was he?’ Peter shook his head.
‘No... He must have been about 66, I think.’ He paused and a smile came to his face. ’Eeeh! I remember how Joe had an eye for the younger ones. He would always point them out in the crowd, saying things like, ‘Oooh! Isn’t he gorgeous!’ and ‘Oooh! Look at the arse on him!’ Peter rolled backwards in his seat, laughing. ‘He never had the decorum to lower his voice or keep it to himself – he was bold as brass.’ Peter saddened and his head dropped.
Bill knew they were very close and he knew how distraught Peter was when he found out that Joe had been seeing a younger man behind his back for over a year. That was it for Peter and he left him. He just packed up his things and left.
Bill nodded, ‘Yes. That was his Achilles Heel.’ He noticed Barry’s bemused expression and clarified. ‘He liked younger men and once they were no longer young, he replaced them with someone younger.’ He put his hand on Peter’s again and said, ‘No offence, dear.’
Peter tapped his hand and kissed Bill on the cheek. ‘Don’t be daft. I know where I’m better off and that’s here, with you my dear.’ He kissed him again and Barry grinned. He was pleased to see his uncle Peter feeling back to his old self. He liked the loving, gentle relationship his adopted parents had and he hoped, one day he could find a similar relationship of his own.
Peter helped Barry clear away the tea things and Barry filled the sink with hot, soapy water. ‘I wonder what he died of,’ pondered Peter as he wiped the dishes passed to him by Barry. ‘He always kept himself fit and trim – He knew he had to if he was going to interest younger men.’ He flicked the switch to the kettle and finished the last plate as he waited for it to boil. ‘And poor Agnes, she must be devastated. They were very close, you know,’ he said, stirring the tea bags in the big white pot. He looked at Barry. ‘She was his sister and a good friend of mine too... I wonder if I should give her a call.’ He raised his hand to his chin and leant slightly to one side in his usual camp posture.
Bill took the tray with the tea and said, ‘You’ll be seeing her at the funeral on Friday. You can speak to her then.’ Peter nodded, still lost in memories of his time with Joe. He folded the tea towel and hung it over the oven door to dry.
They settled in the living room and Peter put his feet up on the big padded footrest and slumped dramatically into the sofa. Bill sat next to him and poured his tea. Barry always sat in the same seat. He liked it because it gave him the best view of the TV and TV was a big part of his life.
He loved watching his soaps. He knew all of the characters and often wished that he could be an actor on TV or a performer on stage, like his uncle Peter. He loved the idea of standing in front of a crowd of fans, all loving him and watching him perform. He attended all of his uncle’s performances and he always sat in the audience and watched the crowd’s reaction. He thought his uncle looked so glamorous in his Dolly Parton dress and wig. He wanted to be up there on that stage, with his fans, cheering as he sung the, now memorised, songs of Dolly.
Peter slumped back into his seat. Bill read his paper and Barry watched his TV. Peter wasn’t aware of what was on; his mind was still thinking about the loss of his friend.
He had spoken to Agnes about a month ago, when he had bumped in to her at the library. He was returning his Agatha Christy and picking up the next on his list when he spotted her getting her books stamped. He had chatted to her in the cafe and caught up with what was going on in each of their lives. She had told him that Joe had been seeing a new man; a much younger man this time. She said he was in his early twenties and she thought it a bit sad that her older brother should be messing about with youngsters at his time of life and she wished he’d settle down and find a partner his own age.
Bill thought back to his time with Joe. They had been happy at first. Peter was still young and fresh when he met Joe. Their first few years were full of passion and love and Peter thought he had found the man he would spend the rest of his life with. But as things went on, Peter noticed the passion faded and Joe’s interest in other, younger, fresher men developed. It was just the odd comment at first; just the odd look but it soon became an obsession with Joe. He eyed every young man he met and Peter often felt uncomfortable being around him when there was a young, pretty boy he could see or talk to.
In the end, it became too much for Peter. He wanted a long term, loving relationship and he needed security. He needed someone he could trust and love him for the rest of his life.
When he was a young man, he had many boyfriends. He experimented with sex and alcohol, trying the many experiences of live available to a young, free gay man. But he soon became disillusioned with the gay scene, the empty promises and the bitchiness, which was part of that lifestyle. He wanted to settle down.
He looked over at Bill reading his newspaper. His balding crown glowed in the dim light of the room and his greying hair hung around this circle of skin like a Franciscan monk’s. He didn’t care. He loved Bill. He was the kindest, gentlest man he had ever met and above all else he trusted him with his life. They had been together for nearly twenty five years and he knew he had found the man he would spend the rest of his life with. He leant over and kissed him on the cheek.
Bill, deep in the article he was reading, looked up. He smiled, ‘What was that for?’ he asked.
‘Because I love you,’ said Peter.
