PAUL

"Paul!"

I turned, hardly able to believe my ears. There were no dulcet tones quite like my Sonia. She might have the face and figure of an Italian supermodel but born in Bootle, she had the coarse husky melodic rasp of Scouse, still as thick as treacle after all these years away.

"Son?"

She cackled wickedly and jumped at me; I howled and picked her up, whirling her about. It was five years since I had seen her. She hadn't changed a bit.

Sonia's my little sister. Well, not so little to be fair. She's six years younger than me which makes her - what? Twenty six now? Bloody hell, that makes me feel old.

Let me tell you a little about my family. There's me Mam and Dad - she's Italian and he's Irish, thus breeding is genetic with us. Apart from Son and me, there are three other brothers and one more sister: Lucia, the eldest, married with four children of her own already. Anthony, my elder brother, who hates my guts (it's mutual) as does his social climbing bimbo bitch-from-hell wife, Natasha, then Ricky who more or less drives everyone crazy including any woman who tries to pin him down and finally Joey the baby. He's okay. We do meet up from time to time but he keeps quiet about it as he's scared that his football crowd will find out he's got a gay brother.

You could say me and Son stick out like sore thumbs in our own family. I was the raving queen and she was the hippie wild child who broke all the rules. Long ago we made a pact which was as much formed against the world at large as our family. I looked out for her. Someone had to. She's always so instinctive and reckless. You never know what mess she'll find herself in next. Sonia has some sort of radar for bastards and always attracts the world's worst wankers. In the past I regularly took it upon myself to talk in a deeper register and go and rough up blokes who had pushed her around once too often. For her part, Sonia always used to hold me up when I was down. Which was very often in those days. Being gay in the part of town I came from was not a particularly easy lifestyle choice. It also involved regularly having my face bashed in and my guts kicked about. Sonia was great with cuts, bruises and black eyes.

She was also the first person to show me what unconditional love was. Without her I wouldn't have believed that it was possible to love someone without judging them or trying to change them. No one else at that point in my life had ever extended that privilege to me.

Until Jeff, I suppose. Jeff always loved me just as I was, warts and all. Sonia, too. She might be younger than me but she seems an older soul, already having life worked out in her head when I was still struggling just to keep mine above water. "Paul, don't ever let anyone tell you that there's something wrong with you. If they don't get you, then it's their fault...their problem....they're not worth the time or effort...." That was the sort of advice she'd give me and, even if it didn't really make me feel better, in time it sunk in and finally I learnt that she was right. I built my self -esteem on that sort of comment. So I owe that girl a lot.

About five years ago Sonia met this guy from Norway. A musician. In typical Sonia spontaneous fashion, she upped sticks and disappeared with him. Off and on I'd hear from her, a card from here and a phone call from there, emails now and again. They traveled the world and then ended up in Sweden. She seemed happy with him. It was a first for my sister whose relationships with men were usually disaster zones. I was happy for her, even if I missed her. When I met Jeff, I told her briefly about him and she was delighted for me. She invited us to come and stay for a holiday. I promised we would. Never got round to it.

"How the hell did you find me?" I asked. Sonia laughed heartily. I always loved Sonia's laugh, husky and full. It says a lot of things, that laugh does. Mostly, it says 'I don't give a damn'. "You told me you worked in a pub called The Come On Inn. Not too hard to trace that place...so here I was just sitting outside contemplating going in, when out you came..."

"I own it now. Well, part own," I told her proudly.

"I know. I called in last night. Talked to a barmaid. An American girl. She told me you were the boss..." Sonia beamed, full of sisterly delight in my success.

"Yeah? It was my night off. I was out ...with a....friend..."

"Boyfriend? Your Jeffrey?" She raised her eyebrows saucily.

"Suppose you'd call him that..." I retorted glibly.

Sonia stared at me balefully, hands on her hips. "And what would you call him then?

"Jeff." I answered unhelpfully. She laughed. So did I. Then I kissed her again. I'd forgotten how much I loved her.

 

 

JEFF

It's always when you least expect it that things go sour. You ever noticed that? I'm an eternal pessimist, always expecting the hammer to fall on my head, full of self- doubts and looking for trouble to come my way most of the time. Sometimes it does. But quite often for all my caution, when the shit happens I'm looking the wrong way and so step right in the middle of it.

That's what happened with Paul. For months now we've been getting on like a house on fire, ever since we moved into the pub. First we had all the renovations and redecorating and since then we've just been having a ball with this business of ours. It really feels like a partnership these days, even down to me going out to work and Paul staying round the place, earning a living, yeah, but still making my dinner and looking after the domestic side of things. He's good at all that.

Don't get me wrong, I pull my weight and all that stuff but he really enjoys keeping house. He's insanely tidy and clean, both of which I am not, and he loves cooking. It's not that I can't cook, but sausages and mash and warmed up lasagne get a bit boring after a while. So he's quite happy with the wife role. Jesus, that sounds really domestic, doesn't it? Funny thing is, I might be a poofta but I'm a pretty conventional male underneath with it. I pretty much like that sort of thing.

So life's been good. We've got the business - and Chili's a great partner, supportive and wise but allowing Paul a lot of freedom. I think Paul has proved himself there too and it has really helped his confidence in himself grow. Then there's my job - I've got myself a really good deal, subcontract work for a big developer's - my own boss but guaranteed steady work and not having to run around clearing drains and blocked toilets for housewives who want me to do it for bloody nothing. Add to that, the general atmosphere of the pub, all our mates and the friendships we have, we feel blessed. We've got this ready made family and as the time rolls on and the littlies keep popping out, we've got a whole new generation of nieces and nephews to dote on.

I suppose that's the only cloud on the horizon really. We both love kids and would have loved to have a child of our own. Seeing the others taking it for granted is hard sometimes. Both Paul and I must be capable of fatherhood but it is probably something we will never know. I think I'd be a good dad. I know Paul would be sensational. He loves kids and his experiences delivering Philip and supporting his best girlfriend Jessie have merely heightened his broodiness. I wish we could adopt but no agency would take us seriously. Two young gay males who run a pub? Some chance.

Well, there we were, living the dream, content in our little idyll. Happy, in love, money in our pockets, plenty of mates, great sex life...what more could we ask for?

I should have expected that hammer to fall any minute.

 

I was working late one night mid week on a rush section of one site. Paul called me in the day to tell me he would be out when I got back. Some mate from back home had got him tickets to the big match, Liverpool versus Benfica at Anfield. You know how Paul is about soccer? Like every Scouser, passion for footie is beaten into you at birth - he is quite deranged about supporting his beloved Reds. You should have seen him last year when they won the European Champions' League! So, this leg of the competition was pretty important to him and tickets were like gold dust. I was really pleased that he'd got a chance to go - and that was that.

Back at the pub after work later that evening, we were all sitting about watching the pre-match stuff. Guess who managed to get his handsome face on the screen? Paul, the most avid Red fan of all, was centre stage with his arm affectionately round a good looking dark-haired Sheila. I didn't think too much about it at first. Paul's very spontaneous and a pretty touchy-feely kind of bloke. I can easily see him flirting with pretty girls and even kissing a few when he's in that party atmosphere. But when Trask made some remark about 'watching my fella', I felt a twinge off jealousy. You never know, do you? Many gay guys have a go at the straight life when they get to a certain age. They want families and security just as much as anyone else.

Trask's throw away comment made me wonder if this girl wasn't just a bystander but was maybe someone he knew a bit better than that. She seemed to be fond of him. I could still see that look in her eye as she smiled up at him. Whether or not she knew him well, she sure as hell fancied him. Well, why wouldn't she? Paul's a very good looking bloke - and he doesn't come across as overtly gay unless he wants to. That's the whole point really. I like my men to look and act like men, not girls. It's like being a vegetarian to me. I like veggies to a point but not when they're masquerading as meat. If I want a roast, I don't want nuts dressed up as beef. If I want a bloke, I don't want it to be some man in lippie...

Paul's older than me. I'm not sure that most people realize that as mostly he arses about like he's still a big kid. But he's thirty three and I'm twenty seven. It's not a big difference but I think he's nearing a place when he wants something more steady. He wants to put down roots. So do I, really. I've always been inclined to the traditional set up. Some form of marriage, committed partnership, whatever. But for Paul the whole deal means kids too. That night watching the TV, I got the first dart of fear. Would the fact that neither of us possessed a womb in the end be the undoing of us?

I tried to ask him about it later when he was home but he wasn't very open to discussion. As soon as I asked him any questions he got annoyed and told me to stop hounding him. That didn't make me feel any less worried. I know Paul when he's hiding something - and he was definitely not telling me the truth about this.

 

*

 

A couple of days later, we had a bit of a row over the phone. I'd worked another Sunday and Paul had not been pleased. I tried to tell him it was good money but he was too busy moaning about how we never see each other and that he could afford to do without the extra. That got up my nose. I'm not some kept stud of his. If I choose to work the hours then it's none of his bloody business. I'd walked out that morning in a huff and then later he called me to tell me he was going out for the day so not to expect a dinner waiting for me. I didn't mind that but it was just the way he said it, like I was always expecting him to wait at the kitchen sink for me. So I got shirty with him and then he threw at me the fact I'd slept at Esme's one night in the week.

Well, I had. I went to have a talk with her - the day after the girl at the footy incident and we ended up in bed. Not sexually. But I just curled up with her and went to sleep. We'd had a lot to talk about and I got a bit emotional.

Esme's like my sister or something. Sure we've had sex - pretty far out sex, to be honest- but we have this kind of unspoken rule. From time to time we've done this threesome thing but neither Paul nor I would tolerate the other getting a bit solo with her - but together it isn't like being unfaithful. It's just the way we rationalize it. What we choose to do as a couple is one thing - and we do swing from time to time with men as well - but one on one is only for each other.

It all started really with Paul's curiosity about women. He wasn't very experienced with them and yet wanted to experiment; he likes women well enough as friends. Esme is very open to sexual adventure and was intrigued with watching two men get it on as well. It worked and we found it very mutually satisfying. Paul said he liked sex with a woman more than he'd expected to. It's ironic, isn't it, that maybe Esme and I opened the floodgates there? I'm beginning to wish we'd never tried to introduce him to the pleasures of heterosexuality. It would be bizarre if he was the one in the end who formed a straight relationship, wouldn't it?

But Esme and I don't have sex on our own. Nor do we discuss it. Although we did that night - but in a different context. But it was only in theory. I didn't root her. She's seeing Cullen Murphy these days, although I'm not exactly clear of the status of that odd coupledom. Murphy seems to be cruising as much as ever and I've seen him in the bar with other women. Esme seems to accept that and has even dated other guys. There was one weird occasion where Murphy was wrapped round some bimbo in the corner and Em was devouring the tonsils of some empty-headed (but fully loaded) jock on the dance floor. Neither Esme nor Murphy turned a hair, even waving over to each other once or twice and making faces as if to question the IQ of their partner. I tried to get Em to talk about Murphy but she was tight lipped. Couldn't get a single thing out of her. Which worries me a bit. Murphy will walk right over her heart with hobnailed boots. The guy is incapable of loving a woman. But what can I do? My own love life is beginning to fall apart at the seams and I hardly feel qualified to advise someone else at the moment.

Back to the present. Paul challenged me about staying over at Esme's. I was mad about that. I mean, he knows I wouldn't do anything! Whereas he has been behaving pretty oddly lately...and we had a row over the phone.

 

After work that arvo, I showered and joined the lads for a bevy and some lunch down at a sports bar in town. The Sunday sport was on the big screen and I thought 'Why shouldn't I go out and have a laugh with the boys if Paul was out somewhere with a cob on him?' Frankly sometimes I like meeting up with the blokes from work and being part of a different scene, hanging with the boys, a more anonymous set up where no one knows I'm gay. To them, I'm Jeff the hunky Aussie rugby player who looks a bit like a young Russell Crowe. I'm also not known as a refugee from a group of misfits who have fallen out of a celluloid surreality. To them I'm just a plumber who likes a beer and his sport. They know I live with someone and presume it's a girl. I don't seek to change their assumption. If they asked me outright, I'd tell them, but for the time being, it suits me just to be one of the crowd at work, just one of the lads.

There I was, sipping on a beer, laughing at a dirty joke one of the blokes was telling when I caught sight of Paul out of the window of the bar. We were on the upper floor with large windows giving out onto a view of the square. In summer the windows would be open and we'd have been sitting out on the balcony but it was too cold at this time of year. So the windows were closed and I was just glancing out.

And there he was. My Paul. With a girl. 

He had his arm around her shoulders and was whispering into her ear as they strolled along, She had her arm round his waist, her hand thrust down his back pocket. They looked like any other couple in love. I'm not sure I've ever felt more jealous in my entire life.

She was smaller than Paul, but not by much, very willowy and slender. She had a great figure, amazing tits, and long skinny legs. Paul likes long skinny legs on girls just as much as he likes muscular hairy ones on men. This girl was dark haired, a glossy thick mane of beautiful blue-black hair that she kept flicking back off her face as it blew around them both. Once or twice Paul reached out and brushed the heavy fall from her cheek. He loves thick hair. I know he does. He likes to run his fingers through mine as we make love. I doubt the feel of my hair is a patch on this woman's, though.

I couldn't quite see her face properly, what with the hair and Paul's shoulder blocking me, but I was pretty sure this was the same girl from the TV the other night. It had to be.

I opened the large French window and stepped out into the cold afternoon gloom, watching them as they made their way across the square. For a moment I was afraid that they might be heading for this bar but they veered towards the main street beyond. Paul was laughing easily, his eyes dancing, totally relaxed in her presence. This wasn't someone he had just met. He knew her well.

Knew her? In what sense? Their body language suggested a sexual relationship - they had no reserve with each other. She was giggling and teasing him as if egging him on. He stopped at one point and kissed her. It wasn't a full on kiss , just a gentle touch to her forehead. But it seemed to be so much worse because it was so loving, caring and affectionate. If he was just fancying a bit of hot sex with a girl for a change I think I could have coped with the knowledge better. But the way he touched this woman showed he had strong feelings for her. My heart sank a little further as I saw the only thing I wanted in life begin to drift away from me.

"What you doing out here, Jeff? Thought it was too cold for your delicate Aussie arse...?" A bloke called Pat off the site wandered out to join me with another pint. I took it gratefully and drank it back. Pat saw the couple below and realized I was staring at them as they stood talking hand in hand.

"Bloody gorgeous, hey? You lusting after her? Don't blame you. I'd stick it up her, no problemo...but I bet he'd have something to say about it, the lucky bastard. She must like the pretty boys...Still...he's missing the footie...that's the trouble with girlfriends, hey? Got to keep them sweet..." Pat laughed, slapped me on the back and I grinned weakly in reply.  Stood up, drained my glass and offered to get the next round in. Somehow I already knew I was getting bombed that afternoon.

 

It didn't particularly help though. I still sat through the rest of the afternoon's sports programme with my mind racing. There was probably an explanation. I had no idea what that explanation might be, but there must be a rational explanation for all this. Paul wasn't interested in girls. Of the two of us, I was probably more inclined in that direction. For all his bravado, Paul had never really got far with women in the past. After a few embarrassing failures as a kid, he had largely kept away from straight sex until Esme had shown him that he could perform just as well as the next man with a woman. She'd gone slowly with him, allowing him to take his time and discover her. He's a sensual guy, so very good in bed, and all he really needed was a woman who didn't come at him full on. Paul looks like a stud, the sort of bloke who takes control, but although he can be, given the right moment, he is by nature more passive and if a woman launches herself at him, he finds it off putting and his erection harder to sustain. With men it's different. The thought of a man usually is enough to get him hard. Esme's got his measure though. He goes for what he wants with her. And he bloody loves it. No wonder they both adore each other so much.

I wonder if maybe Esme hasn't awoken some desire in him that he'd never known he had before? Or maybe Paul does have bi tendencies which he suppressed earlier after a few spectacular failures left him embarrassed and lacking in confidence with girls? Had such a different experience with Esme at last shown him the limitations of sex with a man?

And that, of course, brings me back to the subject of Paul and babies. Ever since Faith and Philip were born, and now with Jessie pregnant, he's been dripping around like a broody hen. He so wants to be a father. So do I, really, but in some part of me I've accepted that it isn't really possible. We're going to have to console ourselves being uncles to everyone else's babies.

He came up with one of his gems the other day. We were lying in bed just doing what boys do with their wake up stiffies when he stopped, rolled over and looked up at me. "You think Esme would consider surrogacy?"

I was pretty far gone by then and it took me a few seconds to come back to base.  "Surrogacy? Like a baby?" I muttered.

"What else?" Paul retorted as if it was the most normal thing in the world to be thinking of getting another woman pregnant while having sex with your boyfriend. He re-applied himself to my dick for a while; I just frowned and tried not to let my hard on flag. But it was difficult. His comment had been a passion killer especially when he pulled back again just at the very worst moment and observed: "Ever think about all that spunk going to waste? Millions and millions of sperm never given a chance..."

"Shut up, Paul..." I groaned. "How'm  I supposed to come with you going all philosophical on me?" I pushed him away and got out of bed, my erection already flagging. But I knew I wasn't being fair to him. Whatever he'd been thinking of, Paul had been reaching out and I'd just slammed the door in his face.

Esme called round that night. I think she was lonely. Murphy was in New York. Not that Em would mention him though. I asked her how things were between them and she replied: "He's just a bloke. Great in bed...a bloody sight warmer than a vibrator - and with a better sense of humour..." But she doesn't fool me. Murphy's got to her. Jesus Christ, I hope she gets over him quick. You wouldn't wish Murphy on your worst enemy. I made a few pathetic starts before I finally managed to get onto the subject I really wanted to broach. "Em?"

"Yeah?" She muttered, sprawled out on the couch playing with my hair. I was sitting on the floor, leaning back against her.

"You ever thought about having a baby?"

Esme made a noise somewhere between a snort and a sigh. "I think I'd need a bloke first..."

"What about Murphy? Bet he's firing live ones..." I suggested, trying another angle to tease out the level of her current infatuation. That made her groan. "You have to be kidding! Murphy's fine for dirty sex - but child support? He'd run a flaming mile. Plus, his kids would be bloody delinquents. Anyway, I'd be a crap mother. I'm not interested in all that baby stuff really. Not that I wouldn't like to have the experience of motherhood. I like experiences. But raise a child? Dirty nappies? Broken sleep? Just not sure I could hack the day-to-day grind. You can keep it. I can barely look after myself....Why? Why did you ask me that?" Suddenly she sat up sharply and dragged my face around to look at her. "What's going on in your mind?"

There was never going to be a better moment. So I bit the bullet. Esme and I were good mates. I knew she'd listen carefully and give me an honest opinion. "Paul and I want a baby. I was wondering if..."

That's as far as I got. Esme jumped up as if she'd been burnt and looked at me totally shocked. "You want me to have your baby?" Her voice was almost incredulous.

I reddened and stood up placing a hand on her shoulders gently. "Not saying mine...mine or Paul's....he's just as capable...I wondered if..." Then I lost my nerve. It was a bloody cheek to ask this of any woman, never mind a warm generous soul like Esme. She was kind enough to do it for us. And it wasn't fair on her. Esme had the right to live her own life for herself, not just make herself available for others to live theirs as they chose. "Forget I even said it, Em. I should never have suggested it....I'm sorry..."

But she wasn't having it. "No! Why shouldn't you ask? I've got a womb and no one else seems interested in it. Tell me what you were thinking of. How would it work? Would you draw straws...?"

I laughed at the thought of doing it in such a cold blooded way. If we were going to conceive a child, I wanted it to be right from the get go. "I've not really thought it through but I'd prefer it was left to nature. Maybe one of our little threesomes...then we'd never know who had actually fathered it until...?"

"...Until it was born and we saw if it had big brown eyes or blue green ones...? So you and Paul would both have sex with me on the same night and we'd leave it up to whose swam the fastest...?" Esme rolled her eyes. I chuckled, even more embarrassed than ever when she put it like that - even though that was pretty much what I had been thinking.

For a while, Esme didn't say anything. Then she got up, poured us both a stiff drink and knocked hers back in one. "I'll need to give this some thought, Jeff. It's a pretty far out thing to do. But I'll tell you this - a part of me wants to say yes. I'd be honoured to give you two a child. And you and Paul would be wonderful parents. I could hang around and do the Mum thing when you needed a woman...but I'll have to think about it. Can I give you my answer in a few days?"

I was amazed she was even considering it. "Oh God, yes! It was just a crazy idea. I never really expected..."

She put her arms around my neck and I pulled her in close. "It isn't crazy. It makes perfect sense. Who else would you ask? We're great friends, we've already got a little ménage a trois thing going and it could be so beautiful. The three of us loving each other and making a baby? It would just be the ultimate sexual high..."

I walked her home and stayed over that night in Esme's bed. We didn't have sex. But we did lie awake and talk far into the night. I think she's coming round to the idea more and more. I called Paul and left a message on his phone to say I'd not be back that night. I didn't say why. I wanted to wait until I had the good news for him. Then he wouldn't need to hang around and consider getting married or something. It wasn't fair anyway to use a woman like that.

Unless...unless, this was about more than just renting a womb. Was there a chance Paul might have found love with a girl?

 

 

PAUL

I don't know what's the bloody matter with him this week. If he was a girl I'd say he had PMS. He's been so flamin' noughty with me. Sunday night I got back and he was nowhere about. Never even saw him until breakfast Monday when he staggered into the kitchen with his hair on end, needing a shave and still dressed in yesterday's clothes.

"Where were you last night?"

Jeff grunted and scratched his balls. "Out."

"I bloody worked that one out already. You never got back until now. So where did you sleep?"

"Esme's"

"You were out with Esme?"

"No, I was out with some mates from work and I got pissed off my head. I gave this bloke Esme's number. I needed someone to drive the van home..."

"Why not me?"

"You were out...remember?" Jeff shot me an accusatory look. What was that all about?

"You mean, you don't want your new playmates to know you're a poofta? Using Esme as the pretend girlfriend? You're bloody pathetic..."

It went downhill from there. Jeff just swore under his breath and pushed me out of the way as he made for the door to the stairs. I pushed him back hard and he swung out at me. That's when Angharad walked in.

"Hey...what's going on there...? Stop that, you two...!" Jeff just shot me another look and stormed out, going to work without even showering or shaving. I mooched around all day feeling blue. I just don't know what's got into him. And what's this big deal about Esme all of a sudden? He seems to be sleeping with her more than me these days...

I was already in a pig of a mood that evening when Murphy got up my nose as well. He was sitting there in the leather armchair by the fire drinking Scotch in that morose way he has. He's either high as a kite or deep in some Gaelic melancholy. Tonight appeared to be the latter. "Oi, O'Gallagher, you got a minute...? What is it with your boyfriend and Esme? You know he slept there again the other night? Is there something we should know? Just thought you might be interested. I'm warning you...keep him on a leash, hey? Or I might have to do something..."

He was sitting there slouched against the leather as I was collecting glasses with that scary stare where he pins you down and gives you his broody expression. All it did was make me angry. I don't give a fuck if he's an ex-Navy Seal. I'm from the 'Pool. We break girders on our dicks for fun down there.

"What you on about? You trying to scare me? Bugger off...maybe she was lonely...saw you in here with that dumb blonde the other night...like you've suddenly become the moral fucking majority.....? And you keep your hands off him, you got that? Neither of us is frightened by a little runt like you...oops, did I spell that right? Doesn't runt begin with a c?"

I picked up his half empty glass, he snatched it back and slammed it down. "Watch it, boyo...I might be doing you a favour... or is it true what they say? You got better fish to fry these days...? Well, well, well, changing your religion, are you? Can't say I blame you...nothing like a ....runt...is there?"

I backed off but I was still contemplating going back and laying one on him, the smug little Irish bastard. There are times when nothing works quite as well as flattening someone's nose. Jessie saw me on the brink and dragged me off into the back. She wanted me to talk but I wasn't having any of it.  Talk? How the fuck can I talk when I don't even know what the fuck's going on? Women always do that 'You have to communicate' shit...fine, if you have anything to say. I bloody didn't. If Jeff has, let him start the fucking ball rolling then...But I am not having Murphy tell me what to do with my life. He's a fucking disgrace.

And what did he mean about me changing my religion? You think he's seen me with Sonia and got the wrong idea?

Jesus, he better keep his sweaty hands off my Sonia...I'll fucking kill him if he tries anything on with her...

 

 

JEFF

I had my answer a few days later.  Paul and I had had a bad week. I nearly hit him Monday morning and the rest of the week we just kept our distance. Which is kind of hard when you sleep in the same bed. I thought about going over to Esme's a few nights but Murphy has turned up again and I doubt he'd have much patience with my problems, so I steered clear.

I thought about trying to talk to Paul, maybe ask what was going on with this girl and even tell him what I'd asked Esme. But even though Jessie had a little word with me and tried to encourage the two of us to take a night off and go out on our own, I backed off when it came down to it. I was still pretty sore. I was sure he'd been sleeping with a woman behind my back and didn't seem to think there was anything even to feel guilty about. Yet he was pissy with me because I'd been out with my mates and got drunk.

Friday night, I was locking up the van after work in the pub car park when I heard a voice from the shadows. "Mitchell?"

"Yeah, mate?" I squinted into the darkness trying to see who it was. I made out Cullen Murphy leaning against the wall giving me one of his Celtic moody looks.

"Want a word..."

"Buy you a beer? St. Paddy's night and all..." I offered, still not on his wavelength.

"Not here. And this isn't a social chat. But it is between me and you..."

I still didn't put two and two together. Shows how dense I am. Cullen gave me the nod and loped across to his wheels, a high end sports car. I looked down at my work duds.

"Mate, I'm covered with building dust..."

"Get in!" Something about his tone told me I had better do as I was told. So I did. He drove without speaking to some rough ground on an industrial estate on the edge of town with me getting more and more uneasy by the minute. If he wasn't a mate, I'd have thought he was about to take me somewhere quiet and beat the shit out of me.

Cullen killed the engine and got out, walking round to my door, opening it and hauling me out, flinging me roughly over the bonnet and kicking my legs wide.

"Okay, Mitchell....now here's the thing..." He leaned over me, his hand round my throat. I was beginning to work it out now. "I'm going to say this once and only once. Got it? You and your boyfriend stay away from Esme. If I find out you two have been round for one of your little pyjama parties...I'll feckin' rip out your dicks and shove them down your throats...And I'll hear no more about that fucking crazy baby idea...Esme's a great girl. She loves you two fucking perverts, God alone knows why...so, don't you fucking dare take advantage of her....Have your baby? You lost your fucking marbles? She's a woman, not a womb for hire..."

I wouldn't have minded so much he if he had admitted to himself what was really crawling up his arse. If Murphy would have the decency to have a proper relationship with Esme instead of this casual thing where he comes and goes as he likes, banging anyone else he fancies and ignoring her for weeks on end until he decides to come round for a bit of free nookie, I would accepted his right to be annoyed with me. But a free loader like him had no rights over Esme. He was just a user. If he felt more for her then it was high time he stopped messing her about and made a real commitment. "Get the fuck off me!" I pushed him away and stood back up. "It's got fuck-all to do with you. So butt out..."

"Nothing to do with me?" Murphy sprang straight back at me, facing me up, his words spat out. "I'm supposed to let you two at her, then back off for nine months while she hatches your little pod poofta? Let me tell you something about Esme. She'd do you a favour because she's the kind of woman who would put others first. But what about her fucking sex life? You think she likes playing third wheel sucking you off while you two have a session?" He grabbed me by the collar of my battered old denim jacket. "I'm the man she wants...you expect her to give me up? You selfish bastard...!"

"...The man she wants?" I snorted in derision and knocked his hands away. "I don't see you considering her feelings when you roll up in the bar with some leggy model. Selfish? Mate, you invented the word..."

He hit me then. Bloody hurt and all. I swung back and caught him too - but only once. He was too fit and fast for me after that. He proceeded to give me a good going over and then threw me in a heap on the floor. "And if you tell my Ellie that I fucking touched you, you bent cunt, I'll feckin' come back and finish off the feckin' job...!"

His Ellie. It was just that one moment that I began to see how much he was genuinely distressed by all this. It was an unexpected tenderness amidst the profanities and violence. I realized that from his point of view, what I had asked of her was intolerable. There was only one man he would accept seeding her womb and that was him - even if he was far from ready to reach that point with her yet.

But he had already run back to his car, jumped in and driven off at speed, making sure that he hit a giant pothole and drenched me in cold muddy water as I pulled myself off the ground, wiping the metallic taste of blood off my nose and lips. My head was banged and my vision blurry. He cracked a bloody hard punch, the bastard.

It took me an hour to walk back. I probably could have flagged down a taxi but I needed to clear my head and do some thinking before I got back to the pub in this state. Pretty ironic, huh? All we wanted to do was have a baby. It wasn't exactly something wrong, was it? Most people took it for granted. We wanted to stand by her and raise the little one right. But I get beaten up for even suggesting it, by a bloke who would do a bunk if he found out he'd knocked a woman up. Where's the justice in that?

I wasn't sure where I was going to go next. It wasn't actually up to Cullen-bloody-Murphy if Esme did this thing or not - but I couldn't deny he had a valid point. We would be asking her to give up nine months of her life - longer if you consider getting her body back into shape. She was already finding it hard to find love in this world - that would just set her back further and make her chances even less likely. Plus she was bound to have issues that made it hard for her to hand over her flesh and blood to someone else. She would feel guilt. It simply wasn't fair to expect her to take all that on board and get nothing in return. Murphy was right. She would probably agree to it out of the goodness of her heart and that crazy curiosity that drives her to have a go at anything offered. But it was not what she was looking for or what she needed in life. I should never have asked her.

Back at the pub, I strode through the crowded bar to the living quarters behind with the collar of my jacket turned up to try and hide my battered face. The place was heaving and no one was taking much notice of me. Paul glanced up as I pushed through the half door that led to the back of the bar. He saw the cuts and bruises and blanched but didn't mention them in public.

"You're late back," he shouted over.

"Had a bit of a problem on the site..." I muttered and took the stairs at a run.  Wouldn't you know, at the top, I bumped right into Loreta and Alex moving the last of their stuff. "What on earth...!" she exclaimed when she saw my face. Ross stood back and observed me thoughtfully. Loreta bustled me into the lounge where she ran frantically around finding first aid equipment and patching me up as best she could. While she was out of the room, Ross gave me a grilling.

"Who did it?"

I shrugged. "It's nothing..."

"Hando?"

I shook my head. "I said it doesn't matter..."

Ross sat down opposite me. "Did this happen because you're queer?" I almost laughed at his choice of words. He isn't exactly judgmental but he uses language from a period that did not mince its words.

"No...Actually it was over a girl...funny, hey?"

Ross smiled. "Think that's called irony, pal. You sure you're okay? Maybe we should get you checked out at the hospital?"

"No. I'm fine. Had worse than this in my time. Don't make it a big deal, okay? I don't want Paul to worry. You know how he makes a drama out of everything...he worries..."

Loreta came in with a bowl of warm water and some cloths and cotton wool, dabbing my cuts with antiseptic and cleaning off the mud. "Stop fussing..." I complained. She ignored me and turned to Alex.

"Go run him a warm bath and pour him a stiff whisky. Oh, and add some of that Tea tree oil..." Gently and deftly she sorted me out, asked no questions, stripped off my torn and bloody T- shirt, then pushed me towards the bathroom. "Have a long soak but leave the door ajar. I don't want you falling asleep and drowning. You might have concussion. I'm going to ask Doctor M to come up and have a look at you..."

She handed me a towel and looked at me as if she expected me to explain. I went to unzip my jeans and gave her the eye to leave. "No peeking, love..."

She shook her head and laughed. "Like you've got something down there I've never seen before?"  But she left the room all the same, leaving the door half open. I dropped my pants and eased myself stiffly down into the inviting water. Boy, did I ache all over.

I must have dozed off briefly because sometime later, I heard her call my name. I opened my eyes, my head still woozy and thick, like it was made of wool. "Come on, Jeff...out you come..." I let her help me stand, wrap a towel round my waist and leaned on her while I stepped out. Loreta pointed out some clean clothes resting on a chair and told me to dry off and dress. When I emerged she'd warmed up some soup and made me a plate of sandwiches. Alex was sitting there watching TV. He poured me a Scotch.

"For shock..."

Alex and Loreta both hung around while I dozed and watched some TV with them. Paul came charging up the stairs when he was able to take a break and they quietly took their leave. Loreta patted my back maternally.

He waited until they had gone down and then sank to his knees by the side of the couch. "What the fuck happened?" he exclaimed as he took my swollen face in his hands.  My eye was a real shiner by now and my upper lip was double its usual size, split and bloody. My nose was also red and enlarged. I must have looked a picture.

But it felt so damn good to feel him touch me again. Almost worth getting beaten up for. I love the way he looks at me when we're alone. It's like a mixture of my Mum and my Dad and my lover all rolled into one. God, I love him so much it makes my chest hurt.

"It's nothing. I got into something. It's over now..."

"They found out you're gay at work? That what this is about? The fucking bastards did this to you...? They think they've the right to work you over just because of the way you choose to live your life...?" He was clearly upset and angry; his voice catching on the edge of tears. I suspected there was more to this than just seeing my bashed up face. We had both been on an emotional edge for days.

"No, Paul...it wasn't about that. I just got caught up in the middle of a blue at work and someone turned nasty on me. Let it go, mate..." I'm not sure he entirely believed me but I didn't want to explain. It wasn't a matter of being scared of Cullen Murphy - although I wasn't keen to get on the wrong side of him again - but it was more that I didn't want him to find out about the stupid suggestion I'd made to Esme. Paul didn't question me further but I think my vagueness and lack of honesty cut him. He seemed deflated. I wondered if I should have told him the truth. But wouldn't that only have upset him more?

But regardless of whether or not he felt snubbed, Paul still held me in his arms all night long. It always scares him that I might be on the receiving end of gay bashing. There are still people out there who believe blokes like us need stringing up. Scares me, too. Maybe you can see why so many lads like us give the straight life a go. I wasn't sure if his tender concern was because he felt we were drifting away from each other and he was fruitlessly trying to hold us both together. Something has changed though. We've lost that sense that we were two halves of the same whole.

Is it ever possible to stick back together what life has sundered?

 

 

PAUL

"So you fancy a bevy?" Happens every time I get with another Scouser. My accent regresses and I sink back into the talk. Other people can barely understand me. Frankly, I spend too much time with Aussies and Yanks. They wouldn't understand a bloody word if I didn't tone it down for them. So it was a relief to talk to a normal person again in my own dialect.

"You buying?" she grinned. Sonia never has any cash on her. She's like the bloody queen. So we hit the nearest bar and I got her favourite, a pint of the black stuff. I try to stay off the Guinness - like I want a beer belly?- so I had my usual Vodka tonic. She giggled when the barmaid put the order down the wrong way round. "You want an umbrella with yours, Paulie?"

We found a table and settled in. She wanted to tell me what had brought her back. She'd left Lars the Viking. It wasn't really anyone's fault. He had wanted marriage and a family but Sonia didn't think she could hack it. "I don't want kids, Paul. Never did. I'm not like you. I'm too selfish. I want to be free. Even monogamy isn't really my style. I'd never spend my whole life with one bloke. And that's not fair on a kid, is it? Don't be disappointed in me. I don't have your standards..."

That's one of the things about Sonia that I love so much. She doesn't judge people by the conventional yardsticks but finds her own opinion in what she believes a person is inside. Not many people do that. No one had ever accused me of having high standards before. "My standards? I'm a bloody queer. Most people would put a wife beater higher on the food chain than me... never mind a free spirit like you..." I observed ruefully.

"Oh Paul!" she sighed and took my hand in her little one. "Don't talk like that about yourself! This boyfriend....Jeffrey or whatever his name is...tell me about him. Is he special? Are you in love?"

I played with the ice in the bottom of my glass. "Yeah...he's special...but..." I found myself blushing. I never blush. I wanted to tell her that I was hopelessly in love and that I wanted to spend my whole life with Jeffrey Mitchell but the words just wouldn't come. Instead I just mumbled and made pathetic attempts at explanation.  "I live with him... He's a mate...we get on well...most of the time..." It sounded so half hearted. What's wrong with me that I can't admit my feelings even to my sister?

"A good mate? Oh come on, Paul. He's your lover! Can't you be a bit more expressive than that? You're such a ...man!"

A man? Yes, I am. Funny that, innit?

"Tell me about him..." Sonia asked softly.

"No. Meet him. Tell me what you think then..."

Sonia eyed me up. I think she knew her approval mattered to me more than anything but she also seemed to detect an unease in my voice. "Is everything alright between you? You never speak of him... Mum and Dad met him?"

"Yeah...they did...it was...not a very nice scene..."

She winced at that and stroked my hand. "They fucking hated Lars as well. Don't take it personally. Come on, let's get some scran. I'm starving. And I will meet your bloke soon. But not tonight. Tonight I just want to have my best bro all to myself..."

 

 

JEFF

I was sitting at the bar Saturday lunchtime a week later nursing a beer. Paul was out somewhere with Angharad, picking up catering stuff she needed. He'd asked me to tag along but I was a bit tired, to be honest. It had been a hard week keeping up and working long hours with my body still stiff and sore from the beating Cullen had given me. To be honest, I think he did more than just give me a few bruises. My insides were still giving me a bit of jip and my ribs were aching when I lifted heavy things. But my face had returned to normal and apart from a slight yellow bruise around my left eye, I was back, as gorgeous as ever.

It was quiet. Loreta was talking to Chili. A couple was having lunch at one of the tables. A few blokes were playing pool. It was a bit early for our crowd to show up.

I noticed her as soon as she walked in. From where I was sitting, I had a good view of the door.  She was beautiful with dark exotic colouring, the type of look I always go for on men and women. Like Paul, really. He's got that Mediterranean olive skin and chocolate brown eyes too. She sat over at the other end of the bar, lit up and waited until Loreta glanced up and came over to serve her.

"Mineral water... Paul in?"

I started listening then. Paul? I took a closer look. Bloody hell, it was her! The girl I'd seen with Paul. He had never admitted being with a female friend and I had avoided bringing the subject up. It still rankled, though, particularly as he seemed to resent me having been over at Esme's once or twice. What with the drubbing I'd got from Cullen and Paul being shifty about this sheila, it hadn't been a pretty good few weeks. I was still down in the dumps, depressed. She was just what I needed now, the tart Paul'd been rooting showing up, bold as brass.

I overheard Loreta telling the girl that Paul wasn't in and wouldn't be back for a couple of hours. "You looking for a job or something?" she asked curiously, obviously fishing. No doubt she has her own views on what's been going on recently.

The girl grinned. "Not really...no, I just wanted to see Paul..."

"You known him long?" Good old Loreta was pumping for all she was worth.

The girl smiled a private knowing smile. It made me angry. She was smugly hiding something. "We go way back. Bumped into him recently. Been like old times..."

Loreta raised an eyebrow and set down the mineral water, glancing over at me as if she was checking just how much I had heard. When she moved off, I took up my pint and walked over. Paul's Sheila gave me the once over and did not look unimpressed. Bloody little scrubber, I thought. Paul's not around, so she's making eyes at other men?

"Not seen you in here before, love..." I was a bit more assertive than usual. I think it was the annoyance that made me forget my normal reserve.

"There's a first time for everything, so they say..." She smiled back with a toss of her thick black hair. She lowered her lashes and gave me a cheeky look, her tongue peeking from her lips. She reminded me of someone I knew but I couldn't quite place her. One of the pub girls probably. She was English anyway. Actually she sounded a bit like Paul's accent. Must be from the North West too. Maybe that's how she knew him? She had said they went way back. An old girlfriend, perhaps?

I was curious now. "Mind if I join you? S'a bit quiet this arvo...."

She smiled and motioned me to take the neighbouring barstool. "Park your bum. I'm Sonia...please to meet you..."

"J..." Then I stopped. I'm not sure why I did it really. I just wanted to check this girl out and knew that Paul just might have mentioned his flatmate Jeff or something. So I misled her on purpose. My first bloody mistake. "...Just call me Mitchell..."

Sonia laughed, a husky attractive sound that sort of hit me somewhere below my belt. I love that kind of voice on a woman. "Bit of a mouthful, hey? I'll call you Mitch....you Australian?"

I nodded. "Yeah...from Sydney...."

"I like Aussies. 'Specially big handsome ones like you. Play rugby?"

"Yeah..."

"God...I think I just wet my knickers...! I love hunky rugby boys with muscly thighs...." Sonia rolled her eyes and laughed again. Bloody hell, I could definitely see the attraction.

I blushed. I hate it when I do that. "Oh, I'm not that big...well, I mean...my muscles aren't...compared to some of the back line....well, I'm fairly beefy but..." I was doing that stupid droning on and making no sense that I always do when I'm chatting someone up. I wish someone would just tell me to shut up at times. Chatting someone up? Did I just say that?

But Sonia didn't seem to think I was a prize idiot, despite my babble.  "That where you got the shiner?" She put her hand up and touched the fading bruise round my eye. Her fingers were cool and soft. "Or have you been fighting? Bit of a scrapper are you, Mitchell?" It was the first time that I'd felt good about that scurrilous little incident. At least one person found a positive in me getting my arse kicked in.

I took a breath and started again. "You know Paul, then? I heard you mention him to Loreta at the bar...."

Sonia gave a mysterious smile. "You could say I know him....quite well in fact...."

Well, that did it. I felt the surge of real jealousy in my gut. So she was almost admitting that something had been going on with him? Not that I could blame her. She obviously knew nothing about me. My name certainly didn't appear to ring any bells. Nor did my Australian accent. He hadn't even bloody well mentioned my existence, the bastard! But then he wouldn't, would he? A bloke would hardly make a good impression with a new bird if he told her he was sleeping with a guy at the same time.

I can't say I blamed Sonia. She was little more than a tart - but a nice one, to be fair. He was the one leading her down the garden path. What the fuck was his game? Was he really considering going straight or was this another of his harebrained schemes to become a dad? Did he plan to put a hole in a condom or something, get her pregnant and do some deal over the kid? You never know with O'Gallagher. He's so bloody unpredictable.

"Yeah well, I wouldn't like to move in on another bloke's patch..." I thought I would sound out her reaction. Sonia gave me a sultry pout in reply.

"You got the wrong idea about me and Paul. You wouldn't be moving in on him...if that's what you were thinking of doing..." Little tart was exactly what I thought she was. Just a user. Paul was fine for a bit of fun and games when he was available but she'd set her sights on any mug rather than be left alone at a bar if he wasn't. If Paul was getting in deep with this girl then he really was making a big mistake.

And I intended to show her up for what she was. Let's face it, if I bad mouthed her to him, he'd just think it was sour grapes on my part. But two can play at his game. He thinks he can pick up a girl and keep it from me? Well, how's he gonna like this one?

"You fancy grabbing a spot of lunch...?" I cast my line and waited to see if she would bite.

"I can do better than that. You like Rugby? We could go catch a Super League match...s'only Warrington but..."

"...Ripper. I'll grab my fleece...let's do it..."

 

So we did. Day at the rugby, ate pie and chips at half time, sank a few pints in a local afterwards - and then I took her home. The thing was, tart or not, Sonia was a really nice girl. I could see how any bloke could fancy her. I could even see why Paul, the confirmed raving queen, might fancy her.

Funnily enough she reminds me of him in a way. I mean, she doesn't look like him or anything but she has this way of talking that reminds me of him. It must be a Scouse thing - kind of irreverent and self mocking but at the same time witty and observant. She also has this thing she does with her tongue when she's thinking - she sticks it out of the side of her mouth and wiggles her head cheekily at the same time. A couple of times that day I got this weird feeling that if Paul was a girl this is how he'd be. So it's not surprise they clicked. And I could even understand why that would have blown him away. For the first time, a beautiful girl gets under his skin - why wouldn't he fall hook, line and sinker?

It was strange really. I started off being angry with her - first for taking him away from me, then for taking advantage of him and being ready to disappear with another bloke at the drop of the hat and then finally - and totally irrational because she had a womb and could give him a baby - and I didn't.  But after a few hours in her company, I forgot what I was there for. Well, I didn't exactly forget what I was there for but I forget why I was so intent on having at her and throwing it in Paul's face to show him just how shallow she was, how naïve he had been and how damn much it hurts when someone you love betrays you behind your back. All I could see by the time we reached her apartment was that she was a beautiful wild child and I was intoxicated with her.

It's a pretty lame excuse whichever way you cut it. As an attempt to punish Paul, it was cruel - and worse than anything he'd done to me. If this was just my libido taking control in the presence of a lovely available girl - then it was a total disgrace. And that's before I even begin to mention how shameful it was to have sex with a girl who obviously liked me without being honest about the fact that I was in a permanent relationship with someone else - and that I was actually gay. So, don't even start to tell me what a total bastard I was being. I know - and a part of me even knew it then. Which makes the whole thing so much more unforgivable, doesn't it?

When we settled down in front of the TV, I was still in two minds about what I was going to do if Sonia let me get in the position where I might realistically make a pass at her. Already a part of me was trying to find a way to get out and leave before I made a complete arse of myself. But another was trying to find a way to make this happen.

 

So there we were, lying about watching the Commonwealth Games beamed from Melbourne, drinking beer from cans and eating peanuts. It was showing the cycling events which probably don't do much for you, but mate, those blokes have amazing thighs and in those tight cycling shorts well, I'm only human.

"God, I love those legs...." Sonia said. "This is making me so horny..."

I looked at her. She really is the perfect date. Loves footie and turned on by sports programmes? 

"Bet you've got thighs like that, haven't you, Mitchell?" she continued.

I looked at her with this stupid grin on my face but she wasn't joking. Sonia slowly ran her hand along my inside leg and then gripped onto my inner thigh, massaging softly and allowing her fingers to slide further up. She climbed over me and lowered herself down onto my knee, her thick shiny hair a curtain blinding me to good sense. She smelt so good, of a gingery spicy fragrance that made me want to bury my face in the folds of her skin and inhale. Her lips came down and met mine - it was instantaneous. Neither of us asked the other for permission.

From then on it became the erotic equivalent of all-in wrestling as we struggled to get out of our clothes and into each other's, all the while tongues welded together, eating each other's faces.

The rest of the night was just a blur of  sex. Sonia lived up to her wild child image - and I just felt myself letting go. The past weeks had been pretty grim and I don't think I realized until then just how tense and frustrated I had felt until I was in her arms and she had given me the green light. To be honest, Paul and I hadn't had sex properly for a while, which had further added to my sense of alienation and rejection. Okay, I'm making lame excuses, but that was the truth of it.

Sonia and I had sex all night. All over the flat. On the couch. On the rug. Against the shower wall. Over the kitchen counter.

And finally in her bed. Where we fell asleep, exhausted and ripe with each other. 

 

It was a grey dawn, chilly and cold with rain speckling the windows when I woke up. I swear I thought I was with Paul for those first moments of dreamy wakefulness. The body I was holding was draped across me; I eased myself round to rub against what I expected was a hairy thigh - but found the sleek smooth leg of a woman. I almost shouted out loud in shock as my eyes shot open and I realized the full extent of what I had done. For a moment I thought I would throw up as the shattering truth of my actions hit me - and the possible consequences.

I had slept with a woman and betrayed the man I love. I had possibly stolen his girlfriend - the complexities of that little threesome alone, being too much for my befuddled early morning brain. I had abused a woman's affection and tenderness by taking sexual advantage of her when I had no intention of pursuing any form of relationship with her - even worse, I was doing it to ruin her reputation in the eyes of someone else.

Paul did not deserve that

Sonia did not deserve that.

What kind of man was I?

 

I didn't hang around to find out. There was nothing I could do or say that wouldn't make this worse, so I decided to take the age old way out of guys who wake up in the wrong bed. I sneaked away, dressed in the lounge (where my clothes actually were) and made a quick getaway before Sonia had time to wake up. She'd get the message - which wouldhurt her, I know - but it would be an easier one than the truth I would have to tell her if I hung around to face her when she awoke. I've never liked that thing men do, leaving and not calling back- it's been done to me often enough so I should know how it feels - but what good would honesty do any of us in this case? She would hate my guts anyway.

A memory of things we had said to each other in the heat of passion the night before crossed my mind as I shivered in the cold morning light. I hadn't lied but I'd said enough for her to think I felt something for her. She sure as hell had made her feelings plain to me. She really liked me. She had been hurt before, many times. I knew she thought I would be different from the other men she had hooked up with in the past. There was something sensitive about me under my manly exterior, or so she had told me.

Then something suddenly struck me as I slumped behind the wheel of my van thinking it all through.

Sonia had never mentioned Paul or anything remotely like a current or recent fling. She had even admitted to me that she hadn't had sex in so long...Had she been lying when she said that?

Or maybe she had, after all, just been an old school mate of Paul's who had turned to her gay friend for a bit of company when she was low. Why the fuck hadn't I considered that option before?

I hit the wheel a couple of times in anger at my stupidity. I had let my usual self -doubt and insecurity create a whole web of illogical assumptions. As a result I had done something so bad that it would probably destroy Paul and me for ever if he found out. I had also hurt a really nice lady who should never have been treated in that way by any bloke.

Looking down at my clothes, I realised that I couldn't go home to Paul like this, stinking of a woman and possibly even marked by her. He'd know the minute he saw me. At that moment all that mattered to me was trying to salvage my relationship as best I could.

That was why I drove to Esme's, praying that Murphy wasn't in residence. His car wasn't there. I took a chance and rang her bell. She took one look at me and let me in...

 

 

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