“But not out.”
Trevor knew the remark was a low blow and instantly hated himself, except making it had felt cathartic.
“Okay, I deserved that,” said Karl, hanging his head. “I know everyone hates me at the moment—”
“Not everyone, but we’re getting there.”
“And I understand why. But let me just say this. I never meant to hurt you, Trevor, never meant to hurt anyone. I needed to be honest, that’s all. Not just with myself, but with you, too. And no matter what you think of me, I do genuinely love Mary.”
“Lucky Mary. Does she know that’s a first for you?”
That was an even lower blow, and Trevor fell silent, squeezing his eyes shut. Karl also quietened.
“Shit, I’m sorry, Karl. Feels like all these hateful thoughts have been bottled up and you being here brings them to the surface. Of course I can see how much you love Mary. I think everyone can.”
“I loved you too, Trevor. I still do, if the truth be told. Just not in the way you would like. We had some good years together. And we did have our moments, didn’t we?”
Trevor knew Karl had meant the sentiment to lighten the tension between them, and perhaps he should just have let the comment go.
“Did we?” he asked instead with a soft chuckle. “Maybe you should have woken me up so I could have enjoyed them, too.”
What he had meant as a lighthearted comment came out as bitter. Time to bite his tongue. But if there was a goddess of love, thought Trevor, then she must be looking down on this little scene and laughing her arse off. How many wives had been through the same kind of scenes with husbands who finally decided to come out of the closet, telling them they needed to lead the life they were always meant to? Trevor felt sure the delicious irony of a gay man gone straight would not be lost on them.
“Do you really hate me that much?” asked Karl.
Trevor sighed a steamy breath into the air. Out across the loch, the sole osprey had decided to try his luck again. Still no bite.
Join the club, mate.
“No, I don’t. Truth is I envy you. At least you can do normal things in public without anyone giving a damn. People will even smile and coo at what a beautiful couple you make, especially when you’re the one behind the pushchair. I know we’re getting there, but I still don’t feel I qualify for that privilege, no matter how far I believe society has come.”
“You know I’ll always fight against any kind of discrimination, don’t you? And I’ll try to instil those values in our child. No matter what you think of me, you must believe that.”
“Of course I do,” said Trevor with a sigh, and he did.
Into the afternoon peace came a plaintive cry. For a moment Trevor looked out across the loch, wondering if the sound had come for the bird he’d been watching. But the voice sounded again, female and very human. Weak and pleading, Mary’s voice came from the bedroom above the balcony and carried Karl’s name. Immediately Karl came to life, springing up from the lounger and excusing himself without another word.
Left alone, Trevor wondered if he’d ever had the same effect on Karl.
Chapter Seven
Let It Snow
A hollow chill seeped through Trevor’s bones and into his blood. His osprey friend appeared to have given up the ghost and gone back to his lonely nest across the loch. Trevor’s mind kept replaying the look on Karl’s face when he had talked about Mary. Something magical had happened to him. In Mary, and in becoming a father-to-be, he had found his life’s purpose. Had Karl been a friend instead of an ex, Trevor might have empathised more, shared more in his celebration. But the sight merely made him feel more inadequate and incomplete. Why couldn’t he have someone look like that when they talked about him? Karl never had. To make things worse, he was sure Karl had no idea how besotted he looked and sounded when he spoke of his wife.
After doing his best to brave the weather, he finally surrendered and headed for the warmth and tranquillity of the lodge. Inside the Aga-heated kitchen, he washed his mug and emptied the dishwasher, making sure to clean surfaces for Mrs M. Standing in the middle of the room, hands on hips, he checked the time on the wall clock next to the blackboard. Almost two-thirty. His eyes trailed naturally to Rudy’s number.
He’d still had no reply on his phone, although he could see his message had been read. With nothing else to do, he decided to head to his room and try to have an afternoon nap, or at the very least, listen to music on his phone. Fully clothed, he lay on top of the covers and hugged a pillow to his chest. On the ceiling, the silhouette of a dead moth lay trapped inside the flat surface of the drum-shaped light shade. Rudy had been right about the room, as warm and comfortable as the kitchen. But even though his body felt tired, his mind would not quieten, filling with questions and anxiousness centring around his inadequacies. Eventually, he managed to sleep fitfully, tossing and turning, before finally sitting up at the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen and at the ping of a text message.
RudyKing: Trev. I’ll drop by a bit earlier if that’s okay? Around five? So we can spend time together before everyone else appears. This is Rudy by the way.
Trevor read the message three times, sudden excitement filling his chest. Some time together. What did that mean? Had Rudy missed him? Or was that code for something else? Would Rudy rather it were just the two of them tonight? And what if Trevor were to push things later in the evening?
Sudden reality hit hard. Pulling the pillow into his face, he growled aloud at his overreaction, at his stupidity. In his desperation, he had misread the situation. Ignoring the plain logic and platonic nature of their meeting, he had allowed himself to become infatuated with Rudy. In the short space of time they’d known each other, Rudy had become an obsession. Those three words ‘spend time together’ meant nothing more than furthering their platonic friendship. Typical of Trevor, hungry for intimacy, he had reinterpreted Rudy’s innocent offer of companionship to signify mutual attraction. If he didn’t reel himself in, he would spend the evening staring doe-eyed at a man who only desired the company of other people on Christmas Eve.
Tonight, Trevor told himself, he would need to manage his emotions and distance himself, allow Rudy to chat to others and not selfishly and immaturely claim him as his own. He could almost hear himself introducing Rudy as ‘my friend’ with the words ‘not yours’ unspoken, which was precisely the notion that had begun to form in his fragile heart. No, he would need to play things cool. Unfortunately, Trevor had never been very good at putting on an act. Whenever he tried, he usually ended up wildly overacting—being cold instead of formal, rude instead of impersonal.
To make things worse, within the space of ten minutes, the one thing he’d been looking forward to all day—Rudy’s company—was now the very thing he dreaded.
