Once again, some of the views expressed in this chapter may be upsetting.

Chapter Two

Arthur lay awake, in his old bedroom, with all his rugby cups still on the shelves and the Darth Vader duvet set on the bed. He'd just texted Mycroft and was waiting for a reply, mentally reviewing the conversation he had had earlier, with his parents, wondering if he could have handled it better. The answer was, probably, yes but he didn't think the outcome would have been any different so it was pointless to dwell on it.

The phone vibrated in his hand and he answered it, rolling onto his side, toward the wall, closing his eyes, feeling as much as hearing the voice of his dearest one, his most precious possession.

'How was it?' Mycroft asked.

'Fucking awful, Mykey, absolutely fucking awful,' he replied.

'I'm so sorry, my love. I should have come with you.'

'No, Myke, that would not have helped. Even the title didn't help. Believe me, I played my ace but still lost the hand.'

'And your mother?'

'Oh, she's just chuffed to bits about the twins! She loves kids. She loves being a granny. I don't think she'd care if you were a bloody Martian, so long as you had kids!'

They both laughed, partly at the absurdity of the whole situation, and partly because the alternative would be to cry.

'So, what now? Do you still intend to stay until Friday?'

'I don't know. I feel I should, for my mum's sake. I don't want to leave her to deal with all the shit but, if I stay, it might just make things worse. I really don't know what to do for the best.'

'Is there anything I can do, to make it better?'

'Yes, there is, actually.'

'What is it? Tell me and I'll do it.'

'You can tell me how much you love me,' Arthur murmured, softly.

'That's not possible,' Mycroft replied, with a sigh of deep regret, 'for the simple reason that there are no words to express how much I love you. The words have not been created that could do justice to the feelings that I hold for you.'

Arthur pressed his face into the pillow and felt a warm glow expanding in his chest, making it hard to breath. He wanted to say something in reply but found himself unable to speak. Mycroft went on.

'There is nothing for it. I will have to resort to alternative means. Wait just one moment.'

Arthur almost giggled as he listened to Mycroft moving around in his study. He knew he was in his study because of the sounds he could hear, as the other man went over to the Bose Wave CD player, chose a CD from his vast collection, opened the case and slipped the disc into the slot. As the music began, the sound quality somewhat corrupted by the mobile phone transmission but exquisite, none the less, Arthur curled into a ball and hugged his knees.

The strains of Maria Callas' rendition of the aria, 'Ebben! Ne Andro Lontana' from 'La Wally', by Alfredo Catalani, poured into Arthur's ear and brought tears to his eyes as he was transported back to his and Mycroft's most recent trip to the Royal Opera House, where they had sat in Mycroft's private box and witnessed a very rare performance of the four act opera from which this music came.

After the heroine threw herself, dramatically, into the avalanche – ingeniously realised, on the vast Covent Garden stage, using a huge curtain made from vertical strips of lycra, under tension - Mycroft had turned to him and made his proposal of marriage, declaring that, if Arthur should decline, he would feel compelled to…throw him into the avalanche, too, in the interests of national security.

'You make me an offer I cannot possibly refuse,' had been Arthur's reply, once he got over both the surprise and the fit of suppressed giggles, at which Mycroft slipped a silver Claddagh ring onto his third finger, right hand, bearing the inscription 'Gra Dilseacht Cairdeas' around the band.

'What does it say?' Arthur asked.

'Love Loyalty Friendship,' Mycroft replied, 'in Gaelic.'

He had then plaited his and Arthur's fingers together and pressed their hands to his heart. They had gone home to the apartment in Cadogan Square and sealed their commitment to one another with a night of the most exquisite love-making.

'I wish you were here,' Arthur whispered, as the final chords of the orchestra died away, down the phone.

'I would be, in a heartbeat, if I thought it would help.' Mycroft replied, his voice low and earnest.

Before Arthur could reply, he heard the back door bang open, against the kitchen wall, and a loud crash as something large and heavy fell to the floor, downstairs.

'Oh, fuck. My dad's home and it sounds like he's had a skinful. I better go.'

'Arthur?' Mycroft implored. 'Ring me back, when you can. I won't sleep until I hear from you.'

Arthur promised he would call back, then he cut the connection.

ooOoo

Stepping out onto the landing, Arthur met his mum, in curlers and housecoat, on her way down to investigate the loud noise they had both heard.

'You stay in your room, love. I'll see to him,' she advised.

Arthur was astonished.

'Don't be daft, Mum! It could be burglars!' he declared, in a stage whisper.

'We both know that's not true, love,' she replied, ruefully.

'Well, if he is crashed out on the kitchen floor, you'll never lift him, so I'm coming, anyway,' Arthur insisted and led the way down the stairs.

When they reached the kitchen, Mr Brocklehurst was, indeed, lying on the floor, next to the chair he had knocked over on the way down. He lay face down and very still. Arthur crouched beside him and put a hand on his shoulder.

'Dad, it's Arthur. Can you hear me?' he enquired, to establish how alert his father might be.

Arthur Senior gave a guttural groan, demonstrating that he was alive, breathing and at least nominally alert.

'Dad, can you sit up?' Arthur asked, in healthcare professional mode.

His dad gave another grunt that sounded like an attempt at speech.

'Sorry, Dad, I didn't quite catch that,' Arthur replied.

''Course I c'n s't-up,' the fallen man replied.

'Let's get you up, then,' the ex-Army nurse encouraged him, taking his father by the arm.

Mr Brocklehurst wrenched his arm from his son's grasp and growled,

'Get yer filthy poofta hands off me, yer bloody queer!'

Arthur gave no visible reaction to the insult, though it cut him to the quick. He sat back on his heels and sighed.

'You can't spend the night on the floor, Dad. You'll ache like hell, in the morning, if you do.'

'Oh, leave him, Arthur,' his mum insisted. 'It's not the first time and it won't be the last. I'll get a blanket and cover him over.'

She turned to go into the sitting room and fetch said blanket, as Arthur followed her with his eyes, stunned by the casual disclosure she had just made. She returned, moments later, with a throw from the back of the sofa and draped it over her husband's prone form.

'Come on, love, you get back to bed,' she urged her son, with a gentle smile.

Arthur rose and followed her back into the sitting room but caught her by the arm and she turned to face him.

'Mum, I had no idea! How often does he get like this?'

'Oh, Arthur, don't ask me, please,' she pleaded.

He slid his hand down her arm and held her hand.

'I have to ask, Mum. I mean, I can sort of understand why he's done this, tonight. If this was a one-off, I wouldn't be too concerned but it obviously isn't.'

'He's not a happy man, son. He feels his life has passed him by. He missed out on a promotion, just after Christmas – it went to a much younger, less experienced man – and he hasn't really got over the disappointment. And then, when the dog died, that hit him hard. He used to walk miles over the moors with that dog, mulling things over, get things out of his system. He doesn't go walking now, so it all just builds up. And then he goes an' gets plastered.'

Arthur sank into an armchair and rubbed his hands through his hair.

'My announcement won't have helped much, then,' he groaned.

'Now, don't you go blaming yourself, son. This is not your fault. You are who you are,' – she reached out and ruffled his hair – 'and, like you said before, there never could be a good time to tell your dad that you're gay. You might as well have told him you were a mass murderer!'

'I think he would actually prefer that I was a mass murderer!' Arthur exclaimed. 'He could have forgiven me for that.'

'C'mon, lad, get thee sen off t'bed,' she insisted. 'It'll rain or go dark before morning!' she added, quoting the old adage.

'It's already dark, Mum,' Arthur pointed out.

'Rain it is, then,' she smiled and kissed him on the forehead.

ooOoo

After ringing Mycroft and bringing him up to speed with all that had happened and been said, and despite having so much on his mind, Arthur did eventually drop off to sleep and slept through until nine o'clock the next morning. He came down the stairs, ruffling his hair and rubbing his eyes, to find his mum sitting at the kitchen table, reading the daily paper. There was no sign of Dad.

'Hello, love, you slept well,' she greeted him.

Arthur leant forward to kiss his mum on the cheek and then crossed to the kettle and lifted it by the handle to see if it needed filling, ascertained that it didn't and replaced it on the stand, flicking the switch to 'ON'.

'Want a cuppa, Mum?' he asked.

'Love one,' she replied.

'Dad in bed?' he asked, as he prepared the tea things.

'No, love. He's gone to work.'

Arthur was amazed. His dad must have the constitution of an ox!

'Was he OK? I mean, surely he's still drunk? How can he operate machinery?'

'Oh, he doesn't have to operate the machinery, now he's a supervisor. He just has to watch everyone else do it.'

This was news to Arthur.

'When did he get the supervisor's job?' he asked, pouring boiling water over teabags in two mugs.

'Christmas,' she replied.

'So that wasn't the promotion he was hoping for?'

'No, love. He went for Assistant Manager. I mean, he was the most experienced person to apply and, by rights, it should have gone to him but they told him they thought his temperament wasn't suited to the position. It went to an external candidate, instead.'

Arthur understood how that would have rankled with his dad. Obviously, loyalty and long service meant nothing.

'But Josie told me – and don't you breathe a word of this, our Arthur – Josie said there had been some complaints about your dad, when he was foreman, for being 'non-PC'.'

Arthur could well imagine that scenario but sort clarification.

'What sort of non-PC?' he asked.

'Well, you know, calling people names – the sort of names that everybody used to use but don't any more.'

'Y'mean racist names? Sexist? What sort of names?' Arthur asked, recalling a few choice examples from the night before.

'Well, he called one of the women a doxy,' she replied, looking embarrassed.

Arthur gasped. It was a miracle his dad hadn't been sacked for that!

'Anything else?'

'Oh, Arthur, y'know yer dad. He doesn't realise that the world has changed. In his day, there were no dark faces around 'ere. Now there's loads.'

'Mum, the number of persons from ethnic minorities in this area is less than 2%! That's nothing!'

'Yes, love, but it's 2% more than it used to be.'

Arthur sighed. He could not comprehend the attitude of people like his dad. It was so narrow-minded and bigoted. He loved living in multi-cultural London. He found it vibrant and varied and culturally enriching to have so much ethnic diversity in one place. But his dad had always been rather narrow in his views. If that had not been the case, he would have come out to his family years before.

'He won't come to my wedding, will he,' Arthur muttered, dejectedly.

'I don't think so, love,' his mum replied, squeezing his hand.

'And what about you?' he asked. 'Will you come?'

She looked chagrined as she gave a nondescript movement of the head.

'Is that a yes or a no?' he queried. 'I really would like you there. It would make the day perfect.'

She looked back at him and pursed her lips.

'Let me try and find a way, love. Put me down as a 'maybe'. Are you going to invite your sisters?'

'Of course!' he exclaimed. 'I'm going to see them both, today, and spill the beans. Wish me luck,' he added, wryly.

ooOoo

He need not have worried. When he walked into the Co-op, just before two pm and, approaching the till of his sister, Rosie, asked where he could find a bucket of nuts, she looked up in surprise then squealed with delight.

'Artie! You little bugger! How are you, love?' she chortled, giving him the biggest over-the-counter hug possible. 'Thank God you came home, at last! Dad was about ready to report you to the police as a missing person! Not that I blame you for staying away. God, give me half a chance, you wouldn't see me for dust. Hang on a tick, I just have to clock off and then I'm all yours. Just wait there.'

Arthur did as instructed, trying not to notice all the other shop girls sneaking glances at him and whispering comments to each other. Fortunately, Rosie was back in a jiffy and, linking arms with her brother, waltzed him out of the shop.

'Oh, you've no idea 'ow good it is to get out o' that place! I mean, we need the money, you know, and it's only four hours a day but – oh my God – it's SO BORING!'' she groaned. 'But this is 'me time', this hour, after I finish work and before I have to pick up the kids, from school. Come on, let's go an' 'ave a posh coffee!'

She steered him in the direction of the nearest coffee shop, an independent, Arthur noted, not one of a chain, and ordered a skinny latte for herself and a double espresso for him, both of which he insisted on paying for. He also treated her to a slice of lemon drizzle cake which, he remembered, was her favourite.

Once seated in a booth at the back of the coffee shop, Rosie grinned across the table at her brother and said,

'OK, who is he?'

'What?' he asked, quite taken aback. Had his dad gotten to her first?

'You've met someone, haven't you? Don't try to deny it, you're in love. It's written all over your face!' she giggled.

Arthur was speechless. His mouth opened and shut a few times.

'How did you know?' he gasped, eventually.

'I jus' told yer, silly, it's written all over your face!'

'No, no,' he corrected her. 'How did you know I was gay?'

'Oh, Arthur, per-leeze!' she said, accompanied by a theatrical face-palm.

'OK, I'll change the question. How long have you known?'

Rosie reached across the table to pat his hand, patronisingly.

'Oh, only for ever, love. It was SO obvious!'

'Not to Mum and Dad, it wasn't,' he replied, with a despondent shrug.

'Oh, sweet'eart! They didn't give out Gay-da in their day. Or, at least, if they did, Dad were in t' wrong bloody queue and Mum, well, she gave 'ers back when she married Dad.'

Arthur looked down at his espresso and felt such an over-whelming sense of relief and gratitude toward his big sister, he really just wanted to cry – but not here in the coffee shop.

'Oh, Artie, love,' Rosie sighed, sympathetically, squeezing his hand again. 'Did you tell them, already?'

He nodded, not trusting his voice.

'And was it really bad?'

He nodded again and cuffed away a stray tear that had escaped, despite his best efforts.

'Aw, lovey, I am sorry. You should 'a' come to me 'n' Josie, first, you silly pickle.'

'Does Josie know, too?' he managed to say.

'She knew before me, the bloody know-it-all! Well, I 'ad my suspicions but she had no doubts.'

'Why didn't you say something?' he asked.

'Why didn't you?'

'You know why!'

'Well, same 'ere!' she shrugged. 'Anyway, now we're all on t' same page, who is he?' she implored.

Arthur took a swig of his espresso and then told his sister all about Mycroft and the twins and their lives together, in rural Hertfordshire.

'And then he proposed to me,' he concluded, 'and I said yes.' He held up his right hand and showed her the Claddagh ring.

'Oh, my God!' she gasped, grabbing his hand and pulling it across the table for a closer look. 'That is beautiful! Oh, shit! The kids!'

Rosie jumped up, dragging Arthur with her. She had been so engrossed in his story that the hour had flown by. It was home time at the local school and she needed to collect her children.

'Come on, little bro, try to keep up,' Rosie joked, as she hurried down the road, toward the school. Arthur strode along, beside her, feeling relaxed and cheerful for the first time since leaving London, the day before.

Perhaps things weren't as bad as he had anticipated.

ooOoo