Aladdin Sane

"They think I'm gay," wailed Rimmer from inside the cupboard under the stairs. He wiped his nose on Frank's coat in vengeance. Lister's fist thumped on the door. "Hey, smeg, they think WE'RE gay. I'm in the same boat as you."

"A boat, yes. Except there's no tit on our Titanic. Just a poop deck."

"I mean, I could do better than Rimmer if I were gay, surely?" Lister muttered to no-one in particular.

"Shut up Lister! We have to go explain to them that we're not... that we're not... that we're NOT." Lister opened the door and sat on the floor outside opposite Rimmer. "Well... you know... it made yer mum happy." Rimmer sat up and looked around wildly like a paranoid rabbit with myxomatosis in a house haunted by foxes. "What are you suggesting? Are you suggesting we go along with it? But that's disgusting!"

"Look, I'm gonna make a proposal..."

"Great, why don't we adopt a couple of Romanian babies after the marriage." Lister sighed and wondered why he didn't just wait until five o'clock for alcohol. "That's not what I meant. Look, yer mum said, after you ran screaming like a little girl from the room, that she was so happy when Frank settled down. She really wanted you all to find decent women and start families, but she was worried about you. That no woman would be daft enough."

"Thanks mother."

"Anyway, if yer gay then there's no worry about it, eh? She was going to discuss yer dad's will this weekend. That's why you all got invited over. You only get any money if you need it to raise a family. If yer gay then you just automatically get it!"

"What if I'm gay and want a family? No, stop. I don't want to think about it because I'm not gay!" Rimmer buried himself beneath a few more layers of coats behind the vacuum cleaner. "No, listen. What if the night before we go back to the Dwarf we have a fight? Really play it up. A huge fight that leaves you devastated and put off men for life. You turn back straight and everyone's happy."

Lister waited patiently until Rimmer finally swam out from behind the coats and jackets and asked shyly, "Why are you helping me anyway?" Lister shrugged. "I just really, really, REALLY want some beer."

"I always knew he was a bit of a left-footer."

"John, shush! He may be able to hear you." Mrs Rimmer paced in front of the doors considering the unlikely position she was in. Her youngest son, the most wretched and despised creature to ever escape her ovarian Bastille had decided to come out to her and the rest of the family. It was crazy, it was outlandish, but it had taken a lot of courage. And that was something she'd never expected from Arnold. Even Frank had cowered before his parents wrath when he announced his engagement to Janine, because she was foreign. Mrs Rimmer was feeling a stirring of respect for Arnold. Of course, she had always loved him in a way, no one could doubt that. He'd have to do something really horrendous like murder a baby or vote Conservative before she lost what little maternal instinct she had towards him.

Okay, so he was gay. Not exactly her choice of lifestyle for him but as she had said to Lister before, what woman would be daft enough? And she had no need to worry about the family line for she had more sons to take care of that. What worried her, was other people's reactions, especially the rest of the family. John, Frank and Howard all seemed highly uncomfortable by the situation. Her husband just seemed highly drunk. "What's going on, Elizabeth?"

"Arnold is a homosexual, dear, and my name isn't Elizabeth."

"Isn't it?"

"No."

"Well you look a lot like her."

"Now boys," Mrs Rimmer ignored him and addressed her nervous sons, "Dr Phipps from the family psychiatric course that the Space Corps. insisted we take after your father's attempted suicide and the time warp incident (Howard looked guiltily at the floor), says we should work on family harmony. So we are going to accept Arnold as being gay and you're all going to march back to the table and be civil to him and his life-partner."

"Why should we? He totally fucked up our last session by telling us all about John's phobia of handkerchiefs."

"I'm not afraid of handkerchiefs! I'm afraid of other people's handkerchiefs and what's in them."

"Too right my lad. I saw my own death in a handkerchief once. It was gruesome."

"Really dad?"

"Yes... it was monogrammed and was pink with yellow flowers. Ugh!"

"Why didn't I marry Lucian Osbourne when I had the chance," Mrs Rimmer sighed wistfully. "So what if he had a gun injury from when he was younger that caused him to dribble on the letter 's', it couldn't have been worse than this."

"Did you say something, Elsa?"

"No, dear. Alright, let's go back into the dining room and let the little ponce know that we love him."

"Ground rules," said Rimmer just before going back into the dining room. "One - NO kissing."

"Goes without sayin'."

"In fact, no touching of any kind."

"Won't that look suspicious?" Rimmer's hand poised above the door handle. "Not really. My family's not the intimate type. In fact I don't know how we were all even conceived. But I'm fairly sure it involved a meat baster and a swimsuit calendar."

"Should we use first names?"

"Why?"

Lister scratched his neck uncomfortably, "I dunno... if we're gay then Rimmer sounds kind of like a pet-name."

"Ugh... point taken. Right, Dave then."

"Arnie then."

"Good."

"Good." Lister pushed open the doors and sat back down at the table. He quickly espied the dessert. "Ooh apple strudel. One of me fav's." Rimmer smiled wryly and ate his slowly, aware of his brothers eyes watching his every spoonful of pastry and custard. Apples had never tasted so bitter. Lister seemed blissfully unconcerned and he scoffed his dessert in two minutes flat. "My, what a healthy appetite," said Mrs Rimmer.

"Ha, that's nothing, you should've seen what he ate this morning." Rimmer tried to close his mouth to stop the words but they kept tumbling out. Frank put his fork down and announced he wasn't hungry anymore.

"He meant my Bombay chicken marathon. Honest to Bexley I ate an entire battery farm of chickens."

Mr Rimmer pointed a quivering finger at Lister and gasped, "I served in Bombay, y'know. Nice place, but too many trees. Trees can tell the future you know. They kept telling me mine. SHUT THE HELL UP, I said, but they kept on and on about it. You'll die in a road accident, they whispered. Well, hasn't happened so far but I tell you I won't get in a car with a women driver just in case. Mark my words laddie, death by chicken is a choice not a right. And I've died from it before. Saw a tunnel and everything. I went on a chat show about it. That Barry Clinger guy. Got into a fight with a Mormon. Nice man but off his trolley. Now the Jehovah's witness - he was completely insane. Insisted that turkeys were children of the devil. I told him I died from chickens not turkeys..."

Mrs Rimmer sighed, "Dear?"

"Yes?"

"Stop rambling."

Mr Rimmer stopped rambling and began to twitter on instead, "Pheasants are alright, but beware the ides of geese."

Although the subject was never brought up, Lister was expected to sleep in Rimmer's room. The only guest room in the house had been turned into a relaxation sanctuary for Mr Rimmer and he spent countless nights curled up on the floor in of the room listening to whale songs and insisting that if you played the CD backwards you could hear the whales calling out for a guy named Ishmael. So when dinner came and went and everyone began to slowly filter off to bed, Rimmer began to realise with throat-tightening fright that Lister was going to have to sleep with him. As the youngest and most disliked, he was left with the smallest room and there was only just enough room for his bed, a desk and a wardrobe. And even that was a squeeze. Lister seemed unperturbed by this and jumped straight onto Rimmer's bed. "So nice of you to offer me your bed, Rimsy."

"You're on the floor, me old mucker."

Lister peeked over the edge of the bed, "What floor? There's barely room for a dog."

"Suits you just fine then."

"I have a bad back."

"I'm not giving up my own bed, Lister." Half an hour later they were both in the bed and fighting over the quilt. "I'm cold," Rimmer growled

"I'm colder."

Rimmer yanked the quilt back, "Who paid for the quilt?" Lister gave up and hugged his legs for warmth. "And stop chattering your teeth."

"I wouldn't have chattering teeth if you'd gimme the smegging blanket." But Rimmer had already fallen asleep.