Chapter 7: Skirting the Issue
A/N: Thanks to Willowsticks for some of the ideas in this chapter.
Saturday. The sweet, wonderful blessing that was Saturday. No need to run about like a mad man trying to get Harry out of the house in time for school. Ok, so he would have two of them to look after all day instead of just one, but that might even be easier – they could entertain each other. Well, to a certain extent. Harry sometimes got bored with his sister, who wasn't as co-ordinated as he was and got easily distracted. Many a toy of Alexandra's had only been played with one time.
He was forced out of bed earlier than he would have liked, Mrs Poofs yowling insistently until he got up to feed her. Usually he ignored her, but with her kitten's needing her attention Richard felt too guilty to delay feeding the nursing cat. She hadn't yet moved the kittens from the bathroom cupboard, and he realised he still needed to go buy new towels. A towel buying expedition was not the most appealing way to spend his Saturday, he had imagined just lazing about the house all day with perhaps an excursion to the playground for the kids, but he would feel bad if he didn't complete the task before Camille's return.
Richard was surprised to find Harry was not dressed when he blundered into the kitchen, Alex tucked under one arm. Normally Harry dressed himself, as he enjoyed picking out his own outfit. Richard was immediately concerned he might not be feeling well, it was the only time his son would stay in pyjamas.
"Why aren't you dressed, Harry?" Richard asked as he ungracefully plopped Alex down into her high chair.
"Um," he said, shifting in an uncomfortable manner than strongly reminded Richard of himself. He knew Harry was about to confess something. "All non-pj clothes are dirty."
Richard frowned, he was certain there was only about one item of Harry's in the laundry basket. "Dirty? How can they be dirty?"
"They got dirt on them." Yes, he supposed he had walked into that one.
"But they aren't in the wash basket," Richard pointed out.
Another shift, "I was worried you wouldn't wash them properly. My clothes aren't as nice when you wash them." Richard sighed aggressively, this came from his refusal to use fabric softener. He thought it was a gimmick and a waste of money. Harry liked the way it made his clothes smell though and Camille had ignored Richard's moaning for years and continued to use the stuff. Harry had clearly hoped to delay the need to wash any of his clothes until his Mother returned.
"Well where are they?"
"I just put them back in the draws," Harry admitted.
Alex seemed quite happy to sit in her chair and bang her big plastic spoon, so Richard indicated his son should follow him into Harry's bedroom. Richard was convinced they would be able to find something clean – at least clean enough for Harry to wear whilst Richard put on a load of the boy's clothes. He pulled open the first draw, and was found himself overwhelmed by the smell. What the hell had Harry gotten on these clothes? Or had something crawled in the draw and died? Careful examination proved the latter was not a correct theory. It seemed the smell came from a rotting piece of pepperoni that must have fallen into the pocket of Harry's dungarees when they had had pizza earlier in the week. Richard was not impressed. Everything in the draw stank, and the stuff in the next draw down wasn't much better.
He was simply too tired to tell the boy off though. He hurriedly stuffed as much as he could into the washing machine and told Harry that today he had no choice, he would have to wear his swimming trunks and a pyjama top into town. "You are growing out of some of these trousers anyway," Richard said wearily. "We might as well get you some new clothes at the same time as I am buying towels to replace the ones Mrs Poofs gave birth on."
"I don't want trousers," Harry said firmly as they made their way back into the kitchen for breakfast.
"We'll get you shorts as well," Richard said, pouring cereal for them all. He was going to have to have Harry's dreadful chocolate stuff because he had somehow run out of his own cereal. In fact when he had popped to the shop the day before all he had remembered to buy was stuff for the kids, he also failed to pick up the razors or tea he had wanted for himself. Luckily he had managed to find an old packet of decaff tea in the back of the cupboard that Camille had made him go through a phase of drinking. It wasn't the same, and God knew he needed caffeine, but it would do for now.
"I don't want shorts either."
"Well you have to have trousers and shorts. What else could you possibly want?"
"I want a skirt."
Richard's initial emotion was panic. His second emotion was then guilt at feeling the panic. He had always thought he would be a modern man, and that he would be totally ok if Harry or Alex were gay. It seemed some of his Father's more old fashioned beliefs (these days, he gruffly accepted same sex relationships as long as it 'wasn't in his face') might have rubbed off in him. Besides, Harry wanting to wear a skirt was no conclusive indication of the boy's sexuality. Maybe he just wanted to wear a skirt, and Richard had no right to deny him. Though he did worry about the comments other people might make.
"A skirt like the sort Mummy wears?" Richard asked, on the off chance (and he wasn't hoping for it to be the case, nope, not at all) that Harry had just said the wrong word.
"Oh no!" Harry said, shaking his head firmly. "Mummy's skirts are far too short! I want nice long flowing ones like Mémère wears!"
Right, well, that was Richard told. He wasn't entirely sure where they would find such skirts, and just hoped they were currently fashionable amongst six year olds and would be available in the girl's section of the clothes store.
Richard, to his shame, put off the skirt buying by dallying over the towel choices. He noted with interest that Harry turned his nose up at the pink ones, and particularly keen on a set that featured dinosaurs. Then, when they eventually did make it into the girl's clothes section, Richard initially picked up a dress which Harry instantly rejected. So he wasn't universally interested in all girls' things, just apparently skirts.
"I'm not sure which one suits me best," Harry said, holding up two skirts identical except for the colour. He offered them to his sister, who lunged for the purple one. "Ok, I sort of do like purple more than yellow. Though I wish they had it in green, green is the best colour."
It being a Saturday, they were hardly alone in the clothes store, it was filled with (largely) mothers with small children in tow, many looking as harassed as Richard felt. He couldn't fail to notice the way many were watching the scene playing out with his son with interest, but none seemed to be openly disapproving, which was a relief. The week he had had, he didn't really need the conflict.
"Let's get Alex this skirt!" Harry said, having located a much smaller version of his skirt of choice. "We can wear them tomorrow to meet Mummy and we'll be matching!" Richard managed to hold in the sigh, if he was letting Harry buy the skirt of course the boy was going to want to wear it in public. He realised the major thing that bothered him was the fact that it drew attention, and Richard had already spent a week being terrified people would judge him on his parental (or lack thereof) skills.
Before he could reply, Richard became aware of a woman around his own age marching purposely towards him. It looked very much like he wouldn't be avoiding criticism after all. Richard braced himself.
"Excuse me, but are you planning to allow your son to buy and wear that skirt in public?" She asked, in the clipped tones only achieved by an English private school education like the one Richard received. He briefly wondered how such a woman had ended up on Saint Marie, but then mentally shook himself and answered her question.
"Yes, yes I am." He told her, with more confidence than he felt.
"Well, I must tell you…" She paused, Richard imagined she was carefully constructing the sentence she would use to express her outrage. "I think that is simply, well, wonderful. I really do."
Ok, that was unexpected. Even more unexpected was the fact the woman appeared to be tearing up a little, "Oh, if only my Father could have been a little more understanding with my younger brother, and accepted him for who he was. Maybe then he wouldn't have run away."
Richard now felt an entirely different kind of awkward, as tears freely ran down the woman's face. "Did he come back?" Harry asked, with that innocent bluntness children his age possess.
She let out a choked sob, then controlled herself for long enough to answer, "No, I'm afraid I haven't seen him in thirty years." At this, Harry apparently became overwhelmed by sympathy, burst into his own tears and flung his arms around the stranger's legs. Alexandra decided if Harry was crying she should as well, and let out a long and loud wail.
Oh God, this never happened when Camille went shopping.
Richard cleared his throat, doing his best to ignore the open stares of the rest of the customers, and offered the lady a handkerchief, which she accepted graciously. She dabbed somewhat uselessly at her eyes. After another few moments, Richard gently tugged on his son's arm, and luckily Harry took the hint and attached himself to Richard's leg instead. Alex continued to sob, albeit quietly, she probably had no idea why she was crying but apparently no inclination to stop.
"Terribly sorry, I didn't mean to get so emotional," she told him, clearly a little embarrassed by her outburst.
"That's quite alright." Which it wasn't, Richard was sincerely wishing he was elsewhere, but what else could he say? Usually in situations like this Camille would magically appear and deal with it, but the ocean that currently separated him from his wife made that scenario unlikely. He would simply have to try to be comforting himself. "I, um, well, there are several charities you could try who might be able to help you locate your brother, you know." He rummaged in his pocket, managing to find a slightly bent business card with his office and mobile numbers on. "If you would like to explore that option, just give me a call and we can put together the necessary details and send them off together."
She looked a little overwhelmed, and Richard feared she would start to cry again, but she maintained control of her emotions and accepted the card with a small thank you. "I hope you like your skirt, young man, I am sure you and your sister will look lovely tomorrow all matching!" She gave the boy a warm smile, and then left.
"Daddy, maybe you can get a purple skirt as well, and then we'll all be matching!" Harry suggested brightly as they walked towards the till.
Richard considered it for a moment, if he was to do so it would surely be a clear sign to his son that it was fine to dress however he wanted. And it would only be necessary to do it once to make that point. But then again…
"No, Harry, I much prefer trousers," He said.
His son shrugged. "Well, that is your choice Daddy," Harry said, sounding wiser than his years. Richard felt rather proud.
A/N One chapter left!