This chapter contains expressions and opinions that some people may find upsetting. They are not my opinions but those of the characters.

Chapter One

Walking from Stalybridge town station to his parents' home, Arthur passed several familiar faces who all greeted him, cheerfully.

'Eh-up, lad! You home on leave?'

'Not on leave, no' he replied, each time. 'I'm not in the army any more.'

'Oh, OK, staying long, then?'

'No, just for a couple o' days.'

By the time he arrived at his destination, half the neighbourhood knew he was back.

He walked round to the back door – nobody ever used their front doors in this area, except for a funeral – and, pushing the door open, called out,

'Hello, mum! I'm home!'

His mum appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and the sitting room, with a huge smile on her face.

'Hello, love!' she greeted him, with a big hug. 'Eee, it's so lovely to see you! Was it a good journey?'

'Yes, thanks, Mum, it was fine. How are you?'

'Oh, I'm fine, love. All the better for seein' you again. You're still my baby, y'know, even though y'are all grown up! Sit done, love. I'll put the kettle on.'

Arthur put his travel bag in the hallway and sat at the kitchen table, while his mum pottered about, putting on the kettle and getting the tea things ready.

'Have you eaten, love? I can make you a sandwich.'

'No, I'm fine, mum. I had lunch on the train,' he assured her. 'How are the girls?' Arthur's two older sisters were always referred to as 'the girls'.

'Oh, they're fine. Rosie's just started on the tills, at the Co-op. Now Josh and Jack are both in school, she can work four hours a day and still be home for them. I've said I'll mind the boys in the school holidays. Child care is so expensive; it's hardly worth going out to work, if it all goes to the child-minder. And Josie is still at the factory, in Personnel. Human Resources, they call it now, but it's still hirin' and firin', i'n't'it?'

It was very pleasant, sitting in his childhood kitchen, listening to his mum chat about the family and the neighbours and what was happening at the plastics factory, where his dad worked.

'Your dad's on Earlies, so he'll be home soon. He's been telling all his mates you're coming to visit. I expect he'll drag you off to the pub, later, as usual!'

Mrs Brocklehurst pushed a mug of steaming tea across the table to her son and sat opposite, sipping her own drink.

'Dad was very disappointed that you didn't come home, y'know, after your demob. He was so looking forward to having you around.'

Arthur pursed his lips and wrinkled his brow. There was a lot to explain but he wanted to talk to both parents at the same time so this was awkward.

'I know, Mum, and I am sorry about that but…'

'Yes, I know, son, you don't have to explain. There aren't many opportunities for young men up here. Your dad understands, too, but he just feels a bit out-numbered, being the only male in the family!'

'Apart from Jim,' Arthur reminded her. Jim was Rosie's husband. He worked in the plastics factory, too, though not on the same line as his dad.

'Yes, there is Jim. But still, y'know,' his mum nodded.

Arthur suddenly looked around.

'Hang on! Where's Max?' he asked. Max was the family dog, a chocolate Labrador, as soppy as they come.

Mrs Brocklehurst looked sad.

'Oh, we lost him, last Easter,' she murmured.

'Lost him, how?' Arthur asked.

'Poison,' she said, simply.

'What? Somebody poisoned him? Who would do that?' Arthur was horrified.

'No, we don't think it was deliberate. You know what he was like for eating stuff, greedy beggar. We think he ate some rat poison, put out by the council. That's what the vet thinks, anyway.'

'Shit!' Arthur exclaimed, then apologised for swearing in front of his mother.

'I'll let you off, love. This once. Sometimes the odd curse is justified.'

A noise at the back door signalled the arrival of Mr Brocklehurst. He charged into the kitchen and clapped Arthur on the shoulder.

'Arthur, lad! About time! Where've you been, all these months?'

'Down south!' Arthur laughed.

'We thought you'd forgot about us! 'Specially when you didn't come home for Christmas. We missed you, son – well, I missed you. I 'ad nobody to escape with, down to the pub! I 'ad to stay in and watch Downton bloody Abbey!'

'No, you did not,' his wife corrected, placing a mug of tea in front of him, too, as he joined them at the table

'Sorry about that, Dad. But I did tell you, a close friend got married on Christmas Eve. I had to be there. They asked me to do a reading,' he explained. 'But that's partly why I'm here now,' he began – using the marriage reference as a handy link and steeling his resolve.

'You see, I've met someone and - ' he paused, wondering how much information to give, all at once, ' – well, this person is a bit special. We sort of love each other. So, we've decided to get...married.'

'Oh, Arthur!' squealed his mum, with tears sparking in her eyes.

His dad reached out and offered his hand, with a huge grin plastered right across his face.

'Well, congratulations, son! Who is she? What's her name? Have you brought her with you?' he effused, shaking Arthur's hand, enthusiastically.

'Erm, well, no, I haven't brought them with me. I wanted to talk to you on my own, first, and explain a few things,' the young man replied.

Both his parents looked surprised and a little concerned.

'Explain what?' his dad asked. 'What wrong with her? Is she…not English?' he said, choosing his words carefully.

'No, my partner is English. Very English, in fact, from a very old family.'

'What, like landed gentry, y'mean?'

'Yes, in fact. Not 'like' landed gentry. The real thing, with a title and everything.' Arthur was floundering, wondering how best to drop the bombshell. This was hard. Harder even than he had imagined and he had imagined it would be bloody hard. But his dad was on a roll.

'Bloomin' 'eck! Are you serious? Our Arthur marryin' a Lady Mary or something? 'Ow did you meet 'er?'

'I was nursing a family member – the person whose wedding I went to, at Christmas – and we just sort of…clicked. I can't explain it, really, because we had nothing in common. Anyway, it just happened. We've been together for more than a year, now, so…'

'More than a year? And it's only now you decide to tell us about her? What took you so long?' his dad chortled, still a bit overcome by the mention of a title.

'Well, it's a bit complicated,' Arthur began again.

'Is she divorced?' his mum asked.

Arthur shook his head.

'No, mum, she's not divorced. She's not even a 'she', actually. She's a 'he' – a man. I'm marrying a man.'

Both parents looked dumbfounded and said absolutely nothing for a full minute then his dad broke the shocked silence,

'Hang on a minute, lad. What are you saying? I don't get this. You say you're marrying a man?'

'Yes, Dad. I'm marrying a man. I'm gay, Dad, and I'm marrying man.'

There was another long pause as Mrs Brocklhurst put her hand to her mouth and looked, apprehensively, from her son to her husband and back again, then Mr Brocklehurst found his voice, again.

'No, no, no, that's not possible! You? Gay? You were a soldier! You fought in a war! Two wars! How can you be gay?'

Arthur shook his head.

'There is no law against gay people joining the British Army, Dad. And, to be fair, I didn't do much fighting in Iraq or Afghanistan. I was a nurse – I am a nurse – I looked after the people who did the fighting.'

'No, I'm not having this!' His dad jumped to his feet and stood, looking down at his son in disbelief. 'You can't just suddenly be gay!'

'I'm not suddenly gay, Dad. I've always been gay. I was born gay. I just never told you.'

'That is RUBBISH!.' Mr Brocklehurst bellowed. 'You had lots of girlfriends, at school - loads of them!'

'I had girlfriends, yes. They were friends who were girls. I was never sexually attracted to any of them. And I'm sorry I never told you, before, but there really wasn't ever a good time or a good enough reason. But now, there is a good reason – though still not a good time. I've met someone I want to spend the rest of my life with and he feels the same way about me. So, I can't put it off any longer. I'm sorry.' He looked at his mum, when he said the last part because he knew that, as bombshells go, this one had a slow fuse and the big explosion was still to come.

'But you're a man, son, a man! You're supposed to marry a woman and have babies and carry on the family name! Who's going to carry on the family name? Have you thought about that? Don't you want to have children and carry on the family name?' his dad spluttered, giving voice to his whirring thoughts. This was so far outside his comfort zone, it was on a different planet. Gay people were the butt of jokes between him and his mates, in the pub on a Saturday night. Not that he'd ever, to his knowledge, met a gay person. But half the men on the telly were gay, weren't they? Not anyone he knew. And certainly not his own son, his only son!

But Arthur was speaking again.

'Mycroft has children. They're twins, Katy and Charlie. They're beautiful.'

'Oh, so he has been married before, then! And to a woman! When did he change sides, start batting for the other team?'

Arthur closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

'He hasn't been married before, to a man or a woman. The babies were conceived through IVF, using Mycroft's sperm, with donor eggs and a surrogate mother. Sorry, Mum,' he apologised, as his dad eyeballed him for using the word 'sperm'.

'So, readymade grandchildren,' his mum said, wistfully.

Arthur pressed his lips together and took her hand, in silent gratitude.

'No, Frances, I'm not having that. This isn't right. It's not normal. Donor eggs and a surrogate mother? No, that's wrong.'

'Dad! Lots of straight couples have IVF, using donor eggs and surrogate mothers. It's called progress.'

'Yes, but that's OK. There's a mum and a dad – not two dads! Those kids must be so confused!'

'Why, Dad? Why should they be? They have two parents who love them. What's confusing about that?'

'The children, how old are they?' his mum asked.

They're three,' Arthur replied.

'And what do they call you and…Mycroft?'

They call him Daddy and they call me Poppah.'

He chose not to add that the sobriquet had evolved from Katy's attempts to say Arthur. It was Mycroft who had honed in from 'Arpur' to Poppah. Arthur loved being Poppah.

But Mr Brocklehurst was still in denial.

'This is a reaction to the war, isn't it? You're not thinking straight. You're shell-shocked, or whatever they call it these days – PTSD, yeah, that's it. You've got that.'

'Dad, please! I'm a psychiatric nurse! I can tell you, categorically, that I do not have PTSD. And if that's what this is, I've had it since I was eleven – which is when I realised I was gay.'

'But what about Tommy?' Tommy Olleranshaw had been Arthur's best friend all though school.

'What about Tommy?' Arthur reiterated.

'Well, he was your best friend. How's he going to feel, when he finds out you were a woofta, all along?'

Arthur rolled his eyes and sighed.

'I would hope he would be happy for me because I am happy, Dad, really happy. Mycroft loves me and I love him and – well – we love each other!'

Mr Brocklehurst put his hands over his ears.

'I'm not listening to this! This is sick. My son is NOT a pervert.'

'Arthur!' Arthur's mother exclaimed at Arthur Senior.

'No, Dad, I'm not a pervert. I'm a homosexual,' Arthur replied, regulating his breathing to remain calm.

'What does he do, love, this man?' Mrs Brocklehurst asked.

'He's a Civil Servant, works for the government. He has an office in Whitehall. He's the head of a government department.'

'My goodness, he has done well for himself. I expect his parents are very proud of him.'

'Actually, his parents are both deceased – they were killed in a plane crash, years ago – so there's just him and his brother, the one who was my patient.'

'And is he about your age?' his mum asked, homing in, with that unerring sixth sense that women seem to possess.

'No, he's older than me. He's in his mid-40's.'

'Oh, so he's the pervert then,' Dad barged back into the conversation. 'He took advantage of you!'

'Oh, Dad! I'm not a child, I'm twenty-nine! No one took advantage of anyone. We just…fancied each other!' Arthur's patience was wearing thin but he had to keep his cool or this could really escalate.

He and his dad stared at one another for a full minute then Mr Brocklehurst turned toward the back door.

'I can't get my head round this. I'm going to the pub,' he growled and stormed out, leaving an eerie silence behind, as though a whirlwind had passed through and left devastation in its wake.

'I should go after him,' Arthur said, eventually, standing up.

'No, love, best not,' his mum replied. 'Let him alone. It'll only make it worse if you go after him.' She walked over to the kitchen counter and switched the kettle back on, to make more tea. It was glaringly obvious to Arthur that she made no reference to her husband 'coming round' or 'seeing sense'. Both these things were highly unlikely. Arthur had rocked his father's world and the shockwaves were only just beginning to emanate from Ground Zero.

ooOoo