Christmas At Leo's - Memoirs Of A Houseboy (20 page)

My mum was as proud as punch about me being picked to sing. I was excited too, not just about singing, but also about it being Christmas Eve. I was full of high spirits, so were my companions. The choirmaster had his work cut out keeping a gaggle of excited young choirboys in line.

The choir arrived early at church to go through a warm up rehearsal before mass began. I remembered looking out for mum as people began filing into church for the service. I saw her and she gave me a little wave and blew me a kiss. My excitement died. She had Frank with her. I’d met him twice at that point. He’d made fun of my name, insisting on calling me Gillian instead of Gillibran. Mum said he was just joking with me. It didn’t feel like a joke. I was sensitive about my unusual name. I’d had a few playground punch-ups over it. It wasn’t just a question of defending my name. It was about defending the man who had given me it, my dad.

I watched as mum and Frank took a seat on one of the front benches. Why hadn’t she told me she was bringing him to church? I didn’t want him there. I didn’t want to sing in front of him. I did a runner, taking refuge in the sacristy. Father O Gormon was in there, putting on his vestments ready to perform the service. He asked me what I was doing. I told him I wasn’t going to sing. Simon Thompson could do it by himself.

Father O Gormon had given a sigh and wagged a priestly finger. “Come on now, Gilli. No playing up, not tonight. It’s almost the birthday of the Baby Jesus. He’ll be watching you know, Baby Jesus, up in heaven, think how he’ll feel if you don’t sing for him. He’ll tell Saint Nicholas about you being a naughty boy, and then there’ll be no presents in the morning, because Saint Nicholas is Santa Claus.”

I wasn’t daft. I spotted the flaw in Father O Gormon’s Baby Jesus in heaven argument. I stuck out my chin. “There is no Baby Jesus in heaven.”

Father O Gorman was scandalised by my blasphemous statement. He did a bit more finger wagging. “Of course Baby Jesus is in heaven.”

“No he isn’t, cos you have to be dead to be in heaven and Jesus wasn’t a baby when he died, he was grown up. It says so in the bible. There can’t be a little baby Jesus, as well as a big grown up Jesus in heaven. It doesn’t make sense. He wouldn’t have got to grow up and die and come back to life if he’d died when he was a baby and gone to heaven.” I threw in a backup statement. “Anyway, babies can’t talk, so he can’t tell Santa anything.”

“I swear there’s more Protestant than Catholic about you, Gillibran Brown. Too smart for your own good.”

Mr Slade, the choirmaster, put in an appearance at that point, demanding to know what I was playing at. I repeated my intention not to sing, laying claim to a tummy ache. Mr Slade was made of sterner stuff than Father O Gormon. He didn’t attempt emotional blackmail about Baby Jesus, Santa and presents.

“You don’t sing with your tummy, you sing with your mouth, so there’s no problem. We’ve all worked very hard for tonight and you’re not going to spoil it by having a tantrum. You’re going to do your part as practised and you’re going to make your mother and all of us very proud.” Grasping me firmly by the hand he marched me out of the sacristy and back to the choir stall.

The service went ahead and in due course I did my piece with Simon Thompson. After the service I walked home with mum, and Frank. Mum told me how proud she was of me. She said I’d sung so beautifully it had brought tears to her eyes.

Frank could have echoed her sentiments, or said nothing. Instead, he chimed in with an invalidating, “I thought that other lad sang far better than him.”

Mum laughed and told him to stop being a tease.

Pulling my hand free from my mother’s, I ran home ahead of them. I waited outside our front door, my heart sinking when I saw them approaching. She was now holding his hand. I wanted to run at him and push him away from her. Thankfully, he didn’t come in the house. They parted with a kiss and he went his own way.

We didn’t see him on Christmas Day. Mum and I had our usual Christmas together. I didn’t know it would be the last really happy one I’d spend with her. Her life was soon to change, and so was mine. At least hers changed from choice. Mine didn’t. She got a husband and tried to persuade me that Frank would be my new ‘daddy.’ I didn’t buy it.

Prior to re-marrying, mum would always help me light a votive candle in church every Sunday for my dad, and we’d say a little prayer for him. I imagined him listening and watching over me. The ritual stopped after she married Frank, or at least her participation in it did. I overheard them rowing one Sunday after church. He was angry, shouting that she shouldn’t be lighting candles for
him
. It was wrong and had to stop. She was his wife now and had to move on.

I carried on lighting a candle for my dad, saving a few pennies from my pocket money to pay for it, but the ritual was never the same. Mum had been the connection between my dad and me. She had known him. Because of Frank the connection was broken. I stopped lighting candles. The flame was extinct, my father more remote than ever.

Screw Silent Night! Reaching out a hand, I snapped off the radio, silencing The Vienna Boys, though an echo of their carol still hung in the air, or more likely in my mind.

I concentrated on washing and then drying the pots and putting them away, taking wicked delight in putting them in all the wrong places. It would wind Leo up. Childish? Me? Never!

Chapter Eight - Comedians

After washing up, I felt at a bit of a loss. I’d have liked nothing better than to go out for a long, slow walk, maybe even take a turn around the crowded shops in the hope the charged pre-Christmas atmosphere would soak into my bones and cheer and lighten me. I doubted Shane would grant me permission to leave the house, let alone take a taxi into town. As Dick had said, he was well and truly on my case. I was pretty much under restriction. It felt undeserved.

I wandered into the hall, admiring the huge sparkling tree, pondering on whether to go up to Leo’s third floor study and press my lug to the door to see if I could hear anything. I couldn’t be arsed. I wasn’t much interested anyway. Finance isn’t my cup of tea. I’ll never be a businessman with an eye on the main chance, always seeking to accrue more wealth. This boy is a working-class boy through and through, a mere wage slave. I don’t bid others I do the bidding of others.

It looked like TV was my only option, and not upstairs in the sanctuary of the bedroom or tucked away in the leisure come games room with the mega size TV set and pool table. It would have to be in the lounge where Shane could clock me once he’d finished empire building. I was going there when the doorbell jangled. There was no rush of bodies to answer it. Not even Genny came running, as she usually did when anyone came to the door. She was probably ensconced with Leo in the study. I heard a mental echo of Shane’s voice.
‘Gilli! DOOR!’
Yep. It was up to me to pay heed to the call.

I looked with interest at the bell ringer. It had to be Vince, Jak’s pal. He was dressed in gleaming black PVC trousers teamed with an orange leather jacket with metal studded epaulettes and cuffs. He had a shock of Billy Idol inspired bleached blonde hair, and was wearing an assortment of heavy chains around his neck and waist. He looked kind of cool punk, in an expensive well-groomed way, more posh punk than crust punk. I smiled and held out my hand. “Hiya, you must be Vince. I’m Gilli.”

“Is Jak about?”

His voice confirmed my posh punk hypothesis. It had a London lilt to it, exclusive London, Knightsbridge rather than East End. Ignoring my outstretched hand, he stepped into the hall. Not the friendly type then. I pulled a face and used my spurned hand to close the front door. “He’s with Mike, checking the equipment in the playrooms. You go…” I made to point him in the direction of the dungeon annexe, but he interrupted me.

“I know the way. Where is Leo?”

“In his study, working.” I said curtly.

Slipping off the backpack he was shouldering, followed by his jacket, he held them out. I looked at them and then at him. “They’re not my style, thanks, mate. Keep them or donate them to Oxfam.”

I walked into the lounge and closed the door. My face flooded with heat. Arrogant bastard! Who did he think he was, treating me like a cloakroom attendant? Anger replaced hurt humiliation. What had Jak said about me to make him want to treat me like that? Dick and Shane claim I often act like the underdog and that leads people to treat me as such. In the case of Vince I didn’t think it was true. It was clear he had a pre-formed opinion of me and it could only have come from Jak, or Leo.

Switching on the TV set, I sat down on a sofa and began flicking through the channels, settling on a film. ‘The Golden Compass.’ It wasn’t a patch on the book it was based on, but it was okay to glower at.

Pushing off my trainers, I drew my legs up under me to try and alleviate the discomfort I was still feeling in my nether region. I chewed on my nails. I’d wanted to be alone all day and now I was alone I resented it. My contrary genes were obviously in the ascendancy. I wanted to be alone on my terms, not abandoned as per bloody usual because everyone had things they’d rather be doing in preference to spending time with me.

The film had meandered a good way through before I heard voices and laughter in the hall, indicating my solitude might be at an end. My contrariness needle swung back over. Bastards. Why couldn’t they leave me in peace? I stiffened as the door opened. It was Mike and he was alone. I relaxed.

“All right, Gil?” He came up behind the sofa, skimming a playful paw across the top of my head. “Where is everyone?”

“I tipped my head back to look at him. “Upstairs in the study planning to take over the world and populate it with luxury apartments for the elite.”

“I thought there was a scent of investment in the air. Something to do with that cinema project that fell through? Dick mentioned it earlier.”

“Yeah, not that I know the hard details. I only found out the project had crashed when Leo said. My two tell me nowt.”

“There’s no insult involved. It isn’t your area of concern.” Mike came round and sat down on the sofa next to me. “Your role is to serve at home not in the boardroom. Shane and Dick like to keep domestic and business matters separate. Part of being submissive is accepting your place and keeping to it.”

“Don’t you start bloody lecturing, I get enough of that from mighty mouth Leo.” I shifted subject. “Where are the bondage twins?”

“Bondage twins?”

“Jak and his punk pal.”

“Vince, you’ve met him?”

“I let him in.”

“Jak is garaging his motorbike, and Vince is in the kitchen getting something to eat and drink. He’s come straight from work.” Mike stretched out his long legs, settling comfortably into the cushions.”

“What do you think of Vince, and I don’t mean his bondage and fuckability factor. I mean his personality?”

“Who cares about personality?” Mike turned his head to look at me, giving a lascivious wink. “He’s got a lush body. I can’t wait to play with it again.”

“I’m serious, Mike.”

“He’s okay, a bit full of himself at times, when he’s out of a collar anyway, a bit cock-of-the-walk. His parents are both well shod. His father’s a doctor and his mother owns a television production company, which he works for. He thinks it gives him special kudos. He’s the perfect sub when he’s in role, though. Good little player, like Jak, willing to have his limits tested and stretched.”

“I don’t like him.”

“Bloody hell, Gil.” Mike groaned, slapping the heel of his hand to his forehead. “You only opened the front door to let him in. It’s a bit soon to form an opinion.”

“He’d formed one of me before I opened the door.” I retorted. “He handed me his jacket like he expected me to hang it up for him. Why would he do that?”

“Come on. Don’t create enemies where there are none. I’m sure he meant no offence.”

“I bet he did and I bet Jak put him up to it. He’ll have told him that I’m Dick and Shane’s manservant scrubber, fit only to fetch, carry and wait on people.”

“Not in my hearing, he hasn’t, and not in Leo’s either, or he’d get his arse kicked.” He gave me an exasperated look. “Try and chill out, Gil, for gawd’s sake. You’re all teeth and claws lately. No one dares look at you for fear of being nipped or scratched. It is Christmas after all, time of goodwill and good cheer.”

“For you and everyone else. There’s fuck all cheer for me. I can’t have so much as a chocolate liqueur.”

“There are other compensations.”

“Such as?”

“Good food, good company.”

“I’ve got no appetite for food or company.”

He held out his left hand, palm uppermost. “Give me a quid and I’ll kill you now, put you out of your misery. How’s that?”

“Sounds a fair offer.” I couldn’t help but smile.

“That’s better, you’ve got a fair face when there’s a smile on it.”

The lounge door opened and Jak and Vince traipsed in, both carrying bottles of lager. They came over to the TV area, flopping down on chairs, making themselves right at home.

Mike gave them a critical look. “Go easy on the beers.”