Tea and Crumpet

Good Breeding by JL Merrow-4

Angie beamed when she saw them the following week. “Wayne, love! I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon!” She turned to her daughter, who was sitting on the floor, fag in hand, filling out a s*x survey in a magazine. “Didn’t I say, Shards, that he wouldn’t be round here again in a hurry, now he’s found out what a bunch of bleedin’ chavs we are?”

Giles felt a nasty twinge of guilt. “Of course I came round again!” he protested. “You’re my mother! Oh—and this is Oz. He’s a very good friend of mine.” For some reason, Giles blushed as he said it. He flicked a glance at Oz, whose amused expression only made Giles’s face grow hotter.

Angie gave him a hug. “Oh, it’s all right, love. You can call him your boyfriend, nobody minds here.”

The sack of potatoes in the armchair gave a grunt, which Giles suspected was Pete-speak for “snog him at your peril.” The ape, thank God, was absent. Perhaps it’d been carted back to the zoo, Giles thought hopefully, then gave himself a mental slap on the wrist. “Really, Oz is just a friend,” Giles insisted. “We share a house, that’s all.”

“Oh, get on with you! A good looking bloke like that? Well, if you don’t want him, I’ll ’ave him!” Angie cackled. “You ’ear that, Pete? I’m going to trade you in for a new model!”

“Hrrn,” grunted Pete.

Oz looked terrified.

They sat down for a cup of tea. Giles was oddly touched to find his served in a mug with “Wayne” emblazoned on it in garish letters. “Well, i’n’t this nice?” Angie said.

Giles opened his mouth to make a polite reply, but was interrupted by the slam of the front door. His brother, the ape, lumbered in, scratching its armpit. Its eyes narrowed when it saw them, and Giles instinctively huddled up to Oz for protection.

“‘Ullo, love. Our Wayne’s come round again, and he brung his boyfriend and all,” Angie said brightly.

The ape scowled, and stepped towards them. Giles tensed.

Oz laughed, and leant back, resting one ankle on the opposite knee. His arms spread along the back of the sofa, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders, while his shirt was stretched taut over a rather fine pair of pecs. “Nah, it’s just your mum’s little joke.” Oz’s voice sounded different, Giles realised. His vowels were flatter; the consonants less defined. “Not that you’d have a problem with it if I was, would you?” Despite his seemingly relaxed posture, Oz didn’t take his eyes off Darren for an instant.

The ape stared at him for a long moment, then subsided, and slumped into its chair. After a brief tussle with its father for the remote control, which it lost, it settled for glaring steadily at the television and totally ignoring them.

“So have you got a bloke, then, love?” Angie asked brightly, as if massive amounts of testosterone had not just been expended in front of her.

“Oh, yes. His name’s Hugh,” Giles began, with a fond smile. “I met him in my first year at Oxford, at a wine tasting.” He’d been instantly smitten by the man’s rakish good looks, perfectly tailored jacket, and theatrical shudders of distaste at most of what was served. “We got talking over some rather vile champagne, and Hugh invited me to the Beaujolais breakfast over at his college, and well, we’ve been together ever since.” He blushed a little at the memory of that morning. Hugh was reading Egyptology, which meant no lectures before noon—and then only on Thursdays—and Giles had been only too happy to skip his own classes to accept Hugh’s invitation to a post-breakfast rogering back at Merton.

“He sounds lovely, doesn’t he, Shards? I hope he treats you right.”

“Oh, Hugh’s a perfect gentleman,” Giles assured her. “We’ve had our ups and downs, but doesn’t everyone?” Hugh hadn’t spoken to him for weeks after Giles had been unwise enough to voice his opinion that the ban on foxhunting wasn’t such a very bad idea, all things considered. Then there had been the business about Hugh sleeping with the captain of the Varsity rugby team before the try-outs. Giles had been devastated at first. But after Hugh’s explanation, Giles had quite agreed it was simply the sensible thing to do—the rugger equivalent of the theatrical casting couch, so to speak—and nothing for him to be jealous about. “I’m seeing him tonight, actually—we’re going to the opera.”

“What about you, then, Oz?” Angie asked. “I bet you’ve got someone and all, with looks like those.”

Oz started. “Oh, me? No, I’m—no. Not at the moment.”

Giles wasn’t sure he liked that “at the moment.” Did Oz have someone he fancied, then? Who was he? And why hadn’t Giles known about it? And who was he?

“Never mind, love,” Angie consoled him. “I’m sure you’ll find someone. ’Ere, Shards, you’re not seeing no one at the mo, are you?”

Shards looked up from her article on STDs, and considered Oz for a long moment. “Nah.’E ain’t my type.”

The ape wheezed.

“My loss, then,” Oz said easily.

Giles was impressed by the way he managed to keep even the barest hint of sarcasm from his voice.

* * * *

“Are you sure you’re going to be all right if I go out tonight?” Giles fretted as they made their way back home. “I can’t understand how Hugh managed to forget about your visit when he booked the tickets. It’s not like him at all.”

Oz gave a funny sort of laugh. “No, he’s got a memory like an elephant, Hugh has,” he said. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine with your parents.” He grinned suddenly. “Your mum said she’d get out your old baby photos to show me. And anyway, it’s La Boheme tonight, isn’t it? That’s your favourite—you can’t miss that.” He hesitated for a moment, staring straight ahead. “But I think you should use the opportunity to tell Hugh about Angie. He’s your boyfriend—he ought to know.”

“He’s not going to be pleased,” Giles muttered darkly. “He doesn’t even know I’m adopted.”

Oz stared. “He has met your parents, hasn’t he?”

Giles flushed. “I think he just assumes Mummy had a bit on the side. It seems to be almost de rigueur amongst his parents’ set.”

“Well, if he loves you,” Oz said, “he’ll accept you, whoever your parents are. Come on, you’re still the same bloke you were yesterday, aren’t you?”

“I suppose so,” Giles said, brightening. Still, he couldn’t help feeling a little queasy at the thought of telling Hugh about his birth mother.

* * * *

Giles met Hugh in the foyer at Covent Garden. They only just made it into the theatre in time—Hugh had been having drinks with some friends and just hadn’t been able to get away—so they didn’t get a chance to speak until later.

Not quite able to work up the courage to broach the subject of his parentage during the first interval, Giles listened instead to Hugh’s scorn at the vocal capabilities of the mezzo-soprano (a rather pleasant-looking lady, Giles had thought, but he supposed that didn’t really count for anything in opera). At the second interval, however, fortified by champagne, Giles forged ahead.

“Hugh, I’m adopted,” he blurted out, inadvertently interrupting Hugh’s amusing anecdote about how he’d got one over on one of his father’s employees—but then, Giles had heard it twice already, so he had some excuse for not listening to Hugh as attentively as he otherwise would.

“Are you? Good Lord!” Hugh didn’t look precisely pleased at the news.

Giles swallowed. “And I’ve found my birth mother. I’ve been round to see her twice now. She’s married now, with two other children, and lives in Putney.”

Hugh’s lip curled in distaste. Then he gave a forced-sounding laugh. “Still, never mind. I’m sure you’ll manage to lose her again.”

“I don’t want to lose her!” Giles protested. “It’s not her fault she’s working class, and lives in a council house.”

“For God’s sake, Giles,” Hugh hissed. “Keep your voice down, will you? Surely you don’t want everyone hearing about your sordid origins?”

“There’s nothing sordid about my origins,” Giles said stiffly. “Angie’s a lovely lady.”

“Angie?” There was a subtle change in Hugh’s manner. “Giles…well, the fact is, I’ve been meaning to talk to you for some time. I don’t think it’s going to work out, you and me.”

“What?” An icy chill suffused Giles’s body, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with the champagne.

“And this only confirms it,” Hugh continued. “I’m sure you’d be happier with someone of your own kind.”

Giles bristled. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Now, for God’s sake don’t go all Socialist Worker on me!”

“Socialist Worker? Socialist bloody Worker? What the hell are you on about?” Giles could hear his voice rising in both pitch and volume, but was powerless to prevent it.

“People of your class are always the same—”

“‘Scuse me, gents,” the barman broke in. “Would you mind keeping it down a bit? People are starting to complain.”

Giles swung round to face him. “Then they can damn well keep their noses out of it! This is a private discussion between me and my—Hugh? Hugh?” He looked around frantically, but Hugh had gone. Back to their box? Yes, that was it. Giles should go and join him, and by the end of the last act they’d be all right again.

When Giles got back to the box, it was empty. Reluctant to give up hope, Giles waited and waited. Mimi’s death scene seemed even more affecting than usual, Giles wasn’t sure why—he had tears streaming down his cheeks by the end. Hugh would mock him for it mercilessly—

But Hugh wasn’t there.