Twentysix Read online

  He paused for dramatic effect.

  ‘But then,’ he said, moving closer, ‘ever so gradually, legions of Oscars started to spring up like flowers all over London, on every street corner in town from the Dilly to Oxford Street. So many Oscars. Vivid and proud.’ His hands started to dance, stressing certain words with an invisible stitch of the smoky air. ‘More timid than he had been, mind you, but taking their cue nevertheless from his former glory, before Lily Law kicked the living daylights out of him. And the resilience of this desire fascinated me. I heard the song of its voice and joined in the chorus. They were back: the taverns, and the drag parties, and the swells. You could suddenly make out a sparkle of gold feathers beneath the ash-grey pelt of London town.’

  He paused, lost in some long-forgotten memory, a beatific smile lighting his wrinkled, powdered face. ‘D’y’know, it was as if he had to die so as to be reincarnated not just as a person, but as a whole new century. That’s how big he was.’

  Then he turned to Gore and said, ‘Can this old ponce ponce a vogue off you, duckie?’ And while Gore was fishing in his jacket pocket Jack lifted Gore’s glass and took a swig.

  As Gore handed Jack a cigarette, there was a sudden burst of noise and half a dozen policemen crashed through the doors. Everybody froze. Absolute silence. My heart was racing. Jack just rolled his eyes as if to say, here we go again, and tilted forward to light his cigarette in the flame that Gore offered.

  ‘Goodnight, sweet ladies,’ Jack hissed before slinking off to the back of the room, gliding like a phantom.

  ‘Good evening, gents,’ said one of the policemen.

  ‘How can we help you, officer?’ asked the landlord.

  ‘We’re here to seek your co-operation.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘If you’d all be so kind as to supply us with your names and addresses, then we’ll be on our way.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just procedure, sir.’

  ‘But you’ve got them already. You were in here last week. There’s nobody here tonight who wasn’t here then. No one.’ I looked at the floor.

  ‘It won’t take a minute, sir.’

  Our table was nearest to the door and a policeman sat down in the seat Jack had vacated. I looked at Gore; he looked calm as anything.

  ‘Evenin’, ladies,’ he said with an imbecilic grin. Neither of us spoke. ‘If I could have your name, please, sir.’

  ‘Gregory Moretti.’

  ‘And where do you live, Mr Moretti?’

  ‘With him,’ he said, pointing at me. I couldn’t believe my ears. I was confused as to why Gore would say that. But I didn’t have much time to reflect on it, for the policeman turned immediately to me.

  ‘Does he live with you, sir?’

  ‘Yes,’ I blurted out.

  ‘You don’t sound so sure, sir.’

  ‘Yes, he does, he lives with me.’

  ‘And what is your relationship with this young man, sir, if I may ask?’

  I was momentarily flummoxed, and by the time I came out with ‘friend’ Gregory had already said ‘son’ the smallest fraction of a second faster.

  The policeman closed his notepad, put away his pencil, stood up and asked us to accompany him to the station. I felt so humiliated I could hardly stand.

  ‘Leave ’em alone, they’ve done no harm. Only having a bleedin’ drink. It’s not a crime,’ yelled the landlord.

  ‘Stay out of this, Mother.’

  ‘Mr Wilson to you.’

  They took us away in a Black Maria, and I felt as if I were being driven to my execution. Gore suddenly seemed like a complete stranger about whose life I knew absolutely nothing. To compound my humiliation, there were two men with us in the back of the van dressed in women’s clothes, their faces covered in make-up. One of them explained that they’d just been arrested for soliciting in the park. They introduced themselves as Lady Godiva and Gilda Lily. Gilda did all the talking, explaining that Lady Godiva was still upset that the police had accosted her in the middle of a particularly enjoyable encounter, servicing a serviceman in possession of what Gilda termed ‘the biggest cazzo in Christendom’. He leant across and said quietly, ‘She takes her work too seriously, if you ask me.’ He put a hand on my knee and said, ‘There are two things I can’t stand: size queens and small cocks.’

  I looked at Lady Godiva. He looked at me and smiled weakly, exposing teeth so bucked I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to be fellated by him. My grandmother would have described them by saying he could eat an apple through a letterbox.

  Gore and I exchanged not one word during the entire journey. The sounds of the traffic as we travelled through the city filled me with sadness. At the station we were separated immediately and taken into different rooms. I don’t think I have ever been quite so petrified in my entire life. A police officer took down my details and then put me in a cell with Gilda and Lady Godiva, who still hadn’t said a word. I was in there for what seemed hours. I wondered if they would interview me first and then Gore, or Gore first and then me, or both simultaneously, but concluded it didn’t really matter. Our stories would not match. I wasn’t about to start fabricating a life in which he was my son. Besides, what if he had decided to pretend he had simply used the wrong word accidentally in the pub and had meant to say friend? What if he was about to tell the truth? And what was the truth? Could I say he was a friend; could I lie and say he lived with me?

  My mind was spinning with so many thoughts, and all the while Gilda was beside me recounting stories about the cock size of various members of parliament. ‘They don’t call them members for nothing, love, believe you me!’ he roared.

  And still the only torture was his absence.

  I wondered what Gore was doing, why he hadn’t been put in with us.

  Finally, I was taken to an interview room, where I maintained that his current address was with me.

  ‘Why did he say he was your son, do you think?’ The policeman arched an eyebrow.

  ‘I imagine he used the wrong word accidentally. He is multi-lingual and is prone to mistakes on occasion.’

  ‘That’s what he said.’

  I relaxed a little.

  ‘You know that the Lord Barrymore is frequented by homosexuals, do you, Mr Read?’

  I said I did.

  ‘And do you frequent the Lord Barrymore, Mr Read?’

  I said that it was my first time there.

  ‘It always is, sir, it always is.’ He grinned and I was as tense as ever.

  Then he pushed a sheet of text towards me and said, ‘If you could just read through and sign this statement for me, Miss – sorry, Mister Read.’ I read through it, considered pointing out the numerous errors in spelling, punctuation and grammar, but thought better of it. I signed it and pushed it back towards him and he declared me a free man.

  ‘And Gregory?’

  ‘He’s waiting outside for you.’ And he gave me that knowing grin again, and I thought to myself, You don’t know anything, you filthy Yahoo. That was what my father used to say under his breath whenever anyone tried to talk to him whom he didn’t like, which was almost everybody. I remember as a child thinking it a terrible name to call anyone. But, by Christ, that ape before me was a filthy Yahoo if ever I saw one. Where do they find them?

  I found Gore skulking around outside, kicking the kerb like a naughty bored child.

  ‘Come on,’ I said, ‘let’s get home.’ We took a black cab home in silence, and I found myself thinking about Frank Symonds sitting in all those cabs with all those boys years ago, and wondering what he might have talked to them about, or whether they too sat in a silence as deadly as this, like two creatures who had yet to develop a means to communicate. My mind was racing with words but none of them seemed the right thing to say. Not in front of a cabbie. As soon as we were in the house I asked Gore why he hadn’t simply given his own address and he said he didn’t have one. He told me he had run away from his place in Islington without paying his rent and
is sleeping in parks or with friends. I told him that I was sorry about his situation, and would help as much as I could, but that there was absolutely no way he could stay here.

  He laughed.

  ‘Gore, this is no joking matter.’

  I knew that, compared to the scrapes he’d regularly found himself in and the dangerous situations he’d placed himself in, a London bobby was child’s play, but I still felt sick from the whole experience. I tried to keep a stern face but he carried on laughing and eventually I found myself succumbing to a smile and then I myself began to laugh. In some curious way I felt the experience had brought us closer, though God alone knows how or why. I was very cross with him, and he knew it, I could tell. I can’t help feeling a little unsettled by the whole affair. Especially the police having my details. I imagine that they have a huge ledger in which they record the details of every homosexual they’ve ever unearthed, and I keep picturing the policeman who interviewed me scratching my name in it and blotting it dry with a grin of triumph. I thought of Montagu, Wildeblood and Pitt-Rivers in their cells. There but for the grace of God go I, I thought, even though I’m an atheist.

  We were both in need of some sleep, so Gore took the couch and I took to my bed. Though I left my door open, he didn’t take the hint. Just as well, for we were woken in the early morning by an almighty banging on the front door.

  Copyright

  First published in 2011

  This ebook edition published in 2011

  by Myriad Editions 59

  Lansdowne Place

  Brighton BN3 1FL

  www.MyriadEditions.com

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  Copyright © Jonathan Kemp 2011

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, places, people or other animals, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN: 978–1–908434–04–3