God bless him.
‘Well that’s easy…’ I start to tell of how Christmas had exploded for me since I was a teen and had been sent away to boarding school and met Luisa. One year she took me back to Germany for Christmas and showed me that her Christmas was fun, sparkles, argument-free, everything the adverts promise it is and that I had never seen.
As the waiter brings us our second course, I tease Rory about how ordering seabass is selling out the whole Christmas theme and I realise that I have never been taken to dinner in a place like this by any boy I have ever dated. Sam had regularly dragged me to Kings Kebabs, which, if you could weave your way through the crowds of fighting Neanderthals, had been quite tasty, but linen napkins, crumbers and heart-pounding views have never been on the menu before. And it isn’t the money spent, it’s the sentiment, the implication that to Rory, as his friend, I am worth it. And as I look at those green eyes, that face as it roars with laughter as I recount one of my Christmas pasts, I realise there is a lot more to Rory Walters than I remember.
But come what may, I do adore thee so
That danger shall seem sport, and I will go.
December Tenth.
Rory.
‘This is so dull,’ Mum says as she lifts the corner of what I think is a perfectly acceptable nightgown in Marks and Spencer. ‘Is this really all there is to life? Is this what it is all about? Shopping for nightgowns?’ She sighs and rolls her eyes, giving both Kevin and Perry a run for their money.
Woah, I thought this was her idea of heaven. ‘Mum, you’ve always loved Marks and Sparks.’ When I was small, she would’ve shrieked with excitement at the thought of being able to afford to shop here. A cup of coffee and a slice of cake that we would share in the café on the top floor were a monthly treat for years, well before she could actually buy anything in here. Riding up in the lifts as a child with her would be the pinnacle of the month for the both of us. ‘What about these?’ I hold out something cotton and lemon yellow. I know nothing about nightwear for the post-menopausal woman but it looks okay. To be fair, I know nothing about nightwear for the pre-menopausal woman either.
‘Oh my God, Rory! I’m not ninety.’
What is going on? When I offered to come, we were meant to be shopping for something nice for her operation. A grown man shopping for lingerie with his mother is not a look I am going for, ever.
Desperately I pull out another – a cotton gown, quite short – and pray.
‘Look, I don’t mean to be ungrateful, I really don’t.’ She chucks me under the chin as if I am six, even though these days she has to reach up to do it. ‘It’s kind of you to come with me. I never dreamed I’d get to do this with you. You know, not once I realised you liked girls.’
‘Eh? Mum. When did you not know I was straight?’
‘Well, I wasn’t sure there for a bit, there was that stage you had, you know with the black nail polish and the what do they call it… Ooh, excuse me,’ she grabs a passing shop assistant, ‘can you help me? What do they call it when men wear make-up, dear?’
‘Drag,’ the girl replies. ‘I bet you look beautiful with those eyes. What’s your drag name?’ she asks me.
‘Um…’ What the hell do I say? Whilst I may enjoy the odd episode ofRuPaul’s Drag Race, I’m not in the habit of tucking and donning sequins on a weekend. No problem with it, just not how I spend my leisure time. That would be the correct answer. But all I do is stand here, mouth open and say um repeatedly. Clearly won’t be winning any challenges for quick wit.
‘No, no, not that. Just eyeliner?’ Mum interrupts, sort of saving me, sort of not.
‘Oh, okay. Guyliner? We stock it on the first floor.’
‘Yes, that’s the one, that. Thank you, love.’ She pats the girl’s arm, her early petulance disappeared and full-on mumness back in play.
‘That’s okay. That would look great on you.’ She smiles and she heads to tinker with a display very nearby.
‘That. Guyliner and the nail varnish. Then.’ Mum nods with satisfaction.
‘Mum, that was once, once when I was thirteen for Halloween. I don’t think that is the perfect snapshot to assess sexuality.’
‘Oh, I didn’t mind. I mean Janet’s son, older than you, he goes shopping with her all the time. He took her to Ann Summers.’
No.
I love her but I amnottaking her to Ann Summers. I’ll never be able to have sex again. I may have currently forgotten what sex is like, but I’m hoping one day in my future, when I feel less broken, I’ll dabble again. Ann Summers is most definitelynothappening.
‘And now they can have children and go shopping, well, it’s a win-win, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t think “they” is a term anyone uses aboutanygroup in society these days, Mum. Pretty reductive and prejudiced.’
‘Hmpf, the only thing I’m prejudiced against is these bloody things.’ She flips through a rail at lightning speed, somehow managing to tut, flick and speak all at the same time. And I know that her words are true. I’ve spent my life watching my mum be open and kind and generous with every single person she has ever come into contact with. ‘I just told you, I was quite excited about the fact that you may be gay. Mind you, that’s old hat these days, isn’t it? I watched a documentary on Netflix. It’s all about pan these days, isn’t it, love? Are you pan? Best of all worlds it seems to me.’
Dear Jesus Christ, I swear if there is anything worse than your parents becoming unintentionally but increasingly out of the loop as they get older, it has to be them intentionally tryingnotto be, over a nightdress rail in the middle of M&S. I can feel the whole department’s eyes on me. It’s clear that it isn’t just my mum that wants to know.
