The young man’s eyes clouded in puzzlement, “No. No, that’s not what I thought. I wondered if my dad,” he coughed to clear his voice a little. “He’s too old, I thought he was younger, I was scared that my dad.”
He shoved his hair again. My heart sped up a little. Alex had the same habit.
“But that can’t be right,” the kid mumbled.
“What can’t be right?” Alex asked brightly, as he sat at the other end of the bench. His eyes opening wide and his mouth falling open as the kid turned and looked at him.
They stared at each other for a full fifteen seconds before I spoke, “For Christ’s sake, Alex. Say hello.”
“What the fuck,” Alex managed, and I winced, but the kid didn’t care. His face lit up.
“Alex? Your name is Alex?”
“Yes, but.”
“That’s it!” The young man jumped up and spun to face us both, his grin flashing Alex’s dimples at me. This was just bizarre.
“You were named after your dad?” he demanded.
My heart was pounding now, this was dangerous territory. I shifted across the bench, closer to Alex.
“Possibly,” Alex said cautiously, “I never knew my father.”
“No of course not,” the kid said excitedly, “Because he died before you were born. Before he knew about you.” He suddenly pulled himself together and toned it down a bit.
“Um, I’m really sorry,” he said, “about what happened to your dad. About the accident.”
“What accident?” Alex asked, his voice a rasp.
“Your Mum didn’t tell you?” his eyes widened.
At this point Alex’s voice failed him, he shook his head, his eyes pleading with me.
I stepped in to give him a moment, “Alex was raised in care. His mother died when she gave birth to him. He’s never had any family history.”
The young man’s face fell. He was clearly not a complete prat, as he blinked a few times and then taking a deep breath crouched down in front of Alex.
“My name is Barry Biggs,” he said, with remarkable gentleness, “My dad is called David. He had an older brother, who would have been my uncle Alex, but he died in a motorcycle accident when he was seventeen.”
He let Alex reach out and grasp his hand, “My uncle Alex’s girlfriend came and told my Nan that she was pregnant, but my Nan sent her away,” he frowned and looked at the ground, “she’s not really very nice. She and my dad don’t talk much.”
He looked back up, “I think you might be his son. You MUST be his son.”
“How old is your dad, Barry?” I asked quietly.
“He’s forty-nine. He was fifteen when Alex died.”
“I can’t think,” Alex said, rubbing his head.
I rubbed his back, “It fits.”
I kissed his cheek, “It fits, Alex.”
Alex pinched the bridge of his nose and looked at Barry, “What was her name, my mother, Alex’s girlfriend. What was her name?”
“Don’t you know?”
I stepped in again, “We only have a letter, written by the nurse that assisted in Alex’s delivery. She wrote out what had happened and the orphanage where he was raised let him read it when he turned fifteen.”
I pulled Alex against me, and he leaned hard, but took a breath.
“It’s okay, I can tell him.”
Barry was knelt on the ground now, one hand still in Alex’s, emotion shining out of his eyes.
“The nurse wrote that my mum stumbled into the emergency department. She was in labor and bleeding, very ill. She wouldn’t speak. Wouldn’t tell them anything. No name, nothing. All she would do is curse in what they thought was Welsh. Somehow she found the strength to have me. The nurse wrote that, she found the last of her strength and pushed the baby out. They held me up and told her she had a son. She said, ‘He’s Alex, for his father’, and then she was gone. She never even held me. That’s all she said. The nurse said her accent was definitely Welsh.”
We were all crying now and getting strange looks from people walking by. I just glared and they moved quickly on.
I knew that the hospital had named their Jane Doe, as Rose Alexander. After the roses on the dress she was wearing and the name she had given for Alex. The name on her grave was Rose Alexander (with a disclaimer that actual name not known, a rather heartless addition by the local authority) and her birth date was another noted fabrication. Nine months and eighteen years prior to the date of Alex’s birth.
Barry looked really upset, “I can’t remember,” he said, “Oh, God. I should know this, I’m so sorry, I can’t remember.”
“Hey, Hey, it’s okay,” I soothed them both, “It’s okay. This is a shock and right now only a possibility. Let’s just take a moment.”
Barry brightened “We could do a DNA test.”
It was enough to make Alex laugh.
“Let’s not jump the gun,” I cautioned, “Barry, the first thing you need to do is talk to your dad. You’re not from around here, what are you doing in London?”
“Oh, no I’m from a little place called Ardgarten in the highlands. It’s beautiful if you like the country. I’m nineteen and I’m studying economics at Buckingstone University.”
“You’re only half Welsh,” I teased Alex.
“Yea, who knew,” he smiled back. Then looked at Barry, “So were you plucking up the courage to talk to me?”
Barry stood and scuffed his feet a little. His face turned slightly pink, “Yea, but I thought you were younger. I was worried my dad had cheated on my mum or something.”
The blush turned to pale, “Oh, shit. He’s gonna kill me.”
“I would suggest discretion and not telling him that bit,” I suggested. “It’s a big change being away from home for the first time. Studying hard with less support. Sometimes the brain gets away from you a little.”
Barry shot me a look and I winked at him.
“Yea, okay,” he decided.
We ended up going back to the café for another drink and chat.
Alex veered away from asking too much about Barry’s home life, but I could see that he just soaked up the little details that came through.
It turned out that Barry was about to head home for a few days, so I suggested that Alex and I put our numbers into his phone, and I took a photo of him and Alex, also on his phone.
I refused to take his number.
“You’re a good looking nineteen-year-old lad and a long way from home,” I cautioned him. “Your dad won’t be happy if he finds out you’ve been giving your personal information to a couple of strangers.”
“He won’t be worried that you’re gay,” Barry informed me, reading between the lines. “My uncle Rob, dad’s younger brother is gay.”
I nodded, that was interesting, but held my ground, “Even so,” I smiled one last time at the picture of him and Alex together, so much alike it was uncanny. Then handed him back his phone.
“Prepare him before you show him the picture,” I suggested, “and remember. This could just be a wild coincidence.”
“It’s not likely though is it,” Alex queried.
I laughed, “Probably not.”
We left Barry with promises that we would be waiting for a call and headed for our show.
We had planned with our ‘skive-off’ day, to follow our investigations with a matinee and then a bar.
“We could just go home, Alex. If you’re not in the mood.”
“No,” Alex squeezed my hand and smiled, “I think I want to carry on and let this rest in the back of my mind. It’s huge.”
-X
The show was the perfect distraction, and we came out directly into SoHo on a busy Tuesday night.
Now I’m past forty I find I prefer to be able to hold a conversation while enjoying a drink, so despite the numerous bars and clubs on offer, we headed for an old favourite.
Not particularly surprised to bump into a couple that we knew from the manor.
Lee and Carlos are both subs at the manor but have been together for about a decade and I knew that Lee who was a little older, late forties to Carlos’ late thirties, tended to take the lead when it was just the two of them.
All three of us watched Alex being propositioned as he made his way back from the bar, trying not to drop four bottles.
A cute guy in his mid-twenties stopped Alex and spoke into his ear, Alex bending slightly. I couldn’t miss the hand that was firmly pressed to Alex’s abs, copping a good feel.
Well, I couldn’t blame him.
Alex smiled and nodded his head in our direction. We all waved and the young man with good grace, just smiled and shrugged before moving off.
“Nice tummy rub?” I asked Alex, my tongue in my cheek, as he unloaded the drinks.
“The tummy rub wasn’t the problem,” Alex admitted, before taking a swig. “You didn’t see where his other hand was!”
We all cracked up and Lee toasted, “To gay bars and all who drink in them.”
“To gay bars,” we chorused and drank.
A little later, the music volume had increased slightly, and people were becoming raunchier. Though obviously pretty tame compared to what we are used to. It was kind of sweet.
Lee moved over to make himself heard.
“Getting late, I think we should send our boys onto the dance floor together. See if they can turn us on before we go,” he suggested.
“Good idea,” I agreed, and we sent Alex and Carlos off to do some dirty dancing.
Mid-week but the dance floor was still heaving. Around 85% guys. Bizarrely a hen party, but they had been accepted with good grace once they had been persuaded to keep their hands to themselves.
It was pretty dark, but Alex and Carlos set themselves up where we had a good view of the two of them surrounded and pressed close by a mass of shifting, writhing, damp, turned on bodies.
Lips and legs intertwined. Pelvis to pelvis. Hands grabbing whatever ass was closest. It was starting to look like a (mostly) fully clothed vertical orgy.
In the middle of it all: the striking couple of Alex and Carlos.
Leave a Reply