Author: Matthew J. Metzger
Category: LGBT
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/matthew-j-metzger/page,17,570963-the_beginning_starting_over.html
“Sure you’re okay?” Aled murmured.
“Yeah. It’s just a little weird.”
“I can always drop you off at Kevin’s and get you a train ticket if—”
“No,” Gabriel said. “He’s already bought my tickets for my first visit. And I want to see everything go in the new house.”
He’d still only seen pictures. Kevin had called him crazy for not going to see it, but Gabriel didn’t care. A house was a house. He trusted Chris’ and Aled’s judgement, and if it didn’t fit after a couple of years, they could move again. It wasn’t like Gabriel wasn’t used to changing his living arrangements by now.
Most importantly, the new house was right next to Chris.
“Come on,” he said, wriggling out of the hug. “Let’s get on the road. Need to get there before they do.”
Aled snorted. “And you’ve been riding shotgun in my car for how long?”
“Good point.”
The car was packed with their valuables, the usual snacks for the long drive south, and a box full of their sex toys. Aled had been a bit funny about putting it in the van, as if the movers would have a rummage. Like the guys wouldn’t have figured out they were hefting a gay couple’s shit around.
They wedged the vacuum cleaner on top of the bags in the boot, slammed it, and…that was that.
Me: Bye bye Yorkshire :(
Gabriel fired off the text as Aled shifted into first gear and pulled out, for the last time, from his usual parking spot. The village trundled away behind them as he headed for the motorway, and Kevin’s reply came through, appropriately enough, just as they reached the slip road.
Kevin: Until the seventeenth x
Me: Yeah :)
Kevin: Remember your rules
Me: Yep
“Kevin?”
“Yeah.”
“Everything all right?”
“Yep,” Gabriel said. “Being told to remember my rules.”
Stay in touch.
That was the rule. There weren’t many rules outside of their games. In fact, only three. And the biggest one was that.
Stay in touch.
It might be Cornwall. It might be hundreds of miles. But he had to touch base every single day, or Kevin would drive that battered old Sprinter van of his all the way down to St Ives to find out why he hadn’t. And in four weeks, Gabriel would get on the train and come back. Dinner with Judith and the kids again. Maybe the night in the workshop at the bottom of the garden, or maybe in the spare room.
Their door was always going to be open for him.
Aled put his foot down in the fast lane, and Yorkshire shot past in a blur of green and grey. The radio sputtered and died at Nottingham before jumping onto a local station past Leicester, and Birmingham was a grey smudge at the edges of Gabriel’s vision as they cruised around the south of the city towards the M5.
“You’ll get another speeding ticket.”
“Meh.”
The M5 itself was a boring stretch of traffic jams and nothingness, and Gabriel must have dozed off, because Bristol wasn’t that close to Birmingham. They stopped at the services—Aled was like clockwork, and always needed a leak around that point in the journey—and Gabriel ventured out under brooding storm clouds to get some hot food. Waiting in line for some burgers, he fired off a text to Chris.
Me: At Bristol x
Chris: Okay :) I probably won’t be in when you get here. Exploring.
Me: That’s okay. Probably a good thing. Aled is fussy about moving house.
Chris: Why do you think I went out today??
Gabriel chuckled.
Me: Didn’t rescue me though, did you?
Chris: You never asked.
“Not the point, Chris…”
“What can I get you, sir?”
He put in a big order, then returned to his texting.
Me: Will you be back tonight?
Chris: Yeah
Me: See you this evening then xxx
He wasn’t too surprised Chris had bailed on their arrival. He probably suspected exactly what Gabriel suspected—that Tom and Suze would want to come and welcome Aled to the neighbourhood. And Chris was going to need a few more controlled meetings with them before he got entirely comfortable.
He made it back to the car with the burgers before the heavens opened, and made a start on his while half-listening to the radio and the rain on the roof. Aled had to sprint back through the downpour, and sat steaming in the driver’s seat for a few minutes with his own junk food.
“Decide to get this in before we met up with Chris?”
“Yep!”
Aled chuckled. “Break into the biscuits, too, then. He’ll confiscate them.”
“He can try.”
They did break into the tin, though, before binning the telltale wrappers and setting off again. Rain cleaned the windscreen at Weston-Super-Mare, and the sun returned at Exeter before they leapt off the motorway and plunged into Devon. The wide, spacious roads gave way to a familiar battle through back lanes to avoid the traffic, and they burst out just shy of St Ives, buried in Cornish fields, overeager songbirds and a strangely wealthy countryside.
Gabriel had lived in a lot of places, but never the country.
Aled turned away at the edge of St Ives and headed back out into the fields. Gabriel sat up and stared at every passing gate. Was this it? This? How about this one? And finally, just before the road narrowed into a single track, Aled eased off through a wide, open gate and up a shared drive before turning off through another gate and rolling the car into a gravelled driveway bordered by grassy lawn and there, cupping a circle of yard space, sat two bungalows that Gabriel recognised from hours memorising their adverts.
“Here we are.”
The van hadn’t arrived yet—probably not surprisingly—but a familiar car was parked outside the new house. As Aled needlessly parallel-parked in front of Tom’s car, the driver’s door opened and Tom himself stepped out, waving.
“Hey,” Gabriel called, winding the window down. “Have you come to help?”
“Yep.”
“Good. I’ll stay here then.”
“Lazy shit,” Aled complained.
Gabriel sniped back before getting out. He took the keys and marched off for the door. Let them call the moving guys and get estimated arrival times and all that shit. Gabriel was going to finally get a look at the place—and find Chris, if he was around.
The front door opened straight into a large, open living area. The photos had been accurate. The empty space invited a multitude of options, and Gabriel explored each end of the rectangular house to find a roomy kitchen, a neat and brand-new bathroom and a spare room that was surprisingly generous. Spiral stairs wound upwards into the roof space, where the master bedroom nestled under the eaves, and an odd little pantry turned out to be the cellar stairs. An inviting den yawned under the house, stretching out until Gabriel was sure the second set had to lead up into Chris’ house. He tried the door at the top of them, but was disappointed to find Chris had either locked it or barricaded it from the other side. Still, it offered some intriguing possibilities for breaking-and-entering games once they’d settled in.
He retreated back into the house, already making plans in his head. The bungalow itself was smaller than their old cottage—but there was plenty of room. They could have a conservatory built on one side of the house. The cellar would make a great playroom. A shared summerhouse could box off a third side of the yard.
This could work.
This could really work.
Aled and Tom were gossiping at the front door, and Gabriel dropped down from the bottom step to wedge himself under Aled’s arm.
“At the risk of scaring the vanilla guest,” he said, “the cellar can be our playroom.”
“The play—nope, never mind,” Tom said hastily.
“Like it?” Aled asked.
“Yep.”
“Just as well,” he said. “I was hoping to persuade you into tha
t.”
“Done and done,” Gabriel said. “Where’s the van?”
“Just passed Exeter.”
“And Chris?”
“Didn’t answer. Left him a voicemail. I think he mentioned something about a bike club, though.”
“Dinner first, then?” Gabriel suggested. “We could raid a chippie or something and eat it on the floor.”
“Deal. Tom, go get food.”
Tom grumbled, but was dismissed effectively enough. Aled started hefting in the boxes from the car. Gabriel started to unpack their overnight bags. Afternoon turned into evening. More food came and went. Gabriel tucked himself out of the way again once the van arrived, only venturing out to collect his bike and stash it in the cellar. He wasn’t too keen on having workmen around at the best of times, and workmen going through his stuff was definitely no better.
When the house fell quiet, though, he emerged from the cellar and ventured back into the house. Their furniture looked out of place on the hardwood floors, absent carpets and their usual cushions and throws. Stacks of boxes had been turned into towers. The bed had been abandoned in the middle of the bedroom rather than put in a proper place, and the spare bed had been abandoned in the living room.
But their cuddle chair was in the perfect place, tucked into the corner, angled to stare out over the garden on rainy days, and Aled had already found its blankets.
“Hey!” Gabriel called.
Aled’s reply came from upstairs. “What?”
“Where’s Tom?”
“Gone to get Euan from his nan’s house.”
“Is he coming back?”
“Him and Suze will probably come round, yeah. Depends if they can get Euan to sleep and strong-arm Tom’s sister into babysitting.” Footsteps creaked. Aled leaned over the banisters to frown at Gabriel. “Why?”
“Cuddle chair’s ready.”
Aled chuckled. “You want a nap?”
Gabriel nodded. “Yeah. Before the chaos starts again. It’ll feel like home, then.”
Well, it would be a start.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was dark when Chris coasted the bike up the tiny private road to the gate.
The gate itself had been shut, and only Aled’s car gleamed under the moonlit sky. Chris let out a breath. Good. He could put off more socialising for another day. He was all peopled out.
He’d spent the morning unpacking his gear, and the afternoon exploring St Ives. He’d not really wanted to be in the way when Aled’s family came to greet him and help him move in, and he ought to get started on settling into this new world anyway. Once he’d found posters for a cycling club, he’d decided to grit his teeth and go make some friends. If he did that, he didn’t have to feel awkward about avoiding Aled’s friends.
And it had worked.
The guy who ran the club was a nice bloke. Chris had managed to get into an easy conversation with a couple of the other regulars, who’d pointed him in the direction of a trustworthy bike shop in the town. And the route had been a gentle climb along the coast, challenging enough to keep him interested but easy enough that he didn’t feel out of his depth and unfit in front of a gaggle of strangers. He’d even stayed for a drink with Ian, the organiser, and a couple in their fifties called Harry and Ann who wanted to pump him for knowledge on the best routes in Somerset.
So by the time he got back to the house—back home—it was well after dark, and a chilly fog was beginning to settle over the hedges and trees.
The moving van had left furrows in the gravel, and the lights were on in the bungalow opposite his own. Chris smuggled his bike past their windows and let himself in, hurriedly changing in the dark of his new bedroom before testing out his theory.
They weren’t the type to lock their playroom door.
Chris had locked his, more out of a security habit than any real intention to keep either of them out. He eased the bolt back and sneaked downstairs, fumbling for the light switch in the dark for a moment. The lights were boring halogen bulbs dangling from the ceiling, and he made a mental note to swap out the fittings to allow for something nicer.
The cellar itself was still empty, save for Gabriel’s bike propped up against the wall, and Chris tiptoed to the second set of stairs and inched up them, testing for creaks. Sure enough, their pantry door was unlocked, and he slipped out into the kitchen that—so far—was identical to his own. Except for the pizza boxes on the counter and several empty soft-drink cans. He rolled his eyes at the Aled-ness of it all and opened the door.
“Chris!”
Gabriel leapt up out of the cuddle chair and slammed into him full-force. Chris grinned, hugging back. Aled just waved a lazy hand and turned his attention back to the TV. Like Chris was always supposed to just appear in their house like that. The feeling made Chris warm from the inside out.
“Is it safe to visit?” he asked anyway.
“Coast is clear,” Gabriel said cheerfully. “Though we’re under orders. Next Saturday, all three of us, pub lunch with Tom and Suze and Euan and Pumpkin.”
“Pumpkin?”
“That’s what Suze is calling her baby bump,” Aled called from the chair. “The sonographer couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl at last week’s scan, so they’re calling it Pumpkin while they argue over names.”
“Ew.”
“You’re telling me…”
“I still say Maggie is a nice name,” Gabriel sniffed.
“It’s awful,” Chris said seriously.
“Thank you!” Aled called.
“Oh, shut up,” Gabriel grumbled, then shook Chris by the collar of his polo shirt and grinned. “Did you go to the cycling club? Was it good? Can I come to the next one? Is—”
“Oi! Trying to watch a film here!”
“Then pause it, you fuc—”
“You watch your language.”
Gabriel stuck his tongue out. Chris clapped a hand over his mouth.
“Oh no you don’t,” he said. “I’m not up for one of his games.”
Aled laughed. “You can stay. Put that sorry mess in the cellar.”
“I don’t think so,” Chris replied. “My door’s unlocked. He’ll cause havoc.”
“I’ll make him a cage at some point.”
Gabriel whined, wriggled out of Chris’ grip and called them both bastards.
“Whatever. You coming back, or am I resorting to cuddling Chris in this chair instead?”
Chris made a face. Aled laughed and climbed out of the chair, relocating to the sofa. It had been awkwardly dumped in the middle of the room, but Chris figured they’d just wanted to get shot of the removal men. He could sympathise. His own meagre belongings were still a bit haphazard. So he sank onto the opposite side without a murmur about the odd position, and they both expectantly looked to Gabriel to fill the gap between them.
Instead, he folded his arms over his chest.
“Why should I sit there?” he demanded. “You want to stick me in a cage. That’s not very nice.”
“I’m not a very nice man,” Aled countered. “So you can sit down and behave, or Chris will go home and leave you to me.”
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. Chris smirked, watching him weigh it up. He probably did want a bit of rough fun to break in the new home—but he clearly wanted to enjoy having them both within arm’s reach too.
And eventually, the novelty of them both being there won. He sank down into the middle spot with a grumpy huff.
“Did Tom and Suze help you move in?” Chris asked.
“Tom did. Suze had to take Euan for his jabs. But they brought pizza once he was pincushioned, and we got the telly hooked up. Most important part,” Aled said. “What about you? Have you settled in yet?”
“Eh. Some of it. I don’t have as much stuff as you, though. And I could do with a hand getting my mattress upstairs if you don’t mind.”
“In the morning?”
“Sure.”
It was relaxed and easy, like it had been towards the
end of Gabriel’s recovery in Yorkshire. Chris sagged back into the cushions and tried to catch up with the film. One of the Transformers ones, but hell if he knew which. Gabriel offered a cup of tea. Aled asked after Chris’ job-hunting success.
It was like he ought to be here.
When Gabriel came back from the kitchen, he sat in Chris’ lap and slung his feet over Aled’s. The warm weight was more than a little bit nice, and Chris buried his nose in Gabriel’s hair and breathed in the familiar smell in the unfamiliar room. Where would Gabriel sleep tonight? Would he give warning or just turn up? Would they all hold keys to every door on the plot, or would only Gabriel have that privilege?
There was so much left to work out, yet—
Yet Chris didn’t particularly want to bother. Not tonight. Let tonight just be about the bad film on the TV, cold cans of stomach-rotting filth from the fridge, and Gabriel’s questions about the bike club and whether St Ives was big enough to have a yoga class he could go to and help his damaged leg now he was well out of reach of his old physiotherapist.
They could sort registering with GPs, copying keys, finding driving instructors for Chris, and everything else in the morning.
Right now…
Right now, Gabriel was in his lap, Aled was running a sardonic commentary, and Chris was trying to persuade them to switch over to Airplane!, in which the long-dead Leslie Nielsen was alive and well in a disaster spoof that made Chris never want to board a plane again as long as he lived.
Everything else could wait.
Right here, right now, all was well.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The following Saturday, Tom texted the details of a decent pub just down the coast, and reported that they did a mean fish and thick-cut chips.
Aled, all alone in the house, forwarded the text to his boyfriend’s health nut of a partner and finished hanging the sheets out to dry before going inside to get changed.