Traditions
by Mark Peters
Chapter 14
Charlie was just finishing up with serving some customers when I called in to pick him up, just on six o'clock that afternoon.
One guy did something of a double take when he noticed him behind the counter when he went to pay for his fuel. He gave Charlie a nod, neutral but not unkind.
An older woman smiled. 'Good to see you back here, love.'
Charlie swallowed and smiled back. 'Good to be back.'
I noticed Matt hovering near the office door and said hello to him. I didn't really know him, other than having seen him around town over the years, but I thought it would be a good idea to at least make something of an effort to be friendly, seeing as he was Charlie's boss.
'You must be Kieran?' Matt said, as he stepped into the shop area and came towards me. 'I've seen you around town a bit but don't think we've ever actually met.'
'Yes, that's me,' I replied, before then shaking Matt's outstretched hand. 'So, has he behaved himself today?' I then asked, while cocking a thumb in Charlie's direction.
'Hey, I'm right here, you know!' he complained.
Matt's face broke out into a broad smile. 'Yeah, he did good. He remembered all about fuel pumps and cash registers and serving food from the display cases. Seems he hasn't forgotten anything.'
'Well, that's good to hear,' I responded.
'He seems to think you had a pretty big hand in helping him turn things around, so I think thanks should be in order for that.'
'Oh . . . I'm not so sure about . . .'
'Well, something has helped our boy get straightened out, and I, for one, am happy to see it. I was a bit worried about him there for a while.'
I dared to take a glance in Charlie's direction when he said that, and I could see his embarrassment, and so I didn't really want to dwell on that any further.
'Yeah, you weren't the only one,' I said quietly, hoping that Charlie wouldn't hear that part.
'Don't sell yourself short,' Matt replied, just as quietly. 'He's mentioned you often enough over the years for me to know there was something between the two of you, but I just wasn't sure exactly what that was, until now. Just look after him, Kieran. He's a good guy, but he just needs a bit of a guiding hand sometimes . . . and I think you already know that.'
He started walking past me as he said that, giving me a friendly pat on the shoulder as he did so, then went behind the counter to where Charlie was.
'How about you go pull the signage and the outside gear in for me, then you might as well head off. It's close enough to six, so I can finish the lock-up.'
'Are you sure?' Charlie asked.
'Yeah, I'm sure. I think you've done okay today, so think of it as a reward,' he answered, with a wink.
'Okay. Thanks. I'll just go bring the air hose and window washers in for you.'
'And don't forget the price numbers off the big sign,' Matt added.
'Got it!'
I followed Charlie outside and quickly noticed the large sign with the fuel prices out front. It was an old-style sign, not a digital one, and had individual numbers for each of the prices for each of the fuel types they sold.
'I'll grab those numbers for you if you like. You get the other stuff,' I said.
'You got a deal,' Charlie answered, and a few minutes later we had everything brought inside and squared away.
'Same time tomorrow,' Matt called out from behind the counter, where he was busy counting cash.
Charlie hesitated, then smiled. 'I'll be here.'
'See you then.'
Outside, the setting sun was almost as low as the mountains to the west of town, and at this hour was throwing long shadows across the driveway. Being summer, there would still be at least another hour or so of daylight. I tossed the keys to Charlie as we headed for the car, and he gave me a funny look, as if to ask what I was up to.
'I'm all yours,' I said to him. 'What do you want to do?'
'I'll tell you when we get home,' Charlie replied, while grinning.
Only a few weeks had passed since Christmas, but it seemed like that was half a lifetime ago now. So many things had changed in that short time as we settled into this new thing that was us . . . two guys together, no longer independent, no longer with each of us trying to survive in their own way. It was now about a shared life, a shared home, and about choosing steadiness over fear.
There was no drama involved . . . and that's the point . . . it was about surviving and evolving from two separate beings into just one.
It was the small things I noticed first. The way Charlie always pulled off his shoes and left them just inside the door, instead of putting them away. The way the kettle was never quite where I expected it to be. The fact that toothpaste somehow migrated from the bathroom sink to the kitchen bench overnight, like it had a life of its own.
None of it really annoyed me, I guess. Maybe it just surprised me. I'm not sure.
We were learning the shape of each other's habits now. Sure, we've known about them for years, having been friends for so long, but it has only been now – since we moved in together – that we've actually noticed them. It's not like it was any kind of crisis, just the slower, steadier version of knowledge that comes after. The kind that required patience instead of adrenaline.
One evening, Charlie was working back a little late, so I thought I would surprise him and cook dinner. Nothing fancy or ambitious, just spag bol . . . my go-to meal.
It doesn't take much, just mince, onions, tomatoes, spaghetti, a jar of sauce.
What could possibly go wrong?
Charlie arrived halfway through, dropping his keys into the bowl by the door with a clatter. A loaf of garlic bread was warming in the oven, because that's easy to do as well, and it felt like something you did when someone else was coming home.
'Smells good,' he said, leaning in to kiss my cheek.
I smiled. 'That's just the garlic doing most of the work.'
'Still,' he said. 'I really do appreciate it.'
We ate at the small kitchen table, knees brushing beneath it, the television in the living room babbling quietly. Just background noise. Conversation drifted easily between us. Nothing too heavy. Comments about his work and his boss, Matt. Some remarks about the phone calls I've had in response to the flyers I had spread around town, and my first few customers – all of whom had paid cash in hand. A joke about Kevin's driving. A shared eye-roll at the weather.
After dinner, we washed up together without discussing it. Charlie dried while I washed, our movements slightly out of sync, bumping elbows now and then.
'Sorry,' Charlie said, laughing quietly.
I shook my head. 'Don't be. This is . . . nice.'
Charlie glanced at me. 'Yeah. It is, isn't it?'
'Yeah.'
Later, we sat on the couch, assuming our favourite position with me laid back against the arm of the lounge, legs spread slightly and Charlie laying back against me, our feet tangled, and my arms around him, whispering into his ear. The television was on, but was mostly ignored. Charlie rested his head against my shoulder, my fingers idly circling the buckle on the belt in his jeans.
'I was thinking today,' he said eventually.
'That's usually my cue to listen,' I replied gently.
Charlie smiled. 'Things have been good lately, haven't they?'
'Better than I could have ever expected.'
'I don't ever want things to build up again,' he said. 'I don't want to get to a point where I feel like I'm drowning and can't tell you.'
My arm tightened around him. 'You don't have to be okay all the time. It's okay to have feelings, or have problems we have to deal with.'
'I know,' he said. 'I just . . . I don't want to disappear on you.'
'You won't,' I said without hesitation. 'And if you ever start to, I'll pull you back.'
Charlie closed his eyes, letting that settle.
For a moment, the house felt impossibly quiet.
'I'm here for you, babe,' I said. 'I'm not going anywhere.'
'Thank you,' he whispered in reply.
It was Pippa who seemed to take charge over the next few weeks. At first, I wasn't sure exactly what she was up to, trying to arrange another family gathering, this time for Easter, but sooner or later the penny dropped, once Patrick's name had been mentioned.
Easter was still several months away, of course, but groundwork needed to be laid and all the pieces of the puzzle needed to be in place, apparently.
In the meantime, life went on for us in Thompsonville. Charlie had quickly settled back into his role at the service station, and Matt had started giving him extra shifts not long after he had started back. I started receiving phone calls from people wanting help with their computers, and I was enjoying what I was doing . . . even if I wasn't making very much money, at least in comparison to my previous job. But one thing I did quickly learn, however, was that living where we were, away from the city, we didn't actually need that much money to survive.
With some careful planning, we were actually getting by okay, and life was good as far as I was concerned. And I couldn't ever recall being this happy. Ever.
Charlie had insisted that the garage become my office and workshop, despite my initial resistance, and so we had gradually done some minor remodelling and turned the space into something that was workable for what was intended.
When one of my clients asked about being able to obtain some specific computer parts and accessories, I was able to use some of my Sydney contacts to buy them for a decent price and then on-sell them for a small profit. I found that I could sell some items for a price that was slightly cheaper than what the retailers in Macquarie Harbour offered them for, and so I decided to use some of my savings to buy some additional items to keep in stock, as well as place some small advertisements in the regional newspaper to see if that might help get my name out there, which seemed to have worked.
My father didn't exactly approve of my new career as a self-employed IT consultant, but all the same he was helpful with my getting started. He even came up with a used photocopier from one of the offices he worked in, which we managed to install in my new office and provide another service that didn't seem to be available in town.
Bit by bit our new lives were taking shape, between Charlie's job and my fledgling business, our days were filling up, and our nights were equally satisfying.
Socially, we were meeting new people through our work, including Matt and his husband, Luke, along with the other guys they lived with. Then there was Aaron, the local lawn mower man, whose partner was a well-known writer. And there were others too. Growing up in T'ville, we had known about some of these guys, of course, but had never met them; and now here we were, moving in the same circles. It's funny how life works out sometimes.
As Easter drew closer, Pippa started growing anxious about whether her plans for Patrick's visit were going to fall into place. He had said he would come, but Pippa still had doubts about whether he would make it. I guess we would just have to wait until the day arrived to find out if he would actually show.
There was mention that we might have a family gathering on Good Friday, and so the wheels were set in motion. I mentioned this to my parents when we were visiting for dinner one night, after Pippa had floated the idea.
'I think that's a splendid idea,' my mother answered. 'We used to do it every year, you know. One of our old family traditions . . . though they all seem to have gone by the wayside in recent years.'
Traditions, huh? Well, I guess times do change, but that doesn't mean the old ways have to be lost altogether.
'We have to eat fish, you know,' mum added. 'Good Friday, it's always fish.'
Something in my memory banks seemed to stir at that, but I was struggling to connect all the dots. You'd think an ex altar boy would be able to do better than that, wouldn't you?
'I don't think I've heard of that before,' Charlie offered.
'Really?' mum asked, somewhat surprised. 'Well, I guess not everyone observes these things, dear. It's all to do with our religion, you see. Good Friday commemorates the day Jesus sacrificed his flesh, so by avoiding meat on this day, believers are honouring this sacrifice. Meat was considered to be associated with feasting, whereas fish was a more common, humble food, which aligned with fasting, so apparently that is why fish is permitted.'
'Oh, wow . . . I never knew any of that,' Charlie responded.
'You do like fish, don't you, Charlie?' my father asked, with mild amusement.
'Yes. Of course.'
'Then I'm sure you'll make it through the grand feast without any problems. My favourite part is the prawns. Those large king prawns or tiger prawns,' dad declared.
'Now we're talking,' I added.
'Yummo! Big prawns!' Toby enthused. 'And don't forget the sauce! Lots and lots of sauce!'
As the Easter weekend drew closer, we were still none the wiser as to whether Patrick would be visiting. The weather reports indicated that things were going to be gloomy, and by the time we reached the day before Good Friday, it was indeed grey and overcast. Pippa had finally received word that Patrick would meet us at the train station, so we made sure that the four of us were on time, waiting on the platform for the arrival of the blue and silver, North Coast XPT.
Thankfully, we found a spot undercover to wait, where we sat and watched the comings and goings. People of all ages were waiting with us, some waiting on family, no doubt, while some would just be waiting on the train, so they could travel further north for the Easter weekend.
When the train finally pulled in, on time, at exactly three-thirty, we got to our feet and waited at the back of the platform, expecting our cousin to appear amongst the throng. People alighted from the train, and people boarded, but there was no sign of Patrick at all, and by the time the train was ready to continue its run northward about fifteen minutes later, it was becoming obvious that we had been stood up.
'Bugger!' exclaimed a very annoyed Pippa. 'He promised he would be here!'
'So where is he, then?' I asked. I was slightly annoyed, but really, there was little any of us could do about it.
'Right here!' a voice suddenly said from somewhere behind us.
We all spun around to see Patrick coming out onto the platform from inside the station.
'Sorry I'm late. I got held up downtown,' he added.
'Downtown? You weren't on the train, so when did you get here?' Pippa asked.
'Yesterday, actually. I wanted to have a look around the old place and check out the old haunts on my own, while I had a chance,' he replied.
'And you didn't bother to tell us?' she said, while pouting, and giving him a faux slap to his arm, before then hugging him.
'Dearest cousin, you had me worried we were being stood up.'
'I told you I would be here. And here I am,' he replied, before then moving to each of us in turn and giving us all a brief hug.
'So, where are you staying?' Kevin asked.
'At the Railway Hotel . . . just across the road. One of the reasons I came early was to scope out a few local venues. Some of my friends from Sydney thought we should bring our show to some country areas, so this seemed like as good a place as any to start. How about we go over to the pub and have a drink, so I can fill you in.'
'And then we can tell you just what you've let yourself in for tomorrow,' Kevin added.
There was no fanfare, no sequins, no show, when Patrick arrived at the home of Pippa and Kevin's family the following day. Just a hired car pulling up outside, tyres crunching softly on the gravel driveway. The sky hung low over Macquarie Harbour, the kind of overcast that put a lid on exuberance and softened the edges, making the world feel much quieter than usual.
Charlie and I stood near the front window, pretending not to hover, and watched as Patrick stepped from the car, then retrieved two bunches of flowers from the back seat, along with a gift bag – the type that the bottle shops place your purchases into.
Pippa was pacing around. Kevin was chilling in the kitchen. Neither of them had heard or seen him yet.
Then the doorbell rang. And everything stopped.
'Let me get it,' I called out. I figured that as I was closest it would be easiest. When I reached the door I glanced back down the hallway, where faces seemed to be sticking out of almost every door and looking towards the front door. Mum and dad. Nan and Pop. Kevin and Pippa, and their parents. Toby and Stuart. And Charlie, of course. It was almost comical seeing them all lined up.
I reached out and placed a hand on the knob, then took a breath — the smallest hesitation, but enough that Charlie noticed it. Then I opened the door.
Patrick stood there.
There was no makeup. No stage name. Just a tall man in a neat jacket, a tidy haircut, eyes wary but steady.
Under the weight of the gifts he was bearing, he looked older than he had under the lights at the Imperial – more real. More exposed.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
'Hello again, Kieran. At least I got the right house.'
I reached out and took the gift bag from him. He could hand the flowers over himself, I figured.
'Hi, Patrick. Glad that you worked that out. You had best come in.'
He smiled and stepped over the threshold, then Aunt Trish and my mother both stepped forward.
'Patrick,' Trish said softly, as she looked at him, remembering that face from such a long time ago, before stepping in and hugging him.
He swallowed. 'Hello, dear cousin Patricia.'
When she let him go, he turned his attention to my mother. 'Dearest Katherine,' he said. 'It has been far too long since I have seen all of you.'
They hugged as well, then when my mother released him, he turned towards Nan and Pop, who were standing at the end of the hall, near the doorway into the kitchen, and approached them, rather warily.
'You have nothing to fear from us, Patrick,' my grandmother scolded. Patrick stiffened, just for a second, but when Nan said, 'We are not like your parents, my boy! Now come here and give your Aunty Rose a hug!' He stepped forward and hugged her, tentatively at first, but then melted into it, shoulders sagging as though something heavy had finally been set down.
When they parted, he turned towards Pop and held out his hand.
'Uncle Max,' he said, as Pop shook the offered hand, but then pulled him into a hug also.
'It's good to see you, lad,' Pop said.
Behind us, Pippa let out a breath that might have been a sob, then when I glanced around the faces I could see they were all smiling, although Kevin turned away, scrubbing at his face like he had something in his eye.
Charlie reached for my hand and I squeezed it tight, as I tried to keep my own emotions in check.
The remaining introductions were quickly made. He remembered my father and Uncle Leo, so that only left Stuart and Tobey, who both cautiously shook the hand of this stranger they were apparently related to.
After that, the living room filled slowly.
Coffee was made. Biscuits appeared. People sat and stood and hovered at the edges of conversations, circling all these years of absence with careful steps, filling each other in on what had happened since. There was no mention of Patrick's parents, and to be honest I couldn't recall there ever being any mention made of them as I was growing up, so I made a note to ask mum about them later.
Patrick spoke about his life in Sydney, but not about becoming Trinity. We found out that he'd had a partner in the early years, but he had become ill and had passed away in the nineteen eighties. It didn't take a genius to work out what had happened. And there had been no one else since, he said.
'Why didn't you come home, dear boy?' my grandmother asked.
'I didn't think I'd be welcome,' he admitted quietly. 'Not here. And I had built a life I was content with.'
Kevin's mother shook her head. 'We were cowards,' she said. 'We let other people's voices drown out our own.'
My mother nodded, adding, 'And we've regretted it ever since.'
Patrick's eyes shone, but he didn't cry. Not yet.
Charlie listened more than he spoke, absorbing it all – the proof that years apart didn't have to be permanent, that mistakes didn't always define the ending.
At one point, Patrick looked at him directly.
'And you?' he asked gently. 'You look like someone who's been through a storm.'
Charlie smiled, small but sincere. 'Yes. But I nearly didn't make it.'
Patrick nodded, understanding without needing details. 'But you did.'
'I did,' Charlie said, as he looked my way. 'I did.'
Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.
[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]
* Some browsers may require a right click instead
