The Sins of the Father
by N Fourbois
Chapter 36
Rufus and his father repaired to the sitting room.
"I think I have earnt a glass of whisky," said Carl. "You can have one if you like."
"No thanks, Dad. Anyway there isn't any left. You finished the bottle the other night," Rufus lied.
"Better put it on the shopping list." He didn't and his father would forget about it by the time the next shopping trip came along. Rufus had recently completed a PHSE module on alcohol at school and was only fully aware of its effects on people under stress and those from the more northerly latitudes. His father ticked both boxes.
"Will Horlicks do instead?" he asked facetiously.
"Fine, that will do nicely," his father answered. Once settled Carl took up the story.
"Your mother picked up the phone and was rather taken aback when she heard it was me. 'How did you find me here? Have you been following me home?' 'No, of course not,' I said, ignoring the first question, 'but I'm getting tired of playing a one sided game of obeying your instructions. We've got the boys to think about.' 'I'm not coming back, you know.' 'I'm not asking you to.' Again that took her aback. 'But I would like to have some honesty and communication,' I said. She replied 'I want my space and now I've got it. I don't have to put up with three sons who are queer and their disgusting ways, and with a husband who is half and half. I want a divorce. You wanted honesty and communication. You've got them.' 'Okay, my dear, I still love you, but I'm not going to stand in your way. You're obviously distraught. Just one more thing. I gather you are living with a lesbian.' At that your oh-so-in-control mother burst into tears. I heard a door open, then a woman's voice which said 'Come on, my love. You're obviously upset,' and the phone was put down. So you know as much as I do"
"I'm sorry, Dad. I'm really sorry."
"What are you sorry for? Being yourself? For me being myself? For your brothers being themselves? For your mother being herself?" Rufus looked blank. "We come back to that wretched quotation again. 'The sins of the father are visited on the children.'"
"And of the mother. Mum has to take some of the responsibility in this."
"I notice you didn't say 'blame', son."
"I'm not in the blame game. As you said, we are what we are. I still love Mum, though I'm finding it difficult at the moment because of what she's done to you."
"And you."
"No, not really. The twins' leaving home taught me something."
"They haven't left home. They're only off at university."
"Dad, that's rose tinted spectacles. Did you return home to live after university? Their leaving home has given me a feeling of personal independence. They are no longer there to show me what do, to tell me what to do. I can be my own man and I have to make decisions for myself. Then I have Mike. That changes my responsibilities."
"Are you two in this for the long haul?"
"Who knows? I'd like to think so, but where will I be in two years' time? Where will he be? How long will Mum tolerate him as one of her employees when she knows he's the boyfriend of the son she finds abhorrent? And talking about 'abhorrent', don't you find it ironic that she finds me, an active homosexual young man, abhorrent when she is shacked up with and snogging a well known lesbian?"
At that Rufus burst into tears and went and hugged his father. Finally four months of suppressed anger and emotional wounding had spilt over. He just sat on his father's lap and sobbed his heart out.
Ten, fifteen, thirty minutes, an hour passed. Who knows? Father and son just sitting there in silence, father stroking son's vivid red hair, soothing him. Rufus had said things about his mother which Carl had thought, but never uttered, said things which under different circumstances would have brought a sharp rebuke and a demand for respect, but these were not different or normal circumstances. They were the actual circumstances. Carl realised how grown up his baby son had suddenly become, not only in maintaining a relationship, but emotionally mature and, more significantly, intellectually mature, perhaps more so than Hugo and Magnus.
"Come along, son. It's bed for you, and no playing with that computer. I'll take you up." Father and son went upstairs together. Carl took Rufus into his room and kissed him good night. "You'll feel better in the morning." As Carl turned to leave, he knocked against Rufus's desk and his iMac came to life with its picture of Eddie Hurdle. Fortunately Carl had his back to it and didn't turn round. Rufus switched his computer off, went and cleaned his teeth, stripped off and climbed into bed. He was physically and emotionally too drained to play with himself that night.
A bright sunny morning is always a helpful way to start the day in a good mood. Last night's doom and gloom had been swept away. Both Carl and Rufus had been purged. They could now look ahead.
Carl woke Rufus because he wanted to be sure was okay before he went off to work.
"If you hurry up downstairs, I'll get you a cooked breakfast." Rufus got out of bed naked, went to the bathroom, gave his face and hands a quick rinse and put his bathrobe on. In the kitchen his father put a large plate of sausages, fried eggs, bacon, fried bread and baked beans in front of him.
"We're getting low on provisions, Rufus. We'll need to go to Sainsbury's this evening."
"You know Mike's coming this afternoon for the weekend, don't you?"
"Yes, and that makes the supermarket run even more urgent with another mouth to feed. If he's going to be part of this family, he can come along and join in the chores. And it will give that John Thomas of yours a little time for a rest." Rufus's face went as red as his hair, blurring the boundaries in between. "It's all right, son. I was your age once." Rufus grinned and tucked into his luxury breakfast. "I've got to leave now to get to work. It looks as if I shall have to have a chat with the company solicitor sometime today. I'm afraid I'm dumping the clearing away on you again, Rufus."
"I'll cope. I'm used to it." Carl hugged his son, kissed him on the cheek, collected his things and went out to the garage.
Rufus spent the morning catching up with what he should have done the night before. There were e-mails from Toby, William and Eddie to say that they had received the pictures safely and how good they were. He'd also sent them to Michel. After that he read the newspaper and made an attempt at the cryptic crossword. Six clues solved. Progress. He thought about what he had to do before Michel turned up and made two decisions. First he went to the gay barber in town for a haircut. He was beginning to regain his Asterix Viking look.
When he got home, he dealt with the longer-than-designer-stubble problem and shaved his face as well.
Michel turned up just before one o'clock. He came in the front door, an overnight bag in one hand, another cardboard tube in the other. He dropped both and took Rufus into a hug.
"It's not been a very good twenty-four hours, has it?"
"Mmm, yes and no," Rufus hedged. "Things came to a head last night. Not very pleasant, but at least it cleared the air."
"I thought something had happened. Veronica was absolutely distraught this morning and Todd, the director, had to ask her to leave because she was disturbing the shoot. Fancy that, telling the boss to leave her own studio, but it made a big difference and we got on. That's why I'm a bit late. Sorry."
"Come and stow your kit away in my room."
"I like your hair. It's just as it was when we went to London." He looked around in a marked theatrical manner and said "Is there anybody else in the house?"
"No, we're home alone. Why?" Michel led him by the hips across into the walk-in wardrobe, slid the door almost closed, unbuckled his own belt and undid the buttons on his jeans.
"Get your lips round that." Although astounded, Rufus did as he was told and took Michel all the way to orgasm. Not a drop was spilt. "Just like the first time we met. Do you remember?"
"How can I forget? A moment of destiny. And you weren't wearing undies that time, either."
"Gosh, I needed that."
"You've quite spoilt my lunch now," said Rufus with a grin. "After a cooked breakfast and now all that protein I haven't room for anything else." Michel used his middle finger to wipe a globule off the end of his dick that Rufus had missed and placed it on the tip of his tongue.
"Mmm, ambrosia, the nectar of the gods." He buttoned up his 501s, buckled the belt and slumped into the armchair.
"I almost forgot," said Michel. "There are a couple more posters here, but I think we'd better keep these for our eyes only." Rufus took the cap off the tube and slid them out carefully. He gasped. Four foot posters of Eddie Hurdle, one of him in Rufus's red speedo and one without.
"Amazing," said Rufus. "Thanks a lot," and he gave Michel a kiss on the cheek. "Mike, you're not going to get into trouble doing this, are you?"
"No, it's all above board. I've got receipted invoices to prove it. The only difference is that I get billed at cost which is a lot less than what we charge customers and because it is an internal transaction the VAT mysteriously disappears. Something to do with internal expenses rather than buying and selling or it gets paid by the company. I don't know. I don't understand it and I don't want to. As far as I'm concerned it's all above board."
"You shouldn't be paying out like this. Let me pay for them."
"No, it's okay. I'm working such long hours, which brings in the cash, that I haven't any time to spend it. So, what are the plans for the weekend?"
"One thing planned and one thing only."
"Go on," said Michel. "You've got me all excited now."
"This evening we're going to the supermarket to stock up on provisions. Otherwise we've got nothing to eat."
"My, you're a little tease."
"And if Dad buys any whisky, put it back on the shelf when he's not looking."
"That gives me an idea."
"No, I mean it," said Rufus. "I don't want him to hit the bottle while he's under stress and if he hasn't got any, it doesn't worry him. I've hidden the bottle we have in the house and told him he's drunk it all."
"Otherwise nothing?"
"Nothing," affirmed Rufus.
"What on earth are we going to do?"
"I'm sure we'll find something. By the way Dad's going to be away on Sunday because he wants to visit the twins. So I'm afraid we're going to have the house to ourselves all day and will have to find our own amusement. Oh… I'm cooking lunch."
"So what are you going to do with these posters, Rufus?"
"Tough one that."
"Your dad's pretty tolerant, isn't he?"
"It's not him I'm worried about. It's Mrs Spiller."
"Who's Mrs Spiller?"
"She who comes and does."
"Oh, the cleaner," said Michel.
"You know what these people are like. Very good at their job of cleaning, but they think that they are entitled to opinions about the families they do for, and they gossip. I still haven't recovered from the time she found a jonnie under my bed… and it was still in its wrapper unused! I hate to think what she'd have said if it was a used one. Still, you wanted to chill out. Let's go downstairs."
Rufus and Michel settled down together on the sofa in the living room.
"I know it's the pits," said Rufus, "but it's going to be afternoon television. Let's see what we've got. Cooking, antiques, Alan Titchmarsh, estate agents and a black and white 'Carry On' film."
"It's a toss up between Alan Titchmarsh or the 'Carry On' film. Let's go for Alan Titchmarsh. He's bonny." Rufus put the television on 3 and they made themselves comfortable. The next thing they heard was the insertion of a key in the front door as Carl came home from the office.
"Hi, boys. Everything all right?" They didn't even bother to move apart, they were so stunned at being woken up so brusquely. "I'll just go and get changed and we'll get this shopping done and out of the way. Are you coming, Mike?"
"Sure thing," he replied as he stirred himself.
Half an hour later father, son and boyfriend were treading the aisles in the supermarket. As Carl walked on with the trolley, eyes firmly fixed on the shopping list, Michel stopped by some shelves.
"Look, Rufus, I want to show you something." He pointed at some packets and said "Do you recognise anybody?" Rufus looked carefully and said
"Why, it's you, Mike. I've seen that packet before and never noticed. Hey, Dad, look at… Aaagh!" At that moment Rufus felt a jab in his leg and a shove in his side. Both boys turned round and Michel said to the middle aged harridan who was driving the trolley
"Careful. You just pushed that trolley into my friend."
"You young people shouldn't be blocking up the aisles when we're trying to buy things," she scowled back.
"Whatever happened to the old fashioned phrase 'Excuse me'?"
"There's no need to be insolent," and she went off pushing her trolley, looking for her next victim.
"Rufus, follow her. Don't let her get away and I'll catch you up. We'll soon sort her out," and Michel dashed off. In less than a minute he had done what he wanted to do and looked around for Rufus. Fortunately there were not too many people with red hair in the store and he soon caught up with him. "Okay, we'll shadow her and when her attention's elsewhere, we'll put these in her trolley."
"What have you got there, Mike?"
"Just watch." Rufus watched as his boyfriend, when she wasn't looking, gradually unloaded into the woman's trolley a twelve pack of Durex, a tube of K-Y, a cream for athlete's foot and the most expensive box of chocolates he'd been able to find. "Okay, Rufe, let's find your father. We won't hang around, but just keep your eyes open at the check-outs, okay?"
They soon caught up with Carl.
"Hey, Dad, did you see those packets with Mike's picture on?"
"No."
"Come on. I'll show you."
"I'll look after the trolley." Father and son went off. Michel removed a large bottle of whisky from the trolley and replaced it on the shelf.
When they went through the check-out, the boys tried to slow the process down as much as possible, but no luck. The wicked witch with the trolley was nowhere to be seen.
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