Granddad's Cup of Tea Read online

  “Ewan!” Alex said, and Ewan finally looked up. “Are you gay?”

  “I loved my wife,” Ewan said at once, because he never wanted anyone to doubt it. “But I kissed a lad before I ever met her. Dare say Mia would have a word for that.”

  “I’m sure she would,” Alex agreed, staring at him with what Carole would have called eyes as wide as saucers. “You are extraordinary.”

  Ewan shook his head in irritation. “Ordinary as they come, me. Ordinary doesn’t mean what people think it does.”

  “I stand corrected,” Alex said, and he was still staring. Ewan hunched his shoulders and looked back at his tea. After a moment, Alex cleared his throat and pointed out, “You do realize I’m guaranteed not to judge you.”

  “I know that,” Ewan said. “You’re the first to ask, see, except family.”

  “I’m honoured,” Alex said, and then continued, mischief back in his voice. “So, what are you doing to celebrate being out? Found yourself a toy boy yet?”

  Ewan nearly spit tea across the room, swallowed the wrong way instead, and spent the next few minutes choking while Alex cried with laughter and batted him on the back to little effect. By the time he’d recovered, he’d lost his awkwardness to indignation.

  “Have you entirely lost your mind?”

  “Just a party, then?” Alex said, grinning widely. “Dinner out. A show.”

  “I don’t like plays.”

  Alex clapped a hand to his chest. “Everybody likes the theatre, Ewan.”

  “I always feel embarrassed for the poor fools on the stage,” Ewan confessed.

  Alex winced. “I don’t know where to start. Although, wait, wasn’t Carole always in the Christmas panto?”

  “Mia’s planning to audition this year,” Ewan said glumly. “She wants to play Prince Charming, though Connor keeps muttering about the ugly sisters.”

  “Peter was always the dame. You should have seen us trying to get his corsets done up.”

  Ewan shook his head. “Rather him than me. And looking after the kids is all I’ll be doing to celebrate. Carly’s murmuring that I could chaperone Mia and her lot to Pride.”

  “Bring home a boyfriend,” Alex suggested. “A nice bit of rough. That’ll teach her not to meddle.”

  “I’m not looking for a boyfriend, and I don’t do parades.” And, since that didn’t seem to get across the full horror, he added, “Mia’s sewing together two pink Union Jacks into something she calls a dress.”

  “I’ll go with them,” Alex offered. “Just to see that.”

  “It’s not decent,” Ewan muttered and got laughed at again. He put up with it with a sigh and pretended to be offended, even as Alex’s shoulders relaxed and he leaned easily against the back of the sofa, eyes dancing as he chortled.

  “I’m sure she’d make you one too, if you asked.”

  “You are not to say that in her hearing,” Ewan protested. “She’s got enough ideas of her own without your help.”

  “You must do something, though,” Alex insisted, leaning forward. “It’s momentous.”

  “And I’m not. I don’t care for parties.”

  “Then something else. Let’s go to Brighton. Tomorrow, not with Mia. A day out, you and me. Fish and chips and candyfloss, and we won’t worry about our blood pressure until we get home.”

  “Well,” Ewan began reluctantly and then looked at Alex’s face, proud and hopeful and exhilarated, and changed his mind. “Do they still have dodgems on the pier, I wonder?”

  THEY did, and Alex proved himself to be vicious behind the wheel. To avenge himself, Ewan worked his way along a bank of grab machines until he had won a truly ugly two-foot-long toy lobster, which he insisted that Alex carry with him.

  “But what am I supposed to do with it?” Alex protested, a plush claw tapping against his cheek.

  “You have a new great-nephew, don’t you?”

  “Juliette says that he’s only allowed tasteful toys.” Then, a grin spread slowly across his face. “Which is quite ridiculous. Let’s post it to her.”

  It was Ewan who had to wrap the thing in brown paper in the middle of the post office, of course, as Alex was laughing too hard to hold his hands steady. The woman behind the counter looked at them as if they were mad, and it was Ewan’s turn to choke on his laughter as Alex tried to stick an address label to it, his lips pursed in concentration. They escaped back into the sunshine weak-kneed with amusement, and headed back to the promenade.

  It was packed with people, long-haired girls in frilly skirts and heavy eyeliner, pasty bare-chested boys hefting crates of beer, and kids skidding through the crowd on skateboards. Music was blaring out of every shop front, squeezing between racks of postcards and stacked paintings and strings of shell necklaces. The shingle beach was packed with people in bright sarongs, trunks, and bikinis, striped windbreakers jammed between the stones. Deckchairs for hire lined the edge of the prom, the proprietor opening out more and more by the minute with a steady clack and clunk.

  They found a café and squeezed around a tiny plastic table, knees pressed together as the sunshade above them flopped and swelled in the breeze off the sea. Beside them, a family with three kids were arguing about whether fish fingers were better than chicken nuggets, and behind them a woman with pink hair was feeding a toddler mushy peas while her girlfriend frowned at her phone, fingers flying across the screen.

  Alex only ordered tea and a scone, but then absently stole half Ewan’s chips out of the box. He was watching the passing crowds, his eyes wide with delight and something a little wistful. Ewan watched him, feeling the sun and the energy of the place sink into him in a slow, warm rush of happiness.

  After lunch, they wandered along the prom again, in no rush to be anywhere or do anything. Alex was arguing idly that they should visit the Pavilion, but Ewan thought that sounded like a waste of a good sunny day.

  “It’s a unique experience.”

  “So’s a sunny August day in England,” Ewan retorted as seagulls went squabbling overhead, caught aloft on the wind.

  “Well, yes,” Alex agreed, and his gaze slid sideways. He hesitated for a moment and then rallied himself to say, “But it’s a matter of culture.”

  “What’s wrong?” Ewan asked, glancing around.

  “Oh, nothing. I mean.... Look!” He tipped his head delicately to their right.

  It took Ewan a moment to work out what he was looking for. Then he spotted the two lads in their twenties, casually holding hands as they walked along. Well, that was Brighton, wasn’t it, and a lovely thing to see.

  “I never did that,” Alex said, and the wistfulness was back in his voice. “It’s silly, but I always thought it would be nice, you know, just to walk along with someone like that and not have to hide.”

  It was the sunshine, and the rush of the waves, and the jaunty music playing from countless radios, that made Ewan say, without hesitation, “That’s easily fixed.”

  And he reached out and took Alex’s hand, tugging him along gently.

  For a moment, Alex’s hand was still and awkward in his. Then his fingers clutched tight, winding around Ewan’s with an urgency that made him shiver. When he glanced across, aware of the flush in his cheeks, Alex was smiling at him, eyes bright with wonder.

  Ewan couldn’t help smiling back, and they continued along the prom without another word.

  Eventually Alex cleared his throat and said, “So, we’ve found something for Juliette. What shall we get your lot?”

  “I’m not sure they deserve anything,” Ewan muttered and then relented. “Sweeties for Kayla and Connor and something pretty for my girls.”

  They ended up in one of the quirky little gift shops that opened onto the prom, Alex’s hand still locked in his. Their shoulders brushed as they picked through a tray of shell bracelets that Ewan thought Mia might like, Alex insisting they find the shiniest one.

  People were looking at them, Ewan was aware—a couple of tourists glancing away quickly, and the sho
pkeeper, perched behind the counter on a three-legged stool, grinning openly.

  “Been together long?” he asked as Ewan took his gifts to the till.

  Ewan shrugged, embarrassed, but Alex said, “No.” Then he added, beaming pride, “Ewan just came out. To his grandchildren.”

  “Nice,” drawled the shopkeeper. “Congratulations, dude.” He leaned back and plucked a rainbow striped kiss-me-quick hat off the rack behind him. “On the house. Get yourself out there.”

  Out was out, wasn’t it? Ewan put it on, adjusting it to a rakish angle and then eying his reflection in one of the shell-backed mirrors on the shelf beside him. “It’s a good thing I’m not ginger anymore,” he observed, just to make Alex smile.

  “I think you look very dashing,” Alex told him.

  “Aye?” Ewan scoffed. “Going to do anything about it, are you?”

  And Alex kissed him.

  It was a quick, light kiss, just a brush of lips, but it felt right, as if something he hadn’t even noticed was missing had just come back to him. Ignoring the shopkeeper’s applause, he tightened his hand around Alex’s and smiled.

  Back out on the prom, Ewan realized he hadn’t said anything. Clearing his throat, he turned to reassure Alex.

  Alex was still grinning, his whole face glowing with fond delight. Abashed, Ewan said, “So, ah, here we are. Brighton.”

  “So we are,” Alex agreed solemnly, his eyes dancing.

  “And is there anything you’d like to do here this afternoon?”

  Alex’s grin went wicked, and Ewan felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He protested, “It’s a public place.”

  “And you’ve got a very fetching hat,” Alex hinted, shifting closer.

  “So I have,” Ewan agreed, reaching out with his free hand to grasp Alex’s shirt. He didn’t quite have the nerve to kiss him here in public, with the crowd buffeting around them and the noise of gulls and music and laughter. He leaned in, though, and pressed his cheek against Alex’s, feeling the unmistakable brush of fine stubble against his cheek as he breathed in.

  “Much as I love this town,” Alex murmured. “I’d rather take you home.”

  THE bus stopped at the bottom of Chapel Hill, and they walked up together slowly. It felt different here, a little more dangerous and heady, but Ewan wouldn’t let Alex pull away when they passed Angela Harris, who stared at them and then hid a smile behind her hand.

  Halfway up the hill, Connor came slouching out of someone’s gate among a huddle of friends.

  Ewan locked his hand hard around Alex’s and braced his shoulders. His girls had laughed when he came out, but Connor had been quiet and distant. He was the one Ewan had always worried about the most, the solemn little boy who needed his father and had to make do with his granddad instead.

  “You don’t have to tell your family,” Alex said, and there was something very careful in his voice.

  Ewan didn’t bother voicing his opinion of that. He just snorted and hung on. As they passed the boys, he nodded to Connor, who grinned back and then blinked, eyes widening.

  “Hello, Connor,” Alex said.

  “Uh, hi, Mr. Tregarron,” Connor managed. His friends had all gone quiet.

  They were only five steps past the boys when there was an explosion of sniggering from behind them and then Connor’s voice rose above the rest. “Yeah, you shut up about my granddad. At least he’s getting some, which you never will!”

  The resulting uproar took the boys downhill, but Ewan, glancing back in worry, could see that the jostling looked friendly.

  Alex was laughing hard and, at Ewan’s indignant look, he managed, “I’d never want to be twelve again.”

  “Who would?” Ewan replied, pressing a little closer so his arm brushed Alex’s side. “Mind you, I wouldn’t say no to seeing fifty again.”

  “Or sixty,” Alex said with a sigh and stepped forward to push open his front gate. He led Ewan through the garden quietly, and Ewan suddenly felt shy again, and breathless with anticipation in a way he hadn’t been in decades.

  Saffy came rushing through from the kitchen as they came in, tail sweeping happily as she greeted Alex. Ewan stepped back a little and found his attention caught by the picture of Alex and Peter on the table, young and happy and together.

  Alex took it from him and put it down gently. “My brother took it. He knew.”

  “I wondered,” Ewan said cautiously.

  “I didn’t want to keep hiding, not in my own home.”

  “You look happy.”

  “We were,” Alex said, and reached out to touch the picture gently.

  All of a sudden, Ewan felt like an intruder. He cleared his throat and stepped back.

  “Don’t you dare,” Alex said fiercely and swung round to grab his shoulders. “Do you realize how long I’ve been waiting for you? How long I’ve been wondering if you’re actually interested? I loved Peter and always will, just like you loved Carole. But having been loved like that, I want it again. I don’t want to be alone for the rest of my life—”

  Ewan kissed him. At first it felt strange, the warmth of another mouth opening eagerly under his, but then it came back to him, the slow slide and tease of it. He hooked his hand around Alex’s hip to pull him close and deepened the kiss, pouring his heart into it. He’d never expected this, never really thought Alex would be eager for him, and he wasn’t going to let go now.

  They finally broke apart when Saffy butted her head against their knees, whining for attention.

  Ewan reached down to pet her, but kept his gaze fixed on Alex, who was flushed and breathless. “So, then,” he said, “you’ll let me stay around?”

  “Let you?” Alex repeated, shaking his head a little. Then he wrapped himself around Ewan again, and this time his hands moved more knowingly. The last time Ewan had kissed another man, they’d been barely more than virgins. He wasn’t expecting the confident slide of Alex’s hands under his shirt or the way the touch flared through him.

  “Shouldn’t you let me cook you dinner first?” he murmured, even as he arched into the touch.

  “No,” Alex told him, eyes dancing. “We’re not moving at your pace anymore. At our age, we’d both be dead before you made your next move.”

  Ewan knew when to compromise. “Maybe so. Maybe not. You’d prefer breakfast, then?”

  Alex let out a peal of startled laughter and descended on him again, his kisses hitching with amusement.

  It would be like this from now on, Ewan thought, smiling into the kiss. Every day, he’d wake early, before Alex was stirring, and go down to Carly’s to collect Kayla. They’d deliver their papers and finish here, and while Kayla played with Saffy, he’d drink the tea Alex had made and then kiss him a slow and happy good morning before they continued their days together, for the rest of their lives.

  Other Books by Amy Rae Durreson

  Novels and Novellas

  Fantasy and Science Fiction

  Reawakening

  Resistance

  Recovery

  The Lodestar of Ys

  Emyr’s Smile

  The Court of Lightning

  In Heaven and Earth

  Lord Heliodor’s Retirement

  Ghost stories

  A Frost of Cares

  Spindrift

  Something Wicked This Way Comes

  Short stories

  Contemporary

  Philip Collyer vs. The Cola Thief

  Humming a Different Tune

  Fantasy and Steampunk

  The Clockwork Nightingale’s Song

  Historical

  Aunt Adeline’s Bequest

  Seasonal

  Gaudete

  The Ghost of Mistletoe Lock

  The Holly Groweth Green

  About the Author

  Amy Rae Durreson is a quiet Brit with a degree in early English literature, which she blames for her somewhat medieval approach to spelling, and at various times has been fluent in Latin, Old English, Ancient Greek, and Old
Icelandic, though these days she mostly uses this knowledge to bore her students. Amy started her first novel a quarter of a century ago and has been scribbling away ever since. Despite these long years of experience, she has yet to master the arcane art of the semicolon. She was a winner in the 2017 Rainbow Awards.

  Blog: amyraenbow.wordpress.com

  Twitter: @amy_raenbow