It was after midnight when Maurice Drummond quietly closed the door behind him and slipped out into the street. The night mist had cleared from the river and now the moon was shining down, making tiny arcs of light along the swirling current. His heart began to thud as he jogged along the side of the railings in the direction of the taxi rank. Maybe he’d have a bit of a wait, after all it was Christmas week and all the bars and restaurants were filled with office parties whooping it up until the wee small hours.
But Maurice Drummond was in luck tonight. There was one single cab outside the Botanic Gardens, the driver lounging outside, his cigarette smoke rising in the cold night air. The cabbie looked up as Maurice slowed his pace to a walk then flicked the rest of his fag across the street as they made eye contact.
‘Where to, pal?’ he asked and Maurice told him.
Glasgow was alive with revellers as the cab made its way down Great western Road towards the city centre. Term time might be over for a couple of weeks but the entire student population seemed to have taken to the streets. A group of lads in Santa hats with luminous bobbles flashing suddenly lurched off the pavement, causing the taxi driver to swerve and swear at them.
‘Bloody neds!’
‘Aye, Merry Christmas tae you an’ all, Jimmy!’ came the reply as they passed the laughing figures.
‘They don’t care, so they don’t,’ the taxi driver grumbled. ‘Different story if they’d ended up under ma wheels,’ he added gloomily.
Maurice Drummond did not answer him, staring instead at the passing tenements, wondering if he would find what he was searching for at the end of this journey.
As he paid the taxi driver, giving him an extra tip because it was Christmas, Maurice noticed two figures leaving the mouth of the close across the road. He drew back into the shadows, pulling his coat collar up around his ears, watching the pair make their way towards the twenty-four hour shop on the corner. One of them suddenly threw back his head in a spontaneous burst of laughter, his face revealed by the street lamp above him. Maurice’s heart thumped uncomfortably in his chest. The very sight of that smile caused a physical pain. And it was doubly cruel that the smile was not for him but for the younger man whose red-gold hair shone like a halo beneath the light. If only he had been alone, he thought, then everything would have been so much simpler.
Maurice watched as the two men linked arms and drew closer together. Then he shuddered. It was too much to bear, this love of his. He had to do something tonight. And he’d never have a better opportunity than this. He waited until they were out of sight then crossed the road. There were eight names against the security buzzers. Maurice pressed one after the other until a distant voice asked who he was.
‘It’s Chris from upstairs,’ he said, breathlessly. ‘I forgot my key.’
There was a grunt from the unseen occupant on the first floor flat then a low thrumming sound that signalled the release of the lock. Maurice glanced along the street then pushed open the door, creeping quietly up the stone stairs until he reached the flat he wanted. He was in luck; the front door was unlocked, showing that his guess had been correct: they were only out for a quick errand.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Maurice Drummond slipped inside the flat and made his way along the corridor until he found the room he wanted.
He saw the violin first. Instinctively he lifted the instrument out of its case and cradled it in his arms. Chris had held this violin night after night as he’d watched and listened to his son making sweet music. More than anything he wanted to wait here and let the boy find him, tell him all the things he’d longed to say over the years.
The unmade bed stopped him in his tracks. This was where Christopher had been making love to another man. Was it also the place where he’d made love to George Millar? Edith’s words came back to him suddenly like knives. The horrors of the past few weeks that he’d pushed into the deepest recesses of his mind resurfaced with startling clarity.
He couldn’t do this, he simply couldn’t.
With a groan of despair he put the violin back in its open case. Feeling in his pocket, he took out the gift- wrapped present he’d brought. Maybe he could just leave it here? He tried to picture his son’s puzzled face as he opened the gift in the morning. Or would he keep it until Christmas day? Whatever, it would be a surprise he wasn’t expecting, that was certain.
Maurice’s fingers were on the handle of the door when he heard voices from the close below. He was trapped! They’d find him here and he’d have to explain why he had come. Sweat broke out on Maurice’s forehead as he envisaged the looks of incredulity and even pity on their faces. Hurriedly he pulled open the door of the bathroom next to the front door, praying that they would pass him by.
The voices grew louder and then the front door was opened and closed with a bang. Maurice stood stock still as footsteps passed him by only inches away. Surely they could hear the sound of his heart hammering?
At last the voices disappeared along the corridor and Maurice heard another door opening then music began to spill out from the far end of the flat. Holding his breath, Maurice slipped out from the bathroom and quietly turned the handle of the door. Mercifully there was no creak as he opened the door and crept outside, pulling it quietly behind him.
Saying a prayer to whatever spirit had been on his side, the Chorus Master felt his way down the steep stairs like an old man. Out in the street once more he sank back against the stone walls of the tenement, tears of shame pricking his eyelids.
Chapter Thirty-Two
‘For you,’ Simon said softly, his eyes shining, ‘I made it specially.’
Chris sat up in bed, pulling the duvet up around his waist. ‘That was nice of you,’ he remarked, his hands outstretched to receive the breakfast tray.
Simon shrugged. ‘It’s nearly Christmas after all, isn’t it? Goodwill to all men, even queers like us, eh?’ he laughed and turned away, leaving the man in the bed looking after him, a puzzled expression on his face. Simon had taken it so well last night, he thought. They’d had a great night together, just like old times. He’d never even mentioned Tina and Chris had offered no explanation. That could wait. He’d hardly had time to adjust his own emotions let alone talk to Simon about the previous day’s revelations. It was enough that they were still friends.
Chris spooned the porridge into his mouth. Great! Simon had made it just the way he liked it, big dollops of syrup sliding down the sides of the cereal bowl.
When the first spasm hit the back of his throat, Chris instinctively tried to balance the tray to stop it falling over the bed. His voice wheezed as the cry for help stuck in his gullet, the air refusing to flow through his trachea. With a crash the tray landed on the floor, the grey contents of the cereal bowl splattering in a sticky mess against the wall.
As Chris fought for breath he watched the lumps sliding downwards like slowly moving slugs leaving milky trails dripping on to the carpet.
The shock waves were making him dizzy now and he couldn’t focus. Where was Simon? Why wasn’t he here to help him?
Then from somewhere far away he heard a voice telling him terrible things. Things that weren’t true. His hands clutched at the Christmas card beside his bed, its glossy picture crushing beneath his fingers as the darkness rolled over him.
When her front door bell rang, Tina was certain it would be Chris.
‘Coming!’ she called. So what if she wasn’t even dressed yet? It would be her brother. It had to be. ‘My big brother!’ she said aloud, the very sound of the words like a caress.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said her voice registering sudden disappointment at the sight of the man standing on her doorstep. Then, seeing the expression on his face, her tone became anxious. ‘There’s nothing wrong, is there? Nothing’s happened to Chris?’
Tina stepped back as the man came into the house. He had not uttered a word but his eyes told her everything she needed to know. With a cry Tina stumbled against the edge of the banister as his hands caught her shoulders, pinning her against the staircase. Her scream was silenced as his fist slammed into her mouth then she
