Secrets

By Susan Heywood

John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.

Part 11 of 25 — Peter

The message light on the answering machine was blinking when we arrived home. I hit the PLAY button.

~ Hello, it’s Peter. Look, sorry I’ve not been in touch sooner, we’ve been on holiday in Florida and we’ve just found your letter on our return. We’re coming down tomorrow to visit Geena’s parents. I know its short notice but we need to talk. Give us a ring back as soon as possible. ~

I shivered, but keyed the number; Jane held me very tightly. “Peter, its Jenny. Thanks for calling.”

~ Hi. Well it’s come as a bit of a shock to find out that I seem to have a sister after all these years ~

“I can imagine it was a shock to you.”

~ Not that much of a shock ~

“Why?”

~ It was fairly obvious from an early age; you were a long way from being the average boy ~

“Oh.”

~ Listen, can we meet tomorrow? ~

“Are you sure? I’m Jenny fulltime now.”

~ Of course I’m sure ~

“And you still want to meet me? Aren’t you worried that I’ll embarrass you?”

~ I’ll send Geena in first to check you out ~

I heard the laughter in his voice. “Mummy seems to think I look alright.”

~ I won’t argue with Mum; I never could win ~

“I’ll have a girlfriend with me.”

We made the arrangements and said our goodbyes. I let out a sigh; now I’d know how my brother really felt about me.

Jane insisted on ordering a takeaway as I was exhausted both by the trip to London and the tension of talking to my brother. I didn’t argue.

We turned on the television to watch a film but I couldn’t concentrate so she turned it off and just found some quiet, soothing music. I was still quite tired after the previous week so she gently led me to bed, where she just held me until sleep eventually overcame the cares churning in my mind.

~ O ~

I couldn’t settle to anything on the Sunday morning. Jane offered to make me some breakfast but I wasn’t very hungry and couldn’t face more than a slice of toast and a cup of tea. I tried to read the newspaper but the words kept getting jumbled up. Jane was, unusually, very quiet, knowing that I was going through agonies at the prospect of meeting my brother.

“I don’t want to cause a scene so if he doesn’t like what he sees, he can just leave, can’t he?” I asked for what must have seemed like the tenth time.

She eventually ran out of patience. “Look, try to answer me two questions. Firstly, how on earth is he going to recognise you?”

“Oh, have I changed that much?” I asked, timidly.

“How long since you’ve seen him?”

“A couple of years.”

“I doubt that your own mother recognised you at first, did she? And you’d seen her the previous month.”

“She was uncertain.”

“Secondly, if he doesn’t like what he sees, what then? To be blunt, that’s just another one off your Christmas card list. It’s not the end of the world.”

“I’m rapidly running out of family and I don’t really want to lose any more. It’s bad enough that I’ve lost my father.”

“Listen to me! If Peter doesn’t like it, that’s his decision, not yours; his fault, not yours; his bigotry, not yours.”

“Oh, maybe you’re right,” I conceded.

“You know very well that I’m right. You haven’t gone through all this, just to wimp out over the possibility of losing contact with a brother that you don’t see from one year’s end to the next.”

I agonised over what to wear; dress, skirt or trousers; heels or flats; which jacket. I must have gone through my clothes half a dozen times. Eventually Jane went to the wardrobe and took out a green floral sundress, a linen jacket and a pair of pale cream sandals.

“Put them on and don’t argue.”

I meekly obeyed and she sighed with relief.

~ O ~

The Harvester was a typical ‘food and drink’ pub, the like of which can be found the length and breadth of England; they were usually operated by the major breweries.

Once in the pub, we sat and ordered long fruit juices.

Just after midday Peter and Geena walked in and scanned the bar.

You’d have no trouble picking out Peter Smith in a crowd. He was the epitome of the hero of a romantic novel; tall, dark and very handsome and you could imagine, if my father had been as good-looking as Peter was, that my mother stood no chance of getting away, and probably wouldn’t have wanted to do so anyway. Peter’s sporting heritage was obvious as his face bore the marks of at least one encounter on the rugby fields of England.

The whole image, though, was softened by his ready smile, which was used to devastating effect in his business. One immediately felt that here was a man that you could trust. Not for the first time in my life was I thankful that Peter had been the one to take after my father, while I inherited my mother’s smaller build and softer features.

Geena Smith appeared to be the ideal foil to her husband. Petite and slim, with blond hair tumbling in waves past her shoulders, she clearly adored her gentle giant. Peter’s thick, hairy arm was draped around her slender shoulders and Geena’s right arm, looking as though it was designed that way, fitted neatly around his waist.

Although both were casually dressed in open-necked shirts, jeans and boots; they just oozed ‘style on legs’ and turned more than a few heads as they made their way into the bar. They’d just about given up, assuming that they were first there, when I stood, waved and softly called, “Peter, Geena, over here.” They glanced over and their jaws noticeably dropped.

“Wow,” Peter said when they had ordered soft drinks and we’d found a table, “you certainly surprised me, I thought I’d spot you straight away; I thought you’d look…”

“Different?” I offered quietly, now noticeably more relaxed. I pushed my hair over my ears, exposing the gold hoop earrings that I was wearing.

“Well…yes, but you look really good,” Peter said, looking rather relieved.

“Yes, she certainly does,” Jane put in.

“Sorry, where are my manners?” I said, “Peter, Geena, this is Jane Dyson, who has changed my life. Jane, my brother Peter Smith and his wife, Geena Smith.”

They all smiled “Hello” and shook hands.

We ordered our meals and chatted about me. I then listened as Peter and Geena recounted the highlights of their recent holiday. They were both looking tanned and well and had clearly enjoyed the break.

When the subject eventually returned to me, Geena asked, “What’s happening with work?”

“I’m due to return to work on Thursday,” I answered. “I suppose it will all hit the fan then.”

“Well,” Geena laughed, “The men in your office will probably be impressed when you turn up, and disappointed when they find out that you’re already spoken for.”

“And that I’m not interested anyway,” I said, smiling at Jane.

“What?” asked Peter, frowning.

“Later,” whispered Geena, nudging him in the ribs with her elbow.

“Where are Ros and Geoff?” I asked about my niece and nephew.

“With their Nan and Grandpa.”

“That was a good idea.”

“As I said”, Peter continued, “this didn’t come entirely as a surprise. I knew when we were children that you were different. What do our parents think?”

“Mummy visited me last week for a few days; things started off a bit cool between us but, after the first day, we had a great time. Father won’t speak to me; he calls me a pervert and a gay male. A pervert, according to my dictionary, is someone who indulges in unnatural sexual acts. As I’ve never had a sexual relationship I can’t see how I can possibly be a pervert. And I’ve tried to tell him numerous times over the years that I’m not interested in a relationship with a man but, as usual, he knows he’s right and no amount of argument or evidence will budge him. He also thinks that I should be interested in sport, drinking in pubs and girls. I am interested in girls, well, one in particular,” I glanced lovingly at Jane, “and I seem to have developed an interest in one particular two-person activity, although I don’t think it’ll be an Olympic sport anytime soon.”

Geena sniggered as she understood the reference to ‘tonsil hockey’.

“I’m still definitely not interested in going out with the lads, I never have been,” I told them.

“Yes,” Peter added, “Dad has some old-fashioned ideas.”

“Old-fashioned? He’s virtually prehistoric!” I spluttered and then laughed. At Peter’s prompting I related the happenings of the past week.

He said, “Well, I can’t see a problem with Mum, but Dad is a horse of a different flavour.”

We all laughed at his deliberately mixed metaphor.

He continued. “I’ll have a word with him but I don’t hold out much hope — he always had his own ideas and was impossible to budge. That’s one of the reasons I joined the RAF. I didn’t want to join the Navy anyway and that, taken with him telling me ‘how things should be done’, meant that I’d always be living in his shadow.”

“But you were always the blue-eyed boy wonder, the sporting hero, and when you married Geena, and Ros and Geoff came along, he must have thought that most of his dreams had come true.”

“He was a right royal pain in the backside,” Peter responded. “Geena took an instant dislike to him when she first met him and almost dumped me; I’m really glad that she didn’t, though.”

Geena smiled encouragingly at him and he gave her shoulder a squeeze.

He continued. “Anyway, Dad was never satisfied. When I made the rugby team, he wanted to know when I’d be captain and, if not, why not. At our wedding reception, it was “When are you going to start a family then?” I tell you, you don’t need that on your wedding day.”

After a few moments thought, I said, “It always seemed that life for you was a bed of roses, it shows how wrong I was. I’m so sorry, Peter, I was so jealous of you. And when you were pregnant, and gave birth to the twins, I was jealous of you, Geena.”

“Me?” she gasped; then, having thought about it, she chuckled. “Yes, I suppose I can understand that now.”

Peter took a long pull of his drink, and then said, “Well, anyway, I’m glad that my sister has finally got her act together. At one time I was afraid I was going to be an only child for most of my life.”

“What?” Geena gasped again.

“It’s true,” I said, candidly, “I was close to suicide a number of times. Fortunately, I never could pluck up the courage to do anything about it, and now I’ve met Jane, I’m well over that.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Jane said, as her arm again tightened around me.

“I’m not sure about getting used to having a kid sister but no doubt I’ll survive,” Peter joked, and then looked pointedly at me. “But it’s all dependent upon you taking auntie duties seriously. Any slacking and I’ll really start playing the big brother.”

“Ooh, Err,” I said, adopting a scared look, but laughing, “I’ll be good, I promise.”

“We’ll make sure of it. Anyway, I suppose we’d better go and rescue Ros and Geoff from their doting grandparents who, no doubt, are worn out by now. I know that the twins are not yet five years of age but they do seem to have amazing reserves of energy.”

Geena put in, “They’re at that age where they go at life full tilt and life just sits there, scratches its head, and wonders where the tornado came from.”

We all laughed.

“Anyway,” Peter said, “It’s been great meeting you both and I really do mean that.”

“Absolutely,” enthused Geena, “You’ll have to come up to Leamington and we can indulge in some retail therapy.”

Peter just rolled his eyes and gave his wife a withering look, which she ignored.

We finished our drinks and snacks in amiable conversation, then we all hugged and kissed goodbye.

They waved off my thanks as they headed for their car.

Jane held my hand as we made our way back to the Lexus. She said, “Well, you now have a mother, a brother and a cousin Shirley. Maybe your father will come around in time.”

“I’m not going to hold my breath on that one.”

The mood on the return journey was certainly lighter than that which had prevailed earlier that day. I felt like celebrating, found a CD with Handel’s ‘Arrival of the Queen of Sheba and Other Hits’ and popped it into the player.

“Well, there’s a surprise,” Jane said, smiling.

“It’s my favourite celebration music.”

“I know.”

When we arrived home, she said that we should remove and clean the breast forms. One thing led to another and we spent the rest of the day, and much of the evening, in empirical research. Naturally this required us both to be more or less naked.

When we were both satiated, she smiled at me and said,

“To her girl, said a sharp-eyed detective,
“Could it be that my sight is defective?
It appears that your east tit has the best of your west tit, or is it a trick of perspective?””

I giggled and kissed her again.

Llandudno, North Wales

Tuesday evening saw Bill and Ellen sharing a meal in front of the television. They were watching a programme about the start of the industrial revolution and Bill actually found it quite interesting. It wasn’t exactly Ellen’s cup of tea but she was glad that she’d managed to wean him off sport for a while. Their programme was interrupted by the telephone, which Ellen answered. She visibly brightened when she heard Peter’s voice and went into the kitchen to take the call.

“Hello, Peter, how are you? How are the family?”

~ Fine thanks; we’ve just been to Florida. It was lovely and warm and Geena is delighted with her tan. The twins had great fun, and look equally healthy. And we met Jenny and her girlfriend on Sunday ~

Ellen, slightly shocked, sat down on one of the kitchen chairs. “How? Where?”

~ There was a letter waiting for us on our return. We met Jenny and Jane when we visited Geena’s parents on Sunday ~

“So what do you think?”

~ Jenny’s an absolute delight; there’s little trace of John at all; even the voice seems to fit. I understand that you both met up last week? ~

“Yes, that’s right. I received the letter the week before. I showed it to your father; we had words and I went down to stay for a few days.”

~ Gosh, Mum, that was brave of you. Didn’t you worry that…well, you know…. ~

“Jenny is my daughter and she needed support. I knew that she’d had problems all her life; I’d ignored them for years, but I wasn’t going to turn her away again. Anyway, after just a day with her, I realised how wrong I’d been about some things. I can’t explain it but your sister does that to you.”

~ Yes, I know what you mean. I had wondered if I was going to be an only child for most of my life but she now seems well over the suicidal stage. And Jane seems good for her; they obviously think the world of each other. Imagine: I’ve a sister and she’s a lesbian! ~

“Best not to tell your father about her sexuality, he hasn’t even come to terms with his daughter yet.”

~ The old bigot; I thought he might try and impose his narrow views on everyone else. Did he try to forbid you to see her? ~

“He tried, and wasn’t at all happy when I just headed off to the South of England. Anyway, I have a plan. If it works, he might have less reason to resist the idea of Jenny.”

~ Good for you, Mum, what is it? ~

“I’m not saying yet; let’s see how I get on when I’ve done some more research.”

~ Okay, please keep me informed ~

“Oh, I will. Now, do you want a word with your father?”

~ Alright then, I suppose I’d better ~

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” Ellen laughed, and then took the phone through to her husband. “Peter,” she said, hovering in the background.

Bill took the phone from her and said, brightly, “Hello lad, how are you all? Oh, just a minute, I’ll turn the telly down a bit.”

Well, that’s a first Peter just resisted the temptation to comment out loud but, instead, said,

~ We’re all fine. I thought I’d just catch up with you as we’ve been on holiday in Florida~

The usual chat ensued; Bill asked about Peter’s work; Peter asked what his father was doing and was surprised and delighted to learn about the Job Squad initiative. Apparently, his mates at the pub thought it was a very good idea. The landlord of the pub promised to get involved with advertising it and supporting it with stunts, collecting tins, sponsored darts nights, a sponsored snooker championship and so on. By the time several pints had been consumed by all parties, plans were well under way. The local aged peoples’ support group and the local Volunteer Council were in favour and, within a day or so, it had really taken off.

~ That sounds a great idea, Dad, who thought that one up? ~

“Your mother, of course!”

Peter laughed. He knew that his next remark was going to be controversial but decided that he needed to say it anyway.

~ Have you met your daughter yet? ~

“No I haven’t, and I don’t want to; I don’t think we should encourage this sort of behaviour, it’s not natural. I’m disgusted that John’s decided to be queer.”

~ I presume by queer, you mean a homosexual male. There’s nothing queer about Jenny; she’s not, and never has been, a homosexual male. She didn’t ‘decide’ to be like she is; that’s the way she was born. She’s a lovely girl; you’ve not met her, I have. ~

“When?” Bill asked, taken aback.

~ On Sunday ~

“How did that happen?”

~ We went down to see Geena’s parents, left the twins with them and met the girls in a pub ~

“The girls?”

~ Jenny and Jane, the friend who helped her through all this. Jenny is wonderful, even though I do say so myself. There’s nothing of John about her, except maybe the voice and even that sounds right, if you know what I mean. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that she’s very attractive: it’s not just because she’s my sister, there’s more to it than that. She just looks so right and so comfortable, like she’s always been there. I don’t know how she managed for as long as she did; no wonder she was bullied at school ~

“Hmm, I’m not sure about this; as I said, it’s not natural.”

~ Look Dad, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there isn’t some medical reason for this; blokes just don’t look that pretty if there isn’t, and I knew when she was little that she wasn’t boyish. You’re not that thick; you must have seen it too. You should really meet her, I’m sure you’d have to rethink your ideas. It’s surely better for her to live a fulfilled life as a good-looking woman, than to struggle through as a lonely, effeminate man. John had no friends, no possibility of making a relationship and every chance that some thug would eventually decide that he was ideal meat for killing ~

“That’s a bit strong, lad. Well, I reckon he’s a poof and just needs to pull his socks up, get some decent exercise and make the best of it; other people have to.”

~ I think she is making the best of it. John was never a man and, as I’ve said, even when she was acting as a man, she was never interested in other men, and she’s told me that she isn’t interested in men now. I think she’s done the right thing. Better that than suicide ~

“Suicide?”

~ Yes, John would have killed himself eventually; he had nothing to live for. Didn’t you know, Dad? Or were you just not interested? ~

That caught Bill on the hop for a moment. “Okay, I’ll think about it,” he promised as they said their goodbyes.

Ellen quietly put down the extension in the bedroom and said to herself, “Good for you, son, you certainly told him.” She thought even more that her little plan might work as Peter had planted the seed of an idea in Bill’s mind. She then went to the bathroom and later re-joined her husband.

“It seems that Peter has accepted John’s behaviour,” Bill commented, dryly.

“Well, at least he’s working from a position of knowledge.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well,” she replied, acidly, “You knew what she went through all her life, yet you’ve made a snap judgement without even talking to her, let alone meeting her face to face. When John came home from school, having been beaten senseless and even injured, all you had to say was “fight back” and “stand up for yourself.” It’s alright for you; I bet a big man like you never got picked on like he did.” Ellen was clearly angry.

“Well, if he’d fought back, he might have saved himself some of the beatings,” was all Bill could say.

“He wasn’t built for that, as you well know; he only had one eye and the bullies outweighed and outnumbered him. All he wanted to do was study but was he allowed to get on with it in peace? Not on your life! You were no help and neither were the teachers: half the time, it seemed that they might even have encouraged the bullying.”

“Oh, don’t talk rot!” Bill replied, exasperated.

“So why do you think he left school as soon as he could, and left home? Because he never got any support, either at home or at school, that’s why. I admit that I didn’t help him either, but you were his father; it was your duty to protect him and you failed. Remember the time when he was knocked out and left with broken ribs? It was a couple of months before he was fit enough to go back to school. And what did you do? Nothing. You just told him to stand up for himself. You didn’t even talk to Simon Bennick’s parents. I rang the school and told them that he was injured, and how, and they just couldn’t care less. “When will he be back?” and “It didn’t happen on school premises so it’s not our problem.” Oh, and “John’s always asking for trouble. He should stop getting into fights and concentrate on his work.” You’d think that they were talking about a different child half the time. I ask you, what kind of a life did the poor kid have?”

“I never knew that he suffered so much,” Bill said, with a hint of guilt.

“You knew alright but you chose to ignore it. Just because you boxed for the Navy, you think that everyone else should do so. Well I’ve got news for you, Bill Smith: Jenny is a pretty, caring, considerate, helpful woman; a brilliant cook, a wonderful daughter and a terrific friend, and I’m really amazed that she seems to have come out of her childhood relatively unscathed. If her character could be bottled, we could make our fortune. But she is very special and I for one love her to bits.”

With that Ellen walked briskly out into the kitchen and slammed the door behind her.

Bill had never heard his wife take that tone before; it was a quieter man who went into the kitchen for their night-time drinks and, sitting opposite Ellen at the little table, took her hand in his.

“Look, love,” he said, resignedly, “I’ve travelled the world and seen some of the worst excesses that man can do to man. I’m not going to be around for ever and the boys need to be able to look after themselves. It’s easy in the navy; someone tells you to do something and you do it; you don’t have to think about it. It’s all black and white; grey complicates things and you don’t need that when you’re fighting a war. The faggots on my ships inevitably drifted into jobs as stewards and cooks. They were ignored and ridiculed at best and beaten up at worst. I despaired of John ending up like that and now he has. God knows what he’ll make of himself now, I reckon I’ve done my best but he just doesn’t want to know.”

Ellen was getting very tired of Bill’s generalisations. “You really haven’t a clue, have you?” she said, with some force. “Life isn’t black and white and neither is humanity, there are all shades in between. Look, John was born with bad eyesight; you accepted that as a birth defect. He could just as easily have been born deaf or mentally ill. Or perhaps you’d rather he’d been born dead; that way you could boast that you almost had another son. The point is that he wasn’t what you would call, in your black and white world, normal. He was also born with something else; it wasn’t a lifestyle choice, as you seem to think. I can’t imagine anyone choosing to be that different. God knows that I was aware of a problem from early childhood.”

“Well,” Bill admitted, “That’s a bit far-fetched. I can’t imagine a child deciding to be queer at that early an age.”

“WHEN WILL YOU STOP CALLING HIM QUEER?” She shouted and then softened her voice a little. “He wasn’t homosexual, he was just different, not like other children,” Ellen said, still rather exasperated. “He never had any kind of relationship; girls just didn’t want to know him and boys either ignored him or beat him up.”

“I just wanted him to be able to look after himself,” Bill explained, weakly. Ellen threw up her hands in disgust, at which point Bill said, “I’m still sure that I know my own son better than that and my instinct tells me that what he’s doing is not only abnormal but likely to get him into serious trouble when it gets out. I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets beaten up or even killed. It’ll be worse than anything he experienced at school.”

“You never knew your son. And I suppose being killed by bigots beats taking your own life when you’ve been beaten senseless, and the school and your father won’t protect you,” Ellen responded, exasperated. “Well, I for one am amazed that Jenny’s still alive.”

“It can’t be normal, even the Bible says so,” Bill tried to justify his opinion.

“The Bible?” Ellen’s disgust was plain. “When did you last read a Bible? Show me where it says anything about someone like Jenny! Who do you think decided to lumber John with bad eyesight and a dodgy body? I suppose you think that God had a bad day and dumped on us!” Ellen was fast running out of patience.

“Hmm, well, I don’t like the way you keep trying to defend him.”

“Defend him? What do you know about defending him? I’ve had enough of this,” she said, finally having lost patience with him, “I’m going to bed.” She left Bill to his musing and, no doubt, his sport.

It was a very quiet man who eventually climbed the stairs. Ellen appeared to be asleep and he thought that he might be in serious trouble if he said anything. He knew the rules. A woman always has the last word in an argument; anything her husband says afterwards is the start of a new argument. So he just settled down to sleep.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

End of part 11