The Boy I Love (47 page)

‘It’s OK, Giles, it’s only me, Jeremy. Are you all right? You look as if you want to run away,’ he whispered.

Giles looked up and saw Jeremy smiling at him and he let out a huge sigh of relief.

‘Oh my God, am I glad to see you. I just can’t do this on my own. Thank you for being here. Did you come down by train? How are you going to get back?’ he fretted.

‘Don’t worry about that now. Let’s just get through this and then we can go and have a drink somewhere,’ replied Jeremy.

In fact, Jeremy was on cloud nine as he was going to meet Eddie this afternoon at some flat in St John’s Wood. When Eddie had rung and suggested they meet this Sunday it was ideal, as
Jeremy already knew about Robert’s cremation from George Delaware, who had called him.

‘I am sorry to say we are not going to be able to come to the cremation as Dale and I are away that weekend, abroad. I do so hope you will go, Jeremy, and say a prayer for Robert on our
behalf.’ It was more a command than a request.

‘Yes, of course, I will go,’ he promised.

When Jeremy saw Giles sitting all alone, and looking so forlorn he was glad he was there.

After the service, the two men made a hasty retreat, found a pub and sank a couple of vodkas each.

‘Poor Robert,’ muttered Giles. ‘He has died in vain so far. No one seems to want to address this terrible problem of HIV, do they?’ He took Jeremy’s hand.
‘And yet his death has destroyed so many lives around him. Yours and mine, to name but two. Are you coping OK, dear boy?’

Jeremy thought it best to keep his visit to Eddie to himself, but it was difficult not to share his joy because he had been unhappy for so many weeks.

‘I am surviving, Giles, but it is very hard. What about you?’ he asked.

Giles stared into his vodka then threw it back and ordered another. ‘I am bereft, dear boy. Rock bottom. I just don’t know how I am going to pull it all together after
Christmas.’

‘But we have
Hamlet
to look forward to. Please remember, Giles, how important this production is going to be. It is everything you have worked for and it is going to be fantastic.
Please, Giles, you have to make it work for the likes of me. I am relying on you to make me a star!’

‘You are right, of course, my boy. I will do my best. With your help, I hope?’ He looked into Jeremy’s face for confirmation. Suddenly Jeremy thought of Sally, how they always
talked about their work, and how it should always come first, and he suddenly did feel stronger and more positive.

‘Bloody right you will succeed, Giles. Failure is
not
an option. Broken hearts are one thing, but broken dreams are not allowed. We will overcome!’

Jeremy left Giles having one for the road, and boring some poor barman with his version of
Hamlet
, and made his way to the address he had been given in St John’s
Wood. He arrived outside a rather impressive block of flats which must have been built sometime in the 1930s. He took the lift to the fourth floor and, catching sight of himself in the glass
panelling, became aware of just how nervous and excited he was, as he had pink cheeks! He paused at the front door and took a few deep breaths before finally ringing the bell. He then stared
straight ahead of him, not moving a muscle, until the door was flung open and Eddie was there before him, alive.

‘J, I can’t believe it is you at last!’ Eddie pulled Jeremy through the door and they closed it with their bodies as they leaned against it to embrace. They kissed long and
deep, and when they finally broke away both men were flushed and breathless.

Eddie led Jeremy into a beautiful 1930s-style living room full of period furniture and antiques.

‘Wow, this is fantastic. Who does it belong to?’ Jeremy wandered around examining everything and picked up a photo in an Art Deco frame. ‘Oh, I see,’ he said softly.
‘It belongs to your father, doesn’t it?’ He turned to face Eddie. ‘Does that mean he has forgiven you your heinous crimes?’ The sarcasm was not lost on his lover.

‘I am so sorry about everything, Jeremy. Please let me explain things properly. That’s why we are meeting, isn’t it?’ He turned away, and had a coughing fit. It was a
horrible sound and Jeremy suddenly felt frightened.

Eddie went on breathlessly, ‘Please, sit down. Would you like a drink or coffee or something?’

‘A glass of white wine would be good, thank you,’ said Jeremy and he sat down on the edge of one of the perfectly upholstered sofas as though he was waiting to be called into the
doctor’s surgery.

Eddie brought him the glass of wine and put the bottle in a silver wine-cooler on the side.

‘One glass is never enough,’ he smiled. He coughed again and it racked his body. Jeremy noticed for the first time that his friend had lost weight.

‘Are you ill?’ he said curtly, trying to hide his terror at what Eddie was about to tell him.

‘Gosh, J, you sound like a headmaster,’ Eddie laughed.

‘I am sorry, Eddie, but this is agony. You obviously have something to tell me and I am guessing it is not good news, because apart from anything else you look bloody awful. And sorry, I
didn’t mean . . .’ Jeremy could go no further; he could not stop the tears from flowing.

Eddie came and sat beside him and held him. ‘Don’t, Jeremy, please. Don’t make this any harder than it is. I love you so much, it just does not seem right that we cannot be
together, but the truth is, my dearest love, I am dying and—’

‘
Nooo
, don’t say that!’ wailed Jeremy. ‘You can’t die, Eddie! Please don’t say that!’

‘Listen to me, J, please. This is very important to me and to you. There is nothing we can do. My father will not let me see you again after this. My mother actually arranged this for me.
She hates the whole mess but she understands how much I love you and that I need to say goodbye.’ Jeremy tried to speak but Eddie stopped him. ‘No, please, you must let me finish. I
have presented with the first symptoms and now who knows? It could be months or years before the next phase. But the prognosis is not good. I don’t want you to spend the next years of your
life worrying about when I am going to pop my clogs. You have a fantastic career in front of you, Jeremy, and if you love me you will make sure you do everything in your power to embrace your
success. I will hear all about it, believe me. I will be following you all the time. My father will never let us be together and we will never be reconciled. His hypocrisy is beyond belief. The
pain he has caused my mother all these years, and now he castigates me! However, it is something we aristocrats have to do . . . stick together. So they will all gather round me and that will be
that. It is shit, there is no other word for it. A wasted life, but
please
, Jeremy – promise me you will not waste yours.’

Jeremy sat there on the sofa in his lover’s arms and just wanted to die, right there. If there had been a poisoned chalice he would have drunk deep and died happy.

‘Do you promise me then?’ Eddie’s voice hung in the air.

Jeremy shuddered and gathered himself up off the sofa. There was nothing more to say; he was exhausted. He stumbled against a chair and reached out to Eddie, who took his arm and steadied
him.

‘You will write to me or phone me sometimes?’ asked Jeremy, clutching his stomach as if it were going to drop on the floor. He was just full up with pain and hurt, and wanted to
scream his agony to the world.

Eddie held him tight and steered him to the front door. ‘I will always love you, Jeremy. You showed me what real love is, and for that I thank you. Please be strong for me, and remember
wherever you are I will be watching you.’

They kissed one last time – a gentle, tender kiss – and Jeremy drew strength from his lover and was able to ride the lift down to the ground floor with dignity. He went out into the
freezing December evening grateful for the darkness to hide his tears. So many tears and so much pain. Jeremy walked all the way to Euston, by which time it was nine in the evening. He was too cold
to care, but once on the last train back to Crewe he started to unthaw and as he grew warmer, his heart grew colder.
Life’s a bitch and then you die!
Except the wrong people seem to
die, always the wrong people.

He would work hard for Eddie; he would make him proud, and show his fucking father what his son loved about him. He hoped Lord Graham suffered for the rest of his life the guilt of destroying
his only son’s chance of happiness. Please let Eddie live a long life, prove them all wrong. He was a shining star, he couldn’t die!

Christmas Eve was finally here! Sally woke early with just the same sense of excitement she had had as a child. She was all packed and ready to go. Her parents would be
arriving during the day and then they would watch the last show before driving their daughters home for the holiday. Christmas morning in her own bed! It was almost too much to bear, thought Sally
happily. The week had flown by, and everyone at the theatre had been in a constant state of goodwill. Presents appeared on dressing tables and the boys bought everyone a chocolate Father Christmas.
Sally had organized the girls’ presents to the crew and front-of-house staff. She had found a stall in the market which sold homemade soap. So everyone got a little bar of soap in the shape
of Santa Claus and a sack of gold money. Chocolate, of course.

Dora had had an early Christmas present in the form of an offer from Nottingham Playhouse for their next season.

‘The job that should have been mine,’ remarked Sally to Janie as they were ironing costumes.

‘Do I detect a hint of the green-eyed monster?’ teased Janie.

‘No, not really. It’s just I wish she showed a bit more gratitude. Let’s be honest, she did lie to the director of Nottingham Playhouse at that repertory conference and lead
him to believe he was talking to me! She seems to be blissfully unaware of just how bloody lucky she is. Even the powers that be at
Coronation Street
are willing to wait for her to get her
Equity ticket and then give her a job.’

Sally suddenly realized how curmudgeonly she sounded and stopped herself, saying contritely, ‘Oh, I am sorry, Janie. I must sound like a right old miserable twisted sister. But each time I
give Dora the benefit of the doubt, she goes and does something else. She pinched that business card of the agent Peter Stone that I had left on the kitchen table a while back and rang him and made
an appointment to see him. I know she is perfectly entitled to do so, but it is so insensitive of her. She could have asked me first if I minded.’

‘And do you mind?’ ventured Janie.

‘Do you know what? Yes, actually, I do . . .’ Sally was pleased for Dora, of course, but she could not deny a touch of envy. Her younger sister’s life seemed to just progress
with such ease. Everything always falling into place.

‘I suppose the thing that galls me is that she just takes it all for granted.’

‘Oh, come on, Sal. Everyone hits a bad patch eventually and it is how you deal with the knocks that counts.’

‘I don’t wish her any bad patches,’ sighed Sally. ‘Just wish she was a bit more grateful. I am sick to death of being the second-class citizen – the sad sister who
is always one step behind. I seem to be getting nowhere fast.’ Sally was very close to tears and Janie knew it.

‘Hang on a minute, girl. You have gone from ASM to leads in three months. Not bad going, is it, eh? I am thrilled you will be playing Sandy in
The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie
–
and has not Miss Sarah Kelly hinted that you could be leading the ensemble in
The Boyfriend?
’

Sarah had, indeed, told Sally that she and Giles thought she was the best person for the role of Polly Browne in
The Boyfriend
, the last production of the season. Sally had been thrilled
to bits at the time, so why was she feeling so down now?

‘Listen, we are all tired and emotional. A day off and some Christmas pud and you will be feeling as right as rain,’ advised the ever-optimistic Janie.

On the quiet, Sally was also very worried about Jeremy. He had told her about his trip to London and she had had to admit it was very hard on him.

‘You poor thing, it does seem as though the rich close ranks under fire, doesn’t it?’ she had consoled him. ‘All I can say is that time
will
heal. You will survive
– and you
must
survive because you have an incredible career ahead of you. A new agent, a role in the West End – what more did you ever dream of? I wish I was so lucky.’
Sally couldn’t resist her small moment of self-pity.

‘Oh, Sally, don’t say that. You are doing fine. You have made the right decision to stay at Crewe and play proper parts instead of understudying. It would have driven you mad, and
you would have had to put up with Rupert.’

‘I suppose you are right,’ she replied a little sadly. ‘I wonder who will play Ophelia this time?’

‘Forget it! Whoever it is will be a one-hit wonder and forgotten about by the time you are accepting your first Emmy. Now come on, let’s clear up the Green Room because, let’s
face it, no one else will.’