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- Well, indeed a dashing young man. Very fancy. - Bernie's mum verdicts finally, when the dashing young man (very fancy) cannot hear them, gone the bathroom after the lunch.
He knows both of this parents are quite surprised to find out that Elton is, in truth, a man, and not some girl whom Bernie keeps secretly visiting in the city. He came back from that first meeting so flushed and excited they never stopped suspecting him of lying, even though he played them Elton's tapes dozens times over.
- A man? - his father's brow shots up. He's not an unkind man, Mr. Taupin, but his idea of a man is definitely not even close description of Elton. - A boy, you wanted to say.
- Dad, he's older than me, you know. - Bernie notices, finishing his glass of juice, but dad just scoffs at this.
- So? He's a boy. Gentle little pup.
- Shush, now, Robert. He's our guest, be nice to him.
- Hey, I'm not saying I'm not gonna be nice, nothing against the kid. I'm saying those fellows in the city are as good as girls.
- Oh, be gone with you and your talking. Something wrong with being a girl, now?
Bernie tries to hide a smile in the empty glass, seeing his old man raising up his hands in surrender. He's pretty confident Elton will win them over - mom quicker to appreciate thankyous and respectful chit-
chats about weather and home decor, of course, but it's not like his dad could really dislike the gentle little pup either. After all he somehow manages to swallow the fact at least one of his sons is, oh heavens, a poet; sometimes pretending it's a dust in his eye and nothing more when he hears his lyrics made into songs.
****
Bernie has to bite his lower lip not to laugh, seeing his mother storming at Elton with a small towel in her hands. He knows just how his friend hates when someone touches his hair, but he doesn't dare to protest nor to stop tiny, determined lady from drying his head quite energetically. Besides they are both immobilized now, sitting on the kitchen stools, their feet forced into basins filled with hot water.
- Can't let you catch your death here, boy. You're getting dry and then you're having tea, and then you go straight to bed, and Lord have mercy on your souls if you don't wear socks to it. - she says strictly, clearly tugging at the precious hair with not much respect. Whenever she lifts the towel enough for Elton's face to re-surface, it's filled with shock and horror. - Whose idea was that to wander around in such a weather?
There wasn't even a cloud in the sky when they went out this morning. It was easy to waste the whole day away just walking around with Elton. Were Bernie to make this trip himself, he'd probably get bored way quicker but with Elton? Nothing could be boring with him, wide-eyed, amazed by every single cow, frog, tree, flower and pretty much all everyday things around. They discussed music, of course. They talked about how school was like for them. They gushed over western movie stars. They talked and they walked, and their throats and legs were sore by the point it started to rain. They ran as fast as they could, breathless, laughing, slipping in the mud, covering their heads with completely useless, quickly soaked shirts; running into the house in sync, with arms wrapped around the other one's shoulders. It was pure bliss now, seeing Elton so profoundly confused by implacable care of House Taupin: almost got smacked in the ear when he tried to convince mum he doesn't need any assistance saving his clearly endangered life.
- Stop shaking over him so much. - mutters his father from across the kitchen. - When it rains, it rains. It just a little water, not going to kill him.
- Yeah, not risking it, love. - she replies with all her mighty maternal power. - He's our guest, I'm not sending him back in a box.
There's a flash of smile under the towel.
****
He looks like a peacock among hen and he doesn't seem too comfortable with this.
It's not even his clothes - he obviously tried to tone it down a notch, even though he doesn't seem to own much things in his wardrobe that are not bright and way too posh for places like this.
It's definitely not about his behaviour - with his back slightly slumped and his stare usually on the ground or, with some hints of nervousness, on Bernie's face, he doesn't look a bit intimidating.
But there's this general softness in him that doesn't go well with the rest of this crowd: rough, calloused, harsher kind of people. No one here has hands like his, not even the women. Bernie didn't pay any
attention to this in the city, but here, in the small pub out in the country, Elton is the brightest point in the room and seems to dislike the sensation very much.
- Don't worry, they won't eat you alive. - he says quietly, smiling into his bottle of beer. - Besides, there's the piano here. Old Jack usually plays that when he's good into his drink, but let's just say this place could use a little refreshement. Happen to know any shit hot piano players with an amazing voice who could help?
Elton is almost convincing when he pretends to be thinking very hard on the subject.
- Well I could think about one name or two. - he finally admits. - But what if Old Jack wants to fight them over his piano?
- Then - Bernie shrugs, already seeing his friends' palms relaxing, getting ready - it's Saturday night. It's seems almost perfect for fighting, doesn't it?
****
They are sitting on the steps to the house; setting sun soaking grass with gold, bringing out the brightest green. Time can run so slow here and Bernie loves it now, when they don't have anywhere to go,
nothing to do, and can just bask in what is left of the day's light - lazy, drunk on fresh air and laughter, not a single worry in sight, only swallows screaming over their heads.
Even Elton looks relaxed now. It took him a couple of days, sure, but just look at him now: splayed on the stairs, tension in his muscles gone, smile on his face while he bites into an apple, juice running through his fingers, and he doesn't even care.
- God, that's so good. - he mutters, closing his eyes for a while. - They don't sell them so good in the city.
Bernie smiles a little, trying to block the thought of Sheila that one time some weeks ago, when they were having a tea at Elton's house - Please stop eating like a pig, Reggie. - It's ELTON, mum. - colour raised high on his cheeks, fingers brushing crumbs from the corner of his mouth. The cake was good, but tasted like ashes in Bernie's mouth since that moment.
But now there's no Sheila around and no one can ruin this, and if Bernie could ever stop the time it would be now.
- Is it just me, or did you tan a little? - he asks lazily, poking Elton's arm with his finger. - I didn't know you're capable of this.
- Oh, honey, I'm capable of so much more. - Elton teases, grinning.
But Bernie already knows that.