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The street was quiet as he approached the Ellis residence. The house was small and unassuming, a traditional terraced brick house separated from the sidewalk by a tuft of hedging. It was an idyllic house on an idyllic street, so different from what Thomas had known as a child, and though he had visited before he still marvelled that the Ellises had welcomed him into their home and their lives.
Yet the peaceful beauty of the house was a façade, and Thomas' heart twisted as he thought of the reason he was visiting now. A few days ago Richard's mum had passed away from cancer, and Thomas had come to pay his respects at her funeral. He hadn't known her very long but she had always been kind to him, far kinder than his own mum had been to him, and it was so dreadfully unfair that such a strong and caring woman had been stolen from her close-knit and loving family.
Richard was home already, of course. It had been weeks since they had last met and he hated that now they would be meeting under sorrowful circumstances. It was selfish, Thomas knew, to be upset that Richard would be preoccupied with his family and with personal grief - but all the same Thomas was upset, and his hand was heavy as he knocked on the red door of the Ellis house.
Richard's older sister Beth welcomed him in. The inside of the house was filled with a smothering silence, such that raising his voice beyond a whisper felt as offencive as cursing in church, and the coffee table was brimming with bouquets and cards. Beth, her eyes swollen and bloodshot, hugged him tightly and he embraced her as well. It was all he could do for her.
Richard's father shuffled into the room. He moved slowly as if in a dream and stopped to stare blankly at the colourful flowers. Beth sniffled and pulled away from Thomas, who stayed still and tried to make himself as unobtrusive as possible. He had nothing to offer them aside from empty words and his own small grief.
"Dad, Thomas is here," Beth said softly.
Mr. Ellis blinked at her then at Thomas, and a spark of warmth briefly lit up his gaze before vanishing again. "Hello, Thomas. So good of you to come." The words were polite but stilted, as if he had read them off a cue card and didn't understand their meaning.
Thomas inclined his head. "I was sorry to hear the news. She was a wonderful person." Stiff with discomfort, his own words dropped clumsily from his lips. Both he and Mr. Ellis stared at each other, actors waiting for their next lines in a horrible play. Beth cleared her throat.
"Dad, why don't you come on a walk with me and the children? It would be nice to get out of the house."
Mr. Ellis hummed. "There's so much to do." His watery gaze drifted back to the cards and flowers. "So much to do…"
Beth's lip trembled and Thomas looked away, sparing the older man a witness to his grief, but Beth pushed on. "You need some fresh air, and we can let Dickie and Thomas catch up."
It would be a relief to be alone with Richard, to not have to continue to play out this awkward drama. Selfish , Thomas chided himself. Stop being selfish .
Mr. Ellis seemed to come back to himself, and nodded. "Yes, of course. Fresh air would be nice."
"Richard's in the study," Beth murmured as she led her father to find his shoes, leaving Thomas alone with the oppressive perfume of too many flowers.
He knocked softly on the study door, not wanting to startle Richard, and listened for Richard's summons. It felt rather like waiting for His Lordship's permission to enter.
"Come in." Richard sounded weary even through the door. Thomas opened the door a tiny bit and crept into the room. Even now the pall of silence that permeated the house made him wary of making noise. Richard, sitting at a large wooden desk perusing some papers, looked up when he entered. Relief and tired joy flew across his face. Thomas embraced him, squeezing Richard close, and Richard buried his face against Thomas' shoulder.
"How are you doing?" Thomas asked. He rubbed Richard's back between the shoulder blades.
"Better now you're here."
With a sigh they parted, and Thomas pulled a chair over so he could sit beside Richard, their knees touching as they leaned toward each other.
Richard scrubbed his face with his hands. "Funeral planning's a bear. Dad's in no state to do it and Beth's got the children to look after, so… we had to pick out a dress for her to be buried in. I still can't believe it, that we're burying her. She's always been here. She's the first person I told when I realised I liked men, the first person who told me I could still have everything I wanted from life…" Richard sniffled, and Thomas reached over to take his hand. Richard swiped away a tear. "She was just… she was my mum, you know?"
Thomas didn't know, not really. His own mother had been distant, so obsessed with sickness and cleanliness that she'd hardly registered her children most days. Unable to wrest her attention by any virtues of his own, Thomas had often pretended to be ill - and a few times had made himself ill - just to feel the pleasure of her soft reassurances and her hand on his forehead. Richard's grief called up the bitter taste of jealousy, and a part of him wanted to snap that Richard ought to be grateful that he'd experienced such love at all. Even as the harsh impulse arose Thomas bit his tongue. His own pain didn't erase Richard's, and if he didn't have anything helpful to say then he ought not to say anything at all.
Instead he leaned closer to Richard and kissed his temple, and Richard broke. He spilled forward off his chair and onto Thomas, and Thomas half-cradled Richard in his lap as he wept, fists clutched in Thomas' jacket. Thomas could feel Richard's tears dampening his shirt, and Thomas' own eyes prickled with building tears. He tried to blink them away - this wasn't about him - but Richard was shuddering and sobbing in his arms, and Thomas had known her too, if not as well as her family had.
He didn't try to shush Richard. It was better to let the tears flow, and Richard deserved to let out his sorrow without shame. Eventually Richard's sobs quieted, though Thomas didn't let go until he felt Richard pulling away.
"Sorry," Richard muttered. "Your shirt…" He dug around in his pockets, looking for his handkerchief, but before he could dry his face Thomas cupped Richard's chin in his hand, his own handkerchief at the ready. He wiped Richard's face gently, careful not to poke Richard in the eye. Richard had taken care of him so often, and it felt nice to give something back, even if it was just a small gesture.
Richard sniffled. "Thank you."
Thomas shrugged and and occupied himself with folding his handkerchief so that the wet parts were hidden. "I've needed a shoulder to cry on often enough meself."
"That doesn't mean I'm not grateful," Richard said. He smiled tremulously. "I'm so glad you're here. She would be too. She adored you, she told me so all the time."
Thomas' throat was thick with emotion. "Now you're going to make me cry," he said as he elbowed Richard, trying to lighten the mood. "Can you take a break from planning? Beth and your dad went out for a walk. Do you want to go out too?"
Richard glanced at the papers on the desk and frowned. "Actually, I'm rather hungry."
It was settled, then. They went to the kitchen to scavenge for food, which wasn't difficult since the countertops were piled with dishes brought by sympathetic neighbors. Casseroles and puddings and all manner of pastries vied for space on the dinner table, a veritable plethora as if the Ellises were preparing to host a grand ball.
"We couldn't eat all this in a month," Richard said as they picked through the piles of food.
Thomas ripped into a buttery roll. "Speak for yourself."
Footsteps and childish shrieks sounded from the front hall, and moments later Beth's children, Florence and Millie, ran into the kitchen.
"Mr. Barrow!" Florence yelled as she threw his arms around his waist. Millie, older and sullen, slunk over to poke at some casserole near Richard, though she did smile shyly at Thomas as she passed.
"Careful, Flor, you'll make Mr. Barrow drop his food!" Beth called as she entered the kitchen after her children. Mr. Ellis trailed behind her, looking much brighter than when Thomas had first arrived.
After lunch the day only got busier. Beth was organising the guest seating and refused to let Thomas help despite his many years of party planning experience, while Richard sorted the finances for the funeral. Beth had secretly instructed Florence and Millie to keep their grandfather in good spirits, so even the children were too busy to provide a distraction. Thomas, with nothing better to do aside from badgering Richard, set to work keeping up a steady stream of hot tea and warmed food, and greeting neighbors who popped in to see how the Ellises were faring (and, Thomas suspected, to try to suss out who he was). As evening fell, Beth's husband Walter finally arrived and joined Thomas in gathering and washing the dirty dishes.
The Ellises were warm and loving, even in the throes of grief. They hugged each other and held hands and shared food, and Thomas, by far the newest member of the family and not a blood relative, observed their closeness with awe and a pinprick of jealousy as he quietly cleared dishes while trying to stay out of everyone's way. As evening fell Beth and Walt set up their girls in the guest room then headed off to bed in Beth's old room. During previous visits Thomas and Richard had shared the bed in Richard's old room, and Thomas assumed they would do so again tonight. Mr. Ellis was the only person without a companion as the family dispersed to their respective bedrooms. Thomas couldn't imagine how that felt: to get to sleep beside someone for decades, to become accustomed to their ways and warmth, only to find yourself sleeping alone once again. Mr. Ellis looked terribly small and lonely as he went into his bedroom, and as Richard climbed into bed Thomas looped his arms around his waist and pulled him close, grateful for the rare chance to sleep beside his beloved.
"I'm so glad you're here," Richard whispered. "I don't know if I could hold up without you."
"I haven't even done anything, Richard."
Richard huffed. "You've done a lot." He sighed. "I wish I could hold your hand at the funeral tomorrow, though it helps just to know you'll be there."
Thomas kissed his temple. "You can hold me now."
Richard did, pressing Thomas to him, more like a life preserver than a lover, and spoke softly. "She loved the night sky. The moon and stars. The pendant I gave you used to be hers. When we were little she used to tell us stories about the constellations. Her favourite was the North star, how if you follow it you'll always find your way home." He exhaled, unsteady. "We've all been so busy, and none of us live very close. I wish it didn't take such a terrible event to bring us all home."
"I'm sure she understood," Thomas soothed. "You're here now."
Richard nuzzled him, his nose cold against Thomas' cheek. "So are you. It's your home too, Thomas. Always."
The curtains were drawn and the room was dark. Thomas tried to imagine Richard as a child, in this very room, huddled in a blanket and absolutely enraptured as Deirdre Ellis wove a tale. "Tell me a story," he whispered. "One of the ones she used to tell you."
Richard stirred, adjusting the pillow underneath their heads. "Do you know the tale of the children of Lir?"
"No."
Thomas lay with his head upon Richard's chest, Richard's heartbeat sounding steadily in one ear, as Richard began his tale:
" Once upon a time, there was a lord named Lir, who had four children: Fionnghuala, Aodh, Fiachra and Conn… "
Birdsong fluttered through the stillness of the cemetery, huge bouquets of flowers were arrayed in an explosion of colour surrounding the open grave, and Thomas' heartbeat throbbed under his scarring as he clenched a clod of dirt in his fist. He was one in a long line of mourners processing slowly past the casket, fulfilling the tradition of tossing dirt in the grave. Beside the open wound in the ground, the remaining Ellises - Walt among them - were grouped. The day was warm and clear but Thomas' heart was heavy as he released the cold dirt he'd been holding and did his part to bury Deirdre Ellis. Funny how caskets always looked too small to hold a person, as if people shrunk in death.
Richard's hands were clasped in front of him, his head ducked down. Even as Thomas passed a hair's breadth away Richard didn't look up. The Ellises had been seated in the front row while Thomas had been placed further back. Logically he knew it was a matter of practicality and of safety but it still stung to be so far apart from Richard, to have to resign himself to sneaking glances at the back of Richard's head during the ceremony, unable to reach across the distance between them to grasp Richard's hand or squeeze Millie's shoulder or help Mr. Ellis to stand.
The minister's words flowed over him in an muddled drone but he knew the words regardless. He had heard them at William's funeral and at Lady Sybil's, and surely the same words had been uttered over Edward Courtenay, though Thomas hadn't been there to hear them.
" We therefore commit her body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life… "
A gust of wind rustled petals off some of the flowers. Thomas watched the tiny spots of red and pink flutter in the grass then, caught by the breeze, tumble away from the mourners in a whirling sort of dance, and only then did he truly feel the sense of an ending. He bowed his head and, alone and lonely, prayed.
The house was quiet. Night pressed against the windows, and upstairs Mr. Ellis was asleep, or at least in his bedroom, while Thomas and Richard drank in the living room. Thomas hadn't drunk much - an ale or some wine every now and again was enough to satisfy him, and he'd never liked the loss of control that accompanied drinking too much - but beside him Richard was red-faced and loose, his long limbs splayed out and his head tilted back, eyes closed as he hummed a soft tune. Thomas shifted closer and gently manhandled Richard so that he was propped against Thomas and couldn't fall off the sofa.
Thomas took the mostly empty bottle from Richard's unresisting hands. "That's enough of that, then."
Richard didn't seem to notice the loss of his drink. He squirmed so that he could lay his head on Thomas' lap and turned his face into the softness of Thomas' lower belly.
"I hate funerals," he mumbled. Then, louder: "You're not allowed to die, Thomas."
A small part of Thomas wanted to scoff at Richard's pouty demand but a larger part simply felt deeply sad. Someday either he or Richard would breathe their last and leave the other behind. If they were lucky that day was far in the future, but Thomas didn't want to worry about that tonight. Richard had wept enough. He petted Richard's hair. "I'll do my best," he assured him, and Richard frowned.
"I wish…" he hiccoughed then started again. "I wish I'd been here more. I was always too busy and I didn't say the things I should've said. Could've been a better son and now I'm doing the same to you."
It took Thomas a moment to work out what Richard meant. "I told you, she understood. I understand. We're making the best of it, love."
Richard shook his head. "I never thanked her. For so long I didn't realise how unusual it was for people like us to have parents that are so accepting. I wasn't grateful for that and I just left and I didn't visit often enough and I didn't thank her."
"Richard - "
"No, no, listen." Richard struggled into a sitting position and raised his watery eyes to Thomas' face. Unsteady but determined, he leaned toward Thomas and rested his hands on Thomas' shoulders. "I don't want any more regrets. I love you and I want to find a way to be closer to you and to my family. I don't want to waste more time. Who knows how much we have left?"
The sentiment wasn't new, though Thomas' heart warmed at Richard's fervor, but Richard was also quite drunk and liable to make promises he couldn't keep. Better to calm Richard now and to make plans later, if they could. "We'll talk it over tomorrow, Rich. For now I think it's best we get you to bed. Up you get."
Richard muttered but let Thomas herd him upstairs. They made quite a bit of noise as they stumbled up the stairs; if Mr. Ellis hadn't been awake before he certainly was now. Getting Richard changed into his pyjamas was impossible so Thomas settled for removing Richard's clothes until he was clad only in vest, shorts, and socks, then tugged the duvet up to Richard's chest. Thomas shifted, meaning to go change into his own night clothes, but Richard pulled at his arm. "Thank you. I don't tell you that enough."
Getting Richard to bed was far less than Richard had done for him countless times, and Thomas shrugged off Richard's gratitude. "It's nothing."
Richard wasn't about to be put off his maudlin ramblings. "It's not nothing. You've done so much for me."
This time Thomas couldn't contain his scoff. Richard pouted and wrapped his arms around Thomas' middle, pulling him closer. Drunk Richard was apparently not only chatty but very cuddly, not that Thomas would complain about either.
"S'true," Richard mumbled. "I'd given up before I met you. All I had was my job and a handful of relationships that went nowhere and I thought there wasn't anything else I could do except work and watch other people find happiness. I was content, I suppose, because I had to be. There were hardly other options. You know how it is, I know you do, but I've never been brave enough to try to end it myself. And then I met you and suddenly it was like I was waking up for the first time. Or maybe I was asleep and you're a dream. See? When I'm with you I don't know up from down or waking from sleeping."
Thomas swallowed around the lump that had formed in his throat and tried to reply in a teasing tone, but what came out of his mouth was an embarrassed mumble. "That's 'cos you're sozzled." His eyes were stinging a bit and in the back of his mind a tiny record was replaying I've never been brave enough to try to end it myself , and he hated that Richard had ever felt so hopeless.
Richard grinned, gazing up at Thomas in bleary adoration. "That too."
Holding Richard in the small bedroom that still bore marks of Richard's childhood - the bent paperbacks on the shelves, a rugby ball, a school theatre award - the pain and unfairness of the real world was a distant memory. A part of that childhood had been buried today but the sweetness and love remained: they were safe here, even half-undressed and tipsy. As Richard's breath evened out and the arms wrapped around Thomas relaxed into sleep, Thomas sent a small silent prayer of thanks to Mr. Ellis across the hall and to Mrs. Ellis, wherever she may be. It wasn't for him to say whether she could watch over them or if she was somewhere beyond her beloved stars, but he whispered a promise to her and to himself he would look after her son and would do his best to keep Richard safe, and happy, and loved, for as long as Richard needed him.