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“Ralph,” Laurie said, a little tentatively, turning his head briefly in Ralph’s direction. “Have you contacted your family since you left school?”
He was sitting by the fire in Ralph’s digs three days after Christmas, absently holding a Christmas card he had picked up from the floor. Its bland scene of Victorian cottages and church in mid-winter snow, liberally sprinkled with glued-down glitter, grinned back at him in mockery. Turning to the bookcase beside his chair, Laurie discovered a small pile of discarded Christmas cards. There were no Christmas decorations or cards on display in Ralph’s room: he had said he didn’t believe in such flummery, yet he had religiously saved them and not thrown them away. A touch defiantly, Laurie stood the card upright on the bookcase. It looked back at him forlornly.
“No,” Ralph said, approaching with two brandy glasses in his hands. They had just finished dinner, Ralph’s Christmas dinner. He had volunteered to spend the day itself at the station, Laurie had spent it with his mother and Mr Straike. “Why do you ask?”
“I was just thinking, the season of goodwill and all that, they might appreciate a card or something.” Laurie was conscious he might be treading on thin ice. He looked up at Ralph and took the proffered brandy glass. “At least they would know you were still alive.”
“If that’s what is worrying you,” Ralph said with a wry little smile as he sat down in the armchair opposite, “they would get a telegraph from the War Office if I were killed. They are down as my next of kin on my service records. I had no one else to put down, and it would have caused too many questions if I had left the form blank.”
He had swapped his brandy glass to his good hand, and crossed one leg over the other, the dark wool a barrier. He took a good swig from his glass, appeared to consider momentarily, then set it down on the wine table beside his chair. Uncrossing his legs, he leant forward slightly and smiled warmly at Laurie. “What did you want to know?”
“Nothing,” Laurie said automatically. “It just occurred to me that I don’t know anything about your background. You know all about mine.” He smiled uncertainly: he didn’t want to stir up painful memories for Ralph. “And you tell such good stories.” He buried his nose in the brandy glass.
Ralph made an amused sound. “It wouldn’t make a very good story, I’m afraid. I told you I made a mistake in going home when I left school, and I have closed off that part of my life in my memories. As you can imagine, they disowned me.” He turned to his brandy and took a drink. “But ask away, my dear, and I will try to make my answers as factual as I can. The old wounds have healed.”
Not completely, Laurie thought, watching Ralph over the rim of his cut glass, a Christmas present to Ralph from Alec. He had experienced a pang of inadequate jealousy when Ralph had opened the box this morning. They had pretended it was Christmas morning, like children. “No,” he said suddenly, “I shouldn’t have asked. It was rude of me.”
“A few facts for you,” Ralph said briskly. “My father is in his late fifties, a lawyer of some repute. My mother is a few years younger, a stalwart pillar of the local community. She was considered a beauty in her youth. I have inherited her fair hair. They live in a squat Georgian house – you know the sort, grey unpainted rendering and windows that seem to go down to the floor, overlooking an immaculate lawn surrounded by hydrangeas and elms. Woe betide the boy who wanted to play cricket there.”
Ralph’s attitude softened as he continued, “I have a brother who is considerably younger than myself, nine years to be exact. We didn’t have a great deal to do with each other as children. He would be almost seventeen now. I wasn’t allowed to speak to him when I went home.” Laurie thought he detected a touch of wistfulness in Ralph’s voice. Ralph also appeared to come from a more affluent background than he did, a step up the social ladder. It explained quite a bit.
There must have been a huge scene, Laurie reflected, but he accepted the bait of the younger brother. “Do you think they sent him to our school?”
“Good Lord, no. At least, I hope not. He was not a very robust boy, from memory. I would hate to think of him being saddled with my legacy. He would never cope with it.” Laurie tried to envision a frailer version of Ralph confronting Mr Jepson.
Ralph seemed to sink into thought, and Laurie watched him for a moment. “I’m sorry I brought the subject up,” he said.
“Nonsense,” Ralph said, uncrossing his legs, which at some point he had crossed again. “Isn’t that the whole point of Christmas, to get maudlin over sentimental memories of Christmases past?"
Laurie looked down at his brandy and swirled the dark liquid against the cut facets of the outer glass. “I met a girl in Oxford,” he said. “I invited her to tea, and imagined settling down with her and having a home and children.”
“Spud, after all that has happened this year, do you think you would be happy living on a woman’s pity? Living a lie? I thought you had made your choice. We are what we are and you cannot change that.” There was an edge to Ralph’s voice.
They sat in silence for a moment. Laurie looked across at Ralph, whom he found was watching him, the brandy glass held close to his chin as if he were inhaling the fumes. He had on the navy sweater Laurie had bought him for Christmas, highlighting the fairness of his hair. How many Christmases, Laurie thought, had he spent alone. He had every right to be jealous.
Laurie was overcome by memories of Christmases at home with his mother and Aunt Olive, and usually a guest or two; warm, comfortable, well-fed, homely Christmases; his childhood. They were gone now.
It must have shown in his face, for Ralph said kindly, “Don’t get sad, Spud. The past is the past. You can’t recapture it.”
Laurie was unable to pull himself out of the mire of sentimentality. “Time to grow up.”
Ralph rose and knelt by Laurie’s chair. “You mustn’t, Spud,” he said. He laid a consoling hand on Laurie’s knee. “We’ve got each other now. We can have a home, friends, a family of sorts. Neither of us has to be alone anymore.”
“I know, but I have no idea where I will end up after Oxford. I shall have to get a job somewhere, probably London, and you could be posted anywhere in the country.” Laurie felt a moment’s anxiety about the prospect of next summer. He would have to give his future career some serious thought as his money wouldn’t last long.
Watching him as he knelt beside his chair, Ralph said, “Spuddy. Let me tell you something. For much of my life I have felt incomplete, like there was something missing in my life. That day at school, I found that missing piece. I am here for you, no matter what you want.”
Laurie stared at him, feeling wholly inadequate. He leant forward quickly and kissed Ralph on the lips. Unable to speak for a moment, he touched the side of Ralph’s hair. “I don’t deserve you,” he said quietly.
Ralph kissed him back and smiled, leaning his arms on the side of the chair. “Stop worrying,” he said. “You don’t seem quite yourself today. What’s troubling you?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Everything really. It doesn’t seem right to be happy with the state of the war at the moment.”
“Neither of us can win the war single-handedly, and you’ve already done your bit.”
“I know. It’s not enough though.” Trying to change the subject, Laurie said, “Let’s go for a walk while it’s still light. Blow away the cobwebs. We could call in at the cathedral.”
“Is the leg up to it? Come along then. We could call in and thank Alec for his Christmas presents on the way back.” Ralph held out his hand to pull Laurie up. He paused. “Spud, this hasn’t got anything to do with that boy Andrew, has it?”
“Good Lord, no. What on earth made you think that?”
“Then is it me you have doubts about?”
“Ralph,” Laurie said unhappily, and moved slightly away from him, then turned to face him. “Ralph, the truth is, I’m all in a muddle. I don’t know what I want or where I am going, but I am eternally grateful to have you by my side.”
Ralph’s face softened and he moved a little closer, reaching to touch Laurie’s face. “I know what the trouble is, Spud. You’ve been overworking at Oxford, and you’ve been lonely. You shut me out and wouldn’t let me visit you, and you’ve had no one to talk to. You just need a few days to unwind and let me help you work the anxieties out. We’ve got five whole days.” He smiled winningly at Laurie, his fingertips gently caressing Laurie’s cheek.
Laurie looked back at him helplessly. Everything Ralph said was true; he felt wrung out and exhausted. Yet Ralph was the embodiment of everything he had lain awake at night thinking about over the past few weeks. And sex wasn’t the answer, but it would be too cruel to tell Ralph that.
He had a responsibility towards Ralph, but if he kept Ralph at arm’s length, would Ralph remain faithful to him, or would he take his responsibility elsewhere?
He did not want to become a couple like Alec and Sandy who lurched from one drama to the next, nor like Ralph and feckless Bunny. But he did not know what the alternative was, and he did not want to be alone. Yet ultimately he had discovered in the darkest nights in Oxford that he did not trust Ralph to remain faithful to him once the novelty had worn off.
He was afraid of not being good enough for Ralph and losing him.
“A penny for them,” Ralph said softly, watching him closely.
Laurie tried to pull his face into some sort of pleasanter order. “Don’t take any notice of me,” he said. “As you say, I am overtired. A hopeless neurotic, I suppose.” He smiled. “Fetch your overcoat. I really would like to visit the cathedral and see the Christmas decorations.”
“Spud, just so you know,” Ralph said, “if ever you decide all this is just a passing phase and you want to settle down with a girl, I will understand. I will always be your friend.”
“I am not going to change my mind.”
There was a glimmer of admiration and pleasure in Ralph’s eyes. “Very well,” he said, and turned away to fetch their overcoats from the bedroom.
They put their overcoats on and Ralph turned out the fire while Laurie went back into the bedroom to fetch his gloves. When he returned, Ralph was sitting at his desk, addressing an envelope. He sealed it, attached a stamp, then stood up and handed the envelope to Laurie with a grin. “We need to find a Post box.”
Laurie could see it was a Christmas card, addressed to Mr and Mrs Lanyon in Berkshire.
He looked up at Ralph, slightly incredulously. “Really?” he asked. “Are you sure?”
“A belated Christmas card, just for you,” Ralph said with a charming smile as he arranged his scarf. “What harm can it do? They can just throw it into the bin. Now come along and let’s go find your Nativity and the saints in all their glory. Perhaps they can work a little magic on us.”