Chapter Text
I was young once. It's hard to imagine, I'm sure, but I was. Young and foolish. Impressionable. Eager. Wishing nothing more than to be someone of importance in this world. To make a name for myself, to earn my place, to matter the cost.
I was at a... function one might say, the details of which I shall not bore you with. I had been invited, as it was one of the Tory parties before the elections and my first connection to the Government was through the Conservatives. They are invariably tedious, but they serve their purpose. I am refering to the parties as well as the politicians who attend them. Politicians are petty by nature and elections have never succeeded to capture my attention. It's a game of puppets trading places, where is the intruige in that? But at the time I needed their support and so I found myself obliged to attend.
I went, grudgingly, to make the connections I needed to make to get on in the world. I introduced myself to those who mattered, mingled and chatted. I laughed at jokes the humour in which I have yet to discover and nodded solemnly to problems that I couldn't care less about. But I was young then, and I was able to sustain an façade of interest for no longer than about an hour, after which I found myself sitting on a stool at the bar, tapping my fingers mindlessly on the glass of whiskey that had been poured for me.
I was miles away, deep in thought, when a voice woke me. “My condolances,” the voice commented, the timbre solemn enough to mean the words.
I looked up and must have looked a mixture of surprise and disgust. It was one of the waiters, standing on the other side of the bar, pouring wine into new glasses on a tray, readying himself for a new round. “Sorry, not my place. I forget.”
I shook my head and waved away his comment off lightly, accepting his apology, before going back to my thoughts. I was miles away once more, before curiosity eventually got the better of me. His words reminded me of Sherlock, whose seemingly random comments were always founded on a series of deductions. “What makes you say that? 'My condolances'? I hardly look that distraught.” I can't say I expected a founded answer.
“Well... your ring.” He hesitated, but spoke eventually. “You've obviously lost some weight in recent weeks but that ring still doesn't quite fit you. If it had been yours you would have widened it when you gained weight. You haven't, which suggests you've only recently started wearing it. It's definitely a wedding ring, but it's an old model, no one buys wedding rings like that anymore. Family piece, I'd say. You're looking, well, not distraught, but definitely very glum, so I assume he passed recently. Grand-father, an uncle?”
He was correct in all save his final deduction. “It was my father's.”
“Really?” He wrinkled his nose. “Isn't that a bit weird? Doesn't your mother- oh. Your mother passed away. Sorry.” A smile escaped me; he was apologizing for the faulty deduction, not the parent's passing.
He was right, if nudged to the right answer a little. I started wearing the ring a few weeks ago. It had been my fathers, but it was my mother's recent passing that lead me to wear it.
The reason for this, I should note, was not a sentimental one, but purely a practial one. A wedding ring stops people from prying, and those whom it doesn't stop, it can easily discourage. A wedding ring is the dead-pan solution to the sort of attention I don't care for. Married, widower, whatever people make of me will be the answer. It also makes one come across as a family man, and those things matter in this world we inhabit.
This, naturally, I did not convey. I confessed instead that my glum demeanour had more to do with the party than my grief.
“Well, loose a few more stone and I think that'll look perfect on you,” he complimented with a smile as he finished pouring the glasses. I answered with a smile of my own.
I went back to my whiskey, and the thought I had earlier abandoned. “Not married then?” He asked, and it was obvious that he was only half-joking. His smile took a turn to the more insinuating; the underlying meaning quite apparent.
I should explain that I'm entirely unlike my brother in certain matters. I don't see the point of self-castigation, of passing up on life's simple pleasures. I find no harm in enjoying them, on occassion. My brother would make a comment about my weight here, and my incapacity to leave a plate of scones untouched on a tea trolley. As so often is the case, this reveals more about my brother's inner workings than it does about me. His frame of reference can be quite limiting. I can leave a plate of scones untouched on a tea trolley, by the way, but that is entirely beside the point here. We're not talking of scones,. But my brother – unless the word was spelled out for him – would fail to see this.
When the waiter smiled at me, I knew exactly what he was after. Now, as I've said, life's simple pleasures are meant to be enjoyed. But life's pleasures are not meant to be endured, rithing uncomfortably against shelves packed with cleaning materials, in the broom cupboard of a five star hotel. It simply will not do.
I excused myself and left. I might have a libido, but I do not let it rule me.