Three Tears
by David Heulfryn

 

Chapter Five

The following day, Martin dashed home from college and jumped in the shower. He spent ages washing and rinsing his hair and soaping up every inch of his body, ensuring he was scrubbed clean. After drying himself, Martin shaved for the second time that day. It was not like he needed it, as he only had to shave every other day, but he wanted to look perfect for his date.

Wrapped in nothing but his towel, he went to his bedroom and bathed his face in aftershave. The aerosol body spray also got a battering that evening, ensuring that all his skin smelled ever so slightly of musk.

Rummaging through his wardrobe for something to wear, Martin came across a relatively new pair of cords. ‘Hell, no’, he thought, ‘nobody wears corduroy anymore’

It had to be casual and trendy but not too trendy. Martin also had to look smart. It was a difficult choice and a choice he had never made before. He wanted to look nice but not as if he had made too much effort.

Martin could not remember the last time he felt so conscious about what he wore. He had never been this nervous about meeting someone. Usually, he did not care what anyone thought of him or what he wore. He was never one to follow the crowd, and in not dressing like the crowd, he would blend in and go about his business unnoticed. Ironically, it was always dressing like the crowd that got you noticed, as they were obsessed with whatever slight variation in fashion you were sporting that day.

Everything in his wardrobe looked drab and unimpressive. He dug out a pair of old jeans. Jeans were good, he thought, very casual, so he did not look too desperate.

He flung his damp towel on his bed and stepped into a clean pair of light blue briefs. He then stuffed his legs into the old jeans and buttoned them up. Looking in the mirror, they seemed too old and faded, and he had doubts. But then again, he continued, faded is in. Isn’t it? Martin had no idea. His head was always stuck in a book or painting on canvas, so he never really knew what was trendy and what was not. He went back to his wardrobe, found a pair of dark navy slacks and tried them on. They looked too smart. The jeans were better. He hung his slacks back up and went about looking at his shirts. Beige and dark blue were all he saw. Flicking through the hangers, he saw a light khaki green shirt and thought it might look good. He put it against the jeans that were laid out on his bed.

‘No’, he thought.

Sitting on his bed, he looked into his wardrobe. Waiting. Wanting the right clothes to pull themselves out, but they did not. All his clothes hung in their dark closet, afraid of the light.

Downstairs, he heard the front door slam. Someone was home. He glanced at the clock.

‘School’s out’, he thought and heard his brother’s heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. The bedroom door opened, and James walked in wearing his school uniform.

James dropped his bag on the floor by his bed and said, “What you up to?” as he noticed Martin sitting on his bed in only his briefs.

“I’ve got nowt decent to wear.” Martin huffed.

“What on earth do you want to wear something decent for?” James laughed as he pulled off his school uniform and chucked it on his bed.

“I’m going out tonight.”

James was now down to his briefs and fishing out his sweatpants and t-shirt. On hearing Martin, he turned and faced him. “You’re going out! What’s the occasion? Is a comet hurtling to earth?”

“Yeah, good one, James.” Martin flung his body back and lay across his bed, staring at the ceiling.

James got more serious. “So what is it?” He asked as he pulled up his sweatpants.

“I’m just meeting someone at the pub.” Martin sat back up.

James looked at him and furrowed his brow. “You’ve got a date.” It was a statement. You do not live with someone for fifteen years without knowing what they were thinking.

“Hmm.” Martin almost whispered in response.

“Is that a yes?”

Martin had to agree; there was no way around it. As he confirmed James’ suspicions, he became embarrassed, and his cheeks turned a deep crimson. It was not often that he blushed, but he was not exactly used to talking about his feelings and being open.

“Ah, bless.” James teased. This was a side to his brother he rarely saw. He threw on his t-shirt and went over to Martin. “So, we had better make sure you make a good impression.”

“But I’ve got nothing.” He was despondent.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He saw the jeans on his bed. “Those jeans are a good idea. I’ll try to find something to go with them. Put them on.”

Martin got back into his jeans. James looked at him. “Top-wise, I think we’re about the same size. Which is good as it doubles your choice.”

“Thanks, James. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it. Just tell me everything when you get back.”

“Perhaps.”

James told him to sit down. “Good.” He said.

“Why good?”

“You don’t get a belly when you sit down. Now stand up and put your arms out slightly.”

Martin stood up, and James put his hands on his flanks. He stretched the skin that tightened his chest. He then moved his hands to his pecs. “It’s not a bad little body you’ve got there, bro. I think you can pull it off.”

“Pull what off?”

James went to his wardrobe and brought out a light red, not quite pink, t-shirt. “Put this on and tuck it in your jeans.”

Martin pulled the shirt over his head. “I can’t wear this. Look! It’s far too tight.” The t-shirt was skin-tight and showed the curves of his chest and the faint outline of his nipples.

“Just trust me and tuck it in.”

Martin undid his jeans and tucked the shirt into the waistband of his briefs.

“Now, you don’t think I’d let you go out like that, do you? I’m going to find you a shirt.”

James went through his wardrobe and pulled out a deep red, lightly checked shirt.

“Put this on over the t-shirt.”

Martin put on the shirt and began to button it up. James batted his hands away and undid the button he had just done.

“Don’t do it up. That’s the whole point. Just wear it open. Like this.” James pulled the hem of the shirt down and tugged the front. It casually lay open, showing the tight t-shirt underneath. “There you go. Good enough to eat.”

“Thanks, James.”

“No problem. Just remember to wear your nice dark trainers, not those manky white ones.”

Martin sat on his bed and grabbed his trainers. He put on a pair of socks and slipped his feet in the dark trainers.

“So,” James started, “who’s the date, and where did you meet?”

“Oh, it’s just someone I met at college.” He said sheepishly.

“And who asked who out?”

“Can we just leave it? I don’t want to get all worked up before we meet. I’m nervous enough already. And no doubt I’ll have to go through all this with Mum and Dad.”

“Okay. I’ll leave you to it.” He moved towards the door. “What time are you going, by the way?”

“We’re meeting at seven. In the ‘Lord Duncan’ in town. I’ll be leaving around a quarter past six.”

“Good luck. I’m getting a drink. Want one?”

“No, ta. I’ve just got some work to do, and then I want to be off.”

James left the room, shutting the door behind him. Martin relaxed, but his right leg twitched as he sat on his bed,. He felt nervous and just wanted to get it over with. Not the date, just the waiting. He had no fears about the date itself but just the waiting. Once they were together, he thought he would be fine.

His mind started to go through what he would say. His biggest fear was drying up and having nothing to say, feeling foolish at letting Phil say everything and carry the conversation. But they had a lot in common, and Martin clung to that. If nothing else, they could talk about art, but he wanted them to have more in common than that.

Martin got up, took off his over shirt and hung it on the back of his chair. He then lay down on his bed, looking at the ceiling again. He raised his knees and closed his eyes, trying to calm his nerves.

 

“Martin! Can I have a word?” His mother’s voice echoed in his ears as she shouted up the stairs.

Martin had not heard her come home but knew she was calling him because James had opened his mouth. Martin got up, threw his shirt on to cover his chest and the faint outline of his nipples, and went downstairs.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw his mother looking at him. “You look very nice.” She smiled.

“Thanks,” Martin said.

His mother went on about how James had told her about his date; he seemed more excited than Martin. She knew it wasn’t a regular occurrence and the experience was still new to her eldest son; she wanted to ensure he would be all right. She always worried about her sons; she was not overprotective and didn’t stop them from going out or ringing their mobiles every half-hour to find out where they were and what they were doing. She allowed them their own space, which she felt was essential for them to learn about themselves, but she did like to ensure she was always there when they wanted or needed her.

Martin put her mind at rest. They were not going out late and, as it was mid-week, he would be back early. He would have his mobile phone with him at all times. There would not be too many people around, and they would not get caught up in the usual weekend drinkers on their marathon sessions and pub crawls before falling into the local nightclub to pick up someone who was just as drunk as them. Naturally, he gave him a time to be home by, and as this was his first date in a long time, she was flexible and said she was ten-thirty at the latest.

“Thanks, Mum.” He said, and then he went back to his room.

“Hey, what about your dinner?”

Martin stopped. “I’m a bit too anxious to eat. I might have a small sandwich before I go.”

“Ok.” She let him go back upstairs.

She was quite pleased that he was going out. It had been a long time, and spent so much time in his room that she was beginning to worry. She knew he had no real friends and never seemed to really need any, but it is always a good idea to let your hair down occasionally. She hoped that his date would be the first of many.

 

At half past six, Martin came downstairs. He had done his teeth again to freshen his mouth and had topped up his aftershave. He grabbed his coat and went into the front room to say goodbye to everyone.

His mum got up from her chair. “You sure you gonna be okay?”

“Yes, Mum.” He exasperated.

“How much money have you got?”

He dug his hand into his pocket and took out his wallet. He looked inside. “Just a tenner.”

His mother grabbed her handbag. “Let me give you some more, just in case. And so you’ll have enough for a taxi if necessary.” She handed over a twenty-pound note.

“Thanks, Mum.” He put the money in his wallet and said goodbye.

Martin strolled towards the bus stop, which was only a minute from his home, and a bus wasn’t due for another five minutes.

Martin stood at the bus stop trying to busy his mind, reading the timetable, the bus route, and every bit of graffiti the kids had written in black marker pen. He put his hands in his pockets and played with the change he had extracted earlier from his wallet so that he was not left fumbling for his fare when the bus arrived.

In the distance, he saw the ageing green, corporation double-decker bus trudge down the road. As it got nearer, he put his arm to gesture to the driver who wanted to get on.

The doors wheezed open, and Martin got on and dropped the exact change in the jaws of coin collector. “Town, please.” He said to the driver. The driver punched in some figures on a pad in front of him, and the machine whirred to life and printed his ticket. Martin took the ticket, the door shut, and the driver pulled out and continued to drive the route. The jerky driving and uneven road made the walk down the bottom deck of the bus more treacherous than usual. Fortunately, there were few passengers, so he did not fall on anybody and got to the back seat. He sat and looked along the bus, looking at his fellow passengers.

As the bus approached his stop, he reached for the button and pressed it. The bell dinged, and he waited until the bus began to slow down before getting to his feet and moving along the bus. The brakes squealed, and the bus shuddered as it ground to a halt. The doors wheezed open again, and Martin alighted. He had barely got off the step when the door shut, and the bus driver cut up an approaching car to finish his journey.

Martin began to walk, conscious of his clothes, which he did not feel comfortable in, feeling like everyone he passed looked at him. Which, for the most part, they did as he no longer blended into the pavement. Instead, they saw a handsome young man confidently walking along, perhaps on his way to meet a group of friends or to meet a girlfriend. With each step, his confidence grew, and he began to carry himself better, standing straight, pushing out his chest slightly and squaring his usually hunched shoulders.

Walking through the town centre, he passed crowds of kids hanging around. Young men in suits walked with lit cigarettes between their fingers on their way to their favourite bar after a hard day’s overtime to meet their workmates, who had got there over an hour ago. Smartly dressed women walked to the bus station with shopping bags containing new shoes, clothes or just something for that night’s dinner. And then there was Martin, walking to his first date.

The pub was not in the town centre but in a small ‘city village’ just past the central area. This used to be where the slightly unconventional element of society hung around to feel comfortable: the Goths, the Hippies and the Gays. However, the trendy set was slowly taking over, and the chrome-plated pubs and sushi bars were springing up.

He approached the pub and looked at his watch. It was not quite seven o’clock. He hoped Phil would be there but couldn’t tell through the frosted windows. Martin opened the dark wooden door and went in.

The Lord Duncan was an old-style pub. Dark wood tables accompanied deep red paisley upholstered benches and chairs. There weren’t many people in the pub, just a smattering of men in groups of two or three having quiet conversations. Before approaching the bar, he looked at each man in turn, hoping one would be Phil, but he had yet to arrive.

As he reached the bar, a young barman broke off his hushed conversation with another barman and went over to Martin.

“Hiya. What can I get you?” He smiled.

“Pint of lager, please.”

The barman took another look at Martin. The barman thought Martin looked young but thought he looked old enough and didn’t bother to ask for any ID. The barman grabbed a glass, put it beneath the pump, and flicked the tap.

“That it?” The barman said.

“Yep.”

“Two, ten, please.” The barman held out his hand.

Martin pulled his wallet from his jeans and handed over a five-pound note. As he took the money, the barman turned off the tap and put the glass on the bar, condensation forming already on the cold glass. Martin instinctively took a sip and replaced the glass while collecting his change and dropping it into his pocket. The barman turned around and continued his secret conversation with his colleague.

Martin took hold of his pint again and looked round the bar. There was still no sign of Phil, so he looked for a quiet place to sit. Martin went to the corner where he would have a good view of people entering the pub. He placed his drink on the table and made himself comfortable.

As time passed, he found himself becoming more and more uncomfortable. He was not used to drinking in pubs, and he was certainly not used to drinking alone in pubs. He glanced at the barman. They were still chatting, but they would look in his direction every so often. Martin would sit, cross his legs, look at his watch, and then hold his foot, moving it from side to side. Letting go, he would uncross his legs and look at his watch again.

Phil was late. He had already half finished his pint, and the time was approaching twenty-past-seven. He got his phone from his pocket and searched his contact list.

“Shit.” He breathed.

He had not stored Phil’s number in his phone. He had left it on the beer mat in his desk drawer. Should he ring James and ask him to let him have it? No. He would leave it until half past seven.

Martin took a long draw on his pint to soothe his nerves. The door flung open, and Phil rushed in, but no one in the pub blinked an eyelid; Martin was relieved. Phil quickly looked around the pub, hoping Martin had not given up on him, and saw him in the corner looking at him, a relieved smile growing on his face.

 

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