1989 Read online

  1989

  THEO WELLIS had never kissed a man. Once, he’d been close, but had run away instead. Once, when he was twenty-two years old, his friend Luke had smiled at him in that daring way—and Theo, coward that he was, had turned and fled.

  Once, back in 1989, there had been a chance for happiness, and Theo hadn’t taken it.

  I’m drunk, he thought vaguely, eying the two glasses in front of him. Trying to grab the left one, he missed, realizing there was only one glass, and that he was even more drunk than he’d guessed.

  It was late, and he was cold and lonely. Now he was on the wrong side of forty. He was unhappy, fat and old and ugly, and weak because he had stopped doing sports more than twenty years ago.

  How long had he been here in this shabby little pub? Three hours? Five? Ten? Theo didn’t know, and he didn’t care, either. The place was warm, quiet, and the barman had sold him every drink he’d asked for.

  Maybe, in another few hours, he would even forget why he was so unhappy.

  Although—no. Unlikely. He’d been unhappy since 1989. A few shots of whisky (or a few bottles) surely couldn’t change that.

  He sighed. Maybe it was time to go home. Then he laughed bitterly. Home. What a joke.

  “Another one,” he said, pushing his empty glass along the counter. It nearly slipped off the wooden surface, and only because the barman wasn’t busy tonight did he manage to catch it before it shattered on the dirty floor.

  “You sure?” the guy asked, looking at Theo dubiously. “You look like you’ve had enough.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” Theo said, trying to smile and failing. What he managed was a crooked grin, but what the heck. A new idea sparked up in his mind, more bright and brilliant than anything else in the past few hours. This barman—he could tell him his story! It was part of a barman’s job description to listen to their customers, wasn’t it? “Totally

  s-sure,” Theo said carefully. “A laaaarge one.”

  “A large what?” the barman asked. His short hair glistened with sweat. “You’ve tried nearly everything in the house since you came in. What it’s to be this time?”

  “Beer,” Theo answered promptly. He didn’t like beer—actually, he didn’t like alcohol, but that didn’t hold him back from drinking too much—so he thought it would be a good idea to have one. “A l-large, cold beer.”

  The barman shook his head but did as asked. “Here you go,” he said flatly. “And we’re closing up in a quarter hour. Midnight, on the dot. Just saying.”

  “Midnight.” Theo couldn’t help a giggle. It came out as a sad croak. “Will you turn into my fairy godmother at midnight?”

  Alcohol sloshed through his brain; it wasn’t a good feeling. His body didn’t feel good, nor his soul, nor his mind—nothing. And yes, hell, there was the problem that he had a wife at home. A wife he didn’t love and never had. A wife who was about to leave him.

  And then there was the problem of him being gay, really. Only he’d never told anyone.

  Oh, and the troubles he had with breathing lately. Maybe he should cut back on the cigarettes a bit. Forty instead of sixty a day seemed like a manageable goal.

  “Should have kissed him,” he told the barkeeper. “Really, I should have. But back then, I was too scared and too stupid. So I ran away. Never kissed a man, you know. Fucked a few by now, but never kissed one.”

  The barman just shot him a look that clearly said he wasn’t interested in stories.

  Theo didn’t even notice. Wrapping his large hands around the beer glass sitting in front of him, he was a bit taken aback by its coldness. What he wanted was warmth. What he really wanted was to go back to that night in 1989 and fix things.

  “Luke,” he said, his eyes losing focus. “That was his name. Luke. A shock of black, curly hair and winter-sky blue eyes. When he smiled, the girls offered to carry his bag; when he flirted with them, they fell for him like bees for honey.”

  The barman said nothing. He had a cloth in his hand and polished the bar, determinedly looking the other way.

  Theo put his head to the wooden surface. He felt sick, but then he’d felt sick for a long, long time now.

  “I’m married,” he murmured. “Kelly. Cute. Stupid. Cruel. She took me for my money. I took her for my reputation. We both know it, and I’ve never pretended I love her. Nor has she. We’ve been married for three years, and I can’t remember how many lovers she’s had since. Doesn’t matter. I did too. Had lovers. She wants a divorce. I asked her if we could have a child, somehow. I like children. I want a child.” He gulped when tears began prickling behind his eyelids. “Kelly. She laughed when I said it, and then she told me she wanted a divorce. She called me a gay piece of shit and told me that living with me and my miserable mood wasn’t worth the money I paid her. Then threw a bottle after me. Champagne, I think. Expensive stuff. I’m a stockbroker, you know? Hate it, but it pays well.”

  The world turned upside down when Theo lifted his head, and he slipped off the stool, crashing hard onto the floor. It came as a surprise, quite honestly. On the other hand, the floor was not a bad option compared to the stool.

  The barman looked over the counter and down at him. “Told you you’d had enough,” he said. “And we’re closing in two minutes.”

  “Hmmm.” Theo stared at the ceiling. He thought of Kelly, and that the flat would have a new lock by now. He was officially homeless, no matter that it was he who paid the rent.

  “Luke,” he said, folding his arms behind his head. “I loved him, you know? Didn’t know it at the time. We were mates, that’s all. And then there was that party. Big one, lots of people. Some guy’s house, or mansion, rather. Someone had called the cops because we’d been too loud, and Luke and I were outside watching things get heated up. The cops shouted and the neighbors shouted, and we looked at each other and grinned. Went inside, looking for something to eat. Must’ve been around midnight, I guess. We were both sober because we were both part of the swimming team training for the Olympics. No booze, no smokes. Fine with us.”

  “Time you went home,” the barman said, still looking down at him. The pub was empty; the beer glass had vanished, the lights had been switched off. Even the barman didn’t look like a barman anymore. He looked like a regular guy hoping to go home and to bed soon.

  Odd.

  “Luke tried to kiss me,” Theo said, shaking his head. “Me. His hand was on my ass, and he leaned in and I freaked and pushed him off. He stumbled and fell. And I ran.”

  Theo focused on the barman. He had red hair. Why hadn’t he noticed the man had red hair before? He looked like a ghost in that light, a ghost with red hair. Maybe, if he concentrated hard enough, he could see through him?

  “Afterwards—the next day—I heard Luke grabbed a bottle and got pissed. And then he jumped into his car at one in the morning and drove home. In the last bend before he would have reached his parents’ house, he lost control and crashed into a small wall. No higher than a foot, but he was thrown out of the car. He wasn’t wearing a safety belt. When the ambulance arrived, he was still alive, and from what I heard his organs were considered for donation. He had a donor card, you know? But his injuries were too severe. He died in the hospital on December 10, 1989. And although this happened such a fucking long time ago, I still miss him. And regret that I didn't kiss him.”

  Theo closed his eyes. His heart ached. His head too.

  No surprise there.

  “Time you left,” a bodiless voice said right next to his ear. “It’s midnight.”

  The clock chimed, over and over again. Theo tried to laugh, but found he couldn’t. The floor vanished from underneath him, and he fell into a deep hole. Like fucking Alice in fucking Wonderland, he thought and tried to fight, tried to stop the fall, tried to scream, until he
lost consciousness.

  WHEN he woke, his headache was gone. So were his wallet, his keys, his cell, and his wedding ring.

  His beer belly was gone too.

  Ah.

  He wore jeans and a thick, woolen jumper. In the bar, he’d worn a suit. A suit smelling of sweat and booze, a suit that didn’t fit him anymore because he’d been eating a bit too much lately, but nevertheless a suit.

  He hadn’t worn trainers, either. The last time he’d worn trainers, he had been a twentysomething. Nowadays, he chose handmade Italian shoes not only because he could afford them, but mainly because it drove Kelly nuts. In her world, men didn’t wear handmade shoes. But then, in her world husbands didn’t lust after other men, so her opinion on either subject didn’t really matter to him.

  Theo got up on wobbly legs and patted himself down, looking for his cigarettes, only to realize that his body felt strangely muscular, strangely healthy, strangely… strange.

  And the thought of smoking was disgusting.

  “Wow,” he said, and he sat hard on the ground.

  It was frozen.

  Back where he’d come from, it had been late June.

  “Wow,” he said again, rubbing a hand across his face.

  His beard was gone.

  He blinked. And blinked again. And gulped hard, wondering if he’d had a heart attack back at the bar. Maybe he was dead and this was the afterlife?

  He took a careful look around.

  Snow on the ground, which he only now noticed, mainly because the cold seeped into his bones and the slush soaked his jeans. Stars above him—it was night, which was good, but he wasn’t in town, as he should be, which was bad.

  Trees in the distance. And a large building to his right. He was sure it hadn’t been there before. Somehow—and he was aware of the madness of this—it had materialized right in front of his eyes and now it was real, with light and substance and windows and laughter floating out of an open door. A police car parked in front of it. Policemen were calmly trying to talk to shouting people, a girl laughed, and someone kicked at the car’s tires.

  Someone else reached out and grabbed the blue light, trying to rip it off, and then things got out of hand. Theo knew what would happen next because it had happened before, in 1989, and when a hand landed on his shoulder he screamed, close to panic, close to a mental breakdown, close to pissing himself from pure fright.

  “Hey,” Luke said, his hand still on Theo’s shoulder. “You look as if someone just walked over your grave. You okay?”

  Rapid blinking. Words trying to get out of his throat, only his throat was completely blocked, as if someone had put a rope around his neck and was strangling him, right now, that very moment.

  Luke.

  And Theo wore jeans and trainers. And he didn’t have a beard, although he’d stopped shaving the day they’d buried Luke. Just as he’d stopped swimming and had taken up smoking instead. Luke’s death had seriously thrown him off course.

  Luke. The man he’d never kissed.

  “Gargh,” Theo stammered.

  Luke laughed. “You shouldn’t smoke hash if you can’t bear it. Come on, let’s get you inside. There’s some food left, and at the moment, everyone is outside, anyway. It is nice and quiet in the kitchen, and it’s warm too. Your jeans are wet, mate. You can’t catch a cold, not with the swim finals this close.”

  Theo opened his mouth—and closed it again. There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do. He was dead, and this was a dream. A nightmare, actually. He was reliving December 10, 1989, when he’d been twenty-two years old and Luke twenty-three. In the kitchen, Luke would try to kiss him, and he’d push him away. Luke would get drunk, and he would crash his car, and he would die. Again.

  “No!”

  It was the first word he’d spoken since he’d woken up, and it came out far less rough than he’d imagined. But of course at twenty-two, he hadn’t smoked. He’d lived healthily, he’d eaten regularly, and he hadn’t ever had to shout at his wife back then.

  “No what?” Luke asked, concern now showing up in his eyes. “Theo, stop scaring me.”

  “No,” Theo whispered, and this time the tears didn’t just sting behind his eyes, they rolled down his cheeks. His smooth cheeks. “Not again.” And he grabbed Luke’s coat and pulled him close and then he kissed him, right there on the frozen ground with about twenty shouting people behind him and two policemen who were slowly but surely losing their patience.

  Warm, Theo thought. Luke. Safe. Wonderful.

  His first kiss. Pity it wasn’t real. Pity he was really lying on a dirty floor in an even dirtier pub, dead as a dodo. Because he must be dead, felled by a heart attack or something equally nasty. Only being dead would explain this.

  So kissing Luke was no big deal at all.

  Only it was. Only it felt better than anything he’d ever done before, and how sad was that coming from a man his age? His real age?

  Luke’s hands were on his back, holding him close. He smelled of snow and cinnamon, his body was hard, muscular underneath his coat, and for some reason, Theo could feel Luke’s smile through their kiss. Luke didn’t mind this, not at all.

  Of course not, Theo thought, his heart nearly breaking with the knowledge that Luke was dead and buried and this kiss was as unreal as his trainers. He wanted me and I was too scared to say yes, and he’s dead because of me!

  Luke broke the kiss, and the moment he took a step back, Theo wanted him to come back so he could kiss him again, smell him again, feel him again.

  “Let’s go somewhere private,” Luke said, nodding toward the crowd who, by now, were staring at them. Some cheered, but most of the girls looked as if a truck had just run over them.

  Taking Theo’s hand, Luke led him around the house. They had to go through the woods to reach the small boathouse near the lake, but they met no one on the way, and the boathouse was unlocked as well.

  Not real, Theo told himself, only to find it didn’t matter. So what if this was not real? It felt real. He had a young man’s body; he wore a young man’s clothes. He was as inexperienced as a virgin, because in 1989 he’d only slept with a single girl, having figured out already that he didn’t like girls. No one knew he was gay. Back then, he hadn’t even come to terms with that fact himself. But when Luke kissed him again, he kissed him back, and when Luke fumbled at his trousers, he let him, and when they sank to the floor together, it was in a tangle of limbs.

  “I thought you’d freak,” Luke murmured into his ear, and then Luke touched him and Theo nearly came in his jeans, it felt so good.

  I did, Theo wanted to say. I ran, and it was the wrong decision. I am so damn sorry, Luke. For everything. This night. Your death. Everything.

  Instead, he stayed quiet, just kissed Luke again, and then pulled his jumper over his head. “I want you.” He still couldn’t believe how young his voice sounded. “I’ve wanted you for a long time now. Can you… can we…?”

  “Hell, yes,” Luke said. Theo heard the happiness in his voice—it was too dark in the boathouse to see much more than silhouettes. “Yes, and yes again.” He shed his coat, his shirt, and wriggled out of his jeans in a matter of moments before wrapping his arms around Theo. “You sure?” he asked. “Now? Here?”

  “Now and here,” Theo answered. Luke helped him undress, and before long, they were both laughing—this, here, was as silly as it was arousing, them together in the little room surrounded by boats, empty paint cans, half a bicycle, and some fishing nets. It smelled of salt and oil, it was cool, but they were both hot and hard and didn’t notice their breath leaving pale clouds in the darkness.

  “I love you,” Theo said, the feeling of this being a dream becoming stronger by the second. “I guess I shouldn’t tell you, but I did so many stupid things recently it doesn’t really matter anymore.”

  “Love is never stupid,” Luke whispered in his ear. His hand was still between Theo’s legs—or again?—and his fingers were strong and seemed to know exactly what
to do. Stroke. Press. Massage. Squeeze. More stroking, and when Luke licked his fingers and let them glide lower, between Theo’s buttocks, Theo stopped thinking and began to enjoy this with every fiber of his being.

  “Got a condom?”

  Theo shook his head.

  “Me neither.” Luke kissed his neck. ”Didn’t think this would happen tonight. Or any other night, really.”

  Theo propped himself up on his elbows. Behind his back was Luke’s coat and a pair of jeans, and through one of the small windows, the moon shone and shed some light on them. Luke was kneeling between his legs, a slim young man with pale skin. Muscles showed on his arms; his belly was flat, his cock stood up large, begging for attention.

  “You thought I wouldn’t do this?” Theo had to ask.

  Luke shrugged his shoulders. “I was pretty sure you wanted to, but I also know you, mate. You’re shy. That you’d take the first step was something I wouldn’t have guessed in a lifetime. I’d aimed for a kiss eventually, hoping you wouldn’t strangle me.”

  You did, Theo thought, sinking back onto their clothes. And me rejecting you hit you harder than you’d ever admit. Reaching up, he pulled Luke on top of him. Sex without a condom wasn’t an option, not in 1989 when AIDS had been fresh and new and scary and, all in all, pretty mysterious. But there were other options. Everything was okay as long as it involved Luke and more kissing.

  So Theo did kiss Luke and whilst he did, he stroked both their cocks until they came, and then they laughed even more, hugging and touching each other as if there was no tomorrow.

  There wasn’t, of course. In reality, this never happened. Luke had driven home drunk. Luke had died, and Theo had never kissed him.

  “I love you,” he said again. This time, his voice was hoarse, sounding much more like his today-voice.

  “Love you too,” Luke said. The words drove a stabbing pain right through Theo’s heart. No one had ever said those words to him, and it hurt so badly to hear them now, in this no-world and no-time.

  It hurt so badly it nearly choked him.

  It did choke him. Theo coughed, then rolled over when the pain in his heart increased, flooded his body and finally his brain. He tried to scream but couldn’t find his mouth; he tried to grab hold of Luke but couldn’t move his hands. The darkness became darker. The moon grew until it burned a hole in Theo’s eyes, blinding him. He didn’t know anymore whether he was lying down or standing, whether he was dead or alive, what his name was, or his gender.