The rain hit his face as if it was meant to cause harm. It felt like it would leave bruises. But it was also a relief from the heat he left behind in the house. He had slammed the door as hard as he could, feeling childish but justified.
He wondered what more he could have given than he already had. His time, his patience, his body. Seth always wanted more and especially when Derek wanted to give less. The more he tried to retreat, the more Seth surged forward as if trying to get inside of him, inhabit him.
As he tried to open the car door, he swore when he dropped the keys onto the gravel of the drive. He wiped his face in order to see better. He glanced at the house, wondering if he was at the window, watching with either fury or some kind of melodramatic desperation. Or both. He swore, but then managed to get the door open.
He slid into the car and took a few deep breaths, trying to find himself again. Where have I been? he thought. He looked in the rearview mirror. His hair was damp, a darker blonde, his eyes clouded with tears, obscuring what normally was green, now blurry as rough seas. The house loomed over him. He looked up at their bedroom window remembering long nights of intense physical conversation between their bodies, Seth's hungry mouth all over his, all over him. Even how, angry, he felt the pull of that connection, the latent flow of blood into his groin, a tingling through his thighs. It was what had worked best between them.
He shut his eyes, letting the anger clean away all the memories, leaving nothing but bare truth behind. He wanted to scream, but instead, started the car. He drove carefully as only the desperate do, turning the car around and driving through the stone gate that had been erected by one of Seth's heterosexual ancestors.
He said aloud, "What a fucking pile this is."
He glanced in the mirror at the receding gates, the big house behind. Huge evergreens lined the drive. He imagined them burning.
It was raining hard. He was used to the narrow, winding road and the tunnel of hedge on both sides, curving through the countryside, past farms and the occasional church. A village. He glimpsed a huge house on a hill all lit up as if they were celebrating his departure.
Not having a destination in mind, he drove on, winding along the side of a long hill, then down into a deep valley. He knew if he continued, Wales would eventually meet the ocean and he wondered if it was worth driving into it, sinking into quiet oblivion.
But suddenly he was in a tiny village. A few thatched cottages. A petrol station, a shop or two. A sharp corner, then a bigger stone building with a hanging sign that read, "The Red Deer". He stopped suddenly and parked at the front. He hoped he could stay the night. He had a stray thought about not having a toothbrush, but he got out and went through the ancient wooden door to a big low-ceilinged room with a massive stone fireplace that was blazing against the early December chill. There were a number of round tables and a few armchairs. The bar was dark oak, and a door behind led to a brighter room where he could hear the sounds of dishes.
He went up to the bar, feeling shy, despite being Welsh himself. The long winters in Canada had made what had been familiar, strange. A few people sat at the tables in twos and threes, and they were all looking at him. Not in an unfriendly way, but he knew he was being assessed.
Finally, out of the kitchen, a tall man in denim and a white shirt appeared carrying plates. He stopped, a look of surprise on his face.
"Derek."
"Emrys...what the hell?"
"I could say the same." He moved again, going out to one of the tables to deliver food, then came back, looking at Derek as if he was a new species of human.
From behind him, Derek heard someone say, "You know this one, do you?"
"Aye, Gareth. A long time ago. Another?"
The voice said, "I would be most appreciative."
Derek turned and saw an elderly man sitting alone by the fire, an empty pint glass on a little table in front of him, his greenish eyes bright and young, Clearly a regular.
Emrys smiled at Derek. "Yes, I imagine you would be." He started to pull a pint, then said, "And Derek. What will he have?"
He wondered if there might be several meanings inside the question. "Oh, I'll have a bitter and a room, if you have one."
Emrys nodded and started another pint. Derek remembered the dark brown of his eyes, just like his brother's. "Yes. We have three. There's small, mind. But comfortable."
"That's all I want. Thank you."
Having filled the first pint, Emrys went out and delivered it to Gareth. The two talked quietly for a moment, then Emrys returned to the bar.
It was quiet in the ancient room save for the crackling of the fire. No music. The locals -- since they clearly where -- talked softly. Derek found it strangely soothing. Emrys gave him the pint. "Derek...what in blazes are you doing here? It's been, what? Fifteen years?"
But Emrys was smiling. "I think so. What are you doing here?"
"Ah, Derek. That would be a long story. Do you have a few days?"
"Given how things are going, I probably do."
Emrys seemed startled by his response and he dug a rag from under the bar and wiped up the bitter that had overflowed. Derek was aware of his hands with there little patches of black hair on the fingers. Emrys finally put the cloth down. "It would seem we both have some stories." He paused, then said, "Will you be wanting something to eat?"
"No. Food doesn't interest me much today."
Emrys pulled himself a pint of dark ale and extended the glass to him. "To complicated lives."
The sound of the glasses making contact seemed almost loud in the room. He smiled at Emrys and took a long sip of his bitter, enjoying the fizz and the sharp dryness on his tongue, and said, "To complicated lives, indeed."
Emrys walked out behind the bar and went over to a table by the window. "Will you sit?"
Derek felt shy again, but followed Emrys to the table and sat across from him. He looked into his eyes that were so much like Patrick's. He realized they were all now closer to forty than not. He felt a sense of something uncanny, as if he were being haunted, but he wasn't sure by what.
"How is Patrick?"
"Oh, so we are going there, are we? He's in Australia."
Derek nodded, taking another big mouthful of bitter, hoping to anesthetize himself. He was afraid to say more, since there was so much that could be said. He finally found some words. "How long?"
"About six years. He met some fellow...you know."
He did know. He had been that fellow, once. They could be twins, except Emrys was taller. He remembered the looks Emrys had given him when first they met. Appraising. Judging. As if Derek had been somehow distasteful.
Patrick had said to pay him no mind. He was straight, after all. What else do we expect from them?" But this Emrys seemed...softer. More open. More like Patrick. He looked down at his glass, watching the bubbles rising to the top. Derek looked up and Emrys was watching him. "And you? What have you been up to?"
Emrys gave a low chuckle, deep in his throat. "What haven't I? I was in the army, if you can believe it. I lived in Japan after that, teaching English. I came back and was in Swansea for a while...should I go on?"
Derek laughed. "I see. And then you ended up here. In the middle of the nowhere."
Giving him a slow smile, Emrys said, "This village is where we grew up. My family owns this inn. It made sense to come back."
He stared at Emrys as if he was speaking another language. Patrick had only told him he had grown up in a village, which in Wales could be anywhere. He tried to picture Patrick inhabiting this space. He couldn't.
He felt even more out of place. His own Cardiff childhood seemed worlds away from this. The closest town of any size must be Llanidloes, he thought, and that wasn't saying much.
Emrys's voice startled him. "So how did you find yourself here, Derek? Out for a drive, were we?"
Laughter caused Derek to cough into his glass. He caught his breath. "The short version of this tale is I had been seeing someone whose family has a country place not far from here. You probably know the town...Caersws?"
"Yes, I have been there..."
"Well...I had to leave."
"Oh, so your ex-partner...more stories."
Derek smiled. "More stories."
"Will you have another pint?"
"I will."
Emrys got up and walked to the bar, and, filling his glass, said. "Work?"
"Graphic design."
Emrys nodded and came back to the table with his pint.
They sat sharing memories as the fire died down and the pub emptied. When the old man left, tottering out into the night, they moved to the armchairs by the fire, sipping whiskey. Derek looked at his watch and yawned.
Emrys said, "You are not expected home, I take it? Your ex-partner's home?"
"No. Or at least I don't expect to go back."
"I had a partner until a few years ago."
"Where is she now?"
Emrys was staring at the embers of the fire as if hoping to find something there. He looked up at Derek, his face soft and vulnerable. "He's in London."
He stared at Emrys, not quite understanding. "He...?"
"He."
Emrys stood up suddenly, collecting their glasses and went back behind the bar. He seemed not to want to look at Derek. For his part, Derek stood up and went and stood across the bar from him. "How long?"
