Chapter 13

I watch the paint adhere to the wall as I run the roller over it, the white obliterating the awful acidic-lime colour underneath. I like how paint can do that, can wash over, like a do-over. Though, in this case, due to the brightness of the garish colour we're covering, it's going to take a couple of coats. I mean, who thought that colour was suitable?

This is a big job, repainting the whole house in a week. The new owners want to move in as soon as possible, so we're working hard, putting in long hours and days so it will get finished this week. My dad even drafted one of his friends in to help us, so we'd get finished on time. Alan is an old friend of my dad's from his steelworking days. Alan managed to hold on to his job longer than most, but was still another casualty of the rise in overseas steel. Most of the steelworks in Sheffield now make specialist steels. Alan says he's applying for a job at the Stocksbridge works, where there has just been an injection of investment money, but for now he's helping Dad. I can hear them in the room next door. I don't think I've heard my dad talk so much. I guess no one really understands him like his old friends. Their voices rise and fall, occasionally bursting into laughter as they recall fond and not-so-good memories of when they worked together.

I return to concentrating on my work. Because of the long hours I haven't been to see Darcy all week and I can't wait to see him again, not only because we need to practise our routine for the competition in Chesterfield, but also because I want to see him more. But the money from this job is worth it—just. It will all go into my savings. I've nearly saved up for the deposit on a house, and with what I earn working with Dad, I should be able to make the mortgage repayments. I don't need anywhere big or flashy, just somewhere to call my own, with some privacy. I'd rent, but the rental prices are so high I can't rent and save for a mortgage at the same time, so it's worth living at home for a bit longer.

Until now, it hasn't been much of an issue, but now I find myself wanting some privacy. Never before have I really wanted to bring a person home, be with someone for any length of time, but I want that with Darcy. His place is worse than mine, so that's not going to happen anytime soon, but yes, a place of my own where I can be with Darcy would be fantastic.

I'm still reeling from him wanting me. I put myself through a couple of weeks of hell while I struggled with realising that he was who I wanted in my life as more than just a best friend.

I can't believe that he fancies me, too. I feel a little sad that he was upset that he doesn't have much experience. I kind of figured that he wasn't really a horny kind of guy. I am, but I also don't think that will be a problem. It's clear no one else is going to do it for me. I nearly made that mistake and I'm not going to do it again. So we'll figure it out, and I'm looking forward to seeing what Darcy enjoys. I think there is more in there than he even knows himself, and I want to be the one to help him discover it.

"How's it going?" My dad looks in on the room I'm working in, startling me into action as I've been dreaming off into space for the last few minutes.

"Um, not bad." I dunk the roller in the tray to gather more paint, as if that was the action I was in the middle of.

"Do you want a brew?" If he notices he doesn't say anything.

"Thanks, that'd be great," I answer.

He's back within a few minutes and puts the mug down on the dust sheets that cover the empty room. At least the house is completely empty, which makes the job a lot easier.

"Dad?" I ask before he gets to the door.

"What is it?" he asks, his hand resting on the door handle.

I falter. I don't know how to ask this. I guess I can just go ahead and ask in a straightforward way.

"Is it alright if Darcy comes over sometimes?" I start with, and because I'm suddenly very nervous, I start babbling. "For tea. You know Darcy, don't you? My friend, he dances. Well, I'd like him to come over, and well, I'm seeing him now. Is that alright?" I've talked myself to a stop and run out of breath. It does feel odd to ask, as I'm an adult, but it's my parents' house and I wouldn't want to make them feel uncomfortable in any way. My dad thinks for a long minute. He can never be rushed, and my heart won't stop hammering in my chest the whole time.

Eventually, he speaks. "Are you asking me if it's alright that Darcy comes over, or if it's alright that you're seeing him?"

Did I really say that, but okay, in for a penny...

"Um, both I guess."

A pained expression crosses my dad's face, and then he looks at me.

"Well, in the first instance, I appreciate you asking, lad, and yes, it would be fine. In the second instance. Would you have asked me if it was a girl you were seeing?"

I felt stunned, but my dad was right.

"I guess not," I say, and it has always irked me that queer people feel they have to announce their sexuality.

My dad gives a little nod of his head. "Thought not. You don't have to ask my permission for that either, lad. All I've ever wanted is for you to be happy."

My dad isn't an easy man to love. To respect, yes. He's always been fair and just. But love, that was for my mum, who always gives her hugs freely and has a kind word for everyone. My father is the silent type, but I don't think I've loved him more than I do at this moment.

I choke back the lump that forms in my throat from his words, and reply. "Thanks, Dad." He nods again and tells me to, "Hurry up or that paint'll dry in the tray before you get a chance to put it on the wall."

He's typical of his breed—the silent Yorkshireman. But he doesn't lie, so I believe him when he says that it's okay. I didn't expect a hug, but an admission of acceptance? That's something. I'll work on asking Darcy round, which excites me and keeps me entertained for the rest of the day.

I'm too tired to do much after work, but after showering and having had tea, I decide to sit with Gran for a while. I'll help her up to bed later, as well.

"Is that you Nicholas?" She calls out from the front room as I open the back door. I chuckle. She's the only person who calls me by my "Sunday" name, and she's the only person who I allow it from, not that it would make any difference if I asked her not to.

"Yes, it's me, Gran," I answer.

"Well, put the kettle on, on your way through." I laugh, as I'm already at the sink, filling it up. If I know anything about my gran, it's that she can't go half an hour without a cup of tea. I flick the switch, and leave it to do its thing while I go through to the other room. It's dark, so I turn the light switch on.

"Why are you sitting in the dark?" I ask, as I head over to the chair where she's sitting and peck a quick kiss on her check, something else she'll not let me get away with not doing. I'd rebelled once as a teenager, and received a very curt reply that she'd lost the only person who'd given her kisses far too early and I would have to do. I never missed it after that because she did lose Grandpa early. I can barely remember him; I must have only been about five or so.

"I couldn't be bothered to get up to switch the light on," she replies, and I feel sad that this was the case.

"Is your hip playing up again?" I ask, knowing that it's sometimes painful for her.

"I'm not getting any younger, dear."

"I know, Gran, but sitting here in the dark..."

"I can still see the television," she protests. It's true, the television is almost always on.

"What are you watching this time?"

"Vera. I like this series."

I laugh. What is it about old ladies and murder? She used to read all the stories when her eyesight was still good enough. She was always reading or watching Agatha Christie and, as I spent a lot of time with her, I got to watch them, too. I can still recall most of the plots now.

I hear the kettle boil, and go through to make up a teapot. That was another thing Gran's a stickler for: tea in a teapot, a china one, and always ina china cup. I'm quite happy with a mug anywhere else, but my gran refuses to have them in the house, claiming that tea never tastes good in anything other than china.

Setting the tray down on the low table, I pour her a cup. I'd brought a few biscuits from the tin as well. Otherwise, she'd only be sending me back for them.

"So how are you? Work busy?" Gran opens with. But I know her better than that.

"You know it is, Gran." My mum will have been round earlier and told her all about the job we were currently working on. "What is it you really want to know?"

She has a twinkle in her eye. "How did it work out with you and your young friend?"

I knew that's what she was really after. She's the biggest gossip and I know where my mum learned all her tricks from. I just need to decide how much I'm going to tell her.

"Well, you were kind of right." She gives me a knowing smile and I let her have that point. "I did tell him how I felt."

"And?" she prompts. "You're not moping around here like a lovesick puppy anymore, so I guess it went alright."

"Gran! I was not a lovesick puppy," I exclaim, possibly more shocked than anything else.

"Were too." She takes a sip of tea and smiles at me over the rim of her cup. I'm not rising to her bait. She got me too many times with that trick as a kid. I shake my head at her as I take a long gulp of my tea. I'm going to make her wait. I make a deliberate show of picking up my cup and then, after I've drunk, putting it slowly back down again.

"I taught you too well," she sighs eventually, and I can't help but grin at her. She's the best and I love her.

"Well, I think it went well, really well, Gran." I eventually put her out of her misery. "He admitted he liked me, too." I don't dwell over the thought that he may have been into me for a long time. That was in both our pasts and not something we can do anything about now.

"So, did you kiss him?"

"Grandma!" This time I give her a full title. "Wash your mouth out, this instant," I tease, and see her giggle.

"Spoilsport," she says with a wrinkle of her nose. And I mimic her, mouthing her tried-and-tested saying, "I was young once; I've seen it all." I very much doubt she's seen everything I've done before, but I'm not going to test that theory by bringing up those sorts of activities.

"Okay Gran, yes we kissed, but that's all. And any future things we may or may not do are completely off limits."

She giggles again.

"Did you put my mum through the same treatment?" I wonder what my mum would have said.

"Oh, no." Gran looks affronted. "No point. It would have been boring, anyway. You, my dear, are far more colourful." And for the second time that night, I'm shocked by my own gran. "She only had eyes for your dad, and he doesn't exactly light the world up with his fire, does he?"

"Gran, I think you need to stop now," I tell her. I mean, no one needs to know about their parents' love life, no one. If she starts again I might have to stick my fingers in my ears.

I'm saved by a buzzing in my pocket.

Relieved, I pull out my phone and my heart jumps a beat when I see it's a text from Darcy.

Darcy: What do you think about the forties?

As I have no idea what he's on about, I send him a flippant reply.

Nick: I might be two months older than you D, but it's a way off yet

Darcy: No, the 1940s

Nick: Now you're just being offensive. I wasn't around then. I don't think even my Gran was born then

I look up and ask her. "Gran, when were you born?"

"Nineteen thirty-nine," she replies without hesitation.

"What were the forties like?"

"Hard, dusty, and the food was terrible—they were the best years."

I laugh at her.

Nick: Gran says it was miserable

Darcy: Then why are people so nostalgic about it?

Nick: I dunno

I wonder if he has a point.

Darcy: The classes are getting really popular, so I was thinking of doing an event. Music and food all themed around the forties

I sit up a bit straighter. It's not actually a bad idea.

Nick: Sounds like a great idea. Do you think people will come?

Darcy: I do. I think people will like it

"Gran, would you go to a forties-themed day or evening?" I test the water.

"Oh, that would be lovely, if I could get out more, of course. Reggie and I used to love a good dance." I didn't point out that she would have been eleven at the end of the forties, so wouldn't have met Grandpa by then, but I guess that people still cling to the old dances and ways.

Nick: Gran says it's a great idea

Darcy: You with her now?

Nick: Yes, so none of your dirty talk

I've never heard him say anything that I'd consider dirty talk, but I like to tease him and to show that it might be something for the future.

He sends a blushing face emoji followed by LMAO and I grin down at the phone, missing him, counting the hours until I can see him again.

Darcy: Will you help me?

Nick: With the dirty talk? Sure

Darcy: Hahaha. Well maybe

Hmmm, that sounds promising.

Darcy: With organising an event

Nick: Of course I will. I think it's a great idea and might be a good boost for the school. We can try out a few new dances

I've always wanted to try West Coast Swing.

Darcy: Woohoo! Fantastic. Thank you

I smile, catching a bit of his enthusiasm.

We text for a few more minutes until I need to help my gran up the stairs. I can't wait to see him the next day.