Watching Brad

[gsdx]

WATCHING BRAD
Part 167​

It was one of those dreams which jolts you out of a deep, restful, and sound sleep and you suddenly find yourself sitting bolt-upright in bed. You're left gasping for breath through gritted teeth and you press your clenched fist hard against your chest in an effort to keep your pounding heart from bursting out of. It was one of those dreams which leaves you with sweat dripping from your brow and down your cheeks and nose while more sweat pours from under your arms and rolls in tiny rivulets down your sides. It leaves you trying to figure out where you are and what just happened which could cause such panic and terror inside you. You can't remember what it was that awakened you, but you know that it scared the living Hell out of you and that it seemed to be very, very real.

It was one of those dreams.

There are only two things I can remember about the dream I had that night. One was the horrifying and heart-wrenching pleas of my three children screaming and crying out for me: "Daddy! Daddy! Help us, Daddy! Where are you? We need you! Help us, Daddy! Help us!" The other is that I tried to yell, "No-o-o-o-o-o!!", but no sound came out of my throat.

The next thing I knew, I was sitting up in bed, feeling as though I were going to die of fright, and Brad was sitting up beside me, holding me tightly and trying to calm me down. He'd managed to turn on a bedside lamp at some point. I hadn't been able to shout in my dream, but, perhaps, I had done so in real life and awakened him. I could feel him shaking and quivering as badly as I was doing. "It's okay, Ted," he said soothingly yet desperately. "It was only a dream. It's okay now. I'm here."

Still, my panic and terror remained. "The kids!" I said loudly. "There's something wrong!"

Brad squeezed me harder, trying to keep my focus on reality. "It was a dream, Ted," he insisted. "It was just a dream. The kids are fine. You're just missing them, that's all. I miss them, too."

I turned to face him. "No, Brad. There's something wrong. I know it." I threw the blanket away from me and swung my legs out of the bed which resulted only in Brad holding me tighter still. "I've got to phone them!" I told him.

"Ted! Listen to me! Look at me."

I didn't look at him, but it was difficult not to hear him.

"What time is it there?" he asked.

"I don't care!" I replied as I tried to pull myself out of his grasp. "I have to call them!"

I felt Brad scramble around on the bed and, before I knew what was happening, he was standing in front of me grasping me by the arms and shaking me. "Damn it, Ted! Look at me!" he said very harshly and forcefully. "It was a dream! Do you hear me? It was only a dream!"

Slowly Brad's face came into focus and the children's frightened screams faded away from my mind. Things slowly became clear to me and I was able to think and to rationalize them properly. Brad was right, of course. It had only been a dream and there was no reason for me to be in such a panicked state. I stopped fighting him and he released me and sat beside me where he wrapped his arm around me and cuddled me closely to him. His other hand gently massaged my thigh. "What was it about?" he asked.

"I don't know," I told him truthfully. "All I can remember is that the kids were screaming for me to help them and I wasn't there to do it."

"You're missing them, Ted. That's all. We'll call them in the morning before they go to soccer camp. That will be. . . What? . . . About lunchtime here?"

I did a quick calculation in my head and nodded in agreement.

"It was so real, Brad."

"Nightmares usually are." He held me for a short while before releasing me and straightening the bed covers. "Come on. Let's go back to bed."

Brad tried his best to take my mind off my dream - talking to me and gently massaging my chest as he rested his head on my shoulder - but all I could think about was the sounds of the kids' screaming voices and their pleas for help. After about ten minutes, I rolled out from beneath him and sat up on the side of the bed again.

"I'm sorry, Brad," I apologized as I reached for the lamp and the hotel phone on the table beside the bed. "It's no good. I've got to call them to make sure they're okay."

By the time I finished speaking, I had the phone in my hand and Brad was sitting beside me once more.

"Then phone Terry," he suggested.

"She's asleep," I reminded him. "Her phone's probably turned off."

"No, it isn't, Ted," Brad told me as he grasped my arm. "I talked to her last week and she promised to leave her phone on while we're away in case you wanted to phone to check up on things without worrying your parents. I figured your parents wouldn't tell you the whole truth if you asked. Terry will."

"Doesn't matter anyway. I don't know her number."

"I do."

Brad told me the phone number and I dialed it. I knew the charge would be added to the hotel bill, but I didn't really care. I tilted the phone so Brad could listen as well. It rang a few times before a very sleepy, almost ghostly voice responded to it. "Hello."

"Hi, Terry," I said. "It's Ted here."

"Ted? I don't know anyone named Te. . . Oh, Ted Dee!" she said anxiously, suddenly very-much awake. "Hello, Mr. Dee."

I smiled to myself, knowing that Terry would undoubtedly be sitting up in bed and making certain that she was decently covered and her hair was properly primmed. Ironically, both Brad and I were sitting stark naked on a bed an ocean away, but I thought it best not to mention that tiny little tidbit of information.

"I'm sorry," she added anxiously. "I'm awake now. How is England?"

"Great," I replied. "I'm sorry I woke you up, Terry, but it's important."

"S'okay."

"Look, I know it's late, but I was worried about the kids. How are they doing."

"They're sound asleep," she replied, "as far as I know. I can go check if you'd like."

"No," I told her. "I trust you. No use you dragging yourself upstairs. As long as they're not screaming."

"No, they're not screaming," she said. "And I'm already upstairs, sleeping on the sofa. That basement scares me at night. Too dad-gummed spooky for me, thank you very much. Hang onto your britches, Mr. Dee. I'll go check on the kids."

There was a dull thud as she set the phone down. Brad waited with me in silence, one of his arms around my back and his other hand resting on my thigh again. It seemed to take her forever, but she eventually returned to the phone. "They're fine, Mr. Dee. Sleeping soundly."

"Thanks, Terry. How did they manage without us?"

"Oh, we kept them busy enough, and then Barry and Nathan came and took the boys out for lunch and spent the afternoon with them and put them down for their nap and Nathan cooked supper for everyone. Lindsay stayed here with us and we did crafts most of the day. Even your Mom joined us. Your Dad spent most of the day with the Hayeses. Lindsay's handling it quite well, so far, but I suspect she's old enough not to let it bother her much. She understands better than the twins, but it will be easier for them tomorrow when they go back to soccer camp and keep their minds off missing you both."

I was surprised how talkative Terry could be at that time of the morning after being dragged out of her bed by a concerned father. Terry was my own Mary Poppins and I adored her immensely.

"Thanks, Terry. I'll let you get back to bed now. Sorry to have bothered you."

"No problem, Mr. Dee. That's what you pay me for."

"I'm afraid I don't pay you enough for what you do for us."

"You pay me plenty, Mr. Dee," she said. "Now, you forget about being a father for awhile and get back to being Brad's husband."

"Thanks again, Terry," I said.

"Yes," Brad added. "Thanks, Terry. Love ya."

"I love you guys, too," Terry said. "Now get back to that honeymoon. Goodnight."

"Nite, Terry," I said. "Bye." I waited for the click of disconnection on her end before I hung up the phone.

* * * * *

It was early afternoon before Brad and I finally woke up for the day. I'd slept well after our chat with Terry, and there had been no more dreams. After a quick but enjoyable lovemaking session, we grabbed a shower together, got dressed, and headed out into London. We returned to the restaurant from the night before and had a delicious, afternoon lunch of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with spotted dick for dessert.

We spent the rest of the afternoon just wandering around and looking our for some souvenirs to buy for everyone. Brad was the one who found and suggested the backpacks for the twins, especially since they would be starting school in September. They were child-sized packs - ideal for the twins - and Brad found two that he liked with the words "Honourary Brit" printed over an image of the Union Jack. I found matching baseball caps.

I picked up some T-shirts for Lindsay and a picture book of the young princes, William and Harry. Lindsay thought they were cute. . . especially William.

We enjoyed high tea at the hotel restaurant that evening, talking about all the places we would be going tp visit on the bus tour the next morning. Brad mentioned Greenwich again and I assured him that we would go there before we left London.

As we passed through the lobby on our way to our room, a young man who looked decidedly familiar was standing at the desk and talking to the young woman working behind it. We stopped and looked and listened. He was dressed in cut-off denim shorts showing solid, sporty legs, a loose-fitting black T-shirt, and sneakers. He looked familiar, but he certainly didn't sound familiar. He was speaking in a finely-cultured British accent. We couldn't hear what he was saying, but we could certainly hear how he was saying it.

"Isn't that the bellhop from last night?" Brad asked.

"Yes," I replied. "Nigel."

"He sounds different."

"He sure does," I said, smiling. "Come on."

As we approached the front desk, we could hear Nigel speaking more clearly. ". . . bought the full set of Stargate Season Seven for only twenty-seven quid. I lack only final three seasons."

"Don't you ever get tired of watching that, Nigel?" the young lady asked as she smiled and shook her head in disbelief..

"Not by half, Penny," Nigel replied. "It's a wonderful programme, and that Amanda Tapping! Nice bit of alright, that one. I do enjoy it when she talks technical. No wonder Dr. McKay fancies her. Amanda's Canadian, you know."

"Yes, Nigel, I know," Penny said. "You've told me often enough. And speaking of Canada. . ." She looked over his right shoulder toward me and Brad and nodded her head.

Nigel turned around. "Ow, ‘ello, guv. Luvly day, ain' it?"

"Yes, it is," I told him. "How nice to hear you have your accent back. I was afraid you'd lost it."

Nigel grinned widely and jabbed me lightly in the ribs with his elbow. "S'fer the tourists, innit? Enchant ‘em wi' me accent and cop the lolly, eh? Eh?" His accent changed once again. He was, apparently, able to switch it on and off at will. "My secret is revealed," he continued with a sly wink. "They expect it, you see. They fly thousands of miles to hear it and I do hate to disappoint them. And the thicker I lay it on, the bigger the tips."

"Method to your madness," Brad quipped.

"Indeed, guv," Nigel said as he tapped the side his nose with his index finger. Then, with another playful jab to the ribs, "I'm surprised you boys are out of bed. We usually don't see honeymooners after they check in until they're ready to check out. Keep our chambermaids busy changing the bed every few hours."

"Nigel!" Penny admonished. "Behave yourself!"

"Yes, Miss," Nigel replied to her with mock sincerity. "Sorry, Miss." He looked back at us and jerked his head quickly in Penny's direction. "Worse than me own Mum, that one," he joked. "Must be off to change for my shift." Then, with a tip of an imaginary cap and a ‘Ta', he began to leave.

"Nigel," I said as I grabbed his elbow and drew him away from the desk, leaning in toward him to whisper quietly, "Is Compton Street still the place we want to go to for a night out?"

Once more, he flashed his bright, friendly smile, but he was very serious this time. "Yes, Sir, it is. Old Compton Street. Just tell your cabbie what your interests are and he'll take you to a suitable establishment."

"Thanks," I said as I reached into my pocket, but Nigel's hand on my wrist stopped me.

"I'm off duty, guv. Enjoy your evening." And, with another sly wink and one more "Ta", he was gone.

* * * * *

Our cabbie took us to a genuine, old English pub on Old Compton Street which catered, as did many of the establishments in that area, to the gay crowd. The pub oozed character and atmosphere and, apparently, began its life several centuries ago as a tack shop and livery. The walls of unpainted and very old wooden planks were lined with mirrors and pictures and artwork and framed maps and such, all lighted with dozens and dozens of antique lamps which cast a subdued glow over the room and made it feel very welcoming, comfortable, and cozy.

There were a number of chairs and small, round tables set about the room for sitting and dining and drinking, and there were stools set along the well-stocked bar. Several supported shelves were attached to the wall for those patrons who felt like standing and chatting with their mates so they could set their drinks upon them or to lean on them with their arms or elbows.

There were the typical and expected dart boards and pool tables, of course, and even a tabletop skittles game. Various television screens attached to the walls around the room and behind the bar showed either British football (what we call ‘soccer' on this side of The Pond) or rugby games. There was no sound. There didn't need to be sound. The smell of pub grub and alcohol mixed nicely and pleasantly with the various smells of dozens and dozens of men.

Brad enjoyed himself and got us into a serious dart game with a British couple who were about my age. James and Robert were wonderful guys who owned their own computer business and shared their experiences of travelling to Canada and touring it virtually from the east coast to the west. They'd been in every province except Newfoundland and PEI, but hadn't visited the third coast or any of the territories yet.

"Don't much fancy the north," James said matter-of-factly. "Gets cold enough for me right here. Must get bloody freezing up there."

His partner, Alistaire, joked, "I can't even imagine the shrinkage that would go on. I embarrass myself just going for a dip in an outdoor pool here. I believe I'd be totally scuppered and would appear too have changed sexes were I to visit the Arctic."

We laughed and joked and threw darts for over an hour before Brad and I finally returned to our table for another ‘wee pint' served to us by a delightful, dark-haired young man with a pierced eyebrow. Brad discovered that he quite enjoyed the complimentary pork scratchings even after he learned what they were. He simply shrugged his shoulders and said, "Inside or outside, pork's pork," and grabbed another handful out of the bowl.

The pub was a relatively quiet one as far as pubs go and felt more like a lounge than a bar. There was no real theme, and the clientele appeared more gentlemanly for the most part. It was most relaxing and enjoyable and was a typical, ordinary, run-of-the-mill English pub. We met a lot of people that night and made a lot of friends and took lots of pictures. Brad was extremely popular, of course, attracting most of the attention, but everyone was polite and respected him, especially after learning that we were, in fact, married.

One young man, carrying a mug of draught beer, approached our table alone and asked if he could join us for a bit. I indicated the a chair with my open palm and he sat, reaching his hand across the table to shake ours. "Craig," he said. We introduces ourselves.

"You're not British," I said.

"Nope," Craig replied. "American. Pennsylvania, actually. I overheard your accents and I was lonely for home, so I came to see if I could sit and chat with you for a bit. Where are you from?"

"Ontario," Brad told him. "Just east of Toronto."

Craig nodded. "Never been there, but I've heard a lot about Toronto from a forum I visit on the Net. Quite the gay scene, or so I understand."

"Not bad," Brad said. "You on holidays?"

"Yeah. I'm into Mini Coopers and. . ."

"What are they?" Brad asked.

Craig leaned forward and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, opening it and showing Brad a photo of one of the little British automobiles.

"Oh. I've seen those before."

Our new American friend returned his wallet to his pocket. "I've got one back home. Came over here to see where it all began and to pick up a few parts and things I can't get back home."

"They're not being made anymore, are they?" I asked.

Craig shook his head. "Quit makin' them in 2000. Almost forty years worth of manufacturing. Too bad. They're good cars and lots of fun to drive."

We chatted for awhile longer before Craig moved along to visit with other people he'd met and, around midnight, Brad and I headed back to ou hotel. We were still fighting the jet lag and wanted to get some rest before hitting the tour buses the next day.

* * * * *

It was exactly three minutes past four in the morning according to the bedside clock when the hotel phone rang. I sprang up in bed, startled awake by the sound, and reached for the lamp beside me before I grabbed the phone and put it to my ear.

"Hello?" I said.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Sir," said the voice. "It's Gareth from the front desk."

"Yes?"

"I wouldn't presume to disturb you, Sir," he continued hesitantly, "but there is a strange telephone call for you from a man speaking a language I do not understand. The only words I could make out were your last name."

"That's my father," I told him and immediately wondered why Dad would be talking in Afrikaans. He slipped into his native language only when circumstances were too serious for English. It would be just after eleven PM on Monday night back home.

"He sounded rather anxious, Sir. Shall I connect you?"

"Yes, of course!"

Brad was sitting up beside me. There was a momentary pause, and then a soft click. "Dad?" I said. "What's wrong."

Dad began spewing out his words in Afrikaans, but he was speaking too quickly for me.

"Dad," I said, "slow down. I can't understand you."

He didn't slow down and his words blended into a giant mixture of nonsense and gobbledygook. I could pick out a few words here and there, but not enough even to put together into a thought let alone a complete sentence. Still, I could tell from the few words I could pick out that something very serious had happened and the fears from the dream the morning before came flooding back to me.

"Dad!" I tried to interrupt. "Slow down or speak English!"

He did neither. Brad grabbed my arm in his anxious, frightened grip, but I barely noticed him there beside me. When I still couldn't make any sense of Dad's tirade, I shouted, "Dad! Shut up and listen to me!"

Dad fell silent.

"Please," I hastened, hovering on the verge of tears. "I can't understand you. Slow down or speak English! Please, Dad!"

He did both that time. He slowed down his speech and he composed himself enough to switch to English and to tell me what had happened.

As his words sunk in, I gripped the receiver tighter and tighter, hoping against hope that what I was hearing was only a dream. But, with Brad sitting there beside me, listening in as well, his fingernails now digging deeply into my arm, I knew that it was not a dream.

It was, in fact, frighteningly real.

To Be Continued​

 

[smile86]

aww brad and ted/ the twins are so cute. but what's happened??

 

[upyrkilt469]

the "Master of the Cliffhanger" strikes again. Oh, well, will have to wait for the next chapter. Thanks for a good read, Neil.
Vic

 

[harry113]

Neil !!!! You've done it again !! Is it Ted's Mum?. Is it the twins ??
Please don't leave us in suspense for to long!!!!!
Wonderful chapter, Thanks
Hugs
Harry

 

[arogersb]

OMG ..... That cliffhanger was mind-blowing, to say the least. I'd hoped Ted and Brad would continue to enjoy their time in England, but now it seems I was too hasty. Will this disaster have them packing their bags for Canada? I pray that it isn't as bad as it sounds.

Thanks for another wonderful chapter, you're going to keep me in suspense for another week!

 

[RBRCNDR]

Neil - This is just plain not nice. Especially now that we have to wait an entire week to find out what is wrong. You would think that they have had enough trauma for a while. However it is your story and we do keep following every twist and turn, so by all means keep it up. Hope your personal life problems are or have worked themselves out. Take care and I think we all would be more than willing for a mid week fix er chapter. Thanks for sharing your great talent of writing with us. Andy

 

[dlf0001]

I don't know if something happening to Warren could cause Ted's Father to become so panicked... I fear and predict something much worse...

 

[sshaffer15]

Of all the times for a cliffhanger! You are so cruel. Can't wait for next Friday.

 

[Kyanimal]

!!!!


(I'm Speechless!!!)

 

[sheep]

Neil
that was cruel and unusual punishment. Just for that I won't read the story anymore (until the next chapter comes out)

 

[phoenix72]

i was hooked before it had even begun and by the time it ended. i felt like one of those shows that leaves you hanging on the edge of your seat after an awesome show...same thing here. Job well done...very well

 

[caddymac]

Neil, you have me on the edge of my chair waiting for the next chapter. Great Story!!!
Thank you.

 

[gsdx]

A Special Message

As you may already know, I had a serious and total system crash last weekend and lost virtually everything on my hard drive and my back-up CD became corrupted and is unaccessible. I lost everything I'd already written for both Watching Brad and Taking Care of Jason

Because of that, I've spent the past few days trying to get everything reinstalled and set up. (I still have to install a new audio card which I had to buy today.)

Still, I somehow managed to get the first few pages of Watching Brad rewritten and just finished writing the end of the chapter moments ago. However, I'm just about done in and will be taking my time tonight and tomorrow morning to proof it all.

I will be posting the next chapter tomorrow (Saturday local time).

Again, I remind you that I haven't forgot Jason. Unfortunately, I lost virtually the entire chapter (6 1/2 pages) and have to start writing it all over again. I'll get it posted as quickly as I can.

Take care, always.
Neil

 

[hardreader]

What a nightmare you must be going through. I feel for you and am glad you haven't let ET (Evil Technology) get you down. You're one of the very top JUB writers on my list. Take your time. Do it right. The way you always have.

 

[gsdx]

WATCHING BRAD
Part 168​

The news was hard enough for me to take, but Brad was devastated by it. As we listened to Dad, Brad held his right arm behind my back and his left hand on my thigh. As Dad's words began to sink in and we began to understand exactly what he was saying, Brad's grip tightened on me, and then his left hand moved away from my thigh and his arm wrapped itself around my stomach and he clutched himself to me. As I set the receiver onto its cradle, Brad's head came to rest on my shoulder. I could feel him trembling, and then I could feel the moisture of his tears falling to my chest.

I held him until his tears stopped, gently nuzzling him and rubbing his back in small circles.

"I can't believe this is happening," he whispered softly. His sad, concerned voice shattered the silence which had filled the room from the moment I'd hung up the telephone. We had sat like that, unmoving, for many long minutes. I don't know how many. Like myself, he was undoubtedly silenced by the shock of the situation and trying to imagine what effect it was going to have on our future. "What are we going to do, Ted?" Brad asked solemnly "How are we supposed to get through this?"

I don't believe that Brad really expected answers to those questions. At least I hoped he didn't. Never having had to deal with anything like this in my entire life, I had no answers to give to him. Still, I was greatly relieved when Brad continued to speak and I didn't after offer a response.

"I mean, one minute we think that our lives can't get any better than they are, that we can't be any happier than we are, and then. . . just like that. . ." (the room was filled with a loud ‘crack' as he lifted his right hand momentarily and snapped his fingers) ". . .everything falls apart and your life is a pile of shit. How do you prepare for something like that?"

I hugged him close as his arm came around me once more. "We can't prepare for it, Brad," I replied just as quietly. "All we can do is to get through it and get on with life."

"How?"

"I don't know," I said as I kissed his hair, "but we can't do it here. I need you to start packing. I'll get on the phone and find a way for us to get home."

Brad lifted his head and looked up into my face. It had been a very long time since I had seen fear in his eyes, but it was there in abundance that morning. We held our gaze for a short time before Brad said, "I'm scared, Ted."

I tried to comfort him with a hug, but it wasn't easy. I was probably just as frightened as he was.

As Brad stood up to gather the suitcases and to start packing them with our clothes, I lifted the phone once more and pushed the button to get the front desk. A moment later, Gareth's familiar voice came through the line: "Front desk," it said. "Gareth speaking."

"Hello, Gareth," I said. "It's Ted de Villiers in the Yorkshire Suite. I need you to prepare our bill. We'll be checking out today. And could you please connect me with Air Canada at Heathrow?"

"Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Oh, dear," Gareth said. His sophisticated, resonant voice was filled with deep and genuine concern. "I was so very afraid the news would not be good."

I filled him in briefly and that was followed by several more punctuated ‘Oh, dears'. "Of course we'll do everything we can to help, Sir," Gareth encouraged me as I finished my short briefing.

"What is it, Gareth?" another voice sounded softly, but urgently. I recognized it immediately as belonging to Nigel.

"A moment, please, Mr. de Villiers," Gareth said. It was clear that Gareth had covered the mouthpiece of the telephone with his hand as he spoke to Nigel. I could appreciate his concern, but I wasn't in much of a mood to be kept on hold whilst they shared gossip about our tragedies.

I was just about to hang up the phone and find Air Canada myself when Nigel's voice came through the line. There was no hint whatsoever of his ‘tourist' accent. "Hello, Sir. Nigel here. I understand you must return to Canada as quickly as possible?"

"Yes."

"I'm on the Internet as we speak, Sir, and Gareth is ringing up the Air Canada kiosk at Heathrow to inquire about exchanging your tickets. We'll help you get a flight," he said assuredly. "Gareth said you live in Ontario. Would you be flying into Toronto?"

"Yes," I, wondering why I hadn't thought of using my laptop with the Internet service in the room to do it myself.

"One moment," Nigel said. I heard the rapid, accomplished clicking of a keyboard as the information was typed in. It was clear to me that Nigel was quite familiar and comfortable with computers and, especially, the Internet. A few more mouse-clicks later and then, "Here we are. Air Canada. . . . Right. Half a mo, please." There was more tapping on the keys and clicking of the mouse. "Right. Toronto. . . . Pearson International?"

"Yes."

"Right. There are two flights with available seats today, Mr. de Villiers. One flight this morning and another later this afternoon."

"As soon as possible," I told him.

"Right." Again, there was more tapping on the keyboard and clicking of the mouse. "I'm sorry, Mr. de Villiers. There are no adjoining seats on either flight. There are several available for tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's too late," I told him. "Hang on a minute, Nigel." I put the phone against my chest and called out, "Brad?"

Brad came out of the bathroom where he had been gathering our toiletries. "Yeah?"

"There's two flights out today, but neither of them have seating together," I explained. "We would have to. . ."

"Make the reservations," he said, abruptly cutting my thought to the quick. "I'll manage." Without another word, he turned and headed back into the bathroom to finish his chore.

I lifted the phone back to my ear. "What time is the morning flight, Nigel?"

"Eight fifty-five, Sir. It arrives in Toronto at twelve-ten Toronto time."

I glanced quickly at the bedside clock and the timing concerned me. It was after five o'clock by then. "Do you think we can make it to Heathrow in time for the flight?"

"I'll get you there, Sir," Nigel assured me.

I nodded to myself. "Book two seats as close together as you can, and make sure at least one of them isn't near a window."

I stayed on the line long enough for Nigel to reserve the seats and for Gareth to pass along the instructions to me for exchanging the tickets. Air Canada had assured him that there would be no problem with the exchange and could be done at the airport kiosk. Our new tickets would be waiting for us there.

Somehow, over the next hour or so, we managed to get all the packing done, grab a quick shower and shave together, and even cancel the rental car and B&B reservations. My most difficult chore, though, was to phone Gran just before we left and explain everything to her. She was deeply disappointed that we wouldn't be visiting her this trip, of course, but she certainly understood the circumstances.

"Do promise to contact me if there is anything I can do, Theo," she said. "Anything at all."

"I will, Gran," I told her. "I love you very much, you know."

"And I you, my dear."

"Take care, Gran."

* * * * *

As Nigel had promised, he had a cab waiting for us when he helped us to the lobby with our luggage and got us to Heathrow in ample time to get checked in and to get our tickets exchanged. We even had a bit of extra time to sit back and relax for a few minutes and to gather our thoughts and for me to have another cup of coffee. There had been a steady drizzle that morning as we travelled to the airport.. Not enough to soak through our clothes, but enough to reflect our dampened spirits.

"Do you think we should phone Terry and let her know what time we'll be getting in?"

I shook my head and said, "Let her sleep. She's probably exhausted after last night and it won't make any difference if we phone now or when we land in Toronto."

He nodded and fell silent for a few long moments. He still looked deeply concerned, but I wasn't certain if it was because of what awaited us at home or because of his having to sit by himself for the next few hours during the long flight home.

"Are you going to be okay sitting alone?" I asked him.

"I don't have much choice, do I?" Brad replied as he looked at me. "I'm a married man now, and I'm a father. It's time I grew up and stopped acting like a child. I can do it, and I will do it." Then, after a short pause, he added softly so that only my ears would hear: "But it would be easier if you were there to hold my hand."

I wanted so much to kiss him, but thought it prudent not to do so in the middle of Heathrow Airport. Instead, I discreetly took his hand in mine and let him squeeze it as hard as he needed to squeeze it.

We boarded on schedule and quickly found our seats. Nigel had at least found us two seats on the aisle on the same side of the Airbus. One seat was in the two-seat row near the windows. The other was five seats ahead in the four-seat section running down the middle of the plane.

Brad opted for the middle section seat away from the windows. He thought he would be able to handle the flight better not being able to see what was going on out there. An older lady and gentleman, about his parents' age, sat next to him with the woman immediately to Brad's left. I stowed his carry-on bag and stood beside him as he settled into the seat and buckled himself and made certain he was secure.

"You're sure you'll be okay, Tiger?" I said softly as I squatted down beside his seat, my hands on the armrest.

"I'll be fine, Pops," he replied. His twinkling but wary green eyes and his nervous chipped-tooth smile gave me the closest thing to a kiss that he could manage.

The woman reached in front of Brad and patted my hand in a grandmotherly fashion. "We'll watch over your son," she said. There was a wee bit of Maritimer in her voice.

"He's not my. . ." Brad began to say, but I cut him off. I thought it best not to make a big deal of it.

"Thank you," I said to the woman. "I appreciate it very much.

With one final, reassuring squeeze of Brad's hand, I went to my own seat and prepared myself for takeoff.

It wasn't long before the window seat beside me was taken by a gentleman who reminded me very much of that magnificent British actor Sir Nigel Hawthorne and, when he spoke, it was like listening to that delightful character he portrayed, Sir Humphrey Appleby, in those wonderful BBC comedies Yes Minister and Yes Prime Minister. I had been lost in thought, staring at Brad and wondering what was going through his mind, when the voice sounded from the aisle beside me: "Pardon me, my friend," the voice said. "I hate to intrude upon your thoughts, but I must step past you to get to my seat and I simply do not wish to scuff your shoes."

I looked up at his congenial, smiling face and pulled my feet, which had been stretched out and tucked under the seat in front of me, out of his way. He stepped past me, settling quickly into his seat and setting his carry-on bag on the floor behind his legs and his briefcase easily between his right leg and the wall of the plane. It was clear that he had flown many times before and knew his routine very well. As soon as he was settled, he turned toward me and extended his right hand in greeting. "Clive Barker," he said with a grin. "The not-so-famous one," he added with a wink.

"Ted de Villiers," I said as I took his hand and shook it. "I don't even know anyone famous."

Clive released my hand and sat back in his seat. "de Villiers. French?"

"South African, actually," I explained, "but born and raised in Canada."

"Ah. That explains the accent. It confused me for a few moments. I do enjoy visiting your country, but I do also wish that, perhaps one day, I shall see more of it than Toronto."

"Do you go there often?"

"Several times a year for a fortnight," Clive said as he pulled a package of nicotine chewing gum out of his pocket. He used his thumb to push a piece out of the plastic and foil wrapping and popped it in his mouth before holding up the package to me, offering me a piece as well.

"No thanks," I told him. "I quit last year."

"How ironic," he smiled. "I promised myself last year that I would quit this year. Of course, I've made that promise every year since I was twenty-two." He settled back into his seat once more. "It's all part of my business, you understand. The flying," he added quickly. "Not the smoking. I'm in haberdashery."

His questioning glance told me that he wanted to know my trade, so I told him. "Computers."

He nodded as if that told him everything he needed to know. "Ah, yes. Computers. My five-year-old son knows more about computers than I could possibly learn. Why, he can. . ."

Clive was interrupted by a powerful, male voice coming over the aircraft intercom system. "Ladies and gentlemen," it said. "My name is Captain Overton and I'll be your pilot this morning. There will be a slight delay of about fifteen minutes. Please make yourselves comfortable and thank you for flying Air Canada."

I glanced quickly at Brad, but his head was turned to the left, apparently talking to the woman beside him. I hoped that she had more experience flying and was explaining everything to Brad and trying to comfort him by ensuring him that delays were not uncommon. Meanwhile, there were the expected and also not uncommon groans of displeasure throughout the plane from some of the more anxious and impatient passengers.

"Pshaw," said Clive with a wave of his hand. "Fifteen minutes. They should be grateful it is only fifteen minutes. So, tell me, Ted. . . May I call you ‘Ted'?"

"That's my name," I said with a smile.

"So, tell me, Ted. What brought you to Jolly Old England?"

"Actually, I was here on my honeymoon."

"Newlywed, then?"

"Saturday."

"This is much too soon for a honeymoon to end. Mine went on for almost two years."

"Well," I told him, "we got a phone call this morning. There's a family emergency back home." I gave Clive the Reader's Digest version of what happened.

Clive listened intently and the concern in my voice was quickly mirrored on his face. "Oh, my," he said when I was finished. "How horrible! But where is your wife?"

I took a deep breath, realizing I was now more-or-less backed myself into a corner. There had been a momentary panic when the older lady had called Brad my son, but Brad had admitted that he was now a married man and should start acting like one. Well, I was a married man as well, and it was time that I, too, began acting like one. "Actually, Clive," I said tentatively as I pointed, "it's my husband, and he's the fellow sitting on the aisle a few seats ahead of us. The one in the light blue T-shirt. We couldn't get seating together at the last minute."

Clive leaned to his left to peer around the seats at Brad, then sat back once more and began pushing the button to call the flight attendant.

"Oh, my," he said. "This will not do. No, indeed! This will not do at all!"

I sat back in my seat and closed my eyes, thinking that, perhaps, I should have lied or something, but that would have betrayed Brad and our marriage. Already, I was facing discrimination and I was so suddenly afraid that I'd made one of the biggest mistakes of my life by marrying Brad.

"Yes, Sir?" a female voice said beside me, bringing me out of my thoughts, and I looked up at the smiling young lady standing there.

Clive motioned her closer with a wriggle of his index finger and, as she bent closer, he leaned over me, putting his left hand over my right hand. "My friend here," he began, "was married Saturday last and he's on honeymoon. . ."

"Congratulations," she smiled at me.

I nodded my thanks and smiled back at her.

"Yes, yes," Clive said with some measure of urgency. "Unfortunately, the honeymoon has been nipped short due to a family emergency in Canada. The problem, you see, is that his. . . er. . ." he looked at me questioningly. "Husband?"

I nodded.

"Yes, his husband is that gentleman sitting right up there. It's simply not cricket that they cannot at least sit together. Would it be possible for me to exchange seats with. . . er. . ."

Again, he looked at me with the question in his eyes.

"Brad," I offered.

"Indeed," he said quickly, but quietly. "Would it be possible for me to exchange seats with Brad? I don't mind, really."

The young lady smiled at us and said, "I'll speak with the captain," and then returned to her station to do so.

Surprised, I looked at Clive. "That's not necessary, Clive."

"Bloody hell it's not," he said firmly but unobtrusively. "Besides, I've flown often enough to recognize when someone is terrified of flying, and from the way your Brad is gripping the hand rest, I think he'd feel much safer holding your hand than that rest."

As if he knew we were talking about him, Brad turned back and looked at me, attempting at best a very feeble smile.

"There, you see?" Clive insisted as he patted my hand. "I can almost smell his fear from here. You don't need me talking about measuring inseams for the next several hours, Ted. You need him and he most definitely needs you."

"Thank you, Clive."

"My pleasure," he said. "Consider it my wedding gift to you."

* * * * *

Brad was most grateful of the exchange and took my seat on the aisle as I slid over to the window seat recently vacated by our new friend, the not-so-famous Clive Barker, who quickly endeared himself with the older couple beside whom he was now sitting. The flight was uneventful and Brad even managed to fall asleep on my shoulder for a short while. I was sleepy as well and closed my eyes, but I couldn't sleep. My mind was too preoccupied with what awaited us at home. I'm certain we talked, but I was so happy to be sitting with him again, know that he wasn't afraid anymore, that I don't even remember what was said between us. We held hands most of the way across the ocean.

Still, Brad was grateful to have both feet back on good ol' Terra Firma when we landed at Pearson. I phoned Terry on my cell phone, which was working once again, and told her we were back in Canada and would be home as soon as we could. She offered to come get us, but I told her it would be quicker if we simply caught a taxi. Truth be told, I was certain her nerves were as frazzled as mine were and I didn't want her to have to face the freeway traffic getting to the airport.

"We'll all be waiting for you, Mr. Dee," she said softly. "They're still quite upset."

"Don't worry," I told her. "We'll be home as soon as we can. I'll phone you again when we pull off the Four-Oh-One."

"Okay," she replied. "I'll wait until you call before I tell the kids you're coming."

"Thanks, Terry," I told her. "We owe you."

As luck would have it, we were part of the last group of people to be taken through customs and, by the time we were cleared and our luggage was piled upon a trolley, there were very few taxis available and none of those were particularly willing to drive that far out of the city with little chance of getting a fare back to Toronto.

The first thing we noticed when we stepped outside was that, while it was still hot outside, the oppressive humidity was gone and the weather was much more tolerable.

Clive, who had offered to take us home in the company car which had been waiting for him at Pearson - an offer which we had declined - remained with us just in case his help was needed again. We finally found a younger driver who was eager to take us all the way home.

We bid our farewells to Clive and exchanged business cards with our Email addresses on them before climbing into the back seat of the cab and waving goodbye to him. Our cabbie headed out into the freeway traffic and we were on the final leg of our journey home.

Very little was said during the trip. Both Brad and I were much too anxious to be concerned about words. Once more, we held hands and, the closer we got, the harder Brad squeezed mine and the harder I squeezed his. As promised, I phoned Terry once we pulled off the Four-Oh-One. Still, when we met with the detours, it was Brad who talked the driver around them and brought us closer and closer to home.

And then we were a block away. I glanced quickly over the driver's seat at the meter, pulled my wallet out of my pocket, grabbed out a few bills, and tossed them onto the seat beside the driver, telling him to ‘keep the change'.

As the car slowed, Brad said to me, "You go, Ted. I'll get the bags."

Even before the car rolled to a stop in front of the house which Brad used to call ‘home', I could see the twins and my daughter standing behind the screened aluminum door, watching for us. . . waiting. All three were crying.

As I opened the back door of the cab, they pushed open the aluminum door. I quickly climbed out, not even bothering to close the door behind me, and began my short sprint across the lawn to meet them.

To Be Continued​

 

[sshaffer15]

Such quick work after your "crash." I know what it is like to lose everything like that. Anyone who works with computers probably knows how it feels. As for "Watching Brad," a continuing cliffhanger. You are so cruel not even giving us a hint to what the emergency is. Thank you for another good chapter. Good luck with restoring your computer to "pre-crash" condition. Looking forward to next week, if you are able. Take care.

 

[GrayFox]

Okay, Neil? A two week cliffhanger? Are you trying to kill us?

 

[upyrkilt469]

I agree with the others, Neil, you are trying to kill us, but I guess we'll just have to grin and bear it. Sorry about you computer and hope things are back now. Vic

 

[sheep]

Neil, Did you just do a double cliff hanger on us? Are you punishing us, your faithful readers for your Windows problem? At least can't you give us a clue as to why my eyes are wet? This again is cruel and unusual punishment.

 

[harry113]

Hi Neil, glad you got something out of that pc of yours! Lol
Now you have us all on the edge of our chairs till the next chapter!!
Whatever has happened??
Great chapter, Thanks Dear Guy
Hugs
Harry