I hate it when we’re apart, but since last October, Gray’s life has had to revolve around his mother, Rona. She’s a lovely woman who dotes on her wonderful son. Sadly, just over a year ago, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. After a gruelling programme of treatment, she began having the most awful panic attacks and became a virtual recluse. Gray and I put our plans on hold because family comes first. But for Gray he has had to struggle to work to keep the bills paid and be her only form of support, so it would be a lie to say it hasn’t affected our relationship. True love never dies, but it needs constant care and attention. We’ve both been miserable and lonely, but as hard as it’s been for me, it’s been even harder for Gray.
Rona has been on her own for a long time, since Gray’s father, Grayson Alexander Adams, returned to the States when his son was five years old. Gray has never been to America, or met his grandparents.
I think that’s one of the things that drew us together when we were first introduced, almost three years ago now. Neither of us have siblings and both have just the one parent figure in our lives, albeit mine is a grandparent. There’s a sense of responsibility that accompanies that, I’ve discovered as the years have passed. Granddad worries about me, but now I worry about him – constantly. It’s been the same for Gray. He ended up having to move back into his family home, as Rona floundered to cope with day-to-day living. And suddenly, it wasn’t just our plans for last Christmas that fell apart, but our dream was put on hold.
I try not to dwell on the seemingly impossible question over whether Gray and I will ever be able to get together as a couple, permanently. Rona won’t consider leaving the house she’s lived in since the day Gray was born and Tollie, well, the marina has been his life for more than fifty years. He’s spent the last thirteen years making sure I’m okay, but as time passes our respective roles have begun to change.
The child becomes the parent, and in a way it’s the same for Gray. With Tollie, I try my best to knock some sense into him. He takes on too much, resolute in the belief that nothing should slow him down – even the aches and pains of a body that is beginning to rebel. He’s eighty-six now and very active by anyone’s standards, but he needs to realise he isn’t a machine. If he doesn’t learn to pace himself there will be consequences and that thought terrifies me.
‘Ahem. Two beers?’ Kurt appears and, rather reluctantly, I pull away from Gray.
The guys do their usual manshake, ending with a fist pump as Kurt expertly balances the tray on one hand.
‘My, The Bullrush Christmas Brew – that’s new,’ Gray replies with a smile. We’re both impressed as we take our seats.
‘Famous at last. You can’t say you’ve made it until you have a brew with your name on it. Are you staying over?’ Kurt asks.
The same question has been hovering on my lips, too. The heart-stopping disappointment if he isn’t didn’t allow me to ask.
On the few occasions Gray has made it here for a visit, the two-hour plus round trip has robbed us of precious time together. Our relationship has become a waiting game, full of brief, exciting highs and then long periods where all we’ve been able to snatch is an hour on the phone, late at night.
‘Yep. And, hopefully, every Friday and Saturday right up until Christmas. Fingers crossed I don’t get any rush jobs.’ Gray winks at me and I could jump up and down with joy. He does look a little tired, but I can see he’s content that things at home are going well.
‘Us struggling musicians have to chase the work. You know what it’s like. One day I’ll be famous and then I’ll get to pick and choose. But hey, this weekend I’ll be donning my Captain Christmas cap and it will be all aboard The Santa Ahoy Special, as we kick-start the festive season. Life doesn’t get any better than when I have Santa’s trusty elf by my side.’
Kurt chuckles as he walks away to fetch our food. I’m very aware that the other pressure on Gray is a financial one, which means he can’t afford to turn down any job that comes his way, even if it involves working at weekends. And that adds to the pressure if Rona isn’t doing well. As a self-employed musician and composer who was based in London, the distance has put him at a disadvantage. But even when he isn’t working, he’s always tinkering about with some little project or other.
As we take our seats, Gray holds up his beer bottle and we chink.
‘That’s good news… that you can stay over.’ I’m trying not to sound as excited as I feel, but my heart is pounding in my chest and suddenly I’m full of the joys of Christmas. ‘Let the festivities begin!’
Our eyes lock and I can see how much he’s missed me and feel that sense of regret for the time we’ve lost. Sometimes life seems too complicated and it’s hard to avoid feeling a bit depressed. Fortunately, my other part-time job, at the Lockside Nurseries, spirits me away to my happy place. When people, or the world in general, are getting me down, then nurturing nature’s bountiful gifts is spiritually healing. I can lose myself for hours in the greenhouses deadheading, or re-potting and watering. It’s the only place I can really switch off the emotional turmoil for a while.
Gray is gazing at me and I feel my cheeks begin to glow.
‘What?’
‘I’m just happy to see you. Is that a crime?’ He laughs and I want to hug him all over again.
‘That’s not a smile, it’s a mischievous look you’re wearing. It’s great to see you so relaxed, Gray.’ I reach forward and graze my fingers over the back of his hand.
‘Ma is doing well. She’s even started driving again. I’ve left her with a packed weekend planned. So, here’s to lovers of Christmas everywhere and to a very special one for us this year Immi.’ The optimism in his voice as he makes a toast touches my heart. ‘Who is this little boy you were telling me about on the phone, who made my Immi cry, then?’
Taking a quick sip of beer, I’m pleased that it isn’t too strong, or overpowering. This is going to be a popular one; Pete and David have done The Bullrush proud.
‘A hint of fennel, hmm… I like that,’ I confirm, placing the bottle firmly back down onto the tabletop. ‘The little boy’s name is Billy Davis.’
‘And he’s seven, you said?’
‘Yes. He was nominated by his grandma for a silver ticket. Watch this clip.’ I pull out my phone and flick through to find the email.
Mrs Price, Tollie’s former housekeeper, is the official contact for nominations for two very special boat trips we run for the Santa Ahoy Little Stars. All the other trips are run in aid of charity, but the silver tickets are for children who deserve a little extra spoiling.
As I click on the attachment, Gray pulls his chair up alongside me.
The picture is dark and a little grainy, but it’s just possible to make out a child’s bed and the distressed sobs emanating from a heap in the middle. It’s a pitiful sound in the soft grey light and it’s a wail that comes from deep down inside the poor little mite. The young boy is crouched down on the floor next to his sister, his voice calm and reassuring. He’s trying to comfort her, but I don’t think she can even hear him above the noise she’s making, so great is her distress. Only the odd hiccough breaks the constant sobbing.