I don’t know why I’m sitting in the dark. I don’t know why I’m listening to the Housemartins. I absolutely have no idea why I’m listening to Caravan of Love. It’s not that it’s a bad song exactly, and if it’s a metaphor for my life at the moment, then it’s a pretty good one. Whatever the case, it’s hardly a reason to have it on quiet and on endless repeat.
The song does have a certain melancholic feel to it, Paul’s lead vocal is haunting and the general acapella nature of the whole thing is one that is in a strange counterpoint to the actual lyrics.
So, yes, I am feeling a little down and out of sorts at the moment, but, honestly, I’ve had better months. Finding that complete and utter bastard, who I thought I loved, in our bed with someone little more than half his age was the last straw. I know that the decision to leave was mine, but I couldn’t stay there, even if I had been brave enough and thrown him out.
Actually, the lease was always in my name and Peter will be homeless in a couple of weeks, unless he can somehow persuade the agency that he’s a good risk – something he’s never been able to do before. I’ve got an A+ rating and found this little place on the other side of Douglas after spending only one night at my mother’s place.
One night was enough. She’s always been very accepting of my sexuality – not that I gave her any choice in the matter – but not so happy with my choice in men. The fact that she was right about Peter really isn’t something I need to hear repeated every hour. I love her, but the nagging and complaining can get a bit much at times. It’s the endless recriminations and ‘I told you so’ moments that start to get you down pretty quickly.
I didn’t even manage to bring all my stuff from the old apartment. I was in such a rush to get out that I just grabbed what I could. I left little enough behind that I probably will just forget about it. A few more clothes and some bedding can soon be replaced. As long as I have my working desktop computers, I can keep on doing my job, and that’s the main thing. I remembered to grab my cameras as well.
If anyone asks, I tell them that I do ‘computer stuff’, and generally leave it at that. The fact that I work mostly from home means that I keep a low profile. The Isle of Man has a strong presence in the world of online gaming – gaming more in the sense of betting and gambling, not shooting at things. I work as an independent software compliance tester. Clients send me code and I make sure that it follows the rules and doesn’t do anything unfair to the end user or to the company who are going to be using it. Everything has to be fair for everybody.
Online gambling is a strange beast. The Island has a reputation for running a robust and above all fair licencing regime. If the roll of a dice or the turn of a card has to be random, then one of the things that I do is check that the algorithm used is truly unbiased and not predictable. The companies are allowed to make a profit, of course, just not by rigging the games. It cuts both ways though. I also ensure that a player can’t figure out any potential static or predictable sequence and win big.
Much of my work involves examining in detail other programmer’s code and also writing my own tools to test and log the output of that code. Peter once told me that I could make a fortune by using these skills to give me an advantage. He suggested that I could let some code pass that I then knew how to exploit. On reflection, that’s just the sort of suggestion a drugged-up lazy cheating bastard like him would make.
So, my new place feels small. It’s not really, but it is quite a bit smaller than the old place. The second bedroom has been turned into my office, complete with my two main powerful PCs and the associated monitors, printer and networking gear. Partly, this is my own fault – I could have waited a week or so and chosen a much bigger and nicer apartment. I opted for this immediately available, more suburban setting in order to get away from my mother, the scrutiny of others and the seemingly endless whispering gossip surrounding my recent acrimonious split.
Peter is the popular one and, despite my being the wronged party here, many of our acquaintances – I mean his friends and therefore people I know – will never see him in anything other than the glowing light of innocence. I’m not a big socializer, probably why I’m not so popular, but this will now hopefully play in my favour. I can keep my head down for a few weeks and get on with some work, while I keep out of the social eye and away from social media.
I’m lucky that my work skills are in demand. I have a business reputation as a solid and reliable option, not that there’s anyone else on the Island doing what I do. Most of the local companies use my services as a first choice. The alternative option, sending the code off-island to another specialist, is more difficult for them to deal with from a compliance stand-point.
I’ve carved out my niche and normally have enough work in the pipeline to keep me just busy enough. Right now, though, as I use work to keep my mind off recent events, I’m going to find myself running out of new projects pretty quickly.
Maybe I should just finish up the work in the pipeline and then take a couple of days off-island. I don’t know where I might go, but anywhere would be better than staring at four walls. I can take my cameras and grab some photographs, perhaps in a new place. Maybe later today I’ll get a chance to see if there are any bargains to be had.
“Adam?”
“Yes Mum. Who else might answer my phone?”
“Sorry, Son. I’m just used to Peter picking up when you’re busy. I forget sometimes.”
“It’s fine, Mum. I do understand. We were together for three years. It’s a break from routine for me as well. I have to remember to keep my phone nearby.”
“Adam, are you okay?”
“Oh, what? Yes, I’m fine. I’m still pissed off with him and I don’t want to face anybody, but I’m fine.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound much like the normal definition of fine. Why should you be worried about facing people? He cheated on you.”
“Yes, but most of our mutual friends were his friends first and I think they’ll take his side, whatever the truth. I just can’t be arsed dealing with it.”
“So, you’re moping at home and working to forget?”
“Mum!”
“Don’t ‘Mum’ me. Are you doing what I just said or not?”
“You’re not totally wrong. It won’t last though. I’ll clear the work pipeline in another week or so anyway.”
“Oh, that’s perfect.”
“Mum? What have you done?”
“Why do you always think that I’ve done something wrong? You always assume the worst.”
“Well, possibly because you often actually do the wrong thing? Stop trying to deflect. What have you done?”
“Well, I might have booked you a holiday. Starting from next weekend.”
“What. Stop spending bloody money on me. I’m thirty-three, not thirteen. Besides, I have more money than you do. I never let Peter get anywhere near my bank accounts.”
“Look. You’re my only family and I do have the money. You need a break and this deal came up when I was looking for a holiday for myself. It just sounded so perfect for you.”
When we lost Dad, at just fifty from a massive heart attack, we were naturally devastated. But the combination of his pension and the insurance has left Mum very comfortable, paid off their mortgage and allowed her to retire from the civil service at the earliest opportunity. With no grandchildren to dote over – clearly no chance of that from me – she has found a love of travel and takes three or four holidays every year.
That doesn’t mean I want her to organise one for me. I do like to travel, but I like to pick and choose my locations, usually more for the photographic opportunities than the cultural or social ones.
“What sort of holiday?” I ask with some trepidation.
“An eight-day cruise around the Scottish Islands.”
“A bloody cruise? Eight days with 500 sets of grandparents?”
“Look. It sounds like a perfect escape. You can stay in your cabin and watch the view change if that’s what you want. They have satellite internet and you could actually just take your laptop and work, but at least it would be somewhere else than in your apartment.”
“I don’t know. I…”
“What, you had something better planned for the next week or two? You’ve always wanted to go and take photographs in Scotland.” Well, this is true. I really have always wanted to see some of the sights of the highlands. She really has thought about this and it doesn’t sound so bad. I’ve had a love of landscape photography since I was a teenager. That and programming have always been my things. I kept my photography as my means of escape from the rest of my life. A time to be alone and away from it all.
“No, not exactly. Okay, why don’t you send me the details and I’ll think about it.”
“Good boy! I knew you’d like it.”
“No, Mum, I probably won’t like it. But I bet you’ve left it until the last moment and can’t get a refund now.”
Honestly, I’m saying that I don’t want to go mainly because it is Mum’s choice, not because of the choice itself. The thought behind the action was nice and Mum really can’t get the ticket refunded at this late stage.
Apparently, it was a last-minute bargain anyway. Even more honestly, I do need to escape, if only for a single week. The itinerary is pretty good from a photography point of view and I suppose I can just accept with good grace and make the most of it.
It only takes a few minutes to email all my working contacts and let them know that I’ll be away from the office for a few days – most of them will know what happened by now anyway, one of the disadvantages of Island life. Nothing coming back seems to be too urgent, so I can probably just slip quietly off and nobody will even notice.
It might be a good idea to let my best friend know though. I’d better give her a call. She’ll automatically assume the worst if I just drop off the radar, even for a few days. It’s not as if it is something I have history with. I’m always contactable, even when I’m at my lowest. And despite everything, I’m nowhere near my lowest yet.
“Adam, how are you?”
“Hi Gilly. Not so bad. Just keeping my head down for a little bit longer.”
“Well, you shouldn’t. Do you want to go out at the weekend?”
“Sorry, I can’t. That’s what I’m calling about. I’m going to be away for a few days.”
“Oh. Anywhere nice?”
“No, not really. Mum has booked me on a cruise to Scotland. It’s already paid for, so I can’t really say no. I know that cruising really is not my thing, but it is a chance to be away for a few days.”
“You never know. You might meet somebody. How big is the ship?”
“I’m not sure, maybe a thousand passengers, fairly small by modern standards. There won’t be any single gay men on the ship under the age of seventy, apart from possibly some of the crew.”
“Sorry, but you may have a valid point. Are there any bright points here?”
“Well, it is an all-inclusive deal. I can get pissed every day for free – you know, like that bloke in the ‘Carry on Cruising’ film? Start drinking at ten and keep going until I collapse at the bar.”
“But, Adam, you hardly drink anymore. I can’t see you spending a week propping the bar up.”
“Bugger. I could start again.”
“Seriously, are you really going to be okay for a few days?”
“Yes Gilly, I’ll survive. I’ll take my camera and my laptop. Mum even said I could work if I got bored. There are a couple of places on the itinerary that I have wanted to visit with the camera, so it’s not as bad as it could be. At least Mum’s not coming with me!”
“Are you doing the Facebook thing? Posts from every port, video from the disco, all that shit?”
“No, probably not.”
“Once upon a time, long, long ago, you were a bit more interesting.”
“Actually, Gilly, no I wasn’t. I’ve never been interesting, just reliable.”
“I hate to ask, but have you heard from Peter?”
“No. Any reason why I should?”
“Well, he has been whinging quite a bit on Facebook about being kicked out of his apartment. Apparently, that’s all your fault.”
“Twat!”
“Oh, don’t worry, I soon put the record straight. I made it very clear that he was the one that cheated and he’s the one with the totally shit credit rating.”
“I do wish you’d just keep quiet.”
“No. He deserves everything that he gets. Total bastard that he is. Anyway, the general trend, even from his die-hard cronies, is that he went too far this time.”
“What. Really?”
“Yes, really. I think even his friends are getting tired of his complaining and that whole hard-done-by routine. You might feel more like being seen in public when you get back now?”
“Well, maybe. They’ll all rally round soon enough.”
“Don’t be so sure. Most of them don’t like or trust that kid he’s seeing now. Apparently, they both like something a little sweeter than sugar when they’re out on the town and are making it a bit more obvious than Peter did when he was with you.”
“Fuck’s sake. Why am I not in the least bit surprised. Trust Peter to hook up with another coke-head!”
“Exactly. You’re well out of all of it.”
“Thanks Gilly, you’ve actually put a smile on my face. Not something I’m used to at the moment.”
“What else are friends for?”
“Lifts to the ferry on Saturday morning?”
“Now, that’s cheeky. You know I will. Are you staying in Liverpool overnight?”
“No, the ship doesn’t leave until after four. I’ve plenty of time to make it on the same day. I’ll not even need a lay-over when I get back. Straight off the ship and back on the ferry.”
“And, I guess you’ll need picking up from the ferry when you get back?”
“You’re an angel!”
“You should spend some money and learn to drive.”
“You’ve seen me playing video games? Sure, I can type well enough, but I struggle to fasten a shirt.”
“Fair.”
“I should just find a cute, nice, reliable guy who also happens to drive.”
“Well, you never know your luck. I’ll pick you up.”
“Thanks a million Gilly. See you on Saturday at about eight?”
“Yes, okay. See you then. Bye!”
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