EPILOGUE

Lisbon, January 2022

After Calem finished, he stared into the fireplace. His coffee had long grown cold.

“That’s quite a story! I’m waiting for Lucky Santangelo to walk into the room saying that she owns 51% of the South China Sea oil leases before she fires us from the Board of Directors!”

Jorge took a final sip from his coffee before putting the cup down on the table beside him.

“You call it a story; I call it my life.”

Calem remained fixated on the flickering flames within the fireplace, an air of nostalgia surrounding him, wrapping him momentarily into its embrace.

“Honestly, I don’t know what to say.”

“I do! It’s your prima tomorrow, and it’s time for your bed. I want to stay for a little while longer to enjoy the fire.”

Calem continued to stare into the fireplace as Jorge got up and blew air kisses at Calem as he left the room.

“Okay! Night, night, and don’t stay up too long.”

The next morning Jorge found Calem asleep in the chair.

“Calem, did you not sleep in your bed last night?”

“No, I couldn’t sleep. ‘No rest the guilty find from the pursuing furies of the mind!’”

“Oh hello, Dejanira!”

Calem yawned as he stretched himself out on the chair. Jorge giggled and curtsied as he restarted the fire. He rekindled the fire, and in mere moments, the room was filled with the aroma and crackling of burning wood.

“‘Hence, hence! Iris, hence away!’”

“Okay, Marilyn Horne!”

Jorge switched the kettle on, sat on the edge of the chair, and looked at Calem with concern.

“Hmm… I know these early experiences leave a scar. That is directly because of homophobia. We live in these storms because of shame, secrets, and trauma. It is not your fault, homophobia. You are the victim of it, not the perpetrator. Remember that.”

“I know, I know. However, I do feel I should bear some responsibility for what happened between Ben and me. I should have handled things better.”

“I honestly don’t know what more to say to you. But this happened years ago, and you are still being tortured by it. It’s time to find closure. Move on!”

Calem appeared lost in his own thoughts, a veil seemed to shroud his thoughts, giving no indication of his willingness to divulge them.

“What are you doing after Paride?”

“I have to get back to Paris for a few Polifemo’s with La Finta Giardiniera, a madrigal concert in Saville, and then Potsdam for the festival, which includes the hideous Scarlatti I told you about. And that will take me on tour to August or September. And I think the next gig, Stradella’s San Giovanni in late September, in New York and then Cosi in Aix in November. Are you coming to any of them?”

“Hmm, maybe. The Stradella in New York might be possible.”

“Okay, let me know and I’ll organise comps for you! I’ll have my usual flat and there’s a spare room for you.”

“You must be making a pretty penny these days!”

“Indeed!”

“Cheers to that!”

“Thank you... Listen, I’ve been thinking!”

“Oh, yes?”

“Catarina has offered me her flat in Alghero again for two weeks weeks in December. How about we go there for a few days in the winter sun? You always love it there!”

“Sounds like a good idea. Let me check my diary when I get back to the office. I’ll go if my schedule can be cleared. It sounds like great fun.”

“Should be.”

Jorge noticed the smile fading from Calem’s face.

“Hey, tell me, what’s going on now.”

“I just realised it’s Ben’s birthday in December.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t know what to do about him. I didn’t know what I felt for him then, but I now know that I loved him. Madly. And maybe, too much. But did he love me? I honestly don’t know.”

“It sounds like he did, but he didn’t know it, and he also didn’t know how to express it.”

“Maybe. I had one photo of him, and I can’t find it. It’s horrible; after all these years I can barely remember what he looks like. You know, I didn’t even cry that night when I found out he died. I’ve disassociated myself from everything that happened, and speaking about him last night, after years of suppression, reopened old wounds. Last night was the first time I cried for him.”

Tears started to form in Calem’s eyes.

“You know? What happened, happened! You need to make peace with it. Have you thought of seeking professional help?”

“Yes, I have, and I will look into it when I return home.”

“Good.”

“Jorge, reflecting on the years that have passed, I’ve come to understand that there was a certain inner force driving Ben towards danger. Spending time with him often resembled a journey on a runaway train, hurtling uncontrollably towards a cliff. Strangely, one felt unfazed at the impending disaster ahead.”

“Yeah, I picked up on that. Your description of Ben makes me wish that I had met him! He sounds like an exciting guy.”

“Yes, he was! Even at the age of seventeen, Ben was truly something else. He had a knack for subtly casting a spell over people, making them do his bidding without their awareness. Ben was keenly aware of the power he held over others, and he was often unafraid to shamelessly exploit it to his advantage. But Christ, did he have a body like mortal sin; the aura of a moody James Dean combined with the lean, chiselled features of a young Travolta, including those full lips. His smile was terrific, his teeth perfectly aligned. When he smiled, his differently coloured eyes lit up, adding an extra layer of charm to him. He oozed confidence, defiance, genuine warmth, and an effortless, magnetic attraction that, when he chose to, charged a room with excitement. On the other hand, his frown was as terrifying and intimidating as his smile was open and infectious.”

Calem looked into the fire, deep in thought.

“Jorge, that night, after I called him, Ben went drinking with Tom and David. This, and the guilt I carry for betraying him, weigh heavily on me. I wish I could turn back time to that night when I broke up with him, and instead, I’d do the opposite. I feel guilty that I am alive, and that he isn’t. I want to be with him again. But the only way I can be with him is to be dead too.”

“This is not the most conducive way to look at it. Based on what you have told me, this guy was unbelievably bad for you. He was profoundly toxic and treated you brutally. He left a substantial trail of emotional devastation in his wake, seemingly indifferent to anything other than satisfying his own immediate desires and needs. There is no conceivable way that you, or anyone else, could sustain a healthy relationship with such a monster as the one that you’ve described.”

Calem’s expression became less fraught as Jorge’s words registered in his mind.

“I don’t know. I don’t think your assessment is completely fair. I was pretty horrendous, too. We were very compatible in some ways, and incompatible in others. As a typical Scorpio I like to delve into the depths of emotions. I guess being with me forced that Sagittarius to reluctantly become more in touch with his feelings.”

“Hmm.”

“I did not acknowledge it at the time, but in return he unintendedly showed me how I could embrace a more optimistic and light-hearted approach to life. He valued freedom and independence, which clashed with my desire for emotional intensity and commitment. I know how all of this led to misunderstandings and hurt feelings.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“I will live. One day at a time.”

“Please explain.”

“Let me put it like this. We live very privileged lives. I know many people who would kill to have your or my life. My current approach is to give my all and lead a life free of expectations from others. I have been trying to replace Ben with other men; none of them have been able to live up to my memory of him.”

“Hmm. And what does all of this mean in practice?”

“In practice, this means that, for the time being, I won’t be dating. If someone comes into my life, they do, but I won’t actively seek them out. If no one comes along, I’m fine with that as well because Ben’s memory is enough to sustain me. In fact, it seems like the preferable option to me for the foreseeable future.”

“But do you honestly intend to sustain yourself just on his memory?”

“Jorge, I’ve been wearing a mask for the last thirty-two years - a mask that has suppressed, concealed, and denied Ben’s existence and my enduring love for him. What I have done has terrified me. I’ve closed myself off, built emotional walls so high that even I can’t see over them, and it’s suffocating. It’s like I’m drowning in my own silence. The way we broke up, my sleeping with Larry, and Ben’s subsequent death still tear me apart. Ben was more than just a boyfriend; he was the love of my life. With his death, a part of me died with him, leaving an insurmountable void in my heart. It’s not just him I lost, but also the ability to truly open up to anyone else. Ben was the only one who made me feel safe, cherished, and understood. Without him, I’ve always felt adrift, unable to trust others with my soul as I once did with him. Ben’s memory and the repudiation of my true feelings for him has hindered my ability to form meaningful relationships with other men. They have all stood in his shadow. I want to let people in, but I now realised, perhaps too late, that I’ve been living in denial all these years by accepting second best.”

“Cara, this self-imposed emotional distance from others cannot be healthy.”

“Jorge, then let us thank God that each day brings me one day closer to be reunited with Ben.”

Jorge drew in a long drag from his cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment. With a deliberate exhale, he slowly released the smoke into the crisp air. The smoke billowed out in a subtle, wavering stream, forming a transient, smoky cloud that drifted upward and dispersed, carried away by the gentle breeze. As it dissipated, it left behind a faint, lingering trace of mint and tobacco behind as it faded into the air.

“Just as long as you know that you are not alone and that I am here for you.”

“I know you are. But I miss him every day. Not a day passes that I don’t think of him. I miss the way he looked at me, the way he made me feel alive, the way he made me feel like I was enough. No one has ever made me feel like that. Ben did. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to open up to someone like that again. I just can’t see anyone being able to replace him. Maybe one day I can find the courage to let someone else in, but for now, no.”

Jorge listened intently, while continuing to enjoy his cup of coffee, watching the flicker of the embers dance and eventually die away.

Alghero, December 2022

A few months later, Calem and Jorge arrived at Alghero – the flight arrived two hours later than advertised, leaving them both a little worse for wear. When they got to the flat the caretaker, Federica, was already waiting for them.

Shortly after Federica left, Jorge decided to take a shower before bed. Calem, utterly exhausted, crept into bed. He barely rested his head on the pillow before he fell asleep.

Calem awoke with a start, his heart still racing from the vivid and surreal dream that had just played out in his mind. Momentarily confused, he soon recognised that he was in Caterina’s flat. In the dream, he had seen Ben appearing as vivid as ever. As the haze of slumber lifted, Calem could not help but feel grateful for the dream, yet deeply moved by the reminder of the loss that still persisted within him. It was as if his subconscious had opened a door to the past, allowing him to reconnect with Ben. As the remnants of the dream slowly dissipated, he could not help but feel a lingering sense of relief.

He got up slowly and made his way into the kitchen. As he opened the balcony door, the brilliant Mediterranean sun poured into the room. Before long, Jorge too got up.

“Jorge, can you put some goddamn clothes on! It’s freezing, and you are barely wearing anything!”

“I don’t need clothes to make breakfast, do I? It’s just us sisters. Besides, don’t you like the sweet little nothing I am almost wearing?”

Calem stared at him in disbelief, mimicking a gag reflex by inserting a finger into his mouth.

“No, thank you, Pussy Galore.”

“Jill Masterson, surely!”

“Whoever! Put some clothes on, please!”

“Coffee first!”

Jorge walked sleepily to the coffee maker. Kindly, Caterina had asked Federica to buy some breakfast food for them. With Jorge’s customary flair, a spread of coffee, croissants, and fresh fruit was artfully arranged on the balcony table. The balcony provided an excellent vantage point to witness the sun as the beach came to life with locals and tourists.

“We are such good housewives,” Jorge said.

“Yes, so good no husband will keep with us!”

“Speak for yourself! I have many husbands!”

“Listen here. I had the strangest dream about Ben last night.”

Jorge became concerned. He knew whenever Ben’s name came up in conversation, Calem’s mood would undergo a significant and disquieting change.

“Oh Gaaaawd. Is this never going to end?”

“Don’t worry. This time it was quite different though.”

Calem thought for a second as he buttered a croissant.

“So, I am waiting!”

“This was unlike the other dreams I’ve had of Ben over the years. Usually, he and I are engaged in some activity together, or we encounter each other in passing on the street, in a room, or at church. However, this time we found ourselves in an unspecified location, and Ben was wearing a red suit with a white t-shirt. He bore a serene smile of remarkable beauty and appeared completely at peace. He said to me, ‘I am in your dream because I don’t want you to forget what I look like.’”

“Are you fucking serious?”

Jorge put his coffee down on the table in disbelief, triggered by memories of their conversation in Lisbon months earlier. Calem nodded in agreement, realising the meaning of the dream.

“Jorge, I have not been able to shake the guilt I feel for betraying Ben when he was alive. The betrayal ate at me and only worsened after his death. But Ben’s appearance in this dream felt so real. I feel that he forgave me. It was as if he had come to grant me the peace and closure I had been yearning for. I don’t know how to explain it, but I feel like I can finally start to heal. I feel that he would not have appeared to me if he had not forgiven me and reciprocated my love as I did his.”

Calem’s heart lightened, feeling an overwhelming sense of absolution wash over him as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Calem knew that Ben’s forgiveness brought a bittersweet sense of relief that had eluded him for so long.

Calem looked at the sea and took a sip of coffee.

“As the Marquise de Merteuil says, ‘The past is what you remember, imagine you remember, convince yourself you remember, or pretend you remember.’”

THE END