Liz arrived at her daughter's home, letting herself in to hear a new recording playing. Alex sounded broken and sad, singing of grief and loss. Her heart wrenched, guilt eating at her. After estrangement for two years, her son had written to her to say he and this Brian were engaged and planning to marry in the New Year. The long rambling essay described how he was ok with his fractured mental state, his issues and did not need any interventions or medication. She could almost make out different alters giving their point of view, Alex/AJ their son and two strangers. Clean, sober, living well and working at his own pace. Happy living back in London and invited to spend Christmas this year with Paul and Mel in Aspen. She stayed in the hall listening as the track changed, the next song was in a low register and spoke of the rekindling of desire and the bittersweet joy of moving on. 'Your love is forever burnt into my memories, a stranger's intimate touch not betrayal but survival, lust fuelled passion masking the pain of losing you'. Ever the poet, a song that could have been written in the dark days after Paul left him, that love had been reforged a deep friendship bond. His voice had changed, it was richer. He had always kept up with his operatic training and breathing exercises, it showed. The recording of a vocal without any cleaning or auto tune.
Her listening was disturbed by Sabina interrupting, "it's amazing isn't it? Raw, beautiful and his best work to date. It's getting serious AirPlay in Britain and across Europe." The younger woman then showed her mother her iPhone, the album titled Life, Love, Death, Grief on the display. An almost black photo of Alex floating in a the sea. "Stop procrastinating, talk to him. He was in a really bad place. You should see him. He has a guy that loves him. Maybe he's in love. Hard to tell with Alex and the others. You never got that. I told you after we moved to the States that he was different, like three alters different. Tom didn't, he knew the unbroken Alex and I think he just wanted his old friend back. The school incident was not the worst. Bad things came in threes for us: Nice, Scotland then School. Triple or quadruple that for Alex. It's been rough for him since. Cut him some slack and take off that puritanical hat you've been wearing for three years. Either he's your son 100%, or you're a cold hearted, two faced bitch. There, I've been wanting to say that since we moved here."
...
Alex stood across the street and observed the tourists on the zebra crossing at Abbey Road. This was a milestone. He'd only agreed to do the vocal work because it was working in the most historic studio in London. Chances were doing the vocal for this DJ was going to be akin to pulling teeth, but the guy had been seriously wooing him. He walked across behind some Japanese teenagers, who took photos of him entering the iconic EMI studios.
The assistant hovered offering a litany of possible cures for his nausea. Stood over the bucket, Alex stopped trying to manage his anxiety and vomited in full view of the engineer, producer, the multi platinum selling DJ sure of his next number one hit, the cameraman and the director of the promotional documentary style video. He took the offered bottle of water and rinsed his mouth. The assistant then leant down intent on removing the offensive contents, but the singer stopped her. "I tend to puke more than once. It's just nerves. So, let's get the first take over so I get over my extreme stage fright. I do hope you got that on camera". His stomach rolled as he moved to the Mike and watched everyone enter the control booth. He could see in through the large window. The room was huge. He vomited again as the engineer started the backing track.
Deep breaths did nothing to stop the excess saliva which signalled he was still locked in the cycle of regurgitating his stomach contents. He touched two items in his jacket pocket, which he had brought with him from his bedroom collection. The handcuffs and blindfold had been the first gifts from his Dom. He signalled for a time out. Taking the bucket to the John himself. After a quick wash, he had a quick chat with the man in charge of this Rodeo. "Rick, I have an idea. It's a bit out there..."
...
The finished track and video were shared with the singer ten days later. The video was a mix of images, sexual subtext throughout. Alex had sung in the designer outfit he had chosen for the session: a sheer shirt, skintight leather trousers. He had taken off his jacket, boots and socks. Stood bare foot, but wearing Brian's gifts; calmed by the mere suggestion of his Dom. Rick messaged "best love song ever. My girlfriend has questioned if we were an item at one time. She loved the clip of me blindfolding and handcuffing you, while you were kneeling. Will be over later to discuss a few TV spots."
Alex walked around to see his lover. Together they watched the premiere, Alex confessing, "it was a mistake going alone. I'd have completely bottled it if I hadn't taken your gifts with me. I got in the zone though connecting to you. Like you were there with me. Rick was a good sport about my foibles. I think I might have finally got a way to handle my issues with recording and performing. Even thinking of you is enough to ground me. The down side of this is the drag of publicity. It'll be tv, radio and a few festivals next year. Days apart. Hateful necessities, yet reunions are blissful. I need you Brian. My new addiction is you, your touch, your tender and sensual control over me." Alex reached into his pocket and pulled out the blindfold and the handcuffs. "Your first gifts, when I was still living here. How carefully you introduced your lifestyle to me. Let's make a new video for that song, not so tame and ever so pre-watershed. One to get Cassian begging to visit. He's a proper voyeur." Alex got up and went to the TV cabinet and pulled out the small digital recorder and then went to find the tripod. Already thinking of the several hours of play that would need changes of camera position to show off Brian in his true glory.
...
The private messaging service operated by Joe Canterbury had only ten subscribers. Mostly used between Paul, Melanie, Cassian, Joe and Tom. With infrequent posts from the members living abroad: Alex, Nic, James, Sabina, Hugo and Dimitry. There was a brief introduction filmed selfie style from Chelsea Registry Office, Alex stood with Hugo, Brian and his bestie Maggie. It was a surprise early December wedding.
...
Late November and it had rained for weeks. Alex was sat at his piano practicing, when the intercom buzzed. A quick look out of the window and he saw Mrs Blunt stood, hair and Burberry soaked. He went to open the door, knowing she had come in person to tell him her husband was dead. Alex was aware that the old bastard had defied the medical predictions and hung on several months out of pure spite. The unexpected guest was shown into the kitchen and given a cup of tea. The teetotal house owner said nothing as the woman topped it up from her own hipflask. She looked every day of her age, as grief had stripped her of all her charm and joy. "Alan changed his will last week. He had left you a small bequest. A house in France he has been letting out for years. He said you'd understand. I did not even know he owed it." The woman drank deeply, actually glad of the silence rather than false protestations of condolence for a man most wished ill. "The funeral is on Wednesday next week. Friends and family only. You should have been family, Alex. There will be a memorial service, organised by MI6. Could you do a reading for that? I'd prefer you, not those odious types he worked with."
Alex pondered saying no way, but this wasn't for Alan Blunt, who no longer mattered. This was for his widow, who was not to blame for any of her husband's decisions or mistakes. "Since I have zero experience of such things, please pick out a suitable passage for me. Never went to church with Ian and I never paid attention in Religious Studies at school. If you want me to pick, it would be Buddhist or Zen and not CofE."
Janet Blunt looked at the man who should have been a belated son. "Pick something no one would expect, you saw the worst of Alan both as a spy and with his illness, yet you offered forgiveness. You are more of a Christian soul than any I see in Church week after week."
Alex thought on Sabina's school paper on real heroes, ones forgotten by history, not the fictionalised bullshit glamourising war. He would find something suitable and surprise all the complicit bastards like Blunt still in power.
...
Cassian looked up the new chart when he woke. The fourth release from New Game was finally made the Billboard 100 at 87. DivIne justice was that Spectre-beats ft AJ Pleasure was Number 1. He ordered a huge hamper of teetotal and vegetarian treats to be delivered to his friend. Life had moved on. Cassian was still with the band, happy enough with his choices. Yes he regretted many things, first and foremost was never committing to Alex. Was he in love? Since they connected at sixteen. It was definitely unrequited now. That boat had sailed and his mother forever reminded him that he had to move in and find someone like Alex as the real deal was gone for good.