The Christmas Wreath

The Christmas Wreath


The Bell End Café is situated at the very tip of Canal Street or Anal Street, as it’s more commonly known on account of it being the main street of a bustling city’s gay village. The most unusual feature of the café, the thing that sets it apart from the rest of the pubs, shops and bars that cluster it, is that it isn’t a café, not anymore. The Bell End ceased trading when one of the owners inherited a fortune from a distant relative and no longer needed to make a living from the sale of coffee, cake and sandwiches.

Michael End could have moved away when riches came his way, but he didn’t. He chose to stay at the café with his partner Patrick Bell. Their status changed from commercial renters of a grade-two listed building to its proud owners. They spent many happy hours together planning its conversion into a small but attractive residential property. What had been a Business with living accommodation became a full time home. They retained the painted wooden sign that bore the name of the café for sentiments sake, and because it made them smile. It still hangs above the front door, creaking a little when the wind blows.

Michael and Patrick had always loved the hustle and bustle of Canal Street and with wealth came time to enjoy it at their leisure. There was no more getting up at six in the morning and retiring after midnight, no more slaving all day just to turn a small profit. They walked hand in hand around the shops and lunched in the bars and bistros talking and laughing with friends. They made love in the afternoons, taking pleasure in each other’s bodies. On an evening they curled up together on the couch in their tiny front room and watched television or read to each other.

Happiness didn’t last. Michael broke Patrick’s heart by going away.

Patrick channelled his heartbreak into writing. He isn’t a brilliant writer and he knows it. He’ll never produce a gay ‘Gone With The Wind’ or write a homoerotic ‘War And Peace.’ He writes for his own pleasure producing erotic short stories, which occasionally get published. He also writes an advice column for a gay publication, trotting out words of wisdom on gay sex and relationships. He often wonders whether the advice he gives is heeded. People who seek advice are often loath to accept what is given. He knows for definite of one young man who recently disregarded his advice - one David Delaney.
David is seventeen. He’s an attractive boy with a slender nubile body. He has dark hair and large dark-blue eyes set in an elfin face. He’s lived at the Bell End for just over a year now. He was sixteen years and four months old when he first entered Patrick’s life. He’d been in the city for a mere month and in those thirty days was picked up, used, abused and discarded. Kids like David came to the city and to the village in search of their sexuality, hoping to find understanding amongst their own kind along with a good time, a job and perhaps even lasting love. Most of them eventually went home again taking disillusionment and STDs with them.

David had no place to return to, no place that wanted him anyway. At sixteen he thought his life was over and tried to drown himself in the cold dun waters of the canal in the early hours of a winter morning. Patrick Bell happened upon the scene of potential tragedy and had fished him out and taken him home where he tended his hurts and dried his tears. After listening to David’s tale of woe he allocated him a room under the roof of the ex-cafe.