A Partnership Begins

I frowned and checked my watch again; it was nearly eight o’clock and there was still no sign of Toby. I tried the phone one more time, not really expecting an answer; the receptionist at Toby’s work left at a decent hour and the call went straight into a recorded message stating the hours of business and asking me to phone again during those hours. As for Toby’s mobile, for all that he never went anywhere without it, my lover had a habit of switching it off to avoid being disturbed when he got caught up in his work. I left another message on his voicemail but with no real expectation that he would pick it up at any point soon.

With a sigh I hauled the casserole out of the oven where it was keeping warm and dished myself up a plateful; no point in starving myself while waiting for my missing partner. I knew from experience he’d have got excited about his latest project and lost all idea of time; he’d come rushing in at some point, hopefully soon, all excitement and apologies. There was no logical reason to worry.

But despite that I couldn’t help myself. Toby took the bus to work; it was fast and reliable during normal working hours, but I hated it when he worked late and still insisted on taking public transport. For one thing, after six o’clock the service was reduced to one bus every half hour, usually meaning a lot of time hanging around at the bus stop. Which apart from the inherent danger meant he often returned freezing and soaking wet. I’d asked him before to take a taxi or call me for a lift if he was going to be late, but despite agreeing in principle somehow he’d never actually done it.

He’d also promised me that he wouldn’t work late, or at least not without ringing me to let me know. Somehow that agreement had gone by the board as well.

It hadn’t taken me long after meeting Toby to find out that my shy sweet computer genius could be obsessively single-minded about whatever he focussed his attention on – usually his work, to the detriment of his body’s need for food, sleep and exercise. One of the reasons I’d been so pleased when Toby had finally given notice on his flat lease and moved in was because I could keep a better eye on him and ensure he was eating properly and getting enough sleep.

It had also been obvious to me from when we first met that Toby was much happier with me taking the lead. Maybe this was one of the reasons why we got on so well; my friends and family have been known to call me bossy on more than one occasion. It’s not that we weren’t true equals in our relationship – his wants and needs had as much importance as mine, and he was certainly capable of fighting his corner when he wanted to. My unspoken control of our lives was not repressive but supportive, and it clearly gave him confidence to know that I was there to help whatever the problem.

I sighed again, pushing the plate of food away half untouched and resting my head on my hands on the kitchen table. I hadn’t been doing such a good job at looking out for my partner lately. Tonight was the third night this week that Toby had been late. And as well as the worry of not knowing he was okay, I hated seeing him so tired, hungry and stressed. Toby loved his job, but he still needed time to relax and unwind from it, time he wasn’t taking. Coming home so late in the evenings meant he was still wound up by the time it was ready for bed, which in turn meant he didn’t sleep properly. Never a morning person at the best of times, getting less than his full eight hours made Toby very slow and irritable. He’d been late for work a few times, which meant he stayed late to catch up, which continued the whole cycle again.

And I miss him, I acknowledged to myself. I loved Toby and loved to spend time with him; I resented work seemingly taking all his attention, and deep down inside me was a flicker of hurt that, however unintentionally, he would choose work over me.

No, it was time for this to stop. One serious conversation coming up when you finally come home, Tobias Feather. We’re going to sort this out for once and for all.

****

It was nearly nine o’clock when the front door finally crashed open and Toby rushed into the house. I put down the book I’d only been pretending to read and went out into the hallway to greet him.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, breathlessly, as soon as he saw me. No doubt he’d run all the way from the bus stop again – as though gaining an extra thirty seconds would somehow negate the three hours he was late. “I didn’t mean to be so late.” He hung his coat on the hall stand and kicked off his shoes, coming towards me for a ‘welcome home’ kiss.

“Your hands are like ice!” I scolded gently, taking his reddened hands in mine to rub some warmth back into them. “Did you forget your gloves again?”

“Must have left them in the office, I think I put them on the radiator to dry after the rain this morning.”

“I’ll get you a spare pair out for tomorrow. And I bet you haven’t had anything to eat yet, either?”

Toby must have heard the note of accusation in my voice, no matter how hard I tried to conceal it, as he shot a half-guilty, half-irritated look back at me before saying defensively “I did have a sandwich.”

“A sandwich at lunchtime isn’t going to do you much good now. I’ve got a casserole keeping warm, you can have some of that.”

I still had his hands in mine and I led him into the kitchen; he followed without protest but with a frown still on his face.

“I don’t like casserole,” he said bluntly as he sat down at the table and I dished up a plateful. He was blatantly lying for some reason - he’d eaten this meal a number of times since we’d begun to live together a few months ago, with every evidence of enjoyment. I raised an eyebrow at him in bemused question, unsure of exactly what to say in response.

My silence must have been the correct answer, as he flushed slightly and began to dig into the food, visibly calming down after a few mouthfuls.

I sat back in my chair with a mug of coffee and watched him eat, wondering why the silence between us was for the first time more edgy than comfortable. Had he had a bad day at work?

“So how did it go at work today?” I ventured to ask after a few minutes.

Toby’s response was unexpected to say the least. “I said I was sorry!” he snapped, dropping his fork and shoving the plate away from him. “Why do you have to keep on harping on about me being late!”

Once again I was taken aback. This behaviour was completely unlike the Toby I knew, and I began to wonder if he was coming down with something. I reached out to feel his forehead for a temperature, and he pushed his chair back violently, the wooden legs screeching on the floor tiles.

“I have an important job to do,” he shouted, getting up and beginning to pace, waving his hands wildly. “I can’t just abandon it when I want. Sometimes I have to be late home. Why do you always go on about it?”

This was too much. “Calm down, Toby. Yes, I am upset by you being so late, but I haven’t even mentioned anything about it tonight. I’d hardly call that ‘going on about it,’” I said.

“You don’t have to say it! I can tell what you’re thinking! You think I have a stupid job, not worth so much time. I’m not stupid, you know, whatever you might think, I’m not stupid!”

I began to get seriously worried here. Maybe I had shown my impatience with Toby’s constant lateness a bit too much; I’d thought I was being reasonable, and he hadn’t seemed too upset by our conversations about it before, but maybe subconsciously I’d shown more annoyance than I thought I had. But where on earth had the comments about stupidity come from? I’d never called Toby or his job stupid, never even thought it – in fact my friends and family were getting a bit fed up with me boasting just how clever Toby was. Something else was obviously going on here as well.

“Of course you’re not stupid, Toby. I don’t think that at all,” was as far as I got before he cut me off.

“Don’t patronise me!” he screamed at the top of his voice before kicking the skirting board. It was a hefty kick and he must have forgotten he was shoeless as he instantly cried out in pain and clutched at his toes.

I was across the room towards him in a flash. This – whatever it was – had gone on long enough.

“Can you move your toes?” I asked, carefully removing Toby’s sock and inspecting his foot. Nothing looked obviously broken and it seemed as if his luck had held out again. I helped him hobble to the settee in the living room and got him to sit with his foot up on the coffee table, returning to the kitchen to fetch an ice pack.

When I came back he had his head tilted back against the settee, eyes closed and silent tears leaking from them. I assumed it was from the pain and, after arranging the ice pack, got up to fetch some aspirin. Which was when Toby’s eyes shot open and fixed on mine, the look of emotional hurt in them literally freezing me in place.

“Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. Richard, don’t leave me, please,” was all he whispered but I knew he was talking about more than me just leaving the room.

My own eyes prickled in response to the bare emotion in his voice and face, and I instantly dropped down beside him on the settee, taking his hands in a strong grasp.

“I’m not going to leave you. I’m never going to leave you, Toby. I love you,” I said. I just hoped the sincerity in my voice and my expression would get through to him and spring him out of whatever historical fears he was currently reliving.

It took me a long time to calm him down; we sat cuddled together on the settee, Toby sprawled half across my lap with his head buried under my chin and his tears soaking my shirt, my arms tight around him, holding him close. I rested my head on his silky hair and made soothing noises, stroking up and down his back repetitively. This position was hardly comfortable for either of us; Toby’s foot, still propped up on the coffee table and covered with the ice pack, must no doubt be hurting and the edge of his glasses was poking into my collarbone quite sharply. But the need to hold on tight, to comfort and be comforted in turn, overrode any minor physical discomfort for me. Toby’s irrational outburst had shocked me, his emotional pain had cut me to the core. He’d become the main part of my life so quickly, there was no way I was going to lose him now. No, as soon as he was calm enough to talk I would get the story out of him and do whatever I could to sort this mess out.

****

It was with a weary tone of despair that Toby gave in to my leading questions. He admitted was ashamed of his own behaviour; he knew he could be obsessive but he was simply unable to control it. He was desperately afraid that I would leave him, as his previous boyfriend (who’d fired the parting shot of ‘stupid job’ in their final, bitter argument) had left him after getting fed up with a string of broken dates and missed appointments. The more Toby had worried about our own relationship, the more he’d focussed on work, which he knew he was good at, to avoid having to face the problems at home. It was a vicious circle and I knew it would take some work on both our parts to snap him out of it. But it was a job that I had every intention of seeing through – there was no way I was going to let this relationship fail. I loved Toby too much for that.

That evening I did nothing more than reassure him over and over again how much I loved him and that I would never leave him. Later in bed, with Toby still clinging to me even in exhausted sleep, I lay awake thinking through my plan.

I put it to Toby the next day – what if I helped him control his behaviour? It would be healthier and less stressful for him, and if I was ‘in charge’ he needn’t worry about doing anything other than following certain rules we’d agree between us. No more of that nagging feeling that he should be doing something else, no more trying to second guess what I was thinking. Everything would be clear and out in the open, which would make for a more honest and happier life together.

He didn’t dismiss the idea out of hand, he took some time to think it through, asking for details on how it would work. The idea of punishments for breaking the rules certainly took him aback, but we had a calm and frank discussion of all the pros and cons that cleared the air, very useful for whatever decision Toby would eventually make. Being a computer addict, he did a lot of research on the internet, and I think it settled his nerves slightly to find out that we were far from the only couple going down this route. And at last, a number of days after I’d first raised the subject, Toby decided to give my plan a try.

Of course, nothing changed immediately other than us sitting down together and agreeing a set of rules for Toby to follow. There was no major change in lifestyle as they were mainly what I’d already instituted into our lives – home from work and meals at a certain time, for example. The only difference would be that I now had the right, and the responsibility, to call Toby on them if he didn’t comply.

The mere fact of actually having rules seemed to settle Toby for a while, and he arrived home on time and in a much cheerier mood. I could visibly see the weight having come off his shoulders as the stress lessened. Then of course came the fatal day when he arrived home two hours late with a black dog on his shoulder; I could see the challenge in his eyes the instant he came through the door. Toby wanted to know if I would keep my end of the bargain or not.

Minutes later, Toby was a sobbing, contrite young man, but one who knew that I would keep my word and that he would be safe in my hands.

Our relationship seemed to take a step forward from that moment on. Toby feels safe in my love and support, and has blossomed tremendously from the shy, almost meek person I first met. As for me, I’m not going to allow either of us to muck this up. I’m grateful to have the chance to love and care for such a remarkable young man. Not just gorgeous and sexy and courageous and loving, my Toby can also be amazingly single-minded, and I just love it when he turns the focus of that obsessive behaviour onto me.