The Art Guy (18+) COMPLETE, FREE to READ

When it's Time to Come Clean

Glasgow, 1992

"What are you doing for Christmas?"

"Not the same as you, seeing as my ma and paw can't afford to jet off skiing."

"Ooh. Get back in the drawer, Ms Sharp!" Lillian flicked the end of her scarf his way. "And don't be so fucking chippy. It's not as if you're not doing okay for yourself."

He scowled at her, partly because she was right. He could hardly play the poor working-class boy these days, his place at the Art School paid for, the money so generous it meant he didn't have to look for a part-time job to fund his living expenses, thanks to Tony's fraud.

Nevertheless, the way she asked the question showed the differences between them. What was he going to do for Christmas? Pick a location and just go there?

"They are skiing as it happens," Lillian announced, taking a step back from the still-life painting she was working on and looking at it critically.

Kippy rested his head on her shoulder. It was easy enough to do as Lillian was not that much smaller than him. He pointed at the apple sat at the top of the fruit bowl.

"Lighten up that green. It isn't showing the light off properly." He moved his hand, so it captured the feeble ray of sunlight that had managed to wriggle its way through the dark late November clouds.

"And as they are skiing and I said no when they asked if I wanted to go," Lillian dipped her paintbrush into the white pot before her and began to add tiny daubs of it to the apple, "they have left me the entire run of their house. Along with a feeble admonishment that I wasn't to hold too many wild parties."

Feeble admonishment indeed! Kippy had met Lillian's parents, Alicia and George. Their daughter was utterly spoiled.

"Why don't you come down?" she said, using a sponge to press the paint in. It worked. The apple now shone perfectly. "You could catch up with that cousin of yours. Katrina, isn't it? Isn't she in London?"

He took his time answering her, emotions conflicting inside. Meeting up with Katrina had to mean coming into contact with Daisy once again, and he never thought about Daisy without feeling regret and discomfort. Daisy had seen him at his most vulnerable, but she seemed to have kept quiet about him being gay. She and Katrina had formed a very close, gossipy female friendship, so it was weird that she'd kept that quiet.

Then, there were his parents. He knew his mum would expect him back and she would drop the odd, heavy hint about Lillian. What was Lillian doing for Christmas? Was he meeting lots of friendly people in Glasgow? (Aye, mum, but what you and I think is nice is no' the same.)

And then, Marion McCaskill. She'd want him to pop in too, and she'd weep. She would try her best not to, sniffing as softly as she could and keeping her eyes down while asking bright, cheery questions.

"Lovely to see you, Alan! What have you been doing at the art college? Are you doing nice paintings? Do you draw pictures of the Clyde and that?"

Her husband, a man in the same mould as Kippy's father, would grunt, put his newspaper down reluctantly and then look at Kippy a few times as if he still couldn't believe that Kippy was the one who remained and that only by staring hard at him could his mind take that in.

"For New Year," Kippy said. He wasn't doing a still-life. He'd always preferred people to things when it came to creativity, and in front of him, Gaynor yawned moving her mouth so wide it seemed to take over her whole face.

The name Gaynor was an elaborate joke. Gaynor was the woman from Delmonica's, a spectacularly beautiful transvestite. It had taken Kippy a few minutes to cotton on (embarrassing, really) but was that so surprising, given his upbringing? If he'd qualified as the only gay in the village, transvestism wasn't something he was ever likely to have seen.

Gaynor (real name Joe Murphy) was an exhibitionist of the highest order. When she'd discovered Kippy was at art school, she'd fluttered those heavy eyelashes even faster. "Ooh, would you like to paint me, gorgeous? I'm such a good model."

He'd agreed but only on one condition. He'd only paint Gaynor as she really was. It would be easy enough to put on paper what Gaynor wanted people to believe (and she made a compelling woman), but Kippy fancied doing something shocking.

"I'm not pre-op transgender, luvvie," Gaynor said when he explained what he wanted. "It's not like you're going to get tits and cock on the same body."

Kippy shot him a dirty look, irritated that she thought him so naïve that he'd muddled up the two. "I know. Just come to the studio in your shoes and make-up. Bring a robe too."

The pose he'd put her in had only drawn a few raised eyebrows so far. Most of the students feared they'd look too uncool if they stared for too long.

Lillian looked at the picture and pursed her lips.

Kippy had decided a pre-Raphaelite setting would gave the picture extra shock value. Gaynor lounged on a chaise longue, her long, dark auburn wig hanging over the end, and half-draped in red velvet so her flat chest was visible. He'd told her not to bother shave her underarms either, so dark tufts of hair were visible, thanks to Kippy making her put her arms behind her head.

He'd also arranged the material so it showed a slight bulge at the crotch, just to make Gaynor's gender clear, and all of this contrasted with her delicate, heart-shaped face made-up subtly and a throat that didn't show off that much of an Adam's apple.

From the neck up, you thought you were looking at a woman. Then, you saw the torso. From the thighs downwards, you were back thinking the subject was female. Gaynor's small, narrow feet hung off the end, the toenails painted a pearlescent pink, and the high arch a challenge and joy to capture as an artist.

"Oh, hell," Lillian blew out a long, exaggerated sigh through those pursed lips. "Sometimes when I paint next to you, I feel like I want to throw myself in the Clyde."

Gaynor livened up at that, standing up and stretching elaborately, one hand clutched to the velvet to stop her giving the other students too much of an eyeful. "Can I see?"

"No. Not till I'm finished," Kippy flicked his hands at her, and she sighed, exaggeratedly, before sitting down again. "I said, what about New Year, Lillian?"

"I heard you the first time," Lillian had stood up and plonked herself beside him. She took one of his sticks of charcoal and began to shade in the outline of Gaynor's hair. Kippy let her. He had no plans for the charcoal pic to be his main piece. He was aping pre-Raphaelite after all.

"I guess I could have a HUGE house party," she said. "That might be fun."

"Can I come?" Gaynor now considered herself an intimate acquaintance, the stripping off in front of them thing giving her dibs on a friendship Kippy wasn't sure she deserved. She was getting paid for modelling, after all.

"Yes, but only if you bring at least two straight men with you," Lillian told her. "As fun as having GBFs is, it doesn't do anything for my sex life. My hymen's closed over again, I swear. I'm NOT spending my New Year watching men all kiss each other around me."

And with that, the plan was in place. Kippy was to visit the big smoke for the first time. He wrote to Katrina the next day, a few lines on a postcard. Best that he not land up on her doorstep without warning her (Daisy) first. And if Katrina were to come to this New Year party too, keeping the gay thing quiet any longer would be a pain in the arse.

It would be like his teenage years all over again. Him at parties, pretending to be something he wasn't and trying not to stare with longing at the young men he wished he was next to and touching.

It was high time someone from his family and his hometown knew...