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

Shagging Everything That Moves

Glasgow, February 1993

Kippy visited Kirkcudbright fleetingly in February, his excuse for staying only two nights that he needed to get back to prepare for the end of the year show and his exams. His mum accepted the explanation without protesting, shaking her head a little sadly and asking about that lovely girl Lillian.

His gran, the formidable Mrs Burnett, owner of Braemar Quality B&B in the town eyed him up appraisingly when he went to visit. You only ever had a limited window to see her. Anytime before 12pm was out because she would be too busy clearing up after breakfast and the departure of last night's guests, while 3pm onwards was also verboten as new guests arrived to check in.

She looked smaller, older and more tired than he remembered. Running a B&B was demanding work. Surely, she should retire now. 'Quality' had always been an optimistic description of the Braemar. If he'd been there for the two weeks of the holiday, he would have offered to paint the place for her. His gran had a weird design sense. She liked clashing patterns and noisy wallpaper. He'd have stripped it all out, painting it in warm, neutral colours and gifting her with some of his own charcoal sketches of the town.

"Would ye?" she asked when he told her of what he would have done. "That's awfy noble. Your drawings might be worth a bob or two in a few years' time."

Her voice was almost always sardonic, so it was hard to tell if she was being sarcastic or not.

Now, she looked at him afresh. "There's somethin' different about you. I cannae put my finger on it."

If he couldn't tell his mother he was gay, he was hardly going to tell his grandmother.

"The art school life must suit you," she said, finally. She was not a woman to be rushed with her opinions. "It must give you something you never got here."

Sometimes, she was unnerving.

"D'ye hear from Katrina much?" She sounded wistful at that. Katrina had often helped her gran out at the B&B, and they were close, as close as two people who chose to keep their feelings permanently buttoned up could be.

"I saw her at New Year. You know she's doing some stuff in telly now, dong hair and make-up for them."

Mrs Burnett nodded. "Aye. The TV people making the programme with that daft peacock. I'll no' be watching that."

The daft peacock comment made Kippy smile. Mrs Burnett had never been Mick's number one fan. She probably watched Katrina's pre-occupation with him too and shook her head. Mick wouldn't be any grandmother's choice for her favourite girl.

He thought the comment about not watching the programme was a lie. How could anyone from Kirkcudbright resist—one of their ane sons on the telly, a big star? He reckoned that when the programme went out, the good folks of the town would gather in each other's homes, sitting around the TV and ready to deliver their verdicts long before the closing credits came up.

"Enjoy yoursel'" were her last words to him before she let him out of the door. He returned to Glasgow, relieved. He no longer felt he belonged in Kirkcudbright and the walls around the harbour car park had hemmed him in. He had crossed the streets uneasily, feeling as if the passers-by stared at him, or they watched him from their windows.

The place was too small, too old-fashioned and too dull. He longed for the roar of traffic, the streets crowded with shops and pubs that were always open, and the feeling you could go someplace where no-one knew you at all.

Back in Glasgow, Lillian pounced on him as soon as he returned. She must have been listening out for him, as she knocked on the door only minutes after he had turned the key in the lock.