Chapter 34

Chapter 34

That evening, while Mum was distracted sorting out her SuperWare catalogues and order forms, I had a hushed conversation on the phone in the hallway with Beth. Her and Dan hadn't been intercepted by any teachers, but even better, the stunt had everyone talking. Prenton hadn't managed to find all the copies – how could she? – and everyone was talking about the book and how "it didn't seem that bad".

"You're screwed, though," Beth said.

"Thanks for reminding me."

"Why aren't you beside yourself?"

I chuckled, because, yeah, normally I would have been. I'd have been in a full-on meltdown. Hysterical. "I dunno, I suppose … Rob?"

At that point, Beth sang the chorus of that Joe Cocker and Jennifer Warnes song, "Up Where We Belong", all about how love can raise us up and take us soaring to the very heights*, and, yes, I got it, because that had literally been the case on the Boomerang, and it was how being with Rob made me feel anyway. He insulated me against the bad stuff. It just didn't seem to matter.

The following morning, I left for "school" as usual, Mum not suspecting a thing.

Rob answered his door wearing jeans, no socks, and a white vest top. It took me aback for a moment, because he looked … so damn hot. The vest top really showed off his arm muscles, and combined with the silver chain around his neck, it gave him a sort of bad boy vibe which I found weirdly appealing, bearing in mind that "bad boys" were not a sort I would normally be seen within a mile of … something else about me that might be changing, I supposed.

"Sorry, only just got up." He rubbed his bed-head hair. "Come in."

Ten minutes later, he handed me a coffee and a croissant? in his kitchen and we sat next to one another at the big wooden table. "I was thinking last night," he said, "how I basically tricked you on to that roller coaster."

"I'm glad you did."

"Hm. Not really fair, though, is it? I don't want you to think you can't trust me."

"I do trust you. It's just that sometimes I need a bit of persuasion to do stuff. That's just who I am." I turned to him and smiled. "I wouldn't let just anyone persuade me."

He smiled back. "OK. But today, it's your choice. Tell me something you've never done but want to and we'll do it."

"All right. OK. Really?"

"Yeah." He broke eye contact and got busy spreading some jam on his croissant. "You got something fun in mind?"

"Well, this will seem weird to you."

His head snapped up, and he leaned into me, grinning. "Ooh, I'm intrigued," he cooed into my ear. "Weird kinky, or—"

"Just weird," I giggled, spine tingling at how close he was.

"I'm all ears."

His eyes settled on my face, a little smile playing on his lips.

"I've never eaten at McDonald's."

After what might have been a shocked pause, Rob nodded and released a breath. "Right. Not where I thought this was going*, but that's OK. Wow. Never eaten at McDonald's. Really? Huh. OK, then."

Half an hour later, and Rob was still muttering in disbelief about that as we drove towards Lincoln in his car.

"How can that be? I just don't get it. How can you have never had a Big Mac? Or a milkshake? Not even some of their fries?"

"I told you, nothing."

He shook his head, keeping his eyes on the road. "I can't get my head around it."

"Mum's always had this thing about fast food not being healthy enough, which, I mean, is ridiculous bearing in mind what we eat at home most of the time, but she won't be argued with. It's why we never have orange squash."

"What?"

"And we're only allowed Coke on birthdays and at Christmas."

"This gets worse."

"McDonald's has always been out of the question."

"OK, fine, but you're nearly seventeen. You're basically your own man. You kind of have been for a while. You could have gone yourself."

"Yeah, but I don't know how it all works."

"I'm sorry, I'm going to need to pull over if you say anything else ridiculous. What the hell is that meant to mean?"

"All the menus … and they ask you things, right? Like what size you want. I worry I'll panic."

Rob whistled. "This'll be interesting."

"Uh-huh. I'm looking forward to it."

McDonald's was everything I had feared: bright, busy and over-stimulating.

"Decided yet?" Rob asked me, as I stared at the menu board while impatient customers milled around us.

"What's the difference between a Big Mac and a Quarter Pounder?"

"Big Mac has two beefburgers in it, Quarter Pounder just has one."

"So a Big Mac is bigger?"

"The Quarter Pounder has more meat."

"I don't even know if I want a beefburger. What's the ‘Filet-O-Fish' like?"

"Just don't."

"OK. And the McMuffin?"

"That's the breakfast menu, Jay. It's not available after eleven."

"Huh. I see."

As I predicted, it was all too much. Eventually, on Rob's advice, I ordered a McChicken Sandwich, regular fries, a large, triple thick strawberry milkshake and an apple pie. We found a plastic table that was free, Rob pushed the little silver foil ashtray* to the side and we both settled down with our polystyrene boxes of food, with me copying Rob, decanting my paper bag of fries into the lid section of the opened McChicken Sandwich, making me feel like a pro.

"Everything is so sweet," I said. Which it was – even the bread bun. Even the fries somehow.

"Mmm," Rob replied, sinking his teeth into his Quarter Pounder with cheese. "But do you like it?"

"Love it." Which was a bit of an exaggeration, if I was honest. It was … OK. The whole affair was somewhat sickly, and everything was so … soft. It was like food for people with no teeth. But I was at the point where anything was brilliant if it involved Rob, so this was all good, it was positively gourmet.

That day, it felt like I had a boyfriend. An actual … boyfriend. After we'd eaten, we mooched around the shops. We were looking at the clothes in Burton, when Rob saw some waistcoats, and said, "Something for you, Jay?"

I started blushing, remembering Jason and Scott's comments and feeling mortified that Rob might also think they looked gay. "Not really. Not any more."

"Why not?" He frowned.

So I told him, and he hated that, and he said Scott and Jason were dicks, and I should wear what I wanted, but I told him I'd gone off waistcoats anyway.

"Huh," Rob said. "Something else then?"

He started looking through the racks and rails, until he found a shirt. He held it up to me and said, "This suits you. Try it on." It was red checked in brushed cotton, not a million miles away from the one I'd admired Dan wearing, and when I emerged from the changing room, Rob told me he loved it and bought it for me.

That made me think I should buy him something too, but I didn't have much money, so I got him a copy of A Boy's Own Story from the bookshop, and the thrill I felt as we both strolled up to the Lesbian Gay shelf in the shop, and, bold as you like, browsed the books on offer and took a copy to the till, was only fractionally less than being on the Boomerang yesterday.

We sat on a bench by the river, and he asked me to write something in the front of it, so I put:

To Rob,

I will always love you.

J x

He looked at it and smiled. "Are you deliberately quoting Whitney Houston?"

I realized and said, "Oh, shit."

And he laughed and said, "Well, I will always love you too."

We couldn't kiss, but I looked into his eyes, and I knew he meant it.

And that was it, right then, I think I died.

We were back sitting in his car.

"Did you like The Bodyguard, then?" Rob asked me.

"I just accidentally quoted it, Rob, it's not that I'm obsessed, although it's true, I do love Whitney. A lot."

He laughed. "Is there anything you're not incredibly enthusiastic about?"

"Being away from you."

He chuckled, leaned across and kissed me on the cheek. "Likewise. I was really asking to see if you fancied watching a film? We could drive up to the Kinema in the Woods since this so-called city doesn't currently have an actual cinema of its own."

The Kinema in the Woods* was near Horncastle and was basically what it sounded like – a wooden building, suited to the woodland setting, which was a small cinema.

"What's on?" I asked.

Rob grabbed the copy of the Lincolnshire Echo he'd bought earlier and flicked to the listings. "Lucky I came prepared…" He ran his finger down the column. "Ah! How about this? In the Name of the Father. Came out earlier in the year. Daniel Day Lewis and Pete Postlethwaite."

"What's it about? Sounds serious."

"The Guildford Four – the IRA pub bombings they were falsely convicted of." He clocked my doubtful face. "OK, I've already seen it, but trust me, it's brilliant, and I want you to see it too."

I liked that. If I did ever go to the cinema, it was only to see the latest big blockbuster release. This felt … like we were doing something special. Important. Something different, that regular run-of-the-mill people just wouldn't do. More than that, it was something he wanted to share with me.

"Let's do it," I said. "Back row seats?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "I had no idea how horny you actually are, all of the time, and also, no, Jamie, it's simply not that sort of film."

*

He was right.

It was not that sort of film.

I won't spoil it, but suffice to say, from about twenty seconds in, it was proper goosebumps stuff, and I was hooked.

I'd never seen a film like that before.

A film that didn't just make me jump, or cry, or laugh, but made me feel so … angry. The complete fucking injustice … the fact the police had a confession from someone else, but they buried it to save face. It was raw, brutal … an innocent man signing a confession that would ruin his life – because of police torture and the threats they'd kill his father. It was a true story. How could the world be like that? How was it possible? Optimistically (there I went again!), I had always started from the position that the world was a fundamentally fair place, and that the people in it were good.

But that wasn't the case.

"What's up?" Rob said, as we drove back home.

"Do you think the world is a bad place?"

He smiled to himself. "I think you've just got to look for the light, Jay. Mum always used to tell me about this American guy who used to say, if there was a tragedy, or something bad had happened, ‘look for the helpers'. I think he was basically saying, in all the bad, you've still got people who care, and that should reassure you. But I actually think that's not quite good enough. You can't just look for the helpers. I think you've got to be a helper."

"Do something to make the world a better place?"

"Exactly. If everyone just stands by and waits for other people to help out, then nothing will ever change."

I nodded, thinking that one through. Mrs C was a helper – doing her best to subvert an unjust piece of legislation. Beth and Dan were helpers – joining us for the book stunt, even though they risked being caught themselves. Electra was definitely a helper – however that was happening.

"Do you think we're helpers?" I asked him.

"If we rounded the next bend, and we came across an accident, I would get out and help, yeah," he said. "Would you?"

"Yeah."

"Then I guess we're helpers."

"What about other stuff, though? Because that's just us reacting to a bad situation. What about more proactive things. What about … gay rights?"

He took a deep breath. "Well, we tried that, didn't we? We did our subversive act. Look where it got us! But I think … we're not even eighteen yet, we're still kids, and I think there's a limit to what we can do. We're the ones who need to be helped. And I know people are trying. It's just they haven't managed it yet." He glanced at me. "You're making me sad."

"I'm making myself sad."

He hit the indicator and pulled up in a dark lay-by, just a few minutes from my house. "Shall we say goodnight here?"

I nodded, and we unbuckled our seat belts and fell into a long, gentle kiss. He broke away first and ran his fingers down my cheek. For a moment, he looked like he was in pain.

"Fucking hell, I love you," he said.

Mum wasn't in when I got home.

But Keith was.

He was stretched out on the sofa, in his tight blue Wranglers, a pair of moccasins, and an oversized, multicoloured Coogi sweater that made your eyes go funny if you looked at it too long.

"Your mum's got her first SuperWare party," he told me. "She'll be raking it in soon, mark my words!"

I gave him a tight smile and made to leave for my bedroom.

"Jamie?"

I turned back. He was sitting upright all of a sudden.

"The school rang when I was here earlier."

Our eyes met.

"Apparently … you've been suspended?"

I swallowed. "Yeah."

Keith nodded back. "Were you going to tell your mum?"

"I … I feel like she's got enough on her plate. I'm seventeen tomorrow; I think I can be responsible for my own life. And she'll worry. She'll worry, and she doesn't need to. So, no. I haven't told her."

Keith nodded again, deep in thought.

Then…

"Mrs Prenton mentioned a book," he said.

I knew this was coming. It was always coming. But it still took me by surprise. Here I was, about to have it all blown apart. Everything I was, out for everyone to see, whether I wanted it, or was ready for it, to be. No choice. Boys like me didn't deserve a choice. Because we were dangerous and disgusting and we had to be stopped.

The front door would be the quickest escape route. Hopefully I could make it out before Keith could do too much damage – and hopefully he wouldn't want to punch me too much on the driveway in full view of the neighbours…

I looked back up at Keith and swallowed, my chest tight, breaths short. And I braced myself. For whatever was coming. Whatever words, or worse, he was going to hurl at me.

"She told me all about the book," Keith continued. "And I said to her: it's a book. Why are you so bothered?"

Uh-oh. Here it comes.

"She didn't like that. Started going on about indecency, or something." He laughed. "I told her it sounds like a good book, and I'd like to read it myself, so where could I find a copy?" My eyes widened, and he nodded. "I mean, obviously not, I hate books, I was just saying that to wind the old bitch up. She's a nasty piece of work, that Prenton. I see her and her husband down The Chase sometimes. Drinking sherry like the pricks they are. Know what I think, Jamie? I think you've got the right idea. I think people should sort out their own lives and stop prying so much into other people's."

He met my eyes. "So, I told her where to shove her ignorant head. And, in case you want to know, I suggested it should be up her bigoted arse. And that's all we need to say about the matter, and your mum doesn't need to know. I won't say anything, it's all dealt with as far as I'm concerned, but, for the record, I think she'd agree with me, and the other thing is you better not do anything stupid, Jay. Like get AIDS. I don't even know how you get AIDS, but I think condoms help you not get it, so you just make sure… We don't need to talk about this, but you had better be around for years and years, and way outlive me and your mum, and that's even if…" He actually swallowed, overcome with emotion. "I mean, it's just a book. It doesn't mean anything."

He dropped his eyes, and carried on, "Don't you start crying … that's not… I'm not gonna hug you, that's not what men do. You just … fuck it, come here."

Keith gave me what must rank as the worst, most awkward hug in the history of human contact.

"You'll be in tomorrow, yeah? For your birthday? It'd mean a lot to your mum."

"Sure. Yeah."

He smelled of Brut and super-strength lager, but I didn't care. I later learned that Keith had secrets of his own – a string of failed marriages, and he was practically bankrupt, living off loans and credit cards, his vacuum cleaner business not doing anywhere near as well as he claimed. I also learned he'd had a hard life: kicked out by his abusive father at fifteen, living rough under a bridge and having to eat dog food, never finding anyone who would take a chance on him for a job because of who he was and what he looked like. Life had been a battle; he'd crawled his way to where he was now, learning that the only way was to fake it, never being able to be real. So, in a weird way, I like to think that's why he helped me. Because I was trying to be real, and even if he couldn't be, he understood someone else who was going through hell because of all the crap other people dressed you up in.*

Everyone has a history. Everyone has secrets. Everyone has problems and has faced hardships. I realized that night that judging wasn't helpful, that people weren't always who we expected them to be, and, with all that in mind, couldn't everyone just be a little kinder?

*Look, just google the song and listen to it, you know I can't quote the actual lyrics here, else I'll have to pay ￡￡￡ and I can't do that, not on these royalties.

?I played it down at the time, but this felt so grown up! A croissant! Fuck me, he was cosmopolitan. I bloody loved it.

*I was so naive. Obviously he was asking about something else I hadn't done but might like to, I was just so innocent I didn't realize it. It could have been a very different morning. Oh well.

*Wild how you could smoke in a McDonald's in the UK right up until 2007, when the smoking ban came in, isn't it?

*https://thekinemainthewoods.co.uk

*Ten years later, Keith was found dead in his car, by a cliff on the coast, a Phil Collins album playing on the stereo. Turned out he had pancreatic cancer, but never told anyone, refusing treatment until he could no longer hide it and he ended it all – a faker to the end. He died with a fuck-tonne of debt, but he left me and Mum a thousand pounds each in used notes, which he'd saved over the years. He was, after all, a good man.