Chapter 36

Chapter 36

I know you want to get to the "toothbrush" scene, but if I had to endure my birthday tea at home, then so do you. You can't just see the highlights. This isn't Instagram. Besides, you know we'll have to fade to black when the really good stuff starts, don't you? And yes, I'm well aware of the irony in writing a book about section 28 and censorship, while soft-censoring myself for the purposes of creating something that gets stocked in school libraries. Don't get me started.

Maybe, one day, there'll be a director's cut. Or a writer's cut – much better.*

Back to 1994.

It was your classic birthday tea. Mum had baked and iced a birthday cake, and there were sandwiches, scones, teacakes, sausage rolls and a bottle of Asti Spumante, even though the drinking thing wasn't technically legal for another year – but that was Mum's way of living on the edge a bit, I think.

That year, Mum and Keith bought me a new hi-fi with a CD player. It was a brand called JVC, and it was compact and sleek, and loud, with properly deep speakers. Keith also presented me with my first CD – Phil Collins.

"This is what proper music is, Jamie," he said. "I listen to that man, and I'm in heaven."

Yeah, OK, Keith.

Later, Beth turned up, and after a slice of cake and a cup of tea, she came up to my bedroom to help me set up the hi-fi, and to present me with her present, where it became apparent there was a good reason why she'd waited and not done that downstairs in front of Mum and Keith.

"Jay?" she said, as I fiddled around plugging in the left-hand speaker. "Everyone's talking about you. And him."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean, word has got round; everyone heard about the suspension, obviously, but then people put two and two together – they're saying you're the two boys sending notes in the book, you're both gay, you wrote the letter to the paper, and that's why you've been suspended—"

"Oh, Jesus."

"It's just, you need to know, when you come back next week – I think it's gonna be brutal. There was an assembly and everything – my bloody dad did a bit of it – all about how sinful gay people are, how it won't be tolerated, and then they've literally been through every book in the library—"

"What?!"

"Mrs Prenton and a load of the governors – they've been through every book and removed anything they feel is inappropriate. Mrs C was in tears. It's all such bullshit."

I sighed. So this was the reality. Well, I didn't want the reality. I wanted me and Rob and our adventures together. I wanted the endless days, the kisses, his gentle words, and our long discussions where I'd talk to him about the stories I'd written that I'd never shared with anyone else, where I'd read him some and he'd listen, lying back with his eyes closed "so he could picture it better" and where we'd put the world to rights over everything from god to Jarvis Cocker. This week had opened my eyes … and I didn't want to go back.

"Jay?"

I smiled at Beth. "Thanks for letting me know."

But Beth wasn't smiling back. "There's something else too."

I blew out a breath. "Tell me."

"You're off the ball committee. Debbie's taken over as president, with Mrs Prenton's blessing. Debbie said you haven't been pulling your weight, and apparently there was also concern about you bringing the event into disrepute, and upsetting the sponsors—"

"You mean Debbie's dad?"

Beth nodded.

I sighed and shook my head. "Well, at least I got Speak No Monkey there, huh? So, if anyone remembers anything from that ball, I hope they'll remember seeing a brilliant band, even if they don't remember who made it happen."

"It's bang out of order, Jay. The band are the reason it's totally sold out – everyone's really excited about it. But Dan and I were thinking about not going."

"Don't do that. You should go. It'll be a great night. I guess it's too late for me now, though – I won't be entitled to a free committee member ticket any more, and if it's sold out, I can't buy one, either."

"Except … Dan and I both bought couple's tickets," Beth said. "One of which is obviously spare now."

For a second it almost seemed a perfect solution, but who was I kidding? "Not sure anyone would want me there, anyway." I turned back to the stereo. "Do you want to listen to Phil Collins then?"

"I'd rather eat my own arm," she replied. "Anyway, your mum tipped me off about your main present, so I also got you this."

She produced a wrapped CD – Deacon Blue's greatest hits, as it turned out. We lay back on the bed and I closed my eyes, listening to the first track – "Dignity" – which, to me, was all about the revenge of a life well lived, a majestic, if unspoken, "fuck you" to all the people who mocked, hated and made life hard, because the character in the song ended up getting exactly what he wanted, and it was beautiful and perfect, even if it took many, many years to get it, and even if it was a hard, grim journey.

So. Let them. Let them do their worst.

I was not going to let them win.

*Although it would likely be several hundred pages of unedited dirge that's deeply frustrating.