Chapter 39

Chapter 39

Beth and Dan had not been hard to convince – although I think it was part unwavering loyalty, and part genuine curiosity about what Rob's house was like. We were going to be spending the evening with real movers and shakers – some of whom we would probably recognize off the news on TV, but, amusingly, that wasn't the top of our conversation topics as we walked over to Rob's on Saturday evening.

"Never thought I'd see the day when you got your ear pierced!" Beth said.

"I mean, I love it," Dan added.

"Oh, I definitely love it," Beth agreed.

Dan studied my ear. "It's … kinda sexy."

"Is it now?" Beth said, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Bit naughty, isn't it?" Dan said. "Suits you, though." He caught my eye and smiled, and yeah, OK, my stomach did flip a little bit, but let's gloss over that.

We were all suited and booted. Me and Dan in suits (his dark grey, mine dark blue) with shirts and ties; Beth in a black dress with a shawl thing around her shoulders, carrying a small clutch. We'd got some stares as we walked down the road that evening – I guess we looked pretty dapper.

"Remember, we're all friends," I said, as we crunched up the gravel driveway,

"Which is what we are," Beth replied. "I mean, OK, we don't really know Rob, but don't you worry – I can pretend."

"I got a D in GCSE drama," Dan added.

"Is that supposed to fill me with confidence?" I said.

We were ushered in by a hard-faced woman who turned out to be the legendary Margaret, "Sir Jeremy's secretary". She was in her fifties or sixties, grey permed hair, pleated tweed skirt and dusky-pink blouse, dripping in disapproval. She glanced us up and down with an air of disdain, told us "the alcohol is out of bounds", and then took us through to the conservatory at the back where Rob was holding court in front of a small group of middle-aged men and woman. He was in a dinner suit with a bow tie, nicely tailored, not hired from Moss Bros like mine, and he looked stunning. His face sparkled and shone as he regaled the little crowd with some story – confident and assured, but with just the right amount of deference to his elders, he had the perfect son routine down to a T, with only that little glistening jewel in his right ear hinting at anything other.

We edged over, not wanting to interrupt, or really knowing how to, but he saw us, and smoothly brought us into the group. "These are some of my school pals," he told everyone. "Beth, Jamie and Daniel."

My name in the middle – a deliberate attempt to hide it. I admired his cunning.

Then it was all nods and "hellos!" and excruciating small talk about what subjects we were studying, and what we planned to do at university, before Rob commented, "Oh, that's a really nice watch, Jamie!" with a look of total innocence on his face, and I saw the way the evening was going to go.

Once the adults had gone, Rob made sure our glasses of orange juice were all amply topped up with the vodka he'd hidden in the garden. It was there I met Sir Jeremy for the first time. He was an intimidating man: broad shoulders, tall, grey hair, with a face that was impossible to read.

"Dad? These are my friends," Rob said. "Dan, Beth, and this is Jamie."

Sir Jeremy cast his eyes over us, and I could see his mind working, before he settled on me as the person of most interest, his eyes drifting to my ear. "You're doing the same play Robert is?" His voice was booming and deep.

"Yeah."

"What is that again?"

"I told you, Dad," Rob chipped in. "It's a devised piece, it's really low-key, exploring elements of British society."

"So, you'll take them out, once you've performed it?"

"Yes!" Rob said, exasperated.

"Good. Because you look like hooligans." He laughed at his own joke – if that's what it was. "Nice to meet you all."

His eyes stayed on me for a fraction longer, then he sauntered off, nodding acknowledgements as he moved across the garden, before having a quiet word with Margaret.

I didn't like him.

"So, that was Dad," Rob said. "Hope you're feeling honoured." He subtly squeezed my forearm. "It's OK. If he didn't like you, you'd know about it."

I felt like I did know about it, but I tried to brush it off and enjoy the evening – after all, he had nothing on us. There was a string quartet; there were waitresses circulating with canapés and bottles of champagne; there were a lot of very posh people talking very loudly and very importantly, with occasional ripples of shrill or hearty laughter; and in the midst of all this fakery (and, honestly, I don't want you to think I'd turned into Holden Caulfield at this point, but they were all absolute phoneys), there we both were, the real deal, they just didn't know it, the confirmation of our love hidden on the underside of my wristwatch, and in the glances and occasional "accidental" brushes of our hands.

I had to admit: it was exciting. I could see why Rob wanted to do this. It was a quiet "fuck you" to the establishment, to Sir Jeremy, a way of saying, you can make all the horrible laws you like, but you're not going to stop us.

It was also unexpectedly sexy. Because when you're not allowed to do something, you want to do it even more, right? As the night wore on, and my drink was topped up, I started getting closer to him, touching shoulders, feeling his warmth, my stomach fizzing, chest aching for him. Standing talking to some old guy I couldn't even remember the name of, our backs against the wall, his hand drifted on to my bottom, just for a moment, sending exquisite shivers up my spine and down through my legs. This was dangerous territory … and I was loving every second.

Old Guy wandered off in search of a cigar. Rob surveyed the room, giving his best "wholesome boy" smile. "Do you want to go upstairs?" he quietly said, without looking at me, lips barely moving.

I kept my eyes front too. "We agreed nothing in front of your dad."

"Upstairs isn't in front of my dad. Look at them, they're all pissed. No one's gonna come up there."

I stared forwards. I really wanted to.

"I don't think you have any idea how hard I am right now," he muttered. "Hi, Margaret!"

And there was Margaret, all of a sudden in front of us. She'd been keeping her beady eyes on us all night, giving the distinct impression she thought we might nick the family silver. "Hello, Robert," she said, in a tone that barely disguised her disdain for him. Margaret, it occurred to me, was someone who saw right through Rob, even if no one else did. "It's nearly eleven, so I think now would be a good time for your friends to head home and give the adults some space."

"Of course!" he chirped. God, he did the obsequious obedient son well. "I'm not sure where Beth and Dan are, so I'll go and find them and pack everyone off."

Margaret nodded in approval and Rob headed out of the lounge, me following.

"I think they were in the garden a bit ago," I said.

He glanced over his shoulder as we entered the deserted hallway, then grabbed me by the elbow and guided me towards the stairs.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"We're looking for Beth and Dan. They might be up here."

Our eyes met, decision made, and we both hurtled up the stairs, two at a time, darting around the corner at the top, down the landing, tumbling into his bedroom, where he pushed the door shut and leaned up against it, slightly breathless. We didn't need words. Within seconds we were all over each other, lips locked together as we staggered over to his bed, hands unbuttoning trousers, tugging up shirts; he flopped back on the bed, me on top of him, our clothes a mess of being half on, half off, but neither of us able to sort that out because we were too greedy for one another, couldn't get enough, I—

It happened in a flash.

Suddenly hands were dragging me off him.

I was thrown to the floor.

"Fuck!' Rob shouted.

"Get off him, you disgusting boy!"

Scrambling to pull my trousers up, I saw…

Margaret.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she snarled.

On the bed, Rob was also scrambling to cover himself up, eyes wide and suddenly afraid.

"You filthy, disgusting perverts!" Margaret hissed. "Your father is downstairs, and you're doing this?"

"We weren't doing anything!" Rob pleaded.

Margaret gave a little laugh, so filled with hate and contempt it chilled me. "There are people here tonight who hold the power to make or break your father's career and everything he has ever worked for. And you … you perverts choose to come up here? And if I hadn't suspected what was going on and stopped you, would you have broken the law? The son of a cabinet minister, arrested for underage sex with another boy? How do you suppose that would play in the papers? With the public? Idiot. You should know better, at your age. You make me sick. You make everyone sick. What would your poor mother think?"

I saw how those last words wounded him. I saw how they knifed right through him. "Why bring her into this?" I snapped back, my voice sounding nowhere near as powerful as I wanted it to, but weak and lacking conviction.

"Shut up, get out and never come back here," she told me.

I stared at her, shaking – rage, at her unshakable righteousness, or fear, at the knowledge she now possessed, I wasn't sure.

She bent down towards me, her lip curling, voice mocking. "You're a silly little boy who needs to grow up and stop playing ‘I'll show you mine if you show me yours' with other silly little boys. It's sickening how you're throwing away your life like this, but that's your choice. You just leave Rob out of it."

"It's not a choice," I croaked, throat thick and dry. "I didn't choose."

"Oh, you always have a choice, young man. And you chose to be weak and give in to sin. No father figure to keep you on the straight and narrow, I dare say." She glanced at me like I was shit. "Now, for the final time, I want you and your diseased mind out of this house."

She spat on me. Really.

Open-mouthed, I glanced up at Rob, hoping for strength, but finding him broken, hugging his legs to his chin, staring down at his duvet. "Just go, Jamie," he muttered.

I wanted to speak, because no, not like this, they couldn't win, we had something beautiful and real and—

"Just go," he said again.