Chapter 43

Chapter 43

Funny how you kind of know sometimes.

I'd just woken up the following Sunday morning, still on a high from Friday night, still happy because I'd seen a world where people like me could belong and not be scared, and for the first time, it felt like things might work out, that I'd get to be happy, or at least get a shot at it.

The summer sun was already streaming through my curtains, but the gentle breeze coming in through my open window was still morning-cool. For a brief, precious moment, I thought to myself, I really am happy.

And I believe I was.

As soon as the doorbell rang, my stomach knotted.

Sunday morning. It was unusual. Like the phone ringing after ten at night – it automatically felt like bad news.

And then hammering on the door too.

I listened as Mum opened it, heard brief voices and then thudding up the stairs, a quick knock on my door, and Beth burst in, flushed, breathless, in black leggings and a baggy black sweater which it looked like she'd just thrown on.

"You're fucked," she said, waving a tabloid newspaper at me.

She threw the paper over to me and sat on the edge of the bed. "Page five – at least it's not front page."

I flipped the pages and froze at the headline:

MP's Underage Son in Sleazy Gay Club Shame

The article, accompanied with a number of covert pictures of me and Rob emerging from the club, was an absolute barrage of bullshit, claiming Rob was not only a violent alcoholic but was taking drugs, that the club was some kind of filthy sex den, and questioning if Sir Jeremy West MP could really be relied upon to uphold family values and "basic standards of decency" if his own son was behaving like a "delinquent degenerate" at such a young age.

I just stared at it, shocked that they would report this, shocked that it was all lies, shocked at how they were describing Rob. And then … the realization … what this meant for him. For me. Because now it was out there, in black and white, complete with photographic evidence, us, coming out of a gay club, the bullies were right, everyone was right, and now…

What now?

What was Rob going through right now?

What would his dad be doing to him?

"Jamie?" Beth said softly.

I sprang out of bed, haphazardly pulling on jeans and a T-shirt. "I have to find Rob."

Just like I had instinctively sensed trouble, I also knew where Rob would be. My heart melted when I actually saw him, though, sitting in front of his mum's grave, looking completely broken. He looked so small, so vulnerable in baggy jeans and an old hoodie … for the first time this boy who I'd looked to for strength, who made me braver, looked beaten and weak and … I … was … scared.

I walked over.

He didn't look up.

Sat down next to him.

He didn't speak.

Nor did I.

What was there to say?

We were fucked.

We both knew it.

Words would not make this better.

Eventually…

"Dad got briefed about the article late last night. His press officer is issuing a denial. The story will be that I wasn't aware it was a gay club, but that after Mum's death I went off the rails, and I do have a drink problem. Dad's doing the right thing and is sending me to rehab. I think you know the place – it's up in Scotland. I'll be seeing out the term at school and then I won't be going back. He hopes everyone understands that all families go through difficult times, but he hopes the public can see how he's trying to do the right thing by me. As proof that I'm not gay, I'm taking a girl to the end of term ball. There will be photos. It's the start of my rehabilitation. She's called Katie, and she's a friend of someone Margaret knows – goes to some all-girls public school in Surrey – I've never even met her." He took an unsteady breath. "He took Casper. He's given him away. He says I'm too selfish to own a dog, and if I can't care for him properly, he'll be better off elsewhere."

His bottom lip was wobbling as he tried to hold it together. "I'm sorry, Mum," he croaked. "I'm so sorry." He still didn't look at me. "And you, Jamie, us, that's no more. Officially, it never was, but now … there's nothing I can do, I can't…"

"Rob—"

"I've nothing left, Jamie. I've…"

"Rob, no, there has to be—"

"Know what? Write your stories. Write a world where you and me can be together and everyone lets us, and it's good and happy, because that's all there is now. Fiction. You'll be OK, Jamie. You will. You're an amazing person; you'll do great things; the stars will always shine on you, I know it. And you'll find someone else."

I reached for his hand, but he snatched it away. "You're only making this harder. Please go." Tears were rolling down his cheeks now. "Please go, Jamie. I love you, I fucking love you, I will always fucking love you, and I need you to please go because I'm not allowed to do that so we just need … to forget about each other now."

Silence.

His words…

Echoing around my head.

"Go," he said. "There might be other paps sniffing around – it's only a matter of time before they find me. And when they do, they can't find me with you."

"Yeah," I said, getting up. "I understand."

I took a few steps away.

"I love you," I muttered. "For always."

He didn't reply.

I went straight up the stairs when I got home. I needed to think. Everyone else would have to wait.

I stared up at my poster of Electra.

It hadn't escaped my attention: when I was with Rob, Electra was around less. I also didn't live in my fantasy worlds so much either. Real was everything I needed.

"He saved you, Jamie, you know he did," Electra said. "And now you need to save him."

I nodded because I already knew it was true.

It was my turn now.

But how could I do that? How, when I was so powerless and alone?

Electra's eyes drifted to my school bag and the stack of books rammed inside that Mrs C had given me. One caught my eye – the book on queer history. I grabbed it and started flicking through, and inside … a treasure trove … a whole history … the Compton's Café riots in 1966 in San Francisco; customers in drag at Berlin's Eldorado nightclub in 1929; Maureen Duffy – the first woman in public life to come out as a lesbian; Armistead Maupin; the Stonewall riots, when the Stonewall Inn, a gay bar in New York, was raided by police yet again, and this time, everyone stood up to them, with drag queens kicking police and the whole community fighting back against the brutality and injustice; The Gay Librarian Front; the first Gay Pride; Harvey Milk; Peter Tatchell; AIDS; section 28; and the struggles of groups all over the world, like the activists in Italy, fighting to make progress against the Roman Catholic Church. Here were stories of loss and pain and hardship and difficulty, of being hated and despised, and yet they were also all stories of strength and power and fighting spirit and, ultimately, love. It wasn't just me. There were loads of us. Thousands of us. Hundreds of thousands. Yes, I'd been looking for just one boy like me. But actually, there were people, so many people, like us.

The fights were different, but had so many similarities, and at their heart, one thing I knew to be true: they were all driven by people brave enough to risk it all, stand up, speak the truth, and fight for love.

And that was what I was going to need to do as well.

I had the fire, I just didn't have any weapons.

There was a gentle knock at my door, and Mum came in.

We stared at one another for a few moments. "Are you OK?" she said eventually.

I swallowed and nodded. "Have you seen—?"

"Yes, I've seen."

She hovered by the door.

"Is there anything you want to tell me?" she asked.

Nearly. There almost was. But I bottled it and shook my head.

"These came for you yesterday," she said, handing me a package. It was from BonusPrint* – it must have been the photos I had developed from the roll we took on my birthday.

(You forgot about the film Rob gave me to develop, didn't you? I slipped it in to that scene with the boys by the radar dishes so casually, you hopefully thought nothing of it. Well … surprise!)

"Thanks."

Mum nodded, made to leave, but came back again. "Jamie? If … I don't know how you're going to work things out, but if … Rob needs somewhere to stay… I don't know how we'll afford another mouth to feed, but we'll do it, all right?"

I was desperately trying not to lose it, although my wet eyes must've given it away. "Thank you," I rasped.

She nodded, gave me a small smile and turned to go again.

"Mum?"

"What?"

I opened my mouth, but—

"It's OK, Jamie," she said. "I know, and it's OK." She closed the door behind her.

I tried to steady my breathing. Then I saw Electra glancing at the package from BonusPrint. What the hell? I ripped it open and took out the envelope of photos, smiling as I shuffled through the ones of me and Rob standing by the radar dish that day.

The ones of him caught my eye, standing there, looking out, right into the abyss, as he'd described it … and he was smiling.

I will never forget that look. Determined. Hopeful. In the face of so much terror … a shrug, a do your worst.

I smiled too. Couldn't help it. I loved that boy so much.

Then I looked through a few more.

Different ones now, ones I didn't recognize because they must have come from the beginning of the film, sometime before I was with Rob. Family shots…

I stopped.

What was I actually looking at here?

I checked a few more photos.

Fuck. Really?

And I realized, Rob giving me that roll of film to develop wasn't casual and wasn't accidental. It was deliberate. He'd given us an insurance policy and the best weapon I could ever want.

Oh, Rob.

You beauty.

Fuck the system, huh?

*So good – you would post your film to them, and they'd send you your photos back, along with a FREE FILM so you could take more.