CRAPPY FAMILIES, REGINA FONG

AND THE AUSTRALIAN DREAMBOAT

BY PAUL WESTON

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PART ONE – CRAPPY FAMILIES

CHAPTER ONE

Tony had been thirteen when he finally put a name to it. I’m gay.

A huge shiver went over him, yet the thought wasn’t upsetting. Ah well,
he thought, I’ll just settle down with a rich solicitor.

London 1987
At seventeen, Tony’s obsession with the bulges in men’s trousers

was still overwhelming. He was also scared it was about to become
dangerous. On the tube, an underground worker had got on at Bounds
Green and sat immediately opposite Tony, his legs splayed wide while he
lay back, arms behind his head, relaxing after a day at work. Tony could
see his balls clearly bulging; large and loose in his light grey trousers.
They were so low they were sitting on the seat and seemed to radiate an
invitation. The worker was wiry and fit. He seemed in a world of his
own, showing no notice of Tony, just relaxing with a small smile. The
carriage was empty so why had he chosen to sit in the long row of seats
immediately in front of him? he wondered. He looked through the
windows to the rail lines and dull red brick walls as they emerged from
the tunnel into the grey light of Arnos Grove. Probably just a co-
incidence, he rationalised. But that bulge. Those balls. Displayed so
prominently in an area you should never look at. Tony stared dully into
his book. The top of the book had a line of sight just at seat level. A
quick glance up was all that was needed to see what he needed. He
wanted to bury his head in that groin, feel those testicles fill his eye
sockets. Inhale deeply and feel safe in the manliness of that anonymous
male siren.

A quick glance up to see where the man’s eyes were. He was still

staring at the carriage roof, smiling vaguely. Tony was terrified he would
see him glancing at his crotch. He wondered whether he would care or
was even turned on by it. There was no sign of what his dick was doing,
that seemed lost in the folds of his fly area. Tony’s was, as usual, so hard
that he knew getting up would have to be quick. He calculated would be
about fifteen seconds before the tube stopped at Arnos Grove. It was a
terminus for some trains, but this was going onto Cockfosters. Tony
hoped the man was staying on; if he got off then the torture would
continue in his mind. Would he follow him home? Of course not, he

dismissed the idea with contempt. I’d be bashed up for being a queer.

The tube stopped. The doors started to open. Tony lent forward,

shifting quickly to the left and got up, his back stooped like an old man.
He straightened up just before the door, his mission to hide the tent pole
in his trousers accomplished. The steps up to the overpass were right by
the train door, it was easy to run up them quickly, rushing as if he had an
important appointment to make. He slowed to show the inspector his
ticket then quickly walked into the street. He already knew the man had
stayed on the train; he was still relaxed and staring at the carriage ceiling
when Tony was stooping to leave. It was a huge relief but the thrill of
how a complete stranger could cause so much delight and terror stayed
with him as he walked to the library, his heart rate gradually slowing.

Tony’s sanctuary had always been the library. Any library. At

fourteen he’d discovered Arnos Grove library hidden away on top of a
redbrick 1930s building near the tube station. It was tiny, and usually
empty on weekdays, apart from two librarians who sat at the front,
silently. Even when checking out a book they never said anything to him,
or he to them. There were only twelve shelves to contain the meagre
collection. But that was more than enough material to transport Tony
elsewhere. At around thirteen he’d graduated from the children’s section
that held his favourite books on magic and disguise, to the young adult
section whose books focussed on real life, and, most importantly, sex.
The characters in these books were Tony’s age or younger, yet they all
seemed to be sexually active. He had to sit through thousands of words
of tedious story to get there, but there was usually a cock to be
encountered somewhere. Of course, all the characters were straight, but
that wasn’t an issue. You weren’t allowed to be young and gay in the
Enfield Council library system. But Haringey Council was Labour-
controlled and Tony knew there were gay books in the Wood Green
library. The Sun newspaper had created a scandal about it; the usual
outrage about political correctness gone mad and loony lefties
brainwashing kiddies.

London 1985
At fifteen, Tony decided he would go to Wood Green Library

and find the gay young adult books he’d read about. He knew the author
was David Rees but wasn’t sure of the titles. There was no way he was
going to ask for help, or even check the catalogue lest somebody see
what he was doing. Even entering the library had been terrifying; his

heart was beating so hard and he felt that everyone he passed on the way
to the young adult section knew he was a poofter trying to find a dirty
book. His terror was fed by the tabloid papers that trumpeted their stories
of gays being bashed and left for dead in parks. The subtext in the
tabloids was clear; if you’re gay you will die and you deserve to. After
all, if the queer bashers didn’t kill you then AIDS would. Tony had heard
about this new disease over and over again in the past year. He knew
people thought it was the gay plague, visited by God on the queers to
cleanse the world of their deviance. He’d seen the TV specials where
outraged fathers rang up and called for all homosexuals to be castrated.
He’d heard the radio phone-ins where mothers demanded poofters be
deported to a desert island to die. The newspapers were calling for
children to be protected. Well, he was a child and he needed protecting
from these bigots. So, if the world hated him that much how would
stealing a couple of books matter?

He’d found the young adult section on the mezzanine level and

gone to the shelves that housed the books whose authors began with an
“R”. Fortunately the area was quiet; there were people sitting reading but
nobody walking around the shelves. He stood back a couple of feet so
nobody could see which books he was looking at and scanned the shelf.
With his heart pumping again, he quickly found a thin, blue hardcover
book with ‘In the Tent. David Rees’ embossed in golden letters. That
must be the one, he thought. Then he saw another next to it The
Milkman’s on his Way. He casually looked around him; still nobody
nearby. He looked to see if there were any security cameras. There were
none that he could see that pointed towards him. He knew he had to steal
these books. He had no choice, there was no way he was going through
the shame and terror of checking them out. What if they wouldn’t let
him? What if the librarian laughed and called out loudly to everyone that
here was someone taking out queer books? What if they pulled away in
disgust, fearing they might catch AIDS from him? No, there was no other
way. If he wanted to read these books he had to take them home without
anyone knowing. He could then return them another day, he promised
himself.

He had his black Adidas sports bag with him. He put it down

next to the shelf next to the target books, opened it, reached in, and took
out a packet of mint Poppets. He inspected them slowly, gave a look of
concern as if he’d changed his mind, and then returned them to the bag.
Next, he took out a Texan bar and performed the same act, imagining

this would somehow convince any curious onlookers that he was
inspecting the contents of his bag. He quickly he grabbed the two books
by their spines and placed them in his bag. His heart was beating so fast
he could barely breath as he zipped up the bag and looked around.
Nobody was looking. He slowly stood up, picked up his bag and casually
walked downstairs to the main library. He strode as quickly as he dared
towards the exit, ready to run if challenged. He’d already checked there
was no security at the exit but he scanned it, fearing a security guard
might appear. None did and he exited, turned left onto Wood Green Road
and walked as fast as he could to the tube station.

He waited for the tube in terror; still imagining somebody would

suddenly run up and shout “Thief! Give back those books you poofter
bastard”. Once the train pulled up to the platform he felt safer; once it
pulled away he finally started to breath deeply again. He looked around
the carriage; it was only half empty in the afternoon. He wondered
whether anybody could guess his guilty secret.

At home, locked in his bedroom, he was finally able to read the

books that the Sun newspaper declared were corrupting the kiddies. Tony
felt quite ready to be corrupted and devoured the slim volume ‘In the
Tent’ in a couple of hours. From that moment on, Tony wanted to be like
he characters in the book. He wanted to have friends; he wanted to go
camping with them in the Lake District. He wanted to get stranded in
bleak mountain weather and be seduced by a masculine ‘straight’ boy.
He masturbating furiously over this scenario, coming intensively, and, as
usual, feeling deeply disappointed after the climax that this was all just
fantasy, that there was no man to cuddle up next to and no shared
intimacy.

In need of further corruption he immediately read The

Milkman’s on his Way which was satisfyingly more explicit. He went
on to reread both again and envied the characters. They all had normal
lives and they all had friends. They experimented sexually, even if it was
done with the deep fear of being found out. They learned to accept
themselves; something Tony knew he would never be able to. The books
had opened a window into a more accepting world; a world where other
people felt the way he did. His fury at his own self-imposed isolation
grew. He knew he couldn’t make friends because he refused to lie about
his sexuality. He knew he couldn’t be open about his sexuality or he
would be beaten up and humiliated. Isolation was the only way he could
exist. At least I can now live other people’s lives through books, he

thought. That will do me for now, until I’m old enough to get away from
here, not just this house but get out of this nasty, bigoted country.

London 1987
Back at Arnos Grove library, Tony decided today wasn’t a day

for young adult sex angst. He wanted his mind distracted from the man
on the tube. He sat at the table by the window near the languages section.
He arranged his area into its familiar pattern; with his Adidas sports bag
under the table and set a one-litre carton of orange juice to his right. In
front of himself he placed a ring-bound notebook. He checked to see his
textbook was there. It was. Not many people had ever taken out Teach
Yourself Esperanto. Tony turned to Chapter Three and read the text,
marvelling once again at being able to read something like a secret code.
OK, it was a secret code with simple grammar and vocabulary nicked
from several European languages, but the knowledge that so few people
knew about it thrilled Tony. Who cared he had no one to practise it with?
Tony talked to few people.

Mia nomo estas Tony, he wrote. Mi estas dek sep jara. Mi estas

samseksa. That last word wasn’t in the book. He’d looked it up in the
English-Esperanto dictionary in Wood Green library. Samseksa. It
literally meant ‘same sex’. I am same sex. Mi estas samseksa. He wrote
is carefully several times in italic script using the calligraphy pen he’d
bought himself for his seventeenth birthday. The gold nib carefully drew
the letters in black ink, the nib slanting to add beautiful strokes to the
words that weren’t beautiful.

London 1983
Isolation happened when he was thirteen. It wasn’t planned, so

little was planned in Tony’s life. After his parents got back together he’d
started another school. His third secondary school in as many years. He’d
managed to be unobtrusive, saying as little as possible and turning up as
little as he could get away with. He had a home lunch pass, supposedly
so he could go home to eat. Nobody seemed to care much if he didn’t
come back. Any queries from teachers lead to the production of a sick
note from his compliant mother. He’d had diarrhoea so many times he
was amazed he hadn’t been reported to child services. Perhaps they
weren’t as strict in 1983.

Tony had a loose friendship with the school dunces. Enough of a

friendship so he could hang out at morning break to eat his salad rolls

that doubled as breakfast and lunch. That the conversations revolved
around nothing much at all didn’t worry Tony. He had no desire to talk
about himself and his friends had no desire to talk about themselves, so
much could be said by saying little. None asked him to come round to
their houses after school, so no reciprocation was needed. It wouldn’t
have come. Dino had once stood outside Tony’s house when he came
home. How on earth to he know Tony’s address, he wondered? Dino had
his bike with him and he’d cheerfully asked to come in. Tony quickly
replied that he didn’t have a key. “I’ve lost it. I’m going to have to wait
in the back garden till mum comes home”. That solved that
awkwardness. There was no way Dino was going to come in and see the
state of the house. They had only made occasional grunts at school after
that. Perhaps that was a shame, he’d often thought. Maybe Dino had
been up for something?

Andrew had been his friend for three years, ever since Tony’s

family had moved to Southgate. When Tony’s mum had finally agreed to
move back to London, after her separation from his dad had failed due to
her inability to manage her children and herself, Andrew’s friendship had
faded away. He’d been moved to another school and the last contact he’d
had was when Andrew saw him near the Wimpy in Southgate. He’d
come over and introduced his new friend “who was really clever”.
Andrew lived six doors down the road, but there was no friendship after
that. Another shame. He’d seen Andrew’s cock a year before, when they
were camping out in Andrew’s dad’s garden shed. His cock was tiny.
Absolutely, pathetically tiny. All that stress and effort he’d had to go
through to stage-manage the situation, and the reward was that. The
friendship had been surely doomed. So, halfway through his thirteenth
year, Tony had managed to rid himself of any friends who could stumble
upon his secrets.

London 1987
Arnos Grove library closed at seven o’clock and Tony was

usually the last out. Caught up in a world of languages, travel or teen
lust, he would happily spend his entire life in the safe, quiet surroundings
of books, shelves and limited human contact. However, the joy of
Esperanto always stalled when he got up to Chapter Five and the
accusative case. No matter how many times he tried to learn the rules, he
could not understand why the subject of a sentence needed to have a
grammatical marker. Why would a language that purported to be so easy

to learn that it would unite mankind with a universal tongue come up
with something as horrendous as the accusative case? The book
explained that it was straightforward. When there was a subject in a
sentence, unless the verb was ‘to be’, that subject must be marked by
putting an ‘n’ on its end. The logic given for this was that the word order
could be rearranged in any way you liked; and you would always know
the sentence by its marker. Why bother rearranging the sentence and just
leave the bloody “n” marker off then? he ranted to himself. Who cares if
you could have the subject at the beginning of the word? Who cared if
this made the language flexible and poetic? Tony couldn’t understand the
accusative case and it made him furious that this supposedly simple
language had beaten him yet again at Chapter Five. All his joy at being
able to write in his secret language drained away again. He glanced at his
calculator watch. Four o’clock. He sighed and rested his head on this left
hand, slowly rubbed his temples. He breathed deeply, drawing the air
into his lower lungs like his mother’s yoga books told him. After holding
the air for ten seconds he slowly exhaled while mentally intoning,
‘calm’. Knowing he wasn’t going to continue with his Esperanto lesson
he closed his eyes and, as usual, failed to maintain a blank mind, which
darted immediately to the tube worker’s groin. While deep breathing, the
image of large testicles encased in a grey protective coating sat like a
screensaver in his mind. He pictured his hand reaching out and poking
them, and watching with delight as the right ball lifted up and protruded
more. He tried to freeze the image and place it on a cloud so it would
float away and disappear. He got that from one of those yoga books too.
It never worked, and it certainly wasn’t working now as the image not
only refused to go away but the tube worker was starting to do alarming
things with his flies. Oh god no, Tony thought, he’s unzipping them.
Why’s he getting his cock out?

Tony remembered where he was and jolted his hand off his head,

opening his eyes. As usual the library was empty. And he had an erection
throbbing again in his underpants. He couldn’t help but slip his right
hand down to feel the tip of his foreskin. It was greasy and wet,
something he always took pleasure in but didn’t know why. Cursing
himself for touching his dick and prolonging the erection he forced his
cock straight up into the rim of his underpants. This would conceal it if
he zipped his jacket up. He’d decided he was done with the library today.
Today he would actually let himself go home during daytime. Maybe
he’d try having a wank, why the hell not? Maybe today he’d actually feel

something, have an orgasm. It had been a couple of years since he’d been
able to feel anything. Normally he’d just come with a pathetic splurt,
with his dick shrivelling away in quick retreat, leaving a feeling of
numbness and disgust.

When he was eleven Tony had asked for the first ring. His

parents hadn’t thought it was strange, saying that many men wore a
signet ring. He got it for his birthday and wore it on his left hand. A few
girls at school had laughed, but they always laughed at him, so he
ignored it. He liked the ring. He loved the shininess of the nine-carat
gold. He loved the way he could twist it around and close his fist up,
feeling the face of the ring cut into his palm. He liked it so much, he
asked for another for his twelfth birthday. This one had a black onyx
strip set into the gold. This was a real signet ring, something a man
would be proud to wear. Now he could play with the rings on both hands,
moving the faces around to cut into his palms. He couldn’t work out why
he enjoyed this feeling so much, playing with flesh and objects. The
rings were to play an unexpected part in his sexual awakening when he
was thirteen.

London 1983
The mirror from his parent’s MFI wardrobe had fallen out. As

usual, they didn’t bother to fix it and just moved into the corner of their
bedroom. Tony had taken it to put in his bedroom. Nothing had been said
so he assumed he now owned it. It wasn’t full length, only about three
feet tall, but if he sat cross-legged in front of it he could see all of his
scrawny body. It was perfect for experimenting with his mum’s electric
curling brush in privacy. Tony’s blonde hair wasn’t long, but it was thick
enough to get a satisfying bob if he curled the hair towards his head.
During one boring school-holiday he’d raided his mum’s makeup drawer
so his face could be as pretty as his curled hair. His mother’s favourite
nutmeg lipstick was boring, but there was some red stuff in a black tray
that he smeared on his lips. He pouted and kissed the mirror, leaving
lipstick marks that looked like modern art. For some reason he decided
being naked would add to the effect, so he stripped off, noticing that his
penis instantly stiffened when exposed to the air, like a chemical
reaction. It had been doing this a lot recently and he vaguely knew it was
to do with puberty but hadn’t thought much of it apart from an
annoyance when it got hard and poked out of his pyjamas. He
instinctively knew he couldn’t walk around the house like this, so would

have to let it subside by reading yet another Enid Blyton book.

With his crossed legs in front of the mirror, he moved his feet

slightly outwards so he could get a good look at his penis and testicles.
He noticed his balls were much lower than usual, sagging and pulling his
scrotum low. As he reached down to feel them he saw his rings reflected
in the mirror. Seeing an opportunity for accessorising, he took the rings
off and placed each one on his testicles, poking the loose skin through
each ring to anchor them firmly in place. There was a satisfying
symmetry to the image that reflected in front of Tony. A large, erect
penis stood with two testicles either side forming gold-rimmed eyes. It
looked happy and Tony smiled at the image and felt his cock get even
harder, causing a deep ache in his groin. He took the ring off his right
ball and placed it on his dick. He tried to thread his foreskin through it to
keep it in place but the foreskin kept pulling back, stubbornly refusing to
stay over his knob. He kept trying to pull the foreskin through the ring
but gave up when an incredible, sharp pain suddenly shot through the
muscle behind his dick and a jet of liquid launched out of the tip of his
knob and hit him in his right eye. Thrown back onto his back, Tony
reached for his right eye and smeared the greasy fluid onto his hand, then
lay down, unaccountably exhausted, shivering and amazingly,
ecstatically happy.

London 1987
Tony decided to leave the library. He drained the rest of his

orange juice, put the Teach Yourself Esperanto book back onto the shelf
to await his next, frustrated effort at getting past Chapter Five and threw
his notepad into his sports bag. He stood up, quickly zipping up his
jacket to hide his erection. He walked out of the library. The librarians,
as usual, took no notice of him as he left and ran down the stairs. He
walked over the front lawn, crossed over the road and walked past the
Arnos Arms, a place he’d spent much time, drinking coke as a kid, while
his father drank in the lounge. The walk down downhill lead to Arnos
Park, with its pathway leading over Pymmes Brook and through the
sports fields, thankfully deserted this cold early November afternoon.
Tony still dreaded walking along that path when kids were playing
football. He just knew a ball would be kicked his way and someone
would call out “kick it back, kick it back”. Most men loved kicking it
back and feeling they were part of the game. But the kicking gene wasn’t
present when Tony was born. He’d never been able to kick a ball without

tripping over it, or kicking it in the completely wrong direction.

He remembered the miserable days on these football fields when

he was at primary school. His class would walk down Waterfall Way
towards the fields, everyone excited about getting out of the classroom to
play football. Everyone except for Tony. He knew that at the end of that
walk his teacher and the headmaster, who were trying to keep them in an
orderly line and in the correct direction, would turn into screaming
monsters, shouting commands and blowing the whistle at strange
intervals. Tony had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to be doing.
He assumed that schools thought that the ability to play football was
something boys were born with, or that they’d grown up playing it with
their friends and their dad. Everyone on that field seemed to know what
to do when the whistle blew and, more importantly, what to do when that
bloody ball came near.

Tony knew what he wasn’t supposed to do. He wasn’t supposed

to run up to it and kick it, because there were several boys screaming for
the ball and he had no idea who he was supposed to kick it to. His
strategy for survival was to make sure that firstly, he was never in the
vicinity of the ball, and secondly, that if by some gross miscalculation
the ball had appeared near him he must run, run, run in the other
direction, while pretending something very important was happening on
the other side of the pitch that urgently needed his attention. This
strategy had worked remarkably well, if he ignored the insults. Early on,
there had been genuine attempts on Tony’s part to try and play. But those
efforts would invariably end with strange terms being called like
“offside”, or, more usually “you bloody clown Mortimer”. Eventually a
mostly unspoken agreement was formed where his classmates knew he
was hopeless, his teachers knew he was hopeless, and Tony knew he was
hopeless. It was therefore best to leave the playing to the experts. Being
picked last, and with audible resentment, for every match was just a
tedious reminder of this and part of the pantomime he was forced to
endure every games lesson until one magical day when he collapsed in
agony, clutching his back.

The doctor at Finchley Memorial Hospital had said it was just a

mild curvature of the lower spine and nothing to worry about. However,
in Tony’s mind a visit to a hospital and a finding of something wrong, no
matter how small, was a clear declaration that he was forever unfit to
play sport. His sullen and long-suffering GP, who almost audibly
groaned whenever Tony came into his room seeking high-level

ammunition against his latest acne breakout, had quickly agreed to write
a letter to the headmaster excusing Tony from all sports henceforth.
From that day, Tony would spend games afternoons sitting in the
headmaster’s office, warm and dry and free of the terror that balls of any
type would induce.

Tony left the park and turned into Monks Road. The houses

changed here. The grander 1930s houses, which still continued on one
side of Monks Road, gave way to an estate of identical red brick semi-
detached homes. Whether it was built as such Tony did not know, but
this housing estate was known by everyone in Southgate as “The Police
Estate”. The homes were owned by the Metropolitan Police and were
occupied solely by policemen and their families. Including Tony’s dad
Barry, mother Hazel and brother Rick, who lived at number 40.

Number 40 was almost indistinguishable from any other number

on the street. The only individual features were two large conifers that
grew next to the concrete stairs that went down for the street to the front
door. Tony thought they added an alpine feel. As the house was below
street level, the telephone wire ran from the top of the house, through the
top of the conifers to join the wooden pole in the street. Any high wind
would invariably cause the conifers to pull the telephone line out of the
wall, leading to cursing and calls for the damned things to be cut down
by Barry. Fortunately, as any work had to be carried out by a police
contractor, and as Barry was too lazy to send in the required forms, the
conifers stayed.

Tony got out his key and opened the black front door. There was

an unusual silence. He closed the door and put his bag down by the coat
rack. He would run immediately upstairs to his bedroom, not bothering
with any pleasantries. However, usually there was always the sound of
the television or radio coming out of the living room that signalled the
presence of somebody. He knew dad was at work, but mum had been
‘let go’ from her job as a secretary at Bollex Mixers in Southgate due to
her undefined ‘ill-health’ that she’d suffered from as long as Tony could
remember. Her walking had become unsteady and it had become
embarrassing going anywhere with her. She acted drunk, suddenly
slipping and grabbing onto Tony for balance. When she was like this he
assumed she’d taken too many of those tiny blue pills that she always
had in her handbag. He hated the metallic rustling sound they made when
she popped them out of their blister packs several times a day. He knew
she hated being addicted to Ativan but was scared of coming off them.

She had read in one of her Esther Rantzen books that withdrawal from
tranquilisers was worse than coming off heroin. Her constant falls,
forgetfulness and irrational behaviour meant that she never went outside
now. So it was strange that the house seemed uninhabited.

He went into the living room. The TV wasn’t on, nor the radio.

Even the electric fire was off. Sometimes Hazel liked to watch the
comforting electric flame effects even when the central heating was
working. The place was as messy as always; crumbs, cat hair and detritus
covered the carpets that nobody thought to vacuum. That was mum’s
work and she couldn’t do it. Books and clothes covered the pillar-box red
suite that was relatively new, but already tattered and shredded by three
self-satisfied cats.

Tony noticed one obvious difference in the room. An empty

bottle of red Martini vermouth lay on its side on the carpet. Tony knew
Hazel had started drinking heavily in the evenings since she had been
housebound. He didn’t know she was drinking during the day. It was dad
who was the alcoholic. Mum was the pill popper. And as he thought that,
Tony noticed something else unusual. Countless numbers of those
bloody Ativan blister packs spread over the floor near the empty green
bottle of Martini. All empty.

Tony didn’t know what to think. He was numb to whatever

dramas were habitually created by his family. He dismissed this one;
she’d probably thrown the pills on the floor in one of her moods and
gone to see the doctor for more. He grabbed his bag and ran up to his
bedroom, which was a comparative oasis of order. His bedroom was the
one thing that Tony could control. He hoovered the carpet and kept the
books in their shelves. He more or less hung his clothes up in the old
wooden cupboard that he’d painted a glossy white. Draping clothes over
a chair didn’t count as messy. He’d painted his bedroom light blue,
although he wasn’t allowed to strip away the ugly woodchip wallpaper
that his parents loved. At least he got to tear at the woodchips every night
while lying in bed, picking them out of their layer of paper and dropping
them next to the bed, leaving an ever-increasing patch of scars. He didn’t
care how this affected the look of the room; it was just too satisfying,
like picking at annoying scabs.

Tony had even made curtains for his room. He’d bought some

cheap material with blue and white raised patterns on a light blue
background and used his rudimentary sewing skills to sew, or really tack,
the curtains together. They were poorly done, and had no backing to

block out any of the usually grey light that crept into the room. At least
the curtains added some cheerfulness of the room, he decided.
Cheerfulness Tony felt nowhere else in the house. He looked out of the
large window into a sky that had been painted every shade of grey, from
near white to gunmetal. The view was a panorama of identical houses,
gardens and leafless trees. A hill rose up in the distance and he could see
Alexandra Palace to the left. He knew the world’s first regular television
transmissions had began there in 1936. Tony couldn’t imagine life
without TV. It was his only connection to a world where families
laughed and loved each other. To the far right was the viaduct where the
tube ran over the parks between Southgate and Arnos Grove. The regular
clacking sound of tube trains was never annoying. It was the comforting
sound that accompanied people going about their lives, freely and
happily.

London 1984
One of the few things that made Tony happy was his meagre

porn collection. This consisted of two magazines; both discovered in the
woods at Arnos Park when he was fourteen. One was just a collection of
black and white pages ripped from a magazine, but his prized material
was a full colour copy of Playgirl. Finding this had been like finding a
gold nugget. He had the thrill of possessing it, but the terror of making
sure no one else found out. To get it home, he’d opened it at the
centrefold and wrapped it around his body, held in place by the
waistband of his jeans. Walking home in the dark wasn’t a problem, it
was getting it upstairs without the suspicious rustling sound that was.
Normally his parents could be relied upon to be watching television in a
fog of cigarette smoke, or arguing. But at night, with the heavy red velvet
curtains drawn, there was no way to tell. Fortunately, they had been
watching TV, and he was able to rush up the stairs after coming home.
However, he’d forgotten about his brother Rick, who was always lurking
around with intent to cause pain and humiliation to Tony. When he
reached the landing he saw Rick coming out of his room. His face gave
its usual sneering smile when he saw Tony. “Where have you been?” he
demanded. “Library”, was Tony’s response as he walked into his room
and shut the door behind him and locking it. This was always incited
Rick. He immediately turned the handle and pushed the door violently
while shouting: “What are you up to? Why is your door locked?” He
started banging loudly on the door: “Open up, open up”.

“What’s going on up there”? Demanded Barry, loudly and

angrily coming out of the living room and shouting upstairs.

“Tony’s locked his door. He’s up to something.”
“No, I’m not”, came Tony’s scream, muffled through the door.

“Just leave me alone Rick.”

“Shut up the pair of you or I’ll come up there and knock your

heads together”.

They heard the living room door slammed shut. Under the door

came Rick’s voice calling maliciously: “What are you up to Tony? Tell
me. TELL ME.” Tony could hear Rick sit down with his back sliding
down the door, ready to stake out the bedroom until Tony had to go to
the toilet. Rick could do this for hours, until Tony had forgotten he was
there, only to have him push the door violently inwards when Tony
tentatively opened it to leave. Then, furious from having been forced to
wait for so long, Rick would batter Tony with whatever came to hand.
There were always heavy books in Tony’s room that made excellent
material for clobbering Tony until he was cowering on the floor. That
position was usually a signal for Rick to leave; he never kicked – he
didn’t consider himself violent.

Tony had jam jars for peeing in now, which he kept on the

windowsill. When he thought Rick was outside the door he just peed in
the jars, leaving them there until he remembered to throw them out of the
window, or throw them into the toilet when the coast was clear. Tony
could stay in his room for over a day if necessary, it didn’t bother him.
He had his books and TV. Food was always an annoying inconvenience
and he could go without. Nobody would call him to eat.

Back in the safety of the locked bedroom Tony was able to study

his new prize pornography. The cover picture was of the head and torso
of a stunningly beautiful, muscled blonde man. The captions promised
more. With a rapid heartbeat he’d turned to the centre section and gasped
to see the body now displayed with a large penis and pendulous balls,
haloed by blonde pubic hair. His erection was instant, his need to
masturbate so intense and immediate that he almost forgot about Rick
camped outside his door. Remembering this and with his intense hatred
returning, he moved to switch on the portable TV and turned the volume
up high. He moved to his bed and covered himself, and the magazine,
with his duvet. His hatred for Rick was not going to spoil the first time
he’d ever seen a man’s genitals so close up that he could almost taste
them. He dick was so hard he knew his brain would never be able to

concentrate on anything else, ever again, until he’d come. He felt that his
dick, ball and brains were the only thing that existed; his eyes burned so
intensely into the image of those balls, that dick. His own dick had
started dribbling wet stuff already; filling his foreskin and making his
wanking strokes give off audible slurping sounds. Even hidden under the
duvet, with the TV on, he was terrified that Rick would hear the tell-tale
sound of masturbation. He grabbed the sock he kept under the mattress.
It was his wank sock, unwashed and hardened, but the crustiness against
his cock was erotic. He slipped it over his dick, wiping the precum on the
base. He tried to slow his stokes to stop the squishing noise. This worked
for a while, but with the intensity growing and taking over his lower
body he knew he had no choice but to bash his cock so hard and fast that
he could think of nothing else until that explosion hit, forcing itself from
inside his body then scraping, almost like razor blades, through the
narrowness of his urethra, emptying the cum in a two-second blast into
the confines of his sock.

As usual, once he’d come his mind returned to reality. He had to

hide Playgirl. The few pages of black and white porn he’d found
previously were stuffed into his mattress, where he’d made a hole in the
side. The magazine wouldn’t fit in there. Diagonally across from his bed
was his wardrobe, tall and narrow in the corner. He thought about
pushing the magazine into an atlas and leaving it in the bottom of the
wardrobe. He dismissed this as too dangerous, even though the
likelihood of his parents looking there was remote. It was more likely
that Rick would rummage there on one of his raids. He often did,
occasionally using a tired pretext such as ‘looking for the cat’. Rick’s
favourite pastime was tormenting their pet cats and they’d long ago
learned to run away from him. Smokey was still traumatised by being
swung around by her tail and would often cower in a corner, hissing,
when Rick came near. Recalling this, Tony’ eye was drawn to the corner
of the room next to the wardrobe where he’d last rescued a cowering
Smokey. When he’d reached down to pick her up she’d kept her claws
firmly clamped to the carpet, bringing a corner of it up. He’d thought
nothing of it then, but now its utility was clear. He could hide the
magazine under the carpet.

He mopped up his dick with the sock that was so starched by

semen it could almost stand up. He stuffed it under his mattress. He
pulled up his pants and trousers and flung off the duvet. With Playgirl in
hand, he sneaked over to the corner, still wary of arousing any response

from Rick outside the door, and grabbed some of the carpet pile from the
corner. As before, it came away from the floorboards easily, revealing an
undulating underlay, which was easily removed. He pulled away more at
them and placed the magazine on the floorboards. As he put the
magazine in place, part of one of the floorboards shifted slightly, causing
a slight creaking sound. Confident that the sound of the TV had covered
this noise he put his fingers into the space created where the floorboard
had moved. He pulled and the floorboard lifted one foot away from the
wall, revealing a cavity between the floorboards and the downstairs
ceiling. Gingerly touching the ceiling, he decided it was solid enough to
hold a magazine, so he placed Playgirl on the ceiling and replaced the
floorboard, underlay and carpet. Incredibly pleased with his safe new
hiding place, he lay down on his bed and tried to focus on watching TV.
After 30 seconds he had an erection and went back to retrieve Playgirl
for the second of his five wanks that night.

London 1987
As he grew older, Tony’s Playgirl stayed in its hiding place

alone. Tony had never discovered any more porn magazines in the park
or anywhere else. Every image in that magazine had been forensically
analysed and wanked over. He could recall every naked man in his
imagination, but still nothing beat seeing the photos. His favourite was
still the beefy blonde centrefold. The Boys of Fort Lauderdale were sexy
enough, but Tony now truly loved and worshipped the blonde god in the
middle. From his blue-eyes to his huge chest, Tony idolised him. His
defined body was something Tony’s scrawny frame could never emulate.
Although blonde himself, Tony could never imagine having the tanned
skin and sun-bleached, tousled hair of this Adonis. It made him more sad
than aroused now. Not sad for the Adonis, but sad that Tony could never
be him and would probably never ever meet someone like him. He no
longer just wanted to have sex with him, he wanted to be with him and
share his life with him. Just the two of them together forever. The painful
intensity of his love had now made his sexual feelings seem dirty. He
started to masturbate apologetically. How could he defile this beautiful
man with his disgusting lust? When he did come, it was quickly, guiltily
and orgasm-free. He’d started to expect there was something wrong.
Surely at seventeen he was too young to be having sexual problems, he’d
finally realised. Maybe he’d wanked too much and worn it out? Or
maybe this really was normal? He had no one he dare ask. He had once

found the courage to call the London Gay and Lesbian Switchboard from
a payphone. He hesitated to tell the woman who answered his problem;
he’d never talked about sex to anyone in his life before. She admitted she
had no idea what the problem was; perhaps he should refrain from
masturbating for a while then try doing it again in a few weeks’ time?
Hurriedly Tony agreed and hung up, shaking. Not wank for three weeks?
He may not feel much from it, but there was no way he was giving up
trying. Tony was now resigned to the fact that he would never have an
orgasm again. He hoped Adonis would understand.

Although no new porn was in his safe, when he went to retrieve

Playgirl Tony saw the bright red cover of his diary which he’d stuffed
down there. He’d started it when he was thirteen and three-quarters for
no other reason than he’d just found the Secret Diary of Adrian Mole,
Aged Thirteen and Three Quarters in the school library and, feeling it
was fate, was inspired to write down his profound insights. It was only
when his childish poetry and painful attempts at writing turned darker
and more intimate that the diary had to join Playgirl for safekeeping.
Tony hadn’t written in it for over two years; he despised the
unconstrained emotions he’d allowed to pour out. He hated the childish
and weak person he saw jump out of the pages with its adolescent angst
and whining. He wanted to burn it in the garden incinerator but couldn’t
bring himself to do it. He didn’t want to remember the past, but still
couldn’t destroy it. He knew the diary contained the only evidence he
had of the transition from the old Tony to the new one; despite his
cynicism there was a deeper desire to be naïve again.

Tony turned away from inspecting the grey skies and decided to

take advantage of the empty house to inspect his porn collection.
Grabbing Playgirl, and ignoring the diary, he went to lie on his bed to
automatically worship his blonde God. He dick no longer sprang to
attention just by looking at Adonis; this he was used to. However, today
his dick was hardening much more quickly than usual thanks to the vivid
images of that tube worker. Feeling guilty and unfaithful he tried to pull
his mind back to his blonde god, but realised it was pointless. Adonis
was now just a friend he loved dearly. His beautiful dick and large, low-
hanging balls could not compete with the surprisingly erotic image of the
uniformed genitalia he’d seen this afternoon. Giving up with Adonis, he
threw Playgirl on the floor or allowed himself to continue his daydream.
The man was cupping his testicles in his hand, playing with them, letting
each rise then drop. Now he was moving his hand up to his fly. His other

hand came down to undo the zip. His hand slipped down to feel the
naked balls then moved up to move his large semi-erect penis out of his
flies. Now looking directly at Tony, the tube worker was wanking
himself with his right hand whilst caressing his balls gently. On his bed,
Tony was stroking himself intensely, imagining himself taking that cock
into his mouth. Feeling it harden in there, tasting the precum, sucking the
rubbery foreskin before pushing his head down and taking the cock into
his throat. For the first time in months Tony felt the intense pressure
build in his groin. Maybe today I’ll have a bloody proper orgasm he
thought.

Downstairs the phone rang. Let it damn well ring, thought Tony,

consumed by his fantasy. Slightly distracted he felt the pressure behind
his groin lessen. He tried to summon up the image again but the
distraction of the telephone was too much. “Damn”, he called out to no
one. The phone was an older model with a loud and demanding ring.
Tony decided he’d have to continue his self-pleasuring after he’d
answered the phone, so put his penis away, pulled his trousers up and ran
downstairs to pick up the receiver.

It was his dad. “Look, your mum’s in hospital”.
“What! What happened?” Tony cried loudly in panic, his mind

going to the living room and instantly knowing the answer.

“Oh for God’s sake calm down”, snapped Barry. “She’s in

Barnet General. Intensive Care. Get over here and help me out”.

CHAPTER TWO

Mum had been in a worse way than usual, thought Tony as he

grabbed his long, heavy coat and put on his thick, black leather gloves.
He wrapped a scarf around his neck and tucked it into the collar of his
coat. It was six o’clock now, dark and almost certainly freezing outside.
The bus stop was only five minutes walk away so he hurried up the steps
and towards Waterfall Way, puffing large fogs of air, which were
illuminated by the amber street lighting. Hazel had been sick most of his
life. In fact, he could barely remember a time when she wasn’t. He
supposed as a very young child she was well. But whenever he tried to
summon up images of her being a normal mother, they seemed vague
and unreal; almost like false or implanted memories. She had often been
confined to bed for long periods. It happened so often that it was usual
and unquestioned. Barry’s command: “your mum’s not well, here’s some
money to go and get a meal” had been used since he was at least eight
years old. In fact, he could remember more meals sitting in Wimpy,
along with a younger, slightly nicer Rick, than he could with his family
at home. Reminding himself not to exaggerate, Tony tried to recall some
happy family meals. There were the occasional Sunday lunches with beef
and Yorkshire puddings. Other meals were never taken as a family.
Dad’s night duties always stopped that. If mum was sick when dad was
at work Tony and Rick went to Wimpy. If mum was sick and dad was
home, it was egg and chips. If mum was sick and dad was at work and
she had no money, it was frozen convenience meals. Or nothing.
Skipping meals wasn’t a big deal for Tony; he normally had a stash of
Texan bars or Twixes in his bedside cabinet to top up his blood sugar if
he felt faint.

Hazel’s walking difficulties had only started recently. A couple

of years previously she’d been working and seemed well enough. He
used to walk with her to Arnos Grove tube station when she had a job in
Cockfosters. He’d get off the tube at Southgate to go to school while she
stayed on till the end. It wasn’t an efficient way for him to get to school;
it wasn’t that far to walk, but Tony valued the time with mum, chatting
away about what he’d watched on TV, what he’d read in the library and
attempting to make silly jokes. He couldn’t remember his mother ever
saying much; the conversation was usually one-way. She never asked
about school because she knew he hated it. She never asked about friends
because he didn’t have any. She never asked him how he was. She never

told jokes, or stories. In fact, Tony just seemed to chatter just to fill the
dead space where the conversation should have been. Tony just knew
that he loved him mum because she was his mum. She never showed
affection or said she loved him. She never praised him or berated him.
But she was the only person in his life for whom he had any feelings and
would passionately defend her when his father was verbally abusing her.
Even though he never knew what they argued about, he was sure his
mum was always right. He hated his dad with such a passion that he
knew Barry must always be wrong.

During school holidays, rather than walk to school with her,

Tony and Hazel would meet for lunch. They’d go to the pub near her
office, the one with a big beer garden near the cricket pitch. Tony
normally had fried plaice and chips; Hazel never seemed to eat anything.
There wasn’t much talk then either; they both valued silent company. He
must have been just sixteen when they stopped walking to the station
together. Strangely enough, one of the few comments he could recall
making to her was his response to her asking him, on his sixteenth
birthday, how it felt to be sixteen. “I dunno. I’ve felt sixteen for years”,
he replied. She didn’t respond; he assumed she missed his point about
having to grow up too early.

Tony didn’t have to wait long for the bus to High Barnet. He

automatically went to the top of the double-decker, always to the front,
away from the smokers. Surprisingly he noticed someone from school.
Derek Spooner sitting two seats back from the front. Tony sat at a seat in
front and decided to acknowledge him. Turning around he said: “All
right Derek”.

“All right Tony”. Derek seemed happy to see him, or at least

didn’t tell him to fuck off, which relieved Tony. They didn’t know each
other well but they’d been in the same classes at secondary school for a
few years. They’d talked a bit, but Tony knew little about Derek, as he
knew little about anyone at school. He’d always quite fancied Derek.
Derek was medium height and slim with jet-black hair. He had a cute
round face and a really cheeky smile, which endeared him to Tony. He
also had a big, beak-like nose, which Tony found strangely erotic. I
wonder whether he’s got a big cock too, he’d often wondered while
trying to surreptitiously glance at the bulge in Derek’s black school
trousers.

“What are you up to?” asked Derek.
“Just going to Barnet Gen. My mum’s in hospital”, Tony said,

without bothering to lie.

“Oh, that’s shit. Is she OK?”
“Oh, fine. Nothing really”.
“Oh, OK”.
They didn’t bother to make any more conversation, much to

Tony’s relief. Conversations were difficult for him when people actually
answered. Derek got off a few stops later. “See ya”, he called, going
down the stairs. Tony raised a hand half-heartedly in reply. It was the
most conversation he’d had since he was at college that morning when
he’d tried, almost successfully, to be friendly to the other students in the
canteen.

Fittingly, this was the same bus he took every morning to Barnet

College, which stood further along the road from Barnet General
Hospital. He watched the bus pass the familiar landmarks on its route;
the big Sainsburys in East Barnet, the old Odeon cinema where
Whetstone joins High Barnet and the final terminus of the Northern Line
where the hill got higher and higher, reaching its zenith at the church. He
got off the bus by the Dandelion Pub and walked up, past the college,
turning into the road that lead to the hospital. The houses were very
grand round here, he thought. Probably eighteenth century, not that he
knew much about architecture. Nicer than any house he’d ever lived in
though. They used to live about ten minutes away, in a small two-
bedroom maisonette, before they’d moved to Southgate. He’d had to
share a room with Rick, which was unpleasant even if Rick hadn’t been
quite so foul then. He’d had to go to yet another new primary school
down the road. He’d hated that one even more than the others; the
headmaster would always try to make the boys show their naked chests
during PE, rewarding them with house points. Never wanting to show off
his scrawny body, Tony always resisted. And who the hell cared about
house points?

It was at that maisonette that his memories of his mum’s illness

began. She always seemed to be in bed, always sick. She seemed to cheer
up when Kevin from upstairs came down to take them out for dinner.
They always ate Indian, which he and Rick hated. But Kevin was nice
and used to pick up Wimpy burgers, to take to the restaurant. He even
remembered to tell them not to add tomato sauce. Tony never understood
why his dad hated Keith so much; he had vague memories of Barry
hitting Keith once. But then, Barry was a miserable drunk so that was
hardly surprising. They’d moved to Southgate soon after, which meant

yet another primary school. But at least nobody tried to make him go
topless there.

Tony reached the hospital and followed the maze of signs to

Intensive Care. Before he got there he saw Barry, sitting outside looking
weary. “Hello Tony”, he said, seeming less belligerent than before.

“Hi dad. How is she?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to the nurse yet”.
“Well, how does she seem?” Tony tried to hide the irritation in

his voice. He could tell his dad was moving into martyr mode.

“Not good son. Not good”.
“Can I go in and see her?”
“I suppose so. Hold on”, he grunted as he lifted himself up,

“we’ll go in now”.

Barry went through the swing doors first, with Tony following.

There were two beds; only one was occupied. Tony tried to fight back
tears; he wasn’t going to allow Barry the pleasure of seeing him weak.
Hazel lay on the bed under a white blanket, a life-support machine
clamped to her mouth that was breathily inflating her lungs. The wires
and tubes that Tony had seen on hospital dramas on the television were
sprouting out of her. The beeps and peaks of the heart monitor added the
effect of unreality. Hazel’s copper hair seemed darker compared to the
paleness of her face.

A nurse came over to them. “So how is she”, Barry said softly

and, he no doubt hoped, authoritatively.

“To be honest, not too good I’m afraid. I’d give her a fifty-fifty

chance of pulling through”. The blunt honesty of the nurse was shocking.
Wasn’t she supposed to lie and say everything was going to be OK?
Tony felt his eye moistening and was terrified he was going to cry. He
couldn’t bear Barry’s contempt if he did. He asked for the toilet. He
chose to go to the one in the corridor, as far away from the ward as
possible. He sat in a cubicle and tried to blank his mind, but images of
Hazel’s bedraggled hair filled his head. His throat tightened so much that
he had to keep swallowing to be sure he could breathe. Eventually he
gave in to the tears, which were as much in anger at his weakness as for
Hazel. “Don’t go mummy”. He pictured Hazel walking away leaving
him crying at primary school. He pictured Hazel walking away in
frustration when he was having tantrums. He felt all his young rage that
he couldn’t always be with his mummy; have her protect him always
from the terrors of the world. His head collapsed into his lap as he gave

in completely to huge heaving sobs that hurt his gut. “Don’t go mummy.
Please don’t go mummy. Please don’t go and leave me”. He repeated his
mantra more and more furiously until his anger at his self-pity overtook
his more primal emotions. He told himself it was time to be a sensible
and rational man, not a clinging child.

Tony splashed water over his face. He looked in the mirror and

knew he could never lighten the redness around his eyes. Barry would
know he’d be crying, but he decided he didn’t care. He walked back
towards the ICU. Barry was sitting opposite the double doors. Tony was
appalled to see Barry in tears, his hands covering his eyes, his shoulders
bobbing up and down with his sobs. Tony slowed down. He had no idea
what to do. His dad didn’t cry. Ever. His dad was a detective constable in
the Metropolitan Police, a man’s man who hated emotions and despised
people who showed them. Tony knew Barry would never forgive him for
allowing him to see him like this.

He walked up the bench. Barry heard his footsteps and sat up

straight, looking at the doors opposite. “It’s OK dad, it might be OK”, he
said feebly, hating how light and weedy his voice appeared against his
dad’s deep Yorkshire baritone. “She’s a fighter”. Tony groaned inwardly
at the pathetic cliché. He knew his mother was definitely not a fighter;
she had inflicted this on herself and she wanted to be dead.

“Yes”, replied Barry. He was more composed now. He mopped

his eyes and blew his nose. Tony knew there would be no more emotion.

The nurse told them what items to bring in for Hazel; a

nightdress, a dressing gown and toiletries. “Seems pointless”, Barry
moaned when they’d left and were having a drink at a nearby pub.

“Well, we might as well”, Tony had no other response. Barry

was onto his second pint of Bass by then, the alcohol, as usual,
increasing his usual melancholy.

“She’s going to die, so we won’t bother.”
“Well, that’s rather a negative attitude isn’t it Dad?” Tony hoped

his voice had risen brightly at the end of the sentence. He didn’t care if
he sounded patronising. “She’ll be OK”. No she won’t, he screamed
silently. And if she is, she’ll still have you to deal with, you stupid,
miserable old prick.

“No son, it’ll be no good. She’s going to die. I’m going to have

to look after you and Rick by myself. I don’t know how I’m going to
cope. You’ll have to leave college and get a job like I had to when my
dad was ill.”

Barry seemed to be cheering up now that he was on familiar

ground. The story of having to leave school at fifteen to work at the
coalmine in South Elmsall, when he dad was sick with miner’s lung, was
told with monotonous regularity. Any time money was mentioned, the
story was told. Any time holidays were mentioned, the story was told.
Any time health was mentioned, the story was told. Tony and Rick were
constantly told how spoilt they were. Barry declared that he never had
new clothes; his mother always bought his school uniform second-hand.
He had to leave school at fifteen. Hazel too, enjoyed joining in and
adding the stories of her own impoverished childhood as one of five
children of a British Army soldier. “For my sixteenth birthday I only got
an umbrella”, she would recall. Her stories never quite seemed to match
up. She often told the story of being kicked out of home by her father
when she was fifteen, after her mother had died from a brain tumour.
Apparently he was an alcoholic and, after farming out other sisters and
brother to relatives, decided she would stay with him. But they argued
and she had to go. Tony never thought to ask what the argument was
about; arguments were a fact of life to him and he’d learned never to
bother asking the cause. “Oh, I don’t remember”, was always his
mother’s impatient reply. So, she must have kept in contact with her
father. Apparently she’d moved into a bedsit after leaving home and had
had so little money that she’d been admitted to hospital with
malnutrition. Tony had only met his granddad a few times before he died
so didn’t know much about him. But he’d always resented how he’d
treated his mother.

Tony and Rick had hardly had a luxurious, nor stable, life; but

Tony would never dare say. Talking back to Barry when he was having a
self-pity party was pointless. Stupidly Tony tried.

“Well, dad. I’m sorry about that. But right now I’m feeling pretty

upset too about mum being in hospital and maybe dying. Don’t you think
I’m hurt?”

“You’re hurt?” Spat Barry. “You’re a selfish little shit aren’t

you? How dare you say you’re upset? My wife could die”.

***

Hazel used the threat of suicide as emotional control in the way

other parents used smacks. Any naughty behaviour, or anticipated bad
behaviour would lead to the inevitable “do you want me to have a

nervous breakdown and kill myself?” She said is so softly and with such
hurt that Tony had never known if these were idle threats or not. He
suspected they weren’t as nobody every told him why she spent so much
time in bed; he thought she was having her nervous breakdown and
hoped the suicide wouldn’t follow. The thought drove him to such
feelings of misery and fury that he forced himself to not think of them;
turning his love into spite. Fine, he thought, just do it and get it over and
done with, see if I care.

He often assumed he’d done something wrong when she was

bed-ridden; he often assumed his whole existence was wrong. “Never
have kids, they’re not worth it”, Barry would often tell Tony and Rick
during one of their routine fights, reinforcing the both the lack of love he
felt from his dad and the pure hatred he felt towards him.

Tony prayed fervently for their divorce, but knew it would never

happen. This was despite his parents’ best efforts to threaten it during
their relentless arguments. Without fail, every Friday for several years,
they would sit Tony and Rick down, after one of their loud ‘discussions’
to have the conversation about divorce. His dad would always start:
“We’re getting divorced. Which one of us do you want to live with?”
They always chose mum, much to Barry’s fury. After a while Tony
started to see humour in the conversations and would encourage them to
divorce. He knew full well the next day there would be a ceasefire and
the predictable protestations would come that they hadn’t said anything
of the sort. He never knew whether they truly did remember the
conversations; they were always alcohol-fuelled.

His mother often came to his bedroom after their fights, stroked

his head – the only physical contact she ever made – and promised they
would move into a flat on their own “just you and me”. He knew nothing
would come of it, she didn’t have the courage or the financial means, but
he pushed as hard as he could to convince her. Go on, he’d tell her, you
can get social security; we’d be better off if you get rid of him. She’d
agree, until the next day when she’d be snappy and refuse to talk about it.

Barry and Hazel’s last fight had taken place the previous night.

Tony had tuned out, as usual, turning up the TV in his room. When he
turned the TV off to sleep at eleven he assumed the fighting was over
when there was silence and darkness from downstairs. But then he heard,
from the landing outside his parents’ bedroom a pathetic and drawn-out
cry of “Barry!” Alarmed, he went to check. His mother was lying on the
floor facedown, half in and half out of their bedroom. She lifted her right

up arm, lifted her head weakly and called “Barry” again.

“Dad!” cried Tony, “mum’s fallen down”. He knew her walking

had become worse recently but he hadn’t seen her completely collapse
before.

“Keep out of it Tony”, Barry shouted. “Hazel, shut up OK? Just

shut up”. Barry turned the light out and left Hazel there, still occasionally
letting out a plaintiff “Barry”. Having no idea what to do, Tony returned
to his bed and stuffed his ears with toilet paper. This would be forgotten
tomorrow, he knew.

***

Tony hated alcohol and those who drank it. He’d seen his parents

drunk too many times and was always angry at the way it changed them,
especially Barry. It was only in the past couple of years he’d understood
why Barry seemed to have such exaggerated mood swings. Some days
things would be great and Barry would be laughing and making jokes.
He’d even say exciting things like maybe they could go abroad for a
holiday. Then the next day he’d be snappy and angry, ready to lash out if
Tony said the ‘wrong’ thing. Tony could never work out what the right
thing was, but he learned not to mention anything that had been promised
when Barry was in a happy mood. “I don’t ever want to go abroad,”
Barry would snap if Tony dared to bring it up “there’s enough of our
own country to see”. Not that they ever saw much of their own country;
holidays were always spent at the homes of Hazel’s sisters in either
Wales or Devon or with Barry’s dour Methodist parents in a South
Yorkshire mining village. If pressed, Barry would rage about how the
Europeans were out to destroy Britain. He especially loathed the French
who he believed had a personal vendetta against him for a reason Tony
couldn’t fathom. “However”, Barry would reluctantly relent “I do like
Marie, she’s nice”. He would emphasise the “she” to differentiate Marie
from the 54,999,999 French people who hated him. Marie was Hazel’s
sister-in-law, the woman her brother had moved to the south of France to
marry.

Going to visit Uncle Ian and Marie, in the town of Martigues

near Marseilles, had become a holy grail for Tony. He knew there was no
way either Barry and Hazel would go abroad so he’d begged to go alone,
without luck. He’d finally thought of an approach that might work – he
had his O-levels coming up and French was one of them. His lack of

attendance at school had meant that even being put forward for an O-
level, rather than the CSEs that the less academically gifted students did,
was an achievement of sorts. He enjoyed French and did quite well at it,
although saying this to his parents wouldn’t get what he wanted. He
started telling Hazel on the walk and tube ride to school that he was
doing poorly in French and especially in French conversation. He
insisted that he was going to fail. Unless, he added, he could go to France
to practise his French. As usual the answer was ‘we can’t afford it’. But
Tony felt he had right on his side and was now truly convinced his
parents’ refusal to let him go to France was yet another demonstration of
their hatred for him. He resorted to sulking. Rather than being his usual
chatty self on the way to school he would refuse to talk. He felt bad
about it, as he suspected Hazel quietly appreciated his inane jokes and
commentaries on what he’d watched on TV. He also knew she never
made conversation or asked him what the matter was, so their trips to
school became silent and uncomfortable. Unexpectedly, after Tony was
going to crack and start talking again to one of the few people he did talk
to, Hazel brought up the trip to France. She had decided, she said, that it
might be a good idea for Tony to go and visit Ian and Marie in France
during the school holidays, to help with his O-levels of course. But they
had two young children, she added, and they might not want anyone
visiting. Brushing this aside, Tony got her to promise to call Uncle Ian
that night. He’d listening from the landing when she did, getting himself
worked up over every ‘hmm’ and ‘of course’ that Hazel made. Were they
saying he could go or not? Why didn’t she hurry up? Finally she hung up
and went into the living room. Tony bounded down the stairs fifteen
seconds later, rushing through the door with a “Well? What did he say?”

“Yes, you can go and stay”. Ecstatic with happiness Tony

immediately ran upstairs to goad Rick with the news. This was the
sweetest revenge as Tony had often come into his room, looking serious,
saying, “mum says we can go and visit Uncle Ian in France” only to
burst into hysterical laughter after hearing Tony’s excitement. “Ha, ha,
got ya”. Now it was Tony’s turn. Rick was satisfyingly furious, so to
calm him down slightly he emphasised the study nature of the trip and
noted that Rick had refused to go to school for the past year, “otherwise
you might have been able to go too”.

Rick had refused to go to school when he was fourteen. Without

Barry being home to physically drag him there, and Hazel being afraid of
him, he just never went. Tony had no idea what he got up to during the

days, nor did he care. There was an excruciating period where they had
to attend family counselling in some office in Tottenham Court Road for
several sessions. The local authority must have forced it on them,
because the lady who led the sessions was always trying to ask private
questions about feelings and how they all felt about each other; none of
them would have done that voluntarily. There was a big mirror in the
room. Tony could three people sitting behind it, with clipboards on their
laps. I suppose they think we can’t see them and will speak more freely.
What a joke, he sneered, that anyone in his family would speak freely.
He had no recollection of any one of them saying anything in those
meetings beyond Barry’s confident insight that “Rick was going through
puberty”. Hearing his dad say the word ‘puberty’ made Tony cringe;
anytime Barry mentioned something sexual he would just feel disgust
and contempt for the man.

He recalled Barry’s attempt at sex education when he was ten

and living in the maisonette in Barnet. For no reason he could
understand, Barry had called Rick and Tony into their bedroom one day,
where, as usual, Hazel was in bed in her nightdress. She was sitting up
and looking apprehensive. Barry sat the boys down on the edge of their
double bed and said, “what’s that thing you’ve got hanging between your
legs?” “A penis” said Rick, confidently. Barry then proceeded with a
‘man to man’ conversation about sex. Tony could still recall the absolute
horror he felt. Rick later insisted that Barry had told Hazel to show them
her breasts. Tony had no recollection of this and was disgusted with Rick
for his sordidness and lies. He hated his father enough without Tony
relishing in his discomfort. How dare his father embarrass him with this
stuff? How dare that man say anything about sex in front of his mother?
Tony just looked at the floor sullenly trying to block everything out, his
hatred for his father growly hotly in his tensed muscles.

Tony never found out what the family counselling sessions had

uncovered. He didn’t care; he refused to go back to them after two
sessions, as did Rick. Tony didn’t need anyone to tell him that his family
didn’t communicate. Rick still didn’t go back to school and nothing
further seemed to happen with that. Rick was at home all the time after
that, which meant Tony refused to be. A bored Rick saw Tony as his
entertainment, someone to taunt and bait. Unfortunately, Tony was quick
to react and their physical fights became more and more vicious. Being
only fifteen months apart in age they had been very close as children.
They were bought up as twins; in most of their childhood pictures they

wore the same clothes although Rick’s brunette hair set him apart from
Tony’s platinum blonde. Their personalities were always different but
teenage hormones worked to separate them. Whereas Tony became shyer
and less confident, Rick became louder and constantly demanded
attention. His chosen method of gaining this from his family was through
violence.

Knowing that Barry and Hazel didn’t believe in physical

punishment he grew more confident. Throwing things and taunting his
mother and brother would only lead to a ‘talking to’ from Barry, who
seemed to think Rick suffered from little more than teenage high spirits.
Hazel just accepted Rick’s contempt, leading Tony to seek revenge on
the humiliations Rick would heap on Hazel. He came home one day to
find Hazel sitting in her dressing gown in the living room with a bowl of
whipped cream over her head. It seemed she had made no attempt to
remove the bowl or clean up the sods of earth and sharp pebbles that also
surrounded her. Confused, Tony sought the source of the missiles; it was
Rick, laughing from behind the living room windows, getting ready to
throw more clumps. Closing the windows, and ducking the projectiles
now aimed at him, he shut the windows, then locked and bolted the back
and front doors. Telling a silent Hazel to clean herself up, he once again
felt the familiar rage and helplessness that always caused him to lash out.
“Why the hell do you let him treat you like this”, he screamed at Hazel.
“There’s nothing I can do about it”, she said in a quiet, distant voice. He
knew she was probably in an Ativan haze and too bombed out to do
anything about it. He also knew she wouldn’t say anything to Barry
about this. He knew there was no point saying anything either, it would
just lead to more shouting with no result. Rick deserved to be beaten to
within an inch of his life, and the only person who seemed to be willing
to do that was Tony.

Tony was terrified of his own temper. He genuinely thought he

had the capacity to kill Rick if given the means. However, he hated
violence and never sought to provoke Rick, there was no need; Rick
would always provoke Tony. This would usually lead to Tony locking
himself in his room while Rick hammered at it with a metal rod, trying to
break the door down. Surprisingly his fury always seemed to burn out
before he was able to break the door, but the holes on the outside of the
bedroom door were always testament to Rick’s temper. More often than
he cared to remember, the tables were turned and Tony was bashing at
Rick’s door trying to get at him with a metal bar. Fortunately he’d never

broken the door down either, as he knew he couldn’t inflict physical
violence even with so much hatred in his heart. But he could bash Rick’s
record player into pieces. That aim was also unachieved.

Tony decided to avoid Rick completely after the neighbour in the

semi next door called the police one day during a particularly loud fight
in the living room, which involved the smashing of milk bottles. It was
then that libraries became his haven of peace and escapism. Slowly,
without having Tony around to goad, Rick seemed to calm down, even
getting a job at a local sports store whilst doing his Youth Training
Scheme at sixteen. The nicer Rick started to re-emerge and they even
became quite friendly. However, when Rick decided to move out when
he turned eighteen it was with great relief that Tony helped him move his
clothes to the shared flat in Balham that he’d found in ‘Loot’.

CHAPTER THREE

Marseilles 1985
When he eventually got to France, the first thing Uncle Ian had

asked him to do was speak only English to his three year old and six
month old cousins so they could be exposed to the language. The second
thing he asked for was the money that his mum had given him in an
envelope. They should be pleased to have me, thought Tony arrogantly.
He ended up barely speaking a word of French during the whole visit and
was petrified when Marie asked him to go and buy some ham slices from
the delicatessen. Cinq tranches de jambon s’il vous plait, she tutored him.
As usual he imagined a scenario where he would be misunderstood and
laughed at and resented Marie for forcing him into such a potentially
humiliating situation. He managed to get the five slices of ham with no
problem, but decided that French was all too scary and vowed never to
speak it again. Marie was also having a difficult time juggling her time
between her young daughters and her teenage nephew. She seemed
irritable most of the time during the day, making Tony feel unwelcome,
although she brightened up at the end of the day when the beers were
opened. “Ah, beer, best drink in the world”, she’d exclaim. “But you’re
French”, replied Tony, assuming there was a law stating the French
could only drink wine. At dinner Uncle Ian would try to get him to drink
a glass of wine. Tony would always refuse, resenting having alcohol
pushed on him, like a drug. Like something that would turn him into his
father.

The Mediterranean Sea had been a disappointment. It was

probably the large petroleum refinery at one end of the beach that took
some of the glamour away, Tony supposed. He’d only gone into the sea
briefly and was disappointed it was cold, rather than the tropical
temperature he’d imagined. They soon went back to the car, Marie
carting back armfuls of baby equipment and beach toys. Little Michelle
started crying near the car and Tony helpfully called out to Marie that
she’d lost her shoe. “You think I bloody well don’t know that”, she’d
screeched back wildly to him. Tony decided that Marie was even scarier
than his parents and tried to stay as silent as possible after that.

Tony was introduced to Marine, the daughter of Marie and Uncle

Ian’s neighbour. Marine owned a Mobylette, a small moped, even though
she was only fifteen. She let him ride it, although he fell off after fifteen
seconds and decided he hated Mobylettes. Marine also introduced him to

her boyfriend Laurent, someone who Tony instantly wished he could ride
but doubted he’d be given the opportunity. Laurent was about Marine’s
age, with black hair and dark eyes. His face was broad and masculine,
yet with soft, smooth olive skin; the combination of masculinity and
softness that Tony was discovering he loved. They shook hands when the
met; a strange formality that Tony didn’t expect. His few distant school
friends in London just grunted “all right” when the saw each other. The
unexpected intimacy of the firm handshake, combined with the large
masculine hands that gave it, gave Tony an erection. Fortunately his
pants were tight and his jeans were loose so he wasn’t worried about
showing. And if it did show, he thought, maybe Laurent might be
interested? He sneered at himself for thinking such a stupid thought,
although he wondered whether the French were as homophobic as the
English. Surely nobody was as homophobic as the English, he thought.
Unfortunately Laurent’s English was even worse than Tony’s French,
and the conversation was awkward and soon ended. Any further erotic
possibilities had to stay in Tony’s mind, where he unleashed them that
evening while masturbating lying on the mattress he slept on in Uncle
Ian’s living room. He saw Marine and Laurent a few more times during
the day after that, but they didn’t insist he hang out with them in the
evenings, no doubt his poor French no longer seemed to entertain them.
What a shame, thought Tony. They probably get drunk every evening
with their friends and I’m missing out, yet again. He’d even decided he
would have drunk alcohol, if Laurent insisted. He knew Laurent
wouldn’t have had to insist too much.

With Marie being consumed by the responsibilities of her

children, and Uncle Ian being at work, Tony once again found himself
mostly alone. He amused himself in the flat by listening to Jean-Michel
Jarre cassettes and playing with an amazing new gadget called Minitel,
which was like a little computer that made telephone calls and could look
up numbers in an electronic directory. He lied when asked by Uncle Ian
whether he’d been using it. He wondered how many charges he’d run up.
He headed to the library in town and amused himself trying to read
guidebooks to England written in French. He walked around the pretty
old town of Martigues and occasionally caught a lift to Marseilles with
Uncle Ian, who taught English there. In Marseille he walked around, rode
the metro, and quickly got bored. The holiday went quickly and Tony felt
very sad at the prospect of leaving. He hoped his parents would die, and
that Uncle Ian and Marie would be forced to adopt him. Then he could

learn French and be able to talk to Laurent. He would eat proper three-
course meals sitting at a table every evening, and have new parents who
cared about him. He clung to this fantasy, but his parents stubbornly
insisted on remaining alive.

He went shopping for souvenirs with Uncle Ian on his last day.

Uncle Ian suggested buying Calvados for Barry. On finding it was apple
brandy from Normandy Tony refused, saying: “he’ll just drink it all in
one go.” “Well, he won’t be very well if he does!” came the bright
response. You just don’t understand, thought Tony resentfully. He
bought the Calvados, hoping his father would drink it all in one go and
die of alcohol poisoning. That thought cheered him up. Uncle Ian bought
him a blue and white striped T-shirt as a souvenir; the type that clichéd
Brittany onion sellers wore, whilst riding their bikes. It was baggy and
had no collar, showing too much of Tony’s long, thin neck. He hated it.
Uncle Ian insisted he wore it that evening to their final dinner at an open-
air pizzeria. Tony had looked sullen all night. “Are you ashamed of it?”
laughed Uncle Ian to him. Why? Thought Tony ungraciously, Should I
be?

On his last day, Uncle Ian drove him to the airport in Marseilles.

Marie and the girls stayed at home. He’d warmed to Marie and realised
that he had been a real burden on her. He wished once again that she was
his mother; and envied his cousins. At the airport Uncle Ian had one last
surprise. He’d arranged for Tony to be escorted back to England on the
plane with a group of children who were travelling alone. He was left in
the care of a strict French woman who kept shouting at him “Attends!”
when he tried to sneak away. Tony wished he knew the French for “fuck
you”.

London 1985
Barry seemed to take great pride in how he tried to protect his

sons from queers. When Tony was very young and living in Edgware,
the two nice old men in the house next to theirs used to invite he and
Rick into their garden to see the fairies that lived in the rocks that were
piled up near the back gate. There was a loose paling in the wooden
fence between their gardens. One of the old men would swivel it up and
Tony and Rick could easily get through into their long, overgrown lawn.
The rocks had little bits of glass in them, which he assumed were the
windows behind which the fairies lived. Of course he never saw any, but
his imagination wanted it so much that he could almost convince himself

that the cracks were waving fairies. He remembered the men laughing
and telling him to look harder. He didn’t think he’d gone there more than
once or twice, but suddenly Barry was loudly banging nails into the loose
paling and shouting at them that they were never to go in there again.
Only now could he see that the two old men were probably lovers.
They’d never tried to touch him, but being two men living together was
proof enough for Barry that they were after his sons.

Barry’s attempts at protection extended everywhere. Each time

that Tony and Rick came back from eating at a restaurant and reported
talking to a man, ever the waiter or the man on the till, Barry would
immediately quiz them with great sternness. “What did he say? Did he
try to take you anywhere?” One evening his father went out to attend a
meeting at the local police station. When he came home he sat Tony and
Rick down to have a ‘man-to-man’ conversation about something
dangerous and disgusting that had happened near the estate. Apparently
somebody had attempted to abduct a paperboy on their street. The boy
had fought him off but had seized a copy of Gay Times as evidence.
Barry put on his sternest ‘man of the world’ voice to warn Rick and Tony
about nancy boys. Even as Barry was telling the story Tony he found
himself sceptical. A paperboy had almost been abducted, by someone
unknown, but had seized a copy of Gay Times as proof? It sounded like
nonsense and was proved so when Rick, who had close friends on the
estate, found out the complaint to police had been forced on a friend of
his whose dad had found a copy of ‘Gay Times’ in his room. His friend
had had to make up a cover story quickly, hence the weak story about
being nearly abducted. Surely anyone could see though it? Well, anyone
but bigoted policemen, thought Tony, and there was a whole estate-full
of those here. Barry’s exaggerated fears just made Tony hate Barry more.
He saw paedophilia everywhere; thought Tony. He must never, ever, find
out I’m a poof.

Tony was desperate to know who this friend of Rick’s was. Any

attempts just got the usual, infuriating, sneer from Rick: “Wouldn’t you
like to know, Gaylord? Want to go round and fuck him do you?” Maybe,
thought Rick. But it was becoming increasingly apparent to him that
Rick was leading a far more interesting life that he was. Rick actually
had friends on the estate that he hung out with all the time. He slept over
in their bedrooms. He also had all the gossip, which Tony pretended he
didn’t care about. He knew who was shagging whom and claimed he had
already shagged Sharon, the blonde girl with the thick north London

accent who lived ten houses down the road. He claimed to have also
inserted a stone into her pussy and “licked her juices out”. Tony
shuddered at the thought of this. He didn’t believe a word of it either. He
knew Rick couldn’t help but lie. Rick had few morals and lying and
stealing came naturally to him.

Tony didn’t approve of lying or stealing and always prided

himself on his morals. Although he’d recently decided there wasn’t a
God, whilst waiting with trepidation in his bed to find out whether a
thunderbolt would prove him wrong, he was still very judgmental on
those who weren’t ‘nice’. Rick was not, and, he assumed, was never
going to be, nice. After he’d decided this, he felt able to exclude Rick
from his moral values and even personally benefit from Rick’s thieving
skills. Rick had no problem with going into shops and helping himself to
whatever he wanted; he’d only been caught twice. The first time was
when he was just under ten so he couldn’t be charged. The second time,
when he was thirteen, his dad had called his mates at the local police and
got them to drop the charges. So Rick’s shoplifting happily continued
and Tony would give him a shopping list of items that he would be too
afraid to buy. Like ‘My Little Pony’ and ‘Barbie’. Both of these items
were duly delivered, although their forbidden value wore off very
quickly when Tony discovered there was only so many ways you can
braid a nylon mane or backcomb Barbie’s blonde locks before he got
hugely bored.

One of Rick’s shoplifting expedition lead to an interesting

discovery about Rick. One evening Rick came home with one of the
most exciting things Tony had seen. A long, curly brown wig. Rick had
brunette hair like Hazel’s, so he’d picked the colour for himself; Tony
would have preferred blonde so he could dress up as Farah Fawcett.

“I’m going out in this tonight”, said Rick. Tony had laughed, no

way.

“I am”, he’d retorted. “I’ve already got the clothes”. He showed

Tony a skirt with a light blue and grey tartan pattern and pale pink
polyester blouse he taken from their mum’s room. “She’ll know you’ve
taken them”, protested Tony.

“She never wears these”; Rick was always confident. He had

some laddered tights too, grabbed from the bottom drawer of the
wardrobe in their parent’s room. Tony couldn’t deny he was excited at
the idea of Rick actually going out dressed as a woman. He wanted to
dress up himself but didn’t want to give Rick any more ammunition to

use against him in their next fight.

Rick called Sharon to come round to help with his makeup. She

giggled as Tony opened the door to her: “Aw right Tony?” They went to
upstairs, not bothering to get Sharon to say ‘hi’ to Hazel and Barry who
were watching TV in the living room.

“Oh, you’re gonna look gorgeous Rick”, she said in her high-

pitched ‘Eastenders’ accent, once they’d got to Rick’s bedroom. Rick
pulled the tights over his hairy legs; the gusset pulled up high and
unattractively over his abdomen. The skirt went on next, followed by the
pink blouse. The effect was absurd and Tony broke out laughing. For
once, Rick joined in. “Now for the pièce de résistance”, he said and
placed the precious wig over his short hair. The effect of the curly mop
of hair was startling; his skin was young and smooth enough to be
feminine and Tony could almost imagine he was female. His facial
similarity to Hazel suddenly became apparent when framed it was
framed by the wig. The resemblance was even more startling once
Sharon had painted his lips dark red, blushed his cheekbones and applied
blue eye shadow.

“What d’you think Tony? Would you shag ’er?” Tony hated

Sharon’s vulgarity, but said nothing and just mimed vomiting. Sharon
decided Rik looked too young to pass for a woman so insisted he wear a
headscarf. Tony offered to find one and went into their parents’
bedroom, pressing the light switch slowly to muffle the sharp ‘click’;
then tiptoed to the wardroom, carefully avoiding the floorboards he knew
squeaked; knowledge gleaned from his many previous makeup-
borrowing missions. He could hear the TV below the bedroom and knew
his parents wouldn’t be impressed if they found up what Rick was up to.
It was all right for them to dress up as Ugly Sisters and do mini-
pantomimes as kids; Barry had even taken Polaroid pictures of that and
laughed. But this would be too real for Barry to handle; this was queer.

He returned with the red paisley scarf his mother never wore.

“Here”. Sharon showed Rick how to tie it and stood back. “You’ll pass”,
she said and giggled. Rick admired himself in the small vanity mirror
he’d taken from the bathroom. He pouted and posed. I think he’s
enjoying it slightly too much, thought Tony, sensing a campness about
Rick’s manner he’d never noticed before.

“’Ow are we gonna get outside without your dad catching you?”

Sharon looked concern. She held no fear of Hazel, but she knew Rick
hated Barry as much as Tony did. “I’ll put the wig in a plastic bag. I can

put it on outside. They won’t see the skirt and blouse under my coat”.
Tony had bought a thick, dark grey woollen long coat from his job at a
menswear store in the Strand.

“What if they see your slap?” Tony had never heard that word

before, but quickly assumed it meant makeup.

“By the time we’re downstairs and out the front door it’ll be too

late to see anything. I’ve got some WetOnes here, I can take the slap off
before we get back”.

He put the wig and WetOnes in a large plastic Tesco bag. He left

the tights on a pulled his jeans over them. “Go and grab my coat Tony,”
he commanded. Tony returned with the coat, which did indeed cover the
skirt once Rick had put it on.

“Ok, let’s go”. They left the bedroom and tried to sneak down

the stairs as quietly as possible. Tony found it hard not to laugh; the
absurdity of the situation was quite enjoyable. They just got to the foot of
the stairs when the living room door opened and Barry came out, heading
for the kitchen. He quickly shot around on seeing the three figures:
“What are you lot up to?” He sounded quite cheery. Must be the whisky,
thought Tony, seeing the glass in Barry’s hand.

“Just going round to Sharon’s”, called Rick, while quickly

opening the door latch with his left hand, his right holding the Tesco bag.
He steadfastly kept his face away from Barry. “Bye”, he called, flinging
the door open and rushing out into the cold night air. “Bye Mr
Mortimer”, said Sharon in a little-girl voice, probably thinking she was
being sexy, thought Tony sourly. They rushed out after Rick, bursting
into fits of laughter after Tony had shut the door. He’d caught Barry’s
face before the door closed; he’d just shrugged his shoulders and
continued on into the kitchen.

“That was close”, said Tony.
“Come on”, said Rick, rushing up the stairs and turning left.

He’d decided he was going to knock on doors in Fountain Lane and
pretend to be looking for driving directions. “I can’t put the wig on
here”. The amber glow of the streetlights was very bright on Monks
Way, but they were less effective near the end of the street where the
overgrown evergreen trees at the entrance to a small park,
unimaginatively named “Arnos Park Two” by Tony, blocked the light
with their dense foliage. Once there, safely hidden between trees, Rick
took off the long coat. “Fuck, it’s cold. Why didn’t I nick mum’s
cardigan?”

“’Ere, you can wear mine. Gimme your coat though”. Sharon

took off her light blue thick cardigan and passed it over to Rick, grabbing
the warm coat in return.

Rick took off his jeans, grabbing hold of a tree trunk to steady

him. Once again, when the wig was on, Rick was transformed. With the
headscarf in place, and Sharon’s blue cardigan, he or she looked like a
sensible middle-aged lady. One who’d perhaps was trying to cover her
age with garish slap, thought Tony with vicious glee. “You forgot about
shoes”, he pointed to Rick’s black work shoes.

“She’s wearing sensible shoes”, said Sharon, “she’s probably a

dyke!” She screamed with laughter at her joke.

“And what about your voice, bit deep isn’t it?” Tony wondered

why they hadn’t thought of this before.

“Ay dain’t think it is”, replied Rick in the gratingly high-pitched

posh voice that he regularly used to annoy Tony.

“Fine. Lovely”.
“’Ere, what’s your name”, she said, turning to Rick. “Maureen”,

replied Rick ever so quickly that Tony knew he’d been thinking rather
too hard about it. “Maureen LaBelle”.

“Tragic”, said Tony, slightly alarmed at the way vicious, violent

Rick seemed to have put so much thought into his new persona. Rick
actually looked hurt. “Have you got better?” he snapped.

“Nope. It’s a lovely name”.
“Yeah, Maureen, it’s lovely. ‘Oose door are you gonna knock on

first?”

“I don’t know. Let’s walk up Fountain Lane”. They walked up

Waterfall Way and turned left into the street that lead up to the old
people’s home and, further on, Rick and Tony’s old secondary school.
Alarmed, he wondered whether anyone Rick knew from school lived in
that street. Oh well, that’s his problem, he dismissed. They passed the
first few houses, but decided they were too dark; maybe no one was
home. The fourth house had the curtains closed but the ghostly blue-grey
glow of a TV flickering between the gaps. The front garden was small
and suitable for a quick getaway.

“OK, here goes.” Sharon and Tony stayed a couple of houses

down the road and hid behind a wall. They popped their heads up and
stifled giggles as they watched Maureen walk down the path leading
from the road to the white front door. Maureen turned around and
searched for her co-conspirators. Seeing them she ostentatiously pressed

the doorbell. Quickly, the door was opened; neither Sharon nor Tony
could see by whom. They saw Maureen talking and nodding, evidently
conversing well enough that she hadn’t been suspected of transvestism,
unwigged and chased down the path with a pitchfork.

Maureen continued nodding and talking for a couple of minutes

more, taking much longer than either Sharon or Tony expected. Finally,
they saw Maureen give a wave goodbye to the person at the door and
proceeded to walk towards the street. Checking that the door was closed,
she ran down towards them.

“Bloody hell, he wouldn’t shut up!” He laughed triumphantly. “I

told him I was lost and was trying to get to Chase Side in Southgate. He
asked me whether I was driving, so I said yes. Then he was giving me all
these different ways to get there. I was starting to get bored and felt like
ripping my wig off and seeing his reaction.”

“You should’ve done!” screamed Sharon. “Oh I wish I could’ve

seen that!”

Rick decided he’d had enough for that night. They slowly

walked home, Rick wiping off his makeup with a Wet One wipe,
throwing the multi-coloured remains into a nearby drain. After swapping
cardigan and coat, Sharon decided to go home and departed with a “See
ya Rick, Tone”. Rick put the wig into his carrier bag; he didn’t bother
getting back into his jeans. On a high, he thought he would risk it, indeed
he even seemed to relish the idea of being caught wearing women’s
clothing by Hazel and Barry. Tony wasn’t so excited by the prospect and
rushed to be the first up the stairs after they’d entered the hallway. He
rushed into his bedroom. “Only us”, Rick called out, whilst calmly
swanning up the stairs, only to suddenly start to run when he heard the
handle of the living room door being turned. His confidence was only
swagger after all.

CHAPTER FOUR

London 1987
Hazel woke up after two days in Intensive Care. She was already

awake when Barry and Tony came at 6pm to see her on the second day.
The conversation was artificially jovial, with Hazel insisting she had no
idea what had happened, and no idea why she was there. Tony didn’t
know if this was true, it could have been, but Hazel always conveniently
forgot unpleasant things. Nobody mentioned the word ‘suicide’. The
circumstances of her admission were not further discussed. The next day
she was moved to the psychiatric unit. It was a modern, light brick
building with small wards. Hazel was sharing with an old lady, who, she
complained swore frequently. Hazel never swore; the worst Tony ever
heard her utter was “Ssss.. sugar”. Tony felt upset his mother had to hear
swearing by some horrible old lady; she deserved better, he thought. The
unit had a very large common room where the patients were encourage to
spend their time when they weren’t asleep. It had the feel of a school art
room, the atmosphere desperately lightened by hanging patients’ art on
the walls. The other patients could be amusing. There was a woman who
constantly paced around the unit in a regular pattern, mumbling to
herself. There was Fred, who Hazel said lurked about, exposing himself
to female patients. Tony didn’t ask whether he’d done this to his mum;
he felt angry it could even happen.

Tony had got into the habit of visiting at 6pm every day. Barry

had stopped coming once Hazel had been moved to the unit. He didn’t
know whether he came at other times; he didn’t ask. The visits developed
their routine. He would come into the common room where she was
normally sitting on a sofa watching the TV in the corner. On seeing him,
she’d get up and they’d sit at a small round table, also in sight of the
television. The TV provided a convenient distraction when their
conversation was meagre. Usually dinner was served at 6.30pm, so Tony
would be offered a cup of tea and some biscuits. This often served as
both lunch and dinner for him; he was forgetting to eat again and
suffering from low blood sugar. Once the biscuits were in him he felt
better able to communicate. However, their conversations didn’t extent
much beyond giving an account of their respective days. Hazel had little
to say and just chain-smoked Silk Cut cigarettes with a distant look on
her face.

Tony had left his journalism course at Barnet College the day

after Hazel ‘went into hospital’. Barry had come with him and told his
Communications teacher that his mother had ‘taken something she
shouldn’t have’ and that Tony would need some time off. They both
knew he wouldn’t be back. This was Tony’s second try at doing A-levels
and although he hadn’t struggled academically, he had struggled with
motivation. The moment an assignment was due he felt overwhelmed
and left. Barry was always happy to explain to headmasters and teachers
that Tony wouldn’t be back. Tony liked the way his dad would always let
him leave things. He was never encouraged to achieve anything, so the
pain of failure didn’t exist. There was always an unspoken agreement in
the family that there was never any point trying to do anything difficult
because you would be bound to fail. “If in doubt, leave it out”, was the
Mortimer family motto.

In early December Hazel was discharged from hospital. She

seemed rested and more cheerful since ‘that event’. Tony felt more
confident to ask whether she intended trying to kill herself again. His
mother seemed taken aback at the direct question and use of words that
weren’t supposed to be spoken. “No”, she finally replied. “I promise I
won’t”. She was on new drugs, having finally been weaned off the
Ativan during her stay. They were antidepressants, she said. She gave a
faint laugh as she said, “the doctor said the only way you can die from
these is if the bottle falls off the shelf and hits you on the head”. It was a
weak joke, but she topped it with another: “And I’m no longer
agoraphobic!” They were first jokes Tony had heard her make in many
months so he laughed along and hoped that everything would be OK
now.

Things did seem to improve. His parents didn’t fight as

frequently. If they did, they weren’t the loud, angry ‘discussions’ that
had occurred regularly before. There was no further talk of divorce. Tony
welcomed this outbreak of civility, although he found that he could no
longer lay blame on his parents for his own problems. He was turning
eighteen in January and wanted his life to start properly. Books and
television were no longer an escape from his loneliness. They seemed
now to taunt him with how empty his life was. Although he could never
say this to her, Hazel’s attempted suicide had made him lose all trust in
her. He felt the only person in the world that he truly loved had betrayed
him; had hated him so much that she would rather be dead. He knew he
would never love her again, because he couldn’t. Loving her would give
her the power to inflict pain on him again. There was no way he was

going to let that happen. Tony had been through years of self-hatred over
his sexuality and he didn’t even know how his parents would react if he
told them his secret. His father’s hatred he would expect and could bear;
his mother’s he couldn’t. He decided now that their already reserved
relationship would need emotional barriers put in place to protect
himself. It was easy enough, as things were more civil at home he felt
less need to protect her. Barry was more sympathetic and caring; Rick
was living on the other side of the city and rarely called home. Tony
decided that she’d gained admirably from her selfish action and he could
safely feel contempt for her and her behaviour. He started to despise her
mental weakness and felt a growing sympathy for how difficult her
mental state must have been for Barry. He couldn’t understand why she
just wouldn’t buck herself up; he was sick of her miserable demeanour
and constant negativity. Tony decided that Hazel was manipulative and
selfish. She was definitely not a person who deserved his love. It was
time to find someone who did.

Tony had first seen Time Out magazine at a newsagents in Arnos

Gove. He was stacking up on his supplies of Texan Bars and Twixes,
which were opposite the magazines and newspaper racks. He
occasionally bought Time or Newsweek because he was always
interested in how America viewed Europe, and, especially England. Even
though he had contempt for the country he perceived to be making his
life hell, he still cared deeply what others thought of it, and could stir
himself to impotent outrage with any perceived slight on his country. The
newspaper headlines too, had to be scanned, to torture himself with the
latest triumph of homophobia that the Sun, Mail or Express could
trumpet. Any particularly nasty story had to be read, of course, so he
could victimise himself even more and strengthen his already
overwhelming desire to leave England. Being quite a long shop, with the
press material towards the entrance and hidden behind a long wooden
rack of cards, he felt comfortable to read the papers whilst keeping a
keen eye on the Indian owner at the far counter. By looking casually as if
he were browsing, and making the difficult decision which of the several
tabloids he wanted to buy, he could normally read any articles that
interested him.

Time Out had never interested him, nor had he even really

noticed it, until one day its cover had SAFE SEX in capital letters on the
cover. Instantly taken with the headline, but as usual too afraid to open
anything that might make him look like a pervert, he glanced out of the

corner of his eye and took a good look at the cover. The words SAFE
SEX were formed out of assorted condoms and the full title was “The Ins
and Outs of Safe Sex – How to Avoid it and Still have Fun”. The
magazine wasn’t on the top shelf along with all the other porn, so it
seemed safe to have a closer look. Under the logo it said ‘London’s
Weekly Guide’. Tony wasn’t sure whether to pick it up, looking over his
right shoulder towards the newsagent to see whether he was being
observed. The newsagent was bent over the counter reading a tabloid
newspaper and paying no attention to Tony. So Tony quickly picked up
the magazine and opened it to the contents page, turning the cover
underneath to hide its bold message. Shaking slightly, he scanned the
contents; it seemed safe enough – a few stories related to the cover image
and then a list of apparently regular sections on attractions, pubs and
nightlife. Then two words jumped out near the end of the page, almost
making him drop the magazine in shock. ‘Gay Scene’. Too terrified to
turn to the listings page for the gay scene he casually turned to the
‘museums’ section and carefully read the listing for the British Museum.
He realised he’d never actually visited that museum, nor knew where it
was. In an instant he had his pretext, he needed the address of the British
Museum. Imagining a grilling from the newsagent about why he was
buying a magazine with the word ‘sex’ on the cover, he concocted a
story about needing the museum’s details. It wasn’t the strongest story,
and at the slightest of questioning he knew he’d drop the magazine and
run out of the store, but it gave him the courage he would otherwise have
lacked. His scenario of the newsagent refusing to sell him the magazine
wasn’t completely fanciful. He’d once seen the newsagents near his first
secondary school refuse to sell the Sun newspaper to one of his
classmates. The boy had insisted there was an article in there about his
scout troop, but the newsagent, an elderly lady, scanned it and declared
no such article was there. “I can’t sell this to a child”, she exclaimed,
correctly surmising that the boy had no other intention than to take the
paper home and masturbate over the topless Page 3 girl. Tony always
remembered that incident whenever the Sun declared itself a “Family
Newspaper”, normally when it was giving salacious details of some
‘self-confessed homosexual’ pop star’s sex life while declaring the more
sordid titbits couldn’t be divulged to its delicate readers.

Tony bought a copy of the Independent and Guardian

newspapers to act as bread to the exotic filling of Time Out, which was
inserted between the two serious broadsheets. He held onto them,

selected a large amount of chocolate bars, and went to the counter to pay.
The newsagent rang up the items on his till, glancing only briefly at the
Time Out cover to see its price. “Do you want a bag?” was all he said
after giving the total.

At home, Tony devoured every word in the Gay Scene section.

He knew there was a gay nightclub called Heaven, he’d read it
somewhere in a tabloid – no doubt in another exposé of Boy George. But
there were others too, and bars, one even relatively nearby in Camden
Town. What really astonished him was that there were youth groups for
gay teens. How could that exist when the age of consent for gay men was
21? Did it get raided by the police? All they had to do was look in Time
Out and see where the illegal activity was taking place. There was one in
Holloway – the London Gay Teen Group, even nearer than Camden
Town – that met on Sunday afternoons. He was terrified even to imagine
what that would be like. Tony’s only knowledge of gay people was that
they looked and acted like John Inman from ‘Are You Being Served’ or
Boy George. Tony didn’t consider himself the most masculine of men,
but he had no desire to act effeminately either. A group of teenage gay
men who were camp and bitchy was a terrifying prospect for Tony. He
had few social skills as it was, let alone the ability to come up with witty
one-liners to deflect the putdowns he thought all gay men used.

After reading that first copy of Time Out, Tony would faithfully

buy a copy every week, always turning first to the Gay section. Little
seemed to change – most of the listings were just reprinted from week to
week. But this was now Tony’s window into a world where other gay
people existed. He didn’t want to miss a thing. He knew, being
seventeen, that he couldn’t go to bars, but he could go to the teen group,
which met at a community centre. If only he had the courage. Maybe
when I’m eighteen, he told himself. Maybe I’ll somehow have the balls
to do it then.

In late December Hazel asked to be readmitted to the psychiatric

unit at Barnet General Hospital. She said it would just be for a few days
but then decided she didn’t want to come home for Christmas. Barry was
furious; Tony wasn’t sure it was because Hazel wasn’t home for
Christmas or because he would have to do the Christmas shopping and
cooking. Tony couldn’t remember the last time there had been a
Christmas without a fight between his parents so wasn’t bothered by
Hazel’s decision. Both his parents decided years ago that “Christmas was
for children”, even when Tony was in his early teens, so little had been

done to make the day special for a few years. Tony still clung to an
idealised fantasy of Christmas, however, and insisted on putting up the
artificial Christmas tree and decorating it with tatty, knotted lametta and
some new fairy lights he’d bought from Woolworths. He’d destroyed the
last set by trying to create an approximation of one of those LED signs
that scrolled messages along them.

Without knowing anything about electronics he’d decided he

could create a light matrix. He knew his cousin’s ballerina music box had
little, rotating cylinders inside that were dotted with pins. When the
music box was wound up the cylinder would move round, and each pin
would pluck a comb, creating tinkly music. Inspired by this, he wrapped
a length of aluminium foil around a large tin and cut out little dots so the
paper surrounding the old coffee tin was exposed. To rotate the tin he set
up an electric motor with a small rubber wheel on the axle. This motor
would then turn the tin, whose foil would be electrified by laying a live
wire on top.

The theory in Tony’s mind was that he could create a display

approximating the on-off lights which made up an LED scrolling sign if
the Christmas lights were cut up, had one end of their wires connected to
the mains electricity, and had their other ends laid over the tin. The
power surging through the foil would make a connection and illuminate
the lights. When it rotated, and the wires from the lights hit the paper
from the coffee tin, the connection would be lost and the lights would go
out. Never one for carefully thinking through plans, Tony didn’t try
drawing a circuit diagram; he believed he learned best through
experience. Once the mains power was switched on to the roller, the foil
and the lights, Tony learned that an electric shock felt like a large, hot
football surging up his right arm that zapped his brain, leaving him
stunned, but, luckily, alive. The fairy lights exploded and the wire in the
ancient fuse box under the stairs melted.

At least he got new Christmas lights, and these ones actually

flashed by themselves too. With the living room lights off, the multi-
coloured glow from the tree was magical. Looking into the glow Tony
felt a feeling of warmth come over him; a remnant of happy Christmases
past that seemed now existed only in his subconscious.

As Barry didn’t own a car, and no public transport was running,

nobody visited Hazel on Christmas Day. Rick came home on Christmas
Eve and seemed in a good mood so Christmas was a civilised, if quiet
affair. Presents consisted of book vouchers from Barry and, surprisingly,

a Casio keyboard from Rick to Tony. Christmas lunch was gammon
steaks with chips, one of Barry’s recipes reserved for special occasions.
Tony retreated to his room as soon as possible, leaving Barry and Rick to
watch the Christmas TV specials in the living room, smoke and drink red
wine. He had never had a piano lesson, but the keyboard promised to
make him an accomplished player if he followed the lights on the keys.
He marvelled at the amazing technology that could make the machine
play harps, organs or even guitars. And they all sounded better when a
bossa nova soundtrack was playing in the background. Tony decided this
was the best present he had ever received from Rick. He assumed he was
doing well at his job at the menswear store, he doubted whether such a
large item could have been stuffed into one of Rick’s shoplifting bags.
Tony had only given Rick a book voucher, but Rick seemed pleased
enough with this; he’d said he wanted to buy the latest Barbara Taylor
Bradford novel.

A knock on the door. “Can I come in?” called Rick. Can I come

in? thought Tony. Rick never asked to come in; he just came in or tried
to hammer the door down if it was locked. “OK”, he replied. He’d
stopped locking the door since Rick had moved out, so it was open. Rick
came in. He had a bottle of red wine, but only one glass with him. Tony
scowled, he didn’t want alcohol in his room, but he said nothing.

“How’s the keyboard?” asked Rick.
“It’s great! Do you want a go?”
“Yeah, I wondered what it was like.” He played chopsticks,

switching between the various instruments. He found a disco beat and
played that as a backing track, switching the tempo up as fast as it would
go. “Sounds like a Hazel Dean record”, he said. Tony had no idea who
Hazel Dean was. “She sings that song ‘Who’s Leaving Who’; it’s
fabulous”. Fabulous? Thought Tony. He’s never used that word before.

“You should get it. No, I’ll make a tape for you. I’ve bought

some fabulous records recently.” That word again. And why was he
stringing it out, saying it ‘faaabulous’ with so much emphasis? Tony felt
uncomfortable; he’d had suspicions ever since Rick’s evening outing
dressed as a woman that Rick was gay. However, there was no way Tony
was going to bring it up; the idea of talking about anything to do with sex
with any member of his family was repulsive.

Rick left the keyboard and went to sit down on Tony’s bed. “I

like what you’ve done with this room”, he said. “Those are nice
curtains”. “Thanks”, replied Tony, surprised at the rare compliment. The

old Rick would have tried to rip the curtains down if he thought it would
get a reaction out of Tony.

“I’ve got something to tell you”. Rick looked evasive and didn’t

meet Tony’s eyes when he said this. Oh here we go, thought Tony, try to
act surprised.

“I’m gay”. Rick then looked at Tony, gave a large, exaggerated

closed-mouth smile and giggled. Tony took a deep breath. Here goes, he
thought.

“So am I”.

CHAPTER FIVE

The shock on Rick’s face had been gratifying. Tony was relieved

Rick had had no suspicions about him; he didn’t want anyone to think he
was gay. “We can’t both be gay”, said Rick, “One of us will have to
change. Fuck!” Rick said he’d already told Barry he was gay and Barry
had been surprisingly accepting of it. Tony had heard nothing about this;
no shouting or fighting. He’d certainly not heard about it from Barry.
“He told me I mustn’t tell you or anyone else in the family”, explained
Rick. “It’s just our shameful secret. Well, I knew I was going to have to
tell you.”

“Why?” questioned Tony.
“I wanted to tell you. I want to be able to talk freely with you”.

Talk freely, thought Tony, when have we ever talked civilly, let alone
freely? If Rick wanted to have some girly chats about boys and makeup
he was mistaken.

“So are you shocked?” asked Rick, almost hopefully.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I had my suspicions”.
“What do you mean ‘I had my suspicions’?”
“Well, you liked dressing up as a woman. Like that time you

went out and knocked on those doors”.

“Dressing up as a woman doesn’t make you gay, Tony. And I

went out to a pub in Finsbury Park dressed as a woman once too!” Tony
thought Rick was rather disproving his point here, but moved on.

“OK. You’ve never had a girlfriend.”
“What about Sharon? She let me fuck her”. Tony scowled; he

hated swearing. “I really don’t want to hear about that.”

“And Kevin used to make me dance naked around his bedroom

before we had sex”.

“What? Well the hell did that come from?” shouted Tony, then

lowering his voice in case Barry called upstairs, “You shagged Kevin?”
Kevin had been Rick’s friend since they’d first moved into the estate in
1981. The first time he came round to visit he brought his two pet rats
with him, which Tony found fascinating and terrifying. Didn’t they eat
human flesh?

“Weren’t we talking about why I’m not surprised you’re gay?

Anyway. I can’t believe you shagged Kevin.” Tony decided that

‘shagged’ wasn’t really swearing so he could say it. Tony had really
fancied Kevin; he’d always been large for his age and was very
masculine. The idea of them shagging made him furious.

“Every week. And he said you tried to come on to him once”.

Rick gave an annoyingly triumphant sneer. “But he didn’t fancy you.”
Tony froze.

“No, I didn’t”.
“He said you got your erect cock out when you walking back

from the fair at Broomfield Park once.” Rick gave his infuriatingly
triumphant smile again. Tony remembered the time vividly and indelibly.
He’d found himself alone with Kevin for the first time after Rick had
disappeared at the funfair late at night. Tony and Kevin decided to walk
home together. As they walked down Morsons Way, Kevin had started
talking about his girlfriend and how many women he had shagged. Tony
had no idea what had come over him, except perhaps the stupidity caused
by surging hormones, but he told Kevin he was getting hard just hearing
about his sex with girls. “Tell me more”, he’d urged Kevin. “What did
they think of your big cock?” Kevin had looked strangely at Tony after
that comment and not replied. And then, Tony had blurted out “I don’t
know how big my cock is. What do you think?” He’d quickly undone his
flies and removed his rock-hard dick, showing it in the street, the night
barely covering it. “What do you think?” “What the fuck?” came
Kevin’s shocked response. “Put it away!” Tony put his hard cock back
into his pants and jeans. They’d walked home in silence after that. He
rarely saw Kevin, so it was never mentioned again. Tony assumed he’d
completely disgusted Kevin but didn’t care if he told anyway; he didn’t
have any friends to lose. But all that time Rick and he were having sex?
And he’d told Rick about his embarrassing exhibition, and they’d
laughed about it together. Tony started to burn with humiliation and
anger.

“It’s OK”, said Rick. “I kept your secret”.
“So you thought I was gay then”.
“No! Not in the slightest, I just thought it was something straight

teenage boys did!”

Tony stayed silent. He felt betrayed for no good reason. He had

made such an effort to keep to himself and hold onto his own secrets that
it was excruciating to talk about them. But he had to admit that he was
intrigued now. Not sure if he wanted to know the answer he said, “So do
you have a boyfriend?”

“Oh, Alan thinks I’m his boyfriend but I shag around behind his

back”. Alan lived in the shared flat in Balham; Tony had briefly met him
when he was helping Rick move his meagre belongings into the flat.
Alan had cooed “Ooh, saucer of milk” to Tony when he and Rick were
having an argument. Tony hadn’t liked him.

“So where do you meet all these men then? Do you go to pubs?”
“I meet them at parties.” Tony had never been invited to a party

since he was a child. He didn’t think he would know what to do if he
were.

“Don’t you worry that Alan will find out?” Tony didn’t approve

of unfaithfulness.

“Oh god you’re so moralistic, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” Tony still had an idealised vision of the world where

couples were in love and stayed together for life. The fact that his
parents’ marriage did not match this fantasy scenario didn’t stop him
from believing it should be the truth. He assumed everyone else’s
marriages were perfect, just as he assumed everyone else’s families were
like the Brady Bunch.

“I have my own morality system”, replied Rick sagely.
“So, have you ever been to one of those teenage groups. Time

Out says there’s one in Holloway”.

“Oh I used to go there; it’s full of queens.” Tony’s heart sank.

“Oh”, he said. He’d been constructing an image in his mind that the
group might be full of straight-acting blokes who just happened to be
gay.

“Why, do you go there?” Rick sounded intrigued.
“No.”
“Oh you should! It’s not that bad, only some of them are queens,

maybe just the ones I always talk to. Have you ever been anywhere on
the scene?”

“Nope”.
“Nowhere?” Rick looked incredulous.
“I’m not even eighteen yet.”
“And you don’t have any friends do you?” That hurt, thought

Tony. Thanks for noticing that Rick. But Rick didn’t seem to be mocking
Tony for a change so he replied.

“No. Because I don’t want to lie to them”.
“What? You don’t have friends because you don’t want to lie to

them? About being gay? Just tell them you love pussy then.” Rick had no

concept of truth, thought Tony bitterly. But then, he also had friends.
And a sex life.

“I tell everyone I’m gay”, continued Rick. “Well, everyone

except our family because dad’s banned me.”

“Do they know at work?” Tony was surprised.
“Of course they do! I’m always telling Robin about what I get up

to on the weekend.” Robin was his manager. “He always gets me to tell
him the juiciest details. I think he’s jealous, he’s been married for fifteen
years and I think he’d let a guy suck his cock.” Tony opened his mouth,
dumbfounded. He couldn’t believe that anybody could talk freely to a
straight man about being gay without getting his head kicked in. He also
wasn’t comfortable with Rick talking about sex and tried to steer the
conversation away.

“So were you upset when mum tried to kill herself?” It was the

first time he’d mentioned it to Rick. He wasn’t sure Rick had even
visited her in hospital.

“Of course I was, but I wasn’t surprised. She’s been threatening

to do it for years.”

“Well, I don’t know why she chose to do it this time.”
“Because she’s nuts”.
“Rick!”
“Always were a mummy’s boy weren’t you? She never loved me

you know. I reminded her too much of herself. Auntie Janine said that
mum was always talking about you when you were young, ‘Oh Tony’s
done this, and Tony’s done that’. Janine used to say “what about Rick?
You never talk about him!’”

“How do you know that?” exclaimed Tony. He thought nobody

talked to mum’s alcoholic sister Auntie Janine anymore because she was
even more neurotic and suicidal than Hazel. It was Auntie Janine who
apparently told Hazel about the new wonder pills called Ativan. Tony
hated Auntie Janine after Hazel told him that.

“Oh we talk all the time on the phone! And I went down to see

her in Bristol last year. We talked all night over a couple of bottles of red
wine. There were lots of tears and hugs.” Tears and hugs? Tony
shuddered. Nobody in their family hugged or showed any emotion other
than anger, yet here was Rick talking about ‘hugging’. Tony knew that if
Rick ever tried to hug him he would punch him.

“She told me all sorts of family secrets!” Rick looked pleased

with himself. He always liked having secrets he could tease Tony with.

And Tony could always be relied upon to rise to the bait.

“What secrets?”
“All about mum.”
“What do you mean, ‘all about mum’”. Tony sounded defensive.
“Well you know that story she always tells about living in a

bedsit and not having enough to eat and ending up in hospital?” Tony
nodded. “Well, she didn’t end up in hospital because of that. She was a
junkie! She took too much speed in the sixties! Bet you didn’t know that
about Saint Hazel!” Tony didn’t respond. His stomach always seemed to
tighten whenever he thought someone was attacking his mum. Seeing the
scowl forming on Tony’ face, Rick continued. “Oh come on, she was
always telling stories about the famous people she knew before she met
dad. It was the sixties; everyone was taking drugs! Don’t be such a
goody two-shoes.”

Tony did recall Hazel talking about a couple of famous

Americans animators she knew before she met dad. He wondered why
she’d married a thick Yorkshire policeman if she’d known famous
people. But the idea of Hazel, who rarely smiled and didn’t seem to
know the word ‘fun’, taking drugs and partying was too absurd for Tony
to imagine.

“She never loved dad you know”, said Rick.
“So why did she marry him then?” said Tony defensively.
“She needed a father figure. She needed someone to look after

her and get her away from drugs.”

“Oh and I suppose mad Auntie Janine told you that did she?

Because she’s such a reliable source,” spat Tony.

“OK, think about it. Mum was twenty and dad was twenty-nine

when they married in 1967.”

“Hmm”.
“Big age difference isn’t it? She needed a daddy figure. After all,

she was kicked out of home at fifteen because she wouldn’t let grandad
fuck her anymore”.

Tony sprang up, his right fist clenched ready to lash out at Rick.

He screwed up his face and screamed out, the air coming from deep in
his lungs: “Shut the FUCK up! Shut the FUCK up! Shut … the … FUCK
… up!” Each fist punctuated the words. His voice reached its highest
pitch on the final ‘fuck’ and trailed away. He flopped to the floor and
rolled into a foetal position and clamped his hands over his ears. “Shut
up, shut up, shut the fuck up” he mumbled to himself over and over. He

quietened and gave in to tears of rage and anger. Rick watched with
vicious triumph as Tony gave deep, heaving sobs, his breaths
interspersed with words now croaking pathetically from his hoarse
throat: Shut. The. Fuck. Up.

CHAPTER SIX

Tony grabbed his coat and stormed out of the house, slamming

the front door behind him as loudly as possible. He was a fast walker and
that night he walked so fast he was almost running. Running away. From
that fucking house. From that fucking family. He wasn’t sure where he
was going but automatically headed to the darkness of Arnos Park Two.
This was really just an area of wasteland that ran the length of Pymmes
Brook before it was funnelled under the street near East Barnet. It was
almost always quiet and deserted, as it was tonight. Most families would
be happily watching TV together, or having a long Christmas meal,
thought Tony. He tried to put all thoughts of his family out of his mind.
Walking was always soothing and helped reduce his rage. He’d walked
this way many, many times over the years after having fights, normally
with Barry, and coping the only way he knew; by storming out. Each
time he vowed never to return; each time his furious walking helped dull
his impotent teenage anger.

After walking the length of the path towards East Barnet he felt

the familiar calming effect of the walking take hold. The frigid air on his
face cooled the red fury that was slowly being replaced with the blueness
of cold. In the rush to leave he’d forgotten his gloves; he kept his hands
in his pockets as he walked.

Tony was used to suppressing bad thoughts. He knew there was

a part of his brain that was a safe. He could hide thoughts there and he
felt they couldn’t harm him. When thinking, he knew that if an image
from that safe seeped out he could freeze it for a few seconds, isolate it,
and move on. So long as he felt in control he knew he would be OK. The
conversation with Rick was now in that safe. It was never to be accessed
again.

But while he thought he never accessed the safe, it was

controlling him imperceptibly. It was calculating courses of action based
on the latest information it had received. Devoid of having to engage
with any rational part of the brain it let its ideas out, cloaking them with
names like ‘gut instinct’ and ‘common sense’.

Tony felt a strong gut instinct that he had to kill himself. The

obviousness of the idea surprised him; why hadn’t he thought of it
before? All the evidence his mind told him that he was worthless; he was
a poof and therefore the lowest form of human life; his family was a
burden he could never escape; he had no job, no study, no possible future

that he could think of that could possibly be different. As the weakest
link in the chain of evolution he had a duty to take himself out of the
gene pool. He was never going to marry, never have kids; always be
lonely. He was too anxious to try getting work, his fear of people and
their opinions was so overwhelming he found talking to anyone
excruciating. What sort of life was that? Tony’s mouth opened with
surprise; he’d never had such clarity of thought before. Why couldn’t all
decisions be this easy?

He knew there was a small Indian store by the roundabout at

Osidge Lane, he always ended up there after doing this walk so
automatically headed there. It was open seven days a week and he
doubted it would be closed on Christmas Day. The roundabout was clear
of traffic as he walked over it towards the shop. Would he even stop if a
car did come? As he hoped, it was open so he headed as always to the
chocolate and bought two Twixes. Sitting on the low brick wall that
shielded the Osidge Arms from the pavement, he ate them quickly,
surprised at his hunger.

The sweetness calmed him and as he started eating the last of the

fingers he felt a warmth come over his brain as his blood sugar stabilised.
His thinking didn’t seem as razor-sharp as before and a familiar
resignation overcame his as his shoulders slumped. He put his right
elbow on his thigh and propped his head up with the palm of his hand.
He stared at the uneven paving slabs. Thoughts appeared from other parts
of his brain, pushing back the forbidden ideas and forcing them back into
the safe: “It will all get better”, they said. “And it’s up to you to make
sure it does”.

PART TWO – REGINA FONG

CHAPTER SEVEN

“What’s that?” shouted Tony when Shaun had finally managed

to force himself through the excited drinkers with two pints in hand.
“Snakebite”, Shaun shouted back, “Come on, ’urry up and take it for
fuck’s sake, me ’and’s slipping”. Tony took a glass, sniffed the liquid
and then took a sip.

“It’s ’alf lager ’alf cider. It’ll get you really ’ammered”. It tasted

sweet and bitter. Tony preferred cider because he found lager too bitter
but Shaun didn’t think much of cider and he was buying.

“What are you drinking?”
“Same of course”.
“When does the show start?”
“I dunno. When it starts. After eleven”. Tony tried to look at his

watch without striking his elbow into the man to his left. It was eleven.

“It’s eleven”.
“Then she’ll probably be on soon for fuck’s sake. ’Ere, go to the

wall over there so we can put our drinks on the ledge”.

“There’s no room”.
“Just fucking push through and make some room then”.
“I don’t like pushing in”.
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Shaun moved in front of Tony and started

to shove through the crowd, his pint held over his head and saying loudly
and cheerfully ‘sorry’ if anyone looked put out. “Well come on them”, he
called behind him to Tony. Tony followed, making apologetic smiles and
mouthing ‘sorry’ when he caught anyone’s eye. Shaun put his pint on the
almost invisible ledge by the wall; it was painted black, as was the rest of
the room. Tony put his pint next to Shaun’s and stood in front of him,
feeling protected even though he towered over the stocky Shaun.

Tony had first spoken to Shaun at a sex party in Stratford. He

hadn’t known it was a sex party when Alex at the teenage group gave
him the address. Alex had asked him if he was going. On hearing Tony
didn’t know anything about a party in Stratford, Alex had given him the
address, assuring Tony he would be there: “They’re always really good.
And maybe we’ll be able to get to know each other better”. Alex had run
a long, thin brown finger down Tony’s left arm and smiled, tilting his
head to one side. “Er , OK”, Tony replied. He shivered at the thought of

Alex ‘getting to know him better’; he just wasn’t his type. He was very
thin and feminine; the opposite of what turned Tony on. Alex made Tony
feel uncomfortable because he never knew how to respond. “Er, OK”
was usually all he could come up with. But Alex was funny and never
said anything too nasty. Tony was grateful that he was the first person at
the gay teen group who’d bothered to talk to him.

The date of the party was a night he was working. Damn, he

thought, but was instantly relieved that he had an excuse for not going.
“I’m working that night”, he told Alex.

“Aw, poor Faceache. I’m sure McDonald’s can spare you.”
“I don’t work at McDonald’s.”
“Wimpy? Burger King?”
“I’m a supervisor at a small upmarket supermarket”.
“A supervisor! Can’t you make one of your upmarket minions

work that night?”

“There aren’t enough minions.”
“The party will miss you!” Tony knew Alex was being sarcastic

but wished it were true.

Those who were over eighteen usually got the bus from

Holloway to Camden Town, where the nearest gay pub was located.
Tony had turned eighteen in January, three weeks before. He hadn’t yet
summoned up the courage to go with the others to the Black Cap. He’d
wanted to, but he didn’t want to go on his own, and felt uncomfortable
getting the bus with some of the other youths who talked very loudly and
enjoyed being outrageous. If they were like that on the bus, then he
didn’t want to be seen with them. Today, however, there was someone
who had turned up to the group who wasn’t loud or outrageous and Tony
wondered whether he would go. He knew the guy’s name was Shaun,
because he’d heard other people call him that. This was the third Sunday
that Tony had been to the gay group and he hadn’t seen Shaun there
before, but it seemed Shaun was a regular who’d just been away for a
while. At just after three thirty he’d entered the grey-walled room in the
council community centre, greeting the Elf with a cheery ‘Aw right’ in a
heavy north London accent. He sat down with a group of people and
immediately started laughing with them. He laughs a lot, observed Tony,
I really like that. Shaun was probably medium height, but everyone was
medium height or short to Tony who towered over most people at 6 feet
2 inches. And Shaun was stocky. Everyone else at the group seemed to
be as thin as Tony, but Shaun had broad shoulders and a bit of padding

around his waist. A rugby build, thought Tony enviously. He wondered
whether Shaun played rugby; that would be a dream come true for him.

His dad had occasionally taken him to see Saracens play at

Southgate Rugby Club. He’d always failed to see why anyone would
want to watch a group of thugs hitting each other and tripping each other
up. Playing rugby at school had been bad enough. Even the slight thrill
of having his face in another guy’s bum and a hand grabbing his
waistband though his legs during a scrum wasn’t enough to make him
enjoy the game. But he still fancied rugby players like crazy. Former
England captain Emlyn Hughes was on TV a lot as a commentator and
was a favourite wank fantasy for Tony. Many times when he lay in a
bath he wished the door would open and Emlyn would come in to give
him a scrubbing. Shaun had dark brown hair and eyes and a broad,
smiling face like Emlyn. Tony decided he had to talk to him somehow.

The cliques in the group seemed to have been around for a while;

Tony was only just managing to break into one of them and that had been
fraught with difficulty. He didn’t have the guts to crash the cluster of
people that Shaun was sitting with. He wondered whether Shaun would
be at the party in Stratford. Maybe next week he could catch his eye
before he sat down with his circle of friends and introduce himself.

The Elf had been little help in helping Tony settle into the gay

teen group. Tony met the youth worker Robert, who he later found was
known to everyone behind as back as ‘the Elf’, when he first arrived at
the community centre. He’d finally plucked up the courage to tear out the
details of the group from Time Out and take the tube to Holloway Road.
With his heart racing, he’d walked from the bus stop down the wet, drab
road, bordered by shuttered shops, until he’d found the address of the
grey-bricked building. He looked around the pavement to see if it was
clear before going closer. He was terrified of being noticed. Maybe the
locals knew this community centre had a gay group and would scream
‘poofter’ at him, or worse. He didn’t know what he would do if he was
attacked; he wasn’t strong. But he was tall, thin and fit so he could run
very fast if necessary.

The building was in darkness. Tony looked at his watch. It was

two fifty-five; he was five minutes early. Gratefully seizing the chance to
run away, he turned to find a short, tubby, shaven-headed man walking
quickly up the short, white concrete path from the road, a dark blue
handbag slung over his shoulder. “Hello”, said the man. “Are you here
for the gay teen group?” “Yes”, replied Tony in a voice that he wished

said “no”.

“It’s round the corner. I should put a sign up. Come with me. I’m

Robert”. The centre was set back from the road and another white
pathway led to the left and around to the side. “Follow the white brick
road, only it’s not brick, it’s concrete!” called Robert rushing up the path,
his head turned. Well, there’s the first Wizard of Oz reference, thought
Tony, any more clichés coming up?

“And you are?”
“Tony”.
“First time? Well, obviously”, he corrected himself. Tony wasn’t

sure why it was obvious, but immediately thought his clothes gave him
away. Maybe he wasn’t dressed gay enough? Good, I don’t want to dress
gay, he thought.

The grey brick front of the building hid a grassy courtyard where

the building sloped back. It must be a triangular building, thought Tony.
There was a wooden table and bench looking wet, grey and weathered
between two bare trees. The path stopped at a white door, which had a
small window near the top, glazed with glass that had criss-crossed wires
running through it that Tony remembered from school. More memories
of school flooded back when he entered the grey-painted space. There
were grey-topped desks and black plastic chairs, all arranged to face the
large whiteboard fixed to the wall at the front. On it was a drawing of a
large penis; the usual type that boys draw; erect, with hairy balls and a
raindrop of semen spitting out from the top.

“Lucky first”, beamed Robert. Tony gave a toothless smile. “The

rest will drift in eventually.” Tony sat on a desk; to sit behind it would
be too much like school. He didn’t know what to say to this little man,
but felt he should say something. “So do many people come here?”

“Oh it depends. On the weather, and whether they’ve had a big

weekend. Ha!” Robert seemed pleased at his pun. He sat down two desks
away from Tony, his face still beaming. He didn’t talk. Tony didn’t
know what else to say. So they sat there for a few minutes, Robert
rocking backwards and forwards on his desk until he finally said
brightly, “I just need to check my diary”. He took out a bulging, black
Filofax from his bag and flicked through the pages, stopping then
flicking backwards and forwards again. “Oh, I need to rearrange
something!” he exclaimed. “Yes”, said Tony cheerily and pointlessly.
The muscles in his face were starting to ache from his forced, toothless
smile.

He thought the agony would lessen when a couple of young men

wandered into the room. “Hiya!” they said almost in unison to Robert.
They looked at Tony briefly then turned around to go outside. He saw
them sit down on the bench seat, the backs turned to the tables. They
were laughing and occasionally glanced through the open door. The tall
thin boy took out a packet of cigarettes and lit one. The other man, also
thin, but with longer, bleached blonde hair, helped himself to one after
the packet was laid on the table. They’re probably boyfriends, thought
Tony. But why would you come here if you had a boyfriend? If I had a
boyfriend I’d stay at home all the time, just him and me.

Robert had moved on from updating his diary and was now

filing his shiny nails with a short file. He held them up to his face to
inspect, his palm facing out towards Tony, his fingers spread wide apart.
A very tall, thin black man entered the room. “Robert!” he screamed in a
thick Scottish accent, flinging his arms in the air and running over.
“Hello darling”, said Robert, kissing him on both cheeks. “How’s the flat
hunting going?” They talked together, ignoring Tony. He felt his familiar
urge to run away from uncomfortable situations. Why isn’t Robert saying
anything to make me feel at ease? he wondered. Can’t he see how
terrified I am? This wasn’t supposed to be like this. Tony had only
managed to convince himself to go the group by imagining how it should
be; and nothing was matching his fantasy of a group of intelligent,
masculine young men who talked about books and sport. Not that he
knew anything about sport; but in his fantasy they would be keen to
teach him.

By three forty five, four more people had arrived. Tony

brightened up when saw two of them; they looked quite masculine. One
was wearing a khaki-coloured shirt beneath an olive-green army surplus
jacket. He had pale skin and a broad, angular face. Like most of the
others he was thin. Tony glanced at him, trying not to catch his eye, but
hoping he would notice him and say hello. His friend saw Tony looking
and shouted out “Get your eyes off my boyfriend!” The group turned and
looked at Tony. “Er, OK”, said Tony. The aggressive tone made Tony
think it wasn’t a joke. The group returned to talking among each other.

Tony decided to leave. Every feeling he had told him this was a

really bad idea and he wasn’t ready yet to talk to new people, let alone
gay people. He’d go home and insulate himself in the comfortable
security of his bedroom, watching TV or reading about other people’s
lives, he decided. The thought pleased him and he sprung up from the

desk and headed for the door. As he walked out he hoped someone
would call out and ask him where he was going. No one did.

“Oh hello”; he was in the courtyard, starting to follow the white

concrete path back to the safety of Holloway Road. The greeting came
from a smiling figure sitting on the table, smoking a cigarette. Tony
wasn’t sure if the figure was male or female; he hadn’t seen any lesbians
here so assumed male. He had coffee-coloured skin and shoulder-length
black hair that was tightly curled and very shiny. He wore denim jeans
and a denim jacket with a pink t-shirt underneath with a bright red
lipstick kiss printed on it. “I’m Alex, who are you?” His voice was
nasally, slightly high-pitched and well spoken.

“Tony.”
“Well, Tony, it’s fucking freezing out here and I’m going inside.

Coming?”

“Er, OK”. The safety of his bedroom seemed less attractive now

there was a chance of actually talking to someone. Tony followed Alex
back to the room. Alex sat on a desk in a corner near a window away
from other people. He sat with his legs tightly crossed, his hands placed
on top of each other, resting on his knee. He beckoned Tony over and
patted the desk opposite him. “Sit your fanny down”.

Tony did as he was told.
“Oh, close those legs, there’s a hot draught coming my way!”

Confused, Tony saw Alex was looking at his groin. Embarrassed, he
closed his legs, but didn’t cross them. What was wrong with sitting with
your legs open? he wondered.

“So tell me about yourself, Faceache”. Tony had no idea what

‘Faceache’ meant, but Alex was smiling in a pleasant way so he didn’t
think it was bad.

“I live in Southgate. I’m eighteen”, he said hesitantly.
“Well, that’s enough about you. What would you like to know

about me?” Tony had no idea what to ask. Why do you look like a
woman? Why are you wearing a pink t-shirt? Why are you so camp? He
stayed on safe territory: “Where do you live?”

“Stoke Newington. Next”. Tony wasn’t sure where Stoke

Newington was; he’d never seen it on a tube map. “Is that in London?”

“Of course it’s in bloody London, it’s just a bus ride away. I

think I’m the only non-Jew there. But the rents are cheaper; no tube you
see. Just bloody British Rail and buses. But they’re quite regular. Who
needs the tube anyway? Full of rats and smells of piss”. They’re mice,

not rats, thought Tony, who was quite fond of watching them scurry
between the tracks. It gave him something to do while waiting for a train.

“Next!” Tony couldn’t think of another question that wasn’t too

personal.

“How long have you been coming here?”
“Too long. It’s a miserable bunch of people who sit around

bitching about anything and everyone and I tell myself every Sunday that
I’m not going to come here anymore. But what else is there to do on a
Sunday afternoon when the pubs don’t open till the evening? For God’s
sake, when will this country loosen up and let pubs open when they want
to? Have you been to Amsterdam?” Tony shook his head.

“It’s gay paradise. So many bars and they’re open all hours and

you can buy hash and smoke it perfectly legally anywhere. There are gay
saunas and any type of porn you want. I’m going to move there.”

“When?”
“Someday. When I get off my bloody arse and leave this shithole

of a country”. At last, something we both agree on, thought Tony.

“OK, I’m bored. Have you met anyone else yet?”
“Only Robert, but we didn’t really talk”.
“Oh, the Elf. You’re probably not young enough for him. He

specialises in helping sixteen year olds with their sexuality, if you know
what I mean. Come and meet some of the other tragic queens here”.
Tony was shocked to hear Alex talking about Robert that way. He
assumed he was joking. He also didn’t know if he liked people being
referred to as ‘tragic queens’. Would they refer to him that way?

“Excuse me, why haven’t you lot said hello to nice young

Faceache here”, Alex said, cutting into a conversation the aggressive
man was having with his boyfriend.

“Hello”, said the aggressive one loudly and slowly to Tony

before turning back to his boyfriend.

“Trevor’s a dickhead”, said Alex loudly to Tony, “but Martin

isn’t, are you Martin?” He turned to Trevor’s boyfriend, who smiled at
Tony and said “Hi”. “Hi”, replied Tony curtly, not daring to meet his
eyes or smile in case Trevor verbally abused him again. “How are you?”
Martin continued.

“I’m well. You?”
“Not bad for a Sunday.”
“Well, I’ll go outside if you two want to chat each other up

then”, said Trevor loudly to Martin. Martin ignored him. Trevor stayed

where he was. Tony bristled at Trevor’s unexpected aggressiveness, but
admitted he found it quite attractive as well.

“Play nicely children”, said Alex. “I’m going for a fag”.
“We were just talking about Clause 28. Wonder whether they’ll

shut this group down if it passes?” said Martin.

“It’ll pass”, said Tony bitterly. “The tabloids love it. It’s yet

another way they can demonise the loony left who are trying to
indoctrinate kiddies with the homosexual agenda.” Clause 28 was an
amendment to the Local Government Bill 1988 that had been introduced
with the aim of stopping local authorities from ‘promoting
homosexuality’.

“Yeah, Mrs Thatcher will make sure of it. I wish that bitch had

died in that IRA bombing in Brighton”.

“Me too, they got my local MP instead.”
“The best Tory’s a dead Tory”.
“Yeah!” Tony didn’t feel the need to mention that he really

fancied Michael Portillo, the Conservative MP who’d been elected in his
area after the death of Sir Anthony Berry in the bombing of the Grand
Hotel in Brighton in 1984. Mr Portillo had also sent a polite reply to a
letter Tony had written demanding that the metric system be introduced
completely and immediately. He liked him for that too.

“Five more bloody years of the fascists. They’ll have their

jackbooted pigs knocking our doors down soon”, said Martin.

The Conservative Party had been re-elected the previous year for

another five years. Tony could barely remember any other Prime
Minister but Margaret Thatcher. He had vague memories of James
Callaghan who was Prime Minister before May 1979 and certainly
remembered the power cuts of the ‘Winter of Discontent’ before she was
elected. He’d quite enjoyed reading books by candlelight in the living
room of the police flat in Whetstone. He hadn’t quite enjoyed taking
their rubbish to the local car park, which acted as a massive waste dump
during the prolonged strikes by public workers. He remembered cheering
when Margaret Thatcher was elected, much to his parents’ surprise. He
didn’t know anything about politics; he was just happy a woman had
become Prime Minister. It felt motherly somehow.

“Yeah!” Tony cringed at the thought that anyone would find out

his dad was a copper. He could certainly see Barry knocking down doors
to drag out screaming poofters. He’d once discovered a huge file in his
parents’ wardrobe, which contained his dad’s police reports detailing his

arrests of men for having sex in public toilets. Barry had been hiding in
the ceiling.

Tony and Martin continued talking about their shared contempt

for the government and Mrs Thatcher, untroubled by any divergent
opinions. Trevor got up and went outside to join the smokers, casting a
look of contempt at Tony on the way out.

“I don’t think your boyfriend likes me”.
“He’s very possessive. Are you coming along to the Black Cap

after this? We always go there after.”

Tony had read in Time Out that there was a long-established gay

pub in Camden Town called the Black Cap. He’d already walked past
one day when he’d gone to the offices of Reed Employment nearby. The
pub was narrow and black, fronted with a large, blacked-out window. It
looked like it was trying to hide, which was rather difficult when it was
in one of the busiest areas of North London and had a bus stop right in
front of it. He wondered whether you had to ring a bell to get in.

Although he’d enjoyed talking to Martin he didn’t want to have

to talk to his boyfriend, or feel his aggressive presence in a small pub.
And the idea of getting on a bus with some of the louder ones was
terrifying. “I can’t. I’m working”, he lied.

“On a Sunday night?”
“Yeah, I couldn’t get out of it”.
Tony had realised he needed money if he was going to get a

social life. He’d noticed a card in the window for a shop assistant at
Fogarty’s in Southgate. Fogarty’s was a small, upscale minimarket that
sold fancy foodstuffs, many of which Tony had never seen before. The
interview had gone well; the Manager rang back to ask whether he would
like to be a shift supervisor instead of a shop assistant. This promotion
before he’d even been hired flattered Tony, so he agreed. He worked
with the outgoing shift supervisor on his first day so she could explain
how to use the till and do the daily reconciliation. “Oh, you’ll love it
here”, she’d promised in a thick Yorkshire accent, “we used to have such
fun. We used the flan cases as Frisbees. Threw ’em around all over the
place. We had such a laugh.” Tony worried she was inferring he wasn’t a
laugh, an accusation often made by Rick, so he made a mental note to
inspect the flan cases for their aerobatic capabilities. He’d only worked
one shift so far, which went quite well. He’d had two shop assistants
with him who were helpful and friendly and didn’t need much
supervising. He’d looked at the flan cases; their plastic wrapping was

rather UFO-like but he decided against throwing any once he’d seen
there were two CCTV cameras in the shop.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Tony had a Saturday night shift at Fogarty’s that ended at ten.

He trudged up Waterfall Way in a miserable mood. It was cold and
damp, although not raining. He puffed out his breath, watching the
clouds of white steam disperse like cigarette smoke. He had on Rick’s
long woollen coat, a welcome hand-me-down that Tony wouldn’t have
been able to afford. He was still trying to convince himself that he didn’t
want to go to the party in Stratford that night. Rick had told him the best
place to meet a boyfriend was at a party, and now he was missing out on
one because he had to work. He reminded himself that he hated crowds
of people and alcohol. And cigarettes and drugs, he added. No, it was
best to just keep going to the gay teen group; it might get better once he
had the courage to talk to Shaun.

When Tony arrived at work he was told by Susan, who he hadn’t

met before, that Jenny had called in sick. Jenny had been very helpful
showing him how to use the till on his first shift there so he was upset
she wouldn’t be working, but was sure he could manage with Susan’s
help. Susan was about the same age as him and seemed pleasant enough.
The shop was busy that night so they both had to work behind the
counter. Tony wasn’t confident using the electronic till so worked behind
the delicatessen counter until Susan went on her break at eight thirty. The
queue for the till was ten people long and was circling around to the cold
meats section. Tony had had only a quick lesson from Jenny about using
the till but assumed he could manage it. He couldn’t. He entered the
prices correctly but then would press a wrong button and lose the
amounts entered. He started adding up prices and change manually on
the butcher’s paper on the counter; his poor arithmetic leading to
mistakes. Customers were starting to lose their patience and made loud,
sarcastic comments about Tony’s competency. Asking a customer if they
wouldn’t mind waiting for a moment, he went to the office to ask Susan
if she would shorten her break to help him out. She was reading a gossip
magazine and drinking a Coke. She greeting his first request with a cold
stare and returned to her magazine.

“Susan, there’s ten people waiting to be served out there, could

you cut short your break and make it up another time?”

“No”.
Annoyed that she wasn’t taking his superior position seriously he

responded: “I really, really would like it if you could help me out Susan”.

“And I would really, really like it if you would fuck off and let

me have my break. I have rights you know”, Susan said calmly, turning
back to her reading. Tony had no idea how to respond to that. He
supposed she did have rights, although his manager hadn’t bothered to
explain those to him on his first day and he had no idea how long
Susan’s break was supposed to be. He thought he had a right not to be
spoken to rudely by a junior but was conscious of the customers outside
so just said, “OK, come back as soon as you can”. He grabbed the
calculator from beside her magazine and went back out. He was relieved
to see several customers had dumped their items on the counter and left.
He took the money from the other customers without bothering to enter
the prices into the till, using the calculator successfully. I’ll reconcile it
all somehow, he thought. Five minutes later Susan came out and started
serving at the deli counter. After serving the customers she came over
and said: “you’ll get into trouble for that”, pointing at the open till.

“I couldn’t work it properly. I was busy”.
“They’ll take it out of your wages if you’ve fucked up”.
“It’ll be fine, Susan.”
“Well I’m off now.” It was only nine o’clock. Surely she was

supposed to be on until ten like him?

“Oh, OK. See you.” He cursed himself for not challenging her.

How could she have finished her break at eight forty-five and leave at
nine? He assumed she knew he was new and was testing him.

After Susan left he decided to close the shop early. He printed a

report of the evening’s taking from the till and then turned the door sign
to ‘closed’. He went to the office to attempt to reconcile how much cash
was in the till compared to what was supposed to be there. There was far
more money in the till than the till’s internal record showed. I have no
idea what to do here, thought Tony, why didn’t I just accept the shop
assistant’s position – I’m hopeless with anything to do with maths. He
heard a loud banging on the door. He ignored it. The banging got louder
and he could see from the CCTV that the customer looked angry.
Sighing, he went to open the door.

“You are supposed to be open. You are open until ten”, the dark-

haired woman barked in a Home Counties accent.

“I’m sorry, we are understaffed. I had to close for security

reasons”.

“You are supposed to be open!” She pushed past him and went

to the deli counter. Just what I need, thought Tony, some stuck-up bitch

who talks to me like her horse. He went behind the counter.

“Give me”, she stopped.
“Yes?”
“I’ve just seen your hands, they’re dirty”.
“I’ll wash them”, Tony did so in the small sink by the slicing

machine. His hands didn’t look dirty to him and he would have worn
disposable gloves while handling the meat.

“Give me six slices of champagne ham”.
Tony enjoyed using the slicer; it was satisfying taking a large leg

of ham and pushing it into the squealing saw. Fortunately the woman
didn’t want anything else so Tony took the money. He’d closed the till so
took the money to the office. No other customers came into the shop so
at ten o’clock exactly he locked the door then bundled up the till’s
takings and put them in the safe. The till didn’t reconcile but he didn’t
care. He hoped they wouldn’t notice the twenty pounds he pocketed in
lieu of wages but decided he would deny it if they did. On the way out of
the office he grabbed a bottle of Black Tower Riesling from the wine
shelf then locked the door behind him for the first and last time. He
decided he would never work in retail again. He knew he could get Barry
to return the keys and tell them he’d quit. And fuck it, he decided, I’m
going to go to that party.

***

Tony was worried that he was wasting his time because the party

in Stratford would be over. He didn’t know who was hosting it and didn’t
want to look foolish knocking at the door only to be faced with outraged
stares and lectures of “Don’t you know what time it is?”

He located the address by looking at the street map of Stratford

in the tube station. He needn’t have worried; the two-story Victorian
terrace was brightly lit, with coloured lights and music pulsing from the
front room. He opened the small gate and walked up the Pebblecrete path
to the black front door. He rang the bell and stood back. The door was
opened by a man who quickly darted back to reclaim his spot at the foot
of the stairs. “Hi”, said Tony to the group of people on the stairs. “Hiya”,
said a tall blonde man who was wearing glasses with large, red circular
frames. The others said nothing but looked at Tony for longer than he felt
comfortable with. He still had the bottle of Black Tower so asked the
blonde man “where can I put this”?

“Ooh, I’m tempted to tell you where to put it dear. But I’m sure

an innocent young thing like you wouldn’t like that”. The blonde man
waved his hands around as he spoke, resting them on his crossed legs
when he’d finished.

“Er, OK”, said Tony.
“Kitchen’s that way”, pointed one of the men who was reclining

on the first few stairs, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette.

“It’s the door ahead of you”, the camp blonde man leaned

forward conspiratorially: “It’s not the door on the right. I repeat not the
door on the right”. He flapped his hands down to emphasise the ‘not’.
Two of the men sitting next to him on the stairs laughed.

Tony gave a toothless smile and quickly walked ahead into the

kitchen. He saw the door on his right as he passed. Just a door to an
under stairs cupboard, he thought, I hope they enjoyed their joke. He
picked up a plastic glass from the white kitchen table that was strewn
with bowls of peanuts, crisps and used red serviettes. He poured himself
a glass of Black Tower and sniffed the pleasant aroma. However, his
mouth puckered as he tasted it; it was too sweet even for Tony’s
uneducated palette. He left the bottle on the table, not caring if anyone
else drank it, and went into the living room to see if there was anyone
there from the teenage group. People were sitting in couples or groups on
the floor, drinking and smoking. Nobody was dancing to the high-energy
music that was coming out of the large black speaker near the window.
There were no lights apart from a set of disco lights that were flashing
blue, red and green. Tony couldn’t see anyone he knew at first sight, he
didn’t want to go around inspecting faces.

He walked through the kitchen and out into the small garden.

Tony counted eight people here; two of whom were setting off rockets,
which they must have saved from Guy Fawkes Night. He normally hated
fireworks; he had too many memories of Rick throwing bangers at him.
But these rockets were small and made more of a loud pop in the sky
than a bang, like their energy had been exhausted by the journey. Is it
even legal to set off fireworks after fireworks night? he wondered. It was
cold standing outside; he rubbed his hands and stamped his feet as he
watched someone put another rocket into a milk bottle and light the fuse.
This shot up, sounding like a loud, tight fart and made a bigger bang.
Tony decided to go back to the group on the stairs to try talking to the
blonde man.

“Hello again”, he said brightly when he got back to the stairs.

“Who are you?” the blonde man replied quizzically, but not

rudely. He was smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. Tony wondered why he
was holding it so strangely; his thumb and forefinger were gripping the
end of the short stub dangerously close to the orange ash.

“I came in about half an hour ago. You told me not to go in the

door on the right?”

“Oh no. Don’t go in the right. I mean the door in the right. Not a

pretty little thing like you.” The man paused to exhale a long stream of
smoke slowly through his rounded lips. Tony pictures his parents
smoking. They didn’t savour their cigarettes as much as this man, he
thought, they exhaled their fags in angry bursts and looked resentful.

“Unless you want to be eaten alive!”
“OK, I’ll ask. What’s through the door?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Yes, I would, that why I’m bloody well asking you, he thought,

adding: “I suppose so”.

“Oh just a bunch of queens getting their saggy arses fucked.

You’re far too pretty and innocent to see the debauchery there.” Tony
resented being called both pretty and innocent. Girls are pretty, he
thought, and I’m nowhere near as innocent as you think.

“Faceache!” Tony never thought he would be so glad to hear

Alex’s strange nickname for him. He was swanning down the stairs,
wearing a sequinned lime-green t-shirt, applying lip-gloss. He stopped
when he saw the blockage of bodies. “Excuse me! Not all of us are
stoned out of our minds, make way!” Nobody moved, so he took a huge
step over the bald head of one man, held onto the bannister and moved
the other leg over. “That’s the only time you’ll get to see between my
legs chrome dome”, he said to the bald man.

“I thought you were working?”
“I came after. I thought the party would be over though”.
“Over? What time do you think parties finish at, nine o’clock so

everyone can have an early night? People are just getting going. Well”,
he looked at the bodies on the stairs, “some people are getting going.
You didn’t have any of that shit did you? It’s really strong”.

“I don’t smoke”.
“You don’t smoke hash?”
“Hash? Of course I don’t!” Tony was outraged; he wasn’t a drug

addict.

“Oh you’re such a sweetie, Faceache. Just say no! Is that milk

you’re drinking?”

“No, it’s wine!”
“I know dear. You’re just too much fun to wind up. Don’t

change will you?” Alex smiled at him. “Come into the living room, I
think Martin and Trevor are there.

“Oh”, Tony’s heart sank at the thought of Trevor and his

nastiness.

“And I saw Shaun earlier. You’ve met him before haven’t you?”

Tony’s abdomen clenched and his heart seemed to bang once then stop.
He’d forgotten that Shaun might be here.

“No, I’ve never spoken to him. I haven’t seen him here”.
“I saw him earlier in the garden with his new boyfriend before I

went to fix my makeup”. Tony’s guts imploded and he clamped his teeth
together. Boyfriend? Of course, he’d have a boyfriend; he’s so
handsome, of course he’d have a bloody boyfriend, you stupid, stupid
idiot.

“I don’t know what he sees in Gordon; he’s a sour bitch. I hope

that one doesn’t last”. It won’t if I have anything to do with it, thought
Tony.

He went to the garden to see if Shaun was there. He wasn’t. He

might be upstairs, he thought, but he didn’t like the idea of climbing over
the stoned people on the stairs to get to the bedrooms. It seemed a
violation of privacy too; you don’t just walk into people’s bedrooms. The
fireworks display was over, only a charred milk bottle and scattering of
blackened matches remained in the centre of the garden. He walked to
the end of the small garden and looked back at the house. Both the
upstairs windows were bright with light, the curtains undrawn. He went
back to the kitchen and saw his bottle of Black Tower was still standing
on the table. He peered in and saw it was still quite full; nobody had
wanted to drink it. He opened the fridge and saw a collection of half-
opened bottles of wine lying down, stuffed wherever they could be
between the fridge’s usual contents. He pulled one out. Soave, he read,
mentally mispronouncing it “Sove”. Nobody was in the kitchen to look,
so he poured himself a large plastic cupful of it. He liked the taste, much
drier and tarter than the foul Black Tower. He finished half the cup then
topped it up with more. The numbing effects of the alcohol emboldened
him to climb through the inanely smiling men on the stairs. One grabbed
his crotch, but only got a handful of denim. Tony ignored him and
quickly climbed to the landing. Four closed doors and one open one lead

from the landing. He assumed the door to the immediate right was the
bathroom because that was where it was in his house. He walked straight
ahead through the only open door. It was somebody’s bedroom. As he
entered a man turned around.

“Oh, I really sorry!” said Tony putting a hand up in apology.
“What for?” The man had dark blonde hair that was swept back

at the top into a wavy parting. Tony could never get his blonde hair to do
that; it was too fine and fluffy to do anything with unless he ran a fistful
of gel through it. Even then it looked unnatural and ready to crack if he
touched it. The man was older than Tony and slightly tubby, but was
broad-shouldered. He was also wearing grey cotton tracksuit bottoms,
which were pulled up too far displaying a pair of very large testicles,
each one falling either side of the seam.

Tony’s eyed quickly darted back to the man’s face. He was

smiling slightly. “I thought it was your bedroom. I thought I was
disturbing you.”

“No, it’s not my room. I’m just poking around”. His voice was

soft, not as deep as Tony thought it should have been.

“Oh, me too. Well, I was looking for someone I knew. But he

might be in one of those other bedrooms. I don’t want to barge in”.

“No, they might be having sex in there.” The man looked

directly at Tony. Tony started shaking slightly and the blood boiled in his
face. Just the word ‘sex’ uttered by the man was turning Tony on and he
was getting an erection. He was terrified by this reaction, by his loss of
control over his body. “Maybe. Ha ha. I’d better leave them to it then”.
He turned to go.

“I’m Stephen”, he said. Tony replied with his name.
“Have you been to the basement?” asked Stephen, more loudly

now that it looked like Tony was about to leave.

“No. I didn’t know there was one”. Tony instantly realised where

the door under the stairs lead.

“I haven’t been either, do you want to go and have a look?”
Tony disliked saying no and appearing rude. “OK”.
Stephen brushed past him, the slight contact freezing Tony’s

breath and warming his groin. Tony followed him down the stairs.
“’Scuse us gents”, Stephen said while putting both hands lower down the
rail for support and jumping over the stoned bodies. Tony laughed and
copied his move: “Clever!” Stephen walked round and opened the white
door that led to the basement. He went in. Tony followed, having to duck

to avoid hitting his head. It was pitch black and cold. Stephen found the
handrail on the right and used it to guide him down the steep wooden
stairs, which creaked theatrically in the silence. Tony followed, his right
hand occasionally reaching for support and finding Stephen’s. “I’m at the
bottom”, whispered Stephen into Tony’s left ear. “I can feel a light
switch on my left. Do you dare me?” “No!” whispered Tony. “Aw!”
replied Stephen. Tony sat down. He knew Stephen’s groin was near his
face and wanted to touch out a reach it. His dick was rock hard but his
shaking body was annoying him. I could just reach out and take those
huge balls in my hand, he though. I could weigh them and rub my face in
them. I can pull his tracksuit bottoms down and put his dick in my
mouth. I can feel his pubic hair in my face and smell his manliness. The
nearness was agony. But he was terrified by the urgency of his own
excitement. Then what would happen? he thought. Even if Stephen let
me do that would we have sex down here, in this cold, dark basement
with God knows how many other people? Hands everywhere, strange
bodies and ugly faces?

He could hear quiet groaning noises and slurping sounds. He told

himself he had no desire to see if the truth matched his imagination. He
knew he was lying to himself, but couldn’t predict the consequence of
being faced with a mass orgy. What if he wanted to join in? He froze at
the prospect of not being in control of himself. He didn’t want to have
sex with strangers, or join some animalistic sea of faceless bodies. The
idea repulsed him. I need to see faces, he realised. I want to look at the
man I’m going to have sex with in the eyes, and see love. What’s the
point of sex without love?

“Do you want to go in?” whispered Stephen into Tony’s right

ear, his breath tickling his lobe. Tony’s cock was emphatically saying
‘yes’. He hoped Stephen wouldn’t try to reach down and touch it because
then he would have had no resistance whatsoever. Tony decided he was
annoyed that Stephen thought he was the sort of person who would have
sex with a stranger in a darkroom.

“No, I’ve got to go”, he whispered. The floorboards creaked

when he turned. Suddenly the light flashed on. “Turn that thing off.
Some of us want our privacy”, called a high-pitched, disembodied voice.
The light clicked off to the sound of Stephen’s poorly suppressed
laughter. Tony didn’t look. He decided Stephen was a dickhead and was
relieved nothing had happened between them.

The music was turned down in the living room and some people

were curled up asleep. The tube had long since stopped running and it
would take two night buses to get back home. Tony lay against a wall
near a couple that were cuddled together in sleep, coats pulled over
themselves for warmth. He felt safe sleeping with his back to a wall,
especially after he curled into a foetal position and covered his body and
head with his heavy woollen coat. He was in a protective cocoon now
and could try to sleep.

He didn’t sleep well; the music and people were distracting. He

was afraid of Stephen trying to molest him and feared his own inability
to fight back or say ‘no’. At eight o’clock he heard chairs scraping in the
kitchen and voices that were no longer hushed so decided it was time to
get up and leave. He walked into the kitchen. Five people were sitting
around the white kitchen table, which had been cleared of its bottles and
detritus.

“Aw right?” It was Shaun. To his left were two short young

women, both of whom had shaved heads except for a tuft at the front. To
his right was a young man with skin the colour of office paper, its
whiteness emphasising his large collection of pus-capped spots. He had
shaved ginger hair and a look of disdain. Next to him was Alex.

“Morning Faceache, did you get up to no good last night?”
“Of course not!” Tony fumed at Alex. You’re making me sound

like a slut in front of Shaun.

He turned to Shaun. “Yeah, I’m all right. Where did you all sleep

last night?”

“In one of the bedrooms upstairs”, said Alex. “All of us boys

snuggled up in one bed. It was like a children’s story! Well, an X rated
one!”

“No it fuckin’ well wasn’t”, said Shaun.
“I don’t think you’ve done anything X-rated for a while Alex”,

said the ginger one unsmilingly.

“And how would you know, Ginger Nuts?” Alex smiled

charmingly as he said this. Gordon’s face remained impassively sour.

“Shut the fuck up you two. I wanna get ’ome.”
Tony walked with the group of five to Stratford tube station.

Alex hadn’t introduced him to any of them properly. Shaun still didn’t
know his name, well not his real name anyway. Everyone in the group
changed at Holborn to get onto the northbound Piccadilly line. Shaun
chatted loudly to the two women during the journey. None of them
seemed to care who heard what they said. Tony was startled when one of

the women shrieked, in a piercing voice, “L l l l lesbians!” He tried to
laugh along with the others on seeing the looks of disdain or indifference
from their fellow tube passengers, but was horrified and extremely glad
when the women got off at Finsbury Park. Alex got off at Turnpike Lane,
the ginger man at Wood Green. That left only him and Shaun.

Shaun came over to sit with him. “So where do you live then?”
“Southgate. But I get off at Arnos Grove”.
“You like in Southgate! I live in Arnos Grove! Oh my god. I

didn’t know you lived in Southgate.” Well, no you wouldn’t, thought
Tony acidly, because you haven’t talked to me.

“What’s your name anyway?”
“Tony”.
“Shaun”. Yes, I know, thought Tony. He was annoyed that

Shaun hadn’t thought to find out his name.

“Why does Alex call you Faceache?”
“I have no idea”. He was glad Shaun had at least heard this. He

liked having a nickname; it made him feel popular, even if Alex was the
only one who used it and he didn’t know what it meant.

“He’s such a queen, Alex. So where in Southgate do you live?
“Monks Road”.
“In that police estate?”
“Why does everyone know it’s a police estate?” laughed Tony,

looking Shaun in the eyes.

“I dunno, everyone does. I can’t believe you live in Southgate”.

Yes, Shaun, I live in Southgate; Tony was wondering about Shaun’s
intelligence.

“Where do you live?”
“Grove Road”. Tony knew it, it was in the opposite direction to

the way he walked home from the tube station. But it led down to
Waterfall Way and skirted the western part of Arnos Park. He mentally
calculated the route to his place from there. Not much of a detour.

“You should come round sometime. I can’t believe you live in

Southgate”. Tony forgave Shaun his repetition after this wonderful news.

“Yes”. Then he heart sank. Did that mean Shaun expected to

come round to his place? That was not going to happen.

They got off the tube together at Arnos Grove. Tony hoped

Shaun wouldn’t express his amazement at Tony living in Southgate
again. It’s a fact, now let’s get on with having sex with each other. He
shocked himself with this unexpected thought. He was getting ahead of

himself.

“Well I go this way”, said Shaun pointing to the exit to the car

park past the wooden telephone booths.

“I go that way too”, lied Tony.
“Oh my God! I can’t belie…”
“So let’s go!” Tony cut him off and started marching towards the

car park. Shaun caught him up quickly and they walked up to Grove
Road. Shaun turned right into it. “I’m only a few doors down”. It was ten
doors down; Tony was counting. Shaun stopped at a large white semi-
detached house. It had been extended over the garage. “That’s my room”,
said Shaun pointing to the extension. “I might be able to see your place
from there!”

“Maybe!” Oh, I hope so, thought Tony.
“Well, I’d better go.”
“OK”.
“You really should come around sometime”.
“OK”. Tony was worried that Shaun hadn’t given him his

telephone number or arranged a date. He didn’t want to ask, fearing
rejection.

“My dad’ll be really ’appy I’ve finally got some friends who

speak proper”. Tony had always been aware he spoke more ‘poshly’ than
most of the people in the area and at school. It wasn’t his choice; his
mum would correct him if he ever started sounding like a North
Londoner. “Knackered?” she’d once said, “I’ve never heard of the word,
you mean shattered, surely?” Subtle put-downs and reinforcements from
his regal great-aunts made sure Tony always spoke nicely.

“Aw right, see ya”, waved Shaun, opening the glazed white door

at the entrance porch. Tony noticed the Saab parked in front of the
garage. His dad hadn’t had a car since the early 80s; something about
them ‘being more trouble than they’re worth’. He only really missed it
when they went to London’s tiniest Sainsbury’s in Southgate. Tony was
embarrassed that they walked home trailing tartan-covered shopping
trolleys behind them.

He walked off, entering Arnos Park further down Grove Road

and walking through it to Waterfall Way and on to home. He rushed
upstairs and pondered the events of the previous twenty-four hours. How
was he going to become Shaun’s friend? He hadn’t had a proper friend
since Andrew; that was almost five years ago. And what the hell did
Shaun see in that miserable, pasty gingernut?

CHAPTER NINE

Tony had forgotten to ask Shaun whether he was going to the

gay teen group that afternoon after the party. He went anyway. Shaun
wasn’t there; fortunately neither was Gordon. I suppose they go
everywhere together, he thought jealously. Alex was there as usual so he
tried to interrogate him about Shaun. He wasn’t subtle.

“Fancy him do you? Well join the queue”.
“No!” lied Tony. “He lives near me, I’m just interested.”
Apparently Shaun worked at his father’s restaurant as a chef or a

waiter, Alex wasn’t sure which. He’d been going to the group for about a
year and Alex remembered how scared he’d been when he’d first arrived.
“She was just a little bundle of aggression. Took a while to calm her
down and bring out the gay.” Tony hated it when Alex referred to men as
‘she’ and ‘her’. He liked the idea of Shaun being straight acting and
aggressive. He had noticed Shaun was occasionally camp when he was
talking to Alex and Gordon on the tube. It was over the top and theatrical
but Tony didn’t like it at all. He hoped he would never talk like that.

Martin came over to talk. “Do you want to come to a meeting of

the Socialist Workers’ Party on Tuesday night? We’re going to discuss
how to destroy Clause 28.”

“Er, OK”. Tony got a pen from Alex and wrote the address down

on the back of his tube ticket. It was in Edmonton. He’d felt
uncomfortable the few times he’d been to Edmonton; he thought it was a
grey, scary place, full of high-rise council towers and graffitied shop
shutters. But he was pleased Martin had asked him to go. He wondered
whether he found Martin attractive, but decided he was too thin and pale.
His face wasn’t cute and quick to smile like Shaun’s, but long, oval and
serious. And his shoulders definitely weren’t broad. Trevor was staring
intently at them with his lips slightly pursed; his usual look of pre-
emptive aggression whenever Tony talked to Martin. “Will Trevor be
there?” Tony asked casually.

“No, he hates politics”.
“Oh”, Tony was relieved. He wondered whether to say ‘that’s a

shame’ but decided Martin would know he was lying.

“Do you think Shaun will be at the Black Cap?” he turned back

to Alex, who was sitting cross-legged on his favourite desk.

“Didn’t he tell you? I thought you lived close together”. Alex

was enjoying his sarcasm. Tony said nothing.

“Why don’t you come along tonight and see?” Tony agreed.

Tonight he was obviously the night he was destined to go to the Cap.

Alex normally walked the twenty minutes to Camden Town to

save money. Tony joined him, relieved he didn’t have to get the bus with
the louder teens. They stopped at the Burger King opposite the Cap to
buy spicy beanburgers. Sitting and eating under the stark fluorescent
light, Tony saw himself in the mirror opposite his seat. I’m pale and thin,
he despaired. My hair isn’t blonde enough and my eyes aren’t blue
enough. Why can’t I have broad shoulders and a powerful chest? How
could anybody find me attractive? At least my acne has cleared up after
that third course of Roaccutane, he conceded.

“The mirror will crack, Faceache”. He’d stared too long.
“I know”.
Nobody had screamed ‘poofter’ at him when they crossed the

road and entered the pub, despite the bus shelter outside being crammed
with people hiding from a sudden rain shower. Running from the rain
had allowed him to rush straight into the pub without having second
thoughts. It was surprisingly normal inside, although darker than most
pubs Tony had been in with his parents. The wooden backs of a length of
typical, padded pub seats formed a corridor from the front door. These
continued round under the large, blackened front window. Tony
wondered how many times bricks had been thrown through it. He made a
mental note not to sit near it. Tony and Alex followed the corridor
towards the bar in the far right of the small room. He scanned the pub
and immediately saw the group of gay teens who’d arrived earlier by
bus. Shaun was there.

“What are you smiling about?” Alex followed his gaze then

smiled and gave Tony an annoyingly knowing look. “And his
boyfriend’s there too!” he added, holding his right hand to mouth in
mock shock. Gordon was next to Shaun, his back firmly resting on the
padded seat back while Shaun and the others were sitting forward
talking. Still that sour look on his face, thought Tony. Does he ever
smile?

Tony wondered whether he should offer to buy Alex a drink. He

still had most of the twenty pounds he’d taken from Fogarty’s the
previous night but knew that had to last.

“I’m just off to powder my nose”. Alex spared Tony from his

dilemma. He quickly ordered a half pint of Woodpecker, a cider he’d
seen on TV. He took that glass and wondered whether he should wait for

Alex to come back or go and join the others. Martin wasn’t there, so he
couldn’t use him as an excuse to join the group. Did he really know
Shaun well enough to just go up and say hi? What if they refused to let
him sit with them and he had to find a seat alone?

Before Tony had to make a decision, Alex came back. “Well

let’s go and say hello to the others”, he said. He didn’t buy himself a
drink or mention Tony’s. Alex led the way and sat himself down
elegantly in a free seat next to Gordon. “Hi ginger nuts!” he said
brightly, his smile exaggerated. Gordon looked at Alex and said “hello”
disdainfully; his back still stuck to the seat. Alex patted the seat next to
him “sit down Faceache or you’ll give some of the old queens a heart
attack”. He did as he was told.

“Faceache?” Gordon leaned forward in his seat, giving a

downward turn of the lips. “How well named”.

“Shut up Gordon. That’s really rude”. Tony was amazed to see

Shaun speak sharply to his boyfriend. Gordon put up two hands; “I didn’t
name him that”, he said lightly.

“No you didn’t”, said Alex “I do the naming around here, Ginger

Nuts”. Gordon pursed his lips slightly. Alex smiled at Tony.

“Did you go to the group?” said Shaun to Tony.
“Yeah. You couldn’t make it?”
“God no! I was so ’ung-over I spent the day in bed. But I thought

I’d come out for an ’air of the dog. Cheers”. He lifted his pint of lager to
Tony.

“Cheers”, Tony sipped his cider.
“Blech! Sweet.” Tony made an exaggerated face of disgust.
“What is it? Cider?”
“Woodpecker”.
“Woodpecker! That’s for girls, you big poof! Nothing beats

Kronenbourg. Ah!” Shaun took a huge gulp.

“Come on, I’ll get you a proper drink”, Shaun said, drinking the

rest of his pint in two large gulps.

“Buy him a Babycham”; Gordon gave a tight smile.
“Shut up Gordon. Kronenbourg”. Shaun went to the bar and

came back with three pints held together in his two hands and a packet of
crisps in his mouth.

“Get that into you”, he said to Tony. Tony took a gulp. The lager

was incredibly bitter but he stopped his pace puckering. “It’s good”, he
lied. He looked at his unfinished Woodpecker wondering whether he

could mix it into the lager when Shaun wasn’t looking.

“Beef and mustard”, said Shaun, ripping the packet of crisps

down its middle seam to open the bag up. “Best flavour ever”. He took a
handful and stuffed them in his mouth. He chomped the crisps happily;
his cheeks cute and chubby like a hamster’s.

“I ’aven’t seen you ’ere before”, Shaun’s mouth wasn’t quite

empty when he spoke. Tony hated it when people spoke with food in
their mouths.

“No, it’s my first time”.
“Fresh meat!” said Shaun gleefully, “the old queens will love

you”. Tony glanced around the pub where people were now standing, the
seats long taken. His group had the youngest members there. There was
nobody he fancied at all. Scared he might catch someone’s eyes he
concentrated on Shaun.

“It does seem a bit old here”.
“There’s a much younger crowd out the back when the shows

are on”.

“When are they on?”
“Every night.”
“I mean, what time?” Tony wondered whether anything was

happening through the black door at the end of the corridor.

“’Bout eleven or later”. Eleven? That was late, thought Tony.

The tube might have stopped running by the time the show was over. He
didn’t know how to use night buses and didn’t like buses anyway. He felt
safer on the tube.

“Is there one on tonight”.
“Oh yeah, of course. It’s Adrella tonight I think. You want one?”

Shaun lit up a Lambert and Butler.

“No!” exclaimed Tony. Damn, another strike against you, Shaun.
“Gordon hates it too”. Tony didn’t want to be compared to

Gordon.

“I don’t care if people smoke. I just prefer not to”.
“I only smoke when I drink”.
“Well, that’s OK then, isn’t it?”
“And a few during the day. They relax me”.
“Yeah”. Well, you’ve certainly given him your opinion, Tony

told himself. “What do you do?” Shaun rolled his eyes.

“I work for me dad at ’is restaurant in Pimlico”. His dad owned a

restaurant in Pimlico? Did that mean Shaun’s dad was rich? Tony was

impressed by money.

“Wow. Your dad owns a restaurant?”
“And a wine bar in the City”.
“Wow again.” If Tony hadn’t fancied Shaun so much already,

this would have sealed the deal. Cute, sexy, masculine, and his dad’s got
money. I can forgive everything else, he thought magnanimously.

“And what do you do?” said Gordon, sitting forward in his seat

and looking at Tony.

“Oh, I’m not working at the moment”.
“On the dole?” Why was Gordon such a bitch? He decided not to

mention he’d recently walked out of his job at Fogarty’s.

“No! I’ve just left college because my mum was sick and I’m

looking for work”. He hoped having a sick mother would shut Gordon
up. It did. Gordon raised his eyebrows slightly and turned to Shaun.

“We’re not staying out late tonight are we? We have work in the

morning”.

“I don’t start till eleven!” Shaun exclaimed loudly. “We’ve got

to show Tony the back bar”. He emphasised ‘back bar’ and said “OoOo”
as if he were a ghost. Shaun laughed and smiled at Tony, his thick brown
eyebrows meeting at the crinkle above his nose.

“You make it sound scary”, said Tony.
“Na. Tragic more than scary.” There was that word ‘tragic’

again; why was everyone using it?

“Well, I want to go home”, declared Gordon. “And you’ll come

if you want a lift.” He looked intently at Shaun.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Shaun gave Tony an apologetic look. “Aw

right then” he said Gordon, sighing loudly. Fuck you Gordon, thought
Tony. He didn’t feel like apologising to himself for swearing.

“Do you wanna come ’ere on Tuesday night?” Shaun said as he

put on his navy blue padded jacket.

“OK.” Tony didn’t ask why.
“It’s Regina Fong. She’s brilliant! Gordon won’t be here will

you?” Shaun gave Gordon an exaggeratedly quizzical look. “No”, came
the cold response.

“See you here at nine, OK?” Nine? thought Tony. What the hell

am I going to tell my parents? I never go out that late.

“Yeah. Great. See you then”.
Tony remembered he’d promised Martin he would go to the

Socialist Workers’ Meeting in Edmonton that Tuesday night. He looked

around, but Martin hadn’t come to the Cap. He felt bad about standing
Martin up, but there was no way he was going to miss his date with
Shaun. He quickly left without saying goodbye to anyone.

CHAPTER TEN

Her Imperial Highness Regina Fong had been an institution at

the Black Cap since 1985. Tony was surprised Shaun had seen her show
only once before.

“Well, Misery Guts won’t come out on a work night”, he

explained. Tony wondered why Shaun was going out with Gordon when
he kept referring to him so negatively. Maybe they’ll split up soon, he
hoped.

Now they had a safe spot by the wall, Tony felt able to relax at

the back bar of the Cap. He wasn’t used to crowds and he was amazed
how many people were out on a Tuesday night. Didn’t anybody work?
Or are they all unemployed like me? he asked himself acidly. The back
bar was twice as long as the front part, with the same serving counter
running through the wall. It had cost a pound to get in, but Tony had
softened the blow by buying the first drink. Shaun had already drunk two
pints of Kronenbourg in the front bar; Tony had only managed two
halves and was feeling queasy.

“What ya ’aving?” Shaun had asked.
“Whatever you’re having”. Tony hoped it wasn’t lager, but he

didn’t want to be accused of being a girl again. The Snakebite was a nice
surprise; maybe Shaun got sick of drinking too much lager as well?

At ten past eleven the dance music stopped and an expectant

murmur rustled through the audience. A jazzy trumpeting filled the
room: “Wa wah wa wah. Wa wah wa wah. Wah wah wa wa wah wa wa
wah wah”.

“’Ere we go”, shouted Shawn.
The trumpeting became the ever-recurring leitmotif of the show.

The curtains opened and a tall drag queen appeared wearing a shiny
green ballgown and a flame-red wig that extended far out from each side
of her head like the scrolls of an Ionic column.

To Tony’s dismay, audience participation was central to the

show. “You didn’t tell me this!” he shouted as Shaun happily joined in
with the hand movements to ‘The Typewriter Song’, slamming the
imaginary carriage return of an old manual machine and poking a bell in
time with the cheery jingle. Tony hated looking foolish in public.

“It’s fun! Stop being a misery guts”. Tony felt he was being

compared to Gordon. He took a large gulp of Snakebite and vowed to
join in on the next song.

“Do you like clog dancing?” shouted Regina to the audience.
“YES!”
“Clog dancing please, NOW!” The whole audience stamped

their feet quickly, sounding like a cartoon elephant running away from an
unseen mouse.

“That wasn’t very good. I want to hear this side”, she pointed to

the wall where Tony and Shaun were standing. “Clog dancing
commence NOW!” Tony stamped his trainers as fast as he could on the
floor along with his side of the audience.

“Ooh. This side”, Regina snapped her red fan at the other side of

the room, “clog dancing commence NOW!” The stamping continued.

“You’re all hopeless!” A familiar jaunty jingle started up about a

mouse living in a windmill in Amsterdam: “I saw a mouse” exclaimed
Regina.

“Where?” screamed the audience. It was on the stair apparently.
Tony stamped his feet with the audience, enjoying being part of

the action. He smiled his toothiest smile at Shaun.

“Skippy!” screamed Shaun at the stage after the second round of

stamping.

“It’s Skippy the butch kangaroo, not bush kangaroo.” Shaun

advised Tony when Regina had deigned to do this skit. “And you jump
like this”, he held his fists up to his chest, squatted and jumped left then
right. Tony shook his head in mock disbelief. The banjo from the
children’s TV show started plucking.

“And dance!” Tony followed Shaun’s jumping, laughing with

embarrassment. But the whole audience was jumping from side to side to
the banjo music so he decided he might as well enjoy it. He grabbed his
Snakebite and took a gulp.

“Scull!” cried Shaun.
“What?”
“Scull? For God’s sake, ’aven’t you ’eard of sculling? It means

‘drink it quickly’.” Tony finished the rest of the pint in three long gulps.
He narrowed his eyes and puckered his face. “Done!”

“Wanna ’nother?”
“No!”
“I’ll get ’em”. Shaun fought his way through the crowd who

were screaming scripted insults during a Barbarella parody.

Tony really didn’t want another drink. He was feeling light-

headed, like he would faint unless he shook his head to remind himself

he was awake. The bitterness of the lager and Snakebite made his mouth
feel chalky. Shaun returned with two more pints, his job easier as the
crowd was flowing in the direction of the bar during a break in the show.

“’Ere you go”.
“I don’t feel well”. Shaun cackled: “Strong aren’t they?”
Tony wondered why it was a joke. He wasn’t well; he wanted

sympathy not laughter.

Shaun lit up a cigarette. “Want a fag? Oh no, you don’t smoke”.
“Yeah, I will have one”. What the hell, it might wake him up. He

lit it up, the rational part of his brain demanding to know what on earth
he was doing. He hadn’t had a cigarette since he was eleven, when he
and Rick used to pretend they were buying them for Hazel. He’d never
inhaled and wondered why anybody would suck on such foul-tasting
things. Rick had certainly inhaled and had continued smoking regularly.
Tony inhaled the Lambert & Buter. A ball of smoke caught the back of
his throat and he gagged. He spluttered and retched.

“You’ll ’ave to overcome your gag reflex if you’re gonna suck

cock”, said Shaun smiling wickedly. “Shaun!” Tony still wasn’t sure if
he liked Shaun’s off-colour comments. He took another puff and drew
down, hoping the smoke would somehow bypass his throat. It wasn’t so
bad the second time. He exhaled quickly and took a large swig of
Snakebite to remove the foul taste. He could feel his heart beating more
quickly and he started to feel more alert. I feel more adult, he thought.

At the end of the show the audience danced along to ‘Tell Me

What He Said’, a sixties’ hit that was on one of Hazel’s Helen Shapiro
LPs. Shaun turned and placed his arm on the back of the man to his left.
Tony emulated; his face on Shaun’s hunched back. He happily rested his
face there, inhaling deeply to smell his aftershave, while listening to
Helen mourning over a lost love. This is the closest I’ve ever been to
another man, he thought. Shawn stood up, knocking Tony off. “Turn
round!” he said, pointing to the fat shaven-headed man to Tony’s right.
He made sure he rested his arm on the other man’s back only lightly as
Helen sung the next line. He felt the warmth of Shaun on his back.

The fat man stood up; Tony quickly turned and grabbed hold of

Shaun’s chest and held it tightly, his face on his right shoulder blade. He
wondered what Shaun would think of the too-close hold as Helen’s
lament continued. Back to the fat man. Tony knew to stand up now and
turned back to Shaun who stayed standing, shaking his hands in the air to
the upbeat drums that heralded the change in tempo. He tried copying the

moves of the people in front, finally accepting that he looked like an
idiot, and didn’t care.

The night bus took them as far as Palmers Green. It was a twenty

minute walk to Arnos Grove from there, but Tony was buzzing from the
movement, alcohol and further cigarettes he’d smoked. They’d chatted
away on the walk about the show and soon got to Shaun’s place.

“Well, this is me.”
“Yes”.
“I’m going to hell of an ’angover tomorrow.”
“Me too”. Tony had never had a hangover.
“So I’ll see you on Sunday?”
“Yup.”
Tony walked home, avoiding the park. It was two in the morning

and his house was dark. The high of the evening had dissipated during
the cold walk back alone from Shaun’s place. He walked up the stairs,
each step seeming more difficult. He undressed and got into bed where
he shivered under his duvet now that central heating had switched off.
The change to a horizontal position made his head start spinning
unpleasantly. He tasted the bitterness of the drinks and the cigarettes in
his mouth. The bloated feeling in his belly was uncomfortable. He
shifted to his right side and the movement causing him to throw up
uncontrollably on the carpet next to the bed.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Tony cursed Shaun’s bad influence over him. Why did he make

Tony drink those Snakebites and smoke those cigarettes? He promised
himself he wouldn’t drink again and would definitely not smoke any
more cigarettes. He saw Shaun again at the teen group the following
Sunday.

“God, I was sick last Wednesday!” he told Shaun.
“You’re a light-weight! Although I felt rough too actually”,

Shaun conceded. “I felt like throwing up when I went into the kitchen at
work and smelt steaks frying. I couldn’t drink all week.” Tony was glad
Shaun had suffered too, it made him feel better about being a ‘light-
weight’. Tony noticed Gordon wasn’t at the group. He was glad, but felt
he should ask how he was.

“Don’t know, don’t care”, came the surprising response. “I

dumped ’im yesterday”.

“Dumped him!” Tony hoped he didn’t sound too pleased. “Oh,

that’s really awful. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, and I mean I really dumped ’im”. Shaun smiled. “I

thought we’d go for a nice ’ealthy walk in the Mole Valley, seeing as
though Gordon’s got a car, but ’e was just moan, moan, moan the ’ole
time”.

“Nothing new there”, Tony wondered whether it was safe to

insult Gordon so soon.

“And it ’ad been raining so bits of the path were muddy so he’s

moan, moan, moan, I don’t wanna get my suede shoes wet. So why did
’e wear bloody suede shoes when ’e knew we were going for a walk?”
Tony shook his head seriously, but said nothing, not wanting to distract
Shaun from this glorious news.

“So we get to this tiny, muddy bit and he just says ‘I’m going

back to the car, I don’t like all this mud’. So I said I’d carry him over it.
Sounded romantic at the time I suppose, what was I fucking thinking?”
Tony hoped this was rhetorical. Hurry up with it.

“So I did a fireman’s lift and flung ’im over me shoulder. Almost

killed me but I walked on and ’is bloody dead weight made me splash
this puddle which goes all over ’is bloody shoes.”

Tony tutted and shook his head. “Oh dear”, he hoped he’d got

the concerned tone right.

“So he was like ‘put me down Shaun’, so I did. And ’e slipped

right in the puddle. And d’you know what?” Tony obviously didn’t.

“’E started crying. He just sat in the bloody puddle crying like a

big girl. ‘You’re so horrible to me Shaun. You hate me. Why are you so
nasty to me?’” Shaun went silent and looked amazed. “So I said,
‘because you’re such a moany, miserable git and I’m sick of you and
we’re finished’. So I just left ’im there crying and walked to the train
station and went ’ome.”

“Oh, that’s so awful for you Shaun. Has he called you?” Has he

come crawling back asking to be forgiven and you’ve relented and taken
him back?

“Oh yeah! But I told ’im it’s over and I didn’t wanna see ’im ’ere

today.” Tony thought that was rather harsh, but was glad he didn’t have
to deal with Gordon.

“It’s probably for the best”. That’s what you’re supposed to say,

isn’t it? thought Tony.

“Yeah. God I’ll miss his car though”.
“Is that all you saw in him! Sorry, that sounded wrong. I’m sure

you loved him very much.”

“Not really”.
“Well, then why were you going out with him?” Tony hoped he

could be more direct with Shaun. After all, they’d got drunk together,
didn’t that make them friends now?

“’E was the only man in this group ’oo didn’t act like a girl! I

was desperate for a shag.” Tony looked around to see who’d heard
Shaun’s comments. The few who were inside didn’t seem to be listening.

“I’m sick of all the girly queens here”. Shaun continued.
“Hmm”. Tony didn’t want to speak too loudly. “There are other

groups to go to. We could go along to one”.

“Na. You can ’ave a laugh with people ’ere”. Now you’re not

making sense at all, thought Tony. But that’s OK, I don’t want you
meeting anyone else.

“Coming to the Cap tonight?” said Shaun. Tony thought of his

first hangover, but last Wednesday seemed a long time ago. “Of course”.

“Maybe I’ll get a shag”.
“Yeah”. Not if I can bloody well help it.
Tony saw Martin coming over. Shit, he thought. I forgot to go to

his meeting. “Hi Martin.”

“Hi. You weren’t at the meeting last Tuesday”.
“No, sorry. I really wasn’t well”. Shaun laughed. Tony glared at

him.

“How about this Tuesday then? We need all the help we can get.

We’re going to march on Parliament. Can I count on your support?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll be there this Tuesday night.”
“OK. I’ll meet you outside at six, OK? Shaun?”
“Sorry Martin, I’m working. Best of luck though. Gay power!”

Shaun raised a fist. Tony wondered whether he was joking. Martin went
back outside to join the smokers on the picnic table.

“I wish I’d said I was working.”
“Why? Don’t you wanna ’elp get rid of Thatcher?” Tony was

shocked by Shaun’s aggressive tone. He thought everything was a joke to
him.

“Yeah, of course. I’m going aren’t I?”
Shaun wanted to get the bus to the Cap. Tony had agreed

because he felt protected when he was with Shaun. Shaun didn’t seem
gay at all, unless he was putting on his camp act with the other teens.
When the bus arrived Tony walked to the back of the bus and was
annoyed when Shaun didn’t sit next to him. Shaun sat in the seat to the
front of him and turned round so he could talk to Tony and the others,
who had crammed into the back seats. He started a conversation with
Frankie, one of the shaven-headed lesbians who had been on the tube
heading home from the party in Stratford. She talked loudly to Shaun
about her recent split-up from her girlfriend. Both she and Shaun loudly
compared their break-ups and their troubles with sex, while Tony felt
more and more angry and uncomfortable. He slid down lower in his seat,
hoping it looked like he was trying to relax. But he was wishing he could
disappear. Why couldn’t they shut up about this sort of stuff when they
were in public? Why did they have to draw attention to themselves? Do
they want to get beaten up? Do they want to get me beaten up? Tony felt
a mounting fury at Shaun. He wasn’t the man Tony thought he should be.

Safely inside the Black Cap, Tony relaxed. Shaun was still

talking to Frankie, but their conversation about their sex lives sounded
amusing now. Tony was worried Shaun would spend all evening talking
to Frankie. The stab of jealousy hurt his stomach. He offered to buy
Shaun a lager and took both pints to a corner table near the blackened
window. Fortunately Frankie had found someone else to talk to and
Shaun started looking around the bar. He spotted Tony and came over.

“I can’t believe Frankie and Dervla split up after Dervla had ’er

baby.” Tony didn’t follow. “Uh?”

Shaun gave his endearing cackle. “Turkey baster. Some queen

they knew came in a yoghurt pot and she stuffed it up ’erself. I ’aven’t
been able to eat yoghurt since”. Tony was appalled. The poor child. How
could they split up when they had a baby to look after? They were
making a mockery of motherhood and confirming straight people’s
views on how unstable gay relationships were. He didn’t dare say
anything to Shaun, so changed the subject to men. There was nobody
Shaun fancied in the front bar. “There never is”, he complained. Thanks
Shaun, thought Tony, I take it that means you don’t fancy me?

“So what is your type then, Shaun?”
“Men! Real, ’ard, ’orny men. Builders, brickies, soldiers”, Shaun

looked very serious. “Not these queens”, he jolted his head dismissively
towards the bar. So am I included in that? thought Tony.

“So, am I a queen?”
“No of course not!”
“But I’m not a builder, brickie or soldier?” Tony knew the

answer to that, why was he bothering to ask?

“Well, no.” Shaun looked cute with his brow furrowed, trying to

find a polite answer. “You’re more…”

“More?”
“More pretty”.
“Pretty? You don’t call men pretty Shaun. You call women

pretty.”

“I don’t mean it like that. I just mean, you’re young and you’re

really good-looking and you’re blonde.” Shaun looked embarrassed.

“I’m not pretty”. Shaun thinks I’m good-looking!
“Ok, ok, you’re not pretty! You’re ’andsome.”
“That’s better I suppose”. He thinks I’m handsome! But no

mention of me being masculine, thought Tony.

“In a young and pretty sort of way!”
“You bastard!” Shaun cackled loudly at Tony’s insult. Every

time he laughed he looked so endearing, with his bushy eyebrows
meeting and his cheeks bulging. Maybe you’ll learn to fancy me, Tony
thought.

“But I’m never gonna meet ’em ’ere”, Shaun continued.
“Then where?”
Shaun lowered his voice and brought his face closer to Tony’s.

“Cottages”. Tony raised his eyebrows and left them raised until Shaun
explained: “Public toilets!”

“Shaun! That’s so dangerous!” Tony hissed, as he thought of his

father’s eyes peeking through the ceilings of various public toilets.

“I know!” Shaun lowered his voice again, and looked intently at

Tony. “There’s this one on Friern Barnet Road near the mental ’ospital.
It gets the ’orniest men there. Really sexy straight blokes.” Tony tried not
to appear shocked. There was a library further up Friern Barnet Road that
he regularly visited. He’d probably walked past those toilets many times.
Men had sex in there? He wasn’t sure if he was excited at the prospect of
gay sex happening within walking distance of home, or disgusted.

“How many times have you been there?”
Shaun looked embarrassed again. “’Eaps!”
“Even when you were going out with Gordon?”
“’E was a rotten shag!” Shaun looked defensive. “I would’ve

dumped ’im months ago if my needs weren’t being met elsewhere”. He
emphasised ‘needs’ for a couple of seconds. So, thought Tony bitterly,
you’ll have sex with men in public toilets and cheat on your boyfriend
but you won’t have sex with me because you think I’m pretty?

“Ah, well. You can go as much as you want now with a clear

conscience.” Shaun gave Tony a big wink. “I know.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

On Tuesday night, Tony took the bus from Arnos Grove to

Edmonton. He looked out of the window as the neat semi-detached
houses that stood along the North Circular Road gave way to the tunnels
and concrete estates that signalled the approach to his Edmonton stop.
He’d looked up the address in the A to Z and, as he’d suspected, it was
one of the council estates. He was terrified of walking around Edmonton
in the dark, but when he found the address, it wasn’t as grim as he’d
feared. It was well lit and the bright amber street lights showed the
towers were covered with beige pebbledash rather than cement slabs. It
wasn’t the concrete wasteland he’d feared; the towers were surrounded
by carefully mown grass. There was no signposting. Martin had written
‘Bevan Tower’ on the address, but Tony wasn’t sure which of the four
towers that was. He walked around, worrying he’d be late and annoy
Martin again. It was almost six. He saw Martin standing outside the
entrance to the third tower and ran towards him, making a show of his
hurry. “Gosh, it took me ages to find this place!” he panted.

“Well, you’re here now”. Martin smiled at Tony. “They never

start at six anyway. It’s through here.” He punched a code into the door
and opened it widely, holding it for Tony to pass through. Martin walked
past the lifts, continuing to the right where he walked down a long
corridor and through another aluminium-framed door into a small room.
There were six people there.

“This is Tony”, said Martin.
“’Ello Comrade”, said a tall man with long, greasy black hair

who was standing in front of two grey-topped desks. He made no move
to shake Tony’s hand. Comrade? thought Tony uncomfortably. I didn’t
think this was the Communist party.

“Hello”, he tried to deepen his voice and hoped he didn’t sound

too well-spoken. He wondered whether he should drop his aitches.

“Tony’s from the gay teen group in Holloway”, said Martin.

Tony’s stomach clenched when Martin spoke. Why did he have to say
that? Couldn’t he just say I’m a friend?

“Right on.” A large woman who was sitting down at the table

spoke. “No Clause 28, yeah?”

“Yeah!” replied Tony. He wondered whether to say ‘right on’

but decided he wouldn’t say it correctly. He’d probably pronounce the ‘t’
properly and make it sound like he was saying “Write On!” to an

enthusiastic creative writing student. He didn’t know what else to say, so
just stood, looking around the room studying the placards that were
leaning against the bile-green walls. ‘Troops Out of Ireland” said one.
Well, if the Irish stop killing each other and bombing our cities then
maybe the troops can leave, he thought. I don’t think that’s the right
opinion though, he corrected himself.

The meeting started. Apparently it was a committee meeting.

Tony had no idea how a committee meeting was different to an ordinary
meeting. He decided not to ask. Martin got up to address the meeting and
spoke about the proposed Clause 28 amendment.

“This is a government whose sole aim is to destroy all working

people and minorities. It wants to destroy women, ethnic minorities, the
differently abled and sexual minorities.” Tony looked around the table.
The others were nodding furiously and looking intently at Martin. Tony
thought it best to copy them.

“They have their fascist supporters in the media who will only

print what the Tory liars tell them to. They have their police force that
they are training to act as their military wing. They are working together
to subjugate anyone who dares to have a different opinion. We are
heading for one-party state, if we’re not there already.” Everyone nodded
enthusiastically. Martin’s passion had turned his pallid white face a
healthier pink. He’s looking quite attractive, though Tony. And his
passion is very manly.

“The ballot box has failed. How can we call ourselves a

democratic society when people are fed lies everyday? They vote the
way the Sun and the Daily Mail tell them to. Only those of us who know
the truth can be trusted to vote. Only a violent uprising by the proletariat
can bring down this government and only then will the people finally be
told the truth”. Tony stopped nodding. Violent action? Exactly what
violent action? The others were sitting upright.

“Right on”. The large lady punched the air. Tony glanced at the

“Troops Out of Ireland” poster again. Isn’t this party against violence?

It was agreed a subcommittee would be formed to investigate the

violent overthrow of the government. It would meet on Wednesday
nights and Carol, the large woman, would provide vegan snacks.

The meeting moved on to discuss its declining membership. It

was agreed the Council would have to make the meeting room available
rent-free indefinitely.

The meeting closed punctually at seven. Tony was relieved.

Nobody had asked him his opinion so he hadn’t said anything wrong. He
thought his nodding had been convincing.

“Thanks for coming”. Martin was actually smiling.
“It was good. You spoke really well”.
“Thanks. Do you want to come for a drink?”
“Oh, I’m not sure.” Tony had hoped his obligation to Martin had

finished. He couldn’t risk being around those people once he had a pint
inside him. He knew he would say something wrong.

“I’m only upstairs”, said Martin casually.
“You live here?” Tony wondered why he was surprised. Of

course he must live here, that was the purpose of all these flats wasn’t it?

“Don’t sound so surprised.” Martin’s smile disappeared.
“No, I meant, I thought you lived with Trevor.” You have no

idea where Trevor lives, you idiot. He might live upstairs.

“Oh. No, we don’t live together.” Tony was relieved he’d got

away with his bluff.

“So, yeah. A drink would be great.” At least he knew the others

wouldn’t be there. Or were they his flatmates? Too late now, he thought.

They walked round to the lift well. Martin called the lift. They

went up to the tenth floor. Tony was amazed at the view from the
window when they exited.

“Great isn’t it?” said Martin.
“Yeah”. Why did Council house tenants get to have great views?

Weren’t they too busy robbing each other to look at them?

Martin opened a green door and they went inside to a large living

room. It was unfurnished except for a mattress in the far corner that had a
blue duvet throw over it. A small stereo sat next to it. Tony went to the
window ahead of him and looked out. The lights of northeast London
looked like a field of stars that was contained by the amber ring of the
M25. Martin came out of the kitchen with two cans of Carling Black
Label. He handed one to Tony. Lager again, he thought. I suppose
revolutionary socialists don’t drink wine.

“So who else lives here?”
“Just me”.
“Wow. Your own place and you’re only, what, nineteen?”
“Shouldn’t I have my own place?” he sounded defensive.
“Of course. I suppose I’m jealous that’s all. I live with my

parents”.

“Well, mine kicked me out when I told them I was gay.”

“Shit. I’m sorry. That’s horrible”.
“I don’t care. I just went to the Council and told them I was

homeless and I eventually got this.” Tony wondered where he’d stayed
during the ‘eventually’ period, but decided not to ask.

“Still, it must have been awful.”
“Do your parents know?”
“God no!”
“Would they kick you out?” Tony was stunned by the

suggestion. He hadn’t even considered it. Would they kick him out?
They didn’t kick Rick out. No, for all their faults he was sure they
wouldn’t kick him out.

“I don’t think so.”
“So why don’t you tell them?”
“Because, they’d kick…” He stopped himself and laughed.

“That’s my automatic response. No, I can’t tell them. Maybe my mum
one day, but I don’t think I’d be able to cope with my dad’s reaction. My
brother’s gay too.”

“Your brother’s gay! Wow, it must be great having a gay

brother”. Tony thought of Rick and laughed hollowly.

“No. No it’s not at all. We never really got on.” That was putting

it mildly. “When they find out they have two gay sons I don’t know what
they’ll do. Maybe they will kick me out. Rick’s moved out of home, but I
don’t think they made him.” He still hadn’t let on to his parents that he
knew Rick was gay. They hadn’t said anything about it.

“Do you want to sit down?” Martin pointed his head at the

duvet-covered mattress.

“Er, OK. No one’s sleeping there?”
“Not at the moment. I let people stay occasionally if they need

somewhere.” He walked over and sat down on the mattress. Tony sat as
far away from Martin as he could without sitting on the floor. He leant
back against the wall. Martin did the same.

“Hungry?”
“No”. Tony was, but wasn’t sure he wanted to eat Martin’s food.

Maybe he’d make baked beans? Tony hated baked beans.

“Me neither.”
Tony worried he had nothing to say. He didn’t want to talk about

the meeting, although Martin’s passion had been attractive. Shit, I hope
he doesn’t want to have sex with me. Tony froze at the thought. Now
drained of colour, Martin’s pallid thin face wasn’t sexy at all. How could

I kiss him? He saw Martin’s long, thin fingers and didn’t like the idea of
them touching him. He wondered how he could leave without hurting
Martin’s feelings. He looked lonely in this empty room, with its white
walls and ceiling. There weren’t any pictures or posters. The idea of
Martin being lonely touched him. But then he remembered he had the
obnoxious Trevor to keep him company any time he wanted.

“Why don’t you and Trevor live together?”
“He keeps trying. He’d like to move out of his parent’s place.

But I don’t want him stuck here all the time. We’d kill each other. And I
wouldn’t be able to bring other men back here.” Uh oh. Tony felt cold.
Weren’t any gay men faithful?

“You have sex with other men?”
Martin turned to Tony and smiled. “Why do you think Trevor’s

angry all the time?”

Tony laughed. “I dunno. I just thought he was a very angry

person in general.”

“No. Well, yes he is. But I give him good reason. He suspects

I’m not faithful and he’s right. He suspects I’m shagging everyone at the
teen group. Which is why he hates you.”

“Me? I know he gives me foul looks all the time, but he’s never

even bothered to talk to me.” Hate? That was a strong word. Tony was
angry. How could anyone hate him when they hadn’t even tried to get to
know him?

“Oh yeah. He can’t stand you”.
“I haven’t done anything!” Tony insisted loudly.
“Yes you have.”
“What?” shouted Tony. “What have I ever done to him to make

him hate me? It’s not fair”.

“You’re blonde and you’re beautiful. You have the most

amazing smile that takes up the whole of your face. You light up that
room every time you come in. Everybody turns and looks at you. Can’t
you see it?” Tony was stunned. What a load of crap! What a bloody liar!

“Bullshit!” Another word he’d never used before. “Nobody will

talk to me there”.

“You’re not very approachable.”
“Yes I am. But they don’t approach”.
“Because they’re terrified”.
“What?” Tony was working himself up into righteous anger.

Who could be scared of him? I’m not scary.

“They take one look at you and think ‘out of my league’ and so

don’t want to suffer the rejection.”

“That’s. Just. Such. UTTER. Crap!” Tony jumped up and

punctuated each word with his right index finger.

“And you’re out of my league”. Martin smiled up at Tony’s red

face.

“No you’re not! Not at all. That’s not fair.”
“Will you have sex with me?”
“Yes! Of course. Because you just had to ask.” Tony wondered

why he had said that. He didn’t find Martin attractive but felt unable to
tell him without making Martin dislike him.

Martin smiled at him. “Come to the bedroom”. Tony was

shaking when he followed Martin into a small room with a mattress lying
on the floor. It was strewn with clothes, tapes and papers. “I’ll just get rid
of these”. Martin lifted the duvet and threw the detritus into the corner
near a clothes rack. “Abracadabra!”

Tony smiled. He was terrified.
“You’re shaking”.
“I always shake. It’s just my thing”.
“Is this your first time?” Tony wondered whether to lie.
“Yes”. What was so wrong with the truth?
“I’ll be gentle”. So people really say that, thought Tony. Are

they rough normally?

Martin took Tony’s right hand and pulled. Tony lowered himself

onto the mattress right next to Martin. He turned and looked into
Martin’s eyes. I just don’t fancy you, he thought. But the testosterone
was coursing through his blood at the thought of what lay in Martin’s
trousers. Martin kissed him. Yuck, thought Tony. Can’t we just get to the
sex? Martin kissed him again, this time poking his tongue out. Tony’s
mouth remained closed. “Well, open your mouth!”

“I’ve got a cold. Best not to”. At least I can control that, he

thought. Martin took him by the shoulders and drew him down
horizontally onto the mattress. “Take your clothes off”. I always pictured
someone else taking my clothes off, thought Tony resentfully. He sat up
and took off his trainers. He placed them neatly beside the bed. Then his
socks, which he placed neatly inside his trainers. He watched Martin
fling his clothes off and throw them on the floor. Martin stood in front of
him, tall and very, very thin. Yuck, like a concentration camp victim,
thought Tony. Martin hadn’t taken his briefs off yet, but Tony could see

his penis was erect.

“Pull them down”, Martin ordered. Tony pulled off his trousers.
“I meant pull my pants down. But I suppose that’s progress”. He

sounded annoyed. I suppose he thinks I’m going to be a dead loss in bed,
and he’ll be right, thought Tony.

“Oh”. He grabbed the sides of Martin’s briefs and slowly pulled

them down, revealing his black pubic hair. His cock was caught in the
briefs and he winced when it wasn’t released from the material. “Ow!”
Tony took Martin’s cock out. It was smaller than he’d hoped. And
circumcised; that was a surprise. He wanted to ask Martin why he was
circumcised, but thought he’d better get on with it.

“Wow. My first cock!”
“Like it?”
“Yeah”, he lied.
“Suck on it”. Oh God, so soon? He moved closer to Martin’s

groin. He pulled the pants down to his ankles. He took the cock in his
right hand then it in his mouth. He moved his head forward until his face
was buried in Martin’s public hair.

“Oh”, groaned Martin, his head rolling back. “That’s good”.
Now what the hell do I do? He started sucking it, as if he were a

child sucking on a dummy. This seems to come naturally, he thought.
Now I know why it took so many years for me to stop sucking my
thumb.

“Move your mouth backwards and forwards slowly”.
“Mm mm”. It was pointless trying to say OK with a cock in your

mouth. He moved his head back until he felt the knob about to slip from
his lips. He pushed forward again. He repeated.

“Oh, that’s so good”. The muscles in Tony’s upper jaw started

to hurt. How long do you have to do this for? How long Martin, how
long? He was starting to feel like one of those nodding dogs in the back
of cars. He decided he’d had enough and abruptly pulled his head back
from Martin’s groin.

“I’d better get the rest of my clothes off”.
“Oh yeah. OK.” Martin looked disappointed. Tony took off his

jumper and shirt in once yank. Then he pulled off his pants, revealing his
very erect penis. It seemed far more enthusiastic than Tony was.

“Wow!” said Martin. “Big boy!” Tony looked down at his cock

and back at Martin’s. His dick was much longer and thicker. He started
shaking again. He put his arms round his skinny torso. How could Martin

find him attractive when he was so scrawny? But then so was Martin.

“Let me play with that”. Martin got on all fours and grabbed the

base of Tony’s cock in his right hand. He moved his fist up, watching the
skin fold over the knob. Tony could see his precum pooling in the skin.
He hoped Martin didn’t mind. Martin moved his fist down, revealing
Tony’s knob glistening with moisture.

“Well that’s all excited, isn’t it?” It may be, thought Tony, but

I’m not.

Martin put his mouth near Tony’s cock and starting licking the

precum off his knob. He pulled the foreskin back and stuck his tongue
down into it, stretching it. Tony relaxed. It felt good. Really good. Martin
moved his head down, putting his whole cock in his mouth. Martin
gagged. “Sorry. Bit too much there”. He moved his mouth down again,
stopping before the base. He sucked hard and moved his mouth slowly
up. OK, this is good, this is good, thought Tony. Don’t stop. Martin
stopped and moved over to kiss him. Tony reached for Martin’s cock and
sucked hard. Anything was better than kissing, he thought. Well, almost
anything; he’d better not go anywhere near my bum.

Tony was terrified of anything to do with anal sex. The idea

repulsed him – the anus was designed to expel faeces and that’s all it
should do. He hoped Martin wouldn’t ask him to fuck him. And if Martin
asked to fuck Tony? Well, it wasn’t going to happen. I’ll actually assert
myself for once and say no. He’d once stuck a fat marker pen up his anus
just to see what it felt like. It felt all right until he’d gingerly moved it
out. He felt like he’d lost control of his sphincter. He imagined faeces
falling out with the pen and was disgusted. The fact that the pen came
out clean didn’t mollify him. He was never letting anyone go there, he
was sure of that.

Martin didn’t seem to mind the focus on his cock. He started

moaning again. I don’t want him to come in my mouth, thought Tony.
How will I know when he’s going to come?

“Aaaaah!” screamed Martin, his dick thrusting hard into Tony’s

mouth. He clutched at Tony’s head and held tight. Martin’s cock shot hot
semen into Tony’s throat. He gagged and grabbed at Martin’s hands. He
pulled his head away and spat the come on the bed. He grabbed his pants
and tried to clean his tongue and mouth.

“Sorry, I thought you knew I was coming?”
“No. It’s OK. I just wasn’t expecting it.”
Martin sat down on the mattress. “You haven’t come?”

“No”.
“Here”, he took Tony’s cocked and wanked it. Tony tried to

think of images of rugby players. He imagined Emlyn Hughes walking in
the room, beating off Martin and taking over the job properly.

“Ouch”. Martin kept rubbing his knob vigorously. “That really

hurts”.

“Sorry”.
“You wouldn’t know; you don’t have a foreskin!”
“No.” He was gentler, gathering up the skin and making sure it

covered Tony’s knob. Tony couldn’t relax. He’d never had anyone try to
make him come before and it just didn’t feel right.

“I’ll do it. It’ll be quicker”.
“OK”. Martin seemed happy. He probably wants this over and

done with now as much as me, thought Tony. He concentrated on Emlyn
Hughes. Then he remembered the image of the tube worker last
November. He relaxed and thought of the fantasies he’d had about him.
Those uniformed legs wide apart, his large balls trying to pop out of his
trousers. That image worked and he felt the pressure build up behind his
groin and prayed for an orgasm. However, the pressure dissipated and a
pathetic amount of semen slipped out.

“It’s not in the mood!” he laughed, grabbing his pants to mop

himself. He lay back afterwards. He’d barely felt a thing. The orgasm
had promised to happen, but then vanished. It barely shot out of his dick,
bypassing whatever muscles usually tensed to cause the pleasure.

He turned to look at Martin, who was lying down, his right arm

behind his head. “That was good”, he lied.

“Do you want to stay the night?”
“No. I’d better go”.
“You don’t have to”. Martin looked disappointed. “You can

bring the other mattress in here and we can snuggle up together”. Tony
looked at Martin’s thin frame. There was no way he wanted to hold those
ribs – it would be like cuddling a skeleton. He was feeling resentful that
he had been flattered into having sex with Martin.

“I really want to go”. Tony put his clothes on, turning his pants

inside out. Martin lay watching.

“OK. Well, I’ll see you next Sunday”.
“OK”. Tony knew he’d never go back to the teen group again.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Tony knocked on the door of Shaun’s house in Grove Road. He

didn’t know if anyone was home but had decided to take the chance of
calling on him for the first time. It was Saturday at midday and he hoped
Shaun’s parents were out shopping so Shaun would be home alone. It
seemed he wasn’t. The front door opened and a short, tubby, balding
black-haired man came out. He looked at Tony with mild surprise then
walked through the porch and opened the door.

“Can I help you?” He didn’t have the same thick London accent

as Shaun. It was foreign, maybe Greek, thought Tony.

“Hi. I’m Tony. I’m a friend of Shaun’s. I was wondering

whether he was at home.” Tony remembered Shaun saying his dad
wanted him to have well-spoken friends and he hoped he passed.

The man smiled. “Come in please. I will tell him you are here.”

He showed Tony into the hallway. “Shaun! There’s a friend here to see
you”, he called up the stairs. Tony heard feet on the upstairs landing.
“’oo is it?” Shaun called down. Good, he’s home, thought Tony.

“Tony”, called his father.
“Tony?” Shaun sounded surprised. Shaun bounded down the

stairs. “Tony! Aw right?”

“Yeah I’m well. I just popped round to see if you were home. I

hope you don’t mind?”

“Of course not! It’s good to see you. Come upstairs”.
Tony walked up the stairs. They were covered with a soft, deeply

piled light green carpet. The wallpaper was buff coloured and patterned
with terracotta-coloured Grecian urns. I can’t let him see our tatty carpet
and woodchip wallpaper, he thought.

“So you’ve met me dad!” Shaun said when they got to the

landing.

“Yes!”
“I can tell ’e likes you”.
“How?”
“’E was much more polite than ’e is when me other friends come

round. Normally ’e just shouts “Shaun! Finbar!” and goes and sits in the
living room”. He walked into the room at the end of the landing. It was
the extension over the garage and was long with windows at each end,
one overlooking a well-kept garden, and one looking out onto Grove
Road. It was very neat, with the same deeply piled light green carpet but

instead of wallpaper the walls were painted light blue. The windows had
deep blue roman blinds instead of curtains. A three-feet long tropical fish
tank stood on top of a long wooden chest of drawers. A couple of huge
angelfish swam serenely around a sunken ship, out of which a column of
tiny air bubbles forced themselves to the surface.

Above the tank, a huge Irish tricolour flag was pinned open,

covering half of the wall. Tony was shocked. That flag meant Shaun
supported terrorism. How could Shaun support terrorism? He felt his
teenage anger rise from his gut. He had to know why the flag was there.

“Why on earth do you have an Irish flag in your bedroom? Do

you support terrorism?”

“No!” Shaun looked shocked. “Of course not! I have it because

I’m Irish”.

“Oh come on! You’re about as Irish as I am”. Tony wondered

why he was so stupid as to start an argument after walking into Shaun’s
bedroom for the first time.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Shaun’s face screwed up. He

sounded aggressive.

“I mean, you don’t sound Irish. Do you?” Tony laughed feebly.
“No! But I’m not bloody English. I’ve got an Irish passport. Me

mum’s from Northern Ireland.”

Tony didn’t like being referred to as ‘bloody English’. “What’s

wrong with being English? At least we don’t kill each other over religion
and murder innocent people by setting off bombs in shopping centres.”
Tony felt the familiar fury beginning to rise within him when he felt he
was being criticised. He could run his country down, but nobody else
could.

“What’s wrong with being English?” Shaun parroted. Tony

wondered whether Shaun was going to hit him. He was amazed at the
passion that had suddenly overcome Shaun. Shaun started it, thought
Tony, by supporting terrorism.

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I’ll tell you about me grandad ’oo

was almost beaten to death in Belfast by the black and tans during the
Easter Uprising. And I’ll tell you about me mum’s uncles ’oo were
beaten up by the RUC just for protesting. I’ll tell you about me mum’s
brother ‘oo was interned for six months without trial for doing nothing”.
Shaun was shouting loudly now. Tony had no idea who or what the
‘black and tans’ were. He was annoyed he didn’t know and Shaun did.
Why did Shaun have to resort to using what happened in the past in his

argument? Well, he could do that too.

“And my dad was almost killed by an IRA bomb that went off in

the car park at the Houses of Parliament!” Tony felt confident in his
righteousness now. Barry was a policeman at the Palace of Westminster
in the late 1970s. Tony had never forgotten watching his mother on the
telephone trying to contact Barry to find out whether he was alive. It had
upset him seeing his mum crying and helpless; he didn’t know what he
could do to help her.

“Well, I don’t know anything that, do I?” said Shaun, as if being

accused of plotting to kill Tony’s dad.

“Anyway, you live in England now. And if you’re mum’s from

Northern Ireland she’s British, which means you’re British.” Tony didn’t
care what he said now; he had right on his side.

“Me mum’s not fucking British. She’s Irish! She ’as an Irish

passport and so do I. Look.” He went to his bedside cabinet and opened
the top drawer. He took out a green passport with a large golden harp
embossed on the front. He thrust it in front of Tony’s face. “’Appy
now?”

Tony was intrigued. “Can I have a look?”
“Yeah”.
Tony opened it up and looked at the photo. It had been taken

recently. Shaun looked like a thug, scowling and with shaven hair. Very,
very sexy, thought Tony. He looked at the date of issue. October 1987,
only last year. “Shaun Michael”, he said loudly, “date of birth 15 March
1969, ha ha, you’re older than me! Nationality, Irish”. He seized upon
the last piece of information, “Place of Birth, London. Place of Issue,
London!”

“Yeah, so what?”
“You might just as well have got a British passport then”.
“Oh for God’s sake!” Shaun’s passion seemed to have

disappeared as soon as it arrived. “I might as well ’ave got a Cypriot
passport, that’s where me dad’s from.”

“Oh, your dad’s Cypriot? Michael doesn’t sound like a very

Greek surname.”

“Na, ’e anglicised it when he got ’ere. It was Maniatis. It was too

’ard for the thick English to pronounce in the sixties.” And the thick Irish
no doubt, thought Tony acidly.

“So you’re half Irish, half Greek Cypriot, born in London and

with a London accent?”

“Yup!” Shaun grinned. “And me mum ain’t ’alf Irish Catholic

too. Mass this and Mass that.” He put on a high-pitched, strong Irish
accent: “Did you go to Mass this morning? Was it Father Brennan
there?” Tony laughed. He was relieved Shaun had moved the subject
away from politics even though he had raised it. “I used to just poke me
’ead in on Sunday mornings to see ’oo was taking Mass, then go round
and see me mates”.

“So you’re not religious?”
“God no. What a load of bollocks.” Tony was relieved; he’d

decided he was an atheist when he was thirteen. He’d lain on his bed and
asked God to strike him down if He existed. Nothing happened, although
he did cower slightly in anticipation.

“So did you come round ’ere to argue with me about politics and

religion”? Shaun gave a look of mock exasperation. “’Cos you’ve got a
really strange way of endearing yourself to people”.

“No, I came round here to tell you I shagged Martin on

Tuesday”. Oh shit, no I didn’t. Why on earth did I say that? Tony was
furious at himself. Why can’t I just think about what I’m going to say?

“Martin! You’re kidding? Yuck!” Tony couldn’t deny it.
“Yeah, I didn’t mean to. It just happened. It was awful”.
“So you’re not a virgin anymore?” Shaun had that cute, cheeky

look on his face.

“Who said I was?”
“Gordon used to say you looked like a virgin”.
“Oh, and how would he know?” This was a good chance to

avoid talking about Martin. “Have you heard from Gordon?”

“No, thank God. Anyway I’m starving. ’Ave you eaten?” Tony

hadn’t. They went downstairs to the kitchen, which was huge and very
modern. Shaun opened the biggest fridge Tony had ever seen. It was so
full of food that that the light at the back was obscured, leaving the
containers and packages in shadow.

“’Ere, these are really good”. Shaun took out two clear plastic

packs and handed them to Tony. “Tandoori chicken and onion bhajis”.
They were from Marks and Spencer. Does Tony’s mum buy all her
shopping at Marks and Spencer? wondered Tony. They must be rich. He
looked at the gas cooktop, which was fitted into the granite worktop.
Mee-el, he pronounced mentally. He’d never heard of it. It was spelt
“Miele”; the same brand as the fridge, the oven and the dishwasher.
They’ve got a microwave too, why does everyone have a microwave

except us? He thought of his parents’ kitchen, which had chipped 1970s
cabinets and dirty linoleum on the floor. Barry insisted on having an
oven that had a grill at eye-level so he could make cheese on toast. Their
fridge was tiny; there was never much food in it anyway. He would have
loved a microwave to reheat the frozen Lean Cuisines that he lived on,
rather than have to boil them in the pressure cooker.

The tandoori chicken and onion bhajis were delicious. He’d

never had them before at the Indian restaurants his family visited when
Hazel wasn’t well enough to cook. Which was most weeks. He was
finally starting to enjoy the spicier Indian curries, having refused to touch
anything stronger than chicken korma for many years. He was surprised
Shaun hadn’t been to the local Indian restaurant in Arnos Grove. “Me
dad runs restaurants, ’e doesn’t want to eat in ’em!” he said.

“We used to almost live in the Indian restaurant up the road. We

often went there when mum wasn’t well”.

“Oh?” Shaun’s curiosity was piqued. “What’s wrong with your

mum?” Tony could see bits of onion bhaji in in Shaun’s mouth as he
spoke. He looked away.

“Oh, nothing, she’s fine”. Tony was furious at himself. He didn’t

want to talk about his family to Shaun.

“You’ve never talked about ’em. ’Ave you got any brothers or

sisters?”

“A brother. You?”
“Two sisters and two brothers”. Shaun rolled his eyes. “Good

Catholic mother”.

Tony looked around to see whether Shaun’s dad was within

hearing distance. He seemed to still be in the television room. Tony
lowered his voice anyway. “Do they know you’re gay?”

“No! And I ain’t gonna tell ’em either. Yours?”
“No. But they know my brother’s gay”.
“You’ve got a gay brother?”
“Yes”. Tony sighed. Please don’t say how lucky I am.
“Your poor parents! Still, it must be great ’aving a gay brother.

Do you go out to gay places together?”

“No”, sighed Tony. He was sick of the ‘happy families’ image

people saw when they heard he had a gay brother. “We never really got
on and I couldn’t stand going to any gay pub where he is. The idea is
repulsive.”

“Yeah. If either Donal and Declan came out I’d throw up”, he

mimed sticking a finger down his throat. “No chance of that though,
thank God, they’re both married. Still, when’s that ever stopped
anyone?” He winked at Tony.

“You’ve been cottaging again!”
“Ssh. I’ll tell you upstairs.”
Shaun stacked their plates in the empty dishwasher and they

went back up to his room. Shaun sat down on his single bed and reclined,
his upper back against the wall. He spread his legs wide. Tony
automatically checked out his groin and was delighted to see a very
prominent bulge. Shaun caught him looking.

“Stop looking at me package”. He grinned cheekily and then

spread his legs even wider.

“Well, if you’re going to put it on display”.
“Oh, it got a right work out last night”. Shaun looked so sexy

with his legs spread wide and his self-satisfied grin.

“So? Details.”
“Oh, I met this right ’orny guy”. Tony felt his usual pang of

jealousy when he imagined Shaun having sex with anyone. But he was
happy to hear graphic details instead.

“At the cottage?”
“No! There was nothing happening there last night, can you

believe it?”

“Having never been to one Shaun, yes I can.”
“No, I met ’im at the Turrets; ’e’s a barman there”.
“What were you doing there?” The Turrets was a pub on the way

to New Southgate train station.

“I just went in for a pint after I’ve given up on the cottage”.
“What, and you just picked up the barman?”
“Well not straight away, I got talking to ’im. ’E was Australian

and ’e was so ’orny looking. ’E kept calling me ‘buddy’”. Shaun tried
pronouncing ‘buddy’ with an Australian accent, but Tony didn’t think it
sounded like how the characters on Neighbours spoke.

“How did you know he was even gay?”
“By the way ’e was looking at me, you know?”
“No, I don’t know”. Tony had no idea how a look could be an

invitation to sex. He’d never been able to read anything on people’s faces
apart from anger, happiness or contempt. “So he was really camp then?”

“No! ’E was really butch, really straight-acting.” Tony envied

Shaun’s amazing mind-reading skills.

“Anyway at eleven ’e finished up and ’e said ’e was walking to

Arnos Grove tube, so we walked together. And.” Shaun raised his hands
and smiled.

“And?” demanded Tony. “And what? And where?”
“We ’ad a snog and I gave ’im a blow job in the laneway behind

Forbuoys.”

“On the corner here?” Shaun nodded.
“Behind the bins, along with the stray cats?” Tony was jealous,

so he decided to take the moral high ground. “That’s so dangerous”.

“I know”, Shaun still seemed pleased with himself. “Anyone

could’ve looked out and seen me with me ’ead on his cock.”

Tony shook his head several times, fixing his eyes on Shaun’s.
“You’re jealous”. Shaun sat up on his bed and crossed his legs.
“Probably”. Tony smiled. There was no point lying when Shaun

was always so honest. “So are you seeing him again?”

“’E’s on again tonight if you wanna go and say hello”.
“Why would I want to say hello?”
“’E might fancy you.”
“What, so I can suck his cock ’round the bins?” Tony would not

consider have sex anywhere but indoors, where he would be warm and
above all, private. The idea of being caught was terrifying for him, not
exciting, as it seemed to be for Shaun. “I don’t think so”.

“D’ya wanna go to the Cap tonight then?”
“I haven’t got any money”.
“I’ll pay.”
“Just a couple then. And you’re not allowed to pick up!”
“Why not?” Shaun looked outraged. Picking up had obviously

been a priority.

“Because I hate getting the night bus home alone”.
“Oh for God’s sake! Oh, aw right”. Tony was surprised he’d

relented. Maybe he had a chance of getting into Shaun’s trousers after
all? He tried to dismiss the thought, but knew he would try any way he
could to make Shaun want him.

They decided to get the tube to Wood Green Shopping City so

Shaun could buy a new shirt. “A picking-up shirt”, he taunted several
times. Tony just glared at him. He finally bought a blue and white
checked Ben Sherman shirt from House of Fraser, after visiting what
seemed like every shop in the centre. Tony hated shopping for clothes
and still wore shirts and jeans his mother had bought him from Owen

Owen in Finchley years before. Shaun had noticed.

“You’re not gonna wear that again tonight are you?” He pointed

at Shaun’s favourite Aran Isle cream knitted jumper.

“Yeah, why not”? It was a very thick, warm jumper. More

importantly it made Tony look less scrawny.

“’Cos it looks like your mum bought it for ya.” Thanks, Shaun.

Tony felt hurt that Shaun would criticise something as personal as his
clothes.

“Why don’t you buy something like this?” he lifted up the carrier

bag that contained the Ben Sherman shirt.

“I haven’t got any money. I told you.”
“Well get a job then!” Tony said nothing. After walking out of

Fogarty’s he was scared of getting another job. He hadn’t liked being
talked to rudely by the staff and the customers. He preferred to isolate
himself in his bedroom and read about the world in books and
magazines. He hadn’t liked his experience of interacting with it so far.

“I’m going to do my A-levels again”.
“That’s not until September. Plenty of time to get a job. D’you

actually like sitting around on yer arse all day doing nothing?” I don’t do
nothing, Tony thought resentfully. I read. I expand my mind. And
anyway you’re only a waiter at your dad’s restaurant, it’s not like it’s a
real job. He decided to change the subject.

“There was a bomb scare here last week. Everybody had to rush

out”.

“There’s always bomb scares”.
“Thanks to the Irish”.
“Oh leave it out will ya!” Tony was pleased he’d found a way to

pay Shaun back for his comments about his clothes and lack of job. They
went back to Shaun’s place where Tony was surprised, and pleased, to
find out that Shaun had a love of Celtic languages. Shaun insisted on
teaching Tony to say póg mo thóin, sláinte and céad míle fáilte. It
amused Shaun to hear Tony speak Irish. Tony hoped it would increase
his chances of seducing Shaun later that evening.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“But you promised me!” Tony was furious at Shaun; he’d

promised he wouldn’t pick up and make him take the night bus home on
his own. He hated having to travel with drunks who might have seen him
coming out of the Black Cap. It was bad enough worrying what the other
people at the bus stop thought when they saw him leave the gay pub and
go to shelter under the stand. He felt vulnerable and afraid. It didn’t
matter that other people from the Cap also stood there waiting for a bus
to take them home. They were often so camp, speaking loudly about their
conquests or lack thereof and kissing and hugging each other. He could
see other people at the bus stop looking at them and he hated them for
drawing attention to themselves, but was grateful they distracted
attention from himself.

“I didn’t promise”. Shaun looked defensive but not very

convinced.

“Yes, you did Shaun. I said I’d only come here if you came

home with me. You know I hate getting the night bus on my own”.

“Oh, just get over it! They’re always packed”. Yeah, packed

with scary people, thought Tony angrily.

“You promised.” Tony looked Shaun in the eyes with fury.
Shaun had disappeared soon after they’d gone into the back bar

at nine o’clock. He’d bought Tony a pint of cider, finally accepting that
Tony wouldn’t drink either lager or Snakebites, and had then gone to the
toilet. After half an hour, Tony had looked for him in the toilets,
expecting to find Shaun giving someone a blowjob in the cubicle. He
ignored the people at the urinal and peered under the cubicle but only
saw one pair of legs. The shoes weren’t the black Doc Martins that
Shaun always wore. After fighting through the crowds on the dance
floor, he found Shaun sitting at a table near the stage, deep in
conversation with a boy with bleached blonde hair who was wearing a
baggy white t-shirt with horizontal blue stripes. Just like the t-shirt his
Uncle Ian had bought him in France that he’d hated so much. He hid
nearby and watched them, his anger mounting as he imagined their
conversation. What made his sense of betrayal feel worse was the boy
was so effeminate. So much for your obsession with horny straight-
acting men, he thought bitterly. He watched the blonde man smiling
coyly at Shaun, lowering his head and covering his face with his mouth,
his eyes looking up to Shaun’s. He thinks he’s Princess Diana! He looks

and acts like a girl for God’s sake!

Maybe he would march over there and say loudly ‘aren’t you

supposed to be meeting that barman you gave a blowjob to last night?’
He knew he wouldn’t dare. He was scared of Shaun’s temper. He
eventually moved away from the stage towards the bar and stood there,
trying to listen to the dance music and making sure he caught no one’s
eye. He wasn’t in the mood for talking to anybody. But then, he was
always afraid of talking to strangers even if he were in the mood. He
wasn’t even sure how you continued a conversation after saying ‘hello’.
If he asked what they did for a living then they would ask him what he
did. He didn’t want to admit he was unemployed; it made him sound like
a loser. And he wasn’t a loser, he told himself. It was his intelligence that
was stopping him getting a menial job but he wasn’t qualified for
anything else. He wondered what Shaun and the blonde trollop were
talking about. He knew Shaun would be doing most of the talking. He
never had any trouble starting conversations and he even talked to people
Tony wouldn’t. Which was most people, Tony had to admit. But that was
because Shaun was stupid, he thought nastily. Shaun didn’t have to think
about anything that came out of his mouth, he just said what was on his
mind and didn’t care what people thought of him.

When Tony saw Shaun and Princess Di kissing he thought laser

beams would shoot out of his eyes and obliterate them. They didn’t.
Instead he internalised his venomous fury. If Shaun will kiss that slut but
not me, then I really, really must be ugly and worthless.

At midnight Shaun came over. He walked quickly to the bar with

the confidence of the virile. “I’ve pulled!” he beamed at Shaun. “’E
wants to be to go back to ’is place.”

After hearing Tony’s vitriol, Shaun surprised Tony once more.

“Oh aw right then”, he sighed. “I’ll get ’is number off ’im and call ’im
tomorrow”. Shaun went back to the table. Tony was delighted to see
Princess Diana look like he was about to break down in tears. Don’t give
in Shaun, he silently begged. He saw Shaun looking at him then back to
the boy. He knew he was being talked about. Oh great, he thought, blame
me why don’t you? Shaun walked back. “I’m seeing ’im ’ere tomorrow
at lunchtime, OK?” He said ‘OK’ with an aggressiveness that dared Tony
to say ‘no’.

“Nothing to do with me. Good for you. Can we go?”
They got the night bus back, getting off at Palmers Green as

usual. Shaun had said nothing during the bus ride, making Tony feel

uncomfortable and, as much as he hated to admit it, guilty. After walking
in freezing silence for ten minutes along Bowes Road, Tony felt he had
to say something.

“I’m really, really sorry. I should have let you go home with that

guy.” It was safe to say it now. He was sure Shaun couldn’t go back.

“’Is name’s Adrian. And yeah, you should ’ave”, Shaun snapped,

balloons of white air shooting out of his mouth. They walked for a few
more minutes, past the old Victorian building where Tony had been in
Sea Scouts for all of two weeks, before quitting as usual.

“All right, I’ll admit it. I was jealous. I’m sorry.” Might as well

tell the truth.

“Well you shouldn’t’ve been. Jealous of what? It’s not like I was

gonna go ’ome with you is it? The last words were said with more
contempt than Tony expected. He tightened his abdomen to deflect the
blow.

“No, of course not.”
They walked in silence until they got to Arnos Road, where

Tony normally turned off to go home. “I’ll walk down your road, I don’t
want to walk through the park at night”. Shaun said nothing. They
walked onward, past the tube station and turned into Grove Road. Tony’s
stomach tightened as they got to Shaun’s house. Well, he’s made his
views know about me, so I’ve got nothing to lose, he thought. He hoped
Shaun wouldn’t storm straight through the front door without saying
goodbye.

They stopped on the paved area in front the darkened house.

Shaun stopped. “Well, night night. I dunno if I’ll be at the group
tomorrow. Tonight”, he corrected himself.

“Can I come up?”
“What? No, of course you can’t come up! Are you mental?”
“I’ve got some things to say”.
“Oh for God’s sake, just leave it out? I’m tired, I’m going to bed,

aw right?” He turned and went to the front door. Tony followed him.

“Please. You let straight friends stay don’t you?”
“Yeah, but you’re not”.
“But your parents don’t know that. Please. Just for a bit, then I’ll

go. I promise”.

“Well they’ll be down in a minute anyway if you don’t shut up.”

He spat out the words ‘shut up’. I don’t think this is a good idea, thought
Tony, but I may never have another chance. Shaun opened the door and

left it open for Tony. They went through the porch and into the warmth
of the hallway. Shaun went straight upstairs to his bedroom. Tony
followed. Shaun pointed to the door on the right, just before his room,
and put a finger to his lips. Tony mouthed ‘OK’.

Tony walked into his room without turning on the light. A

streetlight illuminated the room well enough that he could walk to his
bedside cabinet and switch the lamp on. He pointed at the green recliner
chair next to the cabinet. “You can sleep there”. He didn’t whisper, so
Tony didn’t. “Fine”, he said and sat down after loosening the buttons on
his coat. Shaun started getting undressed. He didn’t seem to mind Tony
watching him as he took off his shoes, socks and jeans. He wore black
and white checked boxer shorts. Tony’s eyes darted to his fly; the single
clear button was undone. When Shaun bent over towards him to pull off
his shirt without undoing the buttons, Tony got a clear view of a shock of
black pubic hair and the base of a very thick dick. Shaun stood up
straight and went to hang up the shirt in the wardrobe. His limp dick
bulged clearly from his shorts as Tony saw him in profile. He had a small
hairy gut that slightly over hanged his boxers, but the rest of his torso
was perfect. Broad shoulders and a wide chest, intoned Tony to himself.
Hair grew around Shaun’s nipples and continued down to his groin. Tony
didn’t pretend he wasn’t looking. He thought Shaun liked to show off.

“Enjoying the striptease?” Tony was pleased to see him laugh.
“Very much. I think you’ve forgotten something”, he pointed to

his shorts.

“Oh stop it!” He didn’t sound angry.
“I thought you’d have a big dick”.
“Yeah, it’s the Greek in me”. Shaun wasn’t modest.
“So give me a closer look”.
“No! You’ve seen enough”. Once again Shaun seemed to enjoy

the attention. He wasn’t as angry as when they were walking home. He
thought flattery would work, after all Martin had used it to get him into
bed.

“That has to be the biggest cock I’ve ever seen.”
“And ’ow many cocks ’ave you seen?” Damn, why did he tell

Shaun that Martin was his first?

“Plenty on TV. And in magazines.” Not for the first time he

thanked Channel 4 for showing late-night films that occasionally showed
male genitalia.

“But yours has to be the biggest. Just by what I can see through

your boxers. What harm is there is letting me see it in its natural
environment?”

“I’m going to bed”. He pulled up the duvet and got under it.

“Night.” He went to switch off the lamp. “Wait!” whispered Tony.

“Now what?”
“You didn’t ask me what I came up here to tell you.”
“’Cos you ain’t got nothing to tell me, that’s why. You just

wanted to come up to try and shag me and it ain’t gonna happen, aw
right?” Tony was stung that Shaun would think he was so shallow.

“No. That’s not true at all.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“I love you.”
“Oh Jesus Christ, Tony. Don’t go talking shit. Why do you have

to say something like that?”

“Because it’s true.”
“You barely even know me.”
“Is there a time limit? I’m sorry; I didn’t know I had to wait for a

certain time period before I was allowed to have feelings. Pardon me.”

“Look. I don’t know what to say. I’m flattered.”
“You’re flattered, but you don’t love me?” Tony knew his voice

was starting to sound tight and high. Why was he so fucking stupid as to
tell Shaun he loved him? He didn’t even tell his parents that and they
certainly didn’t tell him. Why was he even using that stupid, pointless
word?

“I’m sorry Tony, no. I don’t love you. And I don’t fancy you,

OK?” Tony tried to blank his mind; he was terrified he would start
crying. Hearing this from Shaun had been more shocking than he’d
expected. When he’d replayed this scenario in his imagination he’d heard
these words and was able to give a calm, manly reply: ‘No problem
Shaun, can’t blame me for trying’. But now he felt his emotional
defences vanish and he needed to go and curl up in the foetal position
somewhere and cry.

“Well, now I feel like an idiot. I’d better go.” He knew his voice

had betrayed he was about to cry.

“Don’t bloody go, you’ll wake me parents up.” Tony thought

about leaving and slamming the bedroom door. You’ve got no bloody
feelings at all, have you Shaun? None.

He needed to fill the tightening in his stomach. It was imploding

and taking every bit of self-control he had with it. “OK. Shaun. Just show

me your dick then. That’s all I’m asking and then I’ll shut up. I mean,
you’ve shown it to enough men in various toilets and alleyways haven’t
you, so why not me?” Tony braced himself for an aggressive rebuttal but
was relieved when Shaun started laughing. He gave his cheekiest smile
and said: “I only bring it out at the classiest of occasions.” Tony smiled;
relieved some of the tension had gone.

“Well, pretend this is a public toilet. A particularly upmarket

one. With no urinals. Or cubicles.” Or horny, straight-acting men, he
thought spitefully.

Shaun sighed. “If it’ll shut you up, OK”. Tony’s heart rate

doubled as he watched Shaun roll over onto his side and throw the duvet
cover back. “But no touching, aw right? And you’d better bloody shut up
about it afterwards.”

He moved his legs forward and down onto the carpet then sat up.

He slowly stood up and looked down at Tony, with his hands on the
waistband of his boxer shorts. “Ready to be amazed?” Tony nodded his
head. Shaun moved one hand down then the other while singing the
famous striptease music. Oh, you’re just loving this, aren’t you Shaun?
thought Tony, but I’ve never believed there’s pleasure in anticipation.

Tony grabbed the waistband and yanked the boxers down to

Shaun’s knees.

“Ay!” but Shaun didn’t seem angry.
“Sorry, can’t wait. Need to see cock.” He made a toothless smile

and frowned, looking up to Shaun. “And what a cock!”

“Oh I know”, said Shaun in his campest “Carry On” voice. He

giggles rather like a male Barbra Windsor as well, thought Tony.

Tony had never been good at guessing sizes in either inches or

centimetres. But Shaun’s dick was as thick as a small banana and about
as long.

“So no touching?” he looked up at Shaun.
“No touching!”
“But I can’t see your balls because they’re hidden by your huge

dick”. Shaun smiled and took the tip of his foreskin between his right
thumb and forefinger and slowly moved it to the right to expose his
testicle

“’Aw right?” he asked. Tony nodded.
“They’re like golf balls”. Tony stared in silent admiration at the

large testicles, the right one hanging lower than the left.

“Are you sure I can’t feel them?” Tony looked up pleadingly

into Shaun’s face.

“Just a bit”. Tony brought his right hand up and rested Shaun’s

testicles in its palm. Shaun let go of his dick and it dropped down onto
Tony’s right palm.

“That’s enough.” Shaun’s voice was surprisingly gentle and he

made no movement to stop Tony.

“Two seconds?” Tony lowered his right hand and moved his

nose into Shaun’s groin. He inhaled a sweaty, musty smell. He held
Shaun’s taught buttocks with each hand and then pressed his left cheek
into his groin. He held on, waiting for Shaun to tell him to stop.

“I want to stay here forever”.
“Well, you can’t. You have more than your fair share. Come

on”. Shaun moved back and bent down to pull up his boxer shorts.
“You’ve seen almost as much as the men in the cottages have seen!”

“Except they get erections and ejaculations!” Tony was annoyed

that Shaun’s dick hadn’t got hard when he put his cheek to it. He knew
his would have, even if he wasn’t interested. It had a mind of its own.

“I’m tired.” Shaun got back into bed and covered himself with

the duvet. He turned out the light. “Night”.

“Night”, replied Tony. “Sorry I said I loved you”.
“We’re friends Tony. I love you as a friend. Now shut the fuck

up or I’ll come over there and kick you in the bollocks.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

On Wednesday, 21st December 1988, at around 7.02pm, a bomb

exploded on Pan Am Flight 103 over Scotland, killing 259 passengers
and crew and eleven residents of the town of Lockerbie. Gary had been
driving him to the London Gay Youth Christmas party when the news
was flashed on Capital Radio. “Happy Christmas!” He hoped he sounded
witheringly sarcastic. Gary had reached out to hold Tony’s right hand.
What a sweet gesture, thought Tony, but why don’t you just bloody well
say something instead?

Tony had just told Gary that things weren’t working out between

them. Gary responded in his own unemotional way and said that it was
fine. Tony hadn’t wanted a big fight but felt cheated that Gary took his
dumping so well. How could he be so calm about it? he thought. I’ve
rejected him, surely that must hurt? Tony had planned a script of how the
argument was going to go. He would tell Gary that he was the most
boring person he had ever met. After all, Gary kept saying it about
himself and Tony had to keep telling him it wasn’t true. ‘You’re not
boring, Gary, you’re a quiet achiever’. Or ‘you’re not boring Gary, you
just save your words for when they’re really needed’. This seemed to
cheer him up, but Tony could hear the sarcasm in his own voice and
resented Gary for not picking this up. Gary had little to say and they had
little in common. Gary was a mechanic who loved cars. Tony had just
quit his third lot of A-levels and had little interest in cars apart from
where they could take him. Tony had hoped that Gary’s quietness hid
great depths of intelligence and sensitivity. After their fumblings in the
back of the Gary’s white Escort van he gazed into Gary’s eyes, searching
for hidden complexities. Gary would stare back sweetly. Any hidden
complexities remained concealed. Still, Gary had been useful for his
transport, thought Tony. But now I need to move on and find a proper
boyfriend.

Once again Tony had been seduced into bed. Gary had been

talking to Shaun at the bar at the Black Cap one Saturday night in April
when Tony had turned up on his own. It was the first time that Tony had
been to the Cap without arranging to meet anyone beforehand. He was
surprised to see Shaun there. Shaun had moved in with Adrian and was
now living in Crouch End along with the loud lesbian Frankie. His social
life was now confined to what Adrian and Frankie wanted to do. They
mostly wanted to stay in, listen to music and get stoned.

“I ’ad to get out”, Shaun said when Tony asked him where

Adrian was. “’E and Frankie are ’at ’ome watching ’er Toyah videos.
They’re always bloody at ’ome watching ’er Toyah videos. It’s ‘Toyah’
this and ‘Toyah’ that. I ’ave to resort to putting on ‘Sisters of Mercy’ at
full blast on the stereo in our bedroom just to ’ear some decent music.”
Tony was glad to hear that things weren’t going well with Adrian.

“You sound very domesticated, Shaun.”
“Oh, it’s aw right. You should come round some time. I ’aven’t

seen you in ages.”

“Well, you haven’t called me, that’s why.”
“We ’aven’t got a phone. It’s a pain in the arse ’aving to go to

the phone box.” Well, thanks Shaun, thought Tony bitterly, you must
really want to talk to me.

“Anyway, it’s really good to see you! What are you ’aving? Oh,

cider I suppose.” Tony nodded. “Oh sorry”, continued Shaun, “this is
Gary. ‘E says ’e goes to the gay teen group. God knows why. Gary, this
is Tony.” Shaun turned to the bar to buy a round of drinks.

Gary looked completely out of place in the Cap, which was no

doubt why Shaun had been talking to him. He was dressed like he was
going to his grandmother’s birthday party, wearing beige slacks and a
plain brown shirt that fitted close to his short, wide body. It showed off
his broad shoulders. He had short curly brown hair that was flecked with
blonde streaks and a square face that had prominent cheekbones and a
strong chin. I suppose his eyes are brown as well, thought Tony, peering
closer. Yes. So, the overall impression is brown. Not such a bad thing;
it’s a calm and quiet colour.

“Have you been here long?” Tony asked.
“About an hour”. His accent was from North London but was

nowhere near as strong as Shaun’s.

“Did you arrange to meet anybody from the group here tonight?”
“Yes, my boyfriend. He’s late.” Tony wondered whether Shaun

knew he had a boyfriend. He was obviously trying to chat Gary up.

“When was he supposed to be here?”
“An hour ago.” Gary seemed to have little emotion. Tony

thought that if he had been waiting an hour for his boyfriend he would be
furious and telling this to everyone around him.

“You must be really annoyed.”
“No. He always runs late.”
“What’s your boyfriend’s name?”

“Andy”. Tony didn’t recall an Andy from the teen group, but he

hadn’t been there since January. He hadn’t wanted to face Martin again
and the awkwardness of that night of passionless sex.

“Oh. I don’t know him. But I haven’t been to the group for a

couple of months”.

“OK”, replied Gary giving a little smile. “Excuse me, I’m going

to the toilet”.

Shaun had bought the drinks and placed them on the bar. He

hadn’t spoken until Gary went to the toilet. “Fucking ’ell! Did you see
the body on ’im? ’E’s got muscles this big”. He mimed an absurdly large
shape with his hands. “’E’s a mechanic! E’s fucking ’orny!”

Tony hadn’t pictured Gary’s muscles, but supposed he did look

very fit. “Yeah, he’s a good-looking guy. Don’t know if there’s much in
here though.” He pointed to his head.

“’oo cares?”
“I do.”
“You’re such a snob. ’ad much luck finding a boyfriend then

’ave you?”

“I haven’t been looking.” What a lie, I’m always looking, he

thought.

“So you ’aven’t been going to the teen group?”
“No.” Tony didn’t want to have to talk about Martin again.

Fortunately Gary came back from the toilet, providing a convenient
distraction.

“’Allo again!” Shaun beamed at Gary.
“Hi!” This greeting wasn’t aimed at Shaun but to a young man

who was walking towards them.

“Sorry I’m late”, he said in a camp Scottish accent. He didn’t

make any excuses. “Hello, I’m Andy”, he said to Tony and Shaun. “And
this is my boyfriend. I can see you’re all getting along nicely.” Andy was
very pale, with black hair and blue eyes. He wasn’t unattractive, thought
Tony; in fact he would be quite cute if he weren’t so camp and he didn’t
have a huge, red zit in the middle of his forehead. It’s like the eye of a
Cyclops, thought Tony. Why doesn’t he squeeze it? Shaun and Tony
introduced themselves.

“So you go to the gay teen group?” Shaun said to Andy.
“I do.”
“Whereabouts in Scotland are you from?” asked Tony.
“Irving. But I’m no Scottish, I’m English”.

“You don’t sound English!” said Tony.
“I am English. I was born in Ipswich. I’m no Scottish”. Of

course you’re not, thought Tony, that’s why you have such an incredibly
strong Scottish accent.

Andy and Gary went to sit near the front window. Andy

immediately started a conversation with the man sitting next to him.

“I wonder what they talk about?” said Tony, pointing his head

towards the couple.

“Fuck knows. The lucky bastard.” Shaun suddenly looked

serious. “I came out to me family.”

“What? My God, what made you do that?”
“I ’ad to tell ’em why I was moving out didn’t I?”
“Did you?” Tony looked incredulous. He still couldn’t imagine

coming out to his parents.

“’Course. When I told ’em I was moving in with Adrian and

Frankie me mum assumed I was going to be living in sin with a girl. Oh
bejeezus, bejeezus”, he mocked. “So I thought ‘fuck it’, I’ll just tell ’em
I’ve going to be living in sin with a man and see ’ow they like that!”

“And?”
“Me dad just looked at me like I was a piece of shit on ’is shoe.

Me mum started crying. Then me dad ’ad a go at me for making me mum
cry.” Shaun looked miserable. “Then me dad goes ‘you are no longer a
son of mine’. I mean what a fucking cliché, you’d think ’e could think of
something more original than that.”

“So they kicked you out?”
“Well I was going anyway. I don’t know if they would’ve kicked

me out though. The old man never knows what to say anyway, ’e just
said the first thing that came into ’is thick ’ead as usual. ’E ’asn’t spoken
to me since.”

“And your mum?”
“Oh yeah, she speaks to me. But when I call home and ’e

answers the phone ’e says nothing and goes and gets me mum. She
thinks I should go to confession, as if that’ll cure it. Well fuck ’em”.

“I take it you haven’t been to confession!” Shaun rolled his eyes.
“But telling Declan was the worst. He fucking ’it me.”
“What?” Tony screwed up his face in anger. “He hit you?”
“Yeah, ’e called me a ‘fucking poofter’ and ’it me on the face. It

didn’t ’alf ’urt.” Shaun looked resigned, “’e was probably off ’is ’ead on
coke.”

Tony was glad Shaun had moved out so he didn’t have to see his

parents again. But he might see Declan if he ever went round to Shaun’s
restaurant in Pimlico. Declan was huge; a punch from him wasn’t
something Tony intended receiving.

“I’m never going to go to your restaurant now.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t ever want to meet Declan, that’s why!”
“Oh, ’e’s been aw right. ’E apologised.”
“Oh, so that’s OK then?”
“Well there’s not much more I can do about it, aw right?” Once

again Shaun emphasised ‘all right’ aggressively. Best leave it alone,
thought Tony.

“D’you wanna go round the back bar?” said Shaun. “. I wanna

get ’ammered. I’ll pay”. Tony agreed.

It was only nine o’clock so the back bar was almost empty.

Shaun insisted on dancing. Tony refused: “I can’t dance”.

“Neither can I”, said Shaun, whirling around with his hands in

the air. “Come on, stop being such a boring bastard”. Shaun knew that
would force Tony onto the dance floor. Tony resentfully stood in the
middle of the floor and shifted his feet from left to right, trying to
remember the steps that the only black kid in his primary school had
taught him at their end of year disco. He also tried not to think of his
dad’s advice to ‘bend your knees’ when they’d tried dancing at the
holiday camp on the Isle of Wight on one of their rare summer holidays
that weren’t spent with Hazel’s family. He shuddered at the image of
Barry dancing to ‘This Old House’ and decided his knees would stay
straight.

“La la la”, Shaun was pretending to be an aeroplane, running

around Tony with his arms held out. Tony laughed; surely he couldn’t
look more stupid than Shaun? He relaxed and tried to feel the music.

“More booze!” cried Shaun as he flew to the bar. Tony followed

him, hoping this was the last of the humiliation. “Snakebite!” said Shaun,
handing him the pint. “Scull!”

“I’m not sculling.” Tony hadn’t had a Snakebite since the last

time Shaun he bought him one. He remembered the vomiting and
hangover all too vividly.

“Scull! Scull! Scull!” Shaun drank deeply from his pint. “Come

on! Don’t be boring.”

Tony took a couple of deep gulps. He realised he was thirsty and

took a couple more. “That’ll do for now”.

“Scull! Scull! Scull! Scull! Scull!”
“Oh for God’s sake, Shaun. Oh, what the hell.” He lifted the

glass to his lips. Shaun pushed the bottom, forcing more liquid into
Tony’s mouth and chanted “Scull! Scull! Scull!” Tony managed not to
gag and finished most of the pint.

“Cigarette!” Shaun presented him with one. “Then another pint”.

Tony felt the same bloated dizziness he’d felt before. He remembered
that a cigarette had seemed to help. He took the Lambert & Butler.

“Light?” Shaun lit it. Tony inhaled deeply. He was pleased the

smoke was at least a break from drinking. He made a mental note to
smoke more so he had an excuse for not drinking. Shaun bought two
more Snakebites then headed back to the dance floor. He gave one to
Tony then started doing what looked like a Greek dance, kicking his feet
out with his right hand holding his pint up high. Tony felt relaxed enough
to join in and copied Shaun’s steps. They started laughing hysterically
when a very thin man came onto the dance floor and started dancing with
his hands held daintily out from his sides, as if holding up the train of a
long dress. “And you were worried about your dancing?” Shaun
whispered very loudly into Tony’s left ear. Shaun put his pint down on a
table and lit a cigarette. He danced back over the dance floor and put it in
Tony’s mouth. Tony frowned, he didn’t like people smoking on the
dance floor; it was dangerous, he might burn someone. He walked back
to the table and put his drink down. Shaun beckoned him back onto the
dance floor but he waved his hand in refusal. He took a couple of gulps
of his Snakebite and inhaled his cigarette smoke. He decided he needed
to sit down. Shaun came and sat down next to him.

“I’ve ’ad enough of this poofy music.” he said. “Sisters of

Mercy!” he yelled up to the DJ. He smiled at Tony. “Oooh, Sisters of
Mercy, that’s too butch”, he lisped, his hands waving around his head in
mock hysteria.

“I don’t even know who they are”, admitted Tony.
“Goth music. I used to go to Goth clubs before I came on the gay

scene. Everyone was much more chilled and friendly than they are ’ere”.
From the little Tony knew of Goths, he couldn’t associate the words
‘chilled’ and ‘friendly’ with them. But he could associate them with
Shaun. Once again he looked and him and wished he could lean over and
hold him. Shaun saw him looking. “I’m glad you were ’ere tonight”, he
said, raising his pint in salute. They locked eyes. “Me too”, replied Tony.

“Scull! Scull! Scull! Scull!” Tony lifted his drink and gulped it

all down. Shaun did the same. “Ah! Time for another.” He headed back
to the bar. Tony helped himself to a cigarette from the packet on the
table. He was feeling very relaxed and was no longer sleepy. Shaun came
back with another two drinks and a packet of crisps. Tony realised he
hadn’t had dinner so grabbed a handful. “Beef and Mustard. Best ever.”
He munched away, making sure he kept his mouth closed, unlike Shaun
who was chomping away with his mouth open.

“So have you been to any cottages recently?” Tony looked slyly

at Shaun. Shaun looked embarrassed and giggled.

“Well, I might ’ave been once or twice.” He smiled toothlessly.
“Did you ever see that Australian barman again?”
“I met him once again. We shagged round the bins. God ’e was

thick as shit.”

“You said that doesn’t matter.”
“Not for a one night stand. But it was getting ’arder and ’arder to

find anything to talk about. ’E was fucking ’orny though.” Shaun chewed
thoughtfully. “But then I moved and never saw ’im again.”

“So where do you go now?”
“’Amstead ’Eath”. Shaun looked at Tony wide-eyed. “It’s

fucking amazing.”

“Whereabouts?”
“Behind Jack Straw’s Castle. The pub there.” Tony didn’t know

Hampstead Heath well.

“On a weekend there’s sometimes ’undreds of men down there.

They even light fires to keep warm. You should come down sometime.”

“No way! It sounds horrible to me. And cold”. He was intrigued

though. What were all these men getting up to at the edges of the Heath?
Orgies? “So, how do you do it?”

“Do what?”
“How do you pick up someone there? How do you know

someone’s interested in you?”

“’Cos it’s obvious innit? You can tell.” Tony knew he would

never be able to tell.

“No, it’s not obvious at all Shaun.”
“Well, they hold your eye. If you look at someone you don’t

know they look away really quickly don’t they?” Tony nodded. “But if
they don’t look away then they’re interested.”

“What if they’re holding your eye because they’re wondering

why you’re looking at them?” Tony insisted. “It’s aggressive, isn’t it?
They might come over and beat you up.”

“Nah! Everyone knows what they’re after on the ’eath!”
“How can your eyes even meet when it’s dark?”
“When it’s dark you know someone’s interested if they’re

smoking a cigarette and they stand near you.”

“But you still can’t see them!”
“It can be a risk”, admitted Shaun. “But if you get close enough

you can make out what he’s like”.

“And if he’s hideous?”
“Run the fuck away! Nah, just walk away.” It didn’t seem very

polite to Tony. He wouldn’t like getting that close to a strange man in the
first place. He would feel like he owed him an explanation. ‘I’m sorry
but I thought you were someone I knew. I’m very sorry to disturb you.’

“So where do you do it?”
“In the bushes.”
“Doesn’t sound comfortable.”
“You’re not there for comfort, you’re there for a shag.”
“I couldn’t do it. I really couldn’t.”
“Suit yerself. But you get some really ’orny guys there. Really

’ot fuckers that you’d never see in this place.”

“And does Adrian know?”
“What do you think?” Shaun gave Tony a look of mock

contempt. “I just tell ’im I’m catching up with me straight mates.”

“It just sounds dangerous, Shaun. Be careful.”
“I’m always bloody careful! Jesus, you’ve gotta take some risks

in life Tony.” No you don’t, thought Tony, you don’t have to take any
risks at all.

“Scull! Scull! Scull! Scull!” Tony finished his pint. Now he was

feeling sleepy. He reached over for another cigarette. He lit it and
inhaled; it tasted good. He could understand the attraction of smoking
now; the slow breathing in and out was calming while the nicotine
sharpened his brain. “I don’t want another drink”.

“Oh go on!”
“No! Shaun, I mean it. If you buy me one I won’t drink it, so

don’t waste your money.”

“Dance then!”
“Fine”. Tony got up and was horrified to find himself bending

his knees to the music. He wiggled his waist and moved his arms around.

Might as well bloody have fun, he thought. “Play Kylie, Play Kylie”,
screamed Shaun at the DJ. “No! Let’s go out the front and put on
Bananarama!” Shaun started walking to the door to the front bar, Tony
followed. The front bar was busy, but there was still space to get to the
jukebox. “They’ve got ‘Venus’! Right, I’m putting that on. And ‘Nathan
Jones’.” He put his money in and selected two tracks. “What about the
third?” he asked Tony.

“Toyah?”
“Fuck off!”
“There’s More to Love than Boy Meets Girl. The Communards”.
“Yeah, OK”. He punched the number in. “Wonder ’ow long it’ll

take before they play?” Tony shrugged. “I’ve got to sit down”.

“Suit yerself”.
Tony looked round. He felt that if he didn’t sit down he would

start swaying. He saw Gary and Andy still sitting in front of the window.
There was no space there. He saw an old man get up from the long seat
next to the corridor. He lurched towards it. “Is this free?” he asked the fat
man sitting nearby. “How am I supposed to know?” he replied, turning
back to talk to his friend. Tony sat down gratefully.

“’Ere, you’ve got an admirer!” Tony looked up to see Shaun

grinning at him. He was standing next to the old man who’d been seated.
“’E’s bought you a drink.” Tony stared at Shaun. The old man came and
tried to sit down. “Move up Sonny, you can make some more room
there”. Tony moved up closer to the fat man next to him. The old man
squeezed in. “Here you are.” he handed a half pint glass to Tony. Tony
looked up at Shaun again. Shaun was still grinning evilly. He turned and
walked back to the bar.

“I’m Rodney”.
“I’m feeling unwell.”
“What’s your name?”
“Oh. Tony.” Tony’s head slumped into his chest. “I really don’t

feel well”.

“Here, have some of this”. Tony moved his head up. The effort

was enormous. Rodney gave him the glass, then put his arm around
Tony’s shoulder. Tony was too drunk to tell him to stop it.

Tony brought it up to his face and sipped. He could smell the

bitterness of the lager before he tasted it. His stomach clenched violently
and he threw up all over the front of his shirt.

“Oh dear. We’d better get that cleaned up”, said Rodney. “Come

on”. He held Tony under his arms and pulled him up. “I’m fine”, slurred
Tony. He looked around but the room was spinning. He lurched in the
direction of the toilet. For the first time he didn’t care what people
thought and he pushed through them. He urgently needed to throw up
again. He pushed the toilet door and staggered to the urinal. He threw up
again. He fell to his knees and prayed to the blue urinal blocks. He threw
up again.

“Tony”. A quiet voice was behind him.
“Go away OK? I’m fine. Leave me alone”, groaned Tony over

the urinal.

“Tony, it’s Gary.” Tony turned his head wearily to the right.

“Hello Gary. I’m not very well.” Gary smiled. “No, you’re not. How are
you getting home?”

“Night bus”.
“I don’t think they’ll let you on in your state. Your shirt’s a bit of

a mess.” Wow, thought Tony, you can speak a whole sentence. He hoped
he hadn’t said that aloud.

“Dunno”.
“Come on, get up. That old guy’s not here. I’ll drive you home.

Where do you live?”

“Southgate”.
“Well, that’s lucky. I live in Palmers Green. Not far out of the

way at all.”

“Where’s Shaun?”
“I don’t know. I think he’s a bit of a dickhead, Tony. He let that

old guy buy you a drink and feel you up. Not much of a friend, is he?”

“Yes he is! He is my friend!”
“Come on. Get up.” Gary stood behind Tony and put his hands

under his shoulders. He pulled Tony up and turned him around. “You
might want to wash your face. And maybe throw that shirt away.”

Tony took off his heavy coat. Fortunately he hadn’t been sick on

that. He took off his shirt, not caring that anyone would see his scrawny
body. He threw it in the bin and splashed cold water over his face. Its
iciness startled him. He looked up at himself in the mirror. Not a pretty
sight, he thought. He saw Gary’s reflection in the mirror. “Sorry”, he
said. “Not a good look”.

“I don’t think it was your fault. Let’s go”.
They walked out into the pub. Tony tried to avoid everyone’s

eyes. He’d buttoned up his coat and didn’t welcome walking in to the

cool spring night air. “What about Andy?”

“He’s fine. He lives in Stockwell anyway. I wasn’t going over to

his place tonight”.

“Oh. OK”.
They went outside. As expected, the cold air seemed to find its

way through the coat’s buttonholes and pricked his skin. He shivered.

“I’m just parked over the road”.
“You drove? Don’t you drink?”
“Not much. I prefer to have my own transport”. Tony wondered

how anyone could have fun without drinking. Maybe that’s why Gary
was so boring?

Gary’s white Escort van was parked near the Burger King. Gary

started the engine and turned the heating up. He drove round the block
then up Camden Road. They didn’t talk. Tony looked dully out of the
window, marvelling at how nice it was to be driven home. When they got
to Arnos Grove he wondered whether to tell Gary to drop him there so he
wouldn’t know where he lived. He decided he wasn’t in a state to walk.
Gary drove him to Monks Way.

“Can I see you next Saturday?”
“At the Cap? I don’t really feel like going there ever again at the

moment.”

“No. I want to go shopping. I need to buy Andy a present. I can

use some advice. I don’t like shopping”.

“Neither do I.” Tony saw Gary’s sweet, broad face. He’s buying

a present for his boyfriend for God’s sake; I’m sure nothing funny’s
going to happen. “OK. I’d love to.”

“I’ll pick you up here next Saturday at midday then”. Gary

smiled with the excitement of a boy who’d been given his first football.

“OK!” Damn, he knows where I live now. Tony walked down

the steps and opened the front door. The living room door was closed but
he could hear the television and smell cigarette smoke. He walked
straight upstairs, collapsed on his bed and fell asleep.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The following Saturday was a beautiful spring day. The light

blue sky was a background for bright white clouds that didn’t threaten
rain. All but one of the trees that lined Monks Way had erupted in
voluptuous pink cherry blossom. A lone tree’s heavy white blossoms
stood out daringly. Tony wondered how the local council’s tree planters
could have made such a mistake. He was annoyed that the uniformity of
pink blossoms was spoiled by this rebellious white intruder. The rebel
tree stood in front a white 1930s flat-roofed house. Its huge windows
were outlined in peppermint green, the same colour as its door. Ten
houses on the opposite side of Monk’s Way were built in a similar art
deco style. They gave way to more traditional red brick semi-detached
homes that sat along the rest the street. Tony forgave these avant-garde
houses their individuality because there was a group of them. He
reluctantly admitted some of them were attractive, except for the black
and white house with its barren front garden where the ‘witch’ lived. He,
Rick and Sharon had always been too afraid to go trick or treating there
at Halloween. They didn’t want their evening of blackmailing sweets
spoiled by any unpleasantness.

Gary’s van was already parked across the street in front of the

white-flowered tree. Gary was sitting impassively in the car, staring
down the street. He does look very attractive, though Tony as he crossed
the road. He walked in front of the car and waved at Gary. He saw Gary
lean over to open the passenger door so it was already ajar when he
pulled open the door and sat down with a cheery “Hello”.

“Hello”. Gary smiled broadly and moved his head towards Tony.

Tony shot his head away. “I’m not comfortable being kissed by a man on
my own street Tony!” Gary looked disappointed but didn’t insist.

“What will the neighbours think!” he said. Wow, he has a sense

of humour, thought Tony.

“Sorry. I’m not even out to my parents. Are you?”
“Oh yeah”. Tony was surprised.
“How did they take it?”
“Really well.” That wasn’t enough drama for Tony.
“No shouting? No threats to kick you out?”
“No”.
“Oh. Well that’s really good. You’re really lucky”.
“I suppose”. Gary started the engine, put the van into first gear

and drove down Monks Way.

“I’m sorry about last week. It wasn’t a good look. Believe it or

not I don’t normally drink that much”.

“I could tell”. Tony looked at Gary and saw he had a small smile

on his face.

“It was those Snakebites Shaun kept buying”. Gary’s smile

disappeared at the mention of Shaun’s name.

They sat in silence as the van drove towards the North Circular.

Tony was uncomfortable by the lack of talk. He didn’t know what Gary
was thinking. He turned his head to see into the dark back of the van. It
was empty.

“What do you keep in the back?”
“Tools”. Tony looked around again. Now he saw a dark grey

canvas bag.

“You don’t need a van to carry those tools!”
“I’ve always wanted a van”.
“But you can’t fit any more than one passenger in”.
“I don’t mind”. Tony wondered whether Gary had many friends.

I doubt it.

“All that wasted space”.
“It can be used for other things”. Gary’s smile returned. Tony

froze at the image that immediately came to his mind of Gary and Andy
having sex there. He had to change the subject.

“So, what are you thinking of buying Andy?”
“A card”.
“That’s a good start”.
“Maybe some chocolates”, he said.
“No! Chocolates are boring. Chocolates are what you give when

you haven’t thought of anything better”.

“That’s why I wanted you to come along and help me”. Tony

tried to remember what presents he had bought in the past. For Hazel’s
last birthday he’d cooked fish and chips in the oven but hadn’t had
enough money to buy anything else. He’d bought Barry ‘Brut’ aftershave
for his last birthday. He’d sent a card to Rick for his birthday that had
humorously explained that no money was inside.

“After shave”, declared Tony.
“That’s a good idea. What type?”
“Shaun wears ‘Aramis’. That’s really nice”.
“Well if Shaun wears it…” Gary didn’t finish. He wasn’t

smiling.

“Well, if Shaun wears it, what? You don’t like him do you?”
“I’ve already told you I don’t think he’s a good friend to you.”

Tony didn’t want to admit to Gary that Shaun was his only friend.

“You’ve only met him once”.
“That was enough”. Tony was annoyed that Gary could judge

Shaun so harshly. He didn’t know him, in fact he barely knew Tony. He
had no right to form opinions of people after one meeting.

Tony rested his head on the window and watched the shops pass

by on Green Lanes. Even blue skies couldn’t make this road look
attractive, he thought. They sat in silence until Tony turned into the car
park in the Shopping City. “I haven’t been driven to Wood Green in
years”.

“Really? Doesn’t you dad drive?” Oh no, that question that

again, thought Tony.

“No. I don’t know why. He hasn’t had a car since 1983”.
“I don’t know what I’d do without my baby”. Gary patted the

gear stick.

“Get the tube like the rest of us!”
“No thanks”.
“Well, how do you get into the West End then?”
“I don’t go”. He parked the car and turned off the engine. “I

know. I’m a boring bastard aren’t I?”

“No! God, I barely even know you!”
Tony hadn’t walked around the Shopping City since he’d last

been there with Shaun. Gary didn’t have Shaun’s gift for saying
whatever came into his mind but at least that meant Tony wasn’t going to
be the target of it. He realised he was wearing the same Aran Isle jumper
that Shaun had disapproved of. Gary was wearing a tight black shirt that
fitted him perfectly and showed off his chest muscles. His blue denim
jacket hid his muscular arms. Tony was relieved that Gary showed no
interest in going to clothes shops. Instead he wanted to go to every small
gift shop he could see.

“What do you think of this?” He pointed to a small ornament of

two pink birds pressing their cheeks together. It was sickening.

“Maybe a bit too sentimental?” It was something a love-struck

teenage girl would buy, thought Tony.

“I think Andy would like it”. Tony didn’t hide his look of horror.
“Maybe something else then.” Gary didn’t look upset at Tony’s

judgment on his taste.

After more crystal ornaments and stuffed rabbits had been

rejected by Tony he said: “So the aftershave isn’t an option then?”

“It’s not romantic enough”.
“You said it was a good idea!” Until I said that Shaun wore it,

thought Tony.

After the fifth gift shop Tony decided he couldn’t take any more.

He picked up a grey and white stuffed cat and handed it to Gary. Gary
smiled and said, “it’s perfect!” He then bought a huge birthday card that
featured two lovebirds snuggling cheek to cheek. He was going to get
those bloody lovebirds somehow, thought Tony. Who would have
thought such a masculine man would be so sentimental? Tony carefully
chose cards for his family that excluded all overt or convert mention of
‘love’. He preferred humorous cards that subtly conveyed his feelings of
contempt for them.

“Do you want to see a film?” said Gary.
“I haven’t got any money”.
“I’ll pay”.
“OK!”
Gary wanted to see ‘Three Men and a Baby’ so Tony had to

reluctantly agree. He had a policy of never seeing films with babies or
children in them, but once again saw his convictions fall away due to his
lack of money. The film was as repellently sentimental as he expected.
Gary seemed to enjoy it. He looked cute when he laughed, thought Tony.
Tony found it difficult to keep his long legs together in the cramped seats
so decided to let them open out. His left knee touched Gary’s right knee
for most of the film. He wondered whether Gary would move it away.
He didn’t. Tony wondered whether this unexpected contact was giving
Gary an erection as well. He dismissed the thought, thinking of the
cuddly cat and the lovebird birthday card. He’s obviously a big romantic
who loves his boyfriend. And that’s sweet. Anyway, he added, I don’t
fancy him; it’s just that my dick never checks with my brain before
stiffening.

Gary wanted to eat after the film. Tony sat watching him eating

his Wimpy halfpounder. He was hungry but refused to let Gary spend
any more money on him. “Are you sure you’re not hungry?” Gary
seemed concerned. “I don’t eat much”, said Tony truthfully.

“Yeah, you are very slim”. Tony had hoped that his thick

woollen jumper hid his thinness. Then he remembered Gary had seen his

body in all its bony glory at the Cap last Saturday. Gary smiled. “You
could do with some more meat on your bones. Here.” He pushed his
plate of chips towards Tony. Tony took one. Then he ate half the plate.

“So you’re not meeting Andy at the Cap tonight?”
“No, I’ll see him tomorrow for his birthday. Are you going?”
“Not until anybody who saw me spewing all over myself has

died”.

“Well, maybe only that old man saw you and he’ll be dead

soon!”

“I’ll keep checking the obituaries for a murdered paedophile

called Rodney then”.

“You’re funny!”
“Thanks. I don’t know if I mean to be”.
“Andy’s funny. That’s why I love him”.
“How long have you two been going out for?”
“Four weeks”.
“Wow”. Tony didn’t know what else to say. That was four

weeks longer than any boyfriend he’d ever had. But four weeks with
Gary must feel like a lot longer, he thought. He remembered Andy
talking to other people at the Cap last week and almost ignoring Gary.

“Andy must really love you”.
“I dunno. Probably not. I don’t say much”. He gave a short laugh

then looked down at his plate.

“You’ve been saying quite a lot today”. Oh wow, he’s actually

blushing, thought Tony. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody blush
before. Gary’s cheeks were noticeably redder even though his head was
bowed towards his plate. A few minutes of silence followed. For once,
Tony didn’t feel the need to fill it.

Gary looked up. “Do you want to head off then?”
“Yes”.
“So you’re free tonight then?”
“Yes”, Tony nodded his head gravely. I’ve already told him that,

he thought.

“Why not come round my place?”
“Are your parents home?”
“Yeah. So?”
“So, won’t they wonder why I’m there and not Andy?”
“They’ve never met Andy”.
Tony sat back. I’ve got nothing else to do, he thought. But how

much more of Gary can I take?

“I’ve got a TV in my bedroom”.
“Well, that’s great then. OK.” Oh what the hell! thought Tony.

I’ll only be watching TV at home on my own otherwise.

Gary’s house in Palmers Green had a grey pebble dashed

exterior. Tony wondered whether it was a council house; the other semi-
detached houses all looked the same. Gary opened the door to the sound
of yapping. “Sheba’s had puppies”, he said. “They’re in the kitchen”.
Tony saw a child safety gate stopping two small puppies from running
into the living room.

“Hi mum. Hi dad”, called Gary. His father was sitting in the

single seat of an olive-coloured three-piece suite. He didn’t say anything.

“Hi Gary!” His mum let herself through the safety gate, pushing

back an eager puppy with her foot.

“This is Tony from the gay teen group”. Tony was stunned that

Gary would out him so blatantly to his parents.

“Oh ’ello Tony! ’Ere, Ray”, she looked at the man in the seat,

“Tony’s brother’s a fairy too!” Tony looked sharply at Gary. He hadn’t
told Gary this. Gary looked embarrassed.

“Do you want to see the puppies”, said Gary’s mum.
“I’d love to”. He went to peer over the safety gate and saw five

brown and grey puppies running around, occasionally skidding on their
own urine.

“Well, we’re going up to watch TV”, said Gary. He walked

quickly to the stairs. “Come on Tony”. Tony followed him upstairs and
into his bedroom. It was freezing. “Isn’t the central heating on?” It may
be April but it’s still cold, he thought.

“We don’t have central heating”, replied Gary. Don’t have

central heating? thought Tony. Who doesn’t have central heating? He
turned to more urgent matters.

“How on earth did you know I had a gay brother? I didn’t tell

you that”.

“Shaun told me”.
“Why on earth would Shaun be talking about me? You only met

him at the Cap just before I arrived”. Gary was looking down at the
carpet.

“I saw him at the teen group last Sunday”.
“Sean was at the teen group? He told me he wasn’t going

anymore”. Tony was speaking loudly now.

“Well he was there”. Tony was furious at Shaun. He said he

hated the teen group so how could he have gone? And how could he have
gone and not told Tony?

“And how did Shaun just suddenly, out of the blue, tell you I had

a gay brother? Hmm? I can’t see it just coming up in a random
conversation: ‘Oh, by the way, Tony’s brother’s gay’”. Tony pursed his
lips and stared furiously at Gary. He was angry with him and Shaun for
talking about him behind his back. It was private information; only the
sort of personal information he could tell people.

Gary was blushing again. He went and sat down on his bed. He

looked up at Tony, his cheeks burning red. “I was just asking about how
you were. About whether he’d heard if you were OK”. Gary looked like
a little boy again. This time Tony felt like he’d yanked his football away
and pierced it on a fencepost.

“I’m sorry, but that’s private information. And now your parents

know”.

“They’re not going to tell anyone”. Tony didn’t think that was

true but knew it didn’t matter. His parents didn’t have many friends so
were unlikely to find out that distant neighbours knew a dark secret about
their children.

“I’m still furious at Shaun. He had no right. Did he tell you that

his own brother hit him when he came out?”

“Yes. That’s when he said how lucky you were having a gay

brother”.

“Oh”. Tony felt deflated. It was hardly the scurrilous gossip he’d

imagined.

“You’re really lucky having a gay brother”. Tony opened his

mouth as if to scream and stared at Gary.

“If anybody else says that…” Gary smiled at him.
There was a knock on the door. “Come in!” said Gary. A teenage

girl came in.

“All right?” she said to Gary.
“All right”.
She stood in silence. “This is my friend Tony”, said Gary

eventually. “Tony, this is my sister Cheryl”

“All right Tony”.
“All right Cheryl”.
“Cheryl goes to Southgate Comprehensive”.
“Yeah. Southgate Comprehensive”, said Cheryl.

“Oh, I used to go there”, said Tony.
“Yeah? You used to go there? Do you know Alex Peacock?”
“No”.
“Sarah Mulligan?”
“No”.
“Sandra Deegan?” Tony wondered how long this would go on

for.

“No. I left there in 1986. I would have been a few years ahead of

you all”.

“You’re shivering”, Cheryl said. “Well, we can’t all afford

central heating”. She turned and left, slamming the door behind her.

“Well, that’s my sister Cheryl. So now you know my sister’s a

bitch”. Gary smiled broadly. “What other personal information would
you like to know?”

Tony laughed. He liked seeing Gary’s cheeky side. “That’s

enough personal information”.

“Here, put this on.” Gary pulled a burgundy cardigan from the

chest of drawers next to his bed.

“Thanks. I don’t know why I didn’t wear my coat today. Well, I

do. It looked warm”.

“What do you want to watch?” Gary walked to the small TV on

the chest of drawers.

“Dunno”.
“I can put a record on”.
“Yeah. OK”.
Gary went to the stereo system that was next to the drawers.
“Michael Jackson?”
“OK”.
“Bad?”
“No, he’s quite good”. Tony was glad to hear Gary groan at his

weak joke. He watched him bend over to put the record on the turntable.
He had never had much interest in men’s bums, but he noticed the firm
bulge of Tony’s gluteal muscles standing out from his trousers. He leant
over to get the album cover, getting a closer look at the same time.

Gary stood up and turned. “Sit down!” he commanded. He

pointed at a large brown beanbag. Tony sat down, laying the album cover
next to him. Gary sat on his bed.

Tony pushed his weight into the beanbag to try and get

comfortable. He ended up lying on top of it, his head pointing towards

Gary’s bed. They listened to the first half of the album in silence. It was
a comfortable silence; Tony didn’t like people talking when music was
playing. Side A finished.

“Can I use your loo?”
“Yeah, it’s straight over the landing”.
Tony had a pee in the cold bathroom then washed his hands. He

was glad the hot water was working. He walked over the landing towards
Gary’s room. He could hear music; Gary obviously hadn’t waited for
him to get back before playing the second side. Inside, Gary was lying on
his bed. He smiled when Tony came back in and lay down on top of the
beanbag again. Tony picked up the album cover and looked for the first
track from Side B. It was supposed to be ‘Another Part of Me’. Except
the song playing now was unmistakeably ‘I Just Can’t Stop Loving You’.

It felt inevitable. Tony turned his head to look at Gary. He

grinned back.

“Are you trying to tell me something?”
“Maybe”. Gary blushed deeply but stayed lying down, his hands

behind his head.

“Can I come over there?”
“OK”. Tony decided against being subtle. He lay down next to

Gary, squeezing himself between him and the wall.

“Hello”, said Tony.
“Hello”. Gary grinned, staring at the ceiling.
“I’m not up there”. Gary turned his head towards Tony. His

cheeks were still red. He moved his body onto his side.

“And how would Andy feel about you seducing me in your

bedroom?”

“Don’t know. He’s not here”. Hardly an answer, thought Tony.

But more to the point, how do I feel about it? His thumping heart and
shaking told him that no logic would stop what was going to happen.

He put his right arm over Gary’s torso and moved his chest

close. “At least I’m warm now!” Their faces were still a few inches
apart. Gary moved his head forward and rested his forehead on Tony’s.
Their noses touched. Tony suddenly decided he didn’t want to kiss Gary.
It didn’t feel right. He sat up. The floorboards creaked loudly on the
landing.

“Mum and dad go to bed early”, Gary whispered. He looked

concerned. Well, you should have thought of that before you put that
bloody track on, thought Tony. You started this.

“Take your clothes off”, said Tony. Gary held his right finger to

his lips and whispered “Shush!” His left finger pointed at the wall.

“Will they come in?” whispered Tony. Gary shook his head.

Tony took his shoes and socks off. He pulled his jeans and pants off
together. His cock sprang out; it was vigorously vertical and almost stuck
to his abdomen. He left his shirt, jumper and Gary’s cardigan on for
warmth. Gary sat up and whispered, “We can’t have sex”.

“Too late now”, whispered Tony back. He straddled the bed so

Gary could clearly see his erection. “Please”, he implored. Gary took off
all his clothes except his underpants. His body was as hard and muscled
as Shaun had imagined last week. Tony smiled at this. “Shaun said you
had a fantastic body”. He suddenly wondered whether Gary and Shaun
had had sex last Sunday. Maybe that was why Shaun had turned up to the
group, so he could seduce Gary? He was furious at the idea.

“Have you and Shaun?” Gary looked surprised.
“No! I don’t fancy him in the slightest”. Tony’s face fell and he

felt bad for asking.

“Sorry”. He reached over and stroked Gary’s taught, hairless

chest. Gary flexed his arms so Tony could feel his hard muscles. He
smiled at Tony. “I’m a manual labourer really. Being a mechanic keeps
me fit”. Tony looked at Gary’s light blue briefs. He was glad to see a
large column sticking out of the thin fabric, with a wet spot growing
where his knob was. He leant down and lowered the briefs away from his
cock. It sprang out, but rather than hold itself vertical like Tony’s the
middle of his dick curved alarmingly to the left. He didn’t say anything,
but he didn’t find it very attractive. He stroked it anyway, following it
from the base and feeling the kink where it veered to one side. I wonder
what that feels like if he puts inside someone? he thought. Does it hurt?

“Take them off”, Tony whispered. He wanted free access to

Gary’s balls. Gary lifted his legs up and slipped off his briefs. His
muscles protruded from his abdomen as he did so. With his legs splayed
Gary’s balls fell down low towards the bed. They were huge; at least as
big as Shaun’s. He moved his head down to kiss them reverently. Gary
lay back and let Tony place his balls in his mouth separately and then
together. He moved his mouth up to the shaft of Gary’s cock and licked.
His tongue had to change direction at the alarming kink. He put Gary’s
cock in his mouth and pushed his head down. At the kink he stopped. He
didn’t want to force his mouth any further in case Gary’s cock snapped.
He retreated and started stroking it again. Gary sat up and smiled. “My

turn”. He moved his head down and kissed Tony’s balls lightly. Then he
delicately kissed his knob. Tony tried putting his hands on Gary’s head
and pushing to give him the hint to take his whole cock into his mouth,
but Gary didn’t. Tony cupped his balls in his hands and hoped that Gary
would suck them. Gary just kissed them lightly again. Oh come on,
thought Tony, if you’re going to do it then suck them hard, I’m not
delicate. But he didn’t say anything.

“Do you want to come”, whispered Gary.
“Yes!” Gary rubbed Tony’s cock but once again Tony didn’t feel

comfortable with someone else controlling his dick. “I’d better do it
myself”. He wanked himself hard and felt the familiar tightening of
muscles in his groin. Once again he begged that this time he would
actually feel the orgasm. He looked at Gary, who had his mouth open
slightly. He held Gary’s shoulder and he wanked and looked into his
eyes. He looked so sweet and innocent; Tony couldn’t decide if it was
sexy or not. He felt himself coming and sat back. The semen reluctantly
came out, once again bypassing his orgasm muscles. It sneaked out of his
body without joy. He lay down on the bed.

“You must be tired”, said Gary. Tony smiled. Once again, his

dick was refusing to give him joy, he thought bitterly. Gary reached into
his drawers for a t-shirt. He gave it to Tony to wipe himself.

Gary started putting his clothes on. “What about you?” said

Tony, surprised.

“Not with my parents next door”. What? thought Tony, you

don’t ever wank when your parents are next door? Then when do you do
it? But he was happy he’d come and was glad that he didn’t have to
spend any more time touching Gary’s strange dick. He got dressed too,
leaving off the burgundy cardigan.

“I’ll take you home”, said Gary.
“Thanks. That’s nice of you”. He could have walked; it would

only have been half an hour.

The van pulled up outside Tony’s house. Gary reached over and

took Tony’s hand, placing it on the gearstick and covering it with his.
“So, are we boyfriends now?” Tony hadn’t expected the question. He
thought it was just a one-off incident and didn’t particularly want a
repeat of it.

“You have a boyfriend. Andy”. Gary looked down to his lap, and

then moved his head up to stare at the rebellious white-blossomed tree,
now glowing amber from the reflection of the streetlights.

“I think he’s going to split up with me tomorrow”.
“On his birthday? After you bought him that present?” Tony

stifled the thought that he’d leave anyone who gave him a stuffed cat for
his birthday. “Well, see what happens”.

“Can I have your number?” Tony cursed himself for not having

an excuse ready.

“OK”. Gary wrote it down on the back of an invoice.
“I’ll call”.
“Yeah. OK. Good luck tomorrow”. Walking to his front door,

Tony prayed to the God that he didn’t believe in that Andy didn’t dump
Gary the next day.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Tony hadn’t been back to the gay teen group since his seduction

by Martin had left him feeling angry and humiliated. Instead, he
developed a routine where he would meet Shaun at the Cap to get loudly
drunk on Saturdays and then have his hung-over body driven in peace
around the countryside by Gary on Sundays. The price of the pleasant
drive was an uncomfortable fumble in the back of the Escort van. Tony
considered this fair, as Gary knew not to kiss him and seemed happy to
receive a quick hand job.

Tony had finally relented to Barry’s snide comments about

money and taken a job at an old-fashioned jewellery shop in Palmers
Green. Hansen’s Jewellers had changed little since the early 1900s. It
had large windows that curved from the street along a tiled passage to the
front door. Displayed were expensive Swiss watches, silverware and fine
jewellery. However, few of the people who browsed the window
collection came into the shop. Most saw the prices and then walked
immediately across the road to a chain store that sold cheap nine-carat
gold jewellery. There were days when there were no customers in
Hansen’s, which suited Tony perfectly well, as he had no interest in them
or their annoying questions. He kept a lookout to see whether any
potential customers were going to move from browsing the large
windows to actually coming inside to buy. If there were any chance of
this, he would disappear into the stock room and busy himself cleaning
jewellery by bathing them in the ultrasonic polisher. His manager
Michelle would then have to serve the customers. Only when it seemed
Michelle’s sullenness would turn into true fury would Tony come into
the shop and help with the battery and watchstrap replacements that
made up most of the business. He had been very happy to leave in early
September to enrol at Southgate College for his third attempt at A-levels.

Tony enjoyed starting afresh. This was why he made sure he

started afresh as often as possible. There was little point in continuing
with his first attempt at A-levels because he’d hated his comprehensive
school, its teachers and their insistence that he complete assignments.
Once again, Barry had allowed him to leave, happy with Tony’s
conviction that he needed a break from study and would return the
following year. The next September Tony had enrolled in an Ordinary
National Diploma in Computer Science at Barnet College. This had
proven to be horrendously difficult as his maths education had been

severely disrupted by Hazel’s constant need to move during his primary
and early secondary schooling. His classmates were also young male
nerds who brought The Sun to class every day to loudly ogle the Page
Three model’s naked breasts. Three weeks into the course, Tony had
another chance to start afresh when he saw a brochure for a journalism
course. He had successfully begged to be allowed to transfer to it. He’d
enjoyed that course initially. He felt wonderfully superior to the other
students because he could already touch-type, having been one of the few
boys to take typing at his school. Tony had missed a week of study after
Hazel’s attempted suicide so he’d decided, against the advice of his
teachers, that he couldn’t possibly make up that lost week over the
remaining eighteen months of the course. He left with the knowledge that
he could start afresh the following September.

Tony didn’t want to go to university or polytechnic. Nobody in

his family had been, although both Hazel and Barry said it was probably
the right thing to aim for. They gave no explicit encouragement. Tony
assumed this was because they, like him, had no idea what universities
actually did. What was a degree? How did it consist of? Tony had seen
on the TV news footage of students cramming for their ‘finals’. This
looked truly terrifying to Tony. Did you study for three years and then
have to pass one big exam at the end? He couldn’t even get through two
months of an A-level course without losing all self-confidence; there was
no way he could get through three years. Strangely, the idea of moving
away from home to go to university also scared him. His home life was
unpleasant, but it was safe. He could isolate himself in his bedroom when
he felt unable to face the world. Nobody would push him and nobody
would challenge him. If he had to put up with his mum’s constant crying
and screaming at herself every morning then so be it. He could put a
pillow over his head and ignore it. She denied she did it, so it was easier
for Tony to assume there were different levels of reality. Whatever level
of reality Hazel was living in was impossible for Tony to understand.

Starting afresh at Southgate College meant more than study.

Tony wanted to prove to himself he could handle study and continue his
social life with Shaun with Gary. He knew he wouldn’t have the courage
to be openly gay at college and knew he would have to find excuses not
to talk about what he did on weekends. Why did he even need to talk to
anybody? He’d managed to talk to as few people as possible at secondary
school so why start now? This turned out to be more difficult than he
anticipated. The other students were much friendlier than his classmates

had been at school. Tony realised that he had also changed. He had
become much more sociable since meeting Shaun. He felt the need to
have his opinions heard and craved approval. He felt more confident
answering questions in class and made sure that he kept up to date with
his reading. He was friendly with some of the other students but not to
the point where there might be uncomfortable questions about
girlfriends. The homophobia he encountered was standard. Some male
students questioned whether their English teacher was queer and
wondered whether he should be allowed to teach. The female students
defended the teacher. One young man enjoyed grabbing other boys
during afternoon registration, heartily claiming he was ‘a dangerous
homosexual who needs to be stopped’. The teacher said nothing. It was a
reminder to Tony that he must quiet about his sexuality at all costs.

It was probably inevitable that Tony would decide to leave

Southgate College. Without wanting to go to university he couldn’t
motivate himself to always turn up to classes. Notes from Hazel
explaining his latest imaginary illness were of no use. He was eighteen
and they expected him to explain for himself why his attendance was
decreasing. He didn’t know why it was, so felt unable to explain to a
counsellor. Was it because I’m uncomfortable being gay and not able to
talk about it? he asked himself. Because if that’s the reason then how can
I possibly tell them? Maybe they will kick me out of college for being
gay? He created a scenario in his brain where he imagined the college
didn’t want him, so he decided he would leave before he faced the
humiliation of being asked to go. For the third time he left his studies.
He’d lasted three months.

Barry and Hazel reacted with typical apathy. Barry thought Tony

had best get a secure job in a bank. Tony promised to look after New
Year, arguing that was when more jobs would be advertised. He knew
this time he really would have to find something; he couldn’t delude
himself that he would try any further study. He imagined that it was all
for the best. All he needed was a stable, sensible boyfriend, he reasoned,
and then that stability would ground him and allow him to find the
perfect job. He wasn’t going to find that stable, sensible boyfriend at the
Black Cap, he knew. It was time to take out Time Out and find the
address of another gay group that was listed. It was called ‘London Gay
Youth’; it met on Monday nights at seven and advertised itself as being
for men under thirty. Good, thought Tony, hopefully it won’t be full of
screaming young queens like the teen group.

Tony looked up the address of LGY in his A to Z and traced the

directions from Kings Cross tube. It wasn’t far, although it was hidden
away in a back street. He had always been wary of Kings Cross. When
he had taken trains up to Yorkshire from the British Rail terminus to visit
his dad’s parents, Barry wouldn’t let him leave the station. It was a
rundown part of the city and the station attracted a large population of
homeless people and beggars. Tony was scared of beggars because some
of the Camden Town ones would abuse him if he didn’t give them
money. The only time he’d relented was when an attractive Scottish man
had promised him he was hardworking but just needed a decent meal.
He’d taken the two pounds Tony had given him and come back five
minutes later to join his laughing friends. He was gulping from a can of
strong lager. Which I bought, thought Tony bitterly.

I’ll just walk really fast and ignore everyone. That’s what I do

every day anyway. Tony got off the Piccadilly Line at Kings Cross and
tried to follow the maze of tunnels that lead to Euston Road. He came out
on the wrong side so retreated again and walked to the side where a
Wimpy Bar stood next to a betting shop. He walked fast towards the road
he had to turn into, ignoring a young man who was demanding money.
When he turned he saw an estate of concrete towers ahead of him. Tony
stared at the ground and walked fast through the pedestrianised road. He
knew the meeting place for LGY was on the next corner and his heart
rate quickened with every long pace he took. He was angry that he was
scared. Why should I be scared of going to a meeting? he scolded
himself. But what if the next corner is filled with aggressive homeless
people? He told himself that he would start running if he felt unsafe.

Tony could see nobody at the corner so he felt it was safe to slow

down and saunter. At the corner there was a set of concrete steps that
lead down to a pair of glass doors. Bright fluorescent light illuminated
the heads of two men standing just behind the doors. The number above
the doors matched the address that Tony had. He knew this was the
place. As he descended the stairs the meeting hall became visible and the
two men behind the doors revealed their bodies. One of them turned and
saw him then turned away again and started talking to the other man.
Tony wondered whether the agony of his first meeting of the teen group
would be repeated. He promised himself he could just walk in and sit
down; he didn’t have to talk to anyone. He pulled the right glass door
open and entered.

The man standing by the wall to his right looked at him. He

smiled.

“Hello”, said Tony. “I’m new here”.
“Welcome!”. The man gave Tony a conspiratorial look. “You do

know this a gay group don’t you?”

“Yes”. Tony wasn’t sure if it was a joke.
“Good! I’m Eric. I’m the convenor here. You are?”
“I’m Tony”. He supposed Eric was in his mid twenties, which

seemed quite old to Tony. He had medium-short brown hair with a fringe
that kept falling into his forehead. Eric kept pushing it back with his right
hand. Tony wondered why he didn’t use gel.

“Hi Tony! Let me introduce you to some people”. He looked

over to the kitchen area that was behind Tony. Two men were talking,
their arms resting on the grey counter. The one nearest Tony had dark
blonde hair and was wearing a suit with a white shirt striped with thin red
vertical lines. His red tie was still tightly knotted against his collar. He
had a boyish face with beautifully smooth light pink skin. He was tall
and his height aged his boyish features. “Lance! Roy! New boy!” Lance
and Roy stopped talking and looked at Tony.

“Hello new boy!” the boyish man smiled at Tony then called to

Eric, “that’s not a very good way of introducing people.” Eric waved his
hand dismissively.

“I’m Roy”.
“Tony”. The man who must have been Lance didn’t introduce

himself. He started talking to Roy again. Tony wondered whether he
should introduce himself to Lance. Lance was taller than Tony, with dark
hair, pale skin and a very unfriendly look on his face. Tony didn’t meet
many men who were taller than him; it unsettled him when he did. He
wasn’t used to speaking to people at his own height or higher. He always
had to look, or bend down, to talk. He felt intimidated by Lance’s height
and sour look so decided he would walk past and head to the urn he’d
spotted at the back of the room. As he walked past the men, Lance turned
and said, “don’t say hello then”.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Hello”. Lance’s face was blank. He turned back

to talk to Roy. Tony walked quickly to the urn. It was surrounded by the
usual tea and coffee-making accoutrements and a sign asking for one-
pound donations. He thought that was way too much for a cup of instant
coffee so walked away and sat in a wooden armed chair, one of four
arranged around a table. He looked around the room. It was triangular,
with an eight-metre back wall. The glass wall next to Tony angled itself

towards the glass front doors. Its darkened glass reflected the room. He
saw himself sitting alone and wondered whether he really wanted to be
there. He became overwhelmed by the feeling that he didn’t have the
strength or energy to make new friends; to work out who liked him and
why; to find out who hated him before they even knew him; to make
small talk and safe conversation; to be humorous and entertaining. To be
liked.

Tony stood up. A couple had sat down by a table next to him.

They gave him curious looks but made no effort to speak to him. He
recalled Lance’s strange comment about him not saying ‘hello’ and
wondered whether people expected him to make the effort. Should he
interrupt people’s conversation and force himself upon them? All his life
he had been told that was rude. If people wanted to talk to him then they
should approach him; after all he was on his own. Surely it was manners
to make somebody who was alone feel welcome? Tony was furious at
the injustice of his situation. This was a support group for gay people,
people who were used to being marginalised and afraid. He saw that Eric
was talking to people at the front. Why hadn’t Eric noticed that Roy and
Lance were more interested in talking to each other than him? How did
other new people cope with that? Several more men had arrived and were
milling around the kitchen area, all laughing and talking with each other.
He decided he would go and stand near them.

Tony saw a Perspex display rack screwed to the wall near the

kitchen. He walked towards it and inspected the contents. He picked up a
colourful folded A4 brochure about safe sex, turned his back to the wall
and read it intently. He put it back and took a brochure about meals on
wheels. After that he read of brochure on what to do if he couldn’t afford
to pay his rent. He decided to read no more brochures and stood in front
of the rack, his hands in his coat pockets. He looked around the room
again. He didn’t want to smile broadly and look like a lunatic, so he
raised his eyebrows and tried to look open and welcoming. He turned his
body towards the kitchen. I’ll try to catch someone’s eye, he thought.
The first person’s eye he caught was a short man with a shaved head and
a bulbous face. He quickly averted his gaze. He knew he only wanted to
catch the eye of an attractive man; he was aware of his own
contradictions. He saw Lance’s large back move and head towards the
toilet. Tony’s eyes met Roy’s. Roy beckoned him over.

“You look lonely”.
“Well, it is my first time”.

“You could’ve stayed and talked with us”.
“You two were talking; it seemed rude to interrupt”. Tony

wondered whether to add that he thought Lance was scary. “And Lance
seemed keen to talk to you”.

“Lance is always keen to talk to me. And I’m always keen to talk

to other people. Move over to where he was standing.”

“I don’t think he’ll like me taking his place.”
“Oh, you’re such a polite boy aren’t you? Quick, move, he’s

coming back.”

Tony moved to the bench top where Lance had been. He saw

Lance coming back from the toilet. “So what do you do Roy?” he said
quickly.

“I’m a stockbroker. And what about yourself?”
“I’m a student”. Tony knew he was going to have to keep lying

about this.

“Another student, just what the world needs”. Roy raised his

eyebrows and smiled. “Which university are you at?”

“Oh, I’m still doing A-levels”. Tony hadn’t expected to be asked

this. Of course, I’m eighteen, people expect me to be at university, he
thought. “I keep dropping out and starting again”.

Lance stood next to Roy with his same blank expression. Tony

thought he’d better involve him in the conversation. “What do you do
Lance?”

“Desktop publishing”.
“Wow, that’s really interesting.”
“Is it?” All right, thought Tony, you’re going to be a complete

dickhead. Don’t tell me, you fancy Roy and I’m spoiling it for you? It’s
Martin and Trevor all over again. Except Roy is much, much better
looking than Martin. And a stockbroker. So, Lance, I am not going to let
you intimidate me. Not this time.

“Yes, it’s very interesting. You must be a really creative person.

I think it would be wonderful to do something like that. You know, a job
where you can use both the left and right sides of your brain to create
intelligent and attractive work”. Tony hoped he sounded genuine.

“I suppose so”. Lance didn’t smile, but his face changed from

sour to neutral. Roy laughed and nodded emphatically, “yes, creative and
intelligent, that’s Lance.”

“Hello Roy, Lance”. A man’s head appeared between their

shoulders.

“Hello you ugly bastard”, Roy didn’t turn to see who was talking

but he was smiling. What a rude thing to say, thought Tony. He looked at
the man who had now pushed through Lance and Roy. He seemed in his
late twenties and his face was pale and thin with a huge nose, like an
eagle’s beak. He had a very high forehead that swept back to join short,
thin black hair. He is rather ugly, thought Tony, but Roy shouldn’t say
so; it will hurt the man’s feelings.

“Hello”. The man smiled at Tony. “I’m Glen. I haven’t seen you

here before”.

“No, I’m new. I’m Tony”.
“Welcome. I hope these two have been nice”.
“Oh yes, very nice”. Tony saw that Lance had moved behind

Glen and started talking to Roy again.

“It can be so intimidating, can’t it? I remember my first time

here; it was just awful. But I talked to people and eventually got to know
most of them. They’re a nice bunch”. Tony wasn’t sure where Glen’s
accent was from. Either mild Scottish or Irish, he thought. “Well, mostly
a nice bunch”, he smiled and nodded his head to Lance and Roy. “I’m
going to get myself a cup of tea, do you want one?” Tony nodded. They
walked over to the urn.

“What do you do?” Tony asked as he took the hot plastic cup of

tea from Glen.

“I’m a geologist”.
“Wow! That’s impressive. So what sort of rocks do you study?”
“The type that contain oil. I work for Big Oil, seeking new oil

fields”.

“Are there many left?”
“There’s plenty of oil, but it hasn’t been economical to extract it

up till now. And there are still undiscovered fields out there. Well, I hope
there are, my job depends on it!” Glen laughed and his pale face became
pinker and more attractive.

“Where are you from originally?”
“Belfast”.
“Oh. What’s that like? It must be awful”.
“It’s not that bad! In many ways it’s better than living in

London”.

“With the army on the streets and people killing each other if

they’re the wrong religion?” Tony thought it better not to ask Glen’s
religion.

“It’s not the best situation, no. But I worry more for my safety in

London than I do in Belfast. There’s far more chance of being mugged
here. The people are rude and always in a hurry. There are beggars
everywhere and no feeling of community or a belief that a civilised
society needs to care for the poor”.

Tony was shocked to hear Glen talk about London like that. He

knew it wasn’t perfect but it was his home. People rude in London?
Actually he has a point there, he thought. He thought of the shop
assistants who were sarcastic and unfriendly. They didn’t smile, and he
didn’t smile at them. It was a vicious circle but it wasn’t one he knew
how to break. When he once tried to smile and clarify an inadequate
response from a worker at Tower Records in Piccadilly the snapped reply
was: ‘I’ve already told you, all right?’ He assumed every other city was
the same.

“We go to ‘The Bell’ after here”, said Glen. “People start

drifting away at about nine. It’s a more relaxed environment”.

At nine, Tony followed Glen as he walked towards Pentonville

Road where The Bell stood next to the long, glassed entrance to the
Thameslink train station. The pub’s exterior was a grand Victorian
design, with its top two floors decorated with reliefs of Corinithian
columns. Like the Black Cap, the downstairs windows were blackened to
hide the gays from sight. However, there were more windows than the
Camden Town pub; The Bell was a surprisingly large place. The black
double doors were closed. A sign on the left door read: ‘Private Party’.
“It always says that”, said Glen, pushing the right door open. Sitting by
the wall on a tall three-legged stool, before the next set of doors, was a
very large woman with short bleached-blonde hair. “Hi Gemma”, said
Glen. Gemma greeted him and nodded at Tony as they walked into the
dimness.

“I wouldn’t want to mess with Gemma”, laughed Glen.
“She’s the security?”
“Oh yes. She keeps the local thugs out”.
“She does look scary.”
“She’s a sweetheart. Unless you mess with her.”
Tony looked around; the place was quiet and almost completely

empty.

“It’s only just opened for the night”, said Glen, seeing Tony

peering round. “And I’m sure Kylie will be hurting our ears very soon”.

“Kylie doesn’t hurt ears”, said Tony. “She’s wonderful!”. Glen

laughed.

“What would I know? Drink? I suppose you’ve got no money,

being a poor student”. Tony had £5 in his pocket that he’d borrowed
from his dad, promising earnestly to pay it back when he got a job. He
wanted to make it last as long as possible.

“Cider please”. He hoped Glen wouldn’t expect him to buy one

in return. I hope he doesn’t expect me to sleep with him, he thought.
There’s no way that’s going to happen. Glen’s friendly and very smart,
but I could never kiss that face.

“Oh good; somebody else who likes cider. I’m not so strange

then”. Glen walked to the large L-shaped bar. As he did so the
unmistakeable strains of Kylie Minogue started to pump from the
speakers by the dance floor singing ‘Hand on your Heart’.

“And now we know it’s a gay pub”, said Glen, handing a pint

glass to Tony.

The pub was filling up quickly. Tony recognised many of the

people from LGY but there were some he hadn’t seen earlier. The crowd
seemed generally younger than the Cap. But with fewer annoying teens,
he added to himself. The music was louder now, making conversation
with Glen more difficult. He was worried he didn’t have much to talk
about. His story that he was studying A-levels was an uncomfortable lie
and he avoided any questions about his family. When he was out with
Shaun his friend was happy to do most of the talking and he only spent
time with Gary when he needed some peace. That was almost every
Sunday when he was nursing a hangover.

“You look bored”. Tony turned to Glen. It wasn’t him speaking

but a young man with short black frizzy hair. “I saw you at LGY. Is it
your first time?”

“Yes”, said Tony loudly, nodding to make sure he was

understood.

“I’m Jeremy and this is Howard”. He used both hands to point to

the remarkably similar man next to him.

“Hiya. I’m Howard”, he parroted.
“Tony”, he spoke loudly again. Jeremy laughed and turned to his

friend. “Let’s show him!” He turned to Tony, “come with us!” Jeremy
and Howard walked to the dance floor, glancing back to see whether
Tony was following. Tony looked at Glen to see if he minded, but Glen
was already talking to someone else. He followed the men to a wall next
to the dance floor where two large unilluminated pink and white

lampshades protruded at shoulder height. Together, they put the tops of
their heads into the shades up to their foreheads and started miming a
very animated conversation with each other while filing their nails. The
effect was of a couple of old ladies sitting in a hairdressing salon having
their hair set under a full-head dryer while gossiping. Tony’s laughter
encouraged them to become more camp. They feigned outrage at
whatever they were hearing and waved their hands around wildly.

“We only get to do this for new people!” said Howard, glowing

after his performance. “Then it becomes boring apparently”. Tony
assumed they had done their act many times before.

“Let’s dance!” said Jeremy and Howard almost in unison. For

once, Tony was glad to do this. Dancing meant not having to talk and
Tony thought he was getting quite good at looking less like a wooden
solider. His drunken Saturday nights with Shaun at the Cap had
encouraged him to loosen up and move his body to the beat of the music.
He didn’t let on how pleased he was when Howard shouted, “you’re a
great dancer!”

“You are!” agreed Jeremy with much affirmative nodding. He

talked with his friend, who raised his hands ostentatiously into the air
and shrieked, “you’ve got to come to Bang! tonight”. Tony didn’t
understand.

“You’ve never heard of Bang!?” Howard gave Jeremy a look of

outrage. “It’s a huge gay nightclub on Charing Cross Road. It’s student
night tonight. Only one pound entry”. Tony wondered why on earth
anyone would go to a nightclub on a Monday night. And he would have
to get a night bus home on his own. But he was pleased that two people,
and two people he barely knew, were encouraging him. The loosening
effects of the cider and dancing combined to force him out of his comfort
zone. He agreed.

Tony, Howard and Jeremy took the Piccadilly line to Tottenham

Court Road at eleven. They chose the wrong exit and appeared next to
the Centrepoint buildings whose undersides seemed to act as an
unofficial homeless shelter at night. Tony wanted to immediately go
underground to cross to the correct side, but the other two insisted on
walking through the concrete posts that supported the building to
Charing Cross Road. “It’s real life”, said Howard dramatically. Tony
wished that real life involved clearing the homeless from the streets.
They dodged the taxis while crossing the road towards the redbrick
buildings. Howard stopped once he got to an entrance where a huge man

was sat, wearing a thick black coat and gloves. “Hiya!”, said Howard to
the man, who looked at him and remained silent. “No queue, it’s too
early”, he continued to Tony. They walked down a dark stairwell, loud
music increasingly in volume as they descended. As they turned left
there was a bored blonde woman who sat behind a counter in a tiny
cupboard. She collected their one-pound coins then they walked to the
coat check. “You’ll have to check that”, said Jeremy, looking at Tony’s
long coat. Tony resented having to pay to leave his coat; it was less
money to buy a drink. But he was glad he had when the heat hit him on
entering the club. What also hit Tony was a feeling of shock when his
eyes adjusted to the darkness and he saw, standing by the bar and
drinking a can of Red Stripe lager, his brother Rick.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Tony hadn’t seen Rick since Christmas. He had refused to talk to

him when he rang to chat to their parents. Tony still hated Rick for
telling tales about their mum and he remembered the look of glee on
Rick’s face when he was crying at his lies. Rick only ever lies and has
always lied, he told himself. He is incapable of telling the truth and takes
joy in causing pain. He’s like a little boy that tortures animals and laughs
hardest when they are squealing in agony. Howard and Jeremy had
disappeared onto the dance floor as soon as they’d stepped down in the
club. They beckoned for Tony to join them, but seeing Rick had made
him pause. He hated Rick, but Rick was standing there alone. For all his
flaws he was still his brother and weren’t you supposed to love your
family, no matter what they did? He walked over.

“Hi Rick”. Rick was watching the dance floor but turned when

he heard Tony’s voice.

“Oh my God. Look at what the cat’s dragged in”. Rick didn’t

smile.

“Lovely to see you too Rick. Shame you haven’t come up with

some more original insults in all this time”. This was getting off to a
great start. Tony wondered why he had bothered.

“What are you doing here?”
“A couple of people from a group I’m going to brought me

here”.

“A group? Like for deprived children or abused housewives?”
“No”. Tony didn’t elaborate. Rick was in one of his bitter

moods. “Well, I just thought I’d say hello”. He went to move but Rick
grabbed his right shoulder.

“Don’t go!”
“But you’re being a bitch, Rick, OK? Best I leave you to have

fun on your own”.

“Stay here!” Rick started walking off then turned back to Tony.

“Please. I’m just going to the toilet. I’ll be back in a couple of mins”.
Tony raised his hands in defeat and stayed by the bar. After ten minutes
he assumed that he was yet again a victim of one of Rick’s childish
jokes. He looked up at the glass walls of the upper level to see if Rick
was looking down, sneering at him. He wasn’t.

“I’m back!” announced Rick gleefully, grabbing Rick from

behind. Tony thought he was being attacked and threw his left arm back

violently. This didn’t seem to disturb Rick. “How are you darling? I
haven’t seen you in ages. Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re here. Two
gay brothers out at a gay nightclub together. It’s just fabulous. Isn’t it
fabulous? You’ve got to tell me about everything. I mean everything
that’s happened. How are you?”

“What the hell has happened to you all of a sudden?” Tony

couldn’t understand the sudden change from bitter Rick to this new,
enthusiastic person. “And don’t call me darling, I really hate it”.

“Oh darling I’m so sorry. I won’t call you darling anymore. But

you are my darling baby brother and I just want to tell you how much I
love you. I’ve missed you. You never call, you never come round. Oh
my god, isn’t this place fabulous?” Oh God, he’s using that bloody word
again, thought Tony. He must have gone off and had another drink on his
own so he didn’t have to buy me one.

“Do you want a drink darling? Have a Red Stripe, they’re

fabulous. ”

“Don’t call me darling!” shouted Tony. So, he assumed, Rick’s

new plan to torment me is to wind me up by using words he knows I
hate. Rick ignored him, ordered two cans of Red Stripe and presented
him with one. Rick lit up a Benson and Hedges, then offered one to
Tony.

“You don’t, do you?” Tony took one.
“Oh my God. Little Tony goody two shoes smokes!” Rick gave

an exaggerated grin, showing his nicotine-stained teeth.

“I’m not a goody two shoes”. Tony lit the cigarette, inhaled and

coughed. Ricks’s cigarettes were strong. He swigged the bitter Red
Stripe to take the taste away and then took another drag. “Aren’t you
working tomorrow? I mean today?”

“I work when I want to work”. Rick smiled toothlessly at Tony.

It was his infuriating ‘I’ve got a secret’ smile.

“What happened to your job in that menswear shop?”
“Oh, I left that months ago. They were so boring. I just couldn’t

stand it anymore, I really couldn’t. So now”, Tony knew Rick was
pausing for dramatic effect, “So now, I’m in a different kind of service
job”. Tony wondered whether Rick was working in a gay pub. It was
probably something suitably dull so that Rick would feel the need to
dramatise it. He decided not to ask. It was the right idea because Rick
was annoyed.

“So, don’t you want to know what I do?”

“I’m afraid to ask”.
“You should be”.
“Oh for God’s sake, just tell me then”.
“I escort”.
“Oh dear God!” Rick got the reaction he wanted from Tony.

“Please tell me that’s not a euphemism for prostitute.” Tony stomach
turned; the idea of anyone wanting to pay to have sex with Rick was a
revolting and shocking image.

“It’s not a euphemism for anything. I choose whether I am going

to provide extra services or not. You’re such a prude about sex aren’t
you? It’s perfectly natural Tony”. At least Rick was looking
embarrassed.

“So, is your client here tonight?”
“No! I work from a house. There’s always other people around.

It’s perfectly safe you know”.

“Unless someone tries to beat you up”.
“There’s always someone around, Tony. Don’t make it out to be

so sordid.”

“I didn’t say it was sordid. You used that word, not me”. Rick

made a face at Tony.

“So, it’s a brothel?” continued Tony.
“No, it’s a massage parlour. I give massages. And they can have

extra if they pay for it.”

“So how good are your massages?”
“Pretty crap!” Rick laughed, and then looked seriously at Tony.

“You don’t approve do you? I shouldn’t have told you. I knew you
wouldn’t be able to handle it”.

“I can handle it. It’s not that I don’t approve, it’s just that I worry

it’s dangerous”.

“I’ve told you it’s not. And don’t you dare tell mum and dad!”
“Don’t worry, I won’t!”
“Have you come out to them yet?”
“God no!”
“You should”. Tony looked at Rick with a quizzical look on his

face.

“Are you kidding?” Rick didn’t look like he was. He didn’t have

his tell-tale snide smile.

“No. You really should. Just get it over and done with and move

on”.

“I can’t. I really can’t. Dad’ll go crazy. I just don’t think I can

face it”.

“Don’t you think they’ve guessed by now?” Rick looked intently

at Tony. “They ask me, you know?”

“Well, of course I don’t know. They ask you whether I’m gay?”
“Yes. They know you go out all the time and won’t tell them

where you’re going. They know you’ve never had a girlfriend. They
know that no girls ever call for you. They’re not stupid.” It hadn’t even
occurred to Tony that they might have suspected. They didn’t ask where
he went and he didn’t tell them. They had never asked him whether he
had a girlfriend; he thought they were used to him never having friends
of either sex. But Shaun and Gary did call quite a bit and he didn’t have
any female friends who telephoned.

“I can’t tell them.”
“Suit yourself. But I’m just telling you what I know”. Tony

assumed Rick wanted him to come out to their parents so that he didn’t
seem so bad in their eyes. He may pretend to be a rebel, but he hates me
being the golden boy, he thought bitterly. He wants them to hate me as
much as he thinks they hate him.

Rick seemed quieter and less effusive now than when he went to

the toilet. He lit a cigarette. “You’ve never liked me, have you?” Oh no,
sighed Tony, not this again. He almost preferred the Rick who said
‘darling’ and ‘fabulous’ to the morose one that was reappearing now.

“Not when you tell horrible lies”.
“What lies?” Rick looked confused then suddenly gave an

annoyingly smug smile. “Oh, you mean about mum”.

“Just leave it alone, Rick”.
“It’s good to be honest, Tony. It’s good that we can all talk about

the truth, isn’t it? That way we can work out where all our problems
come from”.

“No, it’s not good to be honest, Rick. I mean, it’s all lies

anyway. You always lie. Just stop lying, OK?” Rick still had the smug
smile on his face.

“You can’t handle the truth, Tony”.
“Oh, just fuck off, Rick”.
Tony walked quickly to the dance floor. He wondered whether

Rick would follow him and keep insisting on telling him ‘the truth’. If he
does, I’ll push him off the dance floor, he thought. The dance area was
raised a couple of feet off the floor and was crammed with men, many

with their shirts off. That’s something I will never do, thought Tony. He
couldn’t see Jeremy and Howard so he pushed himself into a free space
and danced on his own. He spun around a few times and caught glimpses
of Rick still standing smoking at the bar. He saw Rick stub out his
cigarette. He didn’t walk towards to the dance floor but went towards
either the exit or the toilets; Tony couldn’t see which. He hoped Rick had
gone.

Tony danced by himself. He was happily isolated among the

anonymous bodies. He enjoyed not having to look at anyone. There was
no awkward conversation needed. He felt free. After an hour he went
back to the bar. He saw Howard and Jeremy standing nearby.

“Who was that man you were chatting up?” said Howard,

grinning knowingly.

“He wasn’t a man. He was my brother”.
“You’ve got a gay brother?” exclaimed Jeremy. “That must be

fantastic!” Tony sighed.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Barry came home while Tony was putting on his coat. He was

about to leave to go to the Cap to see Regina Fong.

“Hello son”. He was cheery. Probably been to the pub on his

way home, thought Tony. “Where do you keep going off to? Have you
got a meet with your mates?”

A meet? Tony wondered at his dad’s strange word. Probably a

remnant of the Yorkshire dialect that he’d worked so hard to remove.
Tony thought of the conversation he’d had with Rick the previous night.
Why was Barry asking him where he was going if Rick was so sure
Barry knew he was gay? He looked at his dad. Barry seemed genuinely
interested and didn’t look as if he was trying to pick a fight. He thought
now was the best time to tell his dad what he assumed he suspected.

“Look, dad. I’m going to meet some friends at a pub. It’s a gay

pub. I’m gay too.” He knew Barry believed in coming straight to the
point. Barry stared. He looked like he was about to speak but then turned
and walked into the living room. He didn’t slam the door. It was the look
of blankness on his dad’s face that was so upsetting. Tony was hoping
that Barry would say, ‘yes, we’ve talked to Rick about it; it’s OK. We
suspected’. Failing that, then Barry could be expected to explode and
hurl insults at him. This reaction was far more unsettling. Tony decided it
was best to leave him to process the information in his own time. He left
the house as quietly as he could.

Barry didn’t speak for the next few days. Tony wasn’t

consciously trying to avoid him; in fact he walked into the kitchen a few
times when Barry was there when normally he would wait till it was
empty. Barry wouldn’t look at him and would leave immediately. Tony
never went into the living room when Hazel and Barry were watching
television. He had no interest in watching their miserable soap operas
and drama shows accompanied by booze, cigarettes and bitter comments
about the shows’ failures to reflect ‘real life’. Tony thought that the
misery of their marriage was perfectly well reflected in ‘EastEnders’.
Fittingly, that was the one show they both refused to watch. It was,
apparently, ‘depressing’. Barry’s unusual reticence was hard for Tony to
understand. Barry could be loud, aggressive, funny, miserable, dramatic,
terrifying and even friendly. He was never silent.

Tony usually prayed for peace in the house. But now he decided

he wanted an argument. This fight had been years coming and Barry

wasn’t going to get out of it by ignoring him. On the Saturday following
his admission he went downstairs and opened the living room door. A
cloud of cigarette smoke was floating up and collecting near the ceiling.
Hazel looked away from the TV said and said hello. Barry stared at the
TV and stayed silent.

“So, you’re just going to ignore me are you, dad?” It appeared

so. Hazel looked uncomfortable. “It’s been a shock for him”, she said
quietly.

“A shock for him?” shouted Tony. “It’s always about him, isn’t

it? What about me for a change? What about how I feel?” Barry still
stayed silent. This goaded Tony further. “What do you think it’s like
growing up with the newspapers and the government telling you that
you’re evil? Hey?” There was still no reaction from Barry. Hazel looked
like she was about to cry.

“Well I’m not evil”, Tony screamed at the top of his lungs. He

didn’t give a damn if the neighbours heard. He was appalled that he
could hear himself start to cry and ran out of the room, stopping at the
middle of the stairs to scream again “I’m not evil. I’m still me. And I’m
not evil.” He gave way to the tears, feeling like a sulky, angry teenager.
He went to his bedroom and slammed the door. He dived into his bed
and put a pillow over his head to muffle his sobs.

There was a loud knock on his door. “Go away”, he screamed

hoarsely. “Suit yourself”, said Barry. Tony heard the creak of the
floorboards on the landing as Barry walked to the stairs. He jumped up
and flung the door open.

“What?” he snarled. “Do have any more insults to throw at me?

Are you going to kick me out?”

“Don’t be an idiot, son”. Barry was on the top stair; he turned

around. He put his right hand up, palm outwards. A sign of peace. “If
you’ve calmed down?”

“Calm? You’re the one who won’t speak to me.”
“Well, what am I doing now?”
“Because I made you”. Barry didn’t like being told what to do.
“Well, if you’re not going to listen, fine”. He started to walk

down the stairs again. “I was just going to ask you if you wanted to go to
the Cherry Tree for a pint, that’s all”.

“Are you sure you can bear being seen with me in public?” Tony

knew he was sounding petulant, but he wasn’t going to let Barry claim
his usual martyr’s crown.

“Not if you’re going to be shouting and screaming, then no. But

if you’ve calmed down and want to have a civilised drink, as a civilised
adult, then the offer’s still there”. Tony’s anger always burned out
quickly, just like his dad’s. He was becoming aware of this
uncomfortable truth.

“OK”.
“Well, splash some cold water on your face and we’ll go”.
They walked up to the Cherry Tree pub in silence. It was a cold

December night but Tony welcomed the frozen air on his face. He could
feel his puffy eyes tightening and drying. They walked up the hill
towards The Green. Most of the houses had Christmas decorations in the
windows and some had put multi-coloured lights on trees in front
gardens. They walked past the church where he used to ring bells in the
spire, until he’d quickly got bored if it. They walked past the primary
school where he spent his final year before moving on to the horrors of
secondary school. The Cherry Tree lay ahead, over the expanse of The
Green, which looked peaceful and almost pastoral in the night. It was a
reminder of when Southgate had been a village, before the underground
trains and buses had brought workers to the newly built suburbs of semi-
detached houses.

The Cherry Tree pub was built in some indeterminate time in the

1700s. It was a two-story building made of narrow red bricks with parts
of it looking suitably crooked for its age. In a desperate attempt to
convince visitors of its heritage, a modern sign said “Ye Olde Cherry
Tree”. Dark wood and low ceilings gave the interior an authentic feel.
Tony wasn’t sure if he’d ever had a drink inside, as a child he and Rick
stayed in the beer garden at the back, drinking bottles of Coke.

“What are you having?” said Barry.
“Cider”. At least Barry didn’t criticise that, Tony thought.
They sat down near the front window that jutted out into the

street. It was a cosy alcove; it was also private. Barry took a sip of his
John Smith’s Bitter and lit an Embassy Number 7. He drew down on the
cigarette and blew out slowly. He looked at Tony. “Look son, I know
you’re going to jump down my throat, but I have to ask. Is there anything
you can do to change?”

“No!” Tony had calmed down on the walk and was annoyed he

was getting angry again. “You can’t change it. For God’s sake, do you
think I haven’t thought about that? Do you think I just woke up one day
and decided I was going to be this way?” He didn’t want to say the word

‘gay’ in the pub. It was one of his dad’s locals.

“All right. I just had to ask”. Barry put his hands up in defeat.

“Both of you. Do you know how that makes me feel? What the hell did I
do wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong”. Tony wasn’t sure if that was

true. He’d always hated Barry and wouldn’t have been surprised if it
were his fault.

“Maybe I should have beaten the shit out of the pair of you when

you were younger?” Tony looked at Barry in shock. Barry stared back
blankly.

“That’s a horrible thing to say. Why would you say such a nasty

thing?”

“Maybe I should have toughened you up. That’s all I’m saying”.
“So, I’m that way because you didn’t beat the shit out of me as a

kid? Really advanced parenting techniques, dad”. Barry laughed at
Tony’s sarcasm.

“Well, I wasn’t a perfect father. I don’t know what I could or

should have done differently.” Stop being such an obnoxious, drunken,
nasty git, thought Tony. But I suppose I should be making peace with
dad.

“You were fine”, he lied.
Barry coughed out smoke as he snorted. “I don’t think you really

think that.”

“The past is the past, dad. It’s time to move on.”
“Yes. That’s very true”. He raised his pint. “Here’s to moving

on”. Tony raised his pint of cider and tapped Barry’s glass. “To moving
on”.

“Of course your mother’s very upset.” Oh for God’s sake, you

said we were moving on.

“I’m sorry. I should talk to her”.
“She’s been having it rough lately”. She’s always having it

rough; she’s a bloody fruitcake, thought Tony. “We’ve been to see a
neurologist recently. He’s checking to see whether she has multiple
sclerosis. The tests take a long time so we won’t know for a while”.

“Oh. I had no idea. I’m sorry”. Tony didn’t know what multiple

sclerosis was, although it sounded like there was a lot of it. He didn’t
know what to say; he’d started thinking of his mum more as a ghost
haunting the house than a person. “Where is she having the tests?”

“The Middlesex Hospital”. Tony hadn’t heard of it. Middlesex

didn’t even exist as a county any more.

“It’s why she’s been having trouble walking”, continued Barry.

“And why she used to go blind as a child”.

“Blind?” exclaimed Tony.
“As a child. Regularly, every Sunday. She thought it was fear of

going to school”.

“But her sight returned?”
“Yes. Although the blindness returned occasionally”. Barry fixed

his gaze on Tony. “There’s a lot you don’t know”.

“Because you don’t tell me!”
“Because you’re a child. Sorry, were a child”. Tony was sure

Barry was trying to goad him into saying something hot-headed and
childish, so he said nothing. “Do you ever ask your mum how she is? Do
you ever talk to her?”

“What’s the point? She just lies”.
“What do you mean?” Barry snapped. Oh dear, don’t criticise

Saint Hazel. Only you’re allowed to do that, dad.

“She gets up every morning and cries. She walks around the

house sobbing and screaming at herself, ‘you’re worthless’ or ‘you were
brought up to think you’re better than you are’. She denied it when I told
her”.

Barry sighed. “Maybe she doesn’t know she’s doing it. She’s not

well”. Newsflash, thought Tony sulkily, as if I didn’t know that.

“But she has good days”, continued Barry. “She talks away ten

to the dozen with other patients at the Middlesex. I tell them it’s the Irish
in her, she won’t shut up when she’s on a roll!” Who was this person?
Not my mother, thought Tony.

“What Irish in her? Mum’s not Irish. Thank God!” Tony rolled

his eyes.

“What are you talking about?” laughed Barry. “With a maiden

name like McGilligan?”

“I thought that was Scottish”.
“No. Her grandparents were Irish. They came over from Cork at

the turn of the century”. Tony’s mouth dropped open.

“Are you serious? You mean my great grandparents were Irish?”
“Yes. Why do you sound so shocked?”
“Shocked? Why do you think? You’re always going on about the

IRA and how all the Northern Irish terrorists should be rounded up and
put into internment camps without trial. And what about when that bomb

went off in the car park at Parliament?”

“Well, internment without trial never worked. It just caused even

more hatred. Shame, they knew who the bastards were”. Barry paused
and Tony was glad to see his usual bitterness come through at his last
comment.

“Yes, so we hate the Irish”.
“Then you’d be hating yourself”. Tony had to let that comment

sink in.

“That doesn’t make sense, dad. I’m English. In fact, I’m not

English; I’m a Londoner.” He looked at Barry. “You’re from Yorkshire.
Your mum’s from Wales. Apparently mum’s grandparents are from
Ireland. So what? Am I supposed to feel something about that? Am I
supposed to go around saying ‘Ee by gum’ and ‘begorrah begorrah’ and
singing ‘Men of Harlech’?” He started laughing at the imagery and Barry
joined in.

“I was going to marry an Irishwoman before I met your mum”.

Tony had never heard Barry talk about his love life before meeting
Hazel. “Kathleen. She was a smart woman; she had a degree from
Queens University.” She sounds wonderful, thought Tony, so why did
you end up marrying flaky Hazel then?

“Why didn’t you marry her then?”
“She wanted me to move to Belfast and join the Royal Ulster

Constabulary. It was during the height of the troubles in the late sixties
and there was no way I was going to do that”.

“So, I could have been born in Northern Ireland?”
“Well, half of you would have been!” Barry laughed. “But then I

met your mother”. Tony had heard the story before of when Barry and
Hazel met at Kilburn police station. Barry had been stationed at Kilburn
for most of the sixties and Hazel had joined as a typist in 1967. Tony
imagined that naïve 20-year-old Hazel would have been looking for a
strong father figure after her unstable upbringing and 30-year-old Barry
must have seemed perfect. Tony turned his mind instantly away from any
further information Rick had given him at Christmas. If only I could turn
the clock back and have got him to marry Kathleen instead, thought
Tony, then maybe we could all have been spared the misery that resulted
from their marriage.

Tony pondered the new information he had received after the

boozy evening with Barry. Barry was now talking to him more
intimately. They hadn’t mentioned the gay thing again. And he’d

discovered that he was distantly Irish. This meant absolutely nothing to
him except for one thing. He now had something in common with Shaun.
Maybe his friend would finally find him sexy and masculine if he could
prove he was Irish?

CHAPTER TWENTY

Tony couldn’t wait till the following Saturday to see Shaun. It

would be Christmas Eve and he wasn’t even sure if Shaun would be at
the Cap. He told Barry that he had to meet somebody that night. Barry
had rolled his eyes but agreed to lend him £5. He left the Cherry Tree at
ten, walking so quickly to Southgate tube station that his shins hurt. On
the tube, he tried to rehearse ways he could drop his newfound Irish
heritage into the conversation.

Tony was relieved to see Shaun sitting in the front bar of the

Cap, talking to someone he didn’t know. He sat down next to Shaun.
Shaun didn’t bother to introduce the man he was talking to; instead he
turned straight to Tony.

“I thought you weren’t coming.” He was angry.
“I’m sorry, I had to have a drink with my dad. It was important.

Why, what’s wrong?”

“I’ve moved back ’ome”. His look of self-disgust showed it

wasn’t something he’d wanted. “I’d ’ad enough of Adrian and ’is
obsession with bloody Toyah. We ’ad nothing to talk about apart from
’er. God ’e was a boring bastard.” Tony thought it best to pretend he was
upset.

“That’s awful, Shaun. I’m really sorry”. Tony hoped that his face

was serious enough. “How did he take it?”

“’E cried! Can you believe it?” Oh yes I can, thought Tony

acidly.

“Oh, that’s a shame. It’s so awful when relationships break

down.” Oh don’t put it on too much Tony, he warned himself. “So,
what’s it like living back home?”

“It’s aw right I suppose. But now I’ve got ‘where are you going’

all the time from me mum instead of Adrian”.

“At least you’ve got a telephone again!”
“Yeah. You know you could’ve rung me at work if you’d wanted

to talk to me”. Tony knew that, but was afraid of having Shaun’s dad or
Declan answer.

“And you could’ve rung me from work if you’d wanted to talk to

me!”

“I suppose I knew I was gonna see you on Saturdays.”
“Yeah”. Neither of them really enjoyed talking on the telephone.

Tony assumed they both needed alcohol to communicate with each other.

“Hey, guess what?”
“I’m not guessing. I fucking ’ate it when you do that”.
“Well, I won’t tell you then”.
“Don’t be so fucking childish”.
“You’ve spoilt it now”.
“Suit yerself”. Shaun took a long gulp of his lager and then

crossed his arms. “Well, I’m not asking”.

Tony was furious that his grand announcement that he was Irish

was not going to be guessed dramatically by Shaun. He was going to
give lots of hints, which he’d been practising on the tube. But if he told
Shaun now then he was bound to dismiss his exciting news just to annoy
him. He thought of another way.

“Don’t you want to know why I’m late?”
“Is that what I’m supposed to be guessing?”
“Just forget that, Shaun. Look, I came out to my dad”.
“Really!” Tony was glad that Shaun finally looked interested.

“Bloody ’ell! What ’appened?” Tony told him what happened the
previous Tuesday and earlier that evening. He was happy to see that he
was keeping Shaun’s attention.

“So then”, Tony continued now Shaun was suitably engaged,

“dad invited me to the pub, to make amends for being a dickhead I
suppose. And then he starts going on about how mum’s really talkative
because she’s Irish. I found out her grandparents are Irish. Tony put his
hands in the air and opened his mouth wide in mock shock. He was
disappointed to see Shaun not looking impressed.

“Is that your big news? I thought yer big news was you coming

out to yer dad. Tell me more about that. Did you tell ’im about me?”
Shaun was terrified of calling Tony in case Barry answered. Tony had to
assure him that Barry always sounded gruff and unwelcoming no matter
who called.

“Yes, I told him about you. Now I’m telling you some even

bigger news”. He was annoyed that Shaun was trying to make the
conversation all about him again. “They probably escaped from the
potato famine, the poor things. So, I’m Irish, Shaun. Who would’ve
thought?”

“The potato famine was much earlier. ’Er grandparents would’ve

come over in the early 1900s”. Tony cursed his rotten arithmetic. He
desperately wished he knew why they had come over. He hoped it was
something to do with the Easter Uprising and that they were fleeing

oppression. He decided he could make it up.

“Oh no, that’s right. They were fleeing oppression due to the

Easter Uprising”. Did he dare mention they were beaten up by the black
and tans? He hadn’t looked those up in the library, so he didn’t dare.

“They were probably fleeing because they were supporters of the

English”. Shaun grinned evilly. There was nothing for it now but
outrage, Tony decided.

“No, what a horrible thing to say, Shaun. Apparently they had

their property confiscated and everything. They came to England
penniless, which is why my mum’s family had no money. They’re just as
much victims of English oppression as your mum’s family, Shaun. You
can’t keep all the oppression just for yourself.”

“My family was far more oppressed. Yours ran away but mine

stayed and fought”. Shaun was almost shouting. Tony was pleased to see
this; Shaun was fun when he was wound up and ranting.

“So, I’ve decided to apply for an Irish passport”. He got the

desired reaction.

“You can’t!” shouted Shaun. “They’re only your great

grandparents, it’s not close enough. You ’ave to ’ave at least one
grandparent born there before you can do that”.

“Mum’s going to get an Irish passport, so I probably can too”.

He wondered whether Hazel had ever had a passport. How on earth was
he going to get her to apply for Irish citizenship just so he could make
Shaun fancy him? “Face it, Shaun, very soon as be as Irish as you. Isn’t
that wonderful?”

“You won’t, OK? You don’t even ’ave any family there like I

do”.

“It’s not about who has the most family, Shaun. It’s about blood.

And ever since I’ve found out, I’ve started feeling different, OK? I’ve
started caring more about what’s happening to my people over there and
all the injustices”. He put on his most concerned face. “We’re blood
brothers now Shaun”. Tony saw Shaun go red and thought he was about
to witness one of his more spectacular explosions. But Shaun kept
uncharacteristically calm.

“It’s your round”, he said. “I’ll ’ave a double whiskey.

Jameson’s”.

“That’s a bit pricey”. Tony only had the £5 he’d borrowed from

Barry. He’d lost count of how much he owed him now but knew his dad
would carefully write it down on the back of an envelope he kept on the

mantelpiece in the living room.

“Well get a fucking job then!” Right, thought Tony, that’s where

the explosion was headed. Right where he knew he could really hurt me.

“I’ll get the round in”. He got Shaun’s double Jameson’s and

bought a half of the cheapest cider for himself. He had no more money
left for the night.

Shaun drank the whiskey quickly then said: “Let’s go round the

back”.

“I haven’t got any money”.
“I’ll ’ave to go on me own then. See ya”. Shaun got up and left.

Tony felt a jelly-like shivering come over him. The familiar feeling when
he was about to become weak and start crying. Why did I have to wind
up Shaun? he berated himself, I could have told him what I wanted
without making it sound like an attack on him. Now he’s going to go and
pick up someone and probably get into another relationship with another
idiot. And I’m right in front of his nose.

“You two really sound like an old married couple”. Tony started;

the Scottish voice belonged to Andy, Gary’s ex-boyfriend. “And I
thought you and my ex were in love”. Tony had been too busy wallowing
in self-pity to notice that Andy had taken Shaun’s seat. He saw that the
huge spot on Andy’s forehead had disappeared, replaced by a shallow
indentation on the skin.

“Gary and I aren’t going out, Andy. Whatever Gary’s told you

isn’t true”.

“He’s told me nothing. I haven’t spoken to him since he split up

with me. Why, what is he supposed to have told me?”

“He split up with you?”
“Yes, it is shocking, isn’t it? How could anyone leave this?”

Andy ran his hands over his torso. Tony sighed.

“He told me you dumped him”.
“No, he dumped me on my birthday. He told me he’d met

someone else”. Oh fuck, thought Tony.

Andy continued. “I was going to dump him. But not on my

birthday! God, he’s a boring bastard”. Tony thought it wiser to say
nothing. Andy didn’t look angry, which was a relief. Tony wasn’t in the
mood for another fight.

“Did he say who he met?” Tony wondered whether this was a

wise question.

“No. Why? Was it you?”

“No! I mean, we’re friends, but that’s all”. He hoped Gary and

Andy really didn’t talk anymore. He was surprised that boring Gary
would lie to him, although he was pleased that a man would dump his
boyfriend for him.

“Friends?” Andy laughed. “What do you two talk about? Apart

from sex we didn’t have much in common”.

“Well, we’re sort of friends. Not close friends”. Andy nodded.
“So, were you and Shaun having a lovers’ tiff?”
“No! We’re not together either, thank God. He’s such a dickhead

sometimes”.

“Oh dear. Is that why you’re sat out here looking sorry for

yourself and he’s probably out there snogging the first man he sees?”
Tony laughed. He was glad Andy knew about Shaun’s reputation.

“He’s such a slapper”, said Tony bitterly.
“Hmm. No jealousy there then”. Tony looked up sharply at

Andy.

“No! None”. Why would I be jealous of that loud, common,

infuriating arsehole?

Andy put his hands in the air in surrender: “I believe you”. He

spoiled the effect by giving a knowing smile. “But millions wouldn’t”.

Tony pursed his lips. “He’s not my type, OK?” He wondered

whether to storm off in a huff. After all, he had no money and Shaun was
in the other bar, so he might as well make a dramatic statement to
someone.

“So you need a job, do you?” Andy had been listening to their

argument. That was further grounds for storming out. “My boyfriend’s
looking for someone to work at his office”. Tony decided to stay seated.

“Really?”
“Yes, really. I can get you an interview”. Andy looked pleased

with himself. Tony wanted to say ‘no’ just to make his smarmy smile
disappear. But he knew he had to get a job; there was no getting away
from it.

“Doing what?”
“Just office work. I’m not sure what. It’s in Islington. He loves it

there”.

“I suppose”.
“A little bit more enthusiasm might help”. Tony smiled broadly

and, he hoped, genuinely.

“Thank you so much for thinking of me. I would be very grateful

if you could pass on my interest to your boyfriend about the position”.
Andy smiled graciously.

“Perfectly spoken. You’ll do beautifully on the switchboard”.
“On the switchboard? No way. You must be kidding?”
“Of course I am”. Andy’s hands once again went into the air to

surrender. “Well, give me your number and he’ll be in touch”. Andy
wrote Tony’s number down in his bulging Filofax.

“I must get one of those”, said Tony.
“Of course you should”, said Andy. You must have such a busy

life”.

PART THREE – THE AUSTRALIAN DREAMBOAT

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Tony almost walked out of the Aberdeen Angus Steakhouse

when Craig told him he was a conservative. It was Tony’s first ‘official’
date and he’d been excited when Craig had chosen a restaurant in
Leicester Square, although he worried that he wouldn’t be able to afford
it. Craig had promised to pay because Tony had continued his lie that he
was a student. Being a student had been a very effective way of getting
free drinks out of men so far, so getting a free meal was an added bonus.
The restaurant impressed him, with its seating booths clad in deep red
velvet. So why did Craig have to ruin it all so soon in their relationship?
thought Tony angrily. He was already sulky that Craig hadn’t called
immediately after their first ‘unofficial’ date. He’d decided that Craig
was perfect and found it hard to forgive these blemishes that he was
already finding on his character. He decided that Craig had to agree with
all his political views; otherwise there could be no future for them.

“So, you’re a Liberal. That’s OK, they’re not conservative really,

are they? More like our Lib Dems?”

“No, the Liberal Party in Australia is our conservative party.

Their opposition is the Labor Party”. Tony said nothing and wondered
how he could sit at this table with a fascist. He wasn’t hungry anymore
and decided he would refuse to eat his food in protest.

“So, you support the oppression of gay people, do you?”
“Don’t be silly. How I vote has nothing to do with that”.
“Nothing to do with it? By voting for the Tories you are voting

for hatred and discrimination. You’re voting for Clause 28, the Poll Tax
and the rich lining their own pockets.” Tony knew he sounded like a
whining alternative comedian from Friday Night Live but thought his
fury and righteousness was enough to convert Craig.

“Now you’re sounding really immature.” How dare Craig call

him immature? Craig was eight years older than Tony but he was
Australian, so that didn’t give him the right to insult his intelligence.

“What would you know? You can’t even vote in this country!

You have no idea of the incredible damage Mrs Thatcher has done here. I
grew up here. I’ve seen it all.”

“Damage?” laughed Craig. Tony was furious that he was

laughing during such a serious political conversation. “This place was

fucked before Mrs Thatcher came to power. She’s turned the country
around and finally restored Britain’s dignity and place in the world”.

Tony pursed his lips tightly and glared at Craig.
“Making a pussy bum face won’t make me change my mind”.

Tony pursed his lips even more. He was not making a pussy bum face.
How dare Craig? Craig really wasn’t going to measure up to his
standards he decided.

“And insulting me won’t make me change my mind. Because

I’m right and you’re wrong!” said Tony, his voice getting whiney, much
to his annoyance.

“OK, have it your way. I didn’t come here to talk politics. We

came here for a proper date, like you asked for”.

Tony had met Craig at the Christmas party organised by London

Gay Youth. As soon as Tony arrived at the usual meeting room he had
scanned it to find someone he knew. Standing by the drinks table at the
back of the room, he’d noticed an attractive, masculine man. The usual
fluorescent lights were mercifully turned off, replaced by the glow of
coloured Christmas lights, making Tony feel less exposed while he sat on
his own for the first hour. As he went up to the drinks table to get more
wine he tried to get a closer look at Craig. He was medium-height and
stocky with broad shoulders. He had dark brown hair and a square face
with a strong, heavily stubbled jaw. That met all of Tony’s usual physical
criteria, and Craig was even dressed for the part in Tony’s fantasy that
night. He was wearing a striped green and white rugby jumper that fitted
perfectly over his muscular chest and strong upper arms.

Tony hoped that Craig would be on his own at some time so he

could stand nearby and casually start a conversation. But Craig was
always surrounded by people who were laughing and joking. Being
popular, thought Tony resentfully. After a few glasses of wine he had
had the courage to stand near Glen when he saw that he’d managed to
become part of the in-crowd. Glen had been as friendly as before. He had
also been perceptive and realised that Tony was spending more time
looking over his shoulder than at him. Tony was horrified that Glen
could see this and denied it vehemently. Fortunately, Glen had insisted
on introducing him to Craig and then subtly started talking to the other
nearby people, leaving space for the two to talk. Craig was an Australia
solicitor who had just arrived back in London after spending three
months in Europe. He came from Melbourne, which every British person
was now familiar with thanks to the television soap opera, Neighbours.

Craig was confident and articulate. He was easy to talk to because he was
happy talking about himself, his work and his family in Australia. He
didn’t ask any probing questions about Tony’s family. Tony had casually
mentioned that he was going to a party that Friday. He’d asked whether
Craig wanted to go and was quietly ecstatic when he’d not only agreed
but also said he would drive Tony there. He had a car. Tony decided that
there could be no more perfect man than Craig. He was attractive, a
solicitor and had a car. That meant he must be stable and perfect
boyfriend material. Tony fell instantly in love.

Andy had told Tony that there was another party in Stratford the

Friday before Christmas Eve. Tony had said there was no way he would
ever go to one of those parties again. However, it had now come in very
useful. Craig picked Tony up near Kings Cross station in his black Escort
XR3i. Craig was fifteen minutes late. Tony was freezing and sick of
fending off beggars. However, he managed a rare feat of self-control and
said nothing with Craig finally arrived. Once they were at the party
neither of them had tried talking to other people, which Tony thought
was a good sign. At midnight, as they both sat against the wall in the
living room, listening to music, Tony’s head fell down onto Craig’s
shoulder. Craig rested his head on Tony’s. They’d stayed there until
Craig said they should go to his car. He started the engine and the
freezing car eventually became warm enough to remove some clothes.
Tony had hoped he could just lie in Craig’s huge arms and cuddle him all
night. However, Craig wanted a blowjob. Craig ticked another box by
having a large penis, although surprisingly small testicles. Tony let Craig
try to masturbate him to climax, but as usual had to take over himself.
His pathetic squirt of semen showed that his dick was unimpressed by
the informality of the situation. They slept on and off in the back of the
heated car until the morning. Craig drove Tony home and had called out
‘I’ll call you later’ behind Tony. Tony stayed in all day waiting for Craig
to telephone. He didn’t call until after New Year. Craig explained that
‘I’ll call you later’ didn’t mean the same day but was an unspecified time
period of his choosing. And he chose to call after the holiday period
because he had been so busy having fun at the backpacker hostel where
he lived in Bayswater. Tony was silently furious that Craig had chosen
Australian backpackers to have fun with rather than him, but had
managed to get Craig to agree to an ‘official’ date. It was ‘official’
because he said this time it was Craig who was inviting him out and he
got to choose where. He chose the Aberdeen Angus Steakhouse.

“I suppose we could change the conversation from politics to

religion”, conceded Tony sulkily. “Are you religious?”

“I go to church”. Tony folded his arms and sat up straight. He

hoped his extra-penetrating stare would communicate his utter contempt
at this news. Craig laughed again and reached into his pocket for his
wallet. He took out what looked like a black credit card. He handed it
over the table to Tony who reluctantly took it. On the card was a drawing
of a church set in the centre of a rosette. “The Church, London. Still
Rocking Since 1979”.

“Is it a gospel church?” Oh dear God, was he a happy-clappy

nutjob as well as a Tory? Could this evening get any worse? Craig
giggled, in a higher pitch than Tony expected given his very masculine
looks.

“It’s a place for Aussies and Kiwis to get shitfaced! We worship

at the altar of Bundy and Coke.”

“Bundy?”
“Bundaberg Rum”.
“Oh”. Tony was relieved. Although he didn’t like the idea of

Craig getting ‘shitfaced’. That was pretty vulgar. But then, he was
Australian.

“So, where are we going after this?” said Craig firmly.
“Let’s just go for a walk and see”. Tony was still annoyed at

Craig calling him immature. He didn’t know if he wanted to go
anywhere with him.

“OK. I’ll pay then we’ll walk around Leicester Square”. Tony

found Craig’s confidence and assertiveness very attractive. He decided
he could work on changing Craig’s political views. It would be easy once
Craig had listened carefully to his reasoning.

They left the restaurant and walked into the cold January

evening. Even on a Tuesday night Charing Cross Road was as busy as
rush hour. They crossed the road and walked into Leicester Square.

“Where to now?” said Tony.
“Häagen-Dazs?”
“It’s too cold for ice cream!”
“It’s never too cold for Häagen-Dazs. Come on. I’ll pay.” The

queue for a table was too long so they decided to take-away. They found
a bench that hadn’t been commandeered by a homeless person and ate
them in the park.

“Thank you for dinner”.

“You’re welcome. And the ice-cream?” Craig prompted.
“Thank you for the ice cream, Craig”. You wanted the ice-

cream, not me, thought Tony resentfully. Why do I have to thank you for
that?

“OK, let’s walk again”. Craig sprang up and turned towards the

cheap theatre tickets booth. They walked there and then turned off
Leicester Square. Craig turned into a dark alleyway.

“I don’t want to go down there. It’s not lit properly”, said Tony.
“That’s the point!” Oh. Craig wants to kiss, he thought. Isn’t this

still a bit too public?

They walked down the laneway and stopped at a set of recessed

doors where they could sit down. Tony sat close to Craig and they kissed
passionately for a minute until Tony stopped to scan the lane.

“Who cares who comes along?” said Craig.
“I do! I’m still under 21 you know. And it’s illegal to do it in

public”.

“Just relax, OK?”
“I don’t do relaxation”.
“I’ve noticed. Here.” Craig opened up the fly to his jeans and let

out his large erect penis. “Suck on this!”

“Craig! We’ll get caught.” But this was only the second time

he’d seen Craig’s penis and he wanted to taste it again. He looked
around; nobody was in the laneway and he judged that they were hidden
enough. He moved along the concrete ledge they were sitting on and put
his head into Craig’s lap. His rubbed Craig’s hot cock against his cheeks,
enjoying its heat and hardness. He took the shaft into his mouth and
moved his head down. Craig placed his hands on Tony’s head and
groaned. Tony put his arms around Craig’s waist and hugged his burly
body tightly. He felt as safe and secure as he had when he’d last cuddled
up to Craig in the back of his car in Stratford. Craig’s groaning
increased. He’s going to come, thought Tony, do I want to swallow? No
choice really. He prepared himself for the ejaculation.

“Evening, gents”. Craig’s hands shoved Tony’s head deeply into

his lap. He could barely breath with Craig’s cock still hard in his mouth.

“Evening”, said Craig cheerfully.
“Is that gentleman all right”. Oh fuck; it’s the police, thought

Tony. Now I’m screwed. They’ll arrest us and tell my dad. He’s going to
kill me.

“He’s had too much to drink. He’s been throwing up.”

“Can we see him then please? Excuse me Sir, can you sit up?”

Craig’s cock had shrivelled away but Tony wasn’t sure if it had retracted
back into Craig’s tight briefs.

“Ooh! I feel awful!” he said, not moving.
“Well, can you sit up sir so we can see you are all right”.

Bugger, they weren’t going to leave him alone, he thought. He moved his
head around in Craig’s lap, hoping this would force his cock back into
his trousers. He groaned some more for effect then lifted his head slowly.
He looked at Craig’s groin. His cock had gone back through his flies. He
sat up fully. As he did so Craig moved his coat over his groin. He leant
forward to pat Tony on the back. “Feeling better?” he said loudly.

“Oh, I’m not well.” Tony groaned. He looked up at the two

policemen. “Just too much to drink, that’s all.” He couldn’t read the
expressions on the policemen’s faces. I’m just a pathetic drunk, he
thought, that’s all they need to know.

“You should take him home sir”, said the taller policeman to

Craig. He agreed. Tony watched in relief as the policemen walked on
towards Leicester Square. He turned furiously to Craig. “See? Did you
see how close that was? I’m never doing this again!”

“Well, we can’t exactly go to your place”. Tony was upset that

Craig looked bitter.

“No”.
“So, do you want to see me again?”
“Yes. Yes, absolutely!” Tony wanted to communicate his

enthusiasm beyond all doubt. He looked at Craig. Craig was exactly the
type of boyfriend he’d been dreaming of with his broad masculine face
and muscular hairy chest. He even had strong upper arms. The better to
hug me with, he thought. And Craig was funny. He smiled all the time
and nothing seemed to faze him. Tony wanted to lie in his big arms and
be protected by him. He was his Australian dreamboat.

“Do you want to see me again?” Tony realised he was dreading

the answer and tightened his abdomen and stomach in case the pain of
rejection was about to hit.

Craig smiled. His smile was as cute and cheeky as Shaun’s; yet

another reason Tony had been so taken with Craig when he first met him.
“Of course I do. I wouldn’t have bought you dinner otherwise!”

“It’s just difficult. The sex thing”, Tony still felt uncomfortable

talking about sex.

“There’s always the car”.

“I suppose”, said Tony. He remembered the night they’d spent in

Stratford, trying to have sex without freezing in the back of Craig’s
Escort. He hadn’t enjoyed the sex and hadn’t had an orgasm. He assumed
that problem would never be solved until he felt safe and comfortable in
a proper bed with the proper man.

“So are you still going to suck me off?”
“No!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Tony wasn’t going to accept the job at Cheery Tubes in

Islington. Andy had rung in mid-January and made an appointment for
him to go and see Scott, his boyfriend. It seemed that he hadn’t been
joking about the switchboard. Scott needed somebody to operate it
during his lunchbreak and holidays. For the rest of the time Tony would
be working in the typing pool. The prospect of doing a female job was
too humiliating for Tony to endure. He’d agreed to do a typing test and
had passed with a sixty word per minute speed. His accuracy had also
impressed Moira, the office supervisor. He was about to decline when he
asked how much the pay was. £7,000 per annum was the answer. That
was far more money that Tony had expected; his job at Hansen’s
jewellers had paid £70 per week. He decided he could suffer the
indignity of working in a typing pool if it paid so much more than retail
work. He was also glad that he had a real job now he’d turned nineteen.

Tony wasn’t sure whether Cheery Tubes manufactured or

distributed tubing, he wasn’t told and he didn’t think to ask. He knew
that the typing pool was in the 1960s office space built in front of a large
warehouse and Scott’s office was in an extension nearby. Once Scott had
shown him how to use the electronic German switchboard he felt he
knew all he needed to know. He quickly knew that he hated working on
the switchboard. Connecting callers with their correct recipient was easy,
however one quirk of the switchboard was that it didn’t provide a ringing
tone when a caller was put through to their requested extension. If the
phone wasn’t answered a red light would flash furiously showing the
caller was still on the line. Tony was supposed to ask the caller whether
they would like to continue holding or leave a message. He hated doing
this because they were often angry that their call had been ‘abandoned’
due to the lack of a ringtone. Rather than bothering to explain that the
person they wished to talk to was unavailable and would they care to
leave a message, Tony waited for them to hang up. If they did hang up,
the caller would often ring back and berate Tony for not taking a
message. If there were more than three callers on hold, no more
incoming calls could be received by the switchboard. When callers
finally did get through, they were angry at how long they had had to
wait. After a few weeks, Tony decided that he could not handle the abuse
anymore and refused to act as a switchboard operator.

Working as a typist was far less taxing. Tony enjoyed using his

modern electronic typewriter. He could type a whole sentence and it
would appear on an LCD display. He could edit it for mistakes before
pressing ‘enter’ and watch the daisywheel stamp the lettering onto the
page. He looked enviously at the computer nearby which ran the latest in
word processing technology called ‘WordStar’. He wasn’t allowed to use
it because he was told he didn’t have the qualifications.

When Tony joined the typing pool he was warned that his co-

worker would not talk to him because she was strongly religious and
believed it was wrong for a male to be doing a female job. It was
subverting the natural order of God’s world. Tony was pleased that he
would not have to make conversation with this woman and did not try to
dissuade her of her views. She spent much of the day giggling with her
friends over the telephone, so Tony did most of the work that appeared in
the pool’s in-tray. He enjoyed being busy.

Andy’s boyfriend Scott was generally friendly. He was a prickly,

effeminate man with a short fuse that Tony was very efficient at lighting.
They both had a tendency towards drama, but Scott was senior in age and
length of service so he assumed the right to be queen. If Tony was near
hysteria because the photocopier was jammed, Scott would make sure
Tony was put in his place before the copier could be fixed. As long as
Scott thought Tony was being calm and reasonable he was welcome to
visit him at lunchtimes in his office. His room contained the hated
switchboard, whose lights flashed malevolently at Tony whenever he
entered. A former switchboard operator had been asked to take over
Tony’s relief role during Scott’s breaks. She said she loved it and never
had any abuse from callers.

During one lunchtime conversation Tony showed Scott a photo

of Craig. Craig was looking tanned and sexy on a beach in Greece, his
muscular body covered only by a pair of bulging red speedos. ‘Not my
type’, Scott had said quickly. Of course not, Tony thought bitterly, he
looks like a real man. Tony explained that Craig still lived in a
backpackers’ hostel and they had never spent a full night together. Scott
was in a good mood and offered them the use of his spare room one
night. Tony immediately called Craig at work and told him this. It was
arranged they would come over for dinner the next Friday night.

Tony was impressed that Scott owned a flat only fifteen minutes

walk away from Cheery Tubes. ‘Well, I have been working here for
fifteen years’, he’d said. Fifteen years as a switchboard operator at this
place? thought Tony. He couldn’t think of anything more boring. He had

no idea where his future lay, but he knew in fifteen years he wouldn’t be
there and hopefully wouldn’t be in England.

Tony was impatient throughout dinner. He enjoyed how

intelligent Craig sounded and he was happy to leave the talking to he and
Scott. He watched Craig laugh and make jokes. He really seems to be
able to talk to anybody, thought Tony. He found his humour arousing
and he wanted to get Craig on his own. He hoped Craig wouldn’t laugh
when he saw how thin Tony really was, but he was willing to risk this
just so they could lie naked together. He desperately wanted to see Craig
recline on the bed, his muscular body uncovered and his genitals proudly
displayed.

“Well, I’m an early riser so I’m going to go to bed”, said Scott at

nine o’clock. “You can stay up”. He looked at Tony slyly, “or you can go
to bed”. Tony was grateful for Scott’s sensitivity, even if he found his
knowingness a little distasteful.

“We need an early night too”, said Tony quickly, staring at Craig

to make sure he understood.

“Yes, thank you very much for a lovely meal Scott but we need

an early night as well”, he repeated obediently.

Scott’s spare room was dim. The walls were painted dark blue

and the duvet had a black satin cover. Tony pulled a corner back and saw
the sheets were black satin as well.

“Looks like a whore’s boudoir”, said Craig. “It’s nice of him to

set the scene”.

“What scene? We’re not prostitutes”, protested Tony. He

couldn’t use the word ‘whore’; it was vulgar. He intended that they were
going to make love and not have sex in a brothel.

“Did I say we were?” Craig stuck his tongue out at Tony, which

made him smile and forgive him. “Now”, said Craig firmly, “let’s get
you out of those clothes”.

Tony started to lift his shirt out of his trousers. “No!” said Craig.

“I’m going to unwrap you”. He undid the buttons on Tony’s shirt and
pulled it open.

“Nice”, he whispered and kissed both of Tony’s nipples. He

removed Tony’s shirt. He felt exposed with his thin, hairless chest open
for Craig to see. He clasped his arms over his chest.

“I’m too thin”.
“You’re not too thin”. Craig started undoing Tony’s trousers. He

pulled them down to his knees, crouching down to inspect Tony’s boxer

shorts. His erection was staunchly vertical and straining at the waistband.
Craig pulled the shorts down to reveal Tony’s increasingly wet knob.
Craig rubbed Tony’s viscous precum between his thumb and forefinger
then tasted it approvingly. He stood up.

“Sit on the bed”, he ordered. Tony did so and Craig removed his

shoes, socks and trousers. He lay back, showing his full nakedness to
Craig for the first time.

“Now me!” Craig indicated for Tony to undress him. Craig had

already removed his tie, so Tony unbuttoned his white Oxford cotton
shirt. He watched Tony’s chest hair creep through as the shirt opened
out. Craig took the rest of the shirt off and indicated his trouser button.
Tony sat back and observed the bulge of Craig’s erection through his
grey striped trousers. He placed his nose over the bulge and rubbed it up
and down, feeling Craig’s rigidity on his cheeks. Craig undid the button
of his flies and started to undo the zipper.

“It needs to come out now”, said Craig urgently. He moved

Tony’s face away from his groin so he could lower his trousers,
revealing small, tight green briefs. His cock was leaking through them,
leaving a ten pence coin-sized wet patch. Tony lowered the jocks and
held Craig’s cock at the base, squeezing out more precum. He placed the
throbbing knob in his mouth and moved his tongue around it. He spread
the precum spread over Craig’s knob then sucked hard to taste it. He was
worried that Craig would come, so he stopped and told him to take the
rest of his clothes off and lie on the bed.

Tony lay next to Craig and looked into his eyes. Craig’s raised

his eyebrows and smiled, his hazel eyes staring into Tony’s. Craig
moved his head forward and kissed him, his tongue searching for Tony’s.
Tony moved his own into Craig’s mouth and for the first time knew why
he was doing this. He wanted his tongue to lick inside Craig’s mouth; he
wanted it to be sucked hard. It was an intimacy he had never been able to
share with any other man. Craig seemed surprised at Tony’s passion and
pulled his head back slightly.

“Suck my dick”, he whispered. Tony moved down and took

Craig’s cock in his mouth. He pushed his head down as far as it would
go. He started gagging but still kept his mouth where it was, trying to
loosen his throat muscles. Soon, he relaxed and was able to hold Craig’s
entire hot penis in his mouth. He cupped Craig’s balls and wished he
could swallow them too; take all of Craig’s jewels into his mouth for
safekeeping. Craig leant up and took his head, guiding it up and down his

cock. When his jaw started hurting he stopped and turned to Craig.

“Move back”. He got Craig to move down the bed so he could

straddle his chest. Tony rubbed his cock over Craig’s hairy pectoral
muscles several times before placing his knob in Craig’s mouth. Craig
lifted his head up and took as much of Tony’s cock as he could. He
grabbed it and moved it away so he could suck on Tony’s balls. Tony
groaned; he found having his balls teased to be so pleasurable that he
kept telling Craig to suck harder and harder. “I don’t care if it hurts!” he
exclaimed to a concerned Craig, but there was no pain, just an urgency to
have his large, near bursting balls sucked intensely.

“Lie down”, said Craig. He got Tony to lay next to him. Tony

pressed his erection into Craig. He moved it around and wondered
whether he could come doing this; he decided there wasn’t enough grip.

“You need to come”, said Craig.
“Do I?” Tony was surprised; he wanted to have sex for as long

as possible as was sure he could hold off coming. After all, coming had
been a problem for him for years.

“I can feel the pressure building up there; it’s time to let it out”.

Craig reached down and grabbed Tony’s cock in his fist, rubbing it up
and down. Tony had to get him to stop rubbing his exposed knob and
slow down. He didn’t expect Craig would be any more successful
making him come than Martin or Gary, but he let him try. He relaxed and
stopped worrying about whether he was going to come or not. He
enjoyed the feel of Craig’s fist rubbing up and down his cock and would
have been happy just to have that, lying next to Craig with his left cheek
nestled in his sweaty chest hair.

“You’re coming”, said Craig. How can he know that? thought

Tony. But he felt the muscles tighten behind the base of his cock. Only
this time, more of them seem to tighten, he felt more muscles tingling
around his groin and up almost to his belly button. He made his body
rigid, trying to isolate and feel these muscles. He tried to hold onto the
tension but suddenly he felt the muscles in his groin release and force a
hot surge of semen through his cock. He gasped loudly and looked
shocked.

“Bloody hell!” said Craig. “You’ve hit the wall.” Tony turned

his head and laughed.

“That hasn’t happened for a long time”.
“You looked like you were in pain”.
“I suppose I was. But it was good pain”.

“Me!” commanded Craig. Tony had wanted to lie back and

enjoy the feeling in his groin of the first orgasm he had had since he was
sixteen. But there was work to be done. Fortunately Craig came quickly
after Tony stroked his cock. He only shot as far as his belly button.
“Oh!” he said sadly, “that wasn’t much compared to your explosion”.

Craig reached over and grabbed Tony’s boxer shorts. He wiped

the come off the wall then threw them at Tony to mop himself up. “Gee,
thanks”, he said.

“Well, it’s mostly your mess!” Tony didn’t like the word ‘mess’.

It wasn’t mess, it meant far too much to him to be that. That ‘mess’ had
proved to him that he was utterly, hopelessly and completely in love with
Craig. He wondered whether now was the time to tell him. He didn’t
want to spoil the best night they had had together. He decided it was
worth risking it; he could always deny it later and say it was just
emotional.

He caught Craig’s eyes. “I love you Craig”. He held his eyes, not

wanting him to look away quickly to something safer. He didn’t. He
sighed loudly but smiled. “And I think I love you”.

“Think?” Tony was shocked. You either do or you don’t, he

thought. You can’t think about love. Love is something you feel; you
can’t rationalise it.

“I’ve never been in love with anyone before”, said Craig

seriously. “How do I know if I’m in love with you?”

“Because you feel it”, said Tony, placing his hand dramatically

over his heart. “You can’t analyse it”.

“Well, I can analyse it”, he insisted. “And I think I’m in love

with you. That’s a big thing for me to say, OK?”

“OK”, said Tony reluctantly. It was better than him saying he

didn’t think he was in love him.

Tony rested his head between Craig’s chest muscles and clasped

his arms around him. He nuzzled his head into the curly hair and inhaled
Craig’s perspiration. He felt safe and protected.

“I need to sleep”, said Craig, moving Tony away. Craig turned

on his side and Tony reached over to hold him from behind. “I can’t
sleep if you do that”, Craig said. Tony turned away, feeling like a little
boy who had his teddy bear taken away from him. He curled up into the
foetal position and tried to sleep in the unfamiliar bed, in the unfamiliar
room, with a man who he hoped to become even more familiar with.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Tony was pleased when his religious co-worker in the typing

pool was ‘let go’ because her work was messy and inaccurate. Moira said
that her boss’s daughter wanted the job, but she couldn’t start until
September, so a series of temporary workers was hired until then. Alana
was the first to join the pool. She was on the summer break of her
university degree in fine arts. Tony liked her; she was funny and
dramatic, often declaring during a sunny day that she shouldn’t be stuck
inside being a drudge, but be outside experiencing life and growing as a
person. She told Tony that he must seek more out of life than ‘this place’.
Moira confided in Tony that Alana wasn’t rehired after two weeks
because she thought her ‘flighty’ and unreliable. Isabelle arrived next.
She was a confident and efficient young woman who made a career out
of temping. “I never have to stay in one job and risk getting bored”, she
would tell him, “but everyone I work for wishes I would. I can’t tell you
how many job offers I’ve turned down”. Isabelle saw Tony squinting at
her over their desks and insisted he went to see an optician. When he
came back and said he needed glasses she gave him the telephone
number of her optician to buy disposable contact lenses. “They’re
amazing”, she said, “you leave them in for a month then throw them
away and pop in a new pair”. The optician he spoke to wasn’t so keen on
her suggestion. He told Tony he still needed to take them out every night
and sterilise them before replacing them after a month. Craig had
recently started using disposable contacts, so Tony was thrilled that they
had something in common.

After their night together in Scott’s spare room, Tony had made

it clear that he wanted Craig to move out of the backpackers’ hostel.
They had continued to have sex in the back of Craig’s car after going out
for dinner, but Tony was angry he had to do this now he knew what sex
in a real bed was like. Craig made the occasional snide comment that
perhaps Tony could move out of home and share a place, but Tony didn’t
want to spend his salary on boring things like accommodation. He was
already planning holidays that he wanted Craig to invite him on.
Anyway, Craig was older than Tony, so he should be the one who had
his own room. He was a solicitor after all; how many solicitors lived in
backpacker hostels?

Craig promised to consider finding a place to rent after Tony

refused to ever have sex in his car again. They had driven around their

usual spots in North London, with Tony refusing each one. It was too
exposed, he would say. We went there last time; people will see us. Craig
had lost his temper and said they should forget it and he would drive
Tony home. Tony hated it was Craig was in a bad mood, so when they
were near Southgate he told him to turn into the car park of an industrial
estate. Unfortunately their passion steamed up the windows and a couple
of policemen knocked on the door and asked them what they were up to.
Tony told one of them that they were both discussing job opportunities.
Craig said they were looking up directions in an A to Z. The policemen
told them to move on. After comparing their stories Craig laughed
hysterically but Tony refused to see the funny side. “I’m still underage”,
he sulked. “And they could have arrested you”, he added, hoping this
would scare Craig.

Craig still insisted on going to LGY on Monday nights to see his

friends. Tony didn’t see why he would want to do this now that they
were together. Craig had a large circle of people he enjoyed talking to;
Tony hated them all. He hated them because they were a threat, but
above all he hated them because they patronised him. He had tried
talking to them but they only wanted to talk about their jobs. Tony was
too ashamed to admit he worked as a typist because Craig’s friends were
all professionals like stockbrokers, lawyers and publicists. Craig told him
they had long, boozy lunches with each other and would argue about
whose huge expense account should pay the bill. Tony suspected Craig
was still drunk in the evening after these lunches but didn’t say anything
because he relied on Craig’s car too much.

Tony hadn’t talked to Shaun since the last night they had been at

the Cap together. He saw no reason to forgive Shaun for his appalling
behaviour and felt grateful that he had a boyfriend who treated him with
respect. He felt enormously superior to Shaun because Craig was
attractive and a solicitor. He decided that he had now grown apart from
his former friend and thought it was destiny that he had gone at almost
the same time Craig had arrived. However, Tony had to admit that there
were times when Craig irritated him and didn’t treat him with respect. At
LGY the previous Monday one of Craig’s friends had referred to Tony as
‘a pretty little plaything’. Tony was horrified that Craig had just given
his annoyingly high-pitched laugh and responded, “yes, the young ones
are full of come”. How dare Craig talk about him in such crude terms?
Tony realised he had nobody to confide in. He suddenly missed Shaun
desperately. He knew Shaun would tell him Craig was an arsehole who

didn’t deserve him.

Tony called Shaun at his parent’s home, hoping he was still

living there. His dad answered the phone. He became curter than usual
when Tony told him his name. “He’s working tonight”, he said and put
the phone down. Furiously, Tony called Shaun at work. When he
eventually came to the phone Tony shouted, “your dad hung up on me!”

“Look, I’m really busy, OK.” Shaun snapped.
“I need to see you”.
“Well, I’m working aren’t I?”
“Please!” Shaun sighed.
“Well, the kitchen closes at eight. Come down ’ere and we can

catch up”. Tony hadn’t been to the restaurant that Shaun worked in
before. He wrote down the address in Pimlico and rushed to the tube
station. He changed at Finsbury Park for the Victoria line to Pimlico then
found Michael’s Restaurant and Bar in a grand row of tall, white terraced
houses on Lupus Street. It was much larger than he expected, painted
black and at least three times the width of the surrounding shops. Tony
was nervous walking in. He knew that Tony’s brother Declan worked
there and remembered Shaun telling him how Declan had hit him when
he came out. Tony wasn’t sure if Declan knew he was gay. He peered
through the window to see if Shaun was there. The restaurant was empty
but he could see a man and a woman behind the bar. One of the men
walked up the bar and Tony got a clearer look at him. He had shoulder-
length wavy brown hair with blonde streaks and was at least as tall as
Tony. He looked about twice the width of Craig. That must be Declan, he
thought. He wondered whether he was brave enough to go inside but
decided it was doubtful Declan would hurt him in his own bar. He
opened the black door and went in.

Declan had walked to the back of the restaurant so Tony asked

the woman behind the bar if Shaun was around. She told him to go
through to the kitchen when he’d explained that he was expected. He
walked over a large dance floor to the door that had been pointed out. He
peered around it, not wanting to barge into a workplace.

“Aw right Tony!” Tony was so happy to hear Shaun that he

smiled broadly and ran to give him a hug. “Aw right, aw right, that’s
enough”, he laughed. “I’ve still got me apron on. Just stay ’ere until I’ve
changed”. Tony looked at the large kitchen and marvelled at the long
stainless steel bench tops and huge gas burners. Shaun came back
quickly, dressed in jeans and a black shirt.

“Thank fuck that days over”, he said. “I dunno why we were so

busy tonight. Tuesday’s normally dead.” He stopped and looked at Tony.
“So ’ow ’ave you been? God I’ve missed you.”

“Me too”. They smiled at each other. They both knew there was

no need to discuss the past.

“Come on, let’s go to the bar”. He led the way over the dance

floor towards the long wooden bar. Declan was standing there drying
glasses with a tea towel. “This is Tony”, he said to the large man. “Tony,
Declan”.

“Pleased to meet you Tony. What are you having?” Tony was

surprised; Declan seemed nice and not the monster that Shaun had
created in his mind.

“’E’ll ’ave a Becks”, said Shaun firmly. “You’re not ’aving any

of yer sissy cider ’ere, aw right?”

“All right”. Tony held his hands up in surrender. They took the

drinks to the back of the venue, where a raised podium had seating
looking over the dance floor.

“This place is huge”, said Tony.
“Yeah, but it’s only really full on the weekends. On Friday and

Saturday nights it’s sooties as far as the eye can see”.

“Sooties?”
“Black people”. Shaun giggled.
“Oh Shaun, that’s so racist”.
“’Oo cares? Do you know what they call us?” He looked

disgusted. ‘Batty boys’”. He pronounced ‘batty boys’ with a heavy
Jamaican accent then continued, “we got to kill dem batty boys”.

“Oh”. Tony didn’t think it was nice to be racist but he also didn’t

think it was nice to kill gays.

“You should come ’ere on Friday night and ’ave a look”.
“Oh, because you’ve really made me want to come now!”
“Na, it’s aw right. Declan is the DJ and he ponces around so full

of ’imself. It’ll be a laugh”.

“I was terrified of meeting Declan”.
“Why?” Shaun was genuinely surprised.
“Because you said he hit you when you came out”. Tony

wondered whether Shaun ever remembered anything.

“Oh ’e’s fine. God, that was ages ago”. But it still happened,

thought Tony bitterly. How can you forgive him so easily?

“Anyway. What’s been ’appening with you?” Tony told Shaun

about Craig. He decided to paint a glowing picture of a gorgeous, loving
man. He could slag him off another time.

“You’re so lucky!” Tony was pleased that Shaun looked jealous.

“God, ’e sounds perfect.”

“And you?”
“Well, I’m still single since leaving that boring bastard Adrian.

But I’ve been ’aving fun”. He smiled broadly.

“Oh yes. At the Cap or on the Heath?”
“Oh, at the ’eath of course!” Tony remembered that Shaun

became camper when he was embarrassed. “With these lovely long
summer nights it would be almost rude not to go”. Tony laughed. He
wished he had Shaun’s relaxed attitude to sex.

“You should come along to LGY on Monday night. There are

some attractive men at The Bell afterwards”. Shaun lit up a Lambert &
Butler. Tony reached for the packet and helped himself to one.

“I dunno. What’s this group like?”
“Mostly professional men. Between 18 and 30, but they tend to

be in their 20s”. Shaun didn’t look keen.

“You’re going to have to actually talk to someone if you want a

boyfriend rather than random shags”, said Tony.

“I’ve got you to talk to”. Shaun grinned at Tony. “But yeah,

maybe I’ll come. But only if you come ’ere on Friday night”.

“If it’s free drinks I will”.
“Still a scrounger then?” Tony looked hurt.
“Just kidding. Got a job yet?”
“Yes!” Shaun looked amazed.
“Where?”
“A tube-making company in Islington”. Just don’t ask me what I

do, Tony thought.

“Wow. You’re making tubes!”
“No! I work in the office”.
“Finally. A steady job.” Shaun didn’t ask for any details. Tony

didn’t mention that he was already thinking of leaving and doing
temporary work. He thought he had enough experience now and liked the
idea of not being stuck in one job. “And a steady boyfriend”, Shaun
looked impressed. “It’s all coming together for you”.

“Yeah”, Tony wasn’t convinced. Things never came together for

him. Years of his parents’ negative reinforcement had convinced him
they never would.

At eleven they both caught the tube back to Arnos Grove.

“Friday at eight, OK?” Shaun said in parting.

Tony told Craig he would be out with Shaun on Friday night.

Craig said he was happy that Tony was seeing more of his own friends.

At work the next day, Tony was introduced to the new temp.

Moira said that she couldn’t use a typewriter so would only be using the
word processor. He would have to type her envelopes. Tony was furious.
Why couldn’t he be trained in using the word processor? He had used
one at college to type his essays. He went round to Scott’s office at
lunchtime to moan.

“Oh, don’t you start”, he snapped, “I’ve had that bitch Glenda

going on at me all morning”. Glenda was the Personnel Manager. She
was the only person who returned work to Tony if he had made a minor
mistake. She was always rude about it. Tony was annoyed that Scott
wasn’t amenable to his sulking. He called Craig.

“Look, I’m just above to leave to do an exchange of contracts in

EC1”, he said. “Can we talk about this later?”

“When’s later?”
“Not tonight. I’m tired. I’ll call you later”. Tony ate his cheese

roll by the canal and decided he would teach himself how to use the word
processor once the new temp had left. And then he would resign. That
would show them.

Craig hadn’t called by Friday. Tony refused to call because it

was Craig’s turn. He went out to Michael’s in Pimlico on Friday night
determined to have a good time.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Tony opened his eyes slowly and wondered why he didn’t

recognise the ceiling. It had coving around the edges and he was sure his
bedroom ceiling didn’t. He turned his heavy head to the left. Shaun was
lying next to him, snoring loudly. His torso was uncovered by the duvet.
Oh, that’s right, he thought dully, we decided to stay in a bed and
breakfast after getting hugely pissed at Michael’s and then trying to walk
to that gay pub in South Ken which we couldn’t find. He looked at
Shaun’s broad, naked chest, rising and falling. He knew they hadn’t
really had sex; Shaun was too drunk despite Tony trying. Tony had
grabbed his big cock, and Shaun was drunkenly grateful for the attention,
even getting an almost hard erection. But he’d fallen asleep before Tony
had had any chance of making him come. Tony was glad to pass out as
well.

Tony lifted the doona up and looked at the rest of Shaun’s naked

body. He penis was resting on the mattress, its long foreskin inviting
Tony to tease it between his fingers. Tony reached down and caressed
the dick. Shaun mumbled something but didn’t wake up. His cock
hardened but didn’t become erect, no matter how many times Tony
rubbed it. He caressed Shaun’s huge balls in one hand and started to
stroke his own dick with his right hand. The movement woke Shaun.

“Uh”, he moaned, looking at Tony. He yawned loudly. “What

are you doing?”

“Having a wank”.
“I can see that”.
“Are you going to join in?”
“God no. ’ow can you even do that after ’ow much we drank last

night?” Tony was relieved Shaun didn’t seem upset about his
masturbating. Shaun watched Tony’s cock with interest.

“You’ve got a big dick”.
“Not as big as yours”.
“Oh well”, Shaun smiled, “that goes without saying!”
“Can you rub my dick?”
“No!”
“Just thought I’d ask”. Shaun made no move to get up or look

away, so Tony continued. He started breathing heavily and tensed,
shooting a large load of semen into his face. He let it sting his eyelids as
he relaxed and relished the ecstatic release in his groin.

“Bloody ’ell!” said Shaun. “I couldn’t shoot that far”.
“You don’t store it up enough!”
“True!”
Tony mopped the semen away with the bed sheet. “I’m ’aving a

shower”, said Shaun getting slowly out of bed. He walked to the door,
then realised that it was the exit. “Oh fucking ’ell, no en-suite?”

“We wanted the cheapest room, remember?” Shaun shook his

head blankly.

“Fucked if I remember anything”. He opened the door poked his

head out. “There’s a bathroom opposite”. He grabbed a towel from the
chest of drawers and went out.

Tony lay back and fought his need to go back to sleep. He

remembered the evening clearly. They’d drunk countless bottles of
Becks and danced stupidly on the dance floor. They had been the only
white faces there, which Tony had found initially intimidating until the
alcohol had loosened him. Shaun had annoyed Declan by constantly
jumping on the stage where he was DJ-ing to demand he play ‘The Cure’
or ‘Sisters of Mercy’. Declan told the bar to stop giving them free beers,
so they’d decided to walk to South Kensington to find a gay pub that
Shaun may or may not have once been to. They had walked around the
High Street with Shaun saying ‘it’s just on the corner’ several times until
they’d both agreed to give up and get a minicab home. Shaun couldn’t
agree a price and became aggressive with one driver who had told him he
was too drunk. It was Tony’s idea to stay in the B&B. He didn’t relish
the idea of having Shaun talk loudly and drunkenly on the way home if
they had been able to get a cab. And it may have occurred to me that I
might be able to have sex with him, he thought. He was surprised at how
manipulative he had become.

Shaun came back from the bathroom and threw a towel at Tony.

“Shower. Now!” he commanded. Tony stood in the bath and cursed the
pathetic water pressure that made the shower more like a dribble. He felt
he needed a pressure hose to blast the smoke and sweat off him.

“Are we having breakfast?” he asked Shaun once he was back in

the room.

“Well, we’ve paid for it ’aven’t we?” Tony was hoping Shaun

would want to skip it. He didn’t want the owners to think they were a gay
couple.

“Oh, ’oo gives a fuck?” Shaun predictably responded when he

was told this. They ate their bacon and eggs in near silence in the

basement of the terraced house. Shaun lit a cigarette. Tony was about to
protest when he thought that he might feel better if he had one too. He
didn’t; his head span and he thought he was going to be sick. Shaun
laughed. “Lightweight!”

They took the Piccadilly Line at South Kensington direct to

Arnos Grove. Apart from Tony’s occasional groans of ‘never again’,
neither of them talked, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence.

“So, see you Monday night then?” said Shaun when they stood

in front of his house. Tony had almost forgotten their deal.

“Yeah, of course. See you there at seven”. He got home and

went back to bed. At midday Barry knocked on his door to tell him Craig
was on the phone.

“We’ve just signed a six-month lease for a place in East Sheen!

About five minutes ago”. It was the most excited Craig had sounded in
weeks.

“That’s great!” It was great, but Tony found it hard to sound as

excited as he would have been without his head spinning. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“There’s five of us from the hostel. The house has three

bedrooms, so two are sharing each of the upstairs bedrooms, and I’ve got
the downstairs room for myself”.

“Oh, great”. Five? he spat inwardly. Five people? Why couldn’t

he get a flat on his own?

“We can move in right now. Today. Do you want to come and

help me?” It was the last thing that Tony felt like doing.

“I’m a bit hung over”.
“Big night with Shaun?”
“Yeah”. He heard an excited female voice in the background.
“Come round for dinner. The others can’t wait to meet you”.
“They know about me?”
“Of course. I’ve told them all how gorgeous you are”.
“Flattery always works. I can’t wait. Where on earth is East

Sheen? East London somewhere?”

“No, it’s South London”.
“South London!” Tony was shocked. “South London? No

wonder I’ve never heard of it. I’ll bet it doesn’t even have a tube
station?”

“I don’t know, we drove here”. Craig sounded disappointed. “I

thought you’d be happy. This is what you wanted”.

“I am happy. Honestly. It’s the best news you could have told

me. I’ll look up how to get there and see you tonight”. Craig gave him
the address. How could they rent a house that wasn’t near a tube station,
he wondered? And South London? At least Rick’s place in Balham was
on the tube, even if was the awful Northern Line. Tony looked up the
address in his A to Z. As he feared, the nearest tube station was Kew
Gardens and that was a fair distance away. He called London Transport
and was told it was quicker to get a bus from Hammersmith. Tony went
back to bed and set his watch alarm for six pm.

Tony was surprised that East Sheen wasn’t as hideous as he

expected. Penhaligon Crescent was a pleasant, tree-lined cul-de-sac lined
with 1930s semi-detached homes. At the end of the crescent was a row of
five modern three-level terraced houses. They looked completely out of
place. Tony looked at the address he’d scrawled on an envelope and
confirmed that number 16 was in the middle of the terraces. He walked
up the path, past the ugly paved front yard and rang the bell. He heard
Craig yell, “I’ll get it”, and the door opened. Craig was beaming.
“Welcome to my new home! Come in, I’ll show you around”. He passed
the stairwell that led to the second level and stopped. “My bathroom is
on the right”. Tony looked in and saw the bathroom also had a washing
machine and a door that opened into the small, grassy garden. “And to
the left is my room”. Craig’s bedroom had large windows that looked
over the garden. It also had a double bed.

“A double bed!” Tony immediately lay down on it.
“Of course!”
“When did you buy it?”
“It belongs to the place. The whole house was rented out fully

furnished”.

“Wow”.
“Yes, it’s great. I don’t have to buy a thing. No commitment

whatsoever. Once the lease is over we just pack up our things and leave”.

“Oh”. Craig saw Tony’s disappointment. Tony still hadn’t dared

to ask when Craig was planning to move back to Australia.

“Or we’ll extend the lease”, Craig said quickly. “Or move to a

new place. I’ll show you the rest of the house”.

“Do I have to meet anybody?” Tony was nervous about meeting

Craig’s new housemates. No matter what he’d told them Tony didn’t
think he had the personality to impress a group of Australians.

“Of course! They are cooking us dinner”. Craig reached down

and pulled Tony off the bed.

“What are they like?”
“They’re fine”.
“What if they don’t like me?”
“They will like you. Just be yourself”. That’s exactly what I

don’t want to be, thought Tony. I want to be anyone but myself. I want to
be outgoing and witty, not introverted and dull. He wished he and Craig
could just live in the downstairs floor.

The light green carpet continued up the stairs to the second floor.

This was one large room, with huge windows at either end. The living
section had a white leather three-piece suite. The windows had a vista of
Penhaligon Crescent. The windows at the dining end, where a large
rectangular glass table stood, looked over the garden. Any further
outlook was stopped by a row of five tall fir trees. The kitchen was next
to the dining section. It was very large and very busy, with three women
preparing food and laughing loudly.

“Hello girls!” said Craig. “May I introduce my lovely boyfriend

Tony?” Two of the women screamed in joy and rushed over to kiss him.
The larger woman held up her hands in apology; she was cutting onions.

“So wonderful to meet you! I’m Bronwyn”. Bronwyn had long

curly brown hair and bright red round-framed glasses.

“So great to finally see you! I’m Ginny”. Ginny was shorter than

Bronwyn; thin with long straight blonde hair. Her accent was slightly
different.

“I’m Bronwyn”, called out the large woman. “Second

Bronwyn!” Second Bronwyn had shoulder-length chestnut hair and a
very broad face. Her voice was deeper than the other women’s.

“So what lovely meal are you girls cooking us?” Tony thought

Craig sounded patronising but none of the women seemed to mind.

“You’ll find out!” cried Ginny. “It’ll be ready in half an hour”.
“I can’t wait!” said Craig. He went to a cupboard and took out of

bottle of red wine. “I think we’ll have some of this while we wait”. He
went to one of the wooden cupboards and took out two wine glasses.
“See you soon”. Tony smiled at the women; he was terrified of saying
anything else in case they screamed again. Their enthusiasm was like
nothing he’d experienced before. The only young females he knew were
his cousins, and they were as cynical as he was. Craig motioned for him
to follow him downstairs.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” said Craig, pouring the wine into

the two glasses.

“I suppose not. I thought you said there were five of you?”
“Luke’s out having a run”. Craig grinned. “Which means his

little shorts will be all hot and sweaty when he gets home”. Craig let his
mouth open and tongue hang out dramatically. “He’s gorgeous. I
wouldn’t mind hopping into the shower with him afterwards”.

“Craig!” Tony hated it when Craig openly lusted after other men.
“Oh, just wait until you meet him!” Craig poured himself a

second glass of wine. Tony didn’t like the sound of Luke at all.

“He’s not gay?”
“No! He’s going out with Jenny”. At least that was a relief,

thought Tony. He didn’t think he could handle the jealousy if the
supposedly gorgeous Luke was gay. Craig seemed too interested already.

“You mean Ginny?”
“No, Jenny! She’s from New Zealand. Luke and Jenny are

sharing a room upstairs”. Tony didn’t understand why Ginny had
suddenly become Jenny just because she was from New Zealand. “And
Big Bron and Little Bron are sharing the other bedroom”, Craig
continued. Tony laughed.

“You don’t call them that to their faces?”
“No! But it’s true. Big Bron has just gotten fatter since I’ve

known her. Although Little Bron is hardly thin”.

“Are they lesbians?” Craig laughed loudly at Tony’s comment

and then screwed up his face in disgust. Tony noticed Craig’s laugh had
become much higher-pitched after his two glasses of wine. His face was
also becoming much redder.

“Urgh, no! What a revolting image. Separate beds”.
Craig hadn’t closed the door to his bedroom, so they both heard

the front door open. Craig walked out of the room. “Hello Luke! Good
run?” Tony didn’t hear the answer. Craig walked back in, shutting the
door behind him; his tongue hung out of his mouth. “I could see his big
dick through his shorts! I need a blowjob”. He lay down on the bed.
“Close the curtains”, he ordered. Tony did so. He didn’t know whether to
make his resentment known. How could Craig be so open about wanting
sex after seeing someone he fancied? And who isn’t me, he thought
furiously. After Craig came Tony said he didn’t want to come himself
because dinner was ready.

When he came downstairs to join them for dinner, Tony

reluctantly admitted to himself that Luke was quite attractive. He had
short black hair and a boyish face covered with incredibly smooth,

unblemished skin. He’s probably in his early twenties, Tony guessed,
and you can see he’s got a runner’s build; tall and slim but with
surprisingly muscular arms. Tony dismissed him as not his type, he
wasn’t as masculine as he liked. He seemed quite shy, but when he did
speak his accent was more strongly Australian than Craig’s. Craig was
sitting opposite Luke at the table and was trying his best to be witty and
charming. Luke smiled a lot and occasionally laughed at Craig’s jokes
but didn’t seem as in awe of him as the women at the table did. Jenny
and the Bronwyns screeched at every one of Craig’s jokes or bitchy
comments about their former hostel mates. Tony noticed that Luke
wasn’t drinking. Craig was on to his second bottle of wine; his face was
almost crimson.

Tony was happy that the friends at the table were content to talk

among themselves. He joined in with the laughter, although he didn’t
know who they were talking about. He answered any questions about
what he did with a simple ‘I work in an office’. He found out that Big
Bron was a bookkeeper, Little Bron was a secretary and Jenny was a
primary school teacher. He didn’t know what Luke did for work; Craig
interrupted any attempt Luke made to talk to Tony. After dinner Tony
offered to help wash up but was told to sit down because he was a guest.
Neither Luke nor Craig offered. Big Bron had received a video from a
friend in Australia, so they watched an episode of ‘Hey Hey, it’s
Saturday’. The housemates roared with laughter and sighed nostalgically
when they saw the adverts. Tony thought the show was childish
nonsense, but tried to laugh along. Craig ordered Tony to bed at eleven.
Fortunately Craig only wanted to go to sleep, which he did immediately.
He started snoring loudly after five minutes. Tony noticed Craig’s face
had become puffy and the red skin around his nose was flaking. He
pictured Luke’s unblemished skin and wondered how it would look on
Craig. It would look very nice indeed, he thought.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Moira was annoyed that the temp wasn’t coming back to work

because she’d found a permanent job. She had only been informed of this
that Monday morning and had to organise someone new. Tony took the
opportunity of having an empty typing pool to start up the computer and
open WordStar. There was a manual in the drawer under the workstation
that he carefully read. He practised using the codes to create bold and
italic fonts. It wasn’t that different to Microsoft Word, which he’d used
at college, and he quickly learned how to lay out a letter and save it.
When he selected ‘print’ the daisywheel printer typed out the letter
perfectly. He decided he was going to tell Moira that he was now
qualified to use the word processor and that any new temps would have
to use a typewriter. A new temp called Precious was seated at a
typewriter when Tony arrived slightly late to work on Tuesday. She was
very young and black skinned. She was unimpressed to find that a male
was working in the typing pool. “I don’t think my religion will allow it”,
she declared, “I’m Seventh Day Adventist”. She went upstairs to
complain to Moira. She returned and said nothing for the rest of the day.
Tony used the silence to teach himself how to create tables with
WordStar. It turned out to be very difficult because he couldn’t see how
the tables would appear until the page was typed out. The computer did
not have a graphics card installed to show how the page would appear.
Precious’s religious objections seemed to be overcome because she
turned up on Wednesday and was more talkative. She still didn’t
approve: “It’s not right for a man to be typing”.

“And yet I am”, replied Tony drily. He hated being made to feel

like he shouldn’t be doing his job because he wasn’t the right sex. Aren’t
there laws about this? he thought bitterly. He thought that maybe it was
just the nature of Cheery Tubes and its location in a poor part of Islington
that caused the prejudice. He knew it was time to leave and try doing
temporary work. Hopefully offices in central London wouldn’t find a
male word processor operator so shocking. The next day he decided he
wasn’t going to go to work. He convinced himself that he had been
discriminated against and therefore didn’t need to give notice. Cheery
Tubes decided they didn’t need to pay him. He rang up the Personnel
Manager, Glenda, to complain that he would sue for discrimination. “Oh,
please do”, she said nastily, “I can’t wait to have this one laughed out of
the tribunal. I’ll tell them your work was substandard anyway”. Tony

was shocked at such a lie but decided he didn’t want anything more to do
with Cheery Tubes. He scanned the free magazines that were handed out
at tube stations for jobs. There were many agencies that were advertising
for word processor operators. He called WP Solutions and they invited
him in for an interview. He passed a typing test at 70 words per minute
and proved he could use MS Word. “You’d be perfect”, said Sandra, the
temp consultant, “we’ll just have to work out how to get you in”. When
he queried this she’d lowered her voice and said “most of our clients
won’t accept a man doing this sort of work”. Tony had protested that it
was illegal to discriminate. Sandra welcomed him to the real world.

Tony rang another agency. They were happy for him to come in

for an interview. One offered him a week’s placement, but then rang
back apologetically to say the client wouldn’t accept a man. One Monday
night at LGY Tony spoke to a very confident, well-spoken young man
who told him that the agency that he worked for would find him work.
“But they expect you to be the life and soul of the office”, he said
dramatically. “And it has a rather strange name”. The name was
MistPrestige. “It probably used to be Miss Prestige, but they had to
change it when they took men onto their books”, Miles explained. “But
they’re fabulous”, he said firmly. Tony wasn’t sure about the name, or
whether he could be the ‘life and soul of the office’, but he had not had
work for a month. He called and dropped Miles’ name. He was
immediately invited in for an interview. “Yes”, he was assured by Zara,
“we have plenty of male WP operators on our books. And we find them
work”.

Zara rang Tony on the Monday morning after he had been

interviewed. She offered him a one-day job in Holborn. He turned up and
announced himself to reception. A sour-faced secretary escorted him into
the office where he sat at a computer. She told him someone would come
and tell him duties. While he waited a young man came to chat with her.
“He works for an agency called Miss Prestige?” he said loudly. The
secretary giggled and nodded. They both turned to look at him. Tony was
burning with too much anger and humiliation to defend himself. He
stared at the blank computer screen and tried to control his rage. He
fought his usual urge to run away and waited for fifteen minutes for a
pleasant manager to come and show him which reports he wanted typed
up. The work was straightforward and enjoyable and the manager was
pleased with his accuracy. He asked the manager to sign his payment
form rather than the secretary. “You got great feedback”, enthused Zara

the next day. “I might have something lined up at the BBC soon”.

He didn’t have any work for the rest of the week, but Zara called

on Friday to offer him a two-week position at the BBC. The job was to
type up the notes of researchers who were investigating a new
documentary. The two people in the small office were very friendly and
happy to have him working for them. Tony enjoyed buying lunch in the
BBC canteen, although he didn’t see anyone he knew. He thought the
jokes about the food were unfair; it was no worse than anywhere else. At
the end of his two weeks, Zara called to offer his another two weeks in a
different department to replace a secretary. Tony sighed at the word
‘secretary’ but was assured his boss was lovely. His boss was indeed
very lovely for the one day that Tony met him. For the rest of the time he
was in America producing a documentary. Tony had little to do, so he
taught himself as many of the programs he could find on the Apple
Macintosh computer in his office.

Since Craig had moved to Penhaligon Crescent, Tony was

staying over most nights. It was starting to feel like home to him but he
tried to avoid the other housemates as much as possible. He was aware
that he would outstay his welcome if they saw him around too much, but
as Craig’s bedroom and bathroom were on the ground floor he felt that
he wasn’t really intruding. There hadn’t been any more group dinners
since the first night, so Tony and Craig heated up their Marks and
Spencer ready meals in the kitchen and ate them alone. Craig always
drank red wine with dinner, even though he admitted he was allergic to
it. Tony wondered why he didn’t switch to white wine, but Craig had
snapped back that he only liked red. They watched television in the
living area if no one else was around. Tony would go downstairs to read
if one of the other housemates came to join them. He thought he was
being as unobtrusive as possible. On a Monday night in early August
Craig told him that he needed to have ‘a serious conversation’ with
Tony.

“The others have decided that you should pay rent because you

are here so often”.

“But I try to stay downstairs as much as possible”, he protested.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s out of my hands”, he lifted his hands as

proof.

“I can’t afford to pay rent”. What little money Tony had from his

temp jobs he was saving for a ticket to Australia. He hadn’t dared tell
Craig.

“Then you’ll have to come round less”, said Craig

dispassionately. Tony felt his stomach wobbling and was afraid he would
cry. He felt his throat tightening.

“Is that what you want?” He hoped his voice didn’t sound

strangled.

“Well, yes. If you can’t afford to pay rent”.
“I thought you loved me?” Tony looked pleadingly at Craig.
“I do! But I don’t need to see you every night. Weekends are

enough, aren’t they?”

“No”. Tony couldn’t understand Craig’s idea of love. If he loved

him then surely he wanted to be with him all the time. Craig looked
uncomfortable.

“Look, I’ve been meaning to say this, but this has forced my

hand. You do come around too much. There are some evenings where
I’m tired and I just want to be on my own. That doesn’t mean I don’t
love you”.

“Doesn’t it?” spat Tony.
“You know”, Craig screwed up his face, “you can be a real

dickhead sometimes. When I think of everything I’ve done for you, all
the meals I’ve bought for you. All the drinks and the outings to the
cinema. And I’ve already been chipping in money for you here”.

“So, they haven’t just decided I stay too often?”
“No. It was decided the second week you were here”, said Craig

sharply, “so I paid extra rent for you.”

“So, what’s changed? Why can’t you just keep paying the extra

rent?”

“Why should I?” Craig looked at Tony with a fury that scared

him. “It’s my money. And I’m sick of forking out for you, OK?”

“OK”. Tony stormed out of the house and walked furiously to

the bus stop on Upper Richmond Road. He intended never to return to
East bloody Sheen again.

Craig didn’t call. Tony wondered whether he should ring. He

was resigned to hearing their relationship was over, but he desperately
didn’t want this. He missed Craig’s charm and confidence. He missed his
sexy body. And he missed his dick. He didn’t think he could bear the
pain of being rejected by Craig. He started crying at the thought of it and
hated Craig for wanting to leave him. He started to hate Craig so much
that he almost managed to convince himself that it was for the best that
they split up. He became teary at work; he was glad he was alone in the

office where nobody could see. He lay crying in bed at night every time
he thought of Craig with another man. He assumed Craig was already
having sex with his new boyfriend by now. Maybe he’d managed to
seduce Luke. That was what Craig wanted all along, Tony thought
bitterly; he wasn’t exactly subtle about his lust for him.

Tony decided he had to call Craig. It was the Saturday after he’d

stormed out of the house.

Luke answered the phone. Tony made sure his tone was as icy as

possible when he asked to talk to Craig. “Hello”, Craig had said casually
once Luke had called him to the phone.

“So, is it over?” Tony thought it best to be blunt. Craig sighed

loudly.

“Do we have to do this over the phone?”
“Where then?”
“Come over for dinner at the house tonight. You can stay over”.
“Oh I can, can I? Will that be allowed? Have you run it past the

politburo?” Tony hated his own sarcasm, but couldn’t filter his thoughts.

“You know what? Just forget it”. Craig hung up. Tony started

crying. The tears allowed some sense to penetrate his mind and he rang
back.

“I’m really sorry. It was my fault. I was too emotional, which we

both know I can be”. Craig repeated his offer of dinner. Tony accepted.

None of the hated housemates were home that evening. They

were all getting pissed at some Australian pub, said Craig. They ate their
Marks and Spencer Chicken Kiev in silence. Tony said nothing when
Craig finished a bottle of red wine on his own. After watching television
for half an hour, Tony relaxed and lay down on the sofa, resting his head
on Craig’s groin. He moved around to get comfortable, making Craig
giggle for the first time that evening. He lay there, feeling Craig’s cock
harden. Craig patted his head: “Let’s go to bed”. Tony let Craig fuck him
for the first time. He hated it; the pain in his guts and burning in his
rectum was excruciating. Tony tried to blank out the hurt and focussed
on how much Craig wanted it. He tried to blink back tears and hoped
Craig wouldn’t see them dropping on the pillow. Craig let Tony cuddle
him to sleep afterwards. “I do love you”, said Craig. “And I love you
too”, said Tony.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

On Sunday morning Tony refused breakfast and said he had to

get home. He could hear the others upstairs and didn’t want to see them.
Craig told him to wait, and not storm off. He went upstairs and came
down with two cups of coffee and a paper bag in his mouth. It contained
two pains au chocolat. “Your favourite”, he said as he handed the coffee
and bag to Tony. “And the coffee’s real,” said Tony.

“Of course it’s real”; Craig feigned outrage. “How’s work

going?”

“I’ve finished at the BBC. I don’t have anything lined up for

next week yet. But that could change on Monday”.

“You should go back to study”. Tony mouth was full of pain au

chocolat so he chewed furiously, staring at Craig and daring him to face
his anger.

“No! I’ve dropped out enough times. Anyway, I need to work. I

need money, remember? You keep telling me how important it is to pay
my way?”

“You can do both”.
“Not at my hourly rate. How am I going to save up the money to

go to ...” Tony stopped himself. Now wasn’t the time.

“Go to?” prompted Craig, his eyebrows raised high.
“To go to Cyprus. Shaun invited me to go there next year”.
“That won’t cost much. No, you should really start thinking

about your future, Tony. You’re an incredibly smart guy and I don’t want
to see you waste that. And I don’t want to feel responsible for that going
to waste”. Tony didn’t respond as quickly as he normally would. He was
confused by what Craig meant.

“How are you responsible for me wasting my intelligence?”
“Well, study starts again in September, doesn’t it?”
“I’m not going back. We’ve just discussed this”.
“And I don’t know where I will be by the end of this year”. Tony

hadn’t been prepared for this discussion. He mouth dropped open and he
stared at Craig. Craig looked away.

“Well, maybe you should tell me where you’re going to be at the

end of this year”.

“I don’t know. I really don’t”.
“I think you do!” Tony tried not to sound angry. “Your visa

doesn’t run out for another year, so you’ve obviously been thinking

about it”.

“Mum and dad want me to come home”. He shrugged. “And,

yes, I miss home, OK? I don’t know if I can take another English
winter”.

“And what about me? You told me last night you loved me

again. Why do say that and then throw this stuff at me?” Tony stopped
trying to keep his voice down. He knew this was going to be a
meaningful argument and had learned from family experience that he
who shouted loudest won.

“I do love you! For God’s sake, how many times do I have to tell

you? It’s because I love you that I care about your future. It’s because I
love you that I think you should go back to study and use your brain. It’s
because I love you that I don’t want to uproot you from your family and
force a new life on you in Australia”.

“Uproot me from my family?” spat Tony. “Are you truly

serious? I want to be uprooted from them. I want to go as far away as
possible from them. I want to go to the other side of the world to get
away from them. I want to be with you because I love you. I want you to
be my family.”

“You will never be part of my family”, said Craig. “My parents

will never accept you”. He sat down on his bed and put his head in his
hands.

“Why not?” said Tony, more quietly.
“Because they refuse to have a gay son”, said Craig bitterly.

“They don’t think Melbourne Society will accept it, so it can’t happen”.
He pronounced ‘can’t happen’ slowly and carefully, looking at Tony.

“That’s ridiculous!” Tony laughed. “Melbourne Society? What

society? It’s Australia, for God’s sake, not Victorian England”.

“Well, my parents take it very seriously, whatever you think of

it. And if they don’t know anyone with a gay son, then they are not going
to be the first to have one.” Craig looked deflated. It wasn’t how Tony
expected him to behave.

“Look, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but coming out to my

parents was far less bad that I expected. It wasn’t good, but it’s over
now”. Craig looked up and sneered.

“And this is the family you want to move to the other side of the

world to get away from?” Tony was hurt by the look on Craig’s face.

“They’re not perfect. But they’re not evil. And, yes, it’s time for

me to move on from them. For my own sanity. Maybe you should think

about the same thing?”

“I have moved on. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“And you’re going back. Back to mummy and daddy. Even

though you’re too afraid to tell them who you really are because you
might not get any more dinner invitations”.

Craig looked at Tony and smiled. “I don’t need advice from you

on how to handle families. Your mother’s a suicidal fruit loop, your
dad’s an alcoholic and your brother’s a whore”.

Tony took a deep breath. He smiled toothlessly at Craig and

turned. He left the house quietly and walked slowly up to the bus stop.
He calmly took the bus to Hammersmith then the tube to Arnos Grove.
His mind was blank the whole time. Every time a thought wanted to
intrude, he placed it on an imaginary cloud and let it float away. He
breathed deeply and stared blankly into the distance. He didn’t care what
people though of him. He didn’t care if he looked crazy. He hoped he
would never care about anything again. He truly believed that nothing
could ever equal the pain of Craig’s parting sentence and he didn’t intend
to let anyone try.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“There’s somebody for you”, Hazel called up the stairs. Tony’s

door was closed. She sighed, and turned to the man at the door. “I’m
sorry, please come in. I’ll have to go upstairs to get him. It’s so hard for
me to get up the stairs these days”.

“Can I go up? I’m a very close friend of his”. Hazel smiled

gratefully.

Craig walked up the stairs and knocked at the first door. It was

the first time he had visited Tony’s house and he wasn’t sure which
bedroom was his. There was no answer. From the echo he realised he
was knocking on the bathroom door. He tried the next door.

“What?” called out Tony, his voice raised above the music of

Erasure.

“Can I come in?” This was the last voice in the world Tony

imagined he would hear at his bedroom door. He remained silent. He
couldn’t process the feelings that were simultaneously crossing his brain,
his guts and his heart. “Please Tony. I need to apologise. I was
completely out of order. It was all my fault. If you just come out I can
tell you how I’m going to fix it”.

Tony couldn’t talk. He stared at the door and tried to quieten his

brain. He knew he couldn’t move or open the door. The handle turned.
He hadn’t locked the door. Craig put his head round. “I’m sorry, just let
me come in, OK?” Tony didn’t move from his meditative position on the
floor. Craig came over and sat down in front of him. He tried to hold
Tony’s shoulders, but Tony leant back quickly. “Don’t touch me”.

“OK, OK. Look”. Craig held his hands above his head. He

looked around and smiled. “Nice room”. Tony stared at him. He moved
to turn the cassette player off. “I can’t believe you have the… the
temerity to come here. Did you see my alcoholic father and suicidal fruit
loop mother on the way in?” Craig looked down at the floor.

“What I said was unforgiveable”.
“Yes”, said Tony quietly.
“Can you ever see it in your heart to forgive me?” Craig looked

up from the floor and into Tony’s eyes.

“I really don’t know”. Tony held Craig’s gaze. He tried not to

blink, but had to give in after a few seconds.

“I’m not perfect, Tony.” Craig shook his head sadly. “You seem

to think I’ve had it all; private school, university, wealthy family”. Tony

quickly interrupted to say “yes”. Craig continued. “But with all that
comes very high expectations of me. My father expects me to be a
partner by the time I’m 30. My mother expects me to be married to the
daughter of a good family in Melbourne. I think she’s already planning
the wedding”. Tony smiled despite his numb anger. “But I know I can’t
live up to their hopes. I know that I’m going to disappoint them. So
hearing you mock them hurt me. You don’t like people mocking your
family do you?” Tony shook his head reluctantly. “And so I lashed out at
yours in a despicable way”.

“I wish I’d never confided in you about them. I’ve never told

anyone about my family’s problems. I should have listened to my dad
when he said ‘never tell people secrets because they will use them
against you’”. Tony spoke quietly and looked over Craig’s head at the
door.

“Well. Neither of us is perfect. It won’t happen again”.
“No, it won’t. Because I will never tell you anything personal

again”, said Tony quietly.

Craig sighed and stood up. He looked at Tony again. “Well, I

tried my best. I asked for your forgiveness, and that’s the best that
anybody can do. If you want to behave like a child, then that’s up to
you”. He turned and went down the stairs. Tony heard Craig talking to
Barry. What the fuck is he doing talking to dad? thought Tony. He heard
the stairs creaking and another knock at his door. “Tony. Can I come
in?” It was Barry.

“Yes”, Tony sighed wearily.
“Hi Son”, Barry was in a good mood. “What’s going on then?

I’ve got Craig downstairs who says you won’t talk to him. Have you two
had a tiff?” Tony stared back with one raised eyebrow and his mouth
drooping.

“I can’t believe you’re even saying that”.
“It’s OK, every relationship has its ups and downs”. Tony was

stunned that Barry was talking about his ‘relationship’. With Craig. As if
he thought it were normal and not some abomination. “And he seems
like such a nice fellow, this Craig”, his dad continued. You don’t know
what Craig thinks of you, he thought, gazing at Barry.

“You’re so young and, to be honest, you haven’t had the most

stable couple of years, have you?” said Barry. “This Craig sounds like he
really cares about you. He’s really worried that he’s upset you and you
won’t forgive him”.

“Well, we have been talking. That’s why he was up here. And

maybe I won’t forgive him for a very good reason. A reason that I’m not
going to discuss with you”. Barry smiled.

“He doesn’t want to leave until he knows you’ve forgiven him.

Just come down and tell him. For me?” Tony shook his head.

“For your mother then?”
“What’s this got to do with her, dad?”
“Because she wants to see you stable. She wants to see you

happy, in a good job and in a good relationship”. Mum said that, thought
Tony. She thinks about me?

“OK”. Barry smiled.
“Good boy!” Craig smiled when Tony walked down the stairs

with Barry.

“Here he is!” cried Barry triumphantly. “I’ve managed to coax

him out”.

“I can’t thank you enough, Mr Mortimer. I feel awful involving

you in this. But I can’t tell you how wonderful it’s been to finally meet
you and Mrs Mortimer. I’ve been asking Tony for weeks to arrange a
dinner”. Craig’s charm seemed fake to Tony. He was surprised he hadn’t
noticed it before. But it was working its magic on his parents, who were
both smiling and nodding.

“Come on, then!” said Tony loudly. He walked out. Craig

followed him up the path. He walked to the black Escort and stood by the
passenger door. “Where are we going?”

“Wherever you like”, smiled Craig.
“St Albans?”
“Of course!” Tony smiled. He liked the cathedral at St Albans. It

was great that Craig had a car.

Craig dropped Tony off at Monks Way after their visit. Tony

didn’t want to go to East Sheen.

“I’ll call you later”, said Craig.
“And that means you will call me tomorrow evening at seven

o’clock on the dot”, replied Tony.

“On the dot”, replied Craig, smiling. “Love you!”
“Yes”, replied Tony.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

After three weeks of only going to Penhaligon Crescent on

weekends, Craig thought it was safe for Tony to start staying over on
weekdays. “I think the girls were on their rags before and were just
lashing out”, said Craig. “And now Little Bron has got a boyfriend and
he’s been around a lot”.

“How can he stay if she’s sharing a room with Big Bron?”
“They shag in the evening. Big Bron knows not to go in there

when her knickers are on the door”. Craig giggled hysterically at this
image.

Tony started staying over again every night. He avoided the

other housemates as much as possible. Craig bought a television for his
bedroom so they could stay there after dinner. He still insisted they eat
their Marks and Spencer ready meals at the table upstairs. Tony always
sat with his back to the living room so he could not see those who were
watching television. He refused to talk to the others. He hoped this would
somehow make him invisible. He saw that Little Bron’s boyfriend was
around every evening. She enjoyed showing him off, even though Tony
thought he was hideous. His was an Australian in his mid thirties, and
had long brown hair and a face like a ferret. He was very outgoing and
the other housemates laughed along with him when he insulted the
quality of British television. He sometimes slept on the sofa overnight.
Tony wondered whether he was paying rent.

Tony’s agency hadn’t found him any work since his BBC job.

He decided he would try something different and accepted a temporary
position as a junior accounts clerk. The work consisted of entering data
into a spreadsheet. He was efficient at it, often completing his work well
within the allocated time. He didn’t like to ask for more work in case
they decided he wasn’t needed anymore. He occupied himself by
learning as much about Lotus123 as he could. His slightly senior co-
worker Geoffrey would occasionally made jibes to annoy him, knowing
that Tony would react. After Geoffrey had mock-innocently asked Tony
why he ‘spoke with an affected accent’, Tony stormed off to his
supervisor to complain. He was told to calm down and grow up. He
stopped turning up to work instead.

Craig groaned on hearing of Tony’s latest employment disaster.

He explained that Tony wasn’t supposed to enjoy work; he was supposed
to put his head down and slowly build up a reputation for efficiency and

reliability. That was the only way that he would get ahead and get
promoted. Only then could Tony start to think of his ‘pipe dream’ of
going to Australia. The idea of being in some dull job, with his head
down, for years and years before he could see the world was terrifying
for Tony. Surely all he needed was the money for a one-way flight and
then he could work in Australia? He didn’t care what work he did there,
because he would have reached his destination. Craig was unimpressed
with his logic and insisted that he should find a sensible job in England
so he would have good references to find work in Australia ‘one day in
the future’. What was the rush? Craig asked. He was too young to
understand his own mind. Tony had learned not to argue the matter. He
hated making Craig angry.

Craig gave Tony a solemn promise that he wouldn’t even think

of returning permanently to Australia until June 1990. However, he said
he needed a holiday and was going home for Christmas for a month.
Tony asked if he could come, knowing the answer already. “You don’t
have the money”. He doubted he would be allowed even if he did. Since
leaving the accounts clerk job his income had disappeared. He was tired
of trying to get temp work as a WP operator. He still dreading turning up
to jobs only to have the receptionist stare at him like he was a performing
monkey. He remembered his brief time on the computer course at Barnet
College where the whole class was male. So, it was acceptable for men
to do the programming, just so long as they didn’t do typing, he
reasoned. He saw an advert at his local job centre for a computer-
programming course for people who were unemployed. Although he
wasn’t officially unemployed, and receiving benefits, he was allowed to
enrol because it was an ‘in demand’ skill. The course was even taught in
Southgate, by a private company. It satisfied his parents and Craig that
he was ‘doing something useful for himself’. And he got supplementary
benefit while he was studying.

The ‘computer-programming’ was learning how use the

Microsoft Disk Operating System. There were interesting aspects, such
as creating executable batch files, but Tony found it mostly
unchallenging. His tutor seemed fond of him and allowed Tony to teach
himself more advanced features. After four weeks the course was
finished and Tony felt he had barely learned anything that would make
him employable. After persuasion by several other students, many of
whom seemed reluctant to ever enter the job market, the private provider
agreed they could enrol in a course to learn database programming using

Oracle SQL. This was much more challenging and enjoyable.

Craig left for Melbourne on the tenth of December. He drove to

Heathrow with Tony and Luke. Luke was going to drive the Escort back
and use it until Craig’s return. Tony embarrassed himself and Craig by
crying when Craig said goodbye in front of the entrance to passport
control. “It’s only four weeks”, snapped Craig. “It’s not like I’m going
for ever”. Tony wondered whether he would return; he had little to return
to. Luke was kind on the drive back to Penhaligon Crescent. “I cried
when Jenny went back to EnZed for a month”, he assured Tony. “I was
going to miss her dreadfully. And she cried so much she almost decided
not to go!”

“That’s sweet”, said Tony.
“That’s love”, replied Luke.
“Craig didn’t cry”.
“Craig keeps a tight hold of his emotions. I’m sure he wanted to

cry”. Tony marvelled at how everyone saw the best in Craig.

Craig called a week after he’d arrived home. It was night in

Melbourne and Craig had been out to dinner. He was parked on a hill and
looking at the view. He described the bright full moon that was reflected
on the gentle ripples of Port Phillip Bay. He said how wonderful it was to
be home, and how much his friends and family had missed him. Tony
asked whether he missed him. Craig sounded surprised, “I only saw you
a week ago”.

Shaun rang to ask Tony to go to the Cap with him on the

Saturday before Christmas. “I need to get out before the ’ell of Christmas
descends”. Tony agreed; he wasn’t looking forward to Christmas. It still
hurt that he wasn’t going to spend it with Craig. Hazel had been allowing
the Jehovah’s Witnesses in to talk to her because she ‘needed the
company’. She said Christmas was a pagan abomination and would
ignore the day. Barry had rolled his eyes and said he would “knock the
living shit out of them if he ever found them in the house”. For once,
Tony was glad of Barry’s aggression and hoped he would be there to see
this. Hazel had also decided that he and Rick were going to hell because
they were gay. “But I’ll see you there”, she’d muttered darkly. A night
out with Shaun looked very appealing.

On Saturday Tony went round to Shaun’s place. He was relieved

that Shaun opened the door. “Thank God it’s you, I was scared of seeing
your dad”.

“Yeah, he ain’t got any better”, said Shaun sadly. They had to

change to the Victoria line at Finsbury Park to get to Camden Town
because of a body on the track at Caledonian Road. “Selfish bloody
bastards”, said Shaun. “Can’t they kill themselves somewhere else so it
doesn’t affect other people?” “They just want the attention in death that
they couldn’t get in life”, agreed Tony. He knew he wouldn’t have the
courage to throw himself in front of a train. His occasional plans to end it
all involved taking drugs and falling asleep for good.

“’as Craig called you?”
“Yeah”.
“Aw, that’s so sweet. ’e really loves you”.
“I suppose”.
“God, you don’t know ’ow lucky you are do you?” Tony was

surprised at how angry Shaun sounded.

“What do you mean?”
“Craig’s gorgeous”. He looked embarrassed. “I’d shag ’im!”
“And your standards are so high”. Shaun laughed. “It’s not as

perfect as you think, Shaun. He’s going to go back to Australia next year.
That’s going to hurt”. Shaun looked thoughtful.

“Are you going with him?”
“No, he won’t let me go with him”. Tony felt the familiar stab of

anger in his stomach.

“Good. I’d miss you”. Tony was touched. He turned at smiled at

Shaun.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere”.
The Black Cap was full of people trying to get into the Christmas

spirit before facing the real thing with their families or on their own. The
pub had made an attempt to look Christmassy. Silver and gold tinsel
hung between the lampshades in the front bar and a small, artificial tree
stood over the cigarette machine. “Ah bless ’em”, said Shaun, “it
must’ve cost ’em at least five quid to do all this”.

“It’s more than we’ve got at home”.
“Really? Me mum goes crazy for decorations. She even gets a

real Christmas tree. It’s nice until all the bloody needles fall off and get
everywhere. Cider?” Tony nodded.

“Hello Tony!” He was shocked to see Gary turning to talk to him

at the bar. He hadn’t seen or heard from him for almost exactly a year.

“Gary! It’s great to see you”. Gary smiled back shyly. “What

have you been up to?”

“I work for the RAC now”. He looked proud.

“You mean breakdowns and that sort of thing?”
“Yeah”. Tony wondered whether to make a big deal of asking

why he hadn’t called. He thought better of it. He hadn’t wanted to call
Gary after their breakup, as amicable as it was.

“And this is Martin”. Gary turned and tapped the man next to

him on the shoulder. The man turned round. It was Martin from the teen
group. They looked at each other for a few moments warily.

“We know each other”, said Tony brightly. “From the teen

group. Probably before you first went there”.

“Oh really?” Gary smiled and looked at Martin.
“Yes”, said Martin coldly. “We briefly knew each other”.
“So, are you two going out?” Tony moved his head to look at

each of the men a few times.

“Of course”, laughed Gary.
“For ages”, said Martin. He looked fondly at Gary. “Over a year

and a half now isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I think so”, agreed Gary. He looked back at Martin with

an adoring expression.

“Congratulations!” Tony raised the pint of cider that Shaun had

just pushed into this hand. He was wondering what on earth they could
possibly talk about. How did Gary feel about the violent overthrow of the
Thatcher dictatorship? What did Martin know about fixing camshafts or
whatever else cars had? He watched Martin bend down to kiss Gary and
felt queasy. He could still picture both of them naked and had no desire
to think of them together. He turned back to Shaun.

“I can’t believe those two are together”, said Shaun. “But Gary’s

still fucking ’ot. Lucky bastard”. Tony assumed he meant Martin was the
lucky one.

“Yeah, a year and a half! And they both haven’t died of

boredom”. Shaun looked at Tony quizzically.

“A year and an ’alf?”
“Yes”.
“But you said you dumped him before Christmas last year.

That’s a year ago”. Tony frowned.

“Yeah”.
“’e was two-timing you!” Shaun was filled with evil glee.
“No, it must be a mistake. Gary’s too sweet and dumb to do

anything like that”. He looked around to see if Gary and Martin were still
there. Martin was still standing behind him, but he couldn’t see Gary.

“You’ve been going out for a year and a half?” said Tony to

Martin. Martin looked back coldly.

“That’s what I said”. Then he smiled toothlessly. “Have you just

done the maths?”

“I was with Gary until just before Christmas last year”, Tony

insisted.

“No, you thought you were with him”, Martin’s tone was

annoyingly patronising. “He let you think that because he was scared of
hurting you if he dumped you. He said he’d refused to have sex with you
for months, but you were too stupid to take the hint.”

“No, I refused sex with him and he wouldn’t take the hint”,

shouted Tony. He hated the mocking expression on Martin’s face.

“Face it, Tony. You were a boring shag. In fact, Gary thought

you were just plain boring. You just used him for his car”. Tony couldn’t
stop the furious outrage from making his face burn. He was terrified he
would start crying if he didn’t control himself. Martin kept smiling. He
was thoroughly enjoying his dressing down of Tony.

“Fuck you!” spat Tony. He couldn’t think of anything witty to

say. He turned to Shaun who was looking embarrassed. “Let’s get out of
here”.

“We’ve only just arrived!”
“Well, I’m leaving”. He turned around and pushed his way

through the crowd to the door. He opened it and was glad to have the
freezing December air cool his face. He walked towards the tube station.

“Oh for fuck’s sake”, called Shaun behind him. “Come back.

Just forget ’em. Why do you let people get to you so much? You’re just
so easy to wind up. That’s why people do it”. Tony continued walking.

“And don’t fucking take it out on me. I ’aven’t done anything.

Stop being such a selfish little prick”. Shaun was screaming now. He
didn’t care that people were watching. Tony stopped. He turned round
and walked back to Shaun.

“I’m sorry”.
“So you fucking should be”. He wondered why Shaun couldn’t

just accept an apology without swearing back at him.

“I just can’t go back there, Shaun. It’s too humiliating. You go

back, you’re always fine on your own”.

“I came out to be with you, you idiot. I’m not going back on my

own”.

“We could go to The Bell”. Shaun shrugged.

“But there’s a show on ’ere tonight”. Shaun suddenly gave a

familiar evil grin. Tony smiled despite his anger. He knew that smile of
Shaun’s always heralded something.

“We could go to the ’eath!”
“Why am I not surprised to hear that?” said Tony. “What the

fuck. Let’s go!”

They took the Northern Line to Hampstead. It was a ten-minute

walk uphill to reach Jack Straw’s Castle. “Isn’t there a bus?” said Tony.

“Yeah. We could wait God knows ’ow long for it or we could

just walk for ten minutes”. They started walking.

“Did you see the look on Martin’s face when he was talking to

me?”

“No”. Shaun sighed loudly. He’d already heard this on the tube

journey.

“Why do people seem to enjoy hurting me? Do I have a sign on

me saying ‘kick me’?”

“Almost”.
“What do you mean?” Shaun sighed loudly again.
“Oh for fuck’s sake Tony. You do moan a lot”.
“What?”
“Oh ’ere we go again. Why can’t you just listen to me without

putting on your ‘I’m so outraged’ act?” Tony stopped himself from
replying. He was outraged. He mimed closing a zipper over his mouth
and stared at Shaun quizzically.

“You just take everything so personally. You assume that

everyone is out to ’urt you, so you let everyone ’urt you”. Shaun turned
to Tony. He could see Tony was almost bursting trying to keep quiet.
“And you moan! Bloody ’ell, I ’ate ’aving to tell you this ’cos I love you.
But you just moan, moan, moan. You moan just as much as Gordon and
Adrian did. But”, he added quickly, “you’re not boring like them”. Tony
lowered his eyebrows, which had been raised so high they’d almost
joined his forehead.

Tony tried to think before he spoke this time. He didn’t know

what to say without sounding negative. He decided to say nothing for a
few minutes. They walked in silence until Tony felt the urge to break the
calm.

“I need you to confide in. If that’s moaning, them I’m sorry”.
“And I need you to confide in. And I moan too. But I try and

move on from it”. Tony knew that was true. Shaun exploded but then

calmed down and never talked about what was bothering him again. He
forgave people easily. Tony had thought Shaun was stupid for forgetting
people’s wrongs. He couldn’t understand why he didn’t store up every
slight, actual and perceived, and plot his revenge. Tony’s head was full
of revenge plots that kept him amused during long tube journeys when
he’d forgotten to bring a book. Without his revenge plots he couldn’t
imagine how he could deal with the injustices he experienced every day.
From rude shop assistants to the people on the tube who looked at him
the wrong way; from his family’s years of mental torture to Craig’s
indifference. Every day brought a new need to get even.

“Let it go”, said Shaun as if reading his mind. “There’s the pub.

Do you wanna pint before we go?”

“Yeah. Some Dutch courage would be good”. Tony promised

himself he would change his attitude completely. Once he’d read a book
about it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

After half an hour of walking in the dark, Tony turned around

and went to sit on the wall of the pub’s car park. “I only came here
because you wanted to”, he told Shaun. “It’s cold and it’s scary. I’ll wait
for you back at the car park”. Shaun had protested that if he was afraid it
would be better to be around people, but Tony would rather be alone and
afraid than surrounded by men who had sex on their mind. His curiosity
had been satisfied; there was a bushy area of the Heath where men
cruised for sex. Even if, by chance, he had met an incredibly attractive
man, there was no way he would lower himself to disappearing into the
bushes to have sex, even if he were single and on the pull. The idea
appalled him. Just as in the basement of the party in Stratford, he felt no
point in having sex with someone you could barely see just for the sake
of having sex. After his brief protest, Shaun had lit a nearby man’s
cigarette and decided by the glow of the lighter that he was ‘bush-
worthy’. He was happy to let Tony go once he’d found someone. Tony
had hoped he wouldn’t have to wait too long, but Shaun was away for
over an hour before he startled the sitting Tony by grabbing him from
behind by his shoulders.

“What took you so long?” he said after screaming at Shaun for

scaring him.

“What do you think?” Shaun grinned.
“An hour? With that guy?”
“’oo said it was just him? No, ’e had a tiny dick so I left him and

walked around some more. There was a bonfire lit further down – it was
much easier to see blokes there”.

“Still. An hour. I was freezing”.
“You could’ve gone into the pub”.
“No. I told you I’d be here. Anyway, I don’t like sitting in pubs

on my own”.

“Moan, moan, moan”.
“Shut up!” said Tony furiously. Shaun cackled; he knew he had a

new way of winding up Tony.

“I don’t like sitting in pubs on my own. I’m afraid of strange

men”, Shaun put on an annoying posh accent.

“Shut up Shaun!”
“Anyway I’m going back”.
“Back? Didn’t you have sex?” Tony looked shocked. Shaun

grinned at him.

“I can always ’ave more”.
“Shaun I’m not waiting”.
“Fine, go then”, he said defiantly. “It’s too early to go ’ome. I’ve

got Christmas stuck with me family so I might as well ’ave as much fun
as I can before the misery of that. So, you’re going?” Tony hated going
home alone, especially from an unfamiliar place like the Heath.

“No, I’ll come and sit by the fire”, he sighed reluctantly.
“Good boy”. They retraced their steps back along the muddy

track and walked further along. Tony could see an orange glow through
some bushes ahead. When they turned past the bushes they saw a very
large wood fire ahead. Several men were standing around and one was
sitting, poking at the fire with a long branch. The keeper of the flame,
thought Tony. The light of the fire illuminated the faces of the men
standing nearest. There were the usual men with shaven hair and checked
shirts. Still desperately holding onto the ‘clone’ look, thought Tony. He
wondered why men would want to dress the same as each other, but then
realised that if they were all wearing police or army uniforms he would
find it very sexy. Nobody was talking to each other, which unnerved
Tony. Why can’t they just chat and make this more relaxed? How on
earth are they even going to have sex if they don’t talk? He knew Shaun
had explained it to him before, something about knowing the right ‘look’
in their eyes.

“I’m walking further on. You stay ’ere, OK?” whispered Shaun.

Tony nodded. He was standing close to the fire, rubbing his hands
together. The heat was comforting. Once he got too warm he moved
towards the bushes to cool down. He looked fleetingly at the men near
the fire again. He didn’t want to look like he was cruising. He certainly
didn’t want anyone to think he had a ‘look’ that was encouraging. He
heard twigs cracking loudly behind him and turned around. Two men
were coming out of a bushy area, pushing denuded branches away from
their faces. One turned to take the path back to the car park. The other
moved forward to the fire and lit a cigarette. Even without the light of the
cigarette Tony could clearly see the familiar jet-black hair and baby-
smooth skin glowing by the light of the fire. It was Luke.

Tony froze. What on earth was Luke doing on Hampstead Heath,

and especially this part? Whatever he was doing, and the obvious answer
seemed impossible, Tony didn’t want Luke to see him and tell Craig that
he had been to Hampstead Heath. How on earth could he convince Craig

that it was totally innocent? But, Luke was hardly in a position to do that,
he thought. Luke probably had an innocent explanation too. Maybe he
had agreed to come with a gay friend here as well. Maybe his friend was
the one he had come out of the bushes with. Tony’s curiosity was more
powerful than his need for discretion. He walked quietly towards the fire.
He put on his deepest voice and tapped Luke twice on the right shoulder
from behind.

“Excuse me Sir, you are under arrest for gross indecency”. Luke

swung around and stared at Tony. His face went from anger to disbelief
then back to anger again.

“That wasn’t funny”, he whispered loudly. Once again, Tony

wondered why everyone was whispering in the open air. “What the hell
are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry to be obvious, but I was going to ask you the same

thing”.

“I’m with a friend”. Luke turned around to throw his cigarette

butt into the fire.

“Me too”, said Tony. They stood next to the fire, neither of them

speaking. The silence was excruciating for Tony. As usual, he felt the
need to fill the void.

“Really. I agreed to come with my friend Shaun. He’s gone off

to do God knows what. I’m just here for moral support. So to speak”. He
smiled. Luke didn’t laugh.

“Please don’t tell Jenny”. Luke looked intently at Tony.
“Of course I won’t”. Tony adopted a look of hurt outrage for

good measure. “And please don’t say anything to Craig, not that I won’t
tell him exactly what I told you”. Luke nodded.

“I’d better go”, he said. He walked towards the path without

waiting for Tony to say anything. Tony was annoyed and walked after
him.

“Don’t say goodbye then!”
“Goodbye”. Luke sped up. Tony increased his speed as well and

walked with Luke.

“Is that all I get? I run into you in a gay cruising area and you

just pretend like it’s not happening?”

“Yup”. They walked on until they got the car park. Luke hopped

over the wall with Tony following.

“Are you going to stalk me?” asked Luke.
“Yes”. Tony looked at Luke defiantly. Luke stared back blankly.

“Why can’t you just talk to me?” said Tony. “What is this whole

conspiracy of silence? Am I going to see you in East Sheen and pretend I
didn’t know you were here”.

“Yes, you are”. The white lights of the car park bleached Luke’s

pink face. Even though he was angry Tony felt there was a boyish
vulnerability about him. He felt a stab of jealousy that somebody else
had been able to touch that beautiful face. Why didn’t he just turn back
and leave Luke to go? Because I’m sick of people lying and pretending,
he thought bitterly. If Luke’s gay then why won’t he admit it? Why
should he be allowed to lie to everybody about it? Is he always cheating
behind Jenny’s back, or was he really just here with some gay friend. He
doubted Luke had any gay friends.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Luke”, said Tony coldly. “I’m not the

one who’s lying”.

“Oh aren’t you? Your boyfriend’s out of the country so you pop

out to the Heath for quick shag? And you’re not the one who’s lying?”

“No”, said Tony calmly. “I’m really not lying. And if you tell

Craig then I will tell him it’s all true. He knows my friend Shaun and
knows he comes here. And he trusts me. Does Jenny trust you?”

Luke gave a short, bitter laugh. “Why do I get the feeling I’m

being blackmailed?”

“Probably because you are”. Luke glared at Tony nastily.
“And why?” he spat.
To pay you back, I suppose. Revenge”. Tony was startled at

himself. Luke hadn’t been in one of his revenge fantasies. He’d barely
thought about Luke.

“What the fuck are you talking about? What have I ever done to

you?”

“You told Craig that I was staying too much and that I should

pay rent”. Tony stared at Luke. He had never thought that it was he who
had complained about him staying too much, but he finally realised he
needed to hurt Luke. He needed to hurt him because Craig fantasised
about him so much.

“That really, really hurt”. He glared at Luke. “Have you ever

been in love?”

“I didn’t say anything”, protested Luke. “I didn’t think you were

round too much at all. Why on earth are you blaming me for that?” He
held Tony’s eyes and Tony saw his anger.

“Because Craig is so besotted with you. You two are just best

buddies according to him. He even thinks about you when we have sex”.
Tony didn’t think he should have said that.

Luke gave a nasty laugh. “Wow! What an overactive

imagination you have”. He laughed again shortly. Tony crossed his arms
and looked sullen.

Luke sighed and held Luke’s gaze. He held his hands up in

surrender. “Look, Jenny said to the Bronwyns that you were around too
much and always eating other people’s food, OK?” Tony mouth opened
in protest. Luke waved his hand impatiently and continued. “And the
Bronwyns were always going on about money and making sure everyone
paid their fair share, so they went storming off to Craig, demanding that
you pay money towards groceries and rent”.

Tony looked at Luke suspiciously. “Why would Jenny say that?

And why wouldn’t she say it to my face?” Luke laughed bitterly.

“Well, obviously because she wanted you around less”.
“I didn’t take anyone’s food! I tried to make myself invisible”.
“The food issue was a bit of a smokescreen Tony. I don’t think

Jenny or the Bronwyns like you very much”.

“Don’t like me?” Tony managed his best look of outrage. “Don’t

like me? I barely talk to them”.

“And I think that’s why!” Luke smiled for the first time that

evening. “You don’t make any effort to talk to them do you?” Tony
stared at him, then shrugged. “Women need to be given attention”,
continued Luke. “But I don’t think you have much experience of women,
do you?” Tony thought of his mother. She’s all the experience I need, he
thought coldly.

“I just try to keep a low profile. So people won’t hate me. And

yet they don’t like me because I ignore them?” Tony raised his hands and
shrugged. He was getting tired of revelations of people who disliked him
for no reason.

“And Craig’s a charmer, isn’t he?” said Luke. Tony pursed his

lips and scowled.

“So you do fancy him”, he spat.
“Not in the slightest”. Luke shook his head slowly. “As I said,

you have a very overactive imagination”. He paused, and then shrugged
his shoulders. “I’m just using Craig as a comparison. He shows interest
in people and makes them feel special.” Tony knew that was true. That
was why he loved Craig.

“So, I’m not charming enough?” Tony laughed bitterly. Luke

smiled.

“But you’re genuine”. He whispered conspiratorially: “And I

don’t think Craig always is”. Luke’s face was unreadable.

“Oh there you are!” Shaun shouted out from the wall. “I thought

you were waiting by the fire? Oh!” he grinned. “Pardon me, I didn’t
mean to interrupt”.

“I have to go. Bye.” Luke walked off to the far corner of the car

park. Tony saw Luke open the door of the black Escort and drive off. It
had Craig’s number plates.

Tony laughed. “My God, he’s even used Craig’s car to come

here!”

“Eh?” Shaun looked confused. “Did you shag ’im? ’E was

fucking ’orny!”

“No, Shaun”, sighed Tony. “I’ll explain on the way home. We

might just get the last tube if we’re lucky”.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Luke was already at Heathrow when Tony arrived. Tony hadn’t

expected him to be there and his heart sunk at the thought of any more
unpleasantness. Fortunately, Luke smiled warmly when he approached.

“Craig said you’d be here!”
“But he wanted his car even more”. Tony had been reading

books on positive thinking, but didn’t think that precluded him from
being a bitch.

“Just as much, Tony. Just as much!”
“How have you been?” Tony was surprised to see Luke bite his

lower lip and raise his eyebrows.

“I won’t lie, it’s been rocky. Me and Jenny split up”.
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry”. Tony didn’t know whether to look at Luke

or not.

“It was going to happen. I’m just glad she did it, because I was

too much of a coward”. Luke smiled weakly. He wondered how upset
Luke really was. “It still fucking hurt though”.

“Yes”. Tony didn’t know what else to say.
“She’s moved out”, continued Luke. “Gone back to the hostel.

I’ll have to pay the rent on my own now”.

Tony smiled. “Oh well, she was good for something then”.
“Ouch. Too soon, mate; too soon”. Luke looked hurt. “I miss

her. I loved her, I really did”. Tony bit his lip and decided to say nothing
more. Did they split up because he was gay, he wondered. Is he even
gay? He desperately wanted to know, but knew this wasn’t the right
place to ask difficult questions.

When Craig came through the departure gate Tony made a show

of running towards him to hug him. Craig was surprised but hugged him
back firmly. “I’ve missed you!” said Tony. “And I’ve missed you too”,
said Craig. He saw Luke. “And I’ve missed you too, gorgeous!” He
laughed hysterically. Tony made sure Luke saw him glaring at him. Luke
shrugged his shoulders.

Luke drove them back to Penhaligon Crescent. Tony was like an

excitable child, bombarding Craig with questions about his trip. Craig
had tried to answer with enthusiasm but soon blamed jetlag for his need
for peace. They got back home and Tony carried Craig’s red backpack
into his bedroom. He closed the door and immediately grabbed Craig by
the neck and kissed him, plunging his right hand into Craig’s trousers. “I

need your cock, now”. Craig’s cock managed to not be jetlagged and
they had vigorous sex. Tony had discovered that if he was enthusiastic
and always made sure he kept Craig’s dick occupied, then Craig
wouldn’t ask to fuck him. His spent-up passion made him almost relent
and ask Craig if wanted to enter him, but then he remembered the pain.
No amount of passion could take that away.

After they’d finished Tony said: “So? Were you faithful?” Craig

laughed loudly. “What sort of question is that? Were you?”

“Yes”. Craig laughed again.
“I would have forgiven you”.
“But I didn’t!”
“I know. I’m just saying that I would have forgiven you”. Craig

got up to have a shower. Why didn’t Craig just say he had been faithful?
thought Tony. He always gives evasive answers. Tony vowed he would
stop being so judgmental and always think positively about Craig. He’s
just showing he cares for me.

Craig came back and declared he needed to sleep. “I thought I

would try to stay awake during the day, but I’m just rooted. I’ll just sleep
for a couple of hours”. Luke knew that the Bronwyns were at work. Luke
was probably in his room, doing whatever he did there. It was safe to go
upstairs and watch television, he thought. As he ascended the stairs he
heard the babble of television advertising and the noise of chopping from
the kitchen. It was lunchtime. Luke poked his head around from the
kitchen.

“Hi Tony. I’m just making a sandwich. Do you want one?”
“If you have any spare. I don’t want to take your food”. Hmm,

was that positive or negative? he wondered. It shows I’m considerate, he
decided.

“Well, I don’t have any spare. But I’m happy to make you one.

Tuna OK?”

“Yes, please”. He went into the kitchen to watch Luke opening a

can of tuna. “Smells like cat food doesn’t it?” he laughed. Oh no, that’s
horribly negative, he thought. Fortunately Luke smiled.

“Yes. But I don’t know whether it tastes like cat food, never

having eaten it”.

“What do you actually do Luke? For work? I’ve never had the

chance to ask you”. He looked at Luke and smiled when he saw Luke’s
embarrassed look. He’s thinking of the Heath, thought Tony.

“I do desktop publishing. I work from home on my computer

upstairs”.

“A Mac?”
“Of course!” Luke feigned outrage. “I am a professional”.
“Oh, I’ve used Mac before. What programs do you use?” Tony

had enjoyed fiddling around with the Mac computer when he was at the
BBC. He decided he wouldn’t mention that he’d deleted all the fonts and
lied about it once his boss was back from America.

“Quark Xpress and Illustrator mostly. Some Aldus Persuasion”.

Luke handed a white-bread sandwich to Tony.

“Can I have a look? I’d love to see how to use a page layout

program”. He bit into the sandwich. He should have asked for no
mayonnaise, he thought.

“Yeah, of course. Come upstairs”. Tony hadn’t been to the top

bedrooms before. Luke’s was at the back of the house and was
enormous, taking up half the floor. The windows stretched the length of
the back wall, giving a view over the fir trees and rooftops towards
Richmond Park. Under the window was a large pine desk with three
drawers to its left. Standing on top was a Macintosh computer and laser
printer. Luke’s bed was unmade, with a pair of jeans flung over it. There
was a pile of clothes in one corner.

“Sorry about the mess”, said Luke. Tony thought he shouldn’t

say that it needed a woman’s touch.

“You’ve got a laser printer”, exclaimed Tony, walking up to look

at it.

“I have”, said Luke proudly, “although I don’t own it, I lease it. I

couldn’t afford to buy one”.

Luke showed him the magazine that he was laying out. He

showed him how to create master frames and text and picture boxes.
Tony was amazed that what was displayed on the screen was exactly
what was printed out in such amazing clarity from the laser printer.
“Have a play around with it”, said Luke. “I’m just going to watch
Neighbours”

“You watch that?” laughed Tony.
“Only since I’ve been in England”, said Luke defensively. “I’d

never watch it at home. But it’s nice to know what sunshine looks like”.
They looked up at the multi-greyed skies in front of them and laughed.

“I think cold and grey suits my soul”, said Tony.
“Then Craig’ll have to get you somewhere sunny to see if that’s

true”, replied Luke. Tony didn’t want to have to talk about Craig or the

future. He stayed silent and created a new document in Quark. Luke went
downstairs to watch his Australian soap opera. He came back half an
hour later. “Not bad”, he said of Tony’s attempt to lay out a magazine
page. “Have a play around with Persuasion, lots of big companies use
that for creating overhead transparencies and slides.”

Tony liked Persuasion. He enjoyed punching in numbers and

watching different types of charts and graphs spread out over the screen.
He didn’t find it much more difficult to use than a word processor, and
seeing it in real-time on a Mac made it much more user-friendly. He
wondered whether he could bluff his way into finding work creating
slides and transparencies. It didn’t seem that difficult.

“Well, I’d better start my afternoon shift”, said Luke. Tony took

the hint and stood up.

“Thanks, that was really good”.
“You can use it again if you like. If you get some more practice

you might be able to find work with it”.

“Hmm. That would be good. No references though, that’ll be a

problem”.

“I’ll give you a reference”, smiled Luke. “Just give them this

number and I’ll answer the phone during office hours. I’ll even say
‘Luke Donahue Design Associates’ in my poshest accent”. Tony
laughed. “Thanks, I’ll let you know if I do look for work”. He went
downstairs to Craig’s room. He was lying on the bed on his side, snoring
loudly. His belly looked more prominent than before. He must have
eaten well when he was back in Australia, thought Tony. Still, I like a
man with a bit of beef on him.

When Craig woke up they drove to the Marks and Spencer in

Hammersmith to buy ready meals and wine. When they got back home,
the Bronwyns had come home and were making dinner. They both
shrieked as Craig came in, rushing to kiss him. Little Bron saw their
carrier bags and looked disappointed. “We’re making you a welcome
back dinner, Craig!”

“Then this food can go in the freezer!” cried Craig. “I’d rather

have a proper home-cooked meal with my favourite girls”.

“Are you staying for dinner Tony?” asked Little Bron. He was

wary of both of the Bronwyns and didn’t know if he was supposed to say
he would leave. He remembered Luke’s advice about being making more
of an effort with the women in the house.

“Well, I was going to”, he laughed nervously. “If you don’t

mind”.

“I’m sure we can find some more food somewhere”, said Big

Bron, looking displeased.

“Oh, Tony doesn’t need to stay”, said Craig. “He’s been around

all day, haven’t you?” He smiled at Tony. “You don’t mind us all
catching up together, do you?” He turned to the Bronwyns. “After all,
he’s had me all day”. They all shrieked with knowing laughter. Tony’s
stomach lurched. He knew he would sound whiny and teary if he said
anything, so he just smiled toothlessly and shook his head. He turned to
go.

“Er, excuse me”, said Craig sharply. “It’s polite to kiss me and

say goodbye”. Tony took a deep breath and turned back to kiss Craig
lightly on the cheek.

“Bye”, he said. He knew it sounded sharp. He turned again and

walked downstairs. He heard Big Bron’s loud laugh followed by Craig’s
hysterical giggles. He went to Craig’s room and picked up his long coat.
He felt both numb and angry. I need to be less clingy and more
understanding, he repeated to himself. I need to be politer and more
grown up. The words didn’t sink in and he felt tears of injustice stream
from his eyes. He left the room and walked to the door. Before he got
there, the door was flung open. He dodged out of the way.

“Oh, sorry!” panted Luke. He was dressed in his black tracksuit.

He bent down to put his hands on his thighs, breathing deeply. “I think I
pushed myself a bit too hard this evening”. His face was glowing with
sweat and his blue eyes were bright. He stood and up and pushed his
fringe back. “Where are you off to?”

“Home”, said Tony sullenly.
“Oh”. Luke looked away. Tony didn’t think he would speak

again, but he turned back. “The Bronwyns are making dinner. I assume
they didn’t invite you”. He looked at Tony’s face.

“Craig wanted a private dinner. He asked me to leave”. Luke

looked uncomfortable.

“And I can tell you’re not happy about that”. Tony cocked his

face to one side and raised his eyebrows. “And neither am I”, said Luke
quickly. “I’ll go and tell him what a selfish, inconsiderate arsehole he is,
right now!” Tony smiled.

“Don’t you dare!”
“I will!” said Luke firmly. “Look, I’m going to do it right now”.

He moved to the stairs.

“No!” Tony laughed. He knew Luke wouldn’t say anything but

was pleased he’d made him feel better.

Luke smiled broadly. “I’ll defend your honour if any of them

bitch about you”.

“That’s sweet of you. Thank you”. They stood smiling at each

other for a few seconds. “I’d better go home”, said Tony. “See you”.

“See you. Oh”, Luke turned round again. “Come round

tomorrow so I can teach you more Persuasion”. Tony looked unsure.

“I don’t come round here when Craig’s not here”. He knew

Craig was back at work the next day.

“What’s it got to do with Craig? I live here and I’m telling you to

come over for your training session tomorrow”. Luke stared firmly at
Tony.

“OK. See you at one”. He had his computer course the next day

and attendance was compulsory. He could slip off later, he decided. He
decided to walk to Kew Gardens to get the tube. Well now, this is all
very confusing, he thought. Was Craig horrible to me tonight, or was I
oversensitive as usual? Did Luke think Craig was being nasty? He wasn’t
sure. But at least Luke was being nice, which was the first time any of
Craig’s housemates had made the effort. Or the first time I’ve made the
effort, he corrected himself.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Tony’s computer course finished in March 1990. He applied for

jobs as a database programmer but his lack of experience led to a string
of rejection letters. Luke had been true to his word and let Tony come
round on Thursdays to practice for a few hours on his Mac. He was very
encouraging, especially of the graphics that Tony had created using
Adobe Illustrator. “You’ve got to get some work in this area, Tony”, he
insisted. “If I had any more work I’d pay you to do it, but I only have just
enough for myself I’m afraid”. Tony found out that most of Luke’s work
came from his former employer, a design company in Bloomsbury. Luke
explained that he’d set up his own company and invoiced them for all
work he did. It was better for tax purposes apparently. It all sounded too
complex for Tony and he was still worried that he didn’t have a piece of
paper stating his qualifications. However, after receiving the brush off
from yet another IT recruitment firm, he started browsing the free jobs
magazines for Desktop Publishing work. He called one agency that was
advertising for someone with experience of Persuasion. He was annoyed
to hear it was just a glorified secretarial job. He didn’t want to have to go
through that humiliation again.

“For God’s sake, just take anything”, Craig had snapped when

Tony explained his trouble looking for work. “Do you know what you
are?” he’d continued. “A job snob”. Oh, how funny, that rhymes, thought
Tony bitterly. So little heads can remember it. His positive thinking
wasn’t going very well. “You need to get off you arse and walk into
companies and give them your CV. Get out of your comfort zone. How
old are you now?”

Tony had turned 20 at the end of January. Craig had given him

some bottles of contact lens solution as a gift. It wasn’t wrapped. “It’s
practical”, Craig had insisted when he saw Tony’s disappointment. Tony
had dropped hints about some RayBan sunglasses. “And when are you
going to see any sun?” Craig had laughed. However, for the weekend
after his birthday Craig had told him not to plan anything and to pack for
two nights. He picked Tony up at home on Friday night and they drove
in the dark to Devon for the weekend. It was cold and grey, but the cliffs
of Lynton looked even more dramatic in the low light and the evenings
in the B&B next to the open fire were romantic. It was a gay-owned
place, so they both felt able to relax and show affection openly. “I’ve
been distant towards you”, Craig had admitted when they ate dinner on

Saturday night. Tony didn’t deny it; Craig had been reluctant for Tony to
come over, claiming he had a bad case of the flu after his trip home. “I
mean, I’ve been very sick, of course”. He coughed on cue. “But I’ve had
to do a lot of thinking after my trip home”. Tony’s stomach had given its
familiar lurch at any mention of Australia. “Mum and Dad were so
pleased to have me home. It was difficult for them to have me leave
again”. Tony looked at Craig’s face as he talked, his features softened by
the flickering candle on their table. He decided not to interrupt. “So,
they’re coming over to Europe in June. We’ll mostly be in France
though”. Tony had to interrupt.

“We? You’re going on holiday again?” Craig smiled.
“It would have been almost six months!”
“Can I go?” He knew the answer, and wondered why he

bothered hurting himself.

“Where are you going to find enough money to stay in a château

in Beaune for two weeks?” asked Craig smugly. Tony scowled.
Obviously not from you, he thought.

“And then”, Craig looked serious. “I will go home with them”.
“Back to London?” Like I don’t know that answer, thought

Tony.

“No. Back to Melbourne”, said Craig firmly. “We’ve decided it’s

time for me to grow up and have a proper career instead of gallivanting
all over the world”. Tony looked carefully at Craig’s face to see if he was
being sarcastic. He expected him to explode with laughter after talking
such rubbish. He didn’t. He felt the fury build up within him. He looked
over at the fireplace and tried to blank his mind. You knew this day
would come, he told himself. It really is probably for the best.

“Oh”. Tony didn’t feel like he could have a sensible and

dispassionate conversation. His stomach clamped shut. He was no longer
hungry. “Do you mind if I go to bed early. I don’t feel well?”

“No! Of course not. I’ll just stay down here and finish dinner. I

might have some liqueurs with Gideon and Marcus afterwards”. They
were the owners. They found Craig utterly charming. Tony gave a tight
smile to Craig and kissed him goodnight on the cheek. He went upstairs
to their florally themed bedroom and lay on the four-poster bed. He
couldn’t sleep. He lay awake and tried to convince himself that he had no
feelings for Craig and that their relationship had reached its natural
conclusion. He pictured Craig’s puffy, flaking face after he’d drunk too
much red wine. See, I don’t even find him attractive, he insisted. Then he

thought of lying in Craig’s big arms and felt a jolt of fury that it was
being taken away from him. He lay in bed until Craig opened the door
loudly at two in the morning and stumbled over something. Craig had
apologised the next morning for staying up so late. “Gideon and Marcus
just insisted”, he said nasally, his sinuses congested from the alcohol.
“We really must recommend them to all our friends”. They drove back to
London without talking. Tony played ‘French Kiss’ by ‘Lil Louis’
several times, wondering how long he could replay the extended orgasm
screams before Craig shouted and ejected the cassette in annoyance. It
took five plays before Craig snapped and insisted on listening to
Fleetwood Mac.

“So, maybe I should stop coming around so much. To give you

some space”, Tony had said when they got home. Craig had looked
delighted, much to Tony’s inner fury.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Tony. I do need time to myself”.

That’s the wrong answer, screamed Tony to himself. He pursed his lips
and wondered whether Craig could feel the rays of hatred he was
directing at him. Craig looked back impassively. Tony opened the door
to get out.

“Er, kiss”, Craig demanded, patting his left cheek. Tony got out

of the car without doing so. He turned back once he was standing up.

“Well, do you know what?” Tony spat. “Why bother waiting

until June? Let’s just call it a day now and get it over and done with?”
Craig looked back impassively.

“I think that’s very sensible, Tony. I’m glad to see you’re

growing up”. Craig put the Escort into first gear and drove off down
Monks Way. Tony started sobbing uncontrollably. Fuck the neighbours,
he thought. He was still crying when he opened the door and saw Hazel.
“What’s wrong?” she said. Tony sobbed that he and Craig had split up.
Hazel sighed. “What did you do wrong?” she said. “Nothing”, Tony
screamed as he went up the stairs. “Nothing”.

Tony had managed to convince himself that it was for the best.

He really started to believe that it was better for the pain to happen now
rather than have the extra anticipation. Shaun agreed. “Although, it’s a
shame you couldn’t ’ave just kept shagging ’im until June. He’s so
fucking ’ot”. Shaun had met a new man at the Black Cap on New Year’s
Eve. He was from Birmingham and Tony already hated him, even though
he hadn’t met him. He cursed his luck that once again Shaun was taken
while he was now single. He hoped that the thick Brummie would turn

out to be as big a disappointment as the other airheads that Shaun had
gone out with.

Tony refused to stop going to LGY even though he knew Craig

would be there. On the first Monday after they had split up they made an
effort to be polite to each other, although Craig had preferred to talk with
his usual clique of admirers. The chubby man with pockmarked skin
who’d called him a ‘pretty little plaything’ kept looking at Tony and
sniggering with Craig. Tony decided he would stay away from the group
and only go to The Bell from then on. Shaun had stopped coming now
that he’d met the Brummie. At The Bell, Tony realised that he had
neglected the few friends that he’d had before he’d met Craig. It was
awkward trying to talk with them after so long. He was about to leave
when Craig came after him.

“I forgot to mention earlier, Luke’s been asking after you”.
“That’s nice”, said Tony blankly.
“He wants to know when you are going to resume your training.

What on earth is all that about?”

“He’s been teaching me to use desktop publishing software”.

Tony smiled toothlessly at Craig. “In his bedroom”. He cheered up when
he saw the look of confusion on Craig’s face.

“Since when?” spluttered Craig. “He didn’t ask me”.
“What’s it got to do with you?” said Tony.
“Well, it’s my house as well. And you were my boyfriend until

this weekend. I didn’t give permission for that”. Craig looked serious.
Tony laughed at how pompous Craig sounded.

“Permission? Like you own me?” Craig looked annoyed.
“Don’t be so childish, Tony. I thought you were more grown up

than that. In any relationship it’s important to have honesty. And you
weren’t honest about Luke. And in his bedroom as well? I hope you
behaved yourself”. Craig had moved into his stern, lecturing persona.

“It’s a business arrangement. Luke is training me on Thursdays

and will provide me with work once the training is finished”. What was
the point of honesty now they weren’t together, thought Tony. He had no
idea why Luke was helping him. Maybe because Luke was actually nice?

“Well, if it’s business”. Tony knew Craig honoured business

above all else, except his parents.

“Yes, it is. I doubt I’ll run into you, I’m only there during the

day”. Tony turned and left The Bell. He was childishly delighted at
Craig’s annoyance.

Over the next couple of months Tony continued to go to see

Luke at Penhaligon Crescent. He explained the situation to him. Luke
was understanding.

“Break ups are awful, Tony. I’m really sorry”.
“He doesn’t like me being round here without his permission”.

Luke had snorted with laughter.

“That sounds like Craig”, he said. “He’s been getting more and

more patronising at dinner, calling the Brons ‘my darling girls’ and
saying they’ll ‘make excellent wives’ one day. I wonder why they don’t
tell him to get fucked. But I think they’re grateful for the attention of any
man”. Little Bron’s boyfriend had apparently disappeared after New
Year and not been in contact.

“But it’s still OK for me to come here isn’t it?” Tony looked at

Luke. Luke smiled back broadly.

“Of course! Do you think I need his permission?” Tony had

started to wonder if Luke had an ulterior motive. It was kind of him to let
Tony use his computer during his own work hours. Using the programs
for only two hours once a week was increasing his knowledge and his
confidence. He was building up a portfolio of work that hoped to show
an agency. Luke didn’t have to be so nice, he thought. He had already
wondered whether Luke fancied him, and whether he was going to try
anything now he’d split up from Craig. He hoped not. He thought Luke
was beautiful, but there was something about him that just wasn’t sexy.
He just wasn’t big and muscly, he supposed. If he could have Luke’s
head and personality on Craig’s body he would have the perfect
boyfriend.

Inevitably, Craig had come home early one Thursday and come

upstairs uninvited to Luke’s room. He looked almost disappointed that
Tony really was using the computer. Luke wasn’t watching television
that day. He was curled up in bed reading a book.

“Cosy”, laughed Craig. “Can I curl up in there with you?” He

looked annoyed when Luke just smiled and went back to reading. “Well,
I’d better go then”, he announced and went downstairs.

“Dickhead”, said Luke. Tony laughed in surprise. He’d never

heard Luke speak so strongly about Craig. Tony finished his computer
work and printed out some more overheads for his portfolio. He said
goodbye to Luke and walked downstairs. As he’d suspected, Craig was
downstairs waiting for him, ready to quiz him on his time with Luke.

“How have you been?” Craig asked casually.

“Fine” replied Tony coolly.
“I’ve missed you so much, Tony”.
“Really?”
“Now, don’t be so mean when I’m sharing my emotions with

you. You always told me to share my emotions”. Craig looked stern.
Tony was annoyed that he found the chest hair creeping out from the top
of Craig’s shirt erotic.

“I’ve really missed you and if only I could beg you to take me

back. I’ve been so upset ever since you left me”. He looked pleadingly at
Tony.

“I left you?” spat Tony.
“Now, Tony. You know how easy it for you to get emotional and

misunderstand things. You’d be the first to admit that won’t you?” Tony
said nothing.

“And I think you misunderstood me when I said I was going

home. You didn’t ask whether I wanted you to come with me to
Australia, did you?” Tony looked shocked.

“Now, did you?” continued Craig. “Think about it, you went off

to bed early and then you wouldn’t talk to me in the car on the way
home. Then you decided to have a tantrum and leave me. How do you
think that made me feel?” He looked at Craig softly.

“Well, you could have called me and said this to me earlier”.

Tony didn’t wait for Craig to respond. “You mean, you really, really
want me to come to Australia with you?” Craig smiled.

“Of course I do, silly! How could I leave something as beautiful

and special as you here? I’ll never meet anyone as wonderful as you
again. How could you ever think differently?” He laughed. Tony ran
over and flung his arms around Craig. He kissed his neck several times.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard!”

Craig beamed at Tony.

“Let’s celebrate in bed”. Craig forced his dick into Tony’s arse

without asking him. Tony wasn’t sure if he was wearing a condom and
didn’t care. They were going to be together forever. And he was going to
Australia! He gritted his teeth to the pain and tried to focus on his
happiness. After Craig came he lay down with a loud sigh. “Do you need
to come?” he asked reluctantly. “Yes”, cried Tony. He tried to rub his
erection over Craig’s hairy chest, but Craig pushed it away. “Not now,
Tony, OK?” Tony wanked himself and ejaculated intensely, hitting the
wall behind their heads. Craig gave a wan smile. “That’s what I like

about you, you shoot further than everyone else”. Tony smiled happily.

Craig and Tony had only been apart for four weeks when they

resumed their relationship. By March Tony was asking insistent
questions about how he would buy a ticket to Melbourne. “I can’t lend
you the money”, said Craig. “I’m really sorry, but I’ve got the holiday in
France to go to, and that’s really expensive”.

“Can I go to France with you?” Tony grinned; he knew he was

trying it on.

“We’ve been through this. Don’t ask again”, replied Craig.
“So I’d better get a job then, to buy my ticket to Melbourne?”
“Yes. Of course. There’s plenty of time”.
“No, June’s only three months away! I’ve got to save £500 by

then”. The amount was enormous, he had no idea how he would save
that much money.

“Look, you don’t have to come in June, do you? I’m going back

with my parents, so we’ll all be sitting together. Then I’ll need to find
myself a job and a flat. That’s going to take a fair while, OK? So, you’ve
got until the end of the year to save up the money. Isn’t that good?”

“Oh. No. I want to fly with you”. Tony wanted to start his new

life with Craig together. On the same plane. He wanted to land in
Melbourne and hold Craig’s hand as they left the arrivals gate.

“Look, Tony. I’m so looking forward to you coming over, but

we have to be realistic. You really can’t stay with my parents. I’m still
not out to them. You do understand don’t you?”

“Tell them in France! You said they’ll be drunk most of the time,

drinking all that Burgundy”.

“No. I’m not spoiling our family holiday”. Craig had his ‘I’m not

talking about this anymore’ tone. Tony knew not to push it, but still
couldn’t help himself.

“But I’m family. And I want to go to Australia with you as a

family”. He smiled at Craig. How could Craig deny him that?

“You’re not family, Tony. When will you get that into your thick

skull?” snapped Craig. “Now, I don’t need this. Get a job and save some
money, but you’re not coming over until at least the end of the year.
Now, show some maturity and respect my feelings”.

As hurt as Tony was, he couldn’t deny that there was no way he

could save up the money for the ticket by June. He told himself that
Craig was being sensible and he needed to be mindful of his difficult
family situation. Without the pressure of the June deadline he didn’t feel

motivated to find work. Craig had encouraged him to ‘give up the
nonsense’ of finding work in desktop publishing. His fiddling around on
Luke’s computer was becoming annoying to Luke, Craig had said. Luke
was apparently struggling to pay the rent and that was because Tony was
spending too much time with him when Luke should be working. Tony
was horrified that Luke hadn’t said anything to him. He didn’t want to
talk to Luke about it; he couldn’t bear Luke admitting to him that he was
in his way. He stopped coming around on Thursdays to use the Mac and
avoided Luke in the evenings when he was staying with Craig.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

“Son, we need to talk with you”. Barry had knocked on Tony’s

door on a Saturday in May and asked him to come downstairs. Oh, what
now, sighed Tony.

“It’s been confirmed”, said Barry, once Tony had sat down in the

smoke-filled living room. “Your mum has multiple sclerosis”.

“Oh”. Tony looked at Hazel who was sitting down in a tatty

armchair in her pink nightdress. She looked tired and pale. Her hair was
starting to show streaks of white and looked unwashed. “I’m really
sorry”. He didn’t know what else to say. They weren’t a demonstrative
family and any show of emotions was always discouraged.

“So, we’ve decided, you mother and I, that we are going to have

to make some major changes”. Barry had his sternest face on. Tony
wondered whether the ‘major change’ involved him getting a job, or
kicking him out. He waited for Barry to continue his man-to-man talk.

“I’ve received early retirement from the police”. Tony raised his

eyebrows in surprise.

“You’re only fifty-five!”
“I’ve not been well myself, Tony.” Tony was surprised, Barry

had been going to work every day. Probably your alcoholism, he thought
coolly.

“So”, Barry continued, “that means we’ll have to move from

here. It’ll be needed for another family”. Ah, of course, thought Tony.
This really is serious.

“When?”
“We’ve got a couple of months yet. They’re not going to just

kick us out!” Barry smiled. “But it’s not as bad as it sounds. I’ve got a
good payout from the police and so we’re looking to buy somewhere that
will be more suited for you mother. Somewhere without stairs, and with
railings in the bathroom”.

“Oh, well, that’s good news”. He saw Hazel smile and try to say

something. She decided not to.

“Yes, it’s good news, son”, said Barry. “But, we won’t be able to

afford to buy in London”.

“What?” Tony jumped up in his seat. “Why not?” But he knew

the answer.

“You know it’s far too expensive to buy in London. We just

can’t afford it”, said Barry.

“Then where? Brighton?” he said hopefully. Barry smiled.
“That’s almost as expensive as London. No, we’ve already

decided that we’re going to move to Yorkshire”. Barry saw the look of
disappointment on Tony’s face.

“I wanted to go”. They turned to look at Hazel. She smiled

faintly. “It will remind me of my childhood when we lived in York”.

“Oh well!” said Tony brightly. “York’s beautiful!”
“No”, said Barry sadly. “That’s too expensive too. My brother’s

found us the perfect place in Doncaster”. Tony couldn’t help his
expression falling flat.

“I know, I know”, said Barry. “But it’s a specially designed

bungalow for the disabled. And we can just afford it”. Tony heard the
word ‘disabled’ and knew he couldn’t say anything negative.

“Oh well, that’s great! How big is it?”
“Well, we’ve only seen the plans and the brochure. It’s not too

big. Only two bedrooms”. Barry looked at Tony. “But it’s big enough.
You’ll come with us won’t you?” To Doncaster? thought Tony. When
hell freezes over.

“When are you moving?”
“In June”.
“Ah. That month again”, said Tony quietly. Barry shook his

head.

“What do you mean?”
“Nothing”. He hadn’t told them of his plans to go to Australia.

He wasn’t going to tell them until he had the working visa in his passport
and a ticket in his hand. Then it couldn’t be taken away from him.

“Well, we’d really like you to come up with us. You’ll be a big

help to us both, now that your mum can’t get around. And it’s cheaper up
there, so you won’t need to find a job immediately”. A job in Doncaster,
thought Tony. I thought there weren’t any jobs in Doncaster, that’s why
people left it and only the old moved back.

“It’s all rather a shock”, said Tony. “I’ll need to think about it”.

He looked at Hazel and Barry. How could he move to a cramped
bungalow in a town he didn’t know and be trapped with them?

“OK son, you have a think about it”, said Barry kindly. Hazel

smiled.

Tony called Shaun to tell him the news. He hoped he was at

home, he knew he’d been spending a lot of time at the Brummie’s squat
in Queens Park. Shaun told him to come round because he had lots of

news of his own. He walked round to Shaun’s place and rang the bell,
hoping Shaun would come down and answer it. However, Mr Michael
answered and looked at Tony without expression. He let Tony in and
called sharply up to Shaun. “God, your dad’s still scary”, said Tony.

“Yeah. Still, I’ll be rid of the old bastard soon”, said Shaun.

“Come upstairs”. They went to Shaun’s room, the familiar Irish flag now
looking welcoming in his bedroom. It spoke of his history now. Shaun
saw him looking and laughed. “Don’t start”, he said.

“What?” protested Tony. “I was just thinking how much I feel

connected with my roots when I see it now”. Shaun rolled his eyes.
“Darryl hates it. He says we can’t have it in our new place”. Oh, so the
thick Brummy had a name.

“Darryl” Tony sniggered.
“Shut up! It’s a lovely name”, shouted Shaun.
“What do you mean, ‘our new place’? You’re moving in

together? Isn’t that the kiss of death for your relationships?” Tony was
annoyed this one had lasted so long.

“Well, yes it normally is”, Shaun conceded. “But seriously, this

is different. It really is”. Shaun looked at Tony with a bright smile.

“Oh God. You’re in love,” sneered Tony.
“So what? You love Craig”.
“Oh. Yes, of course”, Tony wasn’t expecting that question. Of

course he loved Craig. He was moving to Australia with Craig. He
couldn’t even remember if he’d told Shaun that. “So, are you moving
into his squat?”

“No”, Shaun gave an evil grin. “We’re buying!”
“What! How on earth can you afford to buy?” Shaun looked

embarrassed.

“’Cos the old man is giving us a deposit”. Tony looked furious.
“That’s so unfair”.
“Why?”
“Because, that’s cheating”.
“No, it’s not!”
“Yes, it is”.
“Oh for fuck’s sake Tony. Why can’t you just be ’appy for once?

Moan, moan, moan”.

“Shut up!” They both laughed. Shaun lay down on his bed, with

his hand behind his head. Tony sat in the recliner. “OK, I’m so happy for
both of you. I really am. I’m very, very jealous though. God, how can

you even afford to buy in London? My parents can’t”. Shaun looked
embarrassed again. Tony glared at him.

“Now what? Spit it out?”
“We’re moving to Birmingham”. Shaun blushed and screwed up

his face. Tony glared at him. He said nothing, hoping his feelings could
be telepathically transported into Shaun’s brain. “I’m sorry!” Shaun
protested. “It’s so much cheaper there and Darryl really wants to move
back ’ome. And I’m sick of London”.

“What? Shaun, really? Sick of London?” Tony looked appalled.

How could anyone swap living in London for living in Birmingham, of
all places?

“Yeah!” said Shaun defensively. “And I’m sick of working for

my old man”.

“What’ll you do for work?”
“Postman”, Shaun giggled.
“What?”
“What’s wrong with that?” Shaun said defensively. “Darryl’s a

postman and ’e’s on good money. ’e can get a transfer there and ’e says
there’s jobs available”. Tony was surprised Shaun had thought so much
about this move.

“So, does your dad know you’re buying so far away?” Tony

raised his eyebrows dramatically at Shaun. Shaun looked embarrassed
again.

“Not yet. I want to make sure ’e’s given me the money first. ’ere,

don’t you bloody well tell ’im.”

“Maybe I will, if it stops you making a stupid, stupid mistake”.

Tony crossed his arms in a huff. Shaun laughed.

“Moan, moan, moan”.
“Shut up! Seriously, shut up. I came round to tell you my news

and you go and dump that on me”.

“Go on, tell me your news”.
“No, you don’t care”.
“Moan, moan, moan”.
“Shut up! My parents are moving to Doncaster”.
“Where the fuck’s that?”
“South Yorkshire”. Shaun’s mouth dropped, then he laughed

hysterically.

“Yorkshire! Oh my god! Are you serious? And you ’ad a go at

me for moving to Birmingham!” Shaun looked annoyingly smug.

“Well”, Tony said huffily, “my mum has just been diagnosed

with multiple sclerosis and they need to move somewhere that’s been
specially fitted out for her”. Shaun’s face dropped.

“Oh, sorry. What’s that then?”
“I’m not sure. But her walking’s really bad”.
“Oh shit, Tony. I’m really sorry”. Tony was pleased to see Shaun

looking upset. As he should be, he thought. “So, you’re moving with
them then?” Tony looked shocked.

“God no!”
“Then where are you going?”
“Australia”, said Tony looking triumphantly at Shaun. It was

Shaun’s turn to look shocked.

“I thought you said Craig won’t let you go?” Tony enjoyed

Shaun’s amazement.

“He changed his mind and said how much he loved me. He

begged me to go back with him in June. But I said I couldn’t make it
until at least the end of the year because I needed to see that my mother
was safely settled in Doncaster”. No need for the truth here, he thought.
And it all sounded so wonderfully dramatic.

“That’s… wow. I don’t know what to say”. Shaun looked

confused. “You said you weren’t going anywhere, Tony”. He looked so
upset that Tony felt guilty.

“Not for a while yet, Shaun. I’ve got to save up for my ticket”.
“Australia?” repeated Shaun. “Fuck, that’s a long way away”.

Yes, well done with the elementary geography, thought Tony.

“And you’re moving to Birmingham”, said Tony. Shaun laughed

hollowly.

“It’s an hour and an ’alf on the train from Euston. Not twenty

four hours from ’eathrow”.

“Yes”. Tony hadn’t thought his own plan through at all. The

momentousness of his decision hit him and he reclined back in the chair
and contemplated the ceiling.

“And I thought you ’ated Craig?” Tony looked at Shaun in

surprise. He could never remember what he’d told him about his feelings
for Craig.

“No, I love Craig”, he said.
“This week”. Tony was annoyed at Shaun’s tone.
“We’ve had our ups and downs, like all relationships”.
“So what’s gonna ’appen when you ’ave another down in

Australia ’eh? You’ll be all on your own with no friends to moan to”.

“It’ll be fine. He really loves me”. Why did he feel like he was

trying to convince himself? He felt his eyes well up with tears at the
thought of Craig leaving him again. He couldn’t let it happen.

“You’re an idiot, Tony!” Shaun looked furiously at Tony. “You

’aven’t got a job ’ere so what makes you think you can get one there,
’eh? And what ’ave you told your parents? If your mum’s sick then
’ow’s she gonna feel? You’re so bloody selfish”.

“Fuck off Shaun!” Tony flew up and marched out of the room

and out of the house. He didn’t need Shaun lecturing him on his family.
He didn’t need Shaun at all. He was abandoning him by moving to
bloody Birmingham with his new brainless boyfriend so how dare he
have a go at him? Tony let his tears of frustration and injustice roll down
his face. He walked through Arnos Park, past the graffiti that he and
Shaun had drunkenly sprayed under the railway viaduct. They had
thought it was so amusing to write ‘Gay Men and Lesbians Forever’ in
huge white letters. They had been amazed nobody had removed it or
scrawled any insults. He remembered he’d managed to get a grope of
Shaun’s cock as they lay laughing in the grass afterwards. “Well fuck
him”, he screamed into the park.

He got home and lay in bed, dwelling furiously on the further

injustices that he had to face. He felt crippled by uncertainty. There was
no way he would move to Doncaster with his parents, so where was he
going to live until Craig said it was all right for him to go to Australia?
He knew he’d have to get a job and move into some shared flat. That
idea terrified him. He didn’t like strangers. What if they disliked him as
much as Craig’s housemates? He didn’t think he could bear that. He
thought about calling Craig but decided he didn’t want to talk about his
feelings over the telephone. It was always better to talk to Craig in
person where he was feeling upset because then Craig couldn’t put the
phone down if he thought Tony was being overdramatic. He thought of
going round to see Craig, but knew he’d asked Tony if he could have that
weekend free because he’d had a stressful week. Fuck it, he thought,
jumping up. He’s my boyfriend and I’m upset and I’m going round to see
him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Tony rang the bell at Penhaligon Crescent. He was surprised he

had to wait so long for someone to answer. When the door opened, Luke
stood there. He didn’t smile when he saw Tony. Tony’s heart sank; he’d
drifted away from Luke after Craig told him that Tony had been
annoying him.

“Hello”, said Luke. “This is very unexpected”. He seemed cool.
“I’m here to see Craig. He doesn’t know I’m coming but I really

need to talk to him”.

“That could be rather difficult”, said Luke. “But come in

anyway”. Tony went to march over to Craig’s room. “Don’t!”
commanded Luke. Tony turned around in fury.

“What the hell does it have to do with you?”
“You’ll find out if you open that door”. Tony scowled at Luke

and opened the door.

“Hey! Get out”, squealed Craig’s voice. Tony turned the light

on.

“It’s just me. Oh”. Tony froze and felt his stomach lurch

violently into his guts and then almost into his mouth. He saw Craig
move quickly onto his back, after demounting a large, fat bottom. His
dick was erect and covered with a condom. The owner of the large, fat
bottom turned around in surprise. It was the man with the pockmarked
face from LGY. Tony couldn’t speak. Craig looked horrified. The
pockmarked man smirked. Tony spun quickly round and saw Luke, who
looked miserable.

“You knew?” shouted Tony.
“I tried to warn you just then”.
“You fucking knew!” he screamed at Luke.
“Hey, don’t take it out on me, mate. It’s that cunt in there you

should be screaming at”. Luke looked furiously at Tony and pointed to
the bedroom door. “Go in there and scream at him OK? Not me.” Tony
was stunned that Luke would use the c-word. He’d never heard anyone
use that word, not even on Channel 4. He couldn’t breathe, but he found
the energy to sprint to the front door, open it and run out into Penhaligon
Crescent.

Luke ran after him. “Tony, stop!”
“Why?” he screamed back. “So you can all laugh at me some

more?”

“Stop being an idiot, Tony”.
“Stop being an idiot?” he yelled back. “Why is it always me

who’s the idiot? Do I really fuck everything up so much?” He saw lights
appearing in windows in the street.

“Come inside Tony”.
“No!” Tony was appalled when he started sobbing in huge

paroxysms of grief. Luke came over and held him by the shoulders.

“Please mate. Come up to my room. You know that’s safe. You

don’t have to deal with that cunt anymore”. Tony was about to scream at
Luke not to use that word, but he couldn’t. That was what Craig was.

“And what do you care? You told that” he couldn’t say the c-

word “bastard, that you were sick of me coming round and using your
computer”. Luke looked at Tony angrily.

“And after what you’ve just seen, who do you believe, Tony?”

Tony just shook his head, his tears blinding him. He didn’t know who he
was looking at. He felt snot running down his nose.

“Now Tony. You’re going to come inside. We will go straight up

to my room. You will be safe there. He will not come in, because if he
does I will kick the living shit out of him, OK?” Tony wiped his eyes on
his coat sleeve and looked at Luke. He could see Luke was crying too.
He looked more vulnerable and upset than Tony had ever seen him. He
nodded. Luke looked relieved. He turned around. Tony followed. Luke
walked through the still open door and saw Craig standing there, now
with a dressing gown around him. “Just fuck off Craig!” he shouted
before Craig could speak. Craig turned around and went back into his
bedroom. Tony went upstairs without looking behind. They went through
the living room where the Bronwyns were looking scared. Luke said
nothing. They walked upstairs to his room, where he closed the door
behind them and burst into tears.

“Oh for God’s sake”, said Tony laughing, his own tears dried up

now.

“I knew what that cunt was doing behind your back”, sobbed

Luke. But I couldn’t tell you. You stopped coming round to see me and
you wouldn’t talk to me if you were here. So I just thought well ‘fuck
you’ then, if you want to be Mr Snooty then you bloody well deserve
what you get”.

Tony was calm now. He didn’t think anything else could shock

him tonight. He felt it was time for him to take control. He gently guided
Luke down onto the bed and sat next to him. He put his arm around him,

grateful that Luke didn’t push him away. He rested his head on Luke’s
and held him until his sobs had stopped.

“I stopped coming around because Craig told me I was getting in

your way and you were too polite to tell me. He said you were behind on
your rent and it was my fault because I was distracting you”. Luke
moved his head up to protest, but Shaun didn’t let him talk. “And don’t
tell me. That was all complete and utter bullshit, wasn’t it?” Luke
nodded.

“I missed you”, he said. “I didn’t know what I’d done to upset

you”.

“Nothing at all”, sighed Tony. “Nothing at all. Just me and my

stupid naïveté. I really believed everything Craig told me”.

“I told Craig what a bastard he was being to you. He told me to

fuck off and mind my own business. I do know what he’s like, Tony.
He’s a bully. He’s one of those pretentious Melbourne Grammar wankers
that was brought up to think he was destined to rule the world. All the
serfs have to bow down before him”. Tony laughed at that image.

“It’s so blindingly obvious now isn’t it? And I was that serf”.
“So was I”, protested Luke. “Do you think I liked him salivating

over me and making revolting remarks? He used to come up here in his
tiny underpants with an erection after he’d found out Jenny left. He’d ask
me if I needed company. I told him to fuck off. He was repulsive. Sorry.
I know you loved him”. He looked at Tony apologetically.

“I don’t think much more can surprise me about what he’s

done”, said Tony. He imagined Craig at the doorway, his belly bulging
over his tiny jocks holding an erection. The idea wasn’t erotic any more.
It was as repulsive to him as it had been to Luke. In fact, Craig was
repulsive. His puffy, flaky face; his stupid high-pitched laugh; his
manipulation; his lies and his promises were all repulsive.

“I suppose he was never going to call me and ask me to come to

Australia”, said Tony. “I’m sure he would have kept finding excuses.
Mummy and daddy wouldn’t let him. He wasn’t earning enough. He
couldn’t find anywhere to live”. He shook his head. “I wanted to be
taken in by him. So I was. I needed him and his promises so I didn’t have
to make any of my own decisions. It’s my reward for my laziness, I
suppose”.

Luke lay down on the bed. “Everyone’s taken in my Craig. But

even the Brons are a bit annoyed about that ugly prick that’s been
coming around to see him. They wondered how he could dump someone

as gorgeous as you for that thing”.

Tony laughed. The idea of the Brons supporting him was

amazing. “And to think I thought we were back together and planning on
moving to Australia. So, he told you all he’d dumped me again”.

“Once we started asking questions about Craterface, yes. Once

we saw him, we thought Craig had become insane.” He smiled at Tony.
Tony held his gaze.

“Well, you’ve got some explaining to do”. Luke looked

sheepish. “Are you or are you not gay?”

“Der!” He smiled shyly.
“Why couldn’t you tell me at the Heath”.
“I was horrified you saw me there! I didn’t want you thinking I

was the sort of dirty old man that had sex in bushes”.

“Well, you thought that about me”.
“Not once I saw your friend. I believed you then, I didn’t think

you would be the type. You’re too pure”.

“Pure?” Tony laughed and dropped his mouth. “Pure?”
“Yes, Tony. Pure. And beautiful. I thought of you and Craig as

Beauty and the Beast”. Tony pursed his lips.

“I’m not pure, Luke. That’s your imagination being overactive

now”. He frowned. “I’m no better than Craig. I used him. I used him for
his money and his bed, and his car. I used him because I saw in him a
way of escaping my family. I wanted to follow him to Australia and have
him look after me and protect me. I’m no different to my mother. I
needed a father figure to save me”. Tony gave a bitter laugh of
recognition. “And look how that turned out”.

“Well, now you’ve had your pity party can I speak?” Tony tried

to smile and hit Luke lightly on the shoulder.

“I felt shit about using Jenny as a cover while I was shagging

men in bushes. Yes!” he said on seeing Tony screwing up his face. “Yes!
It wasn’t the once. I normally go closer to home, but with Craig’s car I
thought I would check out the infamous Heath”. Tony shook his head in
mock disgust.

“I felt shit about lying to her about where I was. She knew I was

bisexual but I promised her I’d fucked the guy thing out of my system”.

“But you hadn’t”.
“No. The guy thing will never be out of my system. And I had to

tell her that. And she left. And I felt like I’d destroyed her life, and that
she could never trust another man again. So, she feels about me the way

you feel about Craig”.

“So you’re both arseholes”. Tony grinned.
“Hey! Just don’t call me a cunt!”
“Don’t use that word. It’s so horrible”.
“I told you you were pure”.
“Shut up!”
Tony flopped down on the bed beside Luke.
“So what now?” said Luke turning to Tony. “Stay the night.

Please. I want to be with you.”

“I don’t know how I feel about you, Luke. And I’m really rather

emotionally raw”.

“That’s OK. I’m not trying anything on. But I’ll be here for you,

OK?

“OK”. Tony put his arm under Luke’s head and pulled it closer.

He looked at Luke’s soft skin and cute face. “I’m not ready for another
relationship”, Tony said. “And I would be getting into it for all the wrong
reasons”.

“What are the right reasons”, said Luke.
“Love, I suppose”.
“I love you”, said Luke.
Tony looked at him gently. “I don’t believe in that word

anymore. People throw it around when they want to manipulate me and
control me because they know I want to hear it so much. People use it as
a justification for doing nasty things”. Luke frowned.

“I don’t mean it that way”.
“I’m sorry. We need another word then; another word that

explains what you really mean”.

“I respect you for being you. I admire you for who you are. I

don’t want to change you or manipulate you.”. Luke smiled up at Tony
and raised his eyebrows in expectation.

“Well, it’s not one word. But it’s not bad. Not bad at all. We can

work with that”.

“Now what?” said Luke, curling onto his side, his forehead

frowning slightly, giving his face a cute and slightly bewildered look.

“Now we wait for me to grow up”, replied Tony.
END

Document Outline

PART ONE – CRAPPY FAMILIES
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
PART TWO – REGINA FONG
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
PART THREE – THE AUSTRALIAN DREAMBOAT
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

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