“Thanks.”
The car’s rich leather upholstery creaked as he shuffled awkwardly in his seat. “It’s hard, isn’t it, Dad, to have relationships and stuff?”
Bloody hell, yeah. Where did I begin? Me and Matt were only at the outset, and Matt had already warned me the road would be paved with jagged rocks. I believed him—no one lived the life he’d led without picking up a pile of baggage along the way.
I glanced across at my son and some of the day’s tension melted away. Matt had been right, as usual. Having a car chat with Ryan had been an excellent idea. My own father’s attempts at difficult conversations had been a painful experience for both of us. He’d employed so many euphemisms I’d walked away unsure whether we’d been talking about sex, drugs, or cheating at exams.
In the end, telling Ryan the truth had been easier than I’d anticipated. Avoidance of the word bisexual hadn’t been deliberate; it had just happened that way. I hadn’t labelled myself, but it seemed I didn’t need to. Part of me felt too old-fashioned for labels anyhow. I was just me. And introducing the word sex into the conversation, even if prefixed with ‘bi’ and in the context of my identity, rather than the deed itself, still felt like it shifted the focus on the sex part. A focus Ryan could probably do without in the context of his dad. And Matt and I weren’t just about the sex; which was a good thing, seeing as I hadn’t got anywhere near to having any yet. Giving myself a metaphorical pat on the back, I switched the engine back on and smoothly pulled out of the layby.
“Just so you know, Dad. I didn’t not want to sleep with Chloe because I’m gay.” Ryan shook his head, eyes glued to the road. “I’m not gay. I like girls. I just don’t like her enough, and don’t want to go that far with a girl yet.”
“I didn’t think that at all, sweetheart. But it wouldn’t matter to me if you were gay, of course,” I qualified hastily. “You’re sixteen years old. There’s no hurry to have physical relationships with anyone.”
Now the weight of keeping Matt a secret had been lifted, I couldn’t stop talking. “I’m sure plenty of people do feel ready at your age, but there are plenty that don’t. When I was a lad, a lot of boys boasted about what they’d done, but they were all talk and no trousers, as Grandma would say. You’ll have plenty of time for all that. I certainly hadn’t had sex properly at your age. Your mother and I fooled around, but we didn’t actually have full penetrative intercourse until we were twenty-three!”
Excruciating silence accompanied us all the way to Samantha’s front door. Whoever convinced me that holding an important conversation in a moving car was a good idea was an idiot. If Ryan could have opened the door and leaped out without hurting himself, I swear he would have. His face had turned crimson. Avoiding eye contact as he reached behind to grab his bag from the back seat, I patted his knee.
“Night, sweetheart. Stay in touch. See you in a couple of days.”
“Jesus, Dad. Way too much oversharing. Night.”
SIMPLE AS THIS
(JAKE BUGG)
One date to a hospital outpatient appointment, one date to muddy rugby training, and an aborted date to The Tank Museum ending in my son possibly needing therapy—not because he was being bullied or because his dad had announced his new girlfriend was a bloke. But because the vision of his father’s penis being inserted into his mother’s vagina was one he’d struggle to ever eradicate.
Our fourth date needed to be very special indeed. And it so happened Matt was in luck, as I came up with the perfect venue.
A visit to a graveyard.
Strolls down memory lane were all well and good as long as one remembered the route back. The last time I’d driven away from this grey, urban landscape had been in a state of utter devastation, having failed to discover the whereabouts of the beautiful boy who’d stolen my heart. An older, tense version of that boy jiggled his knee on the front passenger seat next to me in the Audi. But still so very beautiful—more so in some ways.
Conversation had become, to say the least, stilted. Jittery Matt was not too far removed from post-concussion Matt, and on a whim announced he hated the heated seat and it was a ridiculous concept. Placating him, I endured two hours of The Smiths seamlessly followed by the entire soul-wrenching oeuvre of Eliot Smith. As we took the sign heading into Stourbridge, my own nerves were also a little frayed.
“We could pop in and visit your parents too?” I suggested hesitantly, as I negotiated the millionth mini roundabout. I tended to let him take the lead whenever we talked about the past, and his parents were a topic we hadn’t yet covered. I should have kept it that way.
“They’re dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.”
When my time came, as a peaceful final resting place, I hoped my family was more discerning. Cemeteries were gloomy at the best of times. Matt used to insist I dropped him off near this one after school, adding to his cool mystique. Back then, I hadn’t realised it was a ruse to hide his torrid homelife from me. Spread out behind the back of a sprawling hospital and adjacent to a busy flyover, the graveyard hadn’t changed much; it was still the stuff of horror movies. But Brenner’s mum hadn’t been able to afford a decent burial—Matt told me that Phil’s dad had paid for this one, and he’d chosen a location near to Brenner’s mum’s flat, so she could visit. Matt had never set foot inside.
“Phil’s already here.”
As I brought the car to a stop, I jerked my chin in the direction of a set of forbidding black gates marking the cemetery entrance. Rows upon rows of gravestones loomed behind. Dressed in a smart grey suit, a balding blond-haired man stood in front of the gates, thumbing his mobile phone. At the sound of my engine, he looked up, an anxious half-smile ready on his lips. Matt rubbed his hand across his stubble, hesitantly, and as their eyes met, the guy gave Matt a small wave.
“Go on, my love,” I gave his knee a squeeze. “Take as long as you need. You’ll be fine. I’ll be right here.”
A lump formed in my throat as, with a tentative handshake, the prosperous, solidly built estate agent and my slender wisp of a man greeted each other. When Phil ignored Matt’s prickly defences to pull him in for a crushing hug, the lump became a full-blown sob. Hot tears trickled down my cheeks, matching Matt’s, as his oldest living friend cradled his dark head into his chest. Matt hadn’t given much away during our late-night phone calls, but piecing bits of information together, not having the chance of saying goodbye to Brenner had been a major regret and he was here with Phil to rectify that.
A desperate desire to comfort him had my hand on the door handle, ready to leap out and sweep him up. I made myself stay put. Matt was in safe hands. As Phil squeezed him tight, his lips moved against his hair, comforting his oldest pal. Matt laughed through his tears at whatever Phil said and nodded in response. Finally, he stepped out of Phil’s embrace, and fishing some tissues out of his pocket, Phil handed them over. Throwing a protective arm around Matt’s narrow shoulders, Phil led him through the gates and out of sight.
They emerged over an hour later. The afternoon sky, which had never shown much promise anyway, had darkened; heavy charcoal clouds threatened an imminent downpour. I watched as Matt embraced his old friend again, then strolled back to my car. The only sunshine I needed. With a broad smile and a wave, Phil headed in the opposite direction. There would be plenty of opportunities in the future to meet up and get to know each other.
“All good?”