Stand by Me

by S. D. Robertson

  Why had he stopped climbing trees? It wasn’t something you saw adults doing. But why not when it was so much fun and good exercise?

  He scanned the village of his childhood from this unique perspective and welcomed the memories it sparked within him. It was great to be back in Aldham again, having spent so long away on the other side of the world.

  He adored Sydney. He’d fallen in love with it from the moment he’d arrived. He still remembered the feeling of endless possibilities it had awoken in him when he’d first cast eyes on the magnificent Opera House from across the water. Living there – the people, the weather, the beaches – had never grown old.

  And yet this was where he’d grown up. It held a place in his heart. He might not have returned before, but there simply hadn’t been a pressing enough reason to travel so far. Building a tech firm from the ground up was a gigantic, all-consuming task. Making a success of it had taken its toll, not least on his personal life. That was the main reason he’d never settled down and had a family of his own.

  He had thought about coming back here plenty of times over the years; about seeing Lisa. Did he regret that it hadn’t happened? Yes, with hindsight, knowing what he did now about the unforeseen path his life would eventually take. But who was he to complain? He was here now, which was incredible.

  At the top of the tree, the silence continued. It had been several minutes now. Elliot had decided not to be the one to break it, hoping that if Ben did so, he might finally open up. It was a policy he’d used successfully in business, usually to get the other party to concede something as part of a deal. Ian, his stepdad, had taught him this when he was first starting out, based on the principle that most people find silences uncomfortable. Whether or not it would work here, he had no idea. But it was worth a try.

  ‘So how did you know I was gay?’ Ben asked eventually. ‘Have you told anyone?’

  Elliot chose his words carefully, accepting that the truth wasn’t an option. ‘I didn’t know for sure, Ben, until you confirmed it, but I had a strong suspicion. I have a sense for such things.’

  Ben balled his hands into fists and pressed them into his forehead, rocking precariously on the tree branch. ‘What? So you tricked me into telling you?’

  ‘Can you please be careful?’ Elliot shuffled closer to the teenager. ‘Don’t forget we’re pretty darn high up. And, no. In answer to your other question, of course I haven’t told anyone.’

  ‘Not even Mum?’

  ‘No.’

  Thankfully Ben returned his hands to holding the branch.

  ‘What about Manchester? You said you knew the truth about what happened.’

  ‘I also have a knack for knowing when people are lying,’ he replied, feeling such a hypocrite. ‘When you were recounting the story in the car, your body language more or less screamed out that you weren’t telling the truth. Parts were true, I think, but I’m pretty sure that the real reason you were there had nothing to do with computer parts.’

  ‘So what do you think happened?’

  ‘I was hoping you might tell me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you were clearly upset by it – and a problem shared is a problem halved. I think you need someone to talk to. Life’s tough enough as a teenager without the pressure of living with secrets.’

  Ben stared into the distance, his Adam’s apple jerking up and down several times as he swallowed; his breathing heavy and irregular. Eventually, lips quivering, he told Elliot: ‘I didn’t ask to be gay. If I could be straight, I would. I’ve tried, believe me. But I am what I am.’

  ‘I understand.’ Elliot’s heart swelled with empathy as he took in the boy’s strained, broken words. ‘It’s only natural to feel that way. Being different from what’s considered normal is hard at your age. It can feel impossible. But you’ll learn to embrace it – to be proud of who and what you are.

  ‘I was a misfit at school and I got torn apart for it by some of the other kids. If it wasn’t for your mum’s friendship, I don’t know how I would have got through it. I couldn’t have managed alone, which is why I don’t want you to. So know this: I’m here now. You can talk to me.’

  He paused before adding, in his most gentle voice: ‘But I’m only a visitor. When you’re ready, I think you should consider telling your parents. You’re their son. They love you. They can support you; help you through difficult times. The same goes for Chloe. Maybe even some of your close friends at school, when you feel the time is right.’

  ‘I think I want to go home now,’ Ben said in a flat voice.

  ‘Of course. Would you like me to come too?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘Go ahead. I’ll follow you down in a few minutes. That cool?’

  Ben nodded and started to climb back to the ground. ‘Thanks,’ he said from a few branches down. ‘And sorry about before.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  Soon after Ben had gone, Elliot felt a sudden stabbing in his chest. Not now, he thought. Not again. Steadying himself against the thick tree trunk before the pain drove out all other thoughts, he squeezed his eyes shut. He took deep, heavy breaths, praying for it to pass quickly. A groaning sound escaped through his gritted teeth as the attack – definitely the worst one yet – ripped into him, the pain increasing before it got better.

  Once it had passed, calm descending on him like a cold compress, he took heed of the clear message he’d been delivered, which only confirmed his fears.

  He was living on borrowed time – and it was fast running out.

  CHAPTER 27

  NOW

  Wednesday, 25 July 2018

  Chloe rolled over on her bed and looked out of the window. So much for summer. Yesterday’s great weather had vanished overnight. Today it was overcast and raining.

  She looked at the time on her phone: 11.02 a.m. God, she was bored. She’d sent Holly several messages so far this morning and got nothing in reply. If she didn’t hear back soon, she’d phone her. Mind you, Holly hadn’t been feeling well yesterday. Maybe she’d had a bad night and was sleeping it off.

  Chloe hadn’t slept well. It had been muggy, even with the window wide open, and she’d woken up loads of times. Now she felt grotty and grumpy. So she’d returned straight to her bedroom after breakfast to veg out. She had at least got dressed, in a fresh pair of shorts and T-shirt, but that was as much down to the heat as anything else. Stupid weather. If it was going to rain, it could at least have the decency to cool down a bit.

  Chloe glanced over at the copy of New Moon on her bedside table and thought about picking it up to read a bit. Then she sighed and rolled over again, unable to summon up the energy.

  She heard the toilet flush. Soon after came a gentle tap on her bedroom door. It was her mum. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to come, love?’

  Chloe shook her head. ‘No, thanks.’

  She and Elliot were going to visit the posh school they used to attend. It was two schools back then, apparently – one for boys and one for girls, which sounded weird to Chloe – but these days it was mixed and the girls’ school had been turned into flats. They’d discussed the idea at the barbecue yesterday and, bizarrely, had both got excited at the prospect of going back. Chloe couldn’t ever see herself wanting to revisit her school as an adult.

  At breakfast Mum had asked them all along. ‘It’ll be a fun trip out,’ she’d promised. But the three of them had declined.

  ‘What are your plans for the day?’

  Chloe shrugged. ‘Might see Holly later, if she’s feeling better.’

  ‘What about your other friends? I never hear about anyone apart from Holly these days.’

  ‘She’s my best friend. What’s your problem with her?’

  ‘There’s no need to take that surly tone with me, Chloe.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘All I’m saying is that it’s good to have a group of friends—’

  ‘I do, but most of them are away on holiday.’

&nbs
p; This wasn’t entirely true and, as soon as she’d said it, Chloe felt bad at the shadow it cast over her mum’s face. The lack of a family vacation this year was a sore point – and it was wrong of her to highlight it.

  ‘What about Saima?’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘You used to be such good friends.’

  ‘At primary school. Things change.’

  Saima had been her best friend for years, but they’d grown apart since moving to Waterside High, where they’d first met Holly. The three of them were all in the same form, and – unlike Saima – Holly was in most of the same sets as Chloe, meaning they had nearly all their lessons together. Holly had lived a few miles away initially. Then her family had moved to the village, bringing her and Chloe even closer. Eventually, this had led to a row with Saima, who’d felt pushed out, and their friendship had never recovered. These days they barely said hello when they saw each other in school or on the street. Chloe couldn’t remember the last time they’d met up or had a chat.

  She hadn’t thought about Saima much at all recently. But after her mum had gone, leaving her home alone with her dad and brother, Chloe found herself wondering more and more about her old friend. What if she was the one behind the nasty texts? This possibility hadn’t occurred to her before now. Of course she’d wondered who was sending them, but she’d been thinking about people she’d had recent run-ins with, while her falling out with Saima had been ages ago. She thought they’d both moved on, but what if Saima hadn’t?

  As she was weighing this up, her phone pinged with a message: Holly at last.

  H: Morning! Sorry for the slow reply. Mum made me turn my phone off to get some sleep.

  C: And? Did it work?

  H: Guess so. I only just woke up.

  C: Feeling better?

  H: So-so. Puked a few times after you left.

  C: Really? :-( Guess you’re not up for doing something today then.

  H: Don’t think Mum will let me out of her sight or allow me any visitors. She keeps going on about me being contagious. The anti-bacterial spray is basically glued to her hand.

  C: Never mind. Hope you feel better soon.

  H: Thanks. Hey, have you said anything to Edward yet?

  C: Don’t call him that! It’s Elliot.

  H: You know who I mean. And?

  C: Yes, I caught up with him on the way home yesterday. I asked him some questions and he answered them to my full satisfaction.

  H: What the hell does that mean?

  C: It means I no longer have any concerns about him. He’s a normal guy.

  H: Seriously? So how did he explain everything?

  C: Let’s chat about that later. I need to tell you something else.

  H: Like what?

  C: It’s about the dodgy texts.

  H: Have you had any more?

  C: One last night. Usual nasty stuff. Called me a ‘skank whore’ this time.

  H: That’s horrible.

  C: Yeah. Anyway, I think I might have an idea who’s been sending them.

  H: Who?

  C: Saima.

  H: Your dorky friend from primary school?

  C: Bit harsh, but yes.

  H: How’s it harsh if she’s been sending you those texts?

  C: Well, I don’t know for sure, do I? It’s a guess, based on the fact that she has my number and almost certainly hates me. Plus she knows me well enough to press the right buttons: like the thing about the yellow teeth. What do you reckon?

  H: You know her loads better than I do. If you think it’s possible, it probably is. What a bitch!

  C: What should I do?

  H: Confront her? I’d ask her straight out.

  C: You’re right. I’ll go to her house today.

  H: Do it. Wish I could come with. Give her a slap from me.

  C: Haha. Get well soon.

  H: Thanks. Good luck. Let me know what happens. X

  C: Will do. XO

  CHAPTER 28

  NOW

  Wednesday, 25 July 2018

  ‘Anyone want a tea or coffee?’ Mike shouted up the stairs. There was no reply.

  Sighing, he tried again. ‘Hello? Anyone there?’

  He heard the muffled sound of activity and then Chloe’s face appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘What’s up, Dad?’

  ‘I was trying to ask my favourite two children if they wanted a brew.’

  ‘No, thanks. I’m popping out in a few minutes, if that’s all right.’

  ‘Sure. Are you meeting Holly?’

  ‘No, she’s still not feeling well. I’m going to see if Saima’s around.’

  ‘Saima? Not seen her for a while. I thought you two had fallen out.’

  Chloe shrugged.

  ‘Whatever. Just make sure you have fun.’

  She squinted at her dad. ‘You’re in a good mood today.’

  ‘Maybe I am. Where’s that brother of yours? Can you ask him if he wants a brew?’

  ‘He’s in his room. One sec.’

  Chloe was shaking her head when she reappeared. ‘He’s fine.’

  ‘What’s he up to?’

  ‘Who knows? He wouldn’t let me inside. He’s probably on his computer, as usual.’

  ‘Right.’

  Mike returned to the kitchen, made himself a mug of tea and took a seat at the table in front of his laptop, which finally appeared to be finished updating itself.

  ‘Right,’ he said to the empty room, before interlinking the fingers of his two hands and stretching his arms out in front of him to crack his knuckles. Not that they actually cracked. He only made the gesture because he’d seen writers do it in movies – and he immediately decided not to bother again, as it actually felt uncomfortable. Clearly he wasn’t a knuckle-cracking kind of scribe.

  He opened up the word processor and proceeded to stare at the blank screen for what felt like ages. Where to begin? He’d been here before, only to disappear down the Google rabbit hole; spending ages reading about how to write a screenplay rather than doing it.

  Today’s objective, which was what had got him out of bed feeling so chipper, was to draft a plot outline. So what was the problem? Why were no words coming out?

  He drained the rest of his cuppa and then jumped up to make another. As he was doing so, Chloe called out from the hallway that she was leaving.

  ‘See you later, love. Have you got your mobile?’

  ‘Of course. Bye.’

  Mike poured milk into his tea and watched the light-brown cloud it created billow across the surface of the hot liquid, before stabbing it with his spoon and stirring it into submission. Walking back to the table with a renewed sense of purpose, he sat down again in front of the laptop, woke the screen with his hand and started typing.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Ben asked with his head in the door of the fridge.

  Mike looked up, blinked and wondered how he’d missed him entering the kitchen. ‘Um, just writing some ideas down.’

  He watched his son root through the chilled items, half-expecting and perhaps even wanting a further probe into exactly what he was writing, but Ben appeared to have lost interest. ‘Have we run out of coke? I thought there were a couple of cans left.’

  ‘There might be more in the cupboard.’

  ‘I want a cold one.’

  ‘Can’t you add ice?’

  ‘That makes it watery.’

  ‘Guess you’re out of luck, son.’ Looking down at the cold, untouched mug of tea next to him on the table, Mike added: ‘If you stick the kettle on, I’ll make us a brew.’

  Ben scowled, in full teenager mode. ‘I need something cold.’

  ‘Could you put the kettle on anyway?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘What are you doing, Ben?’

  ‘Computer stuff.’

  ‘You should get some fresh air. I’m going for a run in a bit. Why don’t you join me?’

  Ben curled up his top lip. ‘In this rain? Yeah, right.’

  ‘You’r
e not made of sugar, are you?’

  ‘Very funny. Where’s Chloe?’

  ‘Out. At Saima’s.’

  ‘You mean Holly’s?’

  ‘No, Saima’s.’

  ‘Weird.’

  As Ben disappeared back upstairs with a glass of cordial, Mike wondered if his and Lisa’s suspicion about their son being gay would turn out to be true and, if so, when he would finally tell them. Lisa had been the first to suggest it and, although he still struggled to put his finger on exactly why, Mike had a feeling she was right. Ben certainly didn’t seem to be into girls in the same way that he’d been at that age, when bikini-clad women had lined his bedroom walls. Ben could also be very secretive and moody at times, although weren’t all teenagers?

  When Mike had first met Elliot and mistakenly thought he was gay, he’d hoped that might be of some help to Ben in coming out, if that’s what he needed to do. Now it was a waiting game again, since he and Lisa had agreed to give Ben space to tell them of his own accord, in his own time. Mike really didn’t mind either way, but it would be nice to know for sure.

  He clicked the keyboard to wake his laptop screen, feeling chuffed to see it full of words. He’d written almost his entire plot synopsis in one fell swoop. He’d started typing and let himself go. No muddling over the exact wording of each sentence. No over-thinking. Just words – nearly two thousand – banged out at the quickest pace he’d written anything in years, probably since writing a last-minute English essay at university.

  It helped that the subject matter was close to his heart: a teacher wrongly accused of attacking a pupil. He planned to move the action to a secondary school and to change the false allegation, made now by a female pupil, to one of sexual assault. That way it ought to be different enough from his real-life experience. It was an idea he’d been mulling over for ages. He hadn’t got a clue whether anyone would ever be interested in turning it into an actual film, or even if it would be any good. But at the very least it would be a decent learning exercise. Hopefully it might also help him to move on from the nightmare experience and to purge himself of some of the hang-ups he’d been left with as a result.