Sam

by Luke F. Harris

  Neil had a pained expression on his face, but, clearly, he had his instructions. As Neil spoke, his eyes seemed to focus on a spot to the left of Sam’s face. “It’s OK if you want to be gay, bro.”

  Holly glared again and Neil promptly changed tack.

  “Sorry—what I meant to say was: it’s OK with me.”

  Holly had had enough now and jumped in. “What he’s trying to say”—she looked at Neil and shook her head—“is that you don’t have to hide away in your room. We’re here for you.”

  He glanced in Neil’s direction, and for a second they made eye contact. Neil smiled and nodded his head.

  “Get up and come for a coffee,” Holly continued. “It’ll do you good to get some fresh air. You can’t stay in here for ever.”

  Out the corner of his eye, he saw Neil slip away while she wasn’t looking, and he almost smiled.

  “I think I’ll just stay here a bit longer,” he replied. He yawned for effect and held a hand in front of his mouth.

  Holly gave him a long, penetrating look, as if she were sizing up this particular battle. Then she sighed and got to her feet. “Just promise you won’t do anything stupid.”

  He nodded.

  “OK, then. I’ll be back tomorrow. And you’ll be leaving this room—so be warned.”

  He dreamt that he was fighting with Tom. But Tom’s face kept changing. One moment, he was staring straight into Tom’s blue eyes; the next, he was face to face with his mother. “You’re going to hell!” she screamed like a banshee. And then, in another breath, she was gone, and he was back in the flat, alone with Neil.

  He was disoriented when he woke. Somewhere a bell was ringing. Yet it seemed to have a ghostly quality. It took him a few moments to realise that the noise wasn’t a part of his dream—that it was coming from the hallway.

  “Doorbell,” he thought groggily. Perhaps if he ignored it, whomever it was would go away.

  Right on cue, the ringing stopped.

  He breathed a sigh of relief, savouring the renewed silence. Every muscle, every joint in his body ached. He felt as if he had gone ten rounds in the ring.

  The peace was short-lived.

  “Fuck off!” he yelled when the ringing started up again. But this time, it didn’t stop.

  He dragged himself out of bed and trudged down the hall to the intercom. He didn’t bother to ask who it was before he buzzed them in.

  He stood on the doorstep, his arms folded protectively in front of his body. It was cold and he was wearing only track pants and a T-shirt. The sound of the rain lashing wildly against the windows in the living room made him shiver.

  First he heard footsteps on the staircase. Then the back of a blond head came into view. Tom’s head. He froze.

  Tom was soaking wet. He looked as if he had just taken a shower with all his clothes on. When he rounded the last turn in the stairs, they came face to face.

  “Hi.” Tom pressed his lips together and brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes. He looked nervous.

  Sam didn’t reply. He was stunned. Part of him wanted to run to Tom; the other wanted to slam the door in his face.

  Tom must have sensed his indecision. He took a step forward and then stopped. He looked down at the floor as he spoke. “Can I come in?”

  Clearly, Tom hadn’t been expecting it to rain. He hadn’t brought a jacket with him, and the fitted shirt that he was wearing clung to his body. His nipples were protruding through the wet cotton.

  “Please,” Tom said, “I really need to talk to you.”

  The instant that Tom smiled, Sam felt the last vestiges of his anger melt away. He stepped aside without saying a word.

  “Here.” He passed Tom a clean towel out of the hot-water cupboard and waited in silence as he dried his arms, neck and face.

  “I couldn’t borrow some clothes, could I?” Tom asked. He was still shivering uncontrollably, and his skin had turned a slightly concerning shade of blue.

  While he was searching through the wardrobe, Tom stripped down to his undies and hung his wet clothes over the back of a chair. He tied the towel low round his waist.

  Sam tried not to look, but the temptation was too great.

  “Give those to me,” he said, taking Tom’s wet jeans and exchanging them for a dry pair. “I’ll put them in the dryer.”

  As he turned to walk away, Tom reached out and touched his shoulder. “I broke up with Eve.”

  He stopped dead. Slowly he turned round to face Tom. “Say what?”

  A grin spread across Tom’s face. “I broke up with Eve,” he repeated.

  He stared at Tom, uncomprehending. It sounded as if Tom had ended things with his girlfriend.

  “I. Broke. Up. With. Eve.”

  “I—”

  He was at a complete loss for words. Endorphins were flooding his brain, muddling all his senses. “I don’t understand,” he sighed. “Why?”

  He hadn’t meant to be quite so blunt, but he was still reeling under the shock of what he had just heard.

  “Why?” Tom repeated, his smile vanishing. He looked crestfallen.

  Sam lowered his eyes to the floor.

  Tom closed the gap between them. Tom was shaking too now.

  “Because of you,” Tom said, his voice almost a whisper. Tom placed a hand under his chin and forced him to lift his head. Then he leaned in so that their lips were almost touching. He could feel the warmth of Tom’s breath on his face each time he exhaled.

  “I want you.”

  He gulped and closed his eyes.

  The whole world melted away when Tom kissed him.

  They were standing in the kitchen when Sam heard the key turn in the lock. Tom was right behind him, his arms wrapped round his waist. He managed to disentangle himself just as Neil wandered into the room.

  Neil was playing with his phone and didn’t notice, but as he looked up and saw Tom, he froze in his tracks.

  “Sorry,” Neil murmured, backing away as if he had just stumbled upon a wild animal.

  “Fuck,” Sam cursed once they were alone again. He ran a hand through his hair and squeezed the back of his neck. “Fuck.”

  Without saying a word, Tom disappeared into the laundry. When he returned a few minutes later, he was wearing his own things.

  Sam felt his stomach drop through the floor. He had no desire, or strength, to hear what Tom was about to say.

  When Tom smiled and said, “Talk later, then,” he nearly laughed with relief.

  He nodded, momentarily incapable of speech.

  With a quick glance over his shoulder, Tom stepped forward and planted a kiss on his lips.

  chapter thirteen

  Sam’s grandparents telephoned as they were driving off the ferry. They were heading north, caravan in tow, and had chosen to break their journey in Wellington.

  “Tell him to wait at the end of the street,” he could hear his grandfather barking in the background. He didn’t sound happy.

  His mother was cooking a meal in their honour and had given them strict instructions to collect him on their way through the city.

  “Wait at the end of the street, dear,” his grandmother repeated. “We won’t be long.” There was a brief pause and then, “Now, how do you hang up this blasted—” as she cut herself off.

  He smiled as he returned the phone to its cradle. He was in an exceptionally good mood today. Even his grandfather’s bad-temperedness couldn’t bring him down.

  The instant they walked through the door, it was obvious that something was wrong.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, slowly taking off his coat and draping it over the back of a dining chair. He couldn’t smell any food. Instead of preparing the lunch, his mother was sitting on the sofa. She had her face in her hands.

  His grandparents appeared behind him. They were still fussing with their things, oblivious to the tension in the room.

  He looked around for his sister but she was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s Catherine?” he asked, a s
tab of fear in his gut. Had something happened to her?

  “She’s at your aunt’s house,” his father grunted. He turned around. He hadn’t noticed his father standing over by the window.

  “But Gran and Grandad are here,” he replied. What his father had said made no sense.

  His father cleared his throat to speak. “Sam, sit down.”

  His blood ran cold in his veins.

  “Where’s Catherine?” his grandmother interrupted, stepping round him, into the room, but his father simply ignored the question. She turned to her daughter instead. “Susan, where is Catherine?”

  “She’s fine, Mum.”

  When his mother raised her head, he saw that she had been crying.

  “Something disturbing has been brought to our attention,” his father continued.

  He gulped back the impulse to vomit.

  His grandmother looked at his father and then turned to him. “Sam, what’s going on?”

  “Stay out of it, Jean,” his father snapped. His grandmother bristled but she kept her mouth closed. “Sam—sit,” his father repeated.

  He did as he was told, almost collapsing onto the nearest chair. He closed his eyes and waited for the axe to fall.

  “What on earth is going on here?” his grandfather said, walking into the room at last.

  “Yes, will somebody please tell us what’s going on?” his grandmother echoed.

  His father’s voice cut straight through the fog in his head. “People are saying things about you, Sam.”

  He swallowed. His head was swimming. He couldn’t have replied even if he had wanted to.

  There was no time to react when his father lunged forward and grabbed him by the arm. His father squeezed so hard that he had to bite down on his bottom lip not to cry out.

  “Why are they saying these things?” his father said, shaking his arm. “Why, Sam?”

  For the first time, he saw fear in his father’s eyes.

  Suddenly, an incredible weariness descended on him and he sighed. He was tired of telling lies. It was exhausting, living a life that wasn’t real—making up stories and trying to remember what he had said and whom he had said it to.

  He took a deep breath, fixed his thoughts on Tom, and said, “It’s true.”

  A few seconds passed without anything happening. But then his father’s face hardened. Behind him, he heard his mother break into renewed sobs.

  His father flung his arm away and stood up straight. All the blood had rushed back into his face. “Get out of this house.”

  He didn’t move, though. He was too stunned. Had he really just said what he thought he had said? It hadn’t been nearly as difficult as he had been expecting. He almost laughed, but managed to stop himself.

  His grandmother looked at them each in turn. “Will somebody please tell me what is going on here?” she demanded. By the tone of her voice, it was clear she wouldn’t be fobbed off again.

  “Your grandson,” his father pointed at him but didn’t make eye contact, “is a dirty little pervert. Is that what you want to hear?”

  His grandmother turned her back on her son-in-law and asked, “What is your lunatic of a father talking about?”

  The sense of relief he had felt only moments before was gone. His breath was coming short and shallow now. He couldn’t get the air into his lungs fast enough.

  “Sam,” his grandmother said. She took a step towards him, but his father reached him first.

  “I thought I told you to leave this house!” his father thundered, grabbing hold of him again and pulling him out of his seat. He was too dazed to put up a fight.

  His grandmother tried to wedge herself between them, but his father pushed her aside as if she didn’t weigh a thing.

  When they reached the doorstep, he tripped and stumbled headfirst into the yard, landing on his hands and knees. The jagged surface of the drive sliced through his palms like a hot knife through butter.

  His grandmother was by his side in a flash. She cradled him against her body, paying no attention to the blood that was running down his arms.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, trying not to stain her white blouse. She rested her cheek against the top of his head and held him tight.

  “Don’t speak,” she murmured in his ear.

  But his father wasn’t about to give up yet. “Go on, what are you waiting for? Sling your hook,” he sneered, reaching for him again.

  His grandmother held his father at arm’s length. “Touch the boy again, and by God I swear you’ll regret it,” she hissed. Such was the ferocity in her voice that his father actually backed off.

  “How could you do this to us?” his father said. He looked more distraught than angry now. “Do you realise what you’ve done? You’ve made us into a laughing stock.”

  “That’s enough now, John.”

  His father turned to find his father-in-law standing directly behind him.

  The older men stared at each other, neither blinking. The tension in the air was palpable, and for a moment he thought one might actually strike the other. It was exactly like watching two pack animals vie for top spot.

  To his surprise, his father was the first to yield. He marched into the house and slammed the door behind him.

  “Jean, go and find that daughter of ours and tell her to get out here immediately.”

  His grandmother released him, but before she let go completely, she cupped his face in her hands. “We love you. Nothing has changed.”

  He tried to smile through the tears that were streaming down his face.

  “Go, Jean,” his grandfather said gently, pulling her away. When she was gone, his grandfather sat down next to him.

  “Sam, what your grandmother said is true.” His grandfather put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “But I won’t pretend I’m not disappointed.”

  His grandfather must have felt his body tense.

  “Hear me out, will you?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m disappointed because you have a tough road ahead of you. As you have just witnessed, the world is full of wankers.”

  His eyes widened; he had never heard his grandfather swear before.

  “That’s right,” his grandfather chuckled. “But you will have our full support—OK?” His grandfather gave his shoulder another squeeze. “Now, get in the car. Your grandmother and I will take you out for tea.”

  When Tom suggested that they get away for a few days—just until the dust settles—he didn’t need to think twice. The doctor had already signed him off work for a week with stress.

  “Great. I’ll book us on the first ferry in the morning.” Tom leaned in for a kiss before throwing back the covers and climbing out of the bed. Tom’s boxer shorts had ridden down at the back, exposing the cleft of his buttocks.

  He smiled as he pulled the duvet up round his chin and burrowed into the warm spot that Tom’s body had made. The pillow smelled of Tom’s aftershave and he inhaled deeply.

  The next morning, they were up before dawn. Neil was still fast asleep when they called in at his flat to collect his things. For once, Neil’s guttural snoring wasn’t an unwelcome sound.

  “I’ll be as quick as I can,” he whispered, leaving Tom at the door. He crept into his room and silently gathered together enough clothes to last for several days.

  “Ready,” he whispered, throwing the backpack over his shoulder and quietly closing the bedroom door behind him. On the way out, he left a note on the kitchen bench, telling Neil that he would be back in a few days.

  It was a still morning and the deck barely moved as the ferry glided past the small island in the centre of the harbour, out towards the choppier waters of Cook Strait.

  They climbed to the top deck and found a row of empty seats towards the stern, as far away from the other passengers as they could get. Despite the calm weather, Tom was already looking green.

  The seats were covered with dew and the moisture seeped straight through the seat of his pa
nts.

  “Are you sure you’re OK?” he asked. Tom grunted in reply but didn’t look up from between his knees.

  With every minute that passed, the sky grew lighter in the east. Before long the horizon came into focus. The navy blue of the sky contrasted with the blackness of the ocean below.

  It was freezing cold. Each breath condensed into white mist.

  With a quick glance to check that nobody was watching, he put a hand on Tom’s leg and gave it a squeeze. “Let’s go inside, eh? It’s freezing out here.”

  Tom nodded in agreement.

  Just as they were getting to their feet, the ferry rounded the last headland. The bow rose sharply as it crested a wave and then pitched forward, the deck falling away beneath them. Tom made a dash for the railing. He reached it just in time and vomited over the side of the ship.

  “Thank fuck we have wind behind us.” Sam tried to lighten the mood, but Tom didn’t respond. He hung limp over the railing.

  “You go in,” Tom groaned, turning his head and looking at him through tear-filled eyes. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I’ll stay out here for a bit longer.”

  They stayed up on deck for most of the crossing, even when they had reached the still waters of the Marlborough Sounds. Tom’s face lost its green tinge only after they disembarked in Picton.

  They picked up a hire car at the ferry terminal—-a rusty old hatch that had seen better days.

  “Where to, Miss Penelope?” Tom said with a grin. Clearly, he was feeling better. He spread the road map out over the steering wheel. “It’s an hour or two to Nelson, and then a couple more to the Abel Tasman National Park, or we could head south, towards Kaikoura.”

  He leaned in to look at the map. “I don’t mind,” he said. So long as they were together, he would be happy.

  Tom folded up the map and handed it to him. “Abel Tasman it is, then,” he smiled.

  They drove in silence for a while, past seemingly endless rows of bare vines. In the distance, white-capped mountains rose up out of the earth like jagged teeth.

  “Have you heard from your mum yet?” Tom asked as they turned off State Highway 1 and headed into the Wairau Valley, towards the mountains.

  “Not yet.”

  “Try not to worry about it,” Tom said. Tom reached across and gave his leg a squeeze. “It’ll be OK, you know.”