“It’s hard to interpret your meaning, Mr Horwood. Was that a statement or a question?” asked the magistrate.
It wasn’t clear but it sounded like fear in Tony’s voice. No, ‘fear’ is too strong a word – ‘uncertainty’ more accurately describes it, the magistrate thought to himself.
“And prison will be different how?” he asked rhetorically. He had had enough now. He wanted to wind this up and go home.
“Mr Horwood, it is more likely that you’ll be sexually harassed in prison than at that school.”
Tony started to protest but the magistrate barked his order: “Bailiff take him away!”
As they led him away Tony wasn’t quite sure what had made the loud bang. Was it the magistrate’s gavel or his jaw hitting the floor?
Chapter Two
“George,” Hugh said in a serious tone, “we need to talk.” He patted the bed next to him. “Please sit down.”
“Okay.” George sat down hesitantly.
Hugh took George’s hand and held it gently. He stared into the middle distance deciding how to start.
“Come on Hugh,” George prompted, “you’re scaring me a bit.”
“I’m sorry, it’s nothing that bad,” he whispered, completely avoiding any eye contact.
“If it’s not that bad then just come out with it.”
Hugh’s hand became clammy, so he let go and gently wiped the perspiration on his duvet. He took a deep breath and spoke rapidly. “I’ll be going away for a while.”
“What?” George exclaimed, before standing up and firing questions at Hugh. “Where are you going? When are you going? What does this mean?”
“I knew you’d react like this.” Hugh put his head in his hands.
“Answer the question,” persisted George with growing anger.
“Which one do you want me to answer?”
“All of them.”
“Okay, okay,” replied Hugh. “I’ve been accepted at the Future Queens of England finishing school.”
“What?” screeched George. The blood ran out of George’s face as the realisation kicked in. “Isn’t that the gay school? Oh my god. You can’t be serious?”
Hugh remained silent, observing the maelstrom.
After a few dumbstruck moments George stopped pacing and spoke calmly. “Okay, Hugh. I will make this simple. One word. When?”
Hugh relaxed a little. “I leave next Monday and I’ll be there for a full academic year. But it’s not that long if you think about it. Just September through to July.”
“Don't patronise me, Hugh. I know what an academic year is; I was at school for most of my life.”
Hugh ran his hand through his hair and sucked air through closed teeth, not knowing what to say next.
The mood changed again and George’s body started to shake as emotion took hold. George sat back down on the bed and reached over, taking Hugh’s hand. “What about me?” George asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
“Well you’ll stay here, won’t you, whilst I am away?”
George started to sob. “I don't mean that, Hugh, and you know it.”
“Oh don’t cry,” said Hugh without sympathy. “I knew you’d cry; you always cry.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Hugh, but when the man you love tells you he is going away for a year it tends to hurt a bit.”
Hugh’s head dropped.
“I'll ask you again. What about me? Or should I say, what about us?”
Hugh's cheeks coloured. “I'm not breaking up with you, if that's what you mean.” He leant over and wiped George's tears. “Look at me.”
George sniffed and tried to stop the river of tears before looking up, hopefully.
“You know that you mean the world to me and nothing will ever break us up. You couldn't get rid of me if you wanted to.” He smiled warmly at George, happy that the conversation was under control.
George stared deeply into Hugh's eyes trying to see whether he really meant it before returning his smile.
“You might not always be able to see me, but I'm always there. Simply put, you're stuck with me to the bitter end.” Hugh hoped that a little humour would relieve the tension. His smile was a sincere attempt at reassurance.
They sat in silence for a few moments. “Why are you going?” George said, gently stroking Hugh's hand.
“You know why. If I am going to become famous I really need to look and act the part. The teachers there are the best and they'll help me to dress right, act right, and they'll really help with my look. You won't recognise me once they're done.”
“That's what I am afraid of, Hugh. Well, I suppose it's only a year and our relationship is strong enough. And I'll be able to come out to visit you at weekends, won't I?” George said brightly.
Hugh pursed his lips.
George's face hardened. “What is it? Is there more to this?”
Hugh broke eye contact. “Actually, there is one other thing.”
“What other thing?” George said angrily, crushing Hugh's hand.
Hugh winced and slipped his hand out of the vice-like grip. “Well,” he said finding it difficult to decide on the right words, “I don’t want you to visit me there.”
“What? You’re being ridiculous. Why on earth not?”
“You'll cramp my style,” came the matter-of-fact reply.
“I didn't think you had any style. I thought that’s why you wanted to go there,” George retaliated.
“Oh, don't be so childish.”
“Look, I'll come back home at Christmas and Easter. So it's not like we won't see each other,” Hugh said in a vain effort to appease the situation, and then he slowly backed away.
“Oh, sometimes you really are an idiot.” George stood up and blocked his exit. George’s glare shone with such intensity that Hugh almost withered beneath it.
“You can still send me letters,” he uttered meekly.
“Oh, thanks a bunch. Shall I rush out now and buy some bloody envelopes and stamps?”
“If you loved me you'd let me go,” Hugh said, desperately attempting to gain back some ground.
George paused and considered this. “Are you really going to try emotional blackmail?”
“Well, I'd let you go if the situation was reversed. Remember that time you wanted to go on holiday without me? I let you go without a single complaint, didn't I?”
George almost choked. “Hey! You’ve twisted that. If you recall, I went on a caravan holiday with my Nan and it only had one bedroom. And you didn't want to go anyway.”
Hugh blushed. “Well technically that's true, but the principle is the same.”
George let out a big sigh. “Look, I don't want to argue, but answer me honestly. This isn't some ludicrous or elaborate scheme that you've cooked up to dump me is it?”
Hugh put on his most sincere face. “No, of course not, darling.”
“Because if it is, just tell me now. I won't get angry. I promise.”
“No. I love you and I am not breaking up with you,” Hugh said, putting his arms around George.
“So are you definitely not breaking up with me?”
“You silly sausage. No, definitely not. If anything, I am doing it for us, so we can have a fantastic life together. If I get famous, we'll be rich, and just think how bright our future will be together.”
“Okay, okay,” George acquiesced. “You have my blessing”.
Hugh grinned. “Thanks George, you're one in a million.” He relaxed and gave George one more squeeze.
“Er, Hugh, have you told your parents yet?”
Hugh stepped back and placed his hands on George's shoulders. “No, not yet, I was hoping that you’d do it for me.”
George's face fell. “Oh, Hugh. They are going to be so disappointed in you.”
“I know, I know. Don't make me feel any worse than I do already.”
“This needs to come from you, Hugh. I can't fight all of your battles.”
Hugh's face contorted at the thought of d
elivering his news. “Oh,” he said, simply.
George took the initiative. “Look, it's no good putting it off. We'll go and do it now.”
“Together?”
George took Hugh's hand and led him out of the bedroom. “Yes, together.”
They walked downstairs in silence and paused momentarily as they approached the lounge.
“Are you ready?” asked a wide-eyed George.
Hugh nodded. “Ready as I'll ever be,” and took a gulp as George pushed open the door.
George entered first, sheepishly pulling Hugh over the threshold.
Hugh's father looked up from his newspaper. “Hmm, this looks ominous.”
“Erm, Brad,” George said nervously, “where's Ron? You'll both need to hear Hugh's announcement.”
“He's in the garden. Let me call him.” Brad got up and walked across to the patio doors. “Honey, you'd better come in here. It looks like Hugh and George have something to tell us.”
“Coming!” a soft voice called back.
Hugh's father returned to his chair and paused. “Should I be sitting down for this?”
Hugh and George nodded in unison.
“Okay then, I will.” As Brad sat down Hugh's other father, Ron, entered the room breezily.
“I hope you're not pregnant,” Ron chortled and took a seat next to Brad, who laughed along.
“Oh don't be ridiculous, darling,” Brad tittered. “Go on then, son. You have our full attention.”
George pushed Hugh forward to the centre of the room so he was standing directly in front of his parents. He looked at them both and he felt his heart quicken.
“Well, come on then, darling,” Brad said, urging Hugh on, “spit it out then.”
Hugh looked over his shoulder at George and gulped.
Ron leant forward. “Hugh,” he said gently, “come on, son. How bad can it be?”
Hugh turned to face his parents and took a deep breath. Somewhere in the house a clock chimed. Hugh took this as a sign and stood up straight. “Dads, I have something to tell you and you're not going to like it … ”
Chapter Three
Tony drove his customised Ford Escort along the leafy country lane. The car clung to the contours of the road as he sped into the unknown. The September air had a refreshing coolness that gave a pleasant and welcome relief from the oppressive heat of August. It signified the death of another summer, which would soon give way to the chill of autumn.
Tony squinted through the blacked-out windows of the Ford looking for the road signs. His radio was playing AC/DC, Highway to Hell. He laughed and spoke out loud to the radio in agreement: “Yes, that’s what the Catholics tell me,” and joined in heartily with the chorus.
Sunlight broke momentarily through a gap in the trees and the harsh light reflected off his rear spoiler. The silence of the countryside was broken as Tony roared by, and then as he came around the bend he saw a gleaming Audi ahead. His eyes glanced at the speedo. Eighty mph. Tony figured that the Audi must be sticking to the sixty mile per hour speed limit since the gap between them was becoming smaller by the second. He closed the gap even further but the Audi driver neither increased nor decreased their speed. He slowed before closing the gap again in order to make his intentions obvious. Tony repeated the manoeuvre again and again, but still no reaction from the driver in front. He ground his teeth together in frustration and punched the off button on his radio. He needed to concentrate. Tony studied the car in front carefully and noticed the driver was on the left hand side rather than the right. Tony allowed his car to fall back sufficiently so he could view the number plate. The letters ‘DE’ boldly stared back at him. They triggered a feint recognition in him and he searched the archives of his mind. Then it came to him. Of course, he’d seen this before when he’d been to Europe to watch the World Cup. Tony narrowed his eyes and parted his lips. “German”, he whispered to himself as he let the car drop back even further.
He eyed the fuel gauge and with a jingoistic urge slammed his right foot down on the accelerator. The Ford surged towards the Audi. The gap narrowed and when there were only inches left to spare between the two cars he swung out to overtake. He pulled alongside the Audi, his engine throbbing, and stared through the layers of glass at the other driver, who casually turned to face Tony. For what seems like minutes his cold blue eyes returned Tony’s glowering stare. Tony took one hand from the steering wheel and pointed to his Teutonic foe and began singing the theme from the Dam Busters at the top of his voice and with gusto. This xenophobic gesture was wasted though as the engines drowned out all other noise and the only thing that Audi driver experienced was a man making strange shapes with his mouth at him. Their cars clung to the road in parallel and they turned another corner, the bushes on either side shaking in their wake.
The Audi driver smiled briefly at Tony and coolly motioned with his eyes to the road ahead. Tony frowned as he wondered what this meant until suddenly then the penny dropped. From the corner of his eyes he detected the movement of an oncoming vehicle. Tony hit the brakes and swerved the car back behind the Audi as the horrified faces in the oncoming car skidded past him with a screech of burning tyres.
After a few seconds the lightning in his chest dissipated and he felt adrenaline and relief pump through his body in equal measure. He consciously slowed his breathing and self-consciously reduced the pressure on the accelerator. As the car slowed, thoughts of ‘why are we in such a hurry to get there’ flooded into his brain. ‘What impression does that give? Are we really in that much of a rush to arrive?’
Tony conceded that the voice inside his head had a point. He reduced his speed even more and watched the Audi slip away.
With his ego still bruised Tony slowed further as he saw a number of cars signalling left. This was it, the turning into the School for Future Queens of England.
“Oh Bollocks,” he shouted aloud in disbelief as he pulled up behind the Audi and waited uncomfortably in line. What were the chances that they were both going to the same destination? Suitably embarrassed, he found excuses to fiddle with the instruments on the car’s dashboard as he tried not to look into the car in front. He saw another car pull up behind and join the slowly moving queue. Forgetting himself for a moment, he took his eyes off the mirror and looked directly into the car in front. There, waiting in ambush, were those cold, steely blue eyes reflecting in the Audi’s rear-view mirror. Tony stared back hypnotically into those unblinking windows of the soul. He fought the gaze but was unable to look away. Eventually the reflected eyes seemed satisfied and dropped their gaze.
The traffic moved slowly forward and it came as a welcome sight when Tony saw an oncoming car slow and put its right hand side indicator on. As the queue inched forward into the entrance he displayed a rare show of generosity as he gestured for the driver to enter the queue in front of him. His tension eased now there was a metal barrier between him and the Audi. He turned onto the gravel side road and followed the procession. This was not the defiant entrance that Tony had planned. The crunch of the gravel beneath his tyres served only to taunt him, but this was all in his imagination; in fact it was actually heralding his arrival. Four cars behind, another drama was unfolding.
The atmosphere in Hugh’s car was tense, to say the least. Ron leaned awkwardly against the steering wheel, hands gripping tightly, white-knuckled. He frowned as if the sun was hurting his eyes but the sun was behind the clouds now. Brad was concentrating on his map but this only served to betray his true feelings, since they had already reached their destination. Hugh gazed absentmindedly out of the rear passenger window. He had planned to soak it all up and relish every moment but no matter how hard he tried to make the most of this experience, his mind just would not focus.
Each of them was waiting for someone else to speak; they were all using this time to prepare their argument for when the inevitable conflict would start.
Ron finally cracked and broke the silence. “There’s a lot of traffic isn’t there Hugh?�
�
“Yes, there … ” but Ron had cut him off already.
“Are you really going to go through with this?” he paused as he tried to remember his next line of thought. “It’s not too late to back out you know,” he said with hope in his voice.
Hugh sighed. “Why can’t you accept me for what I am?”
Brad just sighed and shook his head. “What about George? How’s your relationship going to survive this?”
Hugh chewed his bottom lip for a moment.
In front of them brake lights repeatedly blinked on and off. Hugh watched as they continued their pattern. It wasn’t just one car, it was several cars all acting in a similar manner, but each car in line was slightly slower than the one in front of it. Something occurred to him; he hardened his gaze. Were the lights trying to tell him something? Was this Morse code, a message from the cosmos? On, then quickly off; then on for a second or two; then off, on; then quickly off, on again and quickly off. He tried to remember the Morse code he’d learned at Scouts. Their car crept forward, and then the brake lights in front started their message again: on, then quickly off; on, then quickly off. Tutting in frustration, Ron pushed the clutch down and took the car out of gear. He wiggled the gearstick from left to right a couple of times irritably, but kept his foot on the brake pedal.
“We should have bought that automatic Brad,” he grumbled.
“Can we discuss this when we get home, darling?” Brad responded. “We have more important things to discuss right now.”
The traffic edged a few metres further and stopped; brake lights in front flashed on and off again. Ron angrily put the car into neutral and pulled the handbrake up without pushing the button in fully, making a horrible scraping noise.
“Hugh!” a voice said, demolishing his daydream, “are you bloody well listening?”
“Huh?” Hugh turned his head partially to face Brad but his eyes stayed focused on the brake lights.
“Hugh! We were in the middle of a conversation.”
Hugh tore his eyes from the hypnotic lights, “Sorry Dad,” he mumbled apologetically. “What were you saying?”
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