by Claire Davis
“Are—are you crying?”
“No,” he sobbed. Because he wasn’t. Oskar Braithwaite was holding it all together the same way he had since the world went Blair Witch two years ago. He never cried, especially not in front of hot boys he hated. Crying was for losers.
“It’s OK.” Bear held him tightly, and even though it was sick and weak, Oskar clung on. “I know you’ve got some shit right now with your family, but I’m here.”
“What do you mean? How the fuck would you know that?”
“I don’t, really, only a few things you said when you were drunk about dads.”
“I did not!” Oskar pushed him away, not even thinking much about tears and snot. “I fucking did not and take your bloody arms off me.” He tried to find comfort in Bear’s hurt eyes. “What would you understand about dads when yours is Mr. Perfect who took you to football every week?”
Too far. He’d gone too far.
Bear’s lips twitched, and then they were back into the hugging thing. Throughout Oskar’s whole life, he’d never had as much physical contact, not with anyone. The only time his family ever touched—by accident—was when drunk.
“What are we even arguing about?” Bear said, kissing into Oskar’s hair. “Is it about the make-up?”
Oskar held Bear’s face still and kissed hard enough to frighten him away forever. “I’m a pain in the arse—just so you know. I argue and fight and I’m horrible. You shouldn’t have anything to do with me.” He slid his tongue into Bear’s mouth and considered taking his clothes off. “I’m not all bad, but bad enough.”
“Um. No, and yes. You are very contrary, true.” But Bear didn’t seem to be in any hurry to go. He pointed at a lipstick. “That one’s nice. Try it on.”
“Open yours. Who the fuck sent us presents?”
“I don’t know. No-one I know.” Bear peeled away the wrapping quickly. “And just so you know—I’ve never been to a football match.”
“What is it?”
“Clothes, walking gear mainly. And some gadgets.”
“Are you sure it’s not your family?”
“Yeah,” Bear said sadly. “Haven’t seen my dad in way over a year.” His voice went strange.
“What about your mum?”
“It’s complicated. She’s in America.” He hung his head, speaking in bursts of words. “We’re not close.” He shrugged. “No-one cares. It’s not them.”
“Now you’re gonna cry.” Oskar laughed suddenly. “Some unknown fucker sends us gorgeous prezzies and we end up crying.” He pulled Bear onto the bed so they lay facing. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m not,” Bear said after a few strangled sobs.
“Never met anyone as fucked up as me before.” Oskar kissed his nose. “I think I like it.” He held Bear’s hand tightly. “I got you all wrong. I thought you were posh, from a really rich family, like with horses and dogs.”
“I had a cat.”
“My mum’s in prison,” Oskar whispered. “She went to prison again.” Saying it out loud was a big fat anticlimax. Sometimes he’d imagined telling someone—Pink maybe—but in dreams, it was always dramatic and accompanied with 80s music and a bottle of cider. “She went the day before I came to college. I shouldn’t have come here. I wasn’t going to! But there was this Madonna song I love on the radio, and it seemed like a message. I know it sounds like crap! But I thought it was—someone who’s dead telling me to come to college anyway. So I did. But I feel like shit.” He was sobbing and so was Bear. “At that train station, I should have gone back. If you hadn’t known who Simon Le Bon was, I would have gone back.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t look at me.”
“Why? I know what it’s like with parents—famous or not. They do whatever they like, sometimes just for press coverage or how it looks to other people. They never think about those who love them. They take drugs and break the law—just to be in the media! They go to prison and leave us behind, and they don’t give a fuck. And drugs? One endless cycle of me-me-me. We have to sit through hours of rehab therapy where they get to be sorry and insightful—but it’s all about them! How fucked they are, whose fault it is—everything except how their habit fucks everyone else up. And we have to be supportive and all that shit.” He stopped, and then covered his face in his hands.
Noises filled the room. Bear’s whole body began shaking uncontrollably, like someone at a funeral. Oskar wanted to order him to stop. The words got stuck. He tried to get away but his back was against the wall. He couldn’t get away from the words and their awful truth. There was no escape except by clambering over Bear. If he knocked against him, Bear might take his hands from his face and force him to see.
“Christ. You’ve met my mum, then? Yeah. It’s just like that—exactly how you said. Yeah. Christ. Are—are you all right?” A craving he didn’t understand made him move his head, so it rested against Bear’s. “Shit.”
The wailing stopped, leaving a silence which was even worse. Oskar was terrified and started talking very quickly. “I look like crap. Hah—at least I stopped you crying. See? Now you’re laughing. We should go get the other parcels and open them, and see if we can have another mutual cry.”
Bear dried his eyes. A few times he started crying again, eyes red and full of pain.
“Shit. I’m sorry.” He clumsily put his arms around Bear and held him. He felt weird and fierce. “You’re even more of a mess than I am.”
“Just ignore me.” His voice was strained, like Mum’s when Nan died. “Sorry.” He finally smiled and Oskar breathed.
“You’ve got tears all over your face. Even your neck!” He found a tissue in his pocket and offered it. As Bear held out a hand, the craving returned. He wiped the tears away himself, which seemed to make more appear. “You’re just crying on purpose now so I have to keep wiping.” Bear laughed. The tears finally stopped. Oskar kissed his nose. “I’m no good in an emergency,” he whispered. “Is this an emergency?”
Bear gripped both his hands. One finger made circles on Oskar’s thumb. “No. Emergencies are when police come and ambulances and hurricanes. They won’t come for this. No-one will come. They never do.”
“I would. Is it more an anti-emergency? That’s one of those times when you die inside but no-one knows. In fact, the world carries on. And who can you call?” Oskar cleared his throat. “Hello? Is that the anti-emergency line? Yes, I have one going on right now. There’s a lad here, very nice and friendly. He’s upset, like really upset, and I don’t know what to say.” He gulped. Bear’s eyes began to crinkle, just a little at the edges like he was on the verge of smiling. “I like him a lot. I hate that he’s crying and some bastard made him sad. More than a lot. I don’t think it was me this time. It usually is me. I’m not good enough for him.”
“Yeah, it’s one of those times. An ant emergency. It wasn’t your fault.” Bear’s finger curled around one of Oskar’s. “I like you too.”
“Anti.”
“Are we dating? I mean—can we?”
“Yeah, course we’re dating. You think I’m bitchy to any boy? ’Cause I’m not. You’re a special case, a one-off lollipop.”
It was a shock, that kisses were all different and not always about sex. That one was slow and careful, and instead of wanting to show his body, Oskar wanted to merge into Bear, to get so close there was no space between.
“Do you think we should talk about it all? Now we’re boyfriends and all? I mean we’re both a mess.”
“No,” Oskar said firmly. “Jesus Christ, Bear! One step at a time. First you stick your tongue down my throat then you want my memoirs. I’m a wild animal—you have to get my trust and tempt me with dainties.” He bit Bear’s ear.
“OK. But one day?”
“Yeah. One day. We’ll sit with cucumber sandwiches and a teapot, and talk.”
Chapter 11: Where’s the Beef?
Gareth
Dear Dad,
Here is part two of my diary-of-a
-loser-son. You wouldn’t think it was so cold, coming up to summer, would you? But it was. So cold my teeth were chattering and every so often I kept hearing noises. Maybe only twigs or foxes, but when you’re tied up to a tree on your own, it seems like the noises are most probably psychopaths.
So, I made a decision. I could either shout for help, or I could just lie there and die. If I shouted, eventually someone would hear because there was a path back to school not far away which dog walkers used.
I didn’t shout.
Imagine the teachers finding me there? All the boys involved in the séance would be in deep, deep, shit, Dad. I’m no expert but I think kidnapping and tying up a fellow pupil—even one they hate—is a serious crime. And then John would never speak to me again, and there goes the only reason to live. I couldn’t stand it if he hated me too.
Also, I’d peed myself.
I read once it takes three days before a person dies of thirst, and I was really thirsty, so I figured I was well on the way already. I admit I wasn’t thinking very straight, and yeah, maybe I did get into the idea of school calling you to say I was dead, basically of sadness. Remember that book you read me once about a boy ages ago who listens to his own funeral? Huckleberry Finn. Well, I kept thinking of that.
I cried a lot, and whatever happens in my life, I know I’ll never be that low ever again. I could feel my compass in my pocket. Remember how you said it was my lucky compass? I think that’s what they call irony. I fell asleep or went unconscious because suddenly it was light and someone was shaking me. It was John, but I didn’t want to look at him because I’d thought he was so cool, and then he went and did a thing like that. I didn’t hate him, I just felt so sad.
Anyway, he untied me and kept on hugging me and saying he was sorry, he’d thought the other boys would let me free—he hadn’t meant for me to be left there all night. And the weirdest thing was I couldn’t even enjoy his attention. I’d gone kind of numb and empty inside. I asked him to leave me there to die.
I could see he was shocked and scared, probably of getting into trouble, and that’s why I said it. It was like I suddenly saw through the whole of the human race, including you. I know I was a mistake, but kids shouldn’t be hidden away, Dad! You and your damn career is all you ever cared about. And Mom is just the same! Why would it matter if all your fans found out you had a kid? It’s not my fault.
If I never come across another superstar actor again, it would be too soon for me. You’re selfish and cruel and I hope one day something happens to make you realise how wrong it was to treat me like I’m nothing. I don’t even just mean the dumping me here, no. I mean all the years of making me hide, like I have leprosy. I mean leaving me with strangers who can’t remember my name.
I can’t remember getting back to school. John must have dragged me there somehow, because I ended up in his room with him trying to get me in the shower and out of my clothes. Of course, I said no because of the peed jeans and then I cried and cried and it was like it all poured out and I couldn’t stop. I just didn’t care anymore. I pushed him away and then I sat in the shower with all my clothes on until I shook from cold.
In the end I crawled out.
He put me in his bed and wrapped me up in his quilt—which smelled a bit of him—and then he got down next to me and held me. I wish I could say I liked it, but honestly I was beyond all that. I didn’t even register him stroking my hair.
He apologised again and said he knew taking me to the woods was weak and stupid, and that his biggest fault in life was giving in to other people. But he swore he hadn’t known the others had left me there as he’d come back to school early on. Throughout all this, I didn’t say anything at all. Not one word.
But I stopped shaking and he went and got me water and food, and made me eat. I don’t know how he explained my absence to the teachers or managed to swap my room, but he said I would have the spare bed in his room and not go back to Jerk1 and Jerk2.
I didn’t leave that room for five days. The school nurse came to see me and told me I was suffering from exam stress and had to take it easy.
Dad, I still haven’t said much to John, only yes and no, that kind of stuff. Just so you know. Your secret is still safe.
Gareth.
****
Oskar
“It feels weird. We can’t take this stuff.” Bear pushed the contents of the other parcels away. “Must be worth five hundred pounds or more. Clothes, trainers, music. The coat has to be worth two hundred.”
“Exactly, Lollipop! We can sell it. I like the cat ornament.”
“No.” Bear shook his head. “It would be dishonest. And what if it’s some old pervert or someone that means us harm? And how do they know I like cats?” He hugged the cat. “I love cats. I wish he was real.”
“Look, it’s obviously a mistake. Amazon got our names mixed up, somehow. Once, my mum received a load of really expensive chocolate fondue packs meant for someone else. When she asked the postman, he said it happens all the time.” He kicked Bear’s foot. “’Cause you look the kind of boy who likes cats. You’re always stroking cats and dogs in the street. You even stroke me!”
“But this lot isn’t from Amazon.”
“No, but who cares? It says our names on the boxes. It’s not illegal.”
“I don’t know. Just feels wrong.”
Oskar sighed. There was no way under Madonna’s sun he was giving up the boots, or the leather coat. “Well, what do you suggest we do with it, then?”
“Donate it to charity.”
“Fuck that! I’m a charity. I can’t afford even to buy hairspray.” Bear laughed and pushed him. Oskar didn’t like it, the physical tussling. He pushed Bear back and then, when he landed on his back, leapt on top to give him a piece of his mind. He did like it. He liked it all, and then he wanted more.
“Mm, come here.” Bear’s hands began stroking up and down his back. To avoid looking into his eyes, Oskar opened his mouth against Bear’s and kissed him deeply. When Bear wasn’t around, he hated the boyfriend stuff, which was weak and unnecessary. It kept him awake at night and stole into thoughts in lectures.
“Oskar?” He suddenly withdrew his mouth and held him still. “What if the parcels are to do with the stalker guy? I’ve seen him every day this week. He was in the car park, then college. He even waved at me!”
Oskar rolled off and scratched his head. “I never thought of that. He waved at you?” DSS spies didn’t send parcels and gifts tied up with shiny bows and velvet ribbon.
Bear nodded. “They must be connected. It’s too big a coincidence. What does he want from us?”
A half-formed thought was beginning. “I think—I’m not sure—but I think he wants to groom us. He’s sending stuff to get us interested. Then he’ll come forward and try to be friendly. Did you wave back?”
“Yeah. Seemed rude not to. But groom us for what?”
“Fuck sake! Don’t encourage him. Next time he waves, show him your finger.” Oskar moved closer and protectively grabbed Bear’s leg. “He’s got no right to fucking wave at you. He’s a paedo.”
“Except we’re not kids. I’m not even very handsome.”
“Of course you are!” Oskar pushed him flat again. “Any self-respecting paedo would be after you, Lollipop.” He considered stroking Bear’s arm, but it seemed too touchy-feely so instead elbowed him sharply.
Bear sniggered. “You’re jealous a paedo’s waving at me. Contrary.”
Oskar ignored him. “What we need is a plan. Find out who he is and what he wants. I’m keeping the boots, though.”
“We could lie in wait for him, I guess.”
“Then torture?”
“No! I was going to say follow him. Sometimes he comes to the hostel on foot, which makes me think he lives nearby.”
“Good idea! You—” Oskar elbowed Bear again “—are really coming on.”
“It’s all the bruises,” Bear rubbed his leg thoughtfully. “Put the boots on.”
&nb
sp; “Now?” Oskar feigned disinterest. “Don’t feel like it.”
“Yeah. Put them on then I’ll take us out for lunch. You can show off.”
“In the refec?” College would be teeming with ogling students. The silver skull-encrusted boots would certainly interfere with the college junk food consumption of the day. “Everyone will stare.” He thought a second. “They always stare at me. It’s really belittling.” He paused. “No. That’s not the word.”
“Satisfactory? Exciting?”
“Yeah.”
“Arousing?”
“No.” Oskar scowled. “Oh, wait.” He considered. “Yeah.”
“Yeah.” Bear smiled. “So, shall we go?”
“OK, then. Just for you.”
Bear raised an eyebrow and put his head on one side, as if waiting.
“Lollipop.”
****
“It’s called a rota,” he explained. Pink blew bubbles and Carol HS made notes. “We have to find out where his base is so we can confront him.”
“Rhymes with floater.” Carol HS laughed, very unnecessarily.
“Like in films?” Pink said. “It’s too chilly to be hanging round much. Be Christmas soon.” She blew on her hands. “You can see my breath. Why don’t we go and buy some decorations instead?”
Oskar’s head lurched. Christmas. Something he wasn’t going to think about, not today and not tomorrow. Last year, he’d stayed in bed, listening to Mum getting steadily more drunk.
“And a tree.”
He snapped his fingers to get their attention then adopted a ponderous, slow manner of talking to emphasise the importance of the mission. “The guy comes to the hostel every day, but not at the same time. Sometimes he walks, other times he’s in a car. Shouldn’t be too hard to follow him back. Are you following?”
Carol HS sighed deeply. “What if he sees us? I’m not taking any risks. Why can’t we just go to the police? And stop talking like a kiddie entertainer.”