“And we’ll just wait for Prince Edward over here to finish summoning Pete Tong.”
“It’s a biology class, not a history lesson,” Edward muttered, presuming he was talking to himself. Unfortunately, the teacher heard.
“I’m not taking lectures from an insolent teenager, whose idea of a good tune sounds like something from a mid-nineties Berlin discotheque,” he said, raising his voice for all to hear. Some of the class sniggered, forcing Edward to sink lower into his seat, flustered. ‘Discotheque’. Any excuse to join the mocking of a fellow pupil was going to be pounced on.
Riding this unexpected wave of popularity, the teacher turned to the whiteboard to resume his lesson. “That’s an infraction for you, Edward. See me after the bell,” he drawled. “And while we’re at it, your phone s’il vous plait, monsieur. Or are you going to lecture me on how this is not a French lesson?”
The other children in class chuckled to themselves and Edward reluctantly handed his phone over to the outstretched hand of the biology teacher. The latter looked down at the screen as a notification popped up.
“Looks like someone called ‘Toshy’ has left you a voicemail. I’ve never heard of that DJ.” The laughter became more audible and Edward’s eyes steamed up, at the same time as his blood began to boil. “Must be a bit before my time. Each to their own, eh?”
“Sorry, sir,” Edward hissed through gritted teeth. He ached to bring up the rumour swirling around the school, that the teacher’s partner had slept with one of the sixth formers. His bitter side wanted to spare no salacious detail. Tongue tied, he said nothing and remained slouched in his rigid chair.
“Seriously Edward, that’s a detention tomorrow lunch. More’s the pity because I hear it’s going to be nice weather,” the teacher quipped.
If Edward had a kill list, his biology tutor would unequivocally be at the top, having leap-frogged the next-door neighbour who kept those scary dogs in his front garden every day; and Simon Wainwright. The latter had left the school years ago; coincidentally enough, around the same time Thomas Osbourne had departed. Some say Wainwright was expelled from all schools in town. Others claimed he overdosed on a potent batch of cherry cola (no, that’s not street slang). Either way, good riddance to bad rubbish was the consensus amongst staff and pupils at Hatherleigh.
The rest of the double lesson dragged on. Edward could have enjoyed the subject matter – genetics – but it was hard to settle and retain concentration after getting off to such a fractious start with the teacher.
“Let us now consider why traits such as eye colour and attached earlobes are not true autosomal recessive characteristics,” the teacher droned on.
Edward yearned for the warm, understanding words of his parents Dwayne and Linda. They could have single-handedly wiped the floor with this abominable excuse for a science teacher.
“On this slide are a list of diseases. For your homework, I want you to investigate whether each condition is dominant, recessive or perhaps even co-dominant.”
Slowly and deliberately, the pupils stashed their work into their school bags. “Excuse me, lads and ladies. Who said you could begin packing away? We have four minutes by my watch, so I think we could make a start with this assignment.”
When the bell did go a few minutes later, the teacher bellowed across the room, projecting his voice over the fervent chatting and creaking of chairs. “May I please speak to Master Kreus before he departs the room?”
When the remainder of the class had vacated, Edward approached his desk in silence.
“Not the greatest start to an academic year is it, Edward?” the teacher said. He reached under his desk to retrieve Edward’s smartphone and placed it on the wooden table-top in front of them. “Toshy. You were good friends with Tom Osbourne back in the day, were you not?” the teacher continued, raising his neatly plucked eyebrows in Edward’s direction.
For a man in his late thirties, he had impeccable fashion sense and excellent hygiene. Edward ignored these and chose to zone in on everything wrong with the man sitting on the other side of that desk.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Edward replied.
“It was a crying shame he left this school. He was an asset; bright and hard-working. One of the smartest kids I can remember. You would do well to follow his lead, Edward. Apply yourself like I know you can.”
Edward nodded but said nothing.
“That means phones off in class, sit up straight during lessons, and tuck your shirt in.”
“Yes sir,” said Edward meekly.
“And tuck your shirt in.”
“Yes sir, I heard sir.”
“And tuck your shirt in.”
Edward tilted his head slightly to one side, quizzically.
“Oh for God’s sake Edward, tuck your effing shirt in!” the teacher shouted. He saw that the classroom door was wide open and attempted to backtrack.
Clearing his throat, he spoke softer. “Edward, have some more self-awareness about your appearance. The way you conduct yourself now will become a habit when you leave school. You want good habits to follow you through the rest of your life, don’t you?”
“I suppose you’re right—”
“It was a rhetorical question and of course I’m right. You’re, what, seventeen now? Boys your age have been blown to smithereens in the Somme to fight for their country. Kids younger than you have been sent down the mines to make ends meet for their family. Now take your phone and get to your next lesson. This is your final warning, d’accord?” he said.
Edward clutched his phone and walked out of the biology lab.
“Tell Toshy I said hi,” the teacher mocked as Edward left the room.
“Fucking creepy weirdo,” Edward snarled out loud. He couldn’t restrain his opinion of that man any longer. The temptation to speak his mind was overpowering. Mercifully there was no one else in the corridor, since the next lessons had already started. There was something disconcerting about the way that man had spoken to him. The way he stared into Edward’s eyes. Thoughtfully. Longingly? Eww, don’t talk sick. He’s my teacher. Jesus.
Questions persisted though: did the teacher have suspicions about the strength of Edward’s friendship with Tom? Edward suddenly became overcome with self-consciousness; did he show any tell-tale signs, any give-away quirks that would arouse people’s suspicions? He had yet to “come out” to anyone. He hadn’t even admitted to himself that he… had a thing for…
Why should it matter anyway? Who cares? His affection for Tom superseded any sense of shame. He settled for defaming his teacher under his breath whilst listening to his voicemail. The phone signal in the school building was poor, meaning that he could not listen to the message Tom had left. He tried phoning back instead.
After a few rings, a shaky voice answered.
“Hey Ed.”
There was a lot of static on the line and Tom’s words were barely audible. It was as if he was deliberately scrunching up wads of paper right next to the speaker.
“Tosh, what’s up? Haven’t heard from you in like two weeks.” Edward tried, and only half-succeeded, in avoiding coming across as panicky or desperate. “You’ve never called me during the school day.”
“I thought…you might want to meet up near the lake after school…I’ll leave early… brzzzrtt… krrfllffll.”
“Huh? You still on holiday man? You’re in France still, right?”
“Come… clkkk…the lake…shzzzhhh… the lake…” Then the dial tone blasted Edward’s eardrum and he returned the phone to his pocket.
He tried to call his friend again but could not get through. He sent a text message. After failing to receive a reply for eight minutes he grew impatient and tried ringing Tom for a third time. Once again, no one picked up.
All of this played on Edward’s mind for the remainder of the afternoon. He couldn’t contain himself and had sprinted through the school gates before the bell even finished ringing at the end of the day. He pedalled furiously to the hidden
paddock with the sloped embankment of knee-high grass. It had become a focal point for them over the months.
Even though the sky was dim, Edward could make out Tom sitting on the grass with his legs tucked up against his chest. The glow from Edward’s bike light illuminated him in the near distance, but Tom did not flinch. He sat bolt upright, frozen in time. His wide eyes were fixed ahead on the far side of the lake.
Edward approached and laid his bike down, directing his headlamp such that the light would bathe the pair of them in a white glow. He chose to sit cross-legged, fidgeting to make himself comfortable on the damp ground.
“What’s up?” he asked. “Why the phone call earlier? I could only make out half of what you said.” He lowered his head closer to Tom, as though about to reveal a secret. “I didn’t know you’d come back from France. How was it?”
Tom did not respond directly to this inquisition. He was focussed on the darkening scenery: the lake and the treeline and the birds. And an inner turmoil that Edward couldn’t put a finger on.
“How was your first week of term?” he asked of Edward, without turning to look at him. He sounded flat, robotic. “Happy birthday for the other day, by the way. Sorry I missed it.”
Edward grew more concerned. “You could’ve at least messaged a few times – you know, just to say you’re having a good time or safe or whatever.”
Eventually, Tom yielded and moved his head to face Edward. The beam from Edward’s bike light reflected off him. Edward gasped, an involuntary reflex that caused him to recoil.
“What the—” he began.
“I know, quite hard to hide it, even in the dark,” Tom said. Gone was his smooth, unblemished skin; replaced with a face disfigured by pain. One eye was bloodshot, his cheek puffy with a red welt on one side. His head lolled to and fro, perceptibly so – up and down, this way and that – as if he was drowsy or in a state of deep trance.
“How the hell did you do that?” The words spilled out of Edward’s mouth automatically. All his focus was spent on taking in the unexpected sight that presented itself in the twilight gloom.
“There was no holiday,” Tom mumbled. He paused to let this take effect. Edward was still haunted by the wretched state of his best friend’s face and could not muster the ability to speak out.
“My parents are splitting up,” Tom went on. “They started arguing so much over the summer, I couldn’t invite you round.”
“You could’ve always come to my place.” Edward almost shouted this out of sheer exasperation at what he was hearing. He did not care so much about the fact Tom’s mother and father were parting company. It was more the fact that Tom had deceived him.
Tom closed his mouth and exhaled a long stream of air from his flared nostrils. Steeling himself, he bowed his head to brace for the reaction to what he had to say next.
“The thing is,” he started, “you’re part of the problem.”
Edward fixed him with an icy stare. Tom persevered, taking his time to find the right words. “I told them I’m…I said I was…I came out to them. They got suspicious with the amount of time I was spending with you. Eventually they put two and two together and started giving me hell.”
“What’s it matter to you?” Edward spat these words venomously.
“It matters, ‘cause they’re my parents and they came out with all sorts of bullshit about respectability and their church group and how I’m too young and easily influenced—”
Hyperbole came to the fore as Edward festered with rage. “Fuck ‘em! To hell with their religion!” he scolded. “You’re just gonna turn your back on everything we’ve done, you’re happy to let them dictate your life forever?”
“My dad’s moved out,” Tom said, taking a much more restrained tone as he looked down at the grass beneath his feet. “He was proper pissed and I haven’t seen him in, like, two weeks. My mum is trying to cope but she’s struggling to take all this in her stride. We don’t speak much.”
Edward raised a tentative hand to his friend’s battered face and with the back of his palm, lightly stroked the bruised skin. It was hot to the touch, which alarmed him.
“Your face. They didn’t, surely?” He felt sick at the thought of these fastidious religious head-cases dishing out an unholy beating to their own child. The hypocrisy got to Edward more than anything else.
“No, that was me. I flounced out the room when they were yelling at me and I twatted myself on the doorway,” Tom said, unable to prevent himself from smirking at his own folly.
“That was deliberate?”
Tom sighed at length. “I don’t know man. I don’t fucking know.”
“You need help,” Edward stated as a matter of fact. “Why didn’t you speak to me? We share everything.”
“Trust me Ed, you were better off not knowing. I mean, look at you now. How are you feeling, compared to the happiness you felt when you thought I was sunning it up in the French Riviera?”
The bike on Edward’s handlebar flickered intermittently, coinciding with a rustling from the pitch black, wooded area behind them. They gasped and swung their heads round, startled, only to spot a vixen encroaching on the grassy embankment, its fur caught on the edges of the shaft of light. Following her was a pair of fluffy cubs. They trotted after their mother as they emerged from their den for an evening’s hunting. No attention was paid to the humans in crisis, sitting a short distance away on the slope.
Turning back to look at his shaking friend, Edward sighed. “What about professional help? It sort of worked for me. When I stuck with it, anyway.”
“I already am. I’m on my third – no wait, my head’s messed up – fourth appointment with a counsellor,” explained Tom. Tears appeared on his eyes. He held up his knees by interlocking his hands in front of them. Steady gusts of wind blew past and rippled his thick hair, converted dark by the growing shadows. He did not want to blink and send these tears trickling down his face, but the weight of them stung and he had no choice but to close his eyes and allow gravity to pull them earthwards.
When the tears reached his jawbone – the sharp apex of his cheeks and supple neck – he looked away and sniffled. Just one sniff, quick and dignified, to stymie the flow of his sinuses.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say,” Edward said quietly. He could not help but find himself in near fascination at Tom’s abject state. Rare were the times Edward should find himself in the position of consoling his best friend.
“Don’t say anything.” Tom moved his head back to stare at the lake ahead of him. “Just, be there for me. That’s enough.”
Edward could only make out Tom’s face in profile, how his mouth barely moved as he spoke. The bruising covered much of one side of his face, akin to a birthmark. It constricted his ability to speak clearly, or perhaps he simply did not feel like talking if he could help it.
“Here,” Tom said after a long silence. He handed Edward a parcel, neatly wrapped in colourful paper.
“What’s that?” whispered Edward.
“It’s a surprise. For you to find out.”
Edward took the gift. Even in the gathering darkness, he could guess what was inside. He opened it gingerly, while watching Tom staring across the lake. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to. You deserved better last week. Happy birthday again.”
“Shut your face.”
Tom turned to face Edward, who held up his new diary.
“The cover says ‘Shut your face. Start writing’.” A cylindrical metal object fell from it and landed in his lap. He examined it in the arc of his flickering bike light.
“Can’t write if you don’t have anything to write with,” Tom said vacantly.
Edward had no idea something as basic as a pen could be so heavy, but it became clear that this was an expensive fountain pen of half-decent quality.
“Thanks. I don’t know what else to say.”
“Did you like the little bow I tied on top of the wrapping paper?”
Shifting across the grass, Edward gripped a fistful of Tom’s hooded fleece and pulled him closer.
“I’ll take that as a maybe,” Tom said, startled. “What are you doing?”
“Shh,” Edward whispered. “I got you.”
Tom did not know how to react. Puzzled though he was, he was also extremely curious at this surge of confidence from his closest friend. The feelings had always been there, the spark had long resonated between them.
“Seriously?” he faltered as Edward proceeded to run a hand down the length of Tom’s chest, abdomen, crotch.
Yet Tom did not resist, all the while Edward maintained contact with his groin and upper legs. Whatever Edward was doing worked, because there was more to grab hold of a few moments later. Taking this as a positive sign, Edward flung himself on top of Tom, pushing his back to the ground and straddling his legs. Edward gyrated against his partner’s crotch, before leaning in for a drawn-out kiss. The intensity ramped up as Tom let his concerns and his troubles ease to the back of his mind.
“The face, watch the face,” snapped Tom, flinching as Edward innocently strayed towards the wounded cheek. Edward apologised hastily and carried on kissing and caressing with a lighter touch.
The rough grinding and soft groaning were reciprocated by Tom, who shut his eyes and shuddered instinctively when Edward nipped at his neck. They were both hot and clammy, and Tom helped Edward remove his fleece and undershirt. Likewise, Edward lowered Tom’s trousers. And underwear.
Edward leaned forward, his upper body exposed from the midriff. He forced himself close to Toshy’s face, and Toshy obliged. While Edward jerked off Tom, the bike light cut out. This didn’t stop them; they used instinct to persist. In the absence of any light, they explored each other with even more zeal, knowing that no one would disturb them now.
Screams of Thy Neighbour Page 10