The boy turns my phone over in his hand.
“Just take the photo,” Nate says.
“Oi! Little bit of respect for the photographer!” the second boy says.
Nate’s eyes widen and he starts scratching at his forearm.
I clear my throat and look at the boys. Time to bring them onside before they batter us. I know they’re twelve, but they’re scary and fearless and probably have “blades” or whatever the youth call them these days. “See the match today?”
“What match?” the first boy says.
“The … football match.”
The boy squints at me. “Which one?”
I don’t know why this is so hard. I literally hear straight guys say that line all the time, and the other straight guy always seems to know what is being referred to.
“Let’s just take the photo,” Nate says.
“You gonna cuddle up, then?” the second boy says.
“Ha ha ha ha!” I say. “We’re just gonna sit around this camping stove. Try to get us looking relaxed and natural, ideally with a bit of the flame from the stove in the bottom of the shot. We’ll just pose with these simple metal camping mugs – make sure they’re in shot too.”
“Righto,” the first boy says, kneeling down to get his angle, which I must admit impresses me.
Nate sighs as I pass him one of the mugs, and I sit down next to him. “Yes, so, I’ve always enjoyed laughing in a relaxed way!” I say, laughing in a relaxed way.
“What the hell are you saying?” Nate asks.
“I’m talking, so the picture can capture us in mid-relaxed conversation!” I explain. “Jesus, Nate, surely that’s obvious?”
“I’m still shooting!” the boy says.
“Just laugh, Nate. All you have to do is laugh. And if you can’t do that, just talk to me.”
“Saying what?”
“Improvise. Impro-fucking-vise.” I cannot believe how hard Nate is making this. I get that he’s sad about Tariq, I know that this campsite is a long way from ideal, but unless I can somehow get him to smile and enjoy himself, he’s not that great an actor that he’s going to be able to fake the whole “time of our lives” thing, and this whole project will have been pointless.
Nate grits his teeth. “I hate you, I hate this, I wish I wasn’t here.”
“Ha ha ha ha ha!” I reply, entirely for the camera’s benefit.
“Yeah, I think I got some good ’uns,” the boy says, standing again and handing me back my phone.
I swipe through the photos. “Oh, these are good. Nice light.” I show him.
“Huh, yeah, not bad,” he smiles.
“Thanks,” I say.
The boy nods.
“So, are you two … just friends?” the second boy asks.
“YES!” Nate says.
I roll my eyes. “We are,” I confirm. “In the sense that we barely tolerate one another.”
The second boy nods. “I’m Callum. This is my boyfriend, Parker.”
I do my absolute best not to even skip a beat. “Well, that’s awesome – welcome to Gaysville!”
“Huh?” Callum says.
“I mean, I’m gay too,” I clarify.
Callum shrugs. “Yeah, I kinda thought, maybe.” He glances at the Pride flag pin I forgot I had on my hoodie.
“The old gaydar!” I grin.
Callum makes little antennae on his head with his fingers. “Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep!”
I laugh, I love this. It’s great that two twelve-year-olds can be this open to basically complete strangers.
“We’re not out at school or anything yet,” Parker says. “Just to Callum’s parents and my mum.”
The boys look over to where Nate is still sitting on the ground, but he doesn’t look up, just continues to draw a circle in the dirt with his finger.
“Anyway, cool to meet you,” Callum says.
“Yeah, have a nice stay,” Parker adds.
And off they go, Parker giving Callum a playful push, Callum pushing him back, then they chase each other in a circle, before Callum leaps on Parker’s back and Parker runs off with him on piggyback.
And I never thought I’d feel jealous of a twelve-year-old in a campsite like this, but here we are.
“Huh,” I say, sitting down next to Nate. “Well, there’s a lesson. I’ve come here, I’ve made a whole load of terrible assumptions, I’ve judged this place and all the people in it, and actually, those lads, who I assumed were trouble, are the nicest gay kids.”
“Too soon,” Nate says.
“Too soon for what?”
“For you to have some epiphany about your flawed character on the first day of the road trip.”
I let out a long, deep breath. “Cynic. I’m going to see the good in people from now on.” I pat Nate on the leg. “Come on, let’s go and get some lovely food from the canteen, make some friends and have a nice evening.”
The canteen food doesn’t look amazing – the options are limp fish fingers, grey fatty burgers or a tragic slice of pizza, with sides of chips, fries or mash – but maybe it will taste amazing. After all, you shouldn’t judge on appearances! Nate is sitting miserably by himself on one of the far tables, unenthusiastically picking the tomato off his margherita while I wait for the very nice man in front of me to finish loading his plate with burgers. Buoyed by my experience with the friendly lads, I need an icebreaker with this dude, and what better form of icebreaker than an ironic cliché?
“Come here often?” I quip.
The man freezes, and turns his head towards me.
“Are the burgers good?” I continue.
He stares at me. “Are you having a laugh?”
His tone is … somewhat aggressive. I swallow, and try to smile. “What? No. I just…”
“Do I come here often?” he snarls.
“That was a joke,” I say.
“So you were havin’ a laugh.”
“Well, it was an ironic cliché, not really a joke—”
He stares at me, then glances at the Pride flag pin that’s still on my hoodie. “Say that if you’re chatting someone up.”
“Well, not unless you’re really bad at it. Ha!” He isn’t laughing. “Ha ha ha.” He still isn’t laughing. “Ha.”
He looks like he wants to smash my face in.
“I should smash your face in,” he tells me.
“Yes,” I say.
He’s right up close to me. His breath is acrid with cheap beer.
“If you so much as look at me again, mark my words, I will end you.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
NATE
It’s very hard to make sense of what Jack is saying because it’s basically just a stream of words.
“I didn’t even say anything bad I was just making funny small talk but he completely took it the wrong way why are people so angry like literally he went from normal to violent in three seconds flat what is wrong with everyone here I can’t stand it it’s awful and now he’s said that if I even just look at him again he’s going to end me he’s going to end me Nate I mean what the actual hell and I think he’s serious!”
I push the limp pizza slice to the edge of my plate. “Well, don’t look at him, then.”
“But now he’s said that, all I want to do is look!”
I shake my head. “Where’s your food?”
“It’s fine, I think I saw your dad has some Werther’s Originals in the glove compartment, I’ll just have a couple of them.”
“Jack, much as I really don’t care, you have to eat.”
“I think we should go.”
I shrug. “Fine.” I think we should go too. Back home, preferably. I’d convinced myself that if I showed Tariq how I was happy and winning at life, he’d start to have second thoughts about being with Dylan. But now all I can think about is maybe those aren’t the only reasons Tariq doesn’t want to be with me any more. Dylan is fantastically good-looking. He’s got actual muscles. I reckon he has to shave too, you
know, he’s basically a man. And I’m not. I’m pretty much one hundred per cent boy. So even if I can fake the summer of a lifetime, I can’t fake the actual me, in which case, none of this stuff matters. I’m wasting my time.
“Fuuuuuuuuck,” Jack whimpers.
I glance up, and see he’s locked eyes with a man I assume to be The Man Who Will End Him, who appears to be on his way back from getting a bottle of ketchup. Jack’s just staring, unable to break his gaze, a deer in the headlights. The Man Who Will End Him makes a throat-slitting motion.
Jack gasps. “Get me out of here,” he mutters. “I’m too young to die. At least at the hands of that oaf. I’d mind less if it was a yachting accident, or a private jet crash.”
“Come on,” I say, pushing my chair back and standing up. The last thing I need right now is Jack causing yet another scene. All I want is some peace and the chance to wallow in misery about Tariq, and maybe start reading some Camus and embrace my existential crisis. I don’t have the energy for all this drama.
He keeps his head bowed, shuffling along, looking at the floor, and we make it to the entrance of the cafeteria and there’s these little kids sprawled all over the floor, playing with toy cars, and Jack steps one way to avoid them, and then another, and then he just says, “Excuse me, please.”
In a flash, a hard-faced woman with scraped-back hair and leggings is in front of us. “Why you speaking to my kids for?” she demands.
Jack takes an unsteady breath. “I just needed to get by.”
“So why you speaking to them, like you’re more important?”
“I didn’t!” Jack protests.
“Got as much right to be here as you ’ave!” the woman continues.
At which point Jack loses it. “They’re playing in the bloody doorway! Does it really hurt your little brain that much to see they’re in the way?”
“OH MY GOD!” the woman screams. “I’m fuming! Darren? DARREN?”
“Jack, come on,” I say, trying to pull him away.
“Maybe,” Jack says, “if you could parent your kids properly and make them understand this cafeteria is not a playground we wouldn’t have a problem.”
Darren arrives on the scene, and of course it’s the same man that was going to “end” Jack. At which point I just grab Jack, who literally looks like he’s on the brink of tears, pull him out of the canteen and bundle him across the campsite as quickly as I possibly can.
“What the hell, Jack?” I say, as we hotfoot it towards our tent. “Why couldn’t you just leave it?”
“She had a go at me!”
“Ugh!” I say. “Always drama!”
Jack stops dead.
“Now what?” I ask.
“What do you mean by that? Always drama? What’s that about?”
I sigh. “Nothing. Come on.”
“Oh, no, no, no. No. What did you mean?”
I meet his eyes. “I dunno, just that not everything has to be a big deal all the time.”
“All the time?”
I break his stare and glance down at the ground. “Can we just chill out and go back to the tent?”
“Better just to take other people’s shit, huh?” Jack says. “Better just to shrink away, say nothing, not stand up for yourself?”
I flick my eyes back to him. Maybe it’s my paranoia or guilt, but does he mean what I think he means? Is this about year nine? “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“No change there, then.”
We stare at each other for a few moments. I can see the hurt in his eyes and he’s challenging me, seeing if I’m going to go there and admit it. Then, over his shoulder, way back at the entrance to the cafeteria, I see The Man Who is Going to End Jack struggle out, held back by three other blokes, shouting, “I’m gonna find that fucker!”
“We need to go. Now,” I tell Jack.
“Shit,” he says, glancing back. “This chat continues later.”
And we zip off in the general direction of our tent, but taking a detour in case we’re being followed (Jack’s idea), and all the while I’m thinking about what Jack’s just said. How, for all this time, he’s believed our friendship broke down because I’m a coward who didn’t want to stick up for him against the bullies; who probably agreed with some of the teachers that Jack brought a lot of the trouble on himself by being so loud and proud. And, look, in some ways, that’s true. I am a coward, I know I am – although in year nine, it wasn’t for the reasons Jack clearly thinks. Not everyone has his confidence, so it’s not that simple. It’s not that simple, Jack! And just because something might be easy for you, doesn’t mean it’s easy for someone else. I know I owe him an explanation, but I barely understand it myself, so what do I even say?
*
I’m dreaming about Tariq. I’ll spare you the exact details, but let’s just say it’s a nice sort of dream. He’s lying next to me, so close I can feel his breath on my face, gently stroking my arm as he gazes longingly into my eyes … stroking my arm … pressing my arm … jabbing at my arm…
“OW!”
I’m awake. Eyes open. Jack blinking at me through the darkness, eyes wide. “He’s outside,” Jack whispers, voice wobbling.
“Who?”
“The bad man.”
I sigh. “What time is it?”
“Three.”
I wince. “Three a.m.? Just go to sleep, Jack.”
“Can’t,” he says. “I’ve been awake all night. In case he comes.” He leans closer in to me. “He’s going to slash the tent with his knives.”
“No, he isn’t. Go to sleep.”
“Someone’s outside. I heard footsteps.”
I take a deep breath and sit up in my sleeping bag. “Jack, we’re on a campsite, with a lot of other people. Maybe someone went to the toilet.”
“Slow footsteps,” Jack continues. “Footsteps like you might hear in a horror film. Like, step … step … step…”
“OK, I get the picture.”
“And then… AH! AH! AH! AH! AH!” Jack screams, making a knifing action with his hand.
“Shut up!” I hiss.
Jack sighs and flops back down on his back. “So, I did some research—”
“Tell me in the morning.”
“OK, but I looked it up, because I overheard some other couple talking about these luxury cabins? Near here, apparently? So, I googled it, and it’s true, and you can get an actual luxury cabin in the woods, like the real deal, and they have one free tomorrow, so I booked it.”
“What?”
“It’s peak season, we were lucky,” he explains.
“We’re here with my parents!” I tell him. “I mean, I guess anything’s better than here, but my folks are all about this being a family thing. I don’t think it’s on the cards for me and you to just go off to some shed in the forest.”
“Cabin.”
“They’ll never agree. Especially Mum.”
“Well, it’s booked now, so. I can’t stay here. I’m persona non grata. Leave your folks to me – it’s only one night, I’ll talk them round. Plus, you’ll love it. Plus, we’ll definitely get some better pictures. And we need them, because guess who’s started following our account?”
I flick my eyes to his.
“Exactly,” Jack says. “Judas and Iago. And they’ve recently posted a picture of—”
“Don’t tell me. Just don’t tell me.”
Jack nods. “Were you dreaming about him?”
I close my eyes.
“You were saying some stuff. In your sleep.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“OK, then.”
We lie in silence for a bit.
I can’t stand it. “What was I saying?”
“You were saying ‘Boo Boo’ a lot. Is that what you called him?”
I flinch at this private, slightly sickly thing now being public.
“Aww!” Jack adds. “That’s cute.”
It’s because that’s what Tariq used to say when he’d come and
find me in the library – “Boo!” I sigh at the memory. God, I loved it when he did that. I would look forward to it through every morning lesson and then wait in hope at lunchtime, in case today would be the day Tariq would step out from behind a bookshelf, or creep up behind me at a desk: “Boo!”
I miss him so much. I want to put my arms around him, but now someone else is doing that. It’s unbearable, and I can’t help it, a tear escapes and I wipe it away angrily.
“Do you want a hug?” Jack asks softly.
“I’m good, thanks,” I tell him, even though I do, because you’re right, Jack, I am a coward.
“Morning, sleepyhead!”
Jack’s dressed in shorts, T-shirt, flip-flops and sunglasses, grinning at me from where’s he standing beside Mum, who’s cooking bacon and eggs on the camping stove. I blink at them through sleep-crusted eyes. “What time is it?”
“Seven!” Jack chirps, lifting his sunglasses up on to his head.
“Shit,” I mutter, starting to edge backwards into the tent. Seven is not morning time, it’s still night as far as I’m concerned.
“Don’t you dare, Nate!” Mum says, brandishing her spatula, like she might use it to spank my arse. “You should take a leaf out of Jack’s book – he’s been up since six!”
“I’ve been up since six!” Jack confirms. “Best part of the day – the morning – right, Mrs Nate?”
“Exactly!” Mum says.
I narrow my eyes at Jack. Sometimes I wonder if he’s a real teenage boy, because a real boy wouldn’t be as happy as he is to be up at such an ungodly hour. There’s even science now that proves kids my age need sleep, so why the hell doesn’t Jack?
“Coffee’s ready!” Jack trills. “Coffee, sleepyhead?”
I groan at him.
“I shall take that as a ‘yes’ – luckily I speak Grumpy Teen Boy!” He grins at my mum, who laughs at his joke. God, he is such a lick arse.
He hands me a tin camping mug of coffee. “Two sugars, don’t worry.”
“How did you—”
“Know? I know everything,” Jack smiles. “I’m very observant and caring.”
I sip the coffee.
“So, your parents are cool with Le Plan,” Jack continues.
“What?” I mutter.
“Lovely idea!” Mum says, flipping the bacon. “Truth be told, it’s the sort of place I implied to Linda at number fifty-five we’d be staying, so you can get the lowdown in case she asks – we don’t want to be caught out.” And then in a sentence which has more wrong with it than I can possibly get my head around, she adds, “And it’ll be nice to have a bit of Boy Time with your best mate!”
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