Heartbreak Boys

by Simon James Green

  “No, a bit, some,” Elliot replies. “I’m OK. I’m good!”

  Jane sighs. She seems like a woman on the edge. She has slightly wild hair and googly eyes, and only half pays attention to anyone else on the table because she’s always watching Elliot.

  Elliot sits down and Jack leans over to him. “Sensational. Triumphant. Five stars.”

  “Thanks, Jack!” Elliot grins.

  “You were really funny, mate,” my dad adds. He turns to Jane. “You’ve got a right one here!”

  Jane rolls her eyes. “Try living with him when he’s strumming that instrument almost every waking hour!”

  “Oo-er!” Elliot grins.

  Jane shakes her head. “Seriously, El, not now.”

  Elliot’s eyes meet mine. “Congratulations,” I say.

  “Thanks!” He smiles.

  I feel myself blush.

  And then Rose pipes up, and whether it’s just classic Rose, or whether it’s because it’s well past her bedtime, I don’t know, but she says, apropos of nothing,

  “Nate and Jack are husbands.”

  Elliot’s eyes widen. “Ohhhhh,” he says. “Oh, I didn’t realize. Ohh.”

  “Um—” I begin.

  “Ohh, yay!” Elliot continues, smiling.

  “No, you see, that’s not true,” I say. “We’re—”

  “We’re definitely not,” Jack interrupts.

  “Definitely not,” I confirm.

  “Oh god, are you actually?” Mum asks.

  I screw my face up. “What? No, I just said—”

  “Just, there’s a lot of denial happening, which normally—”

  “Means something which isn’t a thing, is actually a thing,” Dad chimes in. “We thought Rose was winding you up before.”

  “She was,” I scowl.

  “I was deadly serious,” Rose says, totally deadpan.

  “Jack and me are—” And I say “barely friends” at the exact same time he says “good mates”, and then he just crosses his arms, sits back in his chair and stares at me like I’ve thrown shit at him.

  “OMG, awkward,” Rose mutters, slurping her Coke.

  I decide the best thing now is just to shut up. Thing is, I didn’t mean it in a bad way – it’s just that we weren’t really friends at all, and now it sort of feels like we’re moving towards that again, but I didn’t want to presume we were full-on friends, hence the qualification of “barely” which, on reflection, I can see sounds bad. You see, this is why I really shouldn’t say stuff. Some people are better just not taking part in life.

  “So, here’s a thought!” Elliot’s mum says. “The hotel Elliot and I are staying at is really quiet, it’s a spa hotel, really nice, and they’ve got some great deals on, so why don’t you guys stay the night? It’s only up the road. The boys can bunk in Elliot’s room, means you’ll only need a room for you two and Rose.”

  Mum and Dad glance at each other and just as Dad opens his mouth to doubtless pour cold water on the idea, Mum’s straight in with,

  “If there’s hot running water and some bed linen with a decent thread count, I’m in.”

  Dad gives her a look, which I know to be the look of ‘but what about the cost?’

  Mum shrugs. “I don’t care. I can’t live like this all summer.”

  “Like this? Like what?” Dad hisses.

  “Vagabonds,” Mum says. “And I don’t think it’s coincidence that Karen posted pics of her last cruise on Facebook yesterday, just after I’d posted one from our damp and unsanitary campsite. She’s bragging.”

  “It wasn’t damp,” Dad says.

  “We’re doing the spa hotel,” Mum insists.

  So, that appears to be settled.

  “Sleepover!” Elliot says, looking wildly excited.

  “Have you got extra beds in your room, then?” I ask Elliot.

  He shakes his head, which is the reaction I was afraid he would have. “Nah, but it’s a super-king-sized bed. It’s massive. I did an experiment and I can actually sleep across it in either direction – that’s how big it is.” He stretches his arms out wide. “Like, even bigger than this.”

  “Can you really fit three boys in a bed?” I ask.

  Jack snorts. “Believe me, Nate, you can.”

  He winks at me and I ignore him hard.

  “I’m going to get some air,” Jack says, leaving the table.

  I watch him go. He’s still teasing me, which is something, but I saw the look on his face when I said we were “barely friends” and I know that I (unintentionally) hurt him, because, despite the years, I know Jack. I owe him an apology.

  “I’m Like a Bird” by Nelly Furtado starts playing over the club’s speaker system. “Oh my GOOOOOD!” Elliot exclaims. “Who’s dancing? I’m dancing!” And he runs into the middle of the dance floor. Rose squeals in delight too, and runs up to join him, giggling and copying Elliot when he literally flaps his arms about like a bird on the chorus, like some demented pterodactyl. I cannot help smiling as I watch this boy. He’s so happy, so free, he just does his thing and he doesn’t care. And his joy is utterly infectious, as other people get up and copy his goofy dance, revelling in its geekiness – other kids, two middle-aged women, an older guy – all loving it. Loving this moment. Loving life.

  I wish I felt like that. Could feel like that. And with Tariq I think I nearly was.

  I down the dregs of my Coke. I want to talk to Jack. It’s weird, but seeing Elliot so happy makes me want that same happiness so badly that I know I somehow have to sort my head out. Jack seems like he’s dealing with it better than me – maybe I should listen to him, take a leaf out of his book; maybe he knows the secret, I don’t know. What I do know is that this feeling, this wanting to talk, this sense that Jack will get me, well, that’s a lot like what we used to have before we stopped speaking. And that means “barely friends” was pretty unforgivable. We’re friends. He’s my friend.

  The cool evening air hits me as I push through the main exit and out into the car park. But there’s no sign of Jack. I mooch around the cars, head round the side of the building, past a side door which has old beer kegs and drink crates stacked outside. And then further up, in the orange glow from a street light, I see Jack and some other lad, in silhouette, snogging up against the wall. I watch for, like, five seconds, my stomach churning, then quickly turn and head back the way I came.

  Maybe he was never that into Dylan at all. How can he be all over some other guy so quickly? I can’t even think of doing that right now. And not just because of Tariq. It takes me ages to really like someone enough to even think about kissing them. And I’m not judging Jack, I totally respect that everyone has their own way of doing things, but it makes me wonder, is there really any point in talking to him after all? If he’s already over it, maybe he never really cared anyway? Is there even a chance we can still be mates? Or have we just drifted apart too much in the last few years? And I don’t know, I don’t know, but I know I feel funny about seeing Jack kiss that boy, and I don’t know what that feeling is, and I don’t know why it’s making me feel bad, but somehow it feels like a betrayal, just like it somehow felt like a betrayal when he came out in year nine, and I don’t understand it and I don’t like it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  JACK

  Connor is not what I would call a good kisser. He’s quite bitey, a bit like an overenthusiastic puppy, and at the same time quite slurpy and sucky. “Slow down,” I tell him. “I’m not chicken ramen.”

  He stops and pulls back. “Ah, sorry.”

  He’s cute. Roughly my age. Red T-shirt and grey fleece shorts, which is a boy-next-door type of look that I really like – totally opposite to uber-jock Dylan, but all the better for it. He was sitting by himself when I walked outside feeling miserable and like I had to be any place except near Nate and Elliot as they fall in love. Nate made his feelings very clear when he said we were “barely friends”, so it’s stupid really, but I guess some part of me was starting to th
ink we were getting back to how things used to be. I see how he is with Elliot, though, and I realize that’s not gonna happen. Our friendship is long gone. I annoy him too much. There’s too much baggage. Hell, maybe I can’t really forgive him for everything that’s gone on.

  This lad glanced up as he heard the main doors open, then looked me up and down. I’m used to that reaction with some of my outfits, but I feel this one is particularly subtle. I mean, I’m wearing chinos, for goodness’ sake – skinny fit, sure, but still. And just a nice plain T-shirt … with great big writing on the front which reads:

  I BOYS

  Mwah! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Literally no one has batted an eyelid at it all night, so I was glad this boy had, because what’s the point if no one so much as tuts as you? And when he said,

  “Having fun?”

  I knew I was in with some sort of chance with him, because he was speaking to me.

  “No,” I replied. “You?”

  He shook his head. “You from round here? Not seen you before.”

  “How did you guess?”

  “Your T-shirt kind of gives it away.”

  “Pourquoi?”

  He laughed. “And the fact you just said ‘pourquoi.’ Both of those things could get you beaten up round here.” He glanced at me and bit his lip. “I mean, you should have seen the fuss when I came out as bi.”

  He was almost smooth about it. Almost.

  “Who are you here with?” I asked.

  “My parents.” He sounded glum. “My younger sister’s in that dance troupe. You?”

  “I’m with the guy who won,” I said.

  “With him, as in…”

  I smiled. “He’s my cousin.”

  “Oh, OK.” He glanced at me again. “He’s cute.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Runs in the family, huh?”

  He blushed then and rightly so, and so did I, because wow.

  And then our eyes met, for that second or two longer than normal that makes your heart skip a beat.

  “Fancy a wander?” he said.

  “Sure.”

  And then, after a bit of charged silence: “I’m Connor.”

  “And I’m Jack. Nice to meet you.”

  And we turned into each other, just by the wall, and started kissing. This is not love. Of course it’s not. But something in me needed this, and I think something in him needed it too. It’s nice. I know I won’t see this lad again, and I don’t even want to. I just needed to feel like someone out there might still like me.

  *

  Elliot jabbers on for the entire journey back to the hotel, which is good, because Nate is really, like, really silent. Not just quiet. Silent. So something’s up with him … again. Man, I try to do a nice thing, bring Elliot along for some of this thing, and he’s still not happy.

  Elliot bounds into the huge bedroom and immediately starts showing us around. “Bathroom through there – two sinks! That’s 0.66 recurring of a sink each!” The fact he doesn’t need to hesitate before telling us that makes me feel deeply inadequate. “Minibar,” he says, pointing to a small cabinet in the main room. “I had a vodka and Coke last night – don’t tell Mum!”

  “Elliot, it’ll show up on the bill,” I tell him, but he carries on, oblivious.

  “Armchairs and occasional table…”

  Pretty obvious, but great. Not entirely my style, slightly too old people’s home for me; they look way too comfortable.

  “Windows!”

  I smirk at Nate, but he appears to be taking the tour seriously, nodding at everything Elliot’s pointing out.

  “The bed!” he says with a flourish.

  We all look at it.

  It is a big bed.

  “So, to save awkwardness,” Elliot says, “are we sleeping in our boxers, or—”

  “OK, so, you’re my cousin, Elliot,” I say. “We’re not gonna be naked. This isn’t Alabama.”

  “OK, but, I was going to say or jim-jams.” He looks at me with wide eyes and a look on his face of, Really?

  “Oh.”

  “Jim-jams,” Nate pipes up. “Or loungewear, as Jack would call it.”

  I nod.

  “Cool, and again, to save any awkwardness, just to also say that first thing in the morning, I usually have a—”

  I put my hand up. “Elliot, it’s cool, I know, it’s a guy thing, we probably all will have. But we don’t need to talk about it.”

  He blinks at me. “A little sing and a dance to Britney, it’s my wake-up morning routine,” he says in a small voice.

  I nod again. “Ah.”

  Nate snorts, then jumps on the bed, landing on the far right side. “I’ll take this end,” he says.

  I wonder where Nate would prefer me. He seems off, so I reckon safest bet would be the other side, with Elliot in the middle. Plus, if Nate likes Elliot he’ll probably want to be next to him anyway…

  “You OK in the middle, Elliot?”

  Elliot grins. “I’ll put my loungewear on in the bathroom.” And he nips off.

  I turn to Nate. “All right?”

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Yeah.”

  His eyes flick away and then flick back to me again. “Have fun tonight?” he asks.

  There’s a pointedness in his tone. It puts me slightly on edge. “It was OK.”

  He nods. “I popped out to come and find you – I think you were with some guy.”

  Ohhhhh my god. Awkward.

  “Fast work,” Nate mutters.

  “Just checking I’ve still got it,” I quip.

  Nate rolls his eyes. “Not a competition, but OK.”

  “Who said anything about a competition?”

  “Just feels like you’re out to prove something,” Nate says.

  “Excuse me? What?”

  He shrugs. “Maybe I’m wrong.”

  “Yeah. You are.” I stare at him.

  He looks away. “OK. Sorry.”

  I stare at him. What the actual hell?

  Elliot reappears, in black shorts and a grey marl T-shirt with the NASA logo. “Wow,” I say. “You really like space, huh?”

  “Space is infinite,” Elliot says. “Don’t you ever look up there at night and think, wow?”

  I really hope this isn’t the sort of late-night chatter we’re going to be having. I am way too sober if it is.

  Nate and I change too and we hop into the bed, and so there the three of us are, like some wholesome fairy tale, all tucked up, in our pyjamas. I have a quick check on Insta. The post from the talent show is doing well – plenty of likes, and lots of comments, mainly asking who it was we saw. Ignoring them will heighten the mystery. I know how to play the game and there’s more power in what’s left unsaid.

  Then I make the mistake of scrolling and seeing Dylan’s pic – him and Tariq cuddled up together, also in some hotel bed. You’ve stolen my heart and made me the happiest boy alive, says the caption. They. Look. So. Content. And. In. Love. And all of a sudden, the snog with Connor feels cheap and pointless, and being in this stupid bed with Elliot and Nate feels ridiculous. Dylan’s out there living his life, and I’m here just pretending.

  It’s two a.m. and we’re getting no sleep, thanks to one hyperactive little ball of energy in the middle of the bed.

  “So, so, so, but was there a moment when you realized you were gay, or did it just happen gradually?” Elliot asks. This is about his hundredth question and I really want this to end now. “Jack?”

  “End of year eight,” I say. I turn on my side. Discussion over.

  “Nate?” Elliot blabbers on. “What about you? Like, did you know when you were ten?”

  I hear Nate’s sharp intake of breath.

  “Strangely specific, Elliot,” I say, rolling back to face them and propping myself up on my elbow. “What makes you say that?”

  Elliot is silent, which is even more suspicious.

  “I came out at prom,” Nate says.

  “Yes, but that wasn’t the question,” I ch
ip in. “Elliot asked when you knew, and he wondered, for some reason, if you might have been ten years old?”

  “Huh,” Nate says.

  OK, so I’m not a fool, I’ve managed to piece together the fact that something is going on here, and it’s clearly connected to when we last all saw one another, when we were ten, and the fateful summer when we spent a lot of time in my TREE HOUSE.

  “I guess, same as Jack, really,” Nate continues.

  “Same as me?” I say.

  “Yeah?”

  “So, like, around year eight or nine.”

  Nate hesitates. “I guess, yeah,” he says.

  I sigh and turn on to my side again, facing away from them. And I’m filled with the most terrible sadness, because I never knew that. I never realized. After I came out in year nine, and Nate never spoke to me again, I thought it was because he felt too awkward, or maybe he felt like if he spoke to me, I would think he fancied me, or maybe he was worried if he spoke to me other people might think he was gay, I don’t know, any number of those reasons. It didn’t cross my mind that he might have been feeling the same sort of things too. And so right there, right in front of me the whole time, was the person who could have made those hateful few years better and less lonely. My best friend could have been by my side. But he wasn’t.

  And now I want to know other things too. I want to know if he thought he might be gay, why didn’t he speak to me? Why didn’t he come round one weekend and say anything? We were best mates. We did everything together. He knew he could trust me. He knew I’d never take the piss or spread gossip, but he said nothing. He just backed off and … disappeared. He made a choice to do that! But Elliot’s here, and Nate clams up at the best of times, so I can’t ask him now.

  But a little later, when Elliot is gently purring in his sleep, I hear Nate whisper,

  “I’m sorry.”

  My heart squeezes.

  “Are you awake, Jack?” he whispers again.

  I don’t answer; just lie there. I don’t know what to say. I’m mad with him. I’m hurt.

  “I was scared,” Nate whispers. “I don’t know if you’re listening, but if you are, I was terrified. I saw all the crap you got at school after you came out, and I … I couldn’t face it. I knew I’d get the same if I told everyone I was gay too, so I didn’t. So that’s why. It’s not because I disapproved of you; it’s because I’m a coward. I’m a coward, and I’m sorry.” He chokes back a little sob. “You deserved better than me.”