“It’s OK, Nate.”
I reach across Elliot, find his hand, and squeeze. “It’s OK.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
NATE
I’m woken by Elliot belting out “Baby One More Time” from the en suite as he showers. The boy has some lungs on him.
“It’s quite the concert,” Jack says from the other side of the bed, looking up from his phone. “We’re very privileged to be here today, experiencing this. Would you like some hotel room tea with that vile UHT milk?”
“I can do it.”
Jack slides out of bed. “Relax. I’m making some anyway.”
I watch as he starts fussing around the tiny kettle and the little packets containing the teabags. I still feel guilty about everything. The hurt in Jack’s voice last night nearly killed me, but even so, I’m not sure I would have done anything differently. I don’t know why other people have to make things so hard. The fallout from all the stuff at prom has only gone to prove that point, but even before that, like in year seven, at the disco, Chloe and her gang ripped me to shreds when they saw me and Jack dancing to “Embers” by Owl City – a song we had claimed as being “ours”. For weeks afterwards, if they saw me in the corridors, they would start to flail their arms about, legs kicking out in all directions, like they were in spasm or having a fit. I’d only been enjoying myself; I loved that song, with its message about burning brightly and not letting the fire die, even when things are tough. But the fire did die. Chloe and the others saw to that. If I’d hung out with Jack in year nine, if we’d stayed as best mates, if I’d come out too, I’d have been targeted like he was. I’m not proud of myself. He shone like a star. I was just ashes. And just when the embers were starting to glow again, I feel like this thing with Tariq has extinguished them.
Jack leans against the desk, waiting for the kettle to boil. “Dylan posted a ‘felt cute, might delete later’ pic this morning,” he says. “Vom.”
I roll my eyes.
“Pouting at the camera, like that’s normal first thing in the morning,” he mutters. He glances at me. “You OK?”
I nod. “You?”
“Yeah.” He flicks his eyes back to the kettle.
There’s some clattering from the en suite, then the door flies open, and Elliot does a grand jeté into the room, wearing just a towel tied around his waist.
“Baby one more time!” he howls, performing a version of a pirouette, as the towel flies off him. Otherwise stark bollock naked, he quickly cups his hands over his crotch and fumbles for the towel.
Jack and I just stare at him.
“Shower’s free,” Elliot says, once the towel is safely around him again. “Also, guess what?”
“I don’t know, Elliot, what?” Jack says, pouring hot water into the cups.
“Guess.”
Jack sighs, clearly not quite up for this yet. “The complimentary shampoo is to die for?”
Elliot grins and shakes his head. “Actually, it’s not bad, but it’s not that.”
Jack tips some sugar into my cup.
“News of the day!” Elliot declares, clearly bored of waiting. “I’ve booked us all a group massage! Usually they’re for hen parties, but they know we’re boys. It’s an hour long and it’s to promote relaxation and calm. My treat!” he continues. “Gonna use some of my big cash prize from last night! Have you had a massage before? I had one when we went on holiday to Lanzarote last year.” He lowers his voice pointlessly. “Wear some tight boxers, that’s my tip. Just in case.”
I’ll be honest, I’m not in love with the idea of a random stranger touching me, but it’s thoughtful of Elliot and very kind of him to pay, so I do my best to smile and look grateful.
After a cup of tea, I have a shower. Except I secretly check Instagram in the bathroom, and I see a post from Tariq, and now I just feel like spending the whole day under the duvet. It’s a picture of him laughing, a candid sort of shot, which genuinely looks candid, just Tariq, relaxed, utterly joyful, and the caption: Yesterday ranks as one of my Top Five Best Days Ever.
I already know that his number one Best Day Ever was the time he went to Disneyland, and his number two Best Day Ever was the day he found out he was going to Disneyland. That leaves three further Best Days Ever, and if one of those is taken up with whatever he was doing yesterday with Dylan, my question is, is one of the remaining two anything to do with me? Because, here’s the thing – most of my Best Days Ever are connected with Tariq. Pretty much every single time he came to find me in the library was a Best Day – seriously, just that short interaction with him would put a smile on my face for hours. I would be walking on air I was so happy he spoke to me. The day I actually got together with Tariq is obviously a top Best Day Ever. Mum thought I’d taken up drugs because I was “acting out of character” – that’s how happy I was. Kissing Tariq – Best Day Ever. Spending the day with Tariq in the shopping centre, and even though we didn’t do anything that would make anyone think we were boyfriends, just knowing, having that little secret? Best. Day. Ever.
But do I feature in his top five? Did I ever? Or did I once, but have now been replaced by better memories, better days, a better boy?
Anyway, all this is playing on my mind as Dad signs the massage consent forms, (“Ooh, it says there may be intimate touching! I’m signing a form giving permission for my teenage son to be ‘intimately touched’! Go on, son, go and get ‘intimately touched’!”) and we are introduced to the people who will be doing our massages. Elliot is with a very kind-looking young woman called Maria, who oozes gentleness. Jack is with Javier, who is Spanish and beautiful, with devastating eyes and an aura of calm. And I’m with Olga, who is exactly like you’d imagine. Before I know it, we’re all lying face down on massage tables, boxers on (I took Elliot’s advice), and towels over us from the waist down, in this candlelit room which smells of lavender and other herbs I don’t know the names of, with gentle music playing – mainly the odd ripple of water, some wind, the sound of a quiet bell, some whales shagging, I don’t know.
“Is this pressure OK?” Maria purrs at Elliot.
“Mmm,” he replies.
“This feels all right?” Javier asks Jack.
“Huh, yeeeeah,” Jack moans. “Ahhh, yeeeeeah…”
Olga whacks me hard on the back. “YOU HAVE MANY KNOTS! WE NEED MUCH PRESSURE!”
I grimace and bite into the pillow. I’m not sure what the protocol is, but I sense I’m just meant to take it. We lie in silence for a bit, the other two making occasional groans of what definitely sounds like pleasure, while Olga works away on me like a pneumatic drill, pummelling my flesh and muttering things like, “So many knots!” and, “Ach! So tight!”
Of course, Elliot can’t stay quiet for long, so after about five minutes he pipes up with, “So, we can spend the day in the spa here, if you boys fancy it? Jack?”
“Yes, perfect,” he moans. “Oh my god, this is better than red velvet cake.”
“Nate? Or do you think your folks will want to get away?”
“I mean, ARGH! AH! AH! I’m sure they’ll AHHH! HA! ARGH! UG! Be happy to stick around for a—WAAAAA AHH! Christ!”
“RELAX!” commands Olga. “So TENSE! These knots!”
I release a breath. “I’ll do whatever.”
“We could swim for a bit,” Elliot says.
“Yeah.”
“And there’s a sauna, steam room and some relaxation pods…”
“Hm,” I mutter, finding it hard to muster the enthusiasm for anything because all I can think about is, AM I ONE OF TARIQ’S TOP FIVE DAYS? And, to a lesser extent: Am I just one giant bruise at this point?
“What’s up, Nate?” Jack asks.
It almost makes me smile, the way Jack just knows something is up. He’s always had this sort of sixth sense. He’d know when I was worrying about a test, or upset about something. But what I’m upset about today is stupid. And I don’t really want to share it. So I just say, “Nothing.”
“
’Cause you sound kinda sad,” he continues.
I don’t know what Olga does, but something pings sharply, by my spine. “ARGH! I’m fine.”
“Sometimes it’s good to talk,” Elliot adds. “If you’re sad.”
“I’m not sad.” I take a deep breath, then exhale. “I’m – AAAARGH! – not.”
“We had this guy come to our school, year eight, it was, and he did this whole speech on how it’s good to talk, especially boys, because apparently we’re really bad at it? He said we should share our concerns, anxieties and fears. So I told this other boy who was one of my friends that I was worried about the fact I hadn’t started puberty yet, you know, I thought we could have an adult conversation about it? Anyway, he nodded and listened, and then he went and told everyone and then at lunchtime I got gaffer taped to one of the goalposts on the playing field by some bigger, very definitely pubescent boys, with a sign around my neck, which read ‘I’ve got no pubes’. But that aside, yay for talking.”
I do actually laugh at this. “I’m sorry, Elliot. It’s not funny.”
“Yeah, I know,” he says. “It’s fine.”
I sigh again, as Olga works her thumb under my shoulder blade. It’s starting to feel nicer. There’s tension releasing. “It’s just Tariq,” I say. And then I explain the Top Five Day thing, just blurt it all out, because if I stop to think about it too much I’ll never say it.
No one says anything.
Nothing from Jack.
Elliot – totally silent.
So now I feel stupid. This is why I don’t talk. You just end up making a fool of yourself.
“At the time, did you feel it was?”
It’s Javier. I twist my head to the right. Brilliant. Now the spa staff are joining in with my tragic life.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“At the time, did you feel you might be having a best day ever?”
I sigh. “I guess. I mean, yes, from my point of view. I think, hope, maybe from his.”
“Then that’s all the matters,” Javier says. “No one can take that away from you. Not anyone. Everything else changes, but you’ll always have that.”
I mull over what he’s said.
“Mm, Javier, your advice is as good as your hands,” Jack says. “Which, just so you know, are those of an angel.”
“You’re very kind,” Javier says.
“Mmm.” Jack giggles. God, that boy.
“He is right!” Olga suddenly barks, simultaneously kneading her hands into my upper thigh, with makes me yelp with surprise.
“Yeah, but I don’t want it to change. I want to always be in his Top Five, because he’ll be in mine. I don’t want bloody Dylan to replace me.”
“You cannot control the feelings of others,” Maria says. “You cannot, and you should not try. That’s their life. And this is yours. You need your own best days.”
“I’ll tell you some of my best days,” Jack says.
I’m not sure I want to know. This will be about when he came out, how liberated he felt, his new mates in the LGBTQ+ club – and probably the boys he’s flirted with, kissed, and what have you.
“Jack and Nate’s Paranormal Investigations,” he continues.
I laugh. It’s a million miles from what I was expecting.
“What?” Elliot giggles. “You two were … ghost hunters?”
“Uh-huh!” Jack says.
“We were nine,” I add, just in case Elliot thought this was, like, last year, or something.
“Did you catch any?” Elliot asks.
“Well, Nate tried to exorcise the demon he was convinced resided inside Daisy McGuire.”
“And Jack wanted to drive a stake through the heart of the guy at the end of my road because he thought he was a vampire,” I say.
“I saw him drinking blood, Nate!”
“Nah, I still think it was more likely cranberry juice.”
“Daisy McGuire’s mum was livid we threw that bucket of holy water over her. So ungrateful,” Jack says.
I chuckle at the memory. “Serious, though? Those rank as some of your best days?”
“Hundred per cent,” Jack says, meeting my eyes across our massage tables. “That was a good summer, me and you, doing that.”
I smile, because, yeah, it was good, and I’d forgotten about it until Jack reminded me. We used to have fun. With him, I used to feel like nobody else mattered. We were invincible.
“What would be a best day for you, Elliot?” Jack asks.
Elliot blows out a breath. “Ohh, pretty much any day when I’m doing any of my favourite things. Watching anything set in the Marvel universe, Archie and Jughead, sleeping, cupcakes, bikes, food of any sort, Fortnite, ukulele practice, Cats – the original stage musical, not the weird movie – ham sandwiches, dew on the grass on an autumn morning, Pringles, and nachos with melted cheese, sour cream, salsa and guacamole.” He takes a thoughtful breath. “Even just one of those things equals a best day, really.”
“So every day is basically your best day?” Jack says.
“Basically! Ohh! And Christmas! I love Christmas! And hens.”
Well, lucky Elliot. I can’t imagine feeling like that. Things started turning sour the moment I turned thirteen, and only seem to have got worse. The only saving grace is you’re not sixteen for ever. Thank god for that. Imagine if you were, and you were just stuck in this permanent rut of stress, gloom, FOMO and social media shitstorms. Unless you’re Elliot.
“We need a photo!” Jack announces.
Maria does the honours, as we all crane our necks up from our massage tables. Jack’s giving it staring-into-the-middle-distance eyes, Elliot’s actually attempting to dab, and I was trying a smile before Olga gave me a very firm fist in my glute, and made me actually howl. I’m sure it’ll be an excellent photo. I tell Jack to caption it as One of the best days ever because despite everything with Tariq, one good thing that’s happened is that I’ve finally started to be honest with Jack, and he doesn’t hate me for it, and it feels like maybe we’re reconnecting a bit. And, you know what? Being friends again with Jack? Yeah, that would be one of the best days ever.
“You don’t know how much I envy you,” I tell Elliot, as we settle down again.
“Hey,” Elliot says. “You’ll get there. It might not seem it right now, but you’ll get there.” His eyes meet mine. “Do you need a hug?”
Know what? Maybe I am ready for hugs again. Maybe I’ve spent too long pushing people away and drowning in my own thoughts. I smile at Elliot. “Maybe later.”
“OK, maybe later.” He smiles back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
JACK
“Would you like a hug?”
“Maybe later.”
Which is why, after our massage session was over, I left Nate and Elliot to do their own thing, and made some lame excuse about wanting to check out the lifeguard by the pool – who, by the way, doesn’t exist. They’re sweet together, although I can’t help feeling a little bit hurt that Nate has always point-blank refused my hugs, yet very much leaves open the prospect of future hugs from my cousin. But fine. That’s the way of love and romance, and I detect that’s very much what’s going on here. And, honestly, if it makes Nate happy, if it cheers him up, then it’s all good as far as I’m concerned.
Then I’m smiling again, because thinking about the paranormal investigations reminds me of all the other random stuff Nate and I used to do – not just the ghost hunters, but the secret club in the tree house, or the detective agency we formed to solve low-level crimes in the area, using talcum powder to dust for fingerprints. Those were great days. Wonderful days. And, I think, some of my best, because … well, they just were.
So, I’m just sitting alone with my thoughts (and a virgin mojito complete with pink cocktail umbrella) by the side of the pool, on a very aesthetically pleasing rattan sofa, about to take an epic selfie, when I become aware of another person, who takes the sofa opposite. On the one hand, I hate it when people
infringe on my space – especially when there’s no shortage of alternative space nearby. You know, like those people who come and sit next to you on the train when there are plenty of other seats literally everywhere else – you just want to shoot them. So, on the one hand, I did want to shoot this person. But on the other, they might be a hot boy, in which case, everything is forgiven and I’m going to be sweetness and light.
They are not a hot boy.
They are a girl.
But not just any girl.
My mouth drops open because can this really be true?
“Leila Bhatia?” I say out loud. My eyes widen and she looks up from her phone. “Oh. My. Actual. Days.” She looks relatively unimpressed, but I carry on because, Oh. My. Actual. Days! “I love your account, I’ve followed it for years, the aesthetic is—” I make the sign of a chef kissing his fingers. “And you’re very witty, and I respect and thank you for your support of the LGBTQ-plus community, and I buy everything you recommend. You are without question my favourite influencer and I am very influenced by you. I love you. Actually. Hi.”
“Hi,” she says. She doesn’t smile. I don’t care. This is so cool. A million things are racing through my head, but they all end with ARE WE GOING TO GET A PIC TOGETHER OH YES WE ARE!
“Wow, so, here you are. Is this one of those paid promotion things? Are you doing something for the hotel?”
Leila nods. “I am.”
“Cool. So, cool.” I can’t take my eyes off her. I can’t believe it’s really her. Leila Bhatia!
“Are you just going to stare at me?”
“Oh, no, sorry.”
“Because it’s slightly awkward.”
“Yes.”
“What’s that you’re drinking?”
“Mojito. Virgin. That’s to say, the drink is, not—”
Leila puts her hand up to stop me. “OK—”
I don’t know why I’m babbling, I just can’t believe I’m sitting opposite Leila Bhatia!
Heartbreak Boys Page 16