I sneak a glance at Jack. I’m delighted he didn’t want to stay at the YouTubers party, but I’m curious as to why. He catches me looking. “What?” he asks.
I shrug. “Just wondering how we ended up at Shake Shack.”
“Because the other place was full of some of the worst people I’ve ever met in my life. Seriously, scrap everything I’ve ever said about wanting to be part of their world. I do not fit in their world. And they sure as hell don’t fit in mine.”
I smile and carry on with my burger.
“And, you know,” Jack continues, “now I think of it, that’s true of Dylan too.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I forced the idea of Dylan into my life. I tried to make him fit, when he really didn’t.” He glances at me, wipes some ketchup off his chin, licks his finger and grins. “Ohhhh. Deeeeeep, huh?”
“Yeah, it’s deep. Deeeeeep.”
And I laugh, but really, I’m thinking. I’m wondering if that’s true of Tariq too. I thought he fitted in my life, but actually maybe he never did. Maybe he was never quite what I needed, and maybe I was never quite what he needed either. And I think that’s OK. I think sometimes you only get to know that after someone’s actually in your life. And I think sometimes you only realize that someone does fit after they’re not in your life any more. I glance back at Jack, and he gives me a wink, so I lob a cheesy fry at him, an action which immediately results in him throwing a plastic pot of ketchup at me.
“Sorry! Reflex action!” Jack grins at me maliciously. “Nate, you have ketchup dripping down your face – has anyone got a napkin? Actually, scrap that, let’s get a selfie, Nate’s never looked this stunning. This is the exact moment!”
And with that, before I’ve even chance to pull a tissue out, his phone is in his hand, he’s got his arm stretched out behind him, and everyone’s crowding in for the pic.
“Wait!” I protest. But it’s too late. It’s done, and Jack’s busy typing up some witty caption and uploading it.
“Hashtag ketchup face, hashtag Messy Gay,” Jack says, typing. “Huh. Leila? Why can’t I tag you?”
“Ah,” Leila smiles. “So, yes, I have something to tell you.” Leila looks between us, nodding.
“Are you pregnant?” Jack asks.
Leila screws her face up. “What? No. No, Jack, I’m not.”
“Sorry,” Jack says. “It’s just your voice sounded quite serious. Like, literally, that’s the exact tone of voice my mum used when she told me she was getting divorced from my dad – I was having flashbacks.” He shivers. “Ugh. So what is it?” He suddenly looks serious. “Oh god, oh, no, it’s not … you haven’t had some bad news? You’re not … sick?”
Leila stares at him. I put my burger down. Oh god. I really hope it’s not that.
“There are so many treatments now for things,” Jack says. “I’m sure it’ll—”
“Jack!” Leila snaps. “I’ve just deleted my accounts!”
My eyes widen. I glance at Elliot, who has stopped, mid-chew. Jack’s gawping at her. “Deleted?” he gasps. “But why?”
“You just saw why,” Leila says. “You saw exactly why. You don’t want to be part of that world, and I don’t either.”
“But you were successful,” Jack starts to babble, “you were making money, you had hundreds of thousands of followers, you were it, Leila, you were living the dream!”
Leila shakes her head. “I was living a nightmare. I’m sick of the fake outrage and needless drama. I’m sick of pretending it’s fine to make people want more, buy more, when the world is burning and what we should all be doing is wanting less. I’m sick of seeing people I don’t respect, with little talent, rise to the top and be role models, when the world doesn’t need any more vacuous fuckwits. I don’t want to look back on my life in thirty years and realize it was all pointless, and maybe for some people, they won’t feel it is, but I already do feel like that, so I need to change things.”
Jack just sits in stunned silence. “Yeah, you know what?” he finally says. “Respect. You’re right.” He looks at me, chewing his lip a bit. “You know, Nate, maybe it’s time.”
I raise an eyebrow. Time for what? What’s he talking about now?
“Time to quit the whole Insta influencer idea. Time to quit the whole get one over on Dylan and Tariq thing,” he continues. “’Cause it is, isn’t it? It’s all just … bollocks. And, like, maybe it’s just out of my system, but I don’t even feel like I need to any more. Don’t feel I’ve got anything to prove, maybe ’cause…” I swear he blushes slightly. “Well, it doesn’t matter what the reason might be.” He sniffs and carefully folds a napkin into a tight square. “You know, I didn’t say, and I know you don’t really look on Insta so I doubt you’ve seen, but they’re off to Ibiza tomorrow. Flying out to live the high life on the party island, celebrating promising themselves to each other, and” – he releases a breath – “I don’t even care.” He looks back up at me. “I just don’t, Nate.”
I press my lips together and nod. He’s right. I don’t care either. At some point, I’m not sure when, I stopped caring about using the account to get Tariq back, and just started having fun. It’s like a weight has lifted, the curse has gone, and it’s OK, because I feel like I’ve gained something way better. And maybe that’s why I suggest it. Maybe it’s because getting it all out, and then drawing a line under it, would normally be way too much of a brave thing for me to do, except now, I feel like I can go there. I don’t want to carry on, start the new school year with bad feelings towards Tariq and Dylan, and all the stress of everything being left unsaid. I’ve left so much unsaid all these years. And what I’ve found over this summer is that talking helps. Talking can make it better.
“We should talk to them,” I say.
Jack frowns at me. “Call them, you mean?”
I shake my head. “Face-to-face. Gotta be.”
“Brave.”
“They’re gonna be at, what, Heathrow tomorrow? Leaving for Ibiza?”
Jack’s eyes widen.
“Do it,” Leila says. “Go and make your peace with them. It’s time.”
I turn to Jack. “She’s right. It’s time. And, you know, I feel ready.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
JACK
A brief interlude just to say that the Piccadilly Line, all the way from central London to Heathrow, during morning rush hour, with all those people, and all that luggage, for all that way, is absolute hell, and I hope Dylan and Tariq really appreciate how much hell we have been through to come and see them and wish them well on their journey. I mean, that’s if we get there. Nate, Elliot and I have been stuck at Hammersmith for what feels like years. It’s a brand-new decade. In Rhianna’s London. And this is the mess we’re in.
“Nate?” I say, as we get off when we finally roll into Heathrow. “Whatever happens, whatever Tariq says, or doesn’t say, it’s OK, and…” I swallow. I adore him so much, I just wish I could tell him without it sounding weird because we’re mates and it doesn’t feel right. “It’ll be OK,” I say.
I squeeze his shoulder, because even if I can’t quite say it, I need him to know I’m here for him.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
NATE
We’re in time. I watch Tariq turn away from the check-in desk, passport and boarding pass in hand, and then stop dead as he sees me. He’s dressed in chino shorts and a white short-sleeved shirt – preppy and cute. He just stares. I give him a nod and a small wave. Like I used to when I’d see him walk into the school library.
Dylan (shorts, vest top and flip-flops like he’s already at the pool, because he’s one of those types), clocks Tariq, then me, then Jack, his face a picture of fury as he storms over and whisks Jack away from the check-in queue, leaving Tariq to walk over to me.
“Hey,” I say.
“Nate, what are you doing here?”
“Came to see you off?” I attempt a laugh, but I can’t manage it. I wanted to make this li
ght, fun and easy, but I feel different to how I thought I would.
Tariq looks at me, pityingly. “Nate, I—”
“Can we talk though? Just quickly?”
“I guess,” Tariq says. He glances over to where Dylan looks like he’s having a very intense conversation with Jack, and then back round the check-in hall. “Should we get a coffee?”
I nod. “Great.”
I sit at a small table in Costa as Tariq comes over with two cappuccinos, which have inappropriately been adorned with chocolate powder in the shape of hearts.
“So?” Tariq says, stirring three sugars into his.
I swallow. “Still like the sugar, huh?” I say.
“Nate,” he says. “I really don’t have long, we’ve gotta get through security, and—”
I nod. “I know. I’m sorry. I just wanted to say…” And I stop because now I’m here, sitting in front of him, everything’s a tangle and I can’t think where to start. He wasn’t right for me? I wasn’t right for him? Did I try to make him fit when he didn’t? Is that my fault? Was he in the wrong? I don’t know and everything sounds wrong now, so I just end up saying,
“I miss you, Tariq.”
Which sounds hideously needy, and isn’t something I even mean.
He looks down at his coffee.
“I did think we were good together,” I tell him. “I really did. I thought we were a perfect match, but I guess maybe it was only me who thought that. Because if you thought that too, I think things wouldn’t have happened between you and Dylan. Is that … is that a fair thing to say?”
There’s a pause, then Tariq looks up at me again. “Dylan was there when … we started talking about stuff that I … you know, there are things that happened that you don’t know about, stuff that—”
“Like what?”
“Like…” Tariq sighs. “OK, like my parents were … accepting when I came out to them, but the same can’t be said for the rest of my family. You know, it hurt me, the stuff that was going on, and one day, I just started talking to Dylan about it, and he…”
“You could have talked to me!” I don’t mean to sound so hurt, but it’s hard, hearing him say this. Hearing him say there was stuff he talked to Dylan about instead of me.
“But, Nate, you weren’t out yourself. You were messed up about the whole thing. That’s not your fault, I don’t blame you for that, I know it’s hard, but right then I needed to talk to someone who had been there, done that, you know? And that was Dylan.”
My throat tightens and my heart squeezes.
“When we first got together, you were so nervous of it, so … skittish. And I totally get that. I really do. But all the secret stuff, all the undercover and no one must find out … I couldn’t keep living that lie. I needed someone who made me feel like it would be OK, Nate. I needed to feel safe and Dylan made me feel safe.”
I start to cry. I can’t help it. I feel like I’ve let him down. I never made him feel like it would OK. Like he could be happy. Like he was safe. “I’m sorry,” I mutter, wiping my eyes.
“I really liked you, Nate,” he says. The fact he doesn’t say “love” speaks volumes. “But I didn’t really know if you liked me.”
“Of course I did,” I say.
“You never told me.”
I stare at him, trying to remember, thinking it through.
“I didn’t know what was going on in your head half the time,” he says. “Keep it all to yourself, don’t you? Look … I’m not saying any of this to justify what I did. I hurt you, and I was wrong, and I’m sorry. And you’re right, we were good together. I think, maybe, we’re right for each other – just in some parallel universe where we collide at a slightly different time in our lives, or where our messed-up world doesn’t make life a billion times harder for gay teenagers.”
I wipe my eyes on the scabby piece of tissue I’ve got in my pocket. Maybe Tariq’s right. But then maybe … maybe he isn’t. And maybe … Jack is.
“No,” I say. “No, we’re not right for each other, not in this world, or a parallel one.”
Tariq stiffens slightly.
“I probably never did tell you how I thought I felt, but … know what? That’s me, isn’t it? I don’t… I find it hard to be that open about things, but I think you knew that, and still, you didn’t ask me instead. You didn’t even try to talk to me about it, when that was what I needed. But it’s OK, Tariq, because that’s who I am, and if that doesn’t work for you, genuinely, that’s OK, because I think it’s better for me to find someone who is OK with it, who is fine with me as me, rather than me as some fake version of myself I try to create just so I’m not alone. And I understand what you’re saying about your family, and I can’t begin to imagine how hard that must be for you, but if Dylan can help with that, then Dylan is right for you. And I’m not. We can’t just see each other’s highlights reel, Tariq, because the thing about a highlights reel is that it’s hard work. You gotta work hard to maintain that level of fakeness. It’s better to be with someone who sees the full thing, warts and all, but is happy with you anyway.”
Tariq takes a deep breath. “Wow. You got deep this summer.”
“I’ve always been deep, Tariq. You just never noticed.”
“Ouch.”
“You’re a dick.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Is he good in bed?”
Tariq laughs. “Shut up, Nate.”
“Well, enjoy your holiday. Bet you’ll get some good pics for Insta, so there’s that.”
“Still doing yours with Jack?”
I shrug. “Not sure there’s much point. I mean, you got the big one, didn’t you? You got Ibiza. Sundowners on the terrace and all that jazz?”
“Not really ‘jazz’, more ‘ambient chill’.”
“Ohh, funny.”
Tariq smiles at me. “So. You and Jack?”
My eyes widen.
“Always kinda inevitable,” he chuckles.
“I have no idea—”
“Oh, come on!”
“Literally, what are you taking about?”
“You and Jack,” Tariq says. He takes in my confused expression. “I mean, that’s what … you are, aren’t you?”
“Are what?”
“Together!” he nearly screams. “You and Jack! You’re a thing, an item, boyfriends!”
I spit out my coffee. How the hell has he got this idea?
“Oh,” Tariq says. “Or, not, then?”
“Correct,” I say. “Not, then.”
Tariq chews his lip a bit. “OK, it’s just… I guess your joint Instagram feed kinda gives that impression, that’s all.”
“Why, because it’s joint?”
“No, because of what’s posted.”
My eyes widen. “What’s posted? What do you mean?”
“I mean, you see it, right?”
“No, I don’t really do Instagram. I mean, I’ve seen bits, approved some of the pics—”
“Yeah, it’s not the pics.”
“Then what?”
Tariq picks up his phone and starts scrolling through our feed. “Picture of you asleep in some hotel bed, caption: Aw! Love this boy so much – look at him! Hashtag sleeping beauty.”
“That’s just Jack being Jack.”
“Picture of you soaking wet for some reason—”
“Yeah, I’d fallen in a lake.”
“Right, caption: Nate got a little damp today – lent him my oversized jumper to keep warm, but this calls for hot chocolate!” Tariq raises an eyebrow. “I mean, that certainly sounds—”
“Jack does this thing sometimes where he—”
“Acts like he’s your boyfriend?”
“I mean, no, but it’s the type of thing he—”
“Sounds caring. Sounds romantic.”
“Yeah, but it’s Jack, Tariq! He messes about, doesn’t he? He makes me say ‘I love you’ whenever I leave the room.”
Tariq laughs. “Am I supposed to think that’
s normal?”
“It’s in case one of us dies!”
He stops laughing. “Wow. OK. That’s … yeah.”
I sip my coffee. “Just Jack, that’s all. What else? Anything else?”
Tariq purses his lips and scrolls through a bit more. “I mean, OK, he calls you ‘hot’ in the one with your top off…”
“Clearly a joke. Clearly sarcasm.” I glance at the pic. “Dammit, I told him not to post that one.”
“To be fair, it’s not bad, Nate. You’ve almost got abs.”
“It’s just the shadows. Next.”
“Ah!” Tariq says, stopping scrolling and smiling. “Yeah.”
I raise my eyebrows.
He hands me the phone. It’s a picture I genuinely didn’t know he was taking, just me, in the tent at the festival when it was raining, taken slightly in profile, and I’m just … smiling. I admit, it is a nice picture, and where I’m concerned, that’s no mean feat. It’s an accidentally really nice photo, so fine. I’ve no issue with it. And the caption reads: Love it when he smiles. I can see why Tariq might think this was suspicious, but we’re just mates, and he just doesn’t understand the level of our banter.
“Tariq, this whole Instagram thing, the sole purpose was to piss off Dylan, and to a certain extent, you. All the pictures, the captions, they’re all carefully thought out to present a version of our summer which … hasn’t really been how it maybe looks.”
Tariq frowns. “Has your summer been bad, then?”
I open my mouth to say, “Well, yeah,” but stop, because, actually, no, it hasn’t been bad. It’s been… We’ve laughed … a lot, we’ve seen places and done things, we’ve talked … we’ve buried differences and maybe reconnected a bit. And me, I’ve seen what friendship can look like, and specifically, how with Jack and Elliot, I don’t need to hide, or be afraid, and that with them, I feel … stronger. Better for having them by my side. We haven’t been to a crazy expensive gig, or a big show, and we’re not off on the holiday of a lifetime, but actually, I think what we have done, the journey we’ve been on, is a million times better.
A smile spreads across my face. “No, Tariq, summer has been amazing.”
Heartbreak Boys Page 24