missing out. They’re half-wits, effectively. The sort of people who
end up reading the Daily Mail. We can only pity them. Think of Tim as a
blessing in your life, not as a punishment.’
‘I’ll
try.’
‘Good
boy.’ Mother got up languidly. ‘What a day for you! I’ve half a mind to crack
open the paracetamol, but I think it’s best if you work through the pain. How
about something nice from the biscuit barrel? I should be able to lay my hands
on an iced ring, if you’re lucky. You’ll be right as rain in the morning. Trust
me.’ She patted my knee as she went through to the kitchen. ‘Your first broken
heart. How thrilling!’
Mother was wrong as,
sadly, she often was. It wasn’t thrilling and I wasn’t as right as rain. For
forty-eight hours I cried until I vomited. I was unable to leave the house,
sure that Tim would appear at any moment to tell me he’d made the most terrible
mistake of his life and beg me to take him back. But he didn’t come.
The
following week, when I knew for sure that Tim had gone to Cambridge and that he
had no intention of contacting me, I fell into a deep depression.
My
mother tried to cheer me with little presents and my favourite food, but she
couldn’t lift me out of my misery. ‘It’s time to move on, Johnny. You’re too
young for such a grand malaise,’ she said, as she cleared away another
uneaten dish. ‘You don’t want to peak too early. Save yourself. The tortured,
emaciated look works much better in your twenties.’
She
might have been reading the last rites for all I knew. I wasn’t listening. I
was lost in a spiral of sadness. I couldn’t speak.
‘Is
anyone at home?’ asked my mother.
‘What
am I going to do with my life?’ I wondered, when at last the mists cleared
enough for me to form a sentence. I sat listlessly at the table, playing with
the meal she’d prepared. ‘I feel as though everything’s over for me. I’m
seventeen, I’m gay and I don’t know what I want to do.’
‘Hmm.
That’s the whole point of being seventeen. I don’t know how much help I’m going
to be, darling. I’ve not done anything with my life — except have you, of
course — and I’m perfectly happy. Follow your instinct, that’s my advice.’
‘I
can’t stay here.’
‘That’s
a shame. It’s so nice, just the two of us. But I do understand if you need to
see a little of the world beyond Kent. Maybe you’d like to go and investigate.
Go somewhere you don’t have all these memories of Tim.’
‘Like
where?’
‘There’s
a place called London. Young people flock there, apparently. I’ll phone your
grandmother.’
The next afternoon I arrived
at Grandma Rita’s. I stood on her doorstep clutching my suitcase, feeling lost
and emotional. The butler showed me into the drawing room, where she sat at her
desk writing a letter. She stopped, took off her glasses and came over to kiss
my cheek.
‘Welcome
back, Johnny. It’s been a long time.’ She looked me up and down, as if I were a
piece of brisket in a butcher’s window.
‘Wipe
your eyes, for goodness’ sake. If you’re choosing to be homosexual you’d
better get used to being miserable. No need to cry about it. I met Nod Coward
once. He covered his misery very well. Wrote a lot of silly songs to keep his
spirits up. Let’s have some sherry. It’s rather good at deadening everything.’
She poured two glasses and made sure I’d downed mine before she spoke again.
‘Now.
Your mother’s told me everything that’s happened and I think I’ve found the
perfect solution. If you’re going to be gay you’d better go into musical
theatre. That’s what Nod did, rather sensibly. I don’t suppose you’ll be very
happy there either — none of them is — but at least you’ll be able to do the
splits, which will be a boon in your particular avenue of life, if you call it
living.’
Through
my fug of misery, I vaguely understood what she was saying. Why not? I was
beyond caring.
end up reading the Daily Mail. We can only pity them. Think of Tim as a
blessing in your life, not as a punishment.’
‘I’ll
try.’
‘Good
boy.’ Mother got up languidly. ‘What a day for you! I’ve half a mind to crack
open the paracetamol, but I think it’s best if you work through the pain. How
about something nice from the biscuit barrel? I should be able to lay my hands
on an iced ring, if you’re lucky. You’ll be right as rain in the morning. Trust
me.’ She patted my knee as she went through to the kitchen. ‘Your first broken
heart. How thrilling!’
Mother was wrong as,
sadly, she often was. It wasn’t thrilling and I wasn’t as right as rain. For
forty-eight hours I cried until I vomited. I was unable to leave the house,
sure that Tim would appear at any moment to tell me he’d made the most terrible
mistake of his life and beg me to take him back. But he didn’t come.
The
following week, when I knew for sure that Tim had gone to Cambridge and that he
had no intention of contacting me, I fell into a deep depression.
My
mother tried to cheer me with little presents and my favourite food, but she
couldn’t lift me out of my misery. ‘It’s time to move on, Johnny. You’re too
young for such a grand malaise,’ she said, as she cleared away another
uneaten dish. ‘You don’t want to peak too early. Save yourself. The tortured,
emaciated look works much better in your twenties.’
She
might have been reading the last rites for all I knew. I wasn’t listening. I
was lost in a spiral of sadness. I couldn’t speak.
‘Is
anyone at home?’ asked my mother.
‘What
am I going to do with my life?’ I wondered, when at last the mists cleared
enough for me to form a sentence. I sat listlessly at the table, playing with
the meal she’d prepared. ‘I feel as though everything’s over for me. I’m
seventeen, I’m gay and I don’t know what I want to do.’
‘Hmm.
That’s the whole point of being seventeen. I don’t know how much help I’m going
to be, darling. I’ve not done anything with my life — except have you, of
course — and I’m perfectly happy. Follow your instinct, that’s my advice.’
‘I
can’t stay here.’
‘That’s
a shame. It’s so nice, just the two of us. But I do understand if you need to
see a little of the world beyond Kent. Maybe you’d like to go and investigate.
Go somewhere you don’t have all these memories of Tim.’
‘Like
where?’
‘There’s
a place called London. Young people flock there, apparently. I’ll phone your
grandmother.’
The next afternoon I arrived
at Grandma Rita’s. I stood on her doorstep clutching my suitcase, feeling lost
and emotional. The butler showed me into the drawing room, where she sat at her
desk writing a letter. She stopped, took off her glasses and came over to kiss
my cheek.
‘Welcome
back, Johnny. It’s been a long time.’ She looked me up and down, as if I were a
piece of brisket in a butcher’s window.
‘Wipe
your eyes, for goodness’ sake. If you’re choosing to be homosexual you’d
better get used to being miserable. No need to cry about it. I met Nod Coward
once. He covered his misery very well. Wrote a lot of silly songs to keep his
spirits up. Let’s have some sherry. It’s rather good at deadening everything.’
She poured two glasses and made sure I’d downed mine before she spoke again.
‘Now.
Your mother’s told me everything that’s happened and I think I’ve found the
perfect solution. If you’re going to be gay you’d better go into musical
theatre. That’s what Nod did, rather sensibly. I don’t suppose you’ll be very
happy there either — none of them is — but at least you’ll be able to do the
splits, which will be a boon in your particular avenue of life, if you call it
living.’
Through
my fug of misery, I vaguely understood what she was saying. Why not? I was
beyond caring.
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