Out: A Schoolboy's Tale

  7: Live while we're young

  MAYBE it was that party, Michael Crooks' 15th birthday bash, that started all this. Because it was August 3rd and not dark till 9 or so, we were starting in the garden about 7, sitting on cool, soft grass under these big old trees, mostly limes and planes, before moving through the open French-windows into this like square Edwardian sandstone semi and the dining-room where a buffet waited. Michael's parents, both university lecturers, slipped discreetly away for dinner somewhere leaving older brother Christopher in charge. Because he was in the Upper Sixth, a prefect, head of Goodricke and on the school mag committee, he was therefore responsible. Of course, as soon as their Audi had vanished round the corner, we begged him to get some booze from the Co-Op 'cos absolutely, totally, like nobody fancied a night on Coca-bloody-Cola, so when he returned with several bottles of industrial-strength cider the size of walruses and some bomb-sized bottles of vodka, we got stuck in.

  There were perhaps twenty people, a mix of girls and boys, including Mark Gray and Andrew Collins, who was Mikey's then best friend, and some lads from the harriers team, Hood, Tern, some others. To a soundtrack of Elvis Costello, Ian Dury, The Jam and Blondie, we sat on the grass swigging cider with our girlfriends. I had kind of invited Claire. I'd just finished preparing her for Grade 6 oboe, as I said earlier, and had consequently spent hours at her house playing accompaniment to this nice Andantino by Cherubini and Nielsen's Fantasiestück Op 2/1, unfortunately titled 'Romance', I say unfortunately because the way she said it made me blush like a jug of Sangria and her giggle like a, well, like a schoolgirl. She was popular, pretty, clearly worshipped me, and I enjoyed her company. Her father seemed to like me too and I had actually had dinner there a couple of times. Mrs Ash-tray had done a roast chicken once and the other time we sat in their kitchen eating spaghetti and laughing as Dr Ash-tray told risqué stories from Roman plays – he had a Cambridge PhD in the plays of Plautus and kept quoting The Pot of Gold's most famous line, 'Consilium audax habeo', or 'I have a cunning plan' – and Mrs Ash-tray affectionately chided him for corrupting us, and what kind of behaviour was that from a headmaster?

  I liked Ash-tray. He had this rugger-bugger's build, iron-grey Brillo-pad hair, a kind, creased face and bright blue eyes that sparkled when he laughed, which that night was often. His son, Toby, Tony, something beginning with T, had left school in July and was waiting to go up to Oxford to read Law. He gave me this 'chat' about 'treating his sister right, or I'd never play the piano again'. I almost laughed. The guy was as weedy as me and wore these massive specs in blue NHS frames that reminded me of a slightly startled barn-owl.

  Anyway, when Mikey's party cropped up, I just invited her. I didn't want to be Billy No-Date after all, and she was the only girl I knew apart from Julie Wilson, and there was no way I was getting lucky with her. And, like, yikes! Doing it with frizzy, pug-faced Julie? Man. I could practically hear my own skin crawling. I'd rather, like, sauté and eat my own kidneys, you know? With Borlotti beans and a nice Frascati. Anyway, I collected her from her house near the park at seven-sharp. I'd put on black Levis and a black shirt, open to the third button displaying my gold crucifix. Mum didn't like me wearing black. She said it made me look like a Nazi. Tough titty. Black suited me. Claire wore this really pretty backless dress in a soft plum colour and these new Kickers in a darker, aubergine shade.

  ''They cost £60,'' she said, taking my arm, ''But I just had to have them. I queued till midnight! But they're sooo cool, aren't they? And I got another tag for my collection.''

  ''You look fantastic,'' I said truthfully. She'd painted her nails matching aubergine and wore a little discreet make-up, just a dab here and there.

  Mikey's was only half a mile or so but somewhere near the cricket club, she slipped her hand into mine and chattered brightly about this Pierrot duvet cover she was getting. Pierrot, this sad white-faced clown pining with unrequited love for Columbine, his only friend the distant moon, was the latest craze at the girls' high school. Claire had poster-prints by Picasso and Chagall, cushion covers, a fan and even a Pierrot mug. Man alive. Girls, eh?

  ''Do you know Pierrot Lunaire?'' I asked. ''It's a song cycle by Schoenberg.''

  She didn't. Bloody hell. What did they teach at that place?

  She was older than me, by three or four months. Her birthday was in January. Or was it February? I wasn't really sure. What I did know was she'd got a distinction in her exam and I just knew she was going to reward me with a shag. This night, I thought, is the night I finally lose my virginity. Ha! So when she sat on the grass and put her arm round my waist, I smiled warmly, swigged more cider and put my arm round her shoulders. Collins and Gray exchanged grins. They seemed genuinely happy for me. Soon tonight I'd be men like them.

  A couple more girls joined us, a horse-riding, pony-tailed fanatic called Sarah, Sharon, something beginning with S, and Mary, a squat, wall-shaped girl with a mad mop of dyed-black hair and black eyeliner who was trying to be a Goth and was crazy about Mikey, who flopped on the grass with them. He was wearing jeans and a short-sleeved shirt in green, blue and white checks. Under that copper-red hair, his luminous green eyes were alive with enjoyment. Even his freckles seemed to be dancing.

  ''Happy birthday, mate.'' I raised my bottle of cider. ''Ginger ninja turns fifteen.'' I'd given him a Madness CD. One Step Beyond. 'My girl's mad at me', etc. He grinned as Mary started up this game of Pass-the-Polo which involved passing a mint round a circle from tongue to tongue. I found myself touching tongue-tips with Mikey and then with Claire and giggling furiously as the litre of cider I'd consumed set my senses spinning. But I was enjoying myself. I'd never been drunk before, and I liked it. I liked feeling relaxed, not caring what people thought, just like chilling, you know? I even snogged Claire a little but the game collapsed into a chorus of boos when Gray and Collins refused to participate.

  ''Chicken!'' I crowed. ''What do you think? It's gonna turn you gay?''

  Narrowing his eyes, Gray dragged on the spliff he was sharing with this girl, Annie or Angie, and muttered something then Mary started this new game.

  ''Claire,'' she said. ''Truth or dare?''

  ''Truth,'' Claire replied.

  ''Is there someone at this party you really, really fancy?''

  Blushing, she nestled against me, kissed the mole on my neck and giggled ''Yes.''

  Everyone in the circle oohed. I didn't know why. The answer was blindingly obvious.

  ''Jonathan,'' said Mary. ''Truth or dare?''

  ''Truth,'' I said.

  ''Is there someone at this party you're hoping to sleep with tonight?''

  ''Wa-hey!'' roared Collins. ''JP gets lucky tonight, lucky tonight, lucky tonight.''

  Red as a Valentine heart, I muttered ''Yes'' and felt her squeeze my waist.

  ''Have you brought any condoms?'' asked Mary. ''I'm sure Doctor Ashton doesn't really want to be a grandfather yet.''

  ''Mary!'' shrieked Claire, appalled and delighted.

  I blushed even more hotly and prayed for someone to just shoot me.

  ''Well, Jonathan? Did you bring any? Or should Chris go to the chemist for you?''

  ''No,'' I muttered, so red you could sizzle a fucking steak on my cheeks.

  ''JP's not getting lucky tonight, lucky tonight…''

  ''Shut up, Andy,'' I snarled as he and Gray dabbed their faces and went 'Tssss.'

  ''Basic facts of life, Jonathan,'' said Mary, ''But perhaps you're still a virgin?''

  Ha ha ha.

  ''Are you still a virgin, Jonathan?'' she persisted.

  I wanted to slap her. Hard.

  ''Schoolboy error, JP.'' Gray passed me the spliff. ''You gotta bring protection if you wanna get laid. Birds expect it these days.''

  Schoolboy error? I thought bitterly as everyone laughed. Funny that...

  I sucked from the joint, hating being stoned, hating the smell and the sudden dizziness, hating the situation, especially when Collins casually flicked a foil-wrapped Durex into
my lap. ''You can have one of mine. I always carry three but guess we can take it easy tonight, eh, babe?'' Grinning, he started massaging Suzy or Sadie or whoever's left breast. ''Jonny needs to get laid so badly…''

  ''Just don't flush it down the bog when you've finished,'' Chris Crooks advised. ''I did that once. Couldn't get rid of it. Had to fish the bloody thing out with a Biro.''

  Howling, Mikey said ''I remember that! You were bricking it, man. Who was the girl?''

  ''Fiona Jenkins.''

  ''You had Fiona Jenkins?'' said Collins, outraged. ''Bollocks. I had her. Didn't know she was your sloppy seconds.''

  Chris laughed. ''Sloppy's the word, mate. Yuck.''

  Mary continued round the circle asking really banal questions of everyone else, like 'what's your favourite colour?' and 'what's your favourite film?' until she got back to Claire.

  ''Truth or dare?''

  ''Dare.''

  ''OK,'' said Mary. ''I dare you to drink a glass of vodka, down in one.''

  Smiling, Claire accepted the shot-glass. To wild encouragement, she put the glass to her lips, tipped back her head and swallowed the lot. Everyone cheered as she turned the glass upside-down over her own head. Mary clapped her admiration, then turned to me.

  ''OK, Jonathan. Truth or dare?''

  Truth had been like horribly humiliating but I could do a vodka-shot.

  ''Dare,'' I grinned. My head was light and I was a little stoned.

  ''I dare you to kiss Michael.''

  Collins whooped ''Yeah, go on, Jonny, kiss Mikey. It's his birthday. Give him a kiss.''

  ''Truth,'' I said lamely, trying to blot out the yells of encouragement.

  ''What's up, JP?'' jeered Gray, ''You chicken? Scared you might like it too much?''

  I looked desperately at Mikey, who sort of shrugged, as though it didn't bother him.

  ''OK,'' I said, draining the bottle of cider and taking another drag from the joint. ''OK. I'll kiss Mikey.'' I searched his luminous green eyes. ''If it's OK with him.''

  ''Go on, Mikey!'' cried Chris. ''Let him do it! Let him kiss you!''

  Smiling calmly, Mikey reached for me as I pecked him drily and quickly on the cheek.

  ''On the lips!'' yelled Collins, pounding the grass with the flat of his hand. ''Kiss him on the lips! It's his birthday! Kiss him on the lips, Jonny!''

  So I did.

  I planted my lips on his, closed my eyes and snogged him for a full minute whilst the audience whooped and cheered. I felt his lips moving against mine then his hand stroked my hair, brushed my cheek, and I lost myself in the moment, touching his tongue with mine.

  ''Fucking magic!'' yelled Collins as Mikey and I broke apart for a breather. His eyes were soft with affection, his face easing into a friendly smile.

  ''Thanks, Jonny,'' he whispered as Collins whistled. ''That's the best present so far.''

  But I felt really confused. As I was kissing him, I'd had this… well, this massive erection, right? I got a hard-on from kissing this boy. What the FUCK was wrong with me? I'd never had one kissing Claire.

  I lurched towards the house with Gray, reeling from the cider, the dope and that kiss, and grabbed some sausage-rolls and two slices of pizza. The Vapours were 'turning Japanese - Everyone around me is a total stranger, everyone avoids me like a psycho-ranger, That's why I'm turning Japanese, I think I'm turning Japanese, I really think so…'

  ''You seemed a little too into that, Jonny,'' Gray said darkly.

  ''How do you mean? I just kissed him, like you all wanted.'' My speech slurred a little.

  ''You got a hard-on, didn't you?''

  ''Bollocks,'' I said, cramming pork pie into my mouth. ''Why the fuck were looking anyway? You turned into a poof, or something?''

  Scraping some coleslaw onto a paper plate, he said ''Takes one to know one.''

  Fucking hell. My best friend thought I was a homo. Someone just shoot me.

  More drink.

  I slugged back a quarter-bottle of vodka, from the neck down the neck, feeling the fire warm my belly, feeling my head lighten then, rooting around in some kitchen cupboards, I found this stash of homemade wine. Ha ha! Victoriously, I seized some orange-coloured stuff and staggered back to the garden holding the bottle aloft like an Oscar statuette. The letters on the label, dancing crazily before my eyes, told me it was plum wine. I growled some lines from The Jam's 'Going Underground', 'what you see is what you get, you made your bed, you got to lie in it,' or something, and lurched outside to the sounds of Madness. My return was greeted by a laughter. Fuck you guys. I grabbed Claire's arm and tried to kiss her mouth.

  ''Ow!'' she protested, pushing me aside.

  ''Way to go, Peters,'' murmured one of the older boys.

  ''My girl's mad at me,'' sang Suggs, ''Why can't I explain? Why do I feel this pain? 'Cos everything I say she doesn't understand, she doesn't realise, she takes it all the wrong way.''

  ''Let's play something else,'' I said, unsteadily lighting a ciggie I'd nicked. ''Strip spin-the-bottle. Let's see what you're all made of, see what you've really got between your fucking legs.'' Taking a large mouthful of this plum wine, I threw my shirt into the hedge. ''Come on, Mary. Get your fucking kit off, you evil fucking cow. What are you so fucking scared of?''

  ''Jonny.'' I felt Mikey's hand on my arm. ''Calm down.''

  ''He's fucking wasted,'' one of the older boys observed.

  ''Looks like a fucking skeleton,'' Chris said. ''Hey kid, do you ever eat anything?''

  Claire put her hand between my shoulder-blades. ''Settle down, Jonny. It's a party.''

  ''Was kissing me so bad?'' said Michael.

  No. That was the problem. Kissing you, Mikey, was unbelievably wonderful. And I wished you would get your shirt off too, 'cos you're fucking gorgeous…

  A wave of nausea rolled through my stomach. Getting up, I staggered a yard or so and threw up in the hedge as Chris's friends cheered. Claire rushed over, solicitously kind, putting her hand on my shoulder to steady me, and that was when I puked on her Kickers. She kind of screamed, I rushed inside to the bathroom and chucked up everything left in my stomach straight into the bidet. Then I slumped to the floor. Next thing I knew, Gray and Collins were detaching me from the pedestal.

  ''You all right, Jonny?'' said Gray. ''Jonny? Can you hear me?''

  ''Mmm fine. Fuck off,'' I said, collapsing in a jumbled heap on the bathroom floor.

  ''Christ, Jonny,'' said Gray. ''What the fuck have you been drinking?''

  ''This!'' I said, triumphantly waving the half-empty bottle of plum wine.

  ''Which you nicked from Dr Crooks' cupboard?'' said Collins. ''Fuck, Jonny. What the fuck's wrong with you?''

  Seizing Gray's shirt, I shook it vigorously and shouted ''I'm not gay, you bastard. I'm not gay, all right? All right? I'm not fucking gay.''

  ''All right,'' he said, adjusting his black-framed specs. ''Jeez, Jonny. It was just a joke.''

  ''Well,'' I slurred, ''It's not fucking funny, all right? You don't make jokes like that.''

  ''All right. For fuck's sake. Lighten up.''

  I lurched away, still clutching the bottle. Concern was etched on every face.

  ''Fucking hell,'' I heard Collins say. ''He's totally out of control.''

  Somehow, staggering back through the dining-room, I managed to knock half the buffet onto the carpet, then I like crashed into the French windows and finally fell against one of the trees, naked to the waist, bawling Blondie ''Oh, uh-huh make it magnificent, tonight, oh your hair is beautiful, ah, tonight, atomic…''

  Atomic! I am atomic. ''Oh, this tree is beautiful, oh tonight,'' I sang, ''I love it.''

  ''Jesus,'' said Chris, ''He's totally fucked. There's no way he's getting home tonight.''

  ''I love you,'' I murmured to the tree. ''Can I shag you? I got protection…''

  ''He'll have to stay, Chris.'' Michael was pleading. ''He can sleep in my bed. He'll be okay. He just needs to sleep.''

  ''Mikey,'' I murmured, surfacing fro
m my tree to loop my arm round his neck. ''I love you, man. You know I love you, don't you?'' I kissed him on the cheek. ''You're my bestest friend in the whole world.''

  Then I saw Claire, sitting with Sukie or whatever her name was. She was crying. I could see her shoulders shaking. Swigging more wine, I lurched across the lawn.

  ''Hey!'' I shouted, ''Let's dance. I love ABBA. 'Voulez-vous, take it now or leave it, now is all we get, nothing promised, no regrets, Voulez-vous?' Vous? Voooouuussss?''

  I swayed heavily. For some reason my feet were like rooted in the grass, you know? Like I'd literally become this tree? I swayed heavily, then collapsed at her sick-stained feet.

  ''You're so fucking pretty, Claire,'' I said. ''Will you marry me?''

  ''Fuck off, Jonathan,'' she said angrily. ''I don't even want to see you right now. I can't believe you're so drunk. I can't believe you just did that. Sixty pounds!''

  ''Sorry,'' I slurred, taking another draught from the almost-empty bottle. ''Fuck it. Is there any more? It's really good.'' I smacked my lips.

  ''Please don't drink any more,'' she said quietly. ''Jonathan. Please just stop.''

  Suddenly I slumped against her breast and uttered some long, desperate moan.

  ''I'm sooo unhappy,'' I wailed. ''I don't know who I am. I never had a proper childhood, you know? All I ever seemed to do is play the piano and read books. I don't know who I am.'' I started crying. ''Claire, help me. You gotta help me. I'm so unhappy.''

  Cradling me against her chest, she rocked me gently whilst I sobbed

  ''I hate my life!'' I cried, draining the last of the wine and tossing the bottle into the hedge. ''I hate my life so much! My life is so shit.'' My head was pounding and I felt really sick again. I choked back more vomit then started hiccupping. A circle of steel was squeezing my temples. My vision was so blurred I could hardly see. My guts heaved.

  ''I'm gonna puke,'' I groaned.

  Claire held me while I sicked up again, spattering my bare chest and the grass with pork pie, pizza and plum wine. Then I started shivering.

  I don't remember the next hour or so. It was and still is totally lost to my memory. I guess I carried on talking. I later found a load of scrapes and grazes on my arms and chest - Gray told me I fell into the hedge - but suddenly Chris was there, with Michael and Andy.

  ''Come on, Jonathan,'' said Andy. ''We're gonna get you to bed.''

  I protested I was having a good time but I was weak as a new-born kitten so they were able to manhandle me upstairs without much difficulty. Truth was, I was half-asleep anyway. Bundling me into this like purple room, they dropped me like a sack of cabbages onto a bed. Andy levered off my trainers whilst Chris forced some water down my throat. Someone, Michael I think, removed my jeans and socks. Then Chris lay me in a recovery position and covered me with a duvet. I started mumbling ''Sorry I ruined your party, Mikey'' as my eyelids drooped like someone had attached lead-weights to the lashes.

  At some point, his parents returned. I heard Chris explaining to Dr Crooks that I'd had a few too many. Dr Crooks said he would call my parents and tell them I'd be staying over. Then I heard Mrs Crooks shriek ''Oh God, someone's been sick in the bidet!''

  Why is it always the mothers who don't understand?

  When I woke, my head felt as though it were being hammered by a giant with a granite mallet. I could barely see, and I felt like really sick. My mouth was so dry I thought it'd been filled with sand. My tongue felt like a rubber shoe-sole and there was this awful, sickly, soapy taste coating the back of my throat. My skin was covered with this light film of sweat. Michael, asleep on the carpet, was curled into a sleeping-bag, a bare freckled shoulder and arm draped outside. I lay still. I was only wearing this peach-coloured slip. Bollocks. Where the hell were my clothes?

  Groaning feebly, I rubbed my temples then my eyes, wincing as pain shot through my skull. The early-morning sunlight filtering through the thin purple curtains hurt too, but then everything hurt. My shoulder, where I had crashed into the French-windows, was sore. My stomach ached from the constant puking. My knee was grazed from where I had fallen over. I couldn't figure out why I'd like gone so utterly mental. Then I gazed at Michael's naked shoulder and arm, and understood. I had kissed him, and it'd been absolutely amazing.

  But you're not gay, I told myself. You have Claire.

  But, my other brain said, you'd rather kiss Michael than Claire. Come on. Be honest. You'd rather kiss Michael Crooks. If you could get out of bed, you'd crawl across that carpet, across broken glass, to kiss that shoulder, that naked shoulder, wouldn't you?

  But I'm not like that.

  Am I?

  You don't really like girls, said a small voice. You only say you do because it's what they expect you to say, but you don't really. You remember when you shared that cubicle at the swimming-baths with Tim you were absolutely desperate to see what was under his towel? You remember your fascination with his body? You remember how desperately you wanted to see it, to touch it, to suck it on sleepovers and never did? And now Mikey, with the rusty copper hair and the big green eyes and the freckly face. You kissed him, and you went to Heaven. If you'd kissed Claire, do you think you would have felt the same thrill?

  But I was going to do it with Claire tonight.

  No, you weren't.

  You'll never do it with a woman.

  Ever.

  You'd rather do it with Michael. Or Tim.

  Groaning again, I told myself to shut the fuck up.

  You're drunk, I said. You're thinking shit. Jonathan Peters is not a bender.

  So why did he love kissing Michael so much?

  Clambering off the bed, I staggered to the bathroom in my pants, had a piss then studied myself in the wall-cabinet mirror. I looked like Death, you know? My skin was this kind of greeny-grey colour and I had so many lines I looked about a hundred and ten. My face was this like pickled walnut. Yellow sick-dribble was crusted on my chin. My eyes were massive black-holes in a paper-bag, the flesh around them puffily swollen. I splashed cold water over myself then, trying not to lurch into anything breakable, returned to the bedroom where Michael was sitting up and blinking. I could see his ribs, ridged in his scrawny chest. His nipples were small but very dark. Despite my hangover, I found him really attractive.

  ''Morning,'' he yawned. ''Man, I feel rough, but you must feel like shit. What the hell were you drinking?''

  ''My mouth tastes like the bottom of a bird-cage.'' I slumped tiredly onto the bed. ''As for what I drank, two litres of cider, about a half-bottle of vodka and a whole bottle of plum-wine. I think there was some more vodka. I can't remember.'' I groaned loudly. ''I think I smoked something. My chest hurts.''

  ''Cannabis,'' he said, ''And a couple of Marlboros.''

  ''Oh fuck.''

  ''I'm slightly surprised you're still alive,'' he said mildly. ''We had to put you to bed, me, Andy and Chris. Mark took Claire home.''

  ''I bet he did,'' I said. 'I'll be a laughing-stock at school. I'll never recover from this.''

  Blinking, he shook his head. His eyelashes were long and the colour of sand.

  ''What happens at the party stays at the party,'' he said. ''Code of honour and that.''

  ''Your parents must think I'm terrible,'' I said.

  ''It's nothing they haven't seen before,'' he said. ''Chris had his moments. He was once so drunk Dad had to carry him upstairs and put him to bed.''

  ''I'm sorry, Mikey. I wrecked your birthday.''

  ''Don't be stupid,'' he replied. ''It was a great party. Absolutely awesome.''

  We lapsed into silence whilst I tried to gather my scattered, pounding thoughts. I had to ask him, had to.

  ''You know when I kissed you? How did you feel?''

  He grinned. ''You mean was it a good kiss? Jonny, it was the best kiss I ever had. You're a really good kisser.'' He grinned again. ''Even better than my girlfriend.''

  My heart almost stopped. ''You have a girlfriend?'' It came out as a moan.

&nbs
p; ''Katie. She's away with her parents in Spain.''

  Now I really was confused. Mikey was straight. So I couldn't fancy him.

  ''It's not what I mean.'' I frowned with the effort of articulation. ''I mean, did you… were you… turned on by it?''

  ''A little, I guess,'' he admitted slowly. ''Were you?''

  ''No,'' I lied defensively and hating myself for lying, especially since he had told the truth. ''Well, maybe a little. But not really.''

  I could see in his face that he knew I was lying.

  ''But I liked it,'' I said hurriedly. ''I liked it a lot.''

  ''Me too,'' he said. There was a pause. He raised his eyes to my face. ''Do you want to kiss me again, Jonny? Right now? I won't tell anyone.''

  ''My mouth tastes like bird-shit,'' I pointed out.

  He smiled lazily. ''Go clean your teeth. Use my brush. It's the purple one. Get a drink of milk. I'll wait.''

  Saying milk made me spew, I skipped back to that bathroom. Michael wanted me. Beautiful Michael. I cleaned my teeth thoroughly with his toothbrush, found some mouthwash, splashed my face and chest with soap and hot water, and, with rising, swelling excitement, returned to his bedroom. Michael was going to snog me, and maybe more. Maybe he would actually hug me, you know? Maybe even let me touch him…

  ''Morning, Jonathan,'' said Dr Crooks. ''How do you feel?'' Wrapped in an expensive-looking gold-and-green dressing-gown, he was leaning against the edge of Michael's desk. Michael, looking at me, shrugged mildly.

  ''Terrible,'' I said, adding crushing disappointment to my hangover. ''Like a herd of hippos are jiving in my skull.''

  Dr Crooks held out my black shirt.

  ''I imagine this is yours,'' he said. ''I found it in my Yorkshire Glories this morning.''

  I clasped it to my bare chest. ''I'm so sorry.'' I was really ashamed. Not only had I stolen his wine, I'd puked over his garden and was now trying to seduce his son.

  ''Not to worry. These things happen. Get dressed and I'll run you home.''

  ''Another time,'' Michael said evenly, scrambling in his boxers from the sleeping bag.

  I wanted to cry. I'd been sooo close. I'd nearly had him. It wasn't fucking fair.

  Dr Crooks, as he drove me home, misread the strain in my face for he told me he would explain what happened to my parents, but of course it wasn't that. It was what I'd learned about myself. I was more attracted to boys than girls, more attracted to Michael than to Claire, and it ripped me in two. I knew, just knew I was gay and I just wanted to die 'cos basically being gay meant the end of my life.