Chapter 4
Chapter Four
August
Kieran
I had a flat, and Diana was still a part of my life. Two positives. As for the rest of it?
My future was on two distinct tracks, and neither of them was leading me somewhere I wanted to go.
The suspension track was probably the most frustrating.
Within a week of meeting with the Principal and HR, I had a framework for the proceedings—and a name.
Ollie Roberts. Ollie fucking Roberts, a student I’d liked, for God’s sake.
One I’d also thought had respected me. He was that student, the one who would come up with a thousand hilarious excuses as to why he hadn’t completed an assignment on time.
He never practised enough, and every time I admonished him about this, he’d bat those long eyelashes and give me that butter wouldn’t melt look as he promised he’d do better.
How could he do this to me?
What have I ever done to him to deserve this?
Was being told continually to practice playing the piano such a bad thing that it warranted all this mess?
He’s ruining my fucking life!
The letter from HR had laid everything out: evidence gathering, interviews, reviews, investigation report…
The whole process could last anywhere from two months to maybe four.
They’d started looking for evidence two weeks after the initial meeting, and so far they’d spent almost seven weeks going through my emails, messages, grading records…
I’d been interviewed—twice—and then they moved onto my colleagues, not that anyone of them could tell me that themselves.
They’d also been interviewing potential witnesses.
Presumably they’d interviewed Ollie too, the lying little fuck.
What sent ice through my veins was the idea that the college could also inform the police of their investigations. And even if they did that, they’d still continue in parallel: colleges could decide on code of conduct breaches even without criminal outcome.
The wall calendar in my small kitchen had various dates circled in red, and scribbles accompanying each one.
Evidence gathering ends August 23.
Investigation report deadline September 12.
Disciplinary hearing ? September 20.
Outcome deadline September 30.
Appeals deadline October 31.
The hearing wasn’t a given, hence the big question mark next to it. That would only take place if they decided there was a case to answer.
There was nothing I could do, and I’d never felt so helpless.
The other part of my life was leading me nowhere.
Except that wasn’t quite true. It had led me to make a few discoveries, and while I wasn’t sure what I wanted, the bits I didn’t want were much clearer.
There was no way I was about to walk into my local newsagents—or any newsagents, if it came to that—and buy a gay magazine. For God’s sake, someone might see me do it. I’d resorted to buying them online instead. But once I started reading them, I realized one thing pretty quickly.
They were filled with a lot of younger men, and I knew that wasn’t what I was into.
I finally got up enough nerve to visit Canal Street, and a couple of trips there were enough to clue me in on a few things. It was loud, there was a constant buzz to the place—and it wasn’t me. I didn’t feel as if I fitted in.
My second visit to Canal Street, I saw an ex-student. That was it, I was done.
And then there was gay porn. I watched a lot of that.
At the beginning it was mostly a fact-finding mission. I was mentally writing a list of all the things I wanted to try, if—God willing—I found someone willing to do them with me.
It was a very long list.
And once again, I quickly learned the sites that did nothing for me.
There was one particular studio that was mostly older men with younger guys, and thank God, all of the latter were legal.
But that wasn’t me either. One channel in particular did catch my eye, however.
The arc running through it was young men being auctioned off to the highest bidder, who they’d then service.
All the guys doing the buying were older.
I had to admit, the sex was fucking hot, but it made me realize two vitally important things.
I wasn’t into young guys.
I was, however, into the guys fucking them.
Diana, bless her, was amazing.
I didn’t discuss what I’d been looking at, but she was supportive. She seemed more relaxed, and it crossed my mind more than once that if I was looking at my life differently, then she was probably doing the same.
Has she found someone else?
That thought didn’t pain me as much as I’d anticipated it might. In fact, I hoped that was the case. She deserves some happiness.
Every Saturday morning, we met up for coffee and a catch-up in Caffè Nero. We’d share a pistachio croissant and talk about what we’d been doing. Most of Diana’s life was taken up with her clients—she was a financial adviser—but she told me she was going out more with friends.
I was glad about that.
One Saturday towards the second half of August, we were sitting in our usual comfy armchairs, drinking lattes and talking about nothing in particular. I admit, I was frustrated with my lack of progress, both in the suspension process and my personal life.
That particular Saturday, I so needed a friend.
Diana stirred her coffee, aiming a glance at me that I was sure she thought appeared casual. Yeah, not even close. I knew this woman.
“You look like you didn’t sleep last night,” she said.
“I didn’t.”
“Any particular reason?”
I leaned back in my chair. “I spoke to my parents last night.”
Diana winced. “Ah.”
“Yes,” I said with a sigh. “Ah.” I could still hear my father’s voice.
Unfortunately.
She set her cup down. “How did that go?”
I rubbed a hand over my face. “Well, I told them about the suspension.”
Diana’s eyes widened. “Why did you leave it so long?”
“I don’t know. Wishful thinking? The vain hope this would all be sorted without me having to tell them a damn thing?”
She bit her lip. “Wow. If wishful thinking ever gets to be an Olympic event, you’re a certainty for gold.” She gave me a sympathetic glance. “That must have gone down well.”
“It went exactly the way you think it did, but that wasn’t the worst part.”
Diana’s expression shifted. “What else did you tell them?”
“That we’re not living together anymore.”
She blinked. “Right.”
“And you told them the same thing, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” she said slowly. “But I didn’t—”
“No,” I cut in. “Neither did I.” I sipped my latte.
Diana leaned forwards, her voice low. “What happened?”
I let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “My father happened.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It started off normally enough,” I said with a shrug. “Concerned parent. Questions about work. About what had happened. Then he asked about us.”
Diana winced again. “Of course he did.”
“So I told him we’d separated. Amicably.” I made a vague gesture. “Different directions, all very civilised.”
“And he accepted that?”
I stared at her. “What do you think?”
She sighed. “Go on.”
“He went quiet,” I continued. “Which should have been my first warning.” I paused. “Then he said—and I quote—‘So let me get this straight.’”
Diana covered her face. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes.” I sat up, unable to stop the faint edge of disbelief creeping into my voice. “Apparently, in the space of about thirty seconds, he decided that I’m gay—”
Diana choked on her coffee.
“—that I’ve been seeing men behind your back—”
“Oh my God.”
“—that you found out and threw me out—”
“That’s impressive,” she muttered.
“—and that the college suspended me because of it.”
Diana stared at me. “Wow.”
“Yes. All without taking a breath.”
She shook her head slowly. “That’s… actually quite a leap.”
“A leap?” I gaped at her. “He cleared several continents.”
“And what did you say?”
“I tried to interrupt,” I said. “Several times. But once he gets going…” I spread my hands. “You know what he’s like.”
Diana nodded. “Relentless.”
“That’s one word for it.”
“Did you correct him?” she asked.
I hesitated. “I told him he was wrong.”
“That’s it?”
“For now.”
Diana studied me. “You didn’t exactly sound convincing just then.”
I looked down at my coffee. “No,” I admitted. “I probably didn’t.”
She leaned back, folding her arms. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m impressed.”
I looked up. “Impressed?”
“Yes,” she said. “Your father’s managed to construct an entire scandal without a single piece of evidence. That takes talent.”
I snorted despite myself. “Doesn’t it just.” The humour faded, though not completely. “When he said, ‘So… you’re gay,’ I… I told him I wasn’t, that I didn’t want to put a label on it, not yet.”
Diana nodded. “That’s allowed, you know.”
“I know.” I let out another sigh. “It just feels like whichever way I go, someone’s going to have an opinion about it.”
Diana huffed a quiet breath. “That’s because they will.”
I glanced at her. “That isn’t helpful.”
“I’m being honest,” she fired back. “Some people won’t think you’re ‘gay enough.’ Others won’t like the ambiguity. You might even get criticism from both sides.”
“That’s reassuring.”
She smiled sadly. “Welcome to not having all the answers yet.”
I looked back down at my coffee.
That was exactly what it felt like. Something I was supposed to have figured out already. Something everyone else seemed to understand.
Except me.
“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be working towards,” I murmured.
Diana leaned forwards again. “Maybe you’re not supposed to be working towards anything. Maybe you’re simply supposed to find out what fits.” Then she cocked her head again. “What about going further afield?”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well, surely there are gay men in Europe, right? I was reading about a World Pride event that took place in Madrid one year. So it stands to reason there must be gay men in Spain.”
“I can’t go to Spain,” I protested.
She blinked. “Why not?”
“Because I have to be available here.” Not to mention I’d never once set foot out of the UK.
Diana rolled her eyes. “And if they call to say they’re having a disciplinary hearing, you can be on the next plane home. They’ll give you enough notice, won’t they? And Spain isn’t exactly the other end of the earth, is it?”
I snorted. “Spain—in August? I’d burn to a crisp.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Highly unlikely. For one thing, the sun would struggle to find its way through all that hair. Best sunscreen ever.” She tilted her head to one side. “What about Berlin?”
I stilled. “I swear, sometimes I’m sure you’re a witch.” I’d been looking at photos of Berlin only that morning. Anything not to have to think about That Conversation.
She beamed. “Have I touched a nerve? And the only reason I mention it is because it seems to be filled with a lot of gay men who look exactly like you.”
It was my turn to blink. “And how would you know that?”
Another eye roll. “I’m trying to help you here.”
I gave her a warm smile. “And I do appreciate it.”
“You did German at school, didn’t you?”
I laughed. “The last time was in 1999. I’ve forgotten it all.” The closest I’d come to using any of it was during my studies of German classical music.
She tore off a piece of croissant and ate it, her expression thoughtful. Suddenly, she straightened. “Wait a minute. Didn’t you used to talk about one of your professors from when you were studying music? The one who sends you Christmas cards?”
I frowned. “Professor Mueller?” He’d been my mentor when I was nineteen, and we’d stayed in touch throughout the years.
“Yes, that’s him. He went back to Germany, didn’t he?”
I nodded. “He was teaching in Berlin, but he’s retired.” I did a quick calculation. He’d be sixty-five by now.
Diana smiled. “Then I think you should email him, and ask if you can visit.”
I laughed. “Are you organising my calendar now?”
She bit her lip. “At least think about it. What harm can it do?” She looked me in the eye. “And it would give you a breather. All you’re doing here is sitting around, waiting for the hammer to fall. Well, you can still wait, but do it in Berlin.” She smiled. “The scenery would be better.”
I stole the last piece of croissant. “I’ll think about it. Later.”
Except that was a lie.
I was already thinking about it.
Once I’d finished the washing up, I made myself some tea, grabbed my laptop, and got comfortable on the couch. I opened up my emails and searched for Professor Mueller. I composed a short piece, then sat there, my heartbeat racing.
Do it. Just do it. Diana’s right. Where’s the harm?
I clicked send, then set the laptop aside and switched on the TV.
Don’t think about it.
Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed. An unknown number.
Karl Mueller here. Can I call you?
My fingers trembled as I typed yes.
Moments later, a familiar voice filled my ear. “Kieran. It was so good to get your email. How are you?”
I couldn’t tell him over the phone. “Let’s just say life is… interesting right now.”
There was a pause. “A good interesting, I hope.”
I found my courage. “Professor, I’m planning a visit to Berlin.”
“That’s wonderful. And please, call me Karl. When are you thinking of coming here?”
I glanced at the wall calendar. “September, possibly. Would I be able to see you?”
“Of course.” His voice was warm. “I would be delighted to see you again. Have you started looking for accommodation?”
“I haven’t got that far yet. I’m not even sure how long I’ll be staying. Can you recommend anywhere?”
Another pause. “Yes. My place. You can stay in my guest room.”
I swallowed. “I couldn’t put you out.”
Karl chuckled. “When you see my apartment, you’ll understand why you won’t be putting me out. Do you have a date in mind?”
I looked at the calendar again. “How does September first sound?”
“Let me check my diary… Perfect. That works. I am so looking forward to seeing you again.” There was no mistaking the genuine warmth in his voice.
“Me too.” It had been way too long. “I’ll send you details of my arrival time once I’ve booked a flight.”
“Excellent. And I’ll email you notes on how to get to me from the airport. It’s really simple.”
I laughed. “Not for a man who’s never been out of the UK, not even for a city break.”
“Then I will take great care of you when you get here.” He paused. “But if that’s the case… surely you won’t be able to travel so soon. It might take weeks for your passport to arrive.”
I smiled. “I have a passport—I got it a few years ago when Diana and I were thinking about a break in Italy. Something came up and we didn’t go.” It sat in my desk drawer, stiff and unused.
“Thank goodness for that.”
We said our goodbyes and I hung up. I typed a message to Diana.
Took your advice. Going to see Prof Mueller September 1.
Less than a minute later, her reply pinged back. Wonderful. Just what you need.
Right then I needed an end to my turmoil, and a new beginning.
I hoped I’d find the latter in Berlin.