Chapter 13 #2
Packing up my things, I reply in the affirmative.
As I’m throwing my beige jacket over my shoulders, I see something awful.
It’s James Adams; he’s surrounded by a crowd of his friends, each with a half-empty pint glass in their hands.
I dip my head. James sizes me up, does the same to Conor, and continues to stare at us.
He pokes one of his friends on the shoulder and whispers something into his ear.
It isn’t difficult to discern the horrid word that he mouths.
I’ve seen and heard it enough to recognise. ‘Faggot’.
“Let’s go, now,” I say to Conor.
James and his friend are making their way towards us.
“What?” Conor asks, confused at my haste.
I’m cowering backwards, and I’m bringing Conor with me. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up, and I’m clenching every muscle in my body so tightly that I fear they may snap at any moment.
“Hurry.”
“Nick? What’s going on here?” Conor asks. “Tell me.”
“Let’s get out of here first.”
I’m not quick enough. James and his friend – a similarly balding man, with a bloated beer belly – have caught up to us. I gulp in anticipation of what they’ll say to me.
“Well, if it isn’t the faggot himself. And what do we have here?” He looks at Conor. “Another one of your lot, is it?”
“Look, we were just leaving, James. We don’t want any trouble.”
“Shut up, faggot,” his friend hisses.
“Nick, do you know these people?” Conor asks naively. Maybe he thinks this is a joke.
“Get out of here,” I whisper to Conor. Conor isn’t the one James wants.
James looks at Conor and scowls. “You heard your faggot boyfriend. Get out of here.” James stares down at Conor until he reluctantly obeys.
“Sorry,” Conor mimes as he retreats.
“It’s okay,” I mime back.
With their chosen target right in front of them, James and his friend cannot suppress their grim sneers.
“I’m leaving,” I assure James.
My hands are up in surrender. James and his friend are peering down at me. Fear is flooding through me, and I have to ball my hands into fists at my sides to stop them from trembling. Unfortunately, James sees my tightened fists as a threat.
“Woah!” he shouts. “Are you sure you want to go there, faggot?”
“Oh, I—”
“Go on,” his friend taunts, “hit him. I dare you.”
The tension expands between us like a swelling balloon. Then it bursts. “Fuck it,” James says. “I’ll do it.”
In one fast motion, James lifts his fist into the air. I shut my eyes, flinch, and prepare for the inevitable blow. The blow never comes. I open my eyes to see what’s happening. James’s fist is still in the air. Beneath it, gripped tightly around his hairy forearm to prevent movement is Ben’s hand.
“Get the fuck out of here now, James. I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” Ben spits.
His face is red with rage, and he’s speaking through gritted teeth. I’ve never seen Ben this mad before.
“Don’t make me tell you again,” Ben hisses when James doesn’t move. Ben gives him a death stare and James shifts to leave.
“It’s shit in here tonight anyway,” James says. He leans in to tell me something, likely another threat, but Ben stops him.
“Don’t even fucking look at him, James. I’ll make sure you live to regret it if you do.”
James wriggles free from Ben’s hold and grabs his friend. The two of them disappear onto the street.
“Are you alright?” Ben asks me.
“I’m fine.” I’m still shaking as adrenaline traverses my system. “Just got a fright.”
Ben gently holds me by the arms, scanning me from head to toe in search of bruises.
“I’m fine,” I repeat, shaking him free.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to take you home?” Ben asks.
I wipe a tear from my cheek as my mind replays the preceding events. I’m moments away from sobbing. “Can you take me to the train?”
Ben doesn’t audibly reply. He puts his arm over my shoulder and leads me out of the pub. As we’re leaving, the heavens decide to open again. Rivers of rain lash down upon us, drenching us through to our skin.
“Where are you getting the train from? Connolly?” Ben asks. He’s looking down to protect his face from the rain. Drops are spilling off him.
“Yeah.”
“Jesus, that’s miles away still. Here, I’m parked just up there.” Ben points and I spot his pickup. “We’ll stay there until the shower ends.” Ben steers me ahead and guides me into the passenger seat of his pickup.
“Has stuff like this happened to you before?” Ben shakes the rain from his shoulders like a wet dog.
“Like James?” I ask him.
Ben nods.
“It’s never been so confrontational for me. I’ve only ever got stares or someone whispering ‘faggot’ or ‘homo’ behind my back.”
Ben exhales. “Jesus.”
“But I’m the lucky one.” This captures Ben’s attention. “Some of us wouldn’t live to tell the tale after something like that.”
“Christ.”
I shrug. “That’s life for you.” Flashes of news articles with titles like ‘Murder of… in suspected homophobic incident’ appear in my mind.
“That’s awful carry on. I can’t believe that sort of stuff is still happening in this day and age.”
“For some of us, it’s a regular occurrence.”
“I’m sorry, Nick.”
“Don’t be,” I tell him. “For every person that’s sorry, there’s another that isn’t.”
As the shower of rain starts to subside, I perceive two young adults kissing underneath a roof. The boy is much taller than the girl, and he’s cupping her bottom while eating her face. I can’t help but scoff at them. They have it so easy. A boy and a girl. Together. Just like society intends.
At my scoff, Ben looks up. “What is it?” he asks quickly. “Is everything alright?”
I point at the two lovebirds.
“God, right out in the open like that,” Ben says.
“They’ve got the safety to do it. Why not flaunt it?”
“Still,” Ben says. “I wouldn’t be doing it out in the open for everyone to see.”
“No?”
“Jesus, no. In a pub or a nightclub is fair enough. But on the side of the street? That’s a firm no from me.”
“You don’t want to lean into it and enjoy all of the advantages of being a heterosexual?” I tease.
Ben looks away from me, blushes and lets out a forceful exhalation. “So, you didn’t kiss your boyfriend in the rain in the middle of the city?” he asks.
I shrug. “Depends.”
“I’m sure a rich, posh boy like that would be able to protect you, no?” Ben teases. “He looks like he’d deal out a pretty serious punch if you ask me.”
“And how would you know that?”
Ben pales. He’s been caught out. “I may have taken a look at his Facebook once or twice.”
“Oh, really now?”
“Does he really have a boat?”
“He does.”
“And have you been on it?”
“God, no. I can’t swim.”
“Me neither,” Ben says. “Was the boat expensive?”
“I’m sure it was.” I didn’t really like to ask Tom about spending, and he never wanted to discuss it.
Ben goes on. “Ah, it all makes sense now.”
“What makes sense?”
“Why he couldn’t afford a shirt to wear. He spent all his money on the boat.”
I know exactly what set of pictures Ben is referring to. Tom’s golden, chiselled body standing on a boat, set in front of a setting summer sun in Dún Laoghaire Harbour. I didn’t take the picture. It was an outing with Tom’s family, so there was no room for an outsider like me.
“Sounds like you’re more up to date with him than I am,” I joke.
Ben leans in closer. “Really? But you two are still together, right? You said there was some trouble, I remember that, but you haven’t broken up because of it have you? You still love each other?”
Whether we still love each other is a question I’ve been asking myself for weeks. I can only answer my half of the question. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, I still love Tom. He’s the only man I’ve ever loved.
“We’re not together anymore. Well, at least we haven’t been for the past week or so, but we stopped talking weeks before that,” I admit to Ben. There’s no point in keeping secrets. Ben already knows there is trouble in the relationship. I might as well tell him what that trouble is.
The words ‘You’re not happy and neither am I’ ring through my ears.
“Shit. I’m sorry to hear that, Nick,” Ben replies. He seems sincere.
“It’s okay. I’ll survive.”
I wish I had a horror story to tell about how Tom ended things. At least that way, I could be mad at him, paint him as a villain. But that wouldn’t be true.
We never officially broke up. There never was an explicit, ‘We should see other people’ or ‘I’m done’. Still, the things that weren’t said were louder than the things that were. I knew how to read between the lines. Together, we were unhappy. Apart, we could be happy. Simple.
Ben peers out of the pickup and then opens his door. “Looks like the shower has stopped. Can I walk you to the train?”
I wipe away the tears in my eyes. “I’d like that.”
We walk towards Connolly station, leaving a six-inch-wide gap between us. The street is covered in pools of water, and I’m carefully stepping over each one to avoid drenching my socks. Ben is doing the same; his dress shoes look like they cost more than the average monthly rent.
“Will you be alright to get back to Brendan’s?” Ben says as we approach the barriers. “I can drive you if you want.”
“I’ll be fine, Ben. You’ve done too much for me already.” I look him in the eye. “Truly, I don’t know how to thank you.”
Ben’s cheeks turn scarlet. “You can buy me that lunch you owe me.”
I laugh. “You have a deal.”