Chapter 7 #2
Damn, five more. Mark was John’s partner, also a teacher.
They worked at different schools and weren’t out.
They wanted to come out, and had come on the course to get emboldened to do so.
Nikolas shuddered. Four more. James was here on his own.
He wasn’t gay, but he’d broken up with his girlfriend because she’d found him in bed with her brother.
He wanted to understand why this had happened so he could avoid doing it again with a new girlfriend.
Who also had a very cute brother. Nikolas narrowed his eyes, pondering James and his dilemma.
The solution seemed easy to him, and he wouldn’t charge the guy three thousand pounds for the privilege of his wisdom.
Three. Samuel had come with his boyfriend, Noah, but they weren’t speaking, so Noah had gone into the other group.
He wanted to break up with Noah. He hated Noah, and that’s what he wanted to get from the course.
Again, Nikolas wouldn’t have charged him for advice on that either.
Two. Lincoln and Lester—?—stood up together, hand in hand.
Nikolas swore he heard a snort from Ben and cheered up a little, even though his countdown had been hijacked by this sickening display of public affection.
They were affectionate. They were deeply in love and had come on the course in preparation for their civil ceremony.
Nikolas curled his lip. He gave them a day.
He couldn’t put it off. He stood. “Hello, I’m Nigel.
I’m a…I run a business in London. I’ll be fifty soon, and I want a family…
children.” Was he actually sweating? Something brushed his leg.
He glanced down. Ben had casually crossed his legs, and one foot had brushed against him.
Ben’s head was lowered, apparently entirely unconscious of the small touch.
He was absentmindedly running a finger around the artwork of his tattooed N—which, of course, marked him as belonging fictionally to Nigel but in reality to Nikolas.
Nikolas stared at the familiar fingers, wanting to entwine his with them, claim that ownership.
He felt all eyes on him and finished, “I’ve found the man I want to share those children with, and I hope this course convinces him that’s what he wants, too. ” He sat down.
Ben stood up. “My name is Justin. I’m Nigel’s boyfriend.
I didn’t want to come on this course.” He looked down, toeing the ground uncertainly.
God, he’s good. Nikolas watched in awe as Ben Rider-Mikkelsen turned himself into resentful Justin.
“I don’t think you need…I don’t need…I don’t want to be tied down, you know?
I feel like there’s all this pressure for us to be like other people…
marriage, kids? Fuck, I don’t want kids!
What’s the point of being gay?” That got some very sympathetic, guilty laughter from his audience.
Ben then glanced down and caught Nikolas’s gaze.
“I’ve found the man I want to spend the rest of my life with, too, and I don’t want anything else but him—just as we are. ”
Ben sat down.
Much to Nikolas’s glee, the final three men were also together—which explained why their group was one larger than the other: the threesome hadn’t wanted to be separated.
Nikolas studied them as they introduced themselves, their names blending as seamlessly as he was picturing their bodies doing.
He and Gregory had often persuaded—ordered?
—an impressionable young soldier—He turned his head slowly to find Ben’s gaze upon him.
Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen was spooky sometimes.
Michael had told him this. He thought about something else.
Sheesh. He was being monitored in his own head now.
Finally, they were allowed a break for some afternoon tea.
Nikolas noted with interest the young man who brought in the trays.
The two doctors would probably tell him nothing about Michael, but if Ben’s friend had been here asking questions, the staff would remember him. Everyone remembered Michael.
This trait of being noticeable seemed to encompass him, too.
And, of course, Ben. As soon as they’d poured their tea, rather than being allowed to drift silently to the sidelines out of notice, as they would have preferred, James appeared at Ben’s side.
“Hi, Justin isn’t it? Has anyone ever told you that you look like that guy on the telly?
The one who does those gift-aid, charity things? Ex-Special—”
Ben laughed. “Yeah, they have—fortunately. I pick up some look-alike work sometimes. I opened a new branch of Tesco last week. Got three hundred quid. Unbelievable.”
“Wow. I heard he’s, like, gone into rehab, you know…?” He mimed chopping and snorting.
Nikolas ignored him and glanced at Ben. “My tea is too weak. I’m going to speak to the staff.
” Ben gave James a nod, slipped away and went over to the doctor, touching his arm lightly, drawing him off for a private moment and distracting him.
Nikolas slid quietly out of the room and went in search of the kitchens.
Two men in dark grey, slightly shiny suits, standing at the end of the passage, stopped him before he could even work out which way to head.
Although he could have taken them both without breaking stride, they were so incongruous to the setting, to what he’d endured for the previous hour, he was dumbfounded and did a better impression of a slightly anxious gay florist than he’d managed to do so far. “Err…I wanted some stronger tea?”
One of the men gestured back to the room. “I believe you’re wanted in there, sir.” The other plucked the teacup from Nikolas’s hand. “We’ll have this taken to the kitchen and relay your request for you. Sir.”
Nikolas turned and went back down the corridor. He saw a bathroom and ducked in. He wasn’t the only one in there. Samuel was washing his hands, staring at himself in the mirror. “He called me a little bitch this morning! Do I look like a little bitch to you?”
Nikolas considered him for a moment. “Yes.” He went to take a piss.
* * *
When he got back to the room, he discovered a large piece of paper on his chair and some crayons. He swallowed deeply, picked them up and sat. When Ben joined him, he leant close and whispered, “Do you feel threatened?”
Ben glanced around. “No. Why?”
“Hmm. That’s what I would have said. Then why do we need two armed guards?”
Ben glanced at the door. “Seriously? That’s a good question.”
“And I have a better one for you. Have you ever come across armed guards armed with airsoft pistols?”
Ben looked intrigued. “Air—You’re kidding.”
“They would appear authentic enough to anyone who didn’t know, but I’m at a loss to explain why they would want to fire small plastic pellets at us. I suddenly feel more motivated to stay, no?”
Before Ben could answer, the doctor gathered their attention back to him.
“Right, gentlemen. Now the real work begins. We’re all here for very different reasons, which you’ve just outlined for us.
Thank you for being so frank. I know it’s not easy to come out in front of strangers and talk about personal issues.
You should be proud of yourselves. Mark Twain once declared, ‘I can teach anybody how to get what they want out of life. The problem is I can’t find anybody who can tell me what they want.
’ Well, I think you’ve all just proved him wrong.
You do know what you want. I want us now to build on those aspirations.
You all have a piece of paper, yes? I want you to visualise yourself—where you are now in your own life.
Happy? Unhappy? Seeking? Trapped? All the things you shared with us.
Draw something that represents how you feel now on the left hand side of your paper.
Then, on the right, draw where you want to be in, say, a year’s time.
“When you finish this course, I hope we’ll have enabled you to draw the vehicle that’s going to take you from one to the other. Is everyone clear what they have to do?”
If anyone heard the groan from the scarred, blond florist, no one mentioned it.
It was very quiet, if heartfelt. Nikolas doodled for a while, waiting to see what Ben would draw so he could copy it, but Ben turned away and covered his drawing with his arm.
What? Was he six? Nikolas contemplated his doodles for a while.
One resembled a cigarette. Or was it a penis?
He sighed and turned his paper over. Where was Nigel now?
He grinned evilly and began to scribble dark, menacing-looking trees.
Taiga trees. Faces loomed out of them like Edvard Munch’s poor screaming guy, only scarier (they resembled Jonas Terry the last time Nikolas had seen him).
He added a few flowers to make it more in character, but these were a little trampled and wilted.
It was good. He coloured the petals in red to represent blood splatters.
Excellent. His pièce de résistance though was his end-state drawing.
It was a work of art—a nest, all fluffy and cosy and feathery.
Downey. In it were two little stick men surrounded by tinier stick kiddies crawling like rugrats around them.
This drawing had flowers, too, but they were happy, gay little flowers decorating the nest. Very neatly, he coloured one stick man’s eyes brown and one’s blue.
Then he gave both yellow hair. He sat back and looked around and realised everyone was watching him, waiting politely for him to finish.
He laid down his crayons and smiled weakly.
He glanced over at Ben’s drawing. He’d drawn a man in prison on the left hand side and on the right a man with wings, soaring up into the sky.
They had to pin their pictures up around the walls.