Chapter 14 #2
As he goes through his phone deleting the GIFs, Theo questions him and it turns out that several of his friends have been tormenting him about having a gay dad, saying that it runs in the family so he must be gay, too.
“But I’m not,” he stresses. “I’m not gay.”
I’m taken aback by how keen he is to make this point.
“Yes,” says Theo. “Don’t worry.”
“But it would be fine if you were,” I want to add. I tell myself now’s not the moment.
Thankfully, Theo says, “But I’d love you whatever your sexuality. And I know your mum would, too.”
Callum twists his face in disgust. “As if I could ever do that kind of thing. It’s proper minging.”
“You’re a shit-stabber,” I hear a boy on the school bus shout at me. “A fudge-packer. A Marmite miner.”
Even though we’re sitting in the shade, I swear it’s getting hotter. I feel sweat collecting under my arms and on my forehead. I take my hat off and use it to fan myself.
“Cal, we’ll talk about this later,” Theo says, gesturing to Archie.
He cracks a smile. “How’s your ice cream, squirt?”
“The best ever!”
“Superb!” Theo turns back to Callum. “And when we get home I’m going to speak to the boys concerned. And their parents, too, for that matter.”
“But Dad,” Callum protests, tugging at his fringe wildly, “it’s only bants.”
“Really, Cal? It didn’t look like you were enjoying it to me.”
“Can’t you take a joke?” I remember one of the boys at school saying, after he’d spread a rumor that I’d been caught masturbating with a cucumber. I feel a trickle of sweat run down my back.
“Dad!” Callum howls. “It’s bad enough having you at my school without you laying into my mates!”
Mabel pipes up, “You’ve no idea how cringe it is to have a gay dad!”
Out of nowhere, I feel a surge of sympathy for the kids. But I can also tell how much Theo’s hurting: from the look on his face, he’s crushed.
It was bad enough for me, thinking my dad was ashamed of me. I can only imagine how awful it must be for Theo to hear his kids actually telling him they’re ashamed of him. I inch closer to him and rest my hand on his knee.
“Dad, if you have a go at them it’ll only make things worse,” Callum argues. “I can handle it, honestly.”
Theo runs a hand across his eyes. “Well, if it happens again—if it happens in term time—I’m going to intervene.”
Callum screws his empty tub into a ball and tosses it in the bin.
“What I don’t understand is,” I say, throwing my ice cream after it, “why’s this suddenly happened now?”
Callum sneers. “They saw your Insta post, Adam. That pic you posted of you and Dad.”
Shit.
I’m about to apologize but stop myself. We’re no longer in the ’80s and I won’t allow myself to be shamed like I did when I was at school.
Before I can think of how to reply, Theo steps in and says, “Adam, you know I’m not supposed to be on social media.”
“What do you mean?” But I know exactly what he means: his school has a strict social media policy, forbidding all teachers from posting personal content, a policy he repeats to me now.
“Sorry,” I bleat. “I must have forgotten. It’s just that school seems a million miles away.”
“Oh my god,” Mabel says, dramatically, “Dad’s going to get sacked!”
Theo lets out a weary sigh. “It’s fine,” he says. “I’m not going to get sacked. I can’t be absent from social media completely: I just can’t post anything personal myself.”
Mabel looks disappointed.
I apologize again and open my Instagram to remove the post.
Theo puts his hand on my arm. “Leave it,” he says. “It’s not as if you’ve tagged me in. I’m not even on Instagram.”
“You know, you could always make your account private,” Callum suggests, looking me in the eye.
“That’s a good idea,” I say. Then I stop myself again. Actually, I’m not sure it is a good idea. Wouldn’t that be accepting that my sexuality should be hidden away like a dirty secret? Shouldn’t we have moved on from that kind of thing?
Theo intervenes. “No, don’t do that, Ads. We’ve nothing to be ashamed of.”
I smile and put my phone down. It’s a relief to hear him saying that.
The only problem is, from the look on his face I’m not entirely sure he believes it.
“They’re homophobic,” I say. “They’re actually homophobic.”
I’ve come up to the castle to speak to Ian on the phone.
“And I know it’s only because the kids at school have said awful things,” I add. “It’s perfectly normal for them to be affected by it.”
“But that doesn’t mean it isn’t going to be triggering for you,” Ian observes.
I tap the back of my heels against the stone wall. “I have to say, today was pretty grim.”
I can hear Ian sitting up and rearranging his cushions. I picture him in his living room, on his olive-green sofa, under relaxing low lighting and surrounded by calming candles.
“But what you’ve got to remember is, phobia means fear,” he goes on. “It doesn’t necessarily mean hatred. The kids are probably just scared of what they’ve heard, just like you were at that age.”
“But I thought things were better now,” I protest.
“They are,” Ian says, “they’re much better. Come on, remember how awful it used to be.”
For some reason, I don’t think about my experience but Wilf’s. I think of him and his friends in the Union, living in terror that the pub would be raided, that they’d be arrested and their families would disown them. I want to tell Ian about the letters, but not until I’ve finished reading them.
“No, you’re right,” I admit. “They are much better. I suppose the kids’ situation is very unusual.”
“And no one can blame them for reacting like that, not at their age. I’m sure once they’re older, they’ll come round.”
I look at the sun falling in the sky. Tonight it doesn’t give off pink rays but is glowing a deep orange. “Yeah, but it’s not just that, my sister. Callum and Mabel have been a nightmare the whole time. They literally hate me. And I’m not very good at being hated.”
“OK, so which of those two sentences do I start with first?”
I chuckle. “Take your pick.”
I hear the familiar sound of Ian taking out his stick of lip balm, running it along his lips, then clicking it shut. “Right, so you say they hate you. But I’m sure you told me you used to hate your stepmum.”
“I did. Funnily enough, I’ve been thinking about that.”
“And?”
“This is different. My mum had died, remember. My dad had dumped me.”
Ian pauses, then says, “Had he? I thought he wanted you to live with him and Debbie?”
“Yeah, but that was after he’d dumped me on Auntie Julie for a year.”
Just saying the words, the pain rushes back, cutting through me. The pain of being abandoned, of Dad not wanting to see me. Just after Mum hadn’t wanted to see me.
“OK, so it’s not exactly the same,” Ian concedes, “but imagine Theo’s kids enjoying their nice, happy life.
Imagine Mabel being a daddy’s girl and thinking she and Theo have their own special bond.
Imagine Callum going through puberty and worrying about being a man and wanting to talk to his dad about it.
And then as far as they see it Theo basically upends their lives and their happiness is shattered.
And not just that but for something the other kids make fun of.
Of course Mabel’s going to feel betrayed and Callum’s going to feel like less of a man. ”
I bump my fist against the wall. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. Why do you think I’m still here?”
“Well, try not to lose sight of that. Try and hold onto how you felt in similar circumstances.”
I pick up a twig and start turning it around in my hand. “I have tried but that wasn’t exactly the happiest time of my life. I don’t really like going back there.”
“No, but it could be the key. Maybe you need to dig a little deeper.”
I’m not sure I do need to dig deeper. I’m not sure my feelings are buried very deep at all.
I can remember very clearly being insanely jealous of my stepmum: I thought my dad loved her more than he loved me.
I was jealous of my stepbrothers, too. They were younger than me but I was convinced Dad preferred them, that he saw them as a chance to have another stab at molding boys into men and this time get it right.
“When you say your dad dumped you,” Ian continues, “would it be fair to say part of you thought this was because you were gay?”
I stop flipping the twig and wrap my fist around it. “I did think that, yeah.”
Just like I thought that was the reason my mum didn’t love me enough to bother staying alive.
“Which brings me onto your second sentence,” says Ian. “I’ve talked to you before about low self-esteem, about your need to make people like you, to prove to everyone that you’re good enough.”
I wriggle, awkwardly. “I’m not sure I like where this is going, but yeah …”
“And we’ve talked lots about Theo having to get over his gay shame.”
“Yeah …”
“Well, are you sure you’re not still hanging onto some?”
My insides give a lurch. But I remember how instantly the childhood taunts came back to me when I saw the insults on Callum’s phone. I remember how quickly the game of football transported me back to PE lessons at school.
Then another thought occurs to me: could this be the reason I don’t want to have sex with Theo?
But it’s too much.
I snap the twig in half and toss it over the side of the hill.
“I don’t know,” I say, “I think I’m probably just finding it difficult because I haven’t really been around teenagers—not since I was one myself.
And it’s so hot here I haven’t been sleeping well.
And I keep getting bitten by mosquitoes. ”
Ian sounds like he’s repositioning himself and sitting up. “OK, so you need to focus on self-care. Make sure you go to bed early and stay fit and healthy.”
“I actually saw a cheap exercise bike in a sports shop the other day.”
“What about a normal bike?”
“You haven’t seen the hills around here. And you haven’t seen the Italian drivers.” I remember how bad my own driving has been. “Not to mention the tourists.”
“Alright, point taken. An exercise bike sounds like a great idea.”
“I’ll pick it up tomorrow.” I rise to my feet and dust the back of my shorts. “Anyway, enough about me. What’s going on at home?”
“Well, that’s a handbrake turn!” he jokes. But I hear a meow: one of his cats must be joining him on the sofa. Ian has two, girls he named Celie and Nettie after the characters in his favorite film, The Color Purple. Thanks to them, it looks like I’ve got away with it.
As I stand, savoring the sunset, Ian tells me he’s about to start his first course of group coaching, which he’s organizing through the Proud Trust, one of Manchester’s LGBTQ+ charities.
“That’s brill news. And what about Gloria and Dom?”
“We went out last night. Gloria got off with some bloke with blue hair. Apparently his dick was like a Coke can. He said it was short and stubby but that thick he couldn’t get his hand around it.”
I let out a honk of a laugh. “And Dom?”
“Oh, same old Dom. He shagged some artist with thousands of followers on Instagram. He’s doing some photography project on all the men he’s slept with and asked Dom to pose.”
“After that Dom’ll dump him.”
“Already happened. Honestly, I’ve had cups of tea that have lasted longer than his relationships.”
I grin. “I miss you girls.”
“We miss you, too. But don’t worry, we’ll be with you soon.”
My stomach flips. I was already worried about bringing my two worlds together—and that was before Callum added homophobia to the mix. What’s he going to be like around my sisters?
I can’t think about it right now.
“Yeah, but brace yourselves,” I joke. “You’ve no idea what you’re letting yourselves in for!”