My head spinning a little, I walk the tree line that surrounds the school, past the languages block, round the courtyard, down the stretch that runs alongside the geography block, my feet taking me on a route I know so well I could walk it with my eyes shut.
‘Robin?’ a voice hisses nearby. I stop so sharply I almost trip over my own feet. ‘Robin!’ The same hiss, the same intonation. I turn my head and see Connor, hanging out of a window on the ground floor. He’s smiling, his face bright, his eyes twinkling at me, even at this distance. He beckons me closer.
I abandon any sense of cool and rush over to the window, trying to ignore the fact that he’s looking left and right to see if there’s anyone else around.
‘What are you still doing here?’ I say quietly, conspiratorially, playing the game he’s set up for us over the past few months. ‘I thought you’d be long gone by now.’
‘I had work to do,’ he says. ‘Revision, work I didn’t finish in class.’ He sighs. ‘I’m trying to keep up and failing miserably.’
I look behind him into the classroom and there’s no one else there. ‘Do you want me to come in?’
Suddenly I’m pulled back to when we first met in early September, the two of us in an abandoned classroom. If I’d known it was going to turn into something so significant, I would probably have tried to remember it better.
He laughs. ‘I can’t imagine that will help me get any work done,’ he says, winking at me. My legs turn to jelly, my heart to mush. ‘What are you still doing here?’
I put my jacket down on the grass and sit on it. ‘I had time to kill before a dance class,’ I say. ‘But I’m not sure I want to go.’
‘Right.’
‘I just can’t face it.’
‘I get that,’ he says. ‘You don’t have to, you know. I know I wouldn’t want to.’
‘It’s just hard,’ I say. ‘I literally have no idea what I’m going to do.’
‘You could talk to Mrs Finch?’
‘Ah, well, she’ll just end up saying “I told you so” and make me apply to the first uni that pops into her head.’
‘You know what she’s like,’ he grunts. ‘She wants everyone at university because it’s the only option as far as she’s concerned.’
I shrug again. ‘I guess.’
‘It might be an idea, you know,’ he says, looking me in the eye. ‘There will be a drama course somewhere—’
‘Did she put you up to this?’ I say, trying to keep it light but probably failing.
‘No, I’m just saying it would be sad for you to stay here when everyone else is going.’
I open my mouth to speak, but I don’t know what to say. Doesn’t he get it? It’s not about a drama course – it’s about a dream and . . . is it sad to not want to throw that away so fast? Sad?
‘My life only fell apart this morning. I’ve not really had a lot of time to think about it,’ I say, lying back on my jacket so I’m sort of looking up at him. ‘But I’m about to lose Natalie to London, Greg to Edinburgh . . .’ I hesitate. ‘You to Portsmouth. I hate it.’
‘Then do something about it.’
I shake my head. ‘But I don’t . . .’ I trail off.
‘Well, you’re running out of time,’ he says quietly. I didn’t come here for a lecture, but I don’t want to walk away from him. His presence is exciting, even with the vague risk of being found out all around us. I only care about getting found out because he does. And if we get found out then I’ll lose him for good. ‘You need to—’
There’s a noise inside and he pulls himself back in through the window so sharply it’s like someone has dragged him inside. I resist the urge to sit up and see what’s happened. I can guess.
‘You staying much longer?’ I hear a yell from across the room, a voice I know belongs to his friend Ryan. Just hearing his voice makes my heart pound a little harder. My palms go sweaty. Ryan’s a prick. ‘I want to go.’
‘Ten more minutes?’ Connor calls back, his voice a little strained. ‘I’m almost done, I swear.’
‘Whatever,’ Ryan calls back.
I hear the door slam and can practically hear Connor counting down the seconds before he pokes his head out of the window again to see me lying in the grass, staring back up at him.
‘Sorry,’ he says.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I say. ‘So Sunday?’
He grins. ‘Definitely.’
‘But if you fancied doing something sooner, we’re going out for my birthday on Friday,’ I say. ‘Do you . . . do you want to come?’
‘What?’
‘It’s just casual.’
‘Who’s “we”?’
‘Me, Nat, Greg, my friend Priya from dancing,’ I say. ‘We’re going to Entity and—’
‘Entity?!’ he echoes, sounding a few shades short of absolutely disgusted. ‘Why?’
‘Because it’s my birthday. It might be fun.’
‘I’m not going there, Robin,’ he says. ‘I can’t go there. If anyone saw me at a gay bar, I’d be crucified – you know that.’
‘All right.’
‘You know what my friends are like, what my parents are like. I just can’t—’
‘All right,’ I say again, trying to say it with a sense of finality that will stop us going round in circles. ‘It’s honestly fine. I just thought I’d ask because . . .’ I trail off. Because I like you. Because I want to spend time with you.
I don’t want him to feel like I’m pushing him into doing something he’s not ready for. I don’t want him getting hurt because of who he is afraid to be. That’s the last thing I want. I know what that’s like.
‘I just thought I’d ask,’ I say quietly.
‘OK. It’s a no.’
I sigh. ‘Yeah, I got that.’
I pull myself up and put on my jacket. I force a smile on to my face, the same smile I’ve been forcing all day. Everything’s fine. It’s always fine. He smiles back like everything’s OK, but nothing is and it sucks.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow?’ I say, hopeful.
‘Sure,’ he replies, non-committal, the one word that could probably sum up our entire relationship, if you can even call it that. Though that doesn’t seem fair.
I don’t say anything else, walking away from the window and away from him, trying to imagine what it would feel like to let him go.
But I know that at some point he’ll message me and my heart will skip, or he’ll come over in the middle of the night and if Mum’s not home I’ll sneak him in and stuff will happen. We only have until September. Why stop it now?
EIGHT
When I make it to the studio, I don’t feel any better. I stare at the converted warehouse that has been a home away from home for the past six years and I can’t bring myself to go any further. And I hate that.
This should have been an amazing day. This should have been the day where I went in and got to celebrate with Priya and Miss Emily, where we got to talk about what I needed to prepare for September . . . and now September is just this big empty space and . . .
I take a breath.
I can’t do it.
I take my phone out and text Priya.
I’m not really feeling all that well. Can you let Miss Emily know? I’ll see you Friday?
I’m about to pedal off into the distance when the door to the studio opens and Priya appears in fluorescent pink dancewear.
‘You are a LIAR, Robin Cooper!’ she calls over, but the smile slips from her face so fast it’s like she’s read my mind. She knows something is up. ‘Get over here.’
‘Hey, babes,’ I say, trying to smile at her, but, as the day has gone on, it’s become harder to keep up the facade.
‘Oh shit,’ Priya says. ‘You’ve heard, haven’t you?’
I nod.
‘And you’re not faking me out, are you?’ she says. ‘This is real Robin Cooper sadness right now.’
I nod again.
She pulls me into a hug. I resist at first, but then
allow myself to melt into her and let out a little cry.
‘I feel so shit,’ I say between sobs.
‘I’m sorry for going on about it,’ she says.
I pull back from the hug. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Every time we mentioned it, I would say how you were guaranteed to get in or whatever,’ Priya says, looking away from me. ‘I didn’t mean to do that. I just didn’t think for a second that you wouldn’t. Maybe next year.’
I shrug. ‘Yeah, me neither. And yeah. Maybe. We’ll see.’
I wipe my tears away on the back of my hands. Need to stop crying all the freaking time. This isn’t how I do things. Shit.
‘So you’re not coming in?’ she says. ‘It might be good for you, babe, endorphins and all that. Or you can go full Billy Elliot and Angry Dance it out. It’s a little dramatic, but fits with your aesthetic.’
‘I think it’s too early to be ripping me about this.’
She snorts. ‘Oh, babes, no it isn’t.’ A pause. ‘So, are you coming?’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t think I can. Not today.’
She nods and takes a breath. ‘OK, cool, well, I’ll tell Miss Emily you’re sick, won’t let a single thing slip, and you’ll come back tomorrow.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Or next week?’
‘Sure.’
She eyes me carefully, pushing a few strands of dark hair out of her face and behind her ear. ‘Robin Cooper, you’d better not be quitting on me.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Famous husband, Cooper,’ she says. ‘My future is in your hands.’
I laugh, or do my best to. It feels sort of hollow. ‘I won’t let you down.’
She smiles and hugs me again. ‘I’m being serious, Cooper,’ she says. ‘Don’t quit on this. You’re too good to quit, OK? No matter what they say.’
‘Thanks Pri,’ I mumble into her shoulder. She squeezes a little tighter and then lets go, and I cycle off towards home. I’ve hardly missed a dance class in the past six years. It feels weird.
I’m surprised when I make it back home to see that there is movement in the house. Mum’s car is parked outside, the kitchen window is open and, if I’m not mistaken, I can hear Celine Dion playing. Either I’m high or Mum is.
I throw my bike through the gate and into the garden, hurrying through the back door and into the house. It is Celine Dion playing, and it’s coming from the kitchen, where there is also the sound of someone singing off-key.
‘Mum?’ I say as I drop my bag on the floor. If it’s not her, we’re being burgled by a Celine Dion-loving criminal.
‘You’re home!’ she calls out from the kitchen, turning down the music and, thankfully, stopping singing. ‘Is everything OK?’
I try not to break down. ‘I couldn’t do it.’
‘What?’
‘I couldn’t go to the class. I just . . .’ I trail off. ‘I’m not ready.’
She smiles sadly at me. ‘How are you?’
‘Confused.’
‘Why?’
‘Well . . .’ I gesture to her, to the house. She’s wearing an apron, which is bizarre in itself, and has her hair pulled into a messy bun on top of her head. There is a sheen of sweat over her forehead and, as she opens the door to the oven, a wave of beautiful smells tumbles towards me. ‘Oh my God, and you’re baking!’ I cry. ‘What is happening?’
‘You’ve got to have a birthday cake,’ she says. ‘And my world-famous Devil’s Food Cake—’
‘It’s not world-famous.’
‘Well, famous or not, it’s your favourite so you get to have it for your birthday.’ She walks towards me and pulls me into her arms. I hug her a little tighter than I would normally because I need it. I let out a heavy breath.
‘So you couldn’t go to your class tonight,’ she says, her voice a little muffled against my shoulder. ‘What happened?’
‘Nothing,’ I reply.
‘Lies and fairytales,’ she says. ‘No one sighs that heavily because nothing is wrong.’
‘Ooh, she’s a detective,’ I tease.
‘No, I’m a mother,’ she says, pulling away and looking me in the eyes. ‘How was school?’
I sigh. ‘I pretty much told everybody.’
‘Oh, Robin.’
‘It wasn’t totally intentional, but Natalie knew something was off and then I told Mrs Hepburn—’ I break off as Mum winces. ‘What?’
‘Well, I can imagine the reaction, throwing herself all over the drama studio, wailing from the staff room, performing some dramatic monologue . . .’
‘The opposite, actually,’ I say. ‘We meditated and she gave me a pep talk.’
‘You meditated?!’ she repeats. ‘Christ, just when I think that woman is going to zig, she zags.’
‘Ever the unexpected,’ I say.
‘Eugh.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Then you’re not going to like this.’
‘What?’
‘That old crow Mrs Finch emailed me.’
‘Oh God, what did she want?’
‘She wants to talk about your future,’ she says. ‘Why she couldn’t have this conversation with you, I don’t know.’
‘Because the last conversation I had with her was when she told me I wasn’t allowed to go to the callback and I told her to bite me,’ I say, heading out of the kitchen and sitting at the dining table.
Mum stifles a giggle. ‘Well, that wasn’t very nice.’
‘Me or her?’
She thinks on it. ‘Both,’ she says. ‘That seems the most diplomatic.’
I sigh. ‘She’s going to want me to go to uni in September.’
‘You can’t!’ Mum says. ‘You’ve not applied.’
‘There are ways,’ I say. ‘If you go through Clearing, you can basically go anywhere that will take you.’
‘But you don’t want to, do you?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘I don’t. Actually, I don’t know what I want to do right now.’
‘You have to at least try again next year,’ she says. ‘More experience, more time, it will be good for you.’
I look over at her and smile. She got an A in ‘Supportive Parenting 101’ at Mum School. She’s backing me when, right now, I’m not even backing myself. I don’t know if I have it in me to go through all that again: the stress, the panic, the gruelling audition process. But she does know.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ I say.
‘So you’ll work for the next year, earn some money, get some experience at auditions if you can and go again,’ she says. ‘Talk to Miss Emily – maybe she can get you some teaching work at the studio.’
I shrug. ‘Maybe. I want my brain to stop feeling so fuzzy – that’s what I want.’
‘I’ll go and talk to Mrs Finch, because that’s what she wants, but what I have to say about it doesn’t even really matter. This is about your future, so it’s about what you want. And if you want to not go to uni in September and try out for drama school again next year, then fine. If you don’t want to do the uni or college thing at all, that’s your decision too. It’s your life.
‘And I know you can’t face the studio right now, but at least if you’re teaching it’s something you love, somewhere that you love spending your time,’ she says.
She goes back to pottering around the kitchen and I head to the sink and start to clear up the mess she’s made.
‘Don’t do that,’ she says, trying to get me to move out of the way. ‘You don’t have to wash up – it’s your freaking birthday cake.’
‘I’m trying to make myself useful,’ I say. ‘Other mothers would kill to have sons who help them clean up. Don’t take it for granted.’
‘OK, fine, but tomorrow don’t do anything,’ she says. ‘And on Friday don’t either. Go out, see your friends, enjoy yourself. Please don’t clean. Be young. I don’t want you washing dishes on your birthday – it’s weird.’ She takes a beat. ‘Have you decided where you’re going yet?’
‘Yes. Today, actually,’ I sa
y. ‘There’s this gay bar called Entity and it just so happens that Friday night is their drag night, Dragcellence, so we’re going to that.’
The silence that follows throws me off balance, a tension creeping into the air that wasn’t there before. I take my hands out of the soapy water and look at her, busying herself by the oven.
‘Mum, what?’ I say.
‘Nothing.’
‘Mum?’
She sighs. She can’t even look at me. Why won’t she look at me?
‘Where is it?’ she asks.
‘Southford.’
She tenses again.
‘Mum, what? Come on.’
‘You really want to go back there?’ she says quietly. ‘Robin—’
‘Mum, we’re going to a drag night, at a gay bar. I’m not dressing up myself,’ I say, trying to laugh it off, trying to make this less awkward, trying to ignore the worried look on her face. ‘I mean Natalie’s been on at me to do drag for years but—’
‘I don’t think you should go,’ she blurts before she can stop herself. ‘After everything that’s happened, Robin, you really want to go back there? You really want to go to a gay bar in Southford? I just don’t want anything to happen to you. Not again.’
The memory of it hits me like a truck.
I was waiting for Greg in Southford one afternoon last summer. Natalie was away, in Grenada with her family until pretty much the day before we went back to school. Greg was running late because he was looking after his little brother. A crowd of people approached me. I didn’t notice them at first because my headphones were in, and my feet were tippy-tapping on the pavement while I waited. I didn’t notice they were there until one of them yanked my headphones out of my ears and started yelling in my face.
I recognized some of them. There were faces of boys and girls from my school, some of them I could name, many I couldn’t. I pleaded with them to leave me alone, but they wouldn’t.
Boy Queen Page 6
