Then the first punch came.
It came out of nowhere and I couldn’t even say which one of them it was, but when I stumbled one of them caught me and held me so they could do it again.
When Greg got there, he had to pull a guy off me. He punched him, and it wasn’t long before they were all running scared because Greg was making enough of a scene that people came over to see what was going on.
He picked me up.
He dusted me off.
He bundled me into his car and he got me home.
I had a black eye, cuts across my face, blood pouring down, bruises blooming across my stomach where they’d kicked and kicked and kicked, more blood pouring from a split lip. I looked like I’d been through hell. And I had.
‘You’re so effervescent, Robin. I don’t want you to make yourself a target.’
I shake myself from the memory, trying to find my resolve. ‘Mum, do you have any idea how homophobic you sound right now?’
‘Robin—’
‘I know I’m camp – it happens to be something I like about myself. Sure, if there’s a bigot out there looking for a target, then there I am, but I can’t dim myself, Mum. You taught me better than that. I can’t be afraid all the time.’
‘And I don’t want you to be, Robin. I just want you to be careful,’ she says. ‘If Greg hadn’t been there, you could have been . . .’ She can’t finish the sentence because she’s trying to stop herself from crying.
And she’s not wrong. Greg showed up at just the right moment like a big, hulking saviour in shining armour and kicked the shit out of one of my attackers, enough that they all went running. Mum was in pieces. She’s used to dealing with blood, with people who have been hurt, but seeing it happen to her own son was too much. She was so grateful to Greg. I was too.
And as much as I didn’t want to, I sort of did become a little more afraid. After it happened, I shrank. I didn’t leave the house for the rest of the summer. Greg came round to keep me company because Natalie was away. My shoulders rounded a little more, I’d walk with my head down, I didn’t look at anybody in case it provoked them. And I knew it was stupid, and I knew it wasn’t anything that I had done that made it happen to me, that made me into a target. All I’d done was exist, but I thought that maybe if I made myself smaller they wouldn’t see me next time.
When Natalie got back, she noticed straight away. She thought I was more downbeat than usual. I told her I was just distracted, that auditions were pulling my focus. I felt too embarrassed to tell her. I wanted it all to be over, and dredging it up again just felt like too much. I’d healed by the time she got home and I just didn’t want to have to go through it again.
‘I don’t want you to get hurt,’ Mum says when she’s regained her composure. And I suddenly wish I could take back saying she sounded homophobic. Because, sure, she totally did, but she’s just a mum trying to do what is best for her gay son. I know she worries every time I leave the house, every time I get on a train to go to an audition, every time I even get on my bike. She’d probably wrap me in cotton wool if she could, but she knows it’s not practical to hold me back. She wants me to thrive. When I got beaten up, it compounded all her fears.
‘Greg will be there,’ I say softly. ‘He saved me once . . .’
‘Honestly, that boy is so wonderful,’ she says.
‘I know, Mum – it’s why we keep him around,’ I say. ‘I’ll be careful, I promise.’
‘I know, I know, I just want to protect my baby,’ she says. ‘And, you know, go full murderous bear on anyone who tries to hurt you.’
She takes a deep breath and rearranges her face into a smile. ‘You’re going to have so much fun!’ she says. ‘You’ll have to tell me all about it when I see you on Saturday.’
‘I’ll be careful, Mum, I promise,’ I say again.
‘Oh, I know, I know,’ she says. ‘Greg and Natalie will be there. They’ll look after you – I know they will. Just make sure you text me when you get home, OK? I need to know you’re OK when I’m not here.’ It’s the only deal we really have. She works late, but I make sure she knows I’m safe.
‘I will,’ I say. ‘Promise.’
Mum finishes decorating the cake and we have a slice before she heads upstairs for a power nap. I’m left in the dining room, my head spinning a little out of control. I try not to think about the attack if I can, but every now and then something will happen that pushes it to the front of my mind. Like when Natalie quizzes us about what happened over the summer.
I felt bad keeping it a secret, but as time went by it got harder to tell her. And then Connor happened. Which made it all the more complicated.
The people who were kicking the shit out of me weren’t just a bunch of assholes with a flouncy gay boy vendetta, they were people at my school. Connor’s friends. He was there and he saw the whole thing happening. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t do anything. Probably because he didn’t know me. Not yet. We didn’t start seeing each other until a month or so later, when he apologized for what had happened, apologized for not stepping in, for not doing something. If Greg hadn’t been there to stop it, who knows what would have happened.
But when I asked Greg not to tell what happened, or that Connor was there, he promised that he wouldn’t. When he found out I was dating Connor, he thought I was out of my mind, but he hadn’t been there when Connor had talked to me. He’d not heard about his homophobic family, about his asshole friends that he couldn’t really get away from.
We’d not been together when it happened, so why would he step in?
Greg hated the excuse but kept it to himself. So now I feel tense whenever Connor comes up in conversation. If Natalie knew, she would make me break it off and probably break Connor’s face in the process. I hate secrets, I do, but I need Connor. And I think he needs me too. At least that’s what I tell myself.
NINE
Thursday goes by without incident. I have breakfast with Mum in the morning, before leaving her to go to sleep in the afternoon before her night shift. When I get to school, I pass the day with my bravest face on. Mrs Hepburn and the rest of my drama class are tiptoeing around me, I can feel it, and whenever I look round I swear someone is whispering about me. That lovely feeling of knowing lots of people was great when it was about Grease, but now it’s about my failure I’m not so keen.
After school, I ride home and Natalie comes over. We watch a lot of Drag Race to make me feel better. It cheers me up when I’m feeling even the tiniest bit low. There’s something oddly comforting about it, even when the queens are being horrible to each other.
‘It’s self-care, but with lip syncs and bitchiness!’ Natalie says.
It’s almost like we’re preparing for Dragcellence tomorrow as we watch, speculating about what it’s going to be like and eating a hell of a lot of cake. It’s nice to be thinking about something else.
Hun, are you not coming tonight?
Miss Emily is worried.
‘Who’s that?’ Nat asks through a mouthful.
‘Priya.’
Natalie sits up sharply. ‘Is she coming tomorrow? Tell me she’s coming tomorrow.’
‘Yeah, yeah, she’s coming – she’s just wondering where I am.’
Natalie raises an eyebrow. ‘Were you meant to have class tonight?’
I hesitate. ‘Maybe.’
‘Girl—’
‘Nat, don’t, I just can’t right now.’
‘So you’re giving up on everything because of one failed audition?’
‘Natalie, don’t do this right now. I don’t want to, OK? Please?’
She opens her mouth to speak, but quickly stops herself. I don’t think I’m ready for whatever it was she was about to say. ‘Fine.’ She turns back to the TV. ‘One more runway?’
‘One more runway.’
I’m really not feeling it right now.
Still on for tomorrow?
Oh, I wouldn’t miss it! See you tomorrow!
Natalie and I keep watching
Drag Race until it’s way too late and, by the time she leaves, I can barely move.
But I stay downstairs and keep watching.
I stretch as I watch, sitting on the floor, legs out in second, eating my third slice of cake and killing time, letting the evening slip by runway by runway until it’s nearly midnight. That’s when I start staring at the clock on my phone.
I forget how many years I have done this for, but I enjoy the moment when 11:59 turns into 00:00, when the previous day turns into my birthday. I watch and wait, the minute seeming like the longest of my life.
At 00:00 my phone buzzes in my hand and I flinch and drop it.
‘Skittish!’
I scream and turn to see Mum standing in the doorway.
‘Mum!’
‘What?’
‘You scared the shit out of me!’
‘Language!’
‘No,’ I say. ‘I feel like it’s warranted. I nearly had a heart attack.’
‘Stop being so dramatic,’ she groans, leaning on the doorframe.
I take a few deep breaths, trying to locate my composure, but it has vanished into the night.
‘I thought you were sleeping,’ I say.
‘I was. And you should be,’ she says. ‘I got up to get ready for work, heard you down here and wanted to be the first one to wish you a happy birthday.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Well, you could have killed me.’
‘The phrase you’re looking for is thank you,’ she replies. She clasps her hands together and puts them in front of her chest, looking a little misty-eyed. ‘Oh, my boy.’
‘Mum—’
‘Let me feel emotional,’ she interrupts. ‘Eighteen years old. I have a son who is eighteen years old. It’s a wonder really. I look so young—’
‘Focus, Mum, my birthday!’
‘Of course, of course!’ she says, taking a seat on the sofa behind me, her hand tousling my hair while I keep stretching on the floor. ‘I know you’re having a rough time—’
‘Mum, please—’
‘No, no, let me do this.’ She sighs. ‘I know you’re having a rough time figuring out what you’re going to do next and that’s fine, that’s totally allowed, but please remember how young you are, how talented you are, and how much you have going for you. You’re the most determined person I know, so I know you’re going to make it, one way or another.’ She reaches out her hand and extends her pinky finger. ‘OK?’
I take her finger in mine. ‘Thanks, Mum.’ It’s all I can really manage without bursting into tears because it’s late and I’m tired and the last thing I want to do is talk about my most recent failure, but her words mean a lot. She wouldn’t say them if she didn’t mean them. I’m sure of it.
‘Right, I’m going to go and start getting ready for work,’ she says. ‘And you should go to bed – you have school in the morning.’
‘One more episode?’ I say. ‘It is my birthday, after all.’
She sighs in mock annoyance. ‘Fine, but, after that, bed. I should see you when you come in from school later, but if I don’t I’ll leave some cash on the table—’
‘Mum, you don’t have to—’
‘I’ll leave some cash on the table for your night out.’ She bends down and kisses the top of my head. ‘Happy birthday, my darling boy. Sleep tight.’
She walks back upstairs and I hear her go into the bathroom and turn on the shower. My phone buzzes again. I look and see two texts from Connor. The first reads ‘Happy birthday’, sent dead on midnight, the second ‘I’m outside’.
I sit bolt upright.
I guess Mum wasn’t the first person to wish me a happy birthday. How about that?
What are you doing here?
Three dots. Three dots that make my heart thump a little harder in my chest.
It’s your birthday. Why else would I be here?
Three dots again. He’s a confident double texter.
Is your mum here?
I go to write back immediately, wanting to see him, wanting to kiss his face off even for a second. But Mum is upstairs. And there are no closets down here to throw him in or windows to throw him out of.
But, suddenly, I don’t care.
No, hang on.
I leave the TV running and walk out of the living room, past the stairs and to the door. When I open it, he is standing there in a T-shirt and jeans, the light from the hallway illuminating his handsome face. When he sees me, he smiles and I all but melt on the spot.
‘Happy birthday,’ he says.
‘You already told me that.’
‘By text,’ he says. ‘Now I get to tell you in person.’
He reaches out and takes my hand, starting to trace little patterns on it, his fingers calloused. Every little bit of contact with him is stolen, so it feels electric.
He steps inside, kissing me hard on the lips out of sight of the watching street, the twitching curtains of people who probably care less than he does.
But I don’t overthink it. I just kiss him back. I just let myself have this one moment.
When we stop, his forehead is resting on mine, my hand on the back of his neck, and we’re breathing on each other like it’s a scene from a film.
Happy birthday to me.
‘Robin?’
Shit.
‘Robin, is the front door open?’
Holy shit.
‘You said she wasn’t here!’ Connor hisses.
The moment is gone, shattered into a million pieces. He looks so panicked, all the colour draining from his face, and I’m reminded just how freaking fragile this entire non-relationship is.
‘She was in the shower,’ I whisper back. ‘She’s got work, so I thought—’
‘Robin?’ I hear her footsteps on the landing, on the stairs. ‘Robin, would you just answer me?’
‘Robin, you can’t do that to me!’ He seems genuinely angry. Upset.
‘I know, I didn’t think, just go,’ I hiss. ‘I’ll make something up.’
‘Don’t tell her.’
‘I won’t, just go.’
He runs. He actually runs down the garden path and makes a sharp left, nearly falling over his own feet as he scuttles off into the night, out of sight.
‘Why are you standing there with the door open?’ Mum asks, arriving at the bottom of the stairs, a little out of breath in her dressing gown. ‘You could have answered.’
‘Sorry,’ I say. I feel flushed. I wonder if I look flushed. ‘I thought there was someone at the door. Wondered if it was Natalie or something.’
‘OK,’ Mum says, staring at me, then at the door. ‘Are you waiting for someone or can we close the door now?’
‘Oh, yeah, sorry.’ I close the door and switch off the hall light, hoping the darkness hides the fact that my cheeks are burning.
‘OK,’ she says again, eyeing me suspiciously. ‘Well. I’m going to carry on getting ready.’
She disappears back upstairs and I finally breathe again. I make my way back to the living room and sink to the floor to watch RuPaul do the walkaround in the Werkroom but I’m not taking it in.
My phone buzzes. It’s Connor.
Don’t do that again.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you got a thrill out of it.
I’m sorry.
It was sweet of you to come over.
I just wanted to see you.
It’s fine.
Happy birthday, Robin. ❤
I sit up straight.
He sent a heart emoji.
I hate how much I know I’m going to analyse that later. Wow.
See you Sunday. ❤
Friday at school is better. Determined to stop me from feeling gloomy, Natalie and Greg bring snacks and treats so that while we’re sitting in the common room during lunch we have a little birthday party. Some people I do drama with come along too: Crystal, Katy, Marcus, Vicky, Lani, DL, Reid, Chuck – all of them happy to spend their lunch break laughing and eating cake with us. It takes my
mind off things a little. Even when I have to happy-face when drama college stuff comes up, I can brush it aside a little easier when I have Entity to look forward to, Natalie at my side counting down the hours, minutes and seconds until the day ends.
‘It’s going to be great,’ she says as we leave school. ‘I’ll see you at mine later.’
There is a knock at the door at around six and Mum answers it before I can even get out of my bedroom. I think I look nice. I’ve picked out a new shirt and I’m trying to leave the college stuff at the back of my head. Tonight is meant to be fun. And it will be. I’m sure of it.
‘Robin, Greg is here!’ Mum calls up the stairs. I could leave her happily talking to Greg for the next few hours if I really wanted to, but Greg would probably be standing there sweating and dying a little on my doorstep.
I pull on my boots, grab a jacket and head down the stairs to see Greg in a polo shirt and chinos, looking incredibly handsome. He’s even put a little bit of product in his hair so it looks sort of messy, but in that carefully placed way.
‘Bye, Mum,’ I say, kissing her on the cheek.
‘Be careful,’ she says. ‘And have fun.’ She turns to Greg. ‘You’ll look after him, won’t you, Greg?’
‘Mum, come on, embarrassing,’ I say.
‘It is my right as a mother to embarrass you,’ she says, ruffling my hair. I immediately smooth it down. ‘Have a lovely night. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Have a fun shift!’
‘I imagine it will be the most thrilling twelve hours of my life!’
She closes the door and we head to the car. ‘Sorry about her,’ I say. ‘She’s nervous.’
‘About you going to a club?’ Greg asks.
‘A gay club, a drag night, in Southford of all places,’ I say. ‘After what happened, she . . .’ I trail off. I don’t really want to bring it up again. It hardly seems like the moment. ‘Anyway, I don’t think she’d have let me come if you weren’t going to be here.’
Boy Queen Page 7
