by Sean Kennedy
That’s another thing about mothers. There’s always something they’re not happy about. “That your favourite son is being taken away from you?”
“No, not that,” she said haughtily. And then added as an afterthought, “and I don’t have a favourite.”
“What, then?”
“Well, he didn’t ask you to be his best man.”
“Why should he?”
“Because you’re his brother.”
“But we barely associate with each other. His best man should be one of his bogan best friends.”
Mum sighed. “It’s tradition, Simon.”
“Whose tradition?” I asked. “And it’s his wedding. He can do what he wants.”
“But—”
“Seriously, Mum. If he’s not fussed, and I’m not fussed, why are you?”
“Because people will think it’s odd you’re not—”
“That’s what you’re worried about?”
“I just also want my two sons to be brothers to each other occasionally.”
“That’s not going to happen if I’m forced to arrange his buck’s night.”
I could tell Mum was getting agitated. “Simon—”
“Let it go, Mum. Just be glad it’s happening for one of your sons. Don’t worry about the minor details.”
She wasn’t happy when she got off the phone, and I knew it probably wouldn’t be the last time I heard about this issue. The engagement ring hadn’t even been placed on Gabby’s finger yet, and somehow I was already being sucked into the drama.
THE sound of a message coming through on my mobile woke me the next morning.
I’ll call you when I get to the land of the long white cloud.
I smiled and stretched out with a mighty yawn. Rather Declan shooting the rapids and bungee jumping in New Zealand than me. Well, he probably wouldn’t be bungee jumping, the bosses wouldn’t want him doing anything that could jar his knee. Besides, they would probably be touring the pubs more than anything else.
My Sunday passed uneventfully, reading the papers and doing some planning for the festival, which involved a lot of talking on the phone with Nyssa. I kept listening out for the beeping of call waiting, expecting Declan and hoping for Roger, but we remained undisturbed.
While I was making cheese on toast for dinner, the phone finally rang. I picked up, nursing a finger I had burned on the grill. “Hello?”
There was the sound of an intake of breath, and then Declan said, “Simon?”
“Hey, you arrived safely then?”
He took a deep, shaky breath.
“Dec? What’s wrong?”
“I’m still in Melbourne.”
“Why?” Worry began to build in me. He didn’t sound like himself at all, like he was trying to hold it together but was teetering on the brink of total meltdown.
“I’m at St. Vincent’s.”
“What happened? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine….” He broke off, and sniffed.
“Dec—”
“Can you come here?” he asked, his voice shaky. “My dad’s had a heart attack.”
Chapter 19
I FOUND Declan in the garden in the middle of the St Vincent’s Hospital complex. He was in a secluded corner, mostly hidden away by hedges and large trees, sitting on a wooden bench and staring dully ahead of him.
I wanted to hold him, but we weren’t in a private enough space. Declan put an end to any internal rationalisations I was having though as he saw me and jumped up, pulling me into him. I wrapped my arms around him, and he burrowed his head into my shoulder. I could feel him shake slightly as he tried to control his breathing, but the tears took over and all I could do was stand there and let him cry. When he finally calmed a little, I manoeuvred him over to the bench and sat beside him.
“Are you okay?” I asked stupidly.
He tried to smile at me, but failed. “Better now you’re here.”
“Is there an update on your dad?”
“He’s still in surgery.”
“Christ, Dec, what happened?”
He took a deep shaky breath. “I was at the airport, waiting for the rest of the team to arrive when my sister called me. I jumped into a taxi and got here as the ambulance was bringing him in. Apparently he just keeled over at home, right in the hallway—”
He broke off and wiped his hand across his eyes.
I looked around to see if there was anybody in the vicinity, then inwardly berated myself for doing so. If a guy couldn’t comfort another visibly distressed guy in the grounds of a hospital, then when would it be okay? I put my arm around his shoulders, and he leaned in to me.
“I’m so pissed at myself,” he said suddenly.
“Why?”
“Because I was up there with my family, and we’re all stressed and crying, and whenever I managed to stop thinking about Dad for one second, all I wanted was to see you.”
“You can’t be pissed off with yourself for that,” I told him.
“Why not? I should be thinking of my dad,” he argued.
“Because we’re human. And when we’re upset we want comforting. So we turn to the person we want for that comfort.”
He didn’t answer.
“Are they all still upstairs?”
“Yeah, my mum told me to go and get some air and walk it off. I think I was driving her crazy.”
“Do you want to go back up there?”
He looked at me. “But I just dragged you all the way out here—”
“Like I care. And like I wouldn’t want to be here to help you.” I rubbed his arm in what I hoped was a comforting gesture. “Besides, I’ll stay here. And if you need to, you can come down again and talk to me.”
“What, you’ll stay out here?”
“All night, if I have to,” I replied honestly. I would have done anything to help him feel the least bit better; besides, he called me to come to him, not Abe, not Lisa.
“And you wonder why I—” He stopped and looked away.
“What?”
He changed track awkwardly. “One other thing I was thinking about when I should have been thinking about my father… I thought, what if that had been me in his place? All I would want is you to be there, but you wouldn’t be, because my family doesn’t even know about you.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. And that’s not fair, Simon. It’s not fair to you or to me.”
A tiny rivulet of sweat caused by fear ran down my neck. This was sounding dangerously close to a breakup speech. “You already have enough on your mind, Dec. Don’t start worrying about stuff that hasn’t even happened.”
“I bet my father didn’t think his Sunday afternoon included a heart attack,” Declan said bitterly.
“Probably not. But still—”
“I’m in hospital next month, Simon. If we go on like this, the best you can probably do is come in as a ‘friend’ of Abe and Lisa’s without incurring too many questions from my family. That’s not good enough.”
“And we’ll worry about that when the time comes. You have to concentrate on your dad—”
He cut me off by kissing me, hungrily and desperately. His breathing was laboured, and his cheek was wet against mine. His lips stopped working and rested upon my own, but he remained locked in position, not wanting to let go. I traced along his jaw with the edge of my knuckle, gently, not shying away from his intense stare.
And even though it was probably the worst moment to do so, the words came rushing out of me which should have weeks ago, because I knew how fucking true they were. “I love you.”
He pulled back, his eyes wide. “What?”
“I know this isn’t the time to say it—” I started feebly.
“Say it again.”
I looked at him steadily, without hesitation. “I love you.”
Declan laughed and, if I was reading him right, looked relieved. “You don’t know how many times I’ve been hoping to hear you say that.”
<
br /> I couldn’t believe it had been so difficult to say, but now all I wanted was to hear it from him.
He didn’t keep me in suspense. “I love you too. But you already knew that.”
“It’s not that I didn’t back then, it was just—”
He kissed me. “I know.”
“You should really go up and check on your family,” I said, although there was a selfish part of me that wanted to keep him down here after such a huge moment between us.
“Yeah, I should.” He kissed me again and then stood. “I hate to send you away, but go home.”
“I want to be here for you,” I told him.
“Thank you. But you’ve already done it, more than you think.”
Looking at how much calmer he appeared now than he had five minutes ago, I had to accept that. “You’ll call, right?”
He nodded. We kissed once more, and I hated letting him go.
I watched him walk away with his hands jammed in his pockets. I became aware that our little corner of the garden was not as concealed as I had first thought, but the space was empty and night had fallen while we were talking. I stared at the tall building above me; all the lighted windows of rooms in which miracles and tragedies were currently taking place, and hoped that for Declan’s father, it would be the former.
I’m not sure how long I sat there, but a teenager walking past me jolted me out of my daydream. He scowled at me, and I scowled back, wondering what his problem was; but inwardly berated myself because he probably had his own drama to deal with in being here. I reluctantly stood, and headed for the car park.
BACK home I was restless and anxious, wondering how Declan, his father, and his family were. It felt strange to have so much emotion invested in a man who didn’t even know I existed, and although I knew it was because my ties were to Declan’s well-being more than anything else, I still hoped they were all coping.
I ended up falling asleep on the couch and was woken by a text message coming through.
Dad conscious. Still waiting to hear from doctors.
That was good, at least. I sent back a quick reply and set my mobile’s alarm to wake me in the morning. I couldn’t be bothered getting up and going to bed.
When the alarm started sounding, I got up as if in a daze, fed Maggie, had a shower, and stumbled out the door. I tried to read the paper on the tram but couldn’t concentrate. Just as I made it through the doors at work a new message came in from Declan.
Didn’t want to wake you. Dad is pretty out of it, but docs say more of a warning than anything else. Keeping him in for obs for a few days. Staying at mum’s as she needs us, but will call you.
So, what a difference a night makes. Declan had thought his world was crashing around him only twelve hours ago, and now things were looking up again. Despite sleeping badly, I also felt reenergised and surprised Nyssa with a cheerfulness that was hardly ever my habit on a Monday morning.
It wasn’t to last.
At about two in the afternoon, Nyssa came into the office with a bewildered expression. She had the PM edition of the Herald Sun in her hand.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I think the secret you’ve been keeping has just come out,” she murmured. “No pun intended.”
She laid the newspaper before me, and I felt my stomach drop when I saw the headline.
AFL STAR IN SECRET GAY SHOCKER!
And there, plastered to the left of the sea of print was a box in which a series of photos of Declan and I in the gardens of St. Vincent’s Hospital appeared. They hadn’t left anything to the imagination—one of us hugging, one of us kissing, and finally one of me sitting on the bench alone.
“So what’s the story?” Nyssa asked.
I couldn’t move; I was rooted to the spot with a sense of dread. “Looks like they’ve already got it.”
Halftime
From the Herald Sun, 1 October
AFL STAR IN SECRET GAY SHOCKER!
By Peter Van Niuewen
These exclusive photos, given to the Herald Sun by a sharp-eyed member of the public, reveal that one of the most well-known stars of AFL is allegedly in a secret homosexual relationship.
It will undoubtedly come as a shock to fans of the Devils that midfielder Declan Tyler, a past Brownlow Medallist, appears to be gay. These photos, however, will dispel any doubts.
They were taken in the grounds of St. Vincent’s Hospital, where Tyler’s father was admitted after suffering a heart attack on Sunday. The photographer, who doesn’t wish to be named, and is also a minor, was visiting a patient and observed Tyler and his unknown companion. He managed to obtain these photos using the camera on his mobile phone.
All attempts to reach Tyler for comment were futile as the Tyler family are in seclusion at the family home in Glenroy.
At present little is known about the mystery man in the photographs, but it has to be noted that this has been Tyler’s worst season ever since he turned pro.
The AFL board, Devils’ coach Scott Frasier, and team CEO Ed Wallace also have declined to respond at the time of printing.
A reticent star player… more on Page 4
From column “The Scene”, Reach Out, 3rd October
NOT SO SHOCKING TO SOME
An editorial by Jasper Brunswick
It seems that the straight world is currently getting their knickers in a knot over the fact that Declan Tyler, one of the biggest stars in AFL, has been outed. This has led to an uproar over the belief that one of the best players in recent history can’t possibly be a fag, after all, fags are better known for carrying a handbag than a ball, right?
At the moment it probably seems unimaginable to those who watch Tyler prowl upon the field like a modern gladiator that a sports star of his calibre could be queer, and there may be many who try to write off the recently published photos as fakes posed with look-alikes or excellent Photoshop jobs.
But what does this mean for Tyler’s future in his chosen field? Is the AFL world ready for an openly gay player? Is Tyler himself ready for it? I would suggest he probably isn’t, or else he would have come out of his own volition.
There have been whispers about Tyler for some time. And not only amongst the gay community. Tyler always has been loath to discuss his personal life and his relationship with frequent Brownlow attendee Jessica Wells. Privacy always automatically invites suspicion with the general public as well.
But who is the mystery man in the controversial photos?
He is no stranger to Reach Out. In fact, he has been profiled by us and was about to be interviewed again.
Simon Murray, 27, is the director of the Triple F film festival, which acts as a showcase for truly underground, independent filmmaking and also presents a large number of LGBTQ-related pieces in its programming each year. We have reprinted a previous interview we have had with him in this edition, highlighting the section where he talks about what it means to him personally to choose queer-friendly films.
You can rest assured that we will probably be hearing a lot about him in the mainstream press in the weeks to come as a new interest will be shown in his life, both with Declan Tyler and outside their relationship.
Only one thing is certain—life as they know it will never be the same again.
Interview with Simon Murray, page 6.
From the Herald Sun, 4th October
TYLER’S SECRET GAY LOVER REVEALED!
By Peter Van Niuewen
A local gay weekly has revealed the identity of the mystery man at the centre of the recent Declan Tyler photographs.
Simon Murray, 27, is the director of the Triple F film festival, which specialises in exhibiting independent cinema, usually with a large number of gay-friendly entrants. Attempts to contact Murray have been fruitless, and his assistant Nyssa Prati refuses to comment.
Gay columnist Jasper Brunswick, who has worked closely with Murray in the past, was the source who revealed the identity of Tyler’s secret boyfriend. “We sat on this sto
ry for quite some time,” Brunswick said in a phone interview, “as we are not in the habit of outing people. However, seeing as the Declan Tyler story became headline news in other media, it has now become newsworthy, and we couldn’t ignore it.”
All parties involved in this matter are remaining silent. Tyler remains in seclusion at his family’s home in Glenroy while his father is under treatment at St. Vincent’s Hospital; Murray has his answering service fielding his calls. Miss Jessica Wells isn’t talking and her female “roommate” is maintaining silence as well. The AFL and the Tasmanian Devils Football Club have yet to release statements.
Calls to other players for comment have not been returned, leading to speculation that the club has issued a gag order.
“This is going to be huge for both the gay and the football communities,” Brunswick says. “People are going to have to change their perceptions on all counts. We have never had a sports star this popular come out, and never at the height of their career. He could serve as a role model for so many people.”
Meanwhile, this newly minted role model seems to be in hiding.
Your say… page 12
Third Quarter
Chapter 20
THE world had gone crazy.
A full contingent of Australian media seemed to be camping out on my doorstep. I could only assume that they had partners-in-crime who would be doing the same on the Tyler house in Glenroy, and my suspicions were confirmed when I saw it on the news that night. I had started taking my car to work—the days I actually went—grimly battling through the journalists as I left my house each morning, wishing for the first time in my life I had one of those ugly new houses with a carport and a door that led directly to the kitchen so I could escape in relative privacy. I didn’t answer the many questions thrown at me, not even to say no comment, the stock response given in many a news report by the hounded object of the item. It infuriated the pack, and their questions became more pointed and gradually even more insulting in order to provoke a response from me.
