by Sean Kennedy
“You’re a dark horse,” Mum said, almost admiringly. “I thought you were joking about the whole Declan Tyler thing.”
“How come you didn’t call me yesterday, after I left the message?” I asked.
“Oh, you know us and that damn machine,” Mum said. “We never know how to use it.”
“So how did you know?” I asked.
“Well, darling, you are on the front pages of all the newspapers. And of course, they all started calling us.”
Dad spoke up for the first time since entering. “Is Declan Tyler really… you know?”
“Yes, Dad, he is really, you know.” I passed him his beer.
“He doesn’t look it.”
“We have a look?” I asked as I filled the kettle. “Do I have that look?”
“Don’t start,” Mum warned. “We came here to check up on you.”
“I’m fine.”
“Well, we’re not,” Dad fumed. “The phone’s been ringing all bloody afternoon.”
“Sorry,” I said. “It will blow over soon.”
“Where is he?” Mum asked.
“Who?” I lifted the kettle off its base.
“Declan Tyler, of course!”
“Did you come here to see him or me?”
“You’re being shirty,” Mum warned.
“Can you blame me?”
“You should have known this would happen.” Dad huffed.
“You’re blaming me for this?” I passed Mum her tea.
“Of course he’s not,” Mum said apologetically on his behalf.
“Is it serious?” Dad asked.
“What?”
“Your… relationship.” He said it as if it was incomprehensible.
“Do you mean are we just fucking?” I said it to be cruel, to get the reaction I wanted. And I wasn’t disappointed.
Dad coloured visibly.
“Simon!” Mum cried.
“That’s what he wanted to hear.”
“It bloody well wasn’t,” Dad said.
“Well, you’re not comfortable with relationship, and you’re not comfortable with fucking, so how are you going to feel when I tell you we love each other?”
Apparently that didn’t go down too well either. Dad took a long gulp of his beer. “If he’s in love with you, why isn’t he here?”
“I’m expecting this shit from the general public,” I replied as calmly as I could. “I guess it was stupid of me to expect support from my family.”
“Stop it, both of you!” Mum said. “Your dad may say otherwise, Simon, but he wanted to come here and make sure you were okay. He worries about you.”
Dad stared down at his beer.
I had to admit, it was pretty impressive he had come here. Before I could say anything though, we heard a commotion on the veranda. I told my parents to stay in the kitchen, and crossed into the lounge room to peek out of the window again. Roger was surrounded by journalists, who were demanding to know who he was and how he knew me, even speculating over whether he was an ex-boyfriend. I saw him reach back into the small crowd and pull Fran up next to him. She was fumbling in her purse and brought out my spare key.
They let themselves in and slammed the door shut. They stood there for a moment, shell-shocked and panting, before they spotted me in the lounge.
“We brought alcohol,” Fran said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a bottle of gin.
“And that is why you’re my best friends,” I said.
Fran ran across the room to hug me. “You okay?”
“Yep, fine.” Then I whispered, “My parents are here.”
She pulled back and laughed. “I thought I saw a blood-red sky with fishes raining out of it on the way over here.”
“Cute.”
“Who is it?” my mother called from the kitchen.
“George Negus. He wants to interview you.”
My mother came bustling into the lounge, patting her hair, and looked crestfallen. “Oh, hello, Roger, Fran.”
“Mrs. Murray,” they mumbled politely.
“Simon!” Mum protested. “You got me all excited.”
Roger and Fran snickered amongst themselves.
“I don’t know what you’re laughing about,” Mum said sternly to the two of them. “I’m sure you knew all about this while Simon kept his own family in the dark.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Murray,” they replied in unison.
Mum pursed her lips. “Cup of tea?”
I waved Fran’s bottle of gin at her. “I think we’re having something stronger.”
“Gin and tonic, Mrs. M?” Fran asked.
“No, I’m happy with my tea, thank you.”
“Roger,” Fran gestured at the booze. “Hurry.”
As Roger passed me, I handed him the bottle. I could hear him greeting my father, and they began talking about the Grand Final. Anything footy that didn’t deal directly with Declan Tyler.
Mum wandered over to the window and looked out. “They’re all still out there,” she mused.
“Mum!” I hissed. “Get away from there! They’ll see you.”
“And what if they do?” she demanded. “It’s your house! They can’t make you hide in it!”
Fran gave me a sympathetic smile.
“You’re going to have to face them sooner or later,” Mum told me.
“I know,” I sighed.
Luckily, Roger arrived with drinks, and I disposed of mine in one big gulp. “Do you mind making me another?” I asked.
Roger wordlessly handed me his own glass, handed the third to Fran, and disappeared back into the kitchen with the empty one.
“He’s well-trained,” Mum said approvingly.
“Like a puppy,” Fran replied wryly.
“So how come you don’t have any photos of him?” Mum asked, her eyes scanning around the lounge room.
I sipped steadily at my drink, wishing I would black out. “Wouldn’t be much of a secret if I put stuff like that out, would it?”
I didn’t want to tell her about the one photo I had hidden in my room, the only one in existence of the two of us together. At least as far as I knew. Lisa had taken it when I was in Hobart, of Declan and I together on his couch. It was a terrible photo of me; I was mid-laugh and braying like a donkey while Dec was looking at me in amusement. Great candid shot, but not that flattering. Of course, I loved it.
So I wasn’t about to parade it before my mother as proof of our relationship.
“Were you expecting the tabloids to pass by?” Mum asked.
“Well, they are here now, aren’t they?”
Roger walked back in, carrying a jug. “Saves making constant refills,” he said.
I grabbed the jug and started on my third.
“You’re not becoming an alcoholic, are you?” Mum asked.
I contemplated drinking straight from the jug.
Mum and Dad left not long afterwards, disappointed that they hadn’t gotten much out of me and even more upset that they hadn’t gotten to see Declan. I hoped such a meeting would be a long way down the track, and seeing as I hadn’t heard from him in days, it could be even longer than I hoped.
Fran and Roger were the supportive friends they always were. And when I got stupidly drunk and ended up vomiting and sobbing over the toilet, they told me I only had one night in which I could let go like that and didn’t leave until they sobered me up somewhat.
I woke up briefly around four in the morning and reached over to pull the photo of Declan and myself out of the book it was hiding in. I guessed there was no longer any reason to hide it and propped it up against the alarm clock. If all went well from here on, I would put it in a frame.
I WAS still fighting the resulting headache from the previous night’s shenanigans as I drove to Roger and Fran’s in order to meet Declan.
It was only the second time I had emerged from the house. Some of the media pack had subsided, but there were still enough of them that it was a struggle to get to my car. What felt like a thou
sand questions were fired at me, most of which I didn’t even recognise as they all garbled into one unintelligible mess. Camera flashes blinded me as I tried to back the car down the driveway, and I wondered if my luck was so dire I would probably run over a journo as I tried to escape.
I kept one eye on my rear view mirror the whole time, trying to figure out if anyone had followed me. I was beginning to feel like I was trapped in some bad telemovie of my life and wondered which appalling soapie star they would bring in to play me.
But I managed to make it to Fran and Roger’s unscathed. Neither of them were home, so I made myself comfortable on the couch nearest to the window so I could watch out for Declan.
He arrived about ten minutes after I did. I was opening the door for him before he even got to it, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to kiss him or hit him.
Once he got into the house and looked at me, I did both. I shoved him a little, but before he had time to react I was kissing him.
“Arsehole!” I mumbled before pulling away. “How is your dad doing?”
He grabbed me by the arm and brought me back to him. “I’m sorry. I did it all wrong, okay? I should have been on the phone to you first thing. But—”
Now he was here, in front of me, my anger was abating. “I know. Believe me, I know. But I was really fucking afraid you were blaming me.”
Declan nodded.
“Did you, at any point?”
He took a deep breath. “Not you. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I wish I had kept better control over myself that night.”
I stared down at the carpet, too scared to look at his expression. “So what’s been going on? What did your family say? Your coach?”
He led me over to the couch, and we sat down. “Mum wanted to try and keep it from Dad at first, just because of his health. But there was no way it could be done, I mean, he has a TV in his room and the newspaper guy goes round the wards every day. Dad knew by the time Mum went in to visit him that evening.”
“And?”
“Do you know what sucks, Simon? I couldn’t even go and see him at the hospital. They had reporters camped out there as well. A guy tried to sneak into his room to get a quote, but a nurse grabbed him before he managed to ask anything. Mum gets mobbed in the car park every time she goes to visit him. This is the first time I’ve left the house.”
“Did you get to speak to him on the phone?”
“Yeah.” Declan gave a short laugh. “He said I always got the limelight wherever I went and whatever I did.”
“Doesn’t sound like a ringing endorsement.”
“He’s my dad,” Declan said simply. “He loves me. Just, being a dad, he won’t ever say it. You have to read around it all.”
I thought that was a nice way of putting it and remembered how my mum had claimed my father worried about me. Maybe Declan was a lot wiser than I was. “And your mum?”
“The same. But as I told you before, I thought she already knew. And now she wants to know who you are.”
I instantly felt sick. “Oh.”
Declan laughed. “I thought that would be how you would look. Anyway, my parents are coping. Or at least, they would cope better if the media backed down a bit. The bosses think if I release a statement it might help.”
“A statement? They’re really okay with you doing that?”
Declan grimaced, and I knew that everything wasn’t as hunky dory as he was portraying it. “Let’s not think about that for a minute. How are you?”
“I’m fine. I just want everything to be okay between us.”
“I want that too.”
“Do you think we’ll survive this?” I asked.
“We better.”
I knew there was a lot more to be talked about, but it didn’t seem the right moment. We kissed, our bodies reacting against each other out of comfort and hurt, needing to be together to cement this bond that had been tenuous over the past few days.
As it always was when I was with Declan, I felt things were right and good and would be practically perfect if the world at large would leave us to it.
And for a little while, it did.
I started to pull at Dec’s shirt, and he pushed my hand away.
“Not here,” he panted. “We can’t.”
“They won’t be home for a while,” I assured him, lightly nipping at his ear.
“It’d be weird….”
But he was starting to slip. I pulled him up from the couch and led him to the spare room. We shed our clothes eagerly, hungering for each other. He watched me as I gently pushed him upon the bed. I lay him down by running the palms of my hands over his abs, up his chest, and applying pressure at his shoulders. He arched up to kiss me as I straddled him and brought his knees up to cradle me closer as we forgot about the outside world once again.
Chapter 21
“DEC,” I murmured. “Wake up.”
He shifted groggily, trying to figure out where he was for a moment in the haze of sleep.
“Fran and Roger will be home soon,” I told him. “Not exactly the best way to announce our presence.”
Declan sat up. “Oh, shit, this is seedy,” he agreed with a yawn.
“Roger can be a prude sometimes. Fran’s brother made a joke once about his daughter being conceived in this room, and Roger practically called in an exorcist to cleanse the place.” I couldn’t resist cuddling in closer to him, trying to draw his warmth into my own body.
Declan snorted, and I smiled when his arm pulled me in even closer. “Isn’t that what a guest room is for?”
“Conceiving children? No, I think they’re just generally a place for friends and family to sleep in when they’re too drunk to drive home.”
“Come on, we better get up,” Dec said regretfully, and he swung his legs out of the bed, searching for his boxers on the floor.
I threw myself over and hugged him from behind. “Maybe we can ask them if we can stay here. Maybe forever.”
He leaned back and kissed me affectionately. “I think the press will still track us down eventually.” He found my T-shirt next to his pants and threw it over his shoulder, hitting me in the face. “As much as I hate to say this, get dressed.”
I reluctantly pulled my shirt on, reluctantly acknowledging that he wasn’t going to lure me into getting back into bed, and jumped out to begin making it instead.
Dec laughed. “Put on some pants, you flasher.”
“You want me to put my pants on, find them for me.”
They came flying across the room along with my boxers.
“Good look, though,” he said appreciatively.
I put my hands on my hips and slowly wiggled my hips in some bad imitation of sexy dancing. Declan began laughing, which wasn’t exactly the response I was hoping for until he swooped in for a kiss with a gentle tease of tongue.
“Really good look,” he murmured.
Shuffling into my boxers after that was slightly harder, and Declan sat on the bed to pull his sneakers back on.
I smoothed the bed down when he got back up and stood back to survey the room. “Looks reasonable, right?”
“They won’t suspect a thing.”
It was probably a lie, but I pushed him out the door and towards the kitchen. Declan started preparing coffee, and I slid onto the stool at the counter, happy to watch him as he moved comfortably around Fran’s domain.
“They asked me what I wanted to do,” Declan said suddenly.
I had been distracted, watching his hands and wishing they were on me again.
“Who?”
“The bosses. They said they would support me with whatever I decided to do, but I think they were hoping I would agree to cover it up. For the time being, anyway.”
“How could you cover it up?” I asked.
Declan slowly put his hands upon the counter and didn’t look at me. He stared at the fake marble. It was the most interesting thing in the world to him right then, and I knew immediately.
“By b
laming me,” I replied, barely a whisper.
He still couldn’t look at me. “Yeah.”
“What, the predatory gay friend taking advantage of you in your hour of need?” My voice was starting to rise a little now.
“Something like that.” His tone, however, was both bitter and flat.
“And what did you say?”
I could tell from his posture that he was feeling both defensive and ashamed.
“You thought about it, right?” I couldn’t believe it. There he was on the phone, only a few hours ago, pledging his love to me, then fucking me; now he was basically admitting that he considered letting me fall on the sword for him.
“Of course I thought about it,” Declan said softly. “I thought about every fucking possibility, every scenario. It’s the way I am, Simon. I think things through. I don’t just wing it like you do.”
I wanted to throw something at him, but I stopped myself. “You think I wing it? Jesus, Declan, ever since I started going out with you I’ve been planning things down to the minutest detail! When to call you, how not to draw suspicion—”
“I know.”
“So how is that winging it?”
“I just meant naturally, you wing things. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be out battling the press and telling them to fuck off.”
“Yeah, and I’m not doing that because when it comes down to it, I want to do everything to protect you.”
He laughed. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem now.”
“What, you think that now, because we’re exposed, I still won’t have to do it? Or won’t want to do it? If anything, the pressure will be worse now because before when I was only paranoid about the possibility of everyone watching us, they’ll actually be doing it!”
“Simon….” He crossed around the counter and came over to me, but my body language warned him to back off slightly.
“I can’t believe you considered it.”
“Not seriously. And only for a minute.”
I stared him down. “It was a minute too long.”
He opened his mouth to defend himself, but closed it as he heard the door opening.
“Do we have visitors?” I heard Fran call out.
“It’s us,” I called back, not taking my eyes off Declan.
