by Sean Kennedy
He was so casual even I couldn’t tell if it was a lie. Maybe he did have a band? From the few times I had met him, Connor seemed capable of anything. And he must have known Joel would corroborate the story with Mark later, so it had to be true.
“You’re picking the wrong person if you want advice on a musical career,” Joel said, arms folded, defiant.
Even I was knocked for a six by that.
“Joel,” Connor said, and there was a tenderness there. “You’re better than that.”
Joel didn’t answer. Connor gave a sardonic salute to me and left without another word.
“So what’s going on there?” Joel asked me as the door closed behind Connor.
“Like he said, he wanted some advice.”
“What, he just happened to see you on the street and decided he wanted to talk about his band with an expert?”
I ignored the barb about my career, and went to stick the kettle on. Joel followed me.
“Well?”
“I ran into him on Oxford Street in the record store. And as he said, Frank and Franco had introduced us before.”
“Yeah, and you always seemed like the type to become best buddies immediately.”
“I wouldn’t call us that. I’m probably the only person he knows semipersonally who once had a recording contract.”
“I never even knew he cared that much about his band.” Joel thought to himself for a moment. “I didn’t even know he had a band.”
Neither had I. This was just getting more and more ridiculous. What the fuck was I doing?
Luckily I was interrupted by the screech of the kettle.
Joel remained quiet as I prepared coffees and brought them over to the table, sitting across from him.
“No bickies?” Joel asked.
“Don’t have any.”
“You’re a terrible host.” We were sniping at each like only siblings could. I preferred it that way. It was familiar ground.
“I wasn’t expecting company.”
He sipped at his coffee. “Not even thought to pick up a pack once you knew Connor was coming back here?”
“I didn’t know that was expected of me.”
Joel rolled his eyes. “Come on, you were raised by the same mother as me!”
Biscuits had been the last thing on my mind as Connor stopped kissing my neck and turned me, chest against the wall.
“You look a bit flushed.”
I tried not to blush further as I lied through my teeth. “I’m just wondering where this interrogation is going.”
Joel laughed. “Interrogation? We’re just having a chat. You know, like brothers do.”
“Most brothers I know don’t discuss personal things. They just grunt at each other about sport and beer.”
“Personal things?” Joel looked triumphant, like he had caught me out. “So Connor is a personal thing?”
“You know what I mean.” I wanted him gone. Every extra second he stayed here he was laying another trap, until my personal space was covered and I couldn’t move without falling victim to one. A steel spring one that would make me have to gnaw off my own foot to escape.
“I would have thought if anything, Dev was your personal thing,” Joel said slyly.
Fuck, he was going for the core. “Dev is a friend,” I said, keeping my voice even. I tried to banish all thought of him from my mind in case I ended up betraying myself.
“You seem to have a lot of friends at the moment.”
“I guess one of us has to.”
Joel let out a snort. “You do know Facebook friends don’t count, right?”
“Says who? I didn’t know there was some shadowy global cabal that let out press releases on the official status of Facebook friends and their relevance in scoring points during arguments. Why don’t you just say what you’re really thinking?”
“What am I thinking?” he asked, the picture of innocence.
“You know what you’re bloody thinking!”
Joel sat back and drained the rest of his coffee. “I don’t think you want me to say what I’m thinking.”
“You’ve never had any trouble saying it before.”
“Oh, there are lots of things I’ve never said.”
I didn’t know why I kept pushing him. There was a strange elation coming over me, wanting to see if I could finally force him into giving voice to what he knew, and I knew he was thinking. “Well, go on, then. You know you want to.”
It was such a childish threat to make. It was like we were kids again, fighting over the odd Tim Tam left in the packet.
But he didn’t rise to the bait. Not now, anyway.
“It’s just… you’ve got a choice to make. Mum and Dad, well, you’re going to push them away eventually. I saw how they were upset after you spoke to them between sets. They want to support you, but you act like you don’t give a fuck. And I know you do.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve been there, believe me.” There was a weight behind his words, speaking of a shared experience that I was reluctant to align myself to. “This may not have been the defining moment that destroys everything, but it’s going to come one day. And I know you don’t want that to happen.”
“You know an awful lot.” He did, actually. It was like he had read my mind from earlier.
“I know,” he said sadly. “Lots of things.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Shall we have this out?”
“What?” I was scared, but also a little thrilled. It would be so much easier to make Joel do this for me. And then I could conveniently blame him if everything went to shit.
“This conversation we should have had had for years. I didn’t want to push it, and I know this isn’t how it’s supposed to go, and you should do it in your own time, but I just look at you, Steve, and I know you’re not happy. And I’m not guaranteeing you’ll be happier afterwards, because it isn’t magic, and it doesn’t solve all your problems, but it will feel like a weight’s been taken off you—”
And just like that, so close to the finish line, my blood ran cold. “What are you getting at?”
Joel placed his hand over mine. “You know.”
It was like I was outside my body, staring at us both. I looked waxen, as if Madame Tussauds had replaced me while no one was watching. “No, I think you’re going to have to spell it out for me.”
He grimaced. “Okay, you really want me to say it? I don’t know what part of the rainbow spectrum you identify with, but you should come out. You’ll feel a lot more secure in—”
He hadn’t said gay but he’d said come out and that was close enough. The wax figure turned back into flesh and blood and sought the only exit, one he knew would cause pain but would let him be alone again.
“Look, Joel,” I said, coldly. “I’m happy you’re King Fag with your drag boyfriend, but stop trying to shove your lifestyle down my throat.”
Joel froze. The shock was evident on his face. Oh, how I knew the Achilles heel of homophobia! The closet amplified it, but those in it also knew how to wield it as a weapon in order to deflect it against themselves.
His hand withdrew, and he stood. He was trying to do it with dignity, but I could tell he was about to cry.
I was a fucking awful human being.
And nobody, nobody, would ever disagree with me.
“Bye, Steve.”
Joel’s farewell had a note of finality to it.
I didn’t answer.
I was about to cry myself.
Chapter Five
I paced around the flat like a madman, replaying the scene in my head over and over again like a porno of pain.
I even dug out my phone and tried to call Joel and get him to come back.
He didn’t pick up. Why should he? And why should he want to come back here, where I had humiliated him? Not even humiliated—shat upon everything in his life and everything he loved. I did that, me, who lived in fear of everything and couldn’t live any semblance of the
life I wanted to. Joel lived his life openly and was good to everybody, and everybody loved him in return.
And I had fulfilled my darkest fantasy of making everyone turn against me.
And that was when I allowed myself to cry. Great, big, self-pitying howls that later on I would wonder hadn’t brought any of my neighbours running to the aid of the murder victim. Then I remembered I had alienated most of them too.
I tore my clothes off, desperate to get the smell of sex and Connor off me. Not that I blamed him for what happened. I knew it was entirely all my own doing. I just wanted to be clean and fresh before I thought about my next plan of action.
Instead I sat on the floor of my shower, doing the good old clichéd “sitting under the running water, oblivious to everything else” cry. At least the bathroom and the water muffled my snot-ridden hiccups and wheezing.
Once I cried myself out I dressed and sat on the end of my bed. And realised the smell of Connor was probably on the sheets, so I stripped the bed and threw them in the washing machine before putting on clean ones.
For one brief, mad second I actually thought about calling Connor and getting him to come over. Just to talk—I felt like he might be the only person left who would actually speak to me.
And I remembered who I really might have a chance with.
Who I felt safest with.
Ten minutes later I was at Dev’s door, ready to knock it down with the heaviness of my blows.
I had pushed him so far to the back of my mind because I really didn’t want to think about him rejecting me. I could almost handle anybody else doing it, but not Dev. He was the one person who I wanted to think better of me, and I had kicked him to the curb as well.
He had every right to slam the door in my face.
My worst habit was pulling him in and then pushing him away. I had a modus operandi that even the worst detective would solve within the first forty-eight hours of a case. Usually after sex, in the dark, when I didn’t want him to go, when I didn’t even suggest it like I would with so many other guys, I would tell him things I hadn’t told anyone else.
“What are you so scared of?” he’d asked, one night when my head was on his chest and he was gently stroking my back like tending to a scared animal.
“Lots of things.” I always managed to answer with a truth and—although not a lie—some evasive dismissal.
“But what have you got to lose? There could be so many more benefits.”
“Like what?”
“Okay, if we just think of your career—”
“What career?” I snorted.
“Things have stalled for you. You’ve said so.”
I knew it was true, but it did hurt coming from him even if I had said it myself many times before. “Okay.”
“If you came out, it could be a boost to your media profile—”
“It could also kill the little I have left,” I said. “Then I’m the ‘gay singer,’ not the singer who is also gay.”
“It’s not perfect,” Dev admitted. “But it’s something different.”
I sat up and looked down on him. “I don’t want something different.”
“Then what is it you want?” he challenged me.
“For things to stop being so fucking hard.” It slipped out of me before I could stop it.
“What would make it easier?”
I drew my knees up to my chest. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe being open with your parents and Joel would make things easier. You’re so tense around them all the time, and they know it. They’re not stupid.”
“So you’re the expert on my family, now?”
He now sat up as well, and I loved how the skin of his stomach creased accordingly. “Well, I do speak to them more than you do.”
I would have given a movie-worthy gasp if I hadn’t been struck dumb.
It was harsh.
It was rooted in cold, hard facts.
But fuck, it hurt.
“Sometimes you don’t realise how good you have it, Steve Colvin,” Dev said sadly. “And it could be so much better.”
Now I was realising just how much worse my life could be.
But as he saw me standing on his front porch, Dev only just had to look at me to know something was wrong, and his expression immediately changed to one of concern. “What’s wrong?”
No recriminations. No “what the hell are you doing here.” Maybe that would come later, but right now he was only worried about me. That had to mean something.
“I’m the worst,” I managed to say.
“Yeah, what’s new?”
He meant it as a joke; I knew that. But it also seemed like confirmation of my worst fear—I was a truly irredeemable shithead.
Dev looked horrified when I burst out crying. This was an emotion he had never seen me express before.
And it wasn’t just crying. It was unintelligible, heaving, unable to breathe, snot flying ugly crying. It was even worse than before. I hadn’t known that was possible.
“Is someone dead?” Dev asked, leading me to the couch. The way I was acting was so bad that death was probably the only thing he could think of that warranted such a spectacle.
I shook my head.
“Then what is it? You’re really worrying me!”
I leaned my head against his chest. It was immediately soaked, a dark patch where my cheek rested. He made soothing pats on my back as if I were a baby, and these gradually became circular rubs—calming, regular, and predictable. My breath started to return to me.
“I was so fucking awful to him—the way he looked at me—”
“Who?”
“My brother!”
“Is this about last night?” he asked.
Dev knew enough about our history to know it could have been a combination of things. And I realised my predicament—to tell him about my and Joel’s fight, I would also have to explain Connor’s presence and subsequent involvement.
And I didn’t want Dev to know about Connor. He knew I fucked other guys, but I always came back to him. And we had never said we were in a relationship. I didn’t expect him to remain faithful to me, and it seemed he’d had a guy over a few nights ago when I tried to call him.
Everything was so fucked. But if I wanted to start all over again, I had to stop “erasing” or “skipping over” my more shameful episodes. Dev was going to hear the real me tonight, and then he could make a final decision on whether he wanted to stick around and watch me trying to reform myself. Preferably by my side.
“Among other things,” I said.
“I’m sure it’s probably not as bad as you think.”
“You were there, Dev. You saw how badly I hurt my family.”
He looked uncomfortable. “Well, yeah.”
“Well, it got worse.”
“Worse?” He seemed to think it was so bad it couldn’t get worse. How little he knew!
“You remember Connor, yeah?”
“The guy who was friends with Joel?”
“Yeah. Well, Joel came over and found Connor at my place.”
“Again?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought you only did one-night stands.” His voice grew cold. He had been the only one who lasted beyond one night. Maybe it meant something to him. I had never told him how much it meant to me. Because I was a fucking irredeemable shithead.
“It was more of an unforeseen opportunity.”
“Oh.” He nodded. “You were just in your flat and Connor burst in and rode your dick.”
I chose to ignore that. “I ran into him on Oxford Street. I was upset about everything, like with Joel, and how I’d made you upset as well—”
“Don’t bring me into this. You have to stop making excuses for this shit when all it is is that you have no control over your dick or your mouth.”
I felt the copper rise in my throat as I choked down tears threatening to rise. “Please, Dev. I’m just trying to tell you what happened. And I want you to know e
verything.”
“What if I don’t want to know?” he asked. “What if it was better for me just to pretend that stuff like this never happened?”
I didn’t know what to say.
He sighed, and waved his hand. “Go on. You’ll tell me anyway.”
“No, it’s okay.” I wanted to get up and leave but I just didn’t have the energy.
“Get it off your chest. Fuck knows, nobody else will listen to you right now.”
True, but how it burned! “You’re right about that. Especially Joel. He tried to talk to me and I wouldn’t let him. I just wanted to get him out of the house so I….” I didn’t want to finish it. Dev watched me expectantly. “So I knew an easy way to get rid of him. I called him the King of the Fags, made fun of his drag queen boyfriend, and told him to stop shoving his sexuality down my throat.”
Dev noticeably stiffened—it was as if he had stopped breathing—and his hands fell away from mine. I no longer felt the warmth of his embrace or just how naturally safe and good he made me feel. He was now a tsunami of ice. I was surprised he had actually lasted this long.
“You’re right,” he finally said. “You are the worst brother ever.”
“Well, now you know.” It took him long enough to realise, I guess.
“I can’t believe you said that to Joel. That guy is sweetness personified. He would have looked like a golden Labrador that had been kicked in the face when you said that to him.”
It was actually an extremely accurate description of how Joel had looked. And “sweetness personified” was an understatement. No matter how much I pushed him away, he was always there when I needed him, and even when I claimed I didn’t. He had come to every Remember My Name studio performance, even when I asked him not to. And my parents had always accompanied him.
At least I had never told Joel one of the reasons why I didn’t want him to come—he seemed too campy. I was scared that if he was interviewed on screen people would instantly know he was gay and look for the same signs in me.
Don’t worry. Even though it sounded like an impossible task, I hated myself more than anybody else does.
But you know what? Joel wasn’t dumb. He probably knew all along. And a lesser person might have decided to sabotage me and get on camera and out-camp Julian Clary and Tilda Swinton at an underground Vogue-Off, but he didn’t.
