A Ballad of Confetti, Cake and Catastrophes

by Helen Juliet

  “What about you?” Nicholas asked as Fynn helped him open the door.

  “I’ll get my own one,” Fynn promised him. Nicholas started to protest that that would be expensive, but Fynn waved him off. “I saved money hardly buying any drinks, remember?” He smiled, and leant in to block out some of the rain and look down at Nicholas where he sat. “Can you – uh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Can you text me when you get home, okay?”

  Nicholas may have been cold from the rain, and from the shock he’d just had. But that simple question made his insides feel like they were glowing with warmth. “Sure.”

  All too quickly, the door was shut and Nicholas and Ash were on their way. Nicholas couldn’t stop shivering, and the taxi driver had to ask twice for the address they were headed to before Ash finally stepped in and answered him.

  “Sorry,” Nicholas rasped.

  What had just happened?

  Hunter thought he could do that, because he’d somehow worked out that Nicholas was gay, years before he had. They’d had a bet on it. It had been funny. And because he was gay, Hunter and his friends thought it was okay to threaten him. To try and force him to do something he didn’t want to do, to degrade him. If he wasn’t gay, they wouldn’t have done that. He wouldn’t have almost got hurt. What the fuck, how – what –

  Before his thoughts could swallow him whole, he felt a cold hand slip into his own. He glanced over, and saw Ash looking at him, their hands linked in the space between their seats in the back of the cab. She gave him a small, tight smile, then lifted his hand to lightly peck a kiss on the back of his knuckles. Then she stared out into the rain as the taxi swiftly took them home.

  Chapter Eight

  (Three days to go…)

  Nicholas sat on his bed for quite some time. He managed to pull his jeans off, but figured he’d just sleep in the t-shirt and boxers he had on, even though the shirt was technically one he kept for best.

  He kept telling himself he was okay, but he felt violated. He’d allowed Hunter to talk to him like that, to degrade him. Why the hell hadn’t he told him to fuck off?

  Because he’d been scared for his safety, that’s why. The realisation made him feel powerless.

  He was surprised by the knock at the door, but like earlier in the day, it was Ash. She only poked her head in the crack, and gave him a small smile. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure,” he said. He pulled the covers up, hugging them to his chest.

  She bumped the door all the way open with her hip. She was wearing her short PJ shorts with a different t-shirt. Nicholas recognised it as a Sarah Anderson comic design, though not one he’d seen before. Appropriately for the evening Ash had just had, it depicted a two-part design that showed a ‘What I think I look like when I dance’ image next to a ‘What I actually look like’. It was funny in an innocent sort of way, and it made Nicholas smile.

  Ash had two large mugs in her hands, and she carefully walked over with one held out in Nicholas’s direction. “Hot chocolate,” she said by way of an explanation.

  Nicholas felt that lump rise in his throat again, but he shoved it back down. “Thanks,” he croaked, and took it from her.

  She’d sprinkled mini marshmallows over the top of a squirt of whipped cream, and Nicholas wondered if he’d ever smelt anything so divine. He took a sip, and the cold that had seeped all the way to his bones from the rain crept up a few degrees.

  Ash perched on the edge of his bed with her feet tucked under her bum. She sat up straight and blew on her own chocolate as they sat in a silence that was surprisingly comfortable. Nicholas glanced at his phone, but he could see it wasn’t blinking, indicating he had no new messages. He’d text Fynn as soon as he’d got into his room, but so far, there was no response.

  “I think something happened to you tonight.” Ash was staring right at him as he raised his gaze to meet hers. “And if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. That’s why hot chocolate exists. But if you do, you can. To me or someone else, but you can. Because you’re important, and you should look after yourself.” She gulped down two mouthfuls of chocolate, then wiped the back of her hand over her mouth, not taking her wide, blue eyes off him.

  “Um,” said Nicholas, squirming a fraction under her scrutiny. He’d told himself he’d just forget about what had happened, that he really didn’t want to hash over it. But Ash had asked him directly. It wasn’t surprising she’d guessed something was amiss after he’d made he leave so suddenly. He probably did owe her an explanation, even if it made him uncomfortable to discuss.

  Plus, she was still staring.

  “I guess,” he began, his words stilted. “Uh, someone said something kind of shitty to me, and uh. They sort of put their hands on me a bit. But that was it. I think I’m more freaked out by what could have happened, but, I guess, I mean… It sort of still feels like a violation. But it’s fine, I’ll be fine. Because the bad thing – or things—” He shivered, then took a moment to recollect his thoughts. “It didn’t happen. So I probably just need to get some sleep and I’ll be fine. Because I have hot chocolate.” He raised his mug to her. “And you guys got me out of there, and I’m home, and I think I might be gay.” He closed his eyes and took a big mouthful of hot chocolate, his whole body vibrating and prickling with heat. But then he let out a long breath, and smiled shakily before opening his eyes. “I’m, uh, gay.”

  Ash’s face broke into a huge smile. She grabbed his ankle through the duvet and gave it a hard squeeze. “Yes,” she said. He waited for more, but she just kept grinning.

  He found he didn’t need her to say more. He could feel tension ebbing out of his body. “I’m gay.” He said it again, just for good measure.

  “I wondered.” Ash nodded and poked at one of her marshmallows with her finger. “I try not to assume things like that, but, yeah. It crossed my mind. I’m happy you felt like you could tell me.”

  Nicholas smiled, tears of gratitude pricking at his eyes. “Thank you. I’ve not actually told anyone before.” He patted her knee. “You’re pretty easy to talk to.”

  “No problem,” she told him sincerely.

  He laughed, feeling a bit surreal. He’d done it.

  “Seriously, if you ever want to come out, I’d be happy to return the favour.”

  Ash blinked owlishly at him, her expression wholly serious. “Really?”

  Nicholas hadn’t been expecting that. He had meant what he’d said though. “Absolutely,” he told her, nodding fervently.

  Ash chewed her lip for a little while. Nicholas began to think she’d changed her mind, but he went against his nature and didn’t ask her anymore questions. She would talk when she was ready.

  Sure enough, after a few minutes and a few more mouthfuls of chocolate, she took in a deep breath.

  “I don’t always feel like a girl,” she said.

  He’d guessed that she was going to confess that she liked girls. Not that she wasn’t one. He wasn’t sure how to respond for a second. “Oh. Okay.”

  “Sometimes,” said Ash, not moving her eyes a millimetre from the rim of her mug. “I feel like a boy. I am a boy.”

  Nicholas took a sip of his chocolate to quickly gather his thoughts. What would Lauren say? She was always good with this sort of thing. “Well,” he said, picking his words with care in light of such an unusual revelation. “You can be a boy if you want.”

  She shook her head. “Only sometimes.” Her gaze met his, but only for a flash and then she was back to her hot chocolate.

  Nicholas tried to remember the name of that actress from Orange is the New Black. He’d read an interview with her a while back, and she’d said something very similar. “So, you switch back and forth between them?”

  Ash nodded, then took a careful gulp of her drink, licking cream off her top lip. “Some days…” she continued. A nervous laugh bubbled up, and she covered her mouth. But she nodded, and inhaled slowly. “Sometimes I’m neither. I just feel like a ‘they’.”

/>   Nicholas was glad his last beer had already been starting to wear off. He really didn’t want to say the wrong thing. “As long as you’re you,” he said, “does it really matter what gender you are? I mean,” he added hastily. “It matters if you tell people you want them to, uh, use different pronouns.” Was that how Lauren would say it? “But, as long as you’re happy, I’m sure people won’t mind.”

  “Like Peter?” She looked hopefully at him.

  “You haven’t mentioned this to him?” he asked. She shook her head. Both hands were firmly cradling her mug, and she looked back down as she swirled the drink inside. “Well, no, I don’t think he’d mind at all. I know I don’t.” He hoped that counted for something.

  Judging by the shine on her eyes when she looked back up, and the grin that split across her face, it did. “Good,” she whispered, nodding into her chocolate. She blinked a few times. “Good. Good.”

  Wow. So, he was gay, and Ash was…whatever the right word was. Gender fluid? He hadn’t seen that coming a week ago. It felt oddly freeing, knowing they’d both got something so big off their chests.

  They sat for a little while longer, not saying anything. Just grinning to themselves and finishing off their hot chocolates. Eventually, Nicholas yawned twice in a row, and his eyelids started to droop. Ash stood, taking his now empty mug wordlessly, and headed towards the door.

  “Who was the guy who walked us out?” she asked. She paused halfway out the door, one foot in the dark corridor outside.

  Nicholas licked his lips, tasting the residual chocolate. The guitarist for the wedding, his brain shouted at him. The guitarist for the wedding! “Just a friend.”

  She nodded. “I think he seemed like a good friend.” With that, she took herself out, and closed the door behind her.

  ***

  Fynn still hadn’t texted back by the time Nicholas woke up in the morning, which kind of hurt, because he could see from the ticks that he had read it. He’d seemed so concerned last night, and that had made Nicholas feel so much better. But now he couldn’t even be bothered to reply to the message he’d asked Nicholas to write?

  It was still chucking it down, which Nicholas couldn’t quite believe. He laid in bed for a while, listening to it spatter against his bedroom window beyond the closed curtains.

  As much as the weather was cause for concern, and Fynn’s lack of response irked him, Nicholas kept coming back to one irrevocable fact.

  He’d come out.

  Sure, it was just to Ash. She was just one person, and he was going to have to do it over and over again until everyone knew. And probably to an unknowable number of people he’d yet to meet in his future. But he’d done it. He’d said the words out loud.

  “I’m gay,” he said to himself. It made a warmth fizzle through him. “I’m gay,” he repeated with more determination.

  And Ash had shared her secret with him too. He wasn’t really sure he understood what she meant – how could she feel like a boy, if she was a girl? Sure, her hair was short, but she didn’t have a cock between her legs. And her boobs weren’t massive, but for her frame they were still pretty hard to miss. She didn’t have boy biology either – there wasn’t an overabundance of testosterone swimming about her system.

  But, it seemed like none of that really mattered to her. It didn’t really matter to Nicholas, he supposed. He didn’t have to understand it. He just knew he really liked Ash, and if she said she was a boy from time to time, what difference did that really make?

  He thought about their evening last night – before and after the incident with that prick, Hunter. They’d gone out just the two of them and held hands and she’d even kissed him. Not on the lips, but still. However, until that moment, lying there, it didn’t strike him that any of the could have been romantic. All Fynn had to do was look at him, and he felt like his knees had turned to water. But with Ash, it just felt cosy. Right.

  Bloody hell; she did feel the same, didn’t she? She hadn’t been coming on to him this whole time had she? Nicholas chewed on his lip. He didn’t think so, but, he might be completely oblivious. He’d never thought of himself as a particularly sexual person before, but he’d been dealing with misinformation. He might not know when a girl was flirting with him, because he’d always been too hung up on someone like Hunter paying attention to him to notice.

  He scoffed and rubbed at his face. He was a maths dork who’d had terrible acne. He doubted he’d missed any flirting, and he was almost certain that wasn’t the vibe Ash had been giving him all this time.

  In fact, he had a sneaking suspicion that she’d only told him about her boy-girl thing so that he’d come out to her. He couldn’t say for sure, but if so – if she suspected he was gay already – then it would be a bit weird if she was secretly nursing a crush.

  As it was now Wednesday, that officially marked the start of everyone’s annual leave. Beyond his door, Nicholas could tell people were already waking up and getting geared up for the day. He sighed and tried to steel his nerves to go out and begin the activities lined up for them all. Without reminding himself of the official schedule, he already knew there was something going on with the speeches. Danielle had probably set aside time to coach his dad and Peter through every word of theirs. The name-place card thingies that they’d ordered weeks ago for the dinner were also due for delivery sometime in the afternoon. There was probably more arts and crafts to be done, seeing as the photo collage board wasn’t yet done and there were still last minute details to be added to the table centrepieces, and Nicholas vowed he would do whatever he was told.

  He hoped for Ash’s sake there might be an opportunity to play with the hot glue gun again. It seemed to be the only job that had managed to keep her awake the other day. He wondered if she hated arts and crafts as much as he did. Playing with something dangerous had obviously piqued her interest.

  He negotiated his way through the bathroom between his mum and Clara, forgiving the tepid water in the shower, figuring it was better than it being freezing cold. He dressed quick enough and sorted his hair, then took extra care rubbing in the bio-oil to his scars, as he’d neglected to do it before he’d gone to bed. As he massaged his cheeks, his eyes wandered over to his phone.

  He’d still heard nothing from Fynn, although he’d swapped a number of texts with Trev, who’d been pretty upset that Nicholas had had to go early. Nicholas thought Trev maybe assumed he’d not been feeling well, and he didn’t bother to correct him. It was nice enough that he’d messaged several times to make sure he’d gotten home and was feeling alright this morning. But Fynn, who had walked him out to the car and specifically told Nicholas to text him once he’d made it back safely, remained silent.

  He made a snap decision, and once he’d wiped the oil from his fingers, he snatched his phone up and unlocked the screen.

  ‘Hey, sorry about last night. It couldn’t have been too much fun for you. I’m feeling okay though today.’

  “Thanks for asking,” Nicholas snorted out loud to himself.

  ‘If you’d rather go check out the town hall by yourself, I understand. Nx’

  The kiss was almost a test, he realised. He hoped it might push Fynn to letting on how he was feeling. Even just a little bit.

  He kept his phone out where he could see it during a help-yourself breakfast of cereals and fruit, and in front of him as he sat and cut out paper love hearts for a variety of things Danielle apparently had in mind.

  Eventually, he got bored of unlocking the screen every few minutes to see if the ticks had changed to show Fynn had read the message. After an hour, he still hadn’t looked at what Nicholas had written, and seeing the same grey ticks over and over was making him irritable

  So he made himself stop, and after a while, he forgot about it, getting involved in discussions about car timetables between the house and the venue, and organising the fresh flowers that would be delivered on Saturday morning. He even left his phone on the sofa when he popped to the loo after a simple lunch
of sandwiches, and didn’t think to check on it until after he’d finished chewing his way through a Snickers bar.

  He was so used to the blank screen, he had to do a double take a the message sat there waiting for him.

  ‘Of course not. I’m just on my way to the cathedral. Meet me there? x’

  Nicholas realised how fickle he was, but all his ire vanished in the face of finally getting a response. He couldn’t help but grin, so he extracted himself from the room as unobtrusively as possible. He didn’t forgive the fact that Fynn had failed to text him until now, but he couldn’t help but feel a bit giddy. He still wanted to meet up, and he’d added another kiss.

  ‘Yeah sure! What time?’

  ‘ASAP?’

  Nicholas chewed on his lip. Could he really head off into town, while his family were all busy working? This was technically wedding prep, he argued to himself. Surely they could spare him for a little bit.

  “I need to pop to the venue,” he said from the door. He addressed his mum, since she seemed the least scariest. “To show the musician around. They want to check out the acoustics. For the reception.” He smiled and attempted not to fidget on his toes. “Is that alright?”

  Danielle scowled, but Ash chimed in before anyone else could speak. “I think we’ve got this for now,” she announced with a dismissive wave of her hand.

  “You’ve done quite a bit already while we’ve been at work,” his mum also said. He felt like that wasn’t strictly true, but he wasn’t going to argue with her. “Just be back for dinner.”

  “Will do,” he assured her. He tried his best not to sprint from the room. But as far as he could tell, no one had picked up on the fact he’d said ‘musician’, and not ‘harpist’.

  ***

  St Albans was known for its cathedral almost as much as Winchester. It was a mighty structure, perched on the edge of town at the top of a hill that rolled downwards with long stretches of grass and the occasional looming, centuries-old tree. When Nicholas had read Harry Potter when he’d been younger, he’d pictured the cathedral as Hogwarts. Until the novelty had worn off, he’d imagined himself to be the eponymous hero, coming with friends or his sisters to play Quidditch in the grounds at the weekends.