Page 43 of Boy Friends
‘I don’t know it any other way. He’s never hidden this part of himself, which is why I never felt like I had to hide it either.’
Why is it that I can say these things to a boy I’ve only just met, but not to Simo, who’s known me more than half my life? Telling Jacob stuff I’ve never told my best friend feels disloyal, but I’m not sure who I’m betraying here; him or myself.
‘Makes me wish my parents were gay. It would have saved me a lot of anxiety,’ Jacob says.
‘Yeah, it’s taken a while to understand that it’s not that easy for everyone. And that not every place is as welcoming as Lombard. I think it has a lot to do with Mum and Dad being so young and alone when they came to town,’ I explain. ‘People embraced them and wanted to help out. That’s why Mum was able to go to university, and Dad felt safe to be himself.’
‘What’s changed? Does he no longer feel safe?’
‘I guess not. His parents have just moved to Lombard, around the same time as you. They don’t exactly get along, which is why they haven’t spoken since I was born. But now they’re here and they don’t know that their son’s gay and he doesn’t want them to find out. So, long story short: no, I don’t think Dad would let you take his picture for your project.’
‘That’s OK,’ Jacob says. ‘The important thing is that people feel comfortable having their portrait included.’
‘So you’ve found others?’
‘Maybe. You’ll have to wait till it’s complete to find out,’ Jacob says with the hint of a smirk. ‘What about your mother, is she . . .?’
‘A lesbian?’ I ask. ‘No. She only ever mentions the guys she dates, anyway.’
‘And how do a gay guy and a straight woman end up having a child together?’
I’m taken aback by his directness, but when he turns a cute shade of red and apologises, I brush his words away. ‘It’s fine. Most people give us curious looks, but no one everasks, and it’s not like it’s a secret.’
I set the mug down and launch into a short version of the story that Dad used to tell me. ‘Mum and Dad grew up together and were close from, like, toddlers. Dad calls it a trauma bond, because they both came from messy families. Their parents were neighbours, and Maz and Poppy stuck together all through school. Apparently, Mum started fancying Dad, and he hadn’t yet figured out that he didn’t fancy girls. He thought he had to give them a go and everything would fall into place – his words, not mine. Either way, things did fall into place, only not in the way they’d imagined. It took a few months until I made my presence known. And voilà, here I am.’
‘Excellent use of French.’ Jacob applauds.
‘That’s where my knowledge starts and ends.’
‘That’s what I’m here for. I can teach you,’ he says, without taking his eyes off me.
‘What about your parents?’ I ask after a moment, unable to sit in silence.
Jacob pulls a face like his tea has suddenly turned bitter. ‘They’re not speaking. And I prefer it that way, because when they’re forced to communicate, it gets ugly.’
‘I know that feeling. Put my dad and my grandparents in a room and it’ll soon go up in flames.’
The corner of Jacob’s mouth twitches, but it doesn’t turn into a smile. ‘Do your parents still get along? Or do you need to follow them around with a fire extinguisher whenever they’re together?’
‘Nah, they’re all right.’ It’s a bit of an understatement, because they’re literally best friends, but it feels rude to belauding my parents’ brilliant relationship when Jacob clearly doesn’t have that. ‘They raised me together. But when you’re sixteen, with a baby, and a baby daddy who’s just come out as gay, you might have doubts about your future. Mum went to uni and later joined a research programme in New Zealand. She’s still out there.’
‘And you don’t miss her?’
The truth is that sometimes I forget to miss her, because I’m so used to it just being Dad and me. I shrug. ‘I love her, and I know she loves me. But Lombard is too small for her, and I don’t want to leave.’
‘Ever?’
Jacob’s question makes me think. Dad and Simo are my favourite people. The cafe and the beach and the island are my favourite places. I can’t imagine being happy anywhere else. But I don’t want Jacob to think I’m boring, so I shrug again, and he doesn’t press for an answer.
After the food – rich curries, some creamy with almonds and raisins, others hot enough to make me hiccup – we set out again and find a bookshop with a view of the citadel. Jacob is the bookish type and walks straight to the literary section. He reminds me of Simo; I think their tastes would align. In the meantime, I wander to a room with coffee-table books, for a simple reason: more pictures and less text. I flick through one on the history of film photography, but I don’t take any of the images in.
My mind is stuck on the fact that Dad is hiding who he is from his parents, and I’m at least partly guilty of doing the same thing with Simo. Because we don’t talk about gay things. At one point we apparently agreed to ignore severalelephants in the room, and we’ve continued to do so ever since. Now we’re here, incapable of talking openly, feeling silly.
Dad is the foundation I built myself on, proud to have this honest man as a father. But his image has taken a couple of big whacks recently. Yes, I get that he’s scared of his parents’ reaction, and I don’t blame him – their parent–child relationship is Royal Family levels of messed up. But I can’t just ignore it.
‘Luca?’ someone says, and I look up. Jacob is standing in front of me, a French book in each hand. ‘You seemed far away. I said your name a few times.’
‘Sorry,’ I say, but he shakes his head and smiles.
