Chapter 11: Chapter 11
A low, melodic grumble echoed in the warm, close air. It was answered a second later by a higher-pitched twin. For a moment, they lay in stunned silence, then a snort of laughter burst from Gaz, which set Jimmy off, their shaking bodies disturbing the slick, cooling patch of come between them.
“What do you fancy, stud?” Gaz rumbled into Jimmy’s hair.
“You,” Jimmy said, simply and directly, his voice muffled against Gaz’s pectoral.
Gaz kissed the crown of his head. “Yeah, but what about for filling—”
“You!” Jimmy cut in, laughing loudly, a clear, unfettered sound Gaz hadn’t heard before.
Gaz roared in mock-outrage and tackled him, rolling Jimmy onto his back and pinning his arms playfully, pretending to put him in a gentle headlock. “Cheeky fucker. Pizza okay?”
Jimmy, helpless with giggles, nodded his head vigorously. Gaz kissed him, deep and promising, before letting him go. “Right.” Gaz grabbed his phone from the floor, the screen glowing in the dim fairy light. He tapped a few times. “Pick up in twenty. What kind? Besides ‘Gaz flavour’.”
“Something meaty,” Jimmy said, stretching languorously. “I’m fucking starving.”
“Me too. Hollow.” Gaz pulled on a pair of grey sweatpants and a hoodie that smelled faintly of diesel and his own skin. He jumped into the front seat, the van rocking with his weight, and fired up the engine.
The twenty-minute drive was a quiet one, but the silence was different. It was no longer a silence of uncertainty, but a shared, comfortable one. Jimmy stared out at the dark countryside, a stupid, permanent smile on his face. He felt sore in a dozen new, wonderful places. He felt claimed.
Gaz returned with two large, fragrant boxes that immediately fogged the van windows with steam and the scent of cooked dough and pepperoni. They clambered into the back, creating a nest of duvet and cushions. Gaz propped his tablet against a toolbox. Soon they were ensconced, empty, greasy pizza boxes pushed to the side, Jimmy cuddled into Gaz’s side, Gaz leaning against the large cushion. The Dark Knight began.
The film unfolded in the intimate glow of the screen. They chipped in constantly, their commentary a gentle, overlapping dialogue.
“Heath Ledger’s Joker is a masterpiece of chaotic characterisation,” Gaz muttered during a tense scene, his hand absently stroking Jimmy’s arm. “But Nolan’s use of practical effects here… the sheer scale of flipping that truck…”
“It’s the psychology, though,” Jimmy countered softly, his head tilting back to look at Gaz. “In the comics, the Joker’s an agent of pure chaos, but here… he’s making a point about society. He’s a demon born from Batman’s own war.”
Gaz looked down at him, his eyes reflecting the screen’s light. “You see the story. I see the craft. Both are true.”
Jimmy smiled. “Perfect match.”
It was. They ate, they watched, they talked. Jimmy explained the nuances of the source material, the symbolism of Two-Face’s coin. Gaz dissected the cinematography, the sound design, the sheer weight of the IMAX footage. It was a conversation that had no end, a mutual unveiling of how their minds worked.
After the credits rolled, Gaz dumped the pizza boxes in a nearby industrial bin. They stood outside in the chill night air, brushing their teeth with bottled water, spitting into the gravel like two boys on a camping trip. Jimmy shivered, and Gaz immediately pulled him close, rubbing warmth into his arms.
They slept naked, burrowed under the thick duvet and two scratchy blankets. The van held the day’s warmth for a while, then the cold began to seep in from the metal walls. It didn’t matter. Gaz’s body was a furnace. He wrapped himself around Jimmy from behind, one heavy arm across his chest, his knees tucked behind Jimmy’s, his face buried in the nape of Jimmy’s neck. Jimmy had never felt so securely anchored. Sleep came like a soft, dark tide.
Morning was a different beast. A damp, penetrating cold had settled in. Their breath plumed in the air. Gaz groaned, untangling himself and firing up the small heater. The hum and click were followed by a feeble breath of warm air. He lit the camp stove, the blue flame hissing reassuringly as he boiled water for tea in a small tin kettle.
They sat wrapped in the duvet, sipping strong, sweet tea from chipped mugs. The world outside the van windows was a washed-out grey.
“I’ve had the absolute best time,” Jimmy said suddenly, his eyes bright even in the dull light. “Despite how it all started. Thank you.”
Gaz smiled at him, a slow, soft smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “You’re amazing. And I hope we have a lot more time like this together.”
Jimmy nodded, his throat tightening. His eyes grew shiny, refracting the weak light.
“And the sex!” Gaz continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial growl. “Christ, Jimmy. You took me like a fucking champ. I couldn’t believe it… how open you were for me. Wait, what’s the matter?” Gaz asked, his grin fading as he saw the tears tracing clean lines down Jimmy’s dusty cheeks.
Jimmy wiped at them clumsily, a watery laugh escaping. “It’s… it’s a lot of happiness. All of it. You. This. It’s like my brain doesn’t know what to do with it all. It’s leaking out my eyes.”
Gaz set his mug down and pulled Jimmy into a hug, kissing the tears away from his cheeks, his lips salty. “Well, those kinds of tears are fine by me,” Gaz murmured, his own voice thick. Jimmy could feel the rapid beat of Gaz’s heart against his own.
“And I’m sad it has to end,” Jimmy whispered into the hollow of Gaz’s neck.
“End?” Gaz pulled back, his expression incredulous.“Mate. I am not leaving you alone from now on. I know we can’t see each other every day, or share a bed every day, or have sex every day. But if you think there’s a day that will go by without us at least speaking, you are nucking futs.”
Jimmy laughed in delight, a sound that shook his whole body, and hugged Gaz tighter. “Good,” he said, his voice small but firm. “Cos I have no idea how to do this, and my anxiety about being too much or too needy is already doing fucking cartwheels in my stomach.”
“You aren’t too much for me,” Gaz interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You call me any time you need to, and if I can’t answer, I will call back as soon as I can. You’re my man now, and I am your man now. It’s us against the world, babe. Don’t forget it.”
Jimmy nodded, his face beaming even as a fresh wave of tears, these purely of relief, spilled over. His nerves, a constant low hum his whole life, began to quieten, soothed by the absolute certainty in Gaz’s voice.
They stayed like that for a long time, holding each other as the heater fought its losing battle against the morning, trying to put off the inevitable mechanics of return. The drive back was slow, the van feeling suddenly too large and impersonal. They stopped at a service station, a garish oasis of fluorescence and stale air. They bought overpriced bacon sandwiches and weak coffee, eating in the van, their knees touching.
The landscape grew familiar. The outskirts of their town appeared, rows of neat semis with tidy gardens. A nervous energy returned to Jimmy, coiling in his gut. "I think it's time I have a potentially awkward conversation with my parents," Jimmy said, cutting through the silence.
"You sure you're ready?" Gaz asked. "Do you want me to come in with you?" He was serious.
"No. But thank you. I need to do this. You can just drop me at the end of the road,” Jimmy said, his voice tight.
“Fuck that,” Gaz said calmly, turning onto Jimmy’s street. “I’m walking you to your door.”
“My parents—”
“Will see a nice young rugby player making sure their son got home safe after a weekend with the lads.” Gaz parked outside the primrose-yellow door of Jimmy’s parents’ house. “Which is true. And if you do feel up to telling them, they will know who you are talking about.”
Jimmy’s stomach churned. The van, their world, was about to collide with his other, older life. Gaz seemed to sense it. He leaned over, cupping Jimmy’s face, and kissed him. It wasn’t a hungry kiss, or a lustful one. It was solid. An anchor.
“Tonight. Eight o’clock. I’ll call you,” Gaz said, his thumb stroking Jimmy’s cheekbone. “We’ll talk about our days. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Come on. Let's get you inside.”
Jimmy grabbed his rucksack, feeling absurdly like a schoolboy returning from a trip. He slid out of the van, the cold air a shock. Gaz was next to him in moments, his hand on the small of Jimmy's back. Gaz turned Jimmy to face him, holding his gaze for a long few moments, saying more than he could have from words. Then he turned and left. Jimmy didn’t look back as Gaz walked up the path, but he felt Gaz’s gaze on him, a tangible warmth between his shoulder blades.
The house smelled of lavender polish and Sunday roast. His mother appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. “James! You’re back! Did you have a lovely time with your friends?”
“Yeah, Mum. It was brilliant.” His voice sounded strangely normal.
“Who was that in the van? Sounded like a tractor!” His dad added.
“That’s Gaz. He gave me a lift back. He plays prop forward.”
"Oh I know Gareth Edwards," his dad said, "best prop forward full stop in my opinion".
“Oh, how nice! He looks very strong," his mother added, "Well, come in, come in, you must be exhausted. I’ve made a stew.”
“Thanks, Mum. I’ll just drop my bag in my room.” The weight of the impending conversation settled on his shoulders, heavier than his rucksack.
“Actually, son,” his dad said. “We do need a word if you’re up for it?” His dad added as Jimmy was about to head upstairs.
Jimmy felt a cold flicker in his gut. This wasn’t the usual ‘how was your trip’ chat. The tone was measured, careful. “Yeah?” he said, trying to keep his voice light. “Me too, as it happens.”
He left his bag on the stairs and headed into the living room where his parents were now sat side by side on the sofa. Jimmy took the armchair opposite. The air in the room felt thick, pressed down by the dark green velour and the ticking of the mantelpiece clock. His parents looked like they weren’t sure if they should start. They exchanged a glance, a silent communication born of decades.
“After you,” Jimmy said, raising a polite smile. His fingers traced the nubby texture of the armchair’s fabric.
His dad cleared his throat. “Well,” he began, then stopped, adjusting his glasses. “It’s a bit serious and we’ve got a lot to say and to probably apologise for.”
Jimmy frowned, looking concerned. A worm of guilt twisted inside him, irrational but present.
“No, no, you’ve done nothing wrong, James. Not at all.” His dad looked at his mum, who nodded seriously, her hands knotted in her lap. She took a steadying breath.
“Tom came by yesterday,” she began.
Jimmy seized up. Every muscle locked. He tried to look casual, but his heart was thumping so loudly he was sure they could hear it. He saw Tom’s ruined face again, the split lip, the mottled bruise. “Oh?” he said, the word tight and high. He tried to keep himself in check, placing his palms flat on his thighs to stop their trembling.
“Now, I want to start by saying that Tom has a troubled past and there’s a reason we’ve kept him at a distance,” his mother continued, her voice soft but strained. “But I don’t want to overwhelm you with that. We saw the state of his face and so thought it best to invite him in.”
Jimmy could picture it: Tom on their doorstep, playing the wounded party, using his battered visage like a key. The manipulation was so obvious it made him nauseous.
“He said that he was attacked at the rugby club and it was provoked by you. That he’d done everything he could to help you and that’s how you repaid him.” His mother’s words were mechanical, a recitation. “He said he was hoping to talk to you but we said you weren’t in. We didn’t say where you were. He said he isn’t mad, he just doesn’t want nasty rumours going around.”
His mother stumbled at this point, her composure cracking. She looked down at her hands. His dad leaned forward, the sofa creaking under his weight, and took over. His voice was lower, graver.
“The thing is son, he wasn’t very nice to your mother when they were young.” A pause stretched, elastic and painful. “Actually it was a bit more serious than that. And it’s one of the reasons we kept him away for so long.” His dad’s jaw tightened. “Obviously we listened to him but it’s your version that we want to hear. That we want to trust. What happened?”
Jimmy just looked at them, the familiar shapes of their faces momentarily blurred. His eyes started to prick with hot tears. He thought of Gaz. Gaz’s hand on the back of his neck. Gaz’s voice: It’s us against the world, babe. The thought was a shock of cold water. He gathered himself, pushing the tears back, sitting up straighter in the chair.
He told them. He told them about going to Tom’s flat, the beers, the gradual erosion of his boundaries. He described the taste of the cheap lager, the feel of the worn leather sofa, the way Tom’s questions had felt like interest before they curdled into something else. He talked about them getting too friendly, giving them an idea, but not explicit details.
“He made me think I kinda liked it,” Jimmy confessed, his voice hollow. “That’s the worst part. He made the confusion feel like worthiness.”
His parents were statues, their faces etched with a horror they were trying desperately to contain.
Then Jimmy described the Saturday. The empty house. Tom’s arrival, the false cheer, the way the atmosphere had shifted like a barometric drop. The pushing to drink and do other things. The hand on his genitals. The explicit, crude demands. The feeling of being pinned not just by weight, but by expectation, by familial guilt.
“I didn’t do them,” Jimmy whispered, staring at a loose thread on the armchair. “The things he wanted. But I didn’t entirely stop him either. I just… froze. I felt like I owed him something for paying attention to me in the first place.”
His parents erupted then, a torrent of whispered questions and horrified apologies and frantic concern. His mother was crying silently. His father’s face was flushed with a suppressed rage that made the veins in his temples stand out.
“We never knew,” his mother kept saying. “We were right to keep him away, but we never imagined he’d… with you…”
“I should have been here,” his father said, his voice thick. “I should have—”
“But,” Jimmy said, holding his hand up. The gesture felt foreign, assertive. It quieted them. “This is sort of what I wanted to talk about.”
He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the lavender-scented air of his childhood. “He did make me realise I was gay.” He let the word hang there, clean and simple. “Not because of any coercion. Just… he unlocked a door to a room that was already inside me. Something I’d never been able to connect with before.”
He saw his mother’s tears slow, her eyes widening with a new kind of understanding. His father just watched him, intently.
“And the man who dropped me off…” Jimmy’s courage faltered for a second. He swallowed. “He’s… I struggle with saying it, but… he’s my boyfriend. It’s all happened fast. But it’s important you know that bit.”
The room was utterly still.
“Gareth Edwards is your boyfriend?” his father asked, his voice unreadable.
Jimmy nodded. “Yes. Gaz.”
A slow, profound change came over his father’s face. The anger bled away, replaced by a deep, assessing thoughtfulness. He gave a single, firm nod.
Jimmy continued, momentum building now. “When Tom found out I had met Gaz and we had connected, and I wasn’t interested in him—and I wouldn’t have been anyway, he’s my uncle for f…” He trailed off, glancing at his mother.
“For heaven’s sake,” she supplied softly, but her eyes held no reproach.
His father shook his head. “Jimmy. In these circumstances, you can swear.”
A startled, wet laugh burst from Jimmy. The tension in the room splintered, just for a second. “He’s my uncle for fuck’s sake,” Jimmy said, the swearword feeling powerful, cathartic. “So he spread rumours about Gaz. Vile ones. That Gaz had molested me, coerced me. To get back at us both.”
“And Gaz hit him,” his father stated.
“Yes. When Tom came to the club and spread the rumours. Gaz hit him.” Jimmy didn’t embellish it. The fact was its own stark truth.
“Good,” his father said, the word sharp and final.
Jimmy stared at him.
“Not something I’d normally condone,” his dad added, holding his gaze. “But in this case? Yes. Good.”
“And we found out…” Jimmy leaned forward now, delivering the final, crucial piece. “We have reason to believe he’s tried similar things with other guys. Younger lads. From the club’s under-21s. Gaz is going to file a report. With the club committee first thing tomorrow. And then with the police.”
The silence that followed was different. It was a silence of absorption, of grim resolution. The pieces clicked into a terrible, coherent picture.
His mother stood up, her movements stiff. She walked over to Jimmy, bent down, and wrapped her arms around him. She held him tightly, her cheek against his hair. “My boy,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I am so, so sorry we didn’t protect you.”
His father stood as well. He waited for Jimmy's mother to finish, then swept Jimmy into his own arms. The weight of it was immense, a transfer of strength. “You did the right thing, telling us. And your… Gaz… is doing the right thing.” He paused, choosing his words with uncharacteristic care. “He seems like a good man. A solid man. You bring him round for dinner. Soon.”
Jimmy’s head was swimming. The relief was so physical it felt like shedding a skin. He nodded, unable to speak for a moment. But he needed to know, so he pushed through, worrying less about the tears.
"So... so... so... y...you don't mind?" Jimmy asked.
"Mind?" His parents said in unison.
"That I'm gay," Jimmy said as if it was the most obvious question in the world.
"The only thing we have ever cared about is that you are happy," his mother said, her own tears flowing again.
"Exactly," his father added, his own tears now coming. "We love you. And we are proud of you. And if that twat comes round here again, I'll take a swing at him myself."
Jimmy's parents pulled him into another hug, sandwiching him between them, making Jimmy feel that it was all worth it, all the awfulness, to bring him to this point.
"If you need to talk any more about this, we're here for you. Or if you need someone professional. Okay?" Jimmy nodded. "And I agree with your father. We want to meet this Gareth properly. Invite him for dinner. This week please," his mother added before they let Jimmy go to unpack and process what had just happened.