Page 128 of For Real

“It was my fault too.” He glances away sheepishly. “I got caught up in everyone else’s ideas about what was important. Thank you for, err, not.”

I’m kind of bummed to learn that’s still a thing that happens in your thirties. “But what if I’d… I mean, would you have let—”2

“I know my own limits, Toby.” He reaches for my hand and presses it tight. He’s all warm and strong and unshaken. “The worst it would have been was stupid, since neither of us wanted it.”

“I didn’t want to let you down.”

He gives me his uncertain smile. “Ditto.”

That’s how we leave it. All equitable and mature and shit.

Except it’s fake, isn’t it? Just like me. I’m trying to cling to how I felt at the party—all strong and sure and shit—but we both know what happened, or what nearly happened, is all my stupid fault. I was the one who pushed to go in the first place. If I’d listened to Laurie, and what he wanted, instead of being lost in my own messed-up head, I’d never have come so close to hurting him.

The truth is, I just can’t bear to…to…think right now. Not about Granddad. Not about myself. What Laurie doesn’t realise is that no matter how kind he is, no matter how much he holds me or fucks me or tries so hard to understand me, this weekend is just a way station. What’s waiting for me on the other side is life without Granddad.

Just greasy café days spiralling the same into forever. And I’m scared and alone and I don’t know what to do.

I thought grief would be kind of cool and lofty: this rarefied sadness. But it’s the most ignoble thing I’ve ever known. I feel like a wild animal, lost and scratching. And all I want to do is see my granddad again. I want to look into his eyes again and see that love there. That unchanging, unflinching love. Why the fuck didn’t I realise what a gift that was? Why wasn’t I grateful for it every day of my shitty little life? Instead of taking it for granted.

Like the sun and the moon.

The moon waxes and the sun rises and my granddad loves me and everything will always be all right. And now only some of those are true. And thank God Laurie’s asleep so he can’t see these pathetic tears I’m crying in the dark for myself.

He’d want to comfort me, of course, but I don’t know how to be comforted by him.

This man I know so much about and so little that it all kind of blurs in my head—these tiny details like how he likes his eggs or the sound he makes when he comes, and this huge stuff like thinking of him walking down the Underground tracks towards a bomb and this whole relationship he had when I was barely alive.

And the fact he doesn’t really know me either. Only thinks he does.

And so I lie there, stifling my sobs in my hands, wondering how long until he leaves me too.

I must fall asleep at some point, but I don’t sleep so well. I just haven’t been lately.

I like being next to Laurie though. I still don’t sleep, but it sometimes stops my head spinning. I concentrate on all the little things, like the heat of his skin and the beat of his heart and the deep, steady rhythm of his breath. It seems so eternal, so ceaseless, the physical business of being alive. It’s hard to imagine that it’ll just stop one day. For all of us.

I wasn’t there when Granddad died. I don’t know if that’s the sort of thing that’s supposed to matter. They told me it happened in his sleep. Apparently it was peaceful, but I bet they always say that. It’s what you want to hear.

The last thing I said to him was, “See you tomorrow, Granddad.”

Which turned out to be a lie. A really banal fucking lie.

But it’s all lies, really, when someone dies. The whole business of consolation. I don’t think I even really believe in God, but I did find myself sort of…hoping. Because there’s nothing like being handed an ornamental pot of your loved one to make life just a little bit fucking pointless. Ninety-something years and all that’s left is ashes and a boy who can’t even mourn you properly.

Because what I’m really thinking as I watch Laurie sleep is: I wish he would try lying to me. Just a little bit. He could, for example, say I love you. And I don’t care if it’s real or not. Just want to hear him say it. So I’m not so fucking alone.

But people don’t fall in love with mopey, needy idiots, so I’m determined to be shiny by the time he wakes up. I bring him eggs and the Sunday paper, and curl into the crook of his arm while he reads and eats, and in a weird way it does kind of work. I half convince myself that I’m okay. That Monday is another country I may never have to visit. And maybe now I have Laurie’s phone number and a key to his house, that this is enough. That we’re something. Boyfriends. Whatever.

We take it easy for most of the day. After yesterday, I don’t think we’re up for anything super kinky so we just sort of have sex. Except there’s no just about it when it’s Laurie. He takes me apart with this incredible fucking tenderness and then stretches me out on top of him like a wanton slut, takes my cock deep into his throat, and slides his fingers deep into my arse, and oh God, turns me into this pleasure circuit. I last no time, as usual, fucking myself crazy in two directions at once, while Laurie bathes me in all his muffled moans. Doesn’t take me long to get back in the game though. Ten minutes sprawled over him, with him hot and hard and desperate and denied, and then I pin his wrists to the pillow and ride him like the rodeo until I fountain wildly over both of us and he pours himself into me in a warm, familiar flood. And for a little while, I can pretend that maybe I’m where I’m supposed to be.

* * *

In the evening, Laurie takes me out on this date. This actual motherfucking date. Which turns out to be something I want so badly I haven’t even dared admit I want it. And for once, I don’t even have to ask for it.

I haven’t been home, and when I’ve been with Laurie I’ve been mostly naked, so I’ve only got some jeans I’ve come in and my funeral suit. It’s not my funeral suit in any real sense. It’s just a suit. But since I wore it to Granddad’s funeral, that’s basically what it is now. Laurie thinks I should just go in the jeans, but this is a date. And he’s supposedly taking me somewhere nice.

I don’t want to be someone who looks awful at nice places.

Laurie tries to convince me that everyone would just think I’m an eccentric millionaire or something.

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