Page 16 of For Fake's Sake and other stories

“I don’t know, Ollie. I wish you’d notice just how much he likes you, that maybe for once you would’ve had someone happy to stand by your side. And maybe, just maybe, stand up to those men for you, to champion you, to be proud to be with you.”

“But why should I expect him to do that when it wasn’t real? He wouldn’t have done that, because after the gala, he would go home, and I would be alone again.”

He sighs. “You just don’t get it, Ollie.”

“You’re right. I don’t get it. What am I supposed to understand?” I’m shouting now, and tears are prickling the back of my eyes. Not having Kit with me is hurting me so much.

“Because he wasn’t pretending anymore. He was with you. He was your boyfriend.” He leans against the door frame. “And I think you thought you were his. And that’s what scared you.”

Well, isn’t that the fucking truth?

“The cab’s here, Ollie,” Jack calls.

The rest of the week is quiet. We made an unspoken truce to not mention Kit’s name again. It’s painful, but it was my doing, and I deserve for it to hurt me. I walk into the hallway in my tailor-made Tom Ford tuxedo, which fits like a second skin. It’s worth every penny, and there were a shit ton of pennies. What surprised me the most was Jack’s offer to come with me. I wanted to say no. That I would be fine on my own, but I wouldn’t be. He also told me he wanted to watch Monty’s face when I gave my speech. The speech about the importance of safety for LGBTQ students and having a liaison officer and counselling easily available within the private school network. That every school should have a zero tolerance for bullies.

I bought a tux for Jack too. He didn’t want to accept it until he tried it on. He smiles. The first genuine smile he’s given me in a week.

“We look damn good!” He laughs and gives me a hug. “Tonight is going to be a blast. You’re going to slay them.”

We drive up to the front of The Grosvenor, and I suddenly feel a little sick. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Of course you can. You’re amazing. You deserve to tell them how awful school was and probably still is for vulnerable kids and how, through your experience, you can teach them how it should be. Then you can get as drunk as you like and tell Monty Tosspot Atkinson to go fuck himself.”

“Okay. Thanks for that. Let’s go.”

We walk into the huge ballroom. I wince. Whoever designed this has never heard of the expression less is more. The gaudy green and gold stripes of the school’s colours decorate every surface.

A server carrying a silver tray laden with champagne flutes passes, and we both grab a glass. Giving the noisy group belonging to Monty and his friends a wide berth, we walk to our table. Thankfully, none of the name placements carry the names of those arseholes. Jack takes the piss out of all the snobs milling around. We catch snippets of their conversations, and they’re busy trying to better each other with their jobs, salaries, and other pointless games of one-upmanship.

I limit my alcohol intake until after my speech, which luckily is the first of the evening after the meal. After, I can either drink the bar dry or leave, depending on the response after I’ve finished. Jack promised me he’s prepared to gag Monty if he tries to interrupt me.

Far too soon, the last of the plates have been cleared from the table, and Monty walks up the stage. He scans the audience until his gaze lands on me. He narrows his eyes when he sees Jack with me, not Kit. Did I imagine the look of disappointment in his gaze? What had he planned to say that now isn’t relevant? I guess I’ll never know.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. It’s so wonderful to see all the old gang back together. A great school is always built on strong foundations, and to see so many past students is a joy. I have great pleasure in introducing our first speaker of the evening. One of my good friends and a true advocate of lifelong friendships made at schools, Ollie was always one of the smartest and friendliest boys in our class. He’s excited to speak of the importance of friendship. Please put your hands together for my friend Blinkers, I mean Oliver Blinkhorn. Whoops, sorry, Oliver Stansbury.”

I walk to the platform and glance around the room, but I don’t recognise anyone.

“Thank you, Monty. Good evening.” I take a deep breath. “When Monty first asked me to speak, I wasn’t sure I was the right person. When he told me the topic he wanted me to speak about, I knew I wasn’t. But Monty doesn’t take no for an answer, so I did what I thought was best for me and for the future of the school. I decided to talk about the importance of equality in schools, of supporting LGBTQ youth. To tell you the story of a student who, though academically one of the strongest, was also one of the weakest members, a confused young man who found out that a boys-only boarding school isn’t the safest place to be when you’re gay.”

I look around the room again. Monty is shooting daggers at me, but he doesn’t dare interfere. Not surprising. Jack hastaken a seat next to him and probably has made good on his promise. He gives me two thumbs up, and I mouth a thank you.

“The young boy would hide in the caretaker’s lodge to do his homework. Every day he went to school exhausted from lack of sleep because he was afraid of what might happen to him when he was asleep. He worked long hours in the library, alone, because he wasn’t safe in his dorm room. Until one day after having his clothes ruined by another prank, he said enough was enough. He wasn’t brave enough to approach the teachers. He was brave enough to take an overdose of painkillers he’s been hoarding throughout the year.”

I share my story of how all the taunts, jibes, and pranks were put down as boys being boys and as boisterous behaviour, not the bullying it actually was.

“This is no longer acceptable in independent schools. Schools outside the private sector have strict codes of conduct, support systems, and regulations. By introducing the same rules and standards, young men and women won’t be attempting to take their own lives. They will grow up to be strong leaders within not only the gay community but in every path of life they choose.”

The audience seems to hang on my lips.

“Every child has a right to be heard and taken seriously in a place he is supposed to be safe. Therefore, I’ve decided to start a foundation for LGBTQ kids, working with and in schools to provide the support so urgently needed. I am naming the foundation after the boy who was let down so badly.”

Women wipe their eyes, and a few men smile and nod in agreement and, hopefully, support. A young man at the back of the hall has tears coursing down his cheeks but also a proud smile on his face. A man so handsome I can’t take my eyes off him. “Oliver’s Foundation.”

For a full heartbeat, one could hear a pin drop. Then the applause starts. People rise from their seats, clapping and cheering. But I ignore every one of them and have only eyes for the man making his way towards me. I jump down from the stage straight into Kit’s arms.

“I’m so fucking proud of you, Ollie. You’re amazing,” he whispers into my ear and holds me tightly. “I’m not so sure about Monty, though.”

I glance over my shoulder at Monty, who seems shell-shocked. Which would be a first. Dismissing him, I turn back to Kit. “What are you doing here?”

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