Page 12 of Going Solo

“Literally, I’m watching Dolly Parton and Cher on YouTube. From, like, the seventies.”

Cole didn’t even bat an eyelid.

“Icons,” he said. “Dolly’s an amazing songwriter. Have you ever listened to ‘Jolene’?”

“Duh, does the pope shit in the woods?”

“Like, it’s unmistakably a country song but, I’m telling you, if you isolated the bass and the drums?—”

I couldn’t even wait for Cole to finish. “It’s a funk beat! I know!”

“It could absolutely be a funk song,” Cole said. “I’d like to try that someday.”

Before I knew it, three hours had flown by. Cole and I spent the whole time chatting about music, dissecting songs we liked, trashing the ones we didn’t, defending our favourites where the other disagreed. I’d never met anyone I could talk to about music like this before—someone who understood music and loved it the way I did, even if our tastes were different. I was already imagining our perfect life together as fabulous, famous pop stars and gay icons.

There was a knock on Cole’s bedroom door, and he startled. I heard the door open.

“Lights out, kiddo,” a man’s voice said. “You’re on for milking in the morning. Get some sleep.”

“Ten more minutes, Dad. Please?”

“Now! Whoever she is, you can talk to her tomorrow. Sleep.”

Pardon?

Cole was plunged into darkness, his face lit only by his phone screen. I guessed his dad had turned off the big light. I heard the click of his bedroom door close.

“Are you not out?” I said. “Or are you… straight?” This particular horror had never even occurred to me until this moment.

“I’m not out to my dad yet,” Cole confessed. “Not yet. Mum and Fiona know. And Tully. I only came out to them a few months ago. I’m… still finding my way, you know? Mum wanted me to be sure before I told him.”

“Sure about what?”

“Sure I’m gay.”

“You’re not sure?”

“I might be bi, maybe? I don’t know.” Cole grimaced. “Does… it make a difference?”

“To what?”

“To you.”

“Why would it make a difference to me?”

“Dunno. I’m new to all this. I’m not sure how it all works.”

“Me neither, babes, and I’ve been out since I was thirteen.”

Cole’s eyes widened. “That’s amazing. And your family were cool with it?”

I nodded. “Mum reckoned she’d known for years. Said she’d had her suspicions when aged five I asked if she would help me blow wave my Barbie’s hair. But it was demanding an ABBA-themed ninth birthday party that finally clinched it. She said no child wasthatSwedish, and I’m only half Swedish. Dad was cool with it. Barely looked up from his golf putter. Aunty Cheryl was thrilled and immediately started listing off the gay bars she wanted to sneak me into.”

Cole laughed. “I’m in awe.”

“Of Aunty Cheryl?”

“Of you. Your confidence. You are who you are. I love that about you. I wish I could?—”

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