Page 110 of Exquisite Things
“This is where it all started.” I stare at the fireplace. There are logs inside. I light it. The flames seem to bring me back. Over a hundred years erased by the blaze.
My father’s voice.That’s where filth belongs. That’s where you belong.
My voice.You belong in hell!
My father’s voice.I already am in hell.
Tobi seems just as riveted by the flames as I am. He seems to see something in them. A new future. Eternal youth. The chanceto live in a time where he can do more than exist. Where he can live free.
“I want everything you once wanted. I know there’s better times ahead. I’m so exhausted by the... the hate. The lack of understanding. If it wasn’t for Lily...”
I speak gently. “It was worse for her. Lily and Poppy had to travel to Casablanca for their surgeries. Couldn’t find a doctor in the NHS to help them. They were put through hell at the one gender identity clinic they found on Charing Cross.”
Tobi nods. “I know. Lily didn’t like boo-hoo backstories, but as she got older, the stories couldn’t help but come out. There were nights she would ask me to stay in her bedroom with her. She was in pain by the end. The medicine she had to take seemed to transport her to the past. I know what she went through to live her life. I know what Archie was subjected to. The conversion clinic. The shock therapy. They almost lobotomized him before he escaped. She told me everything.”
“But she didn’t tell you about us?”
Tobi’s eyes blink in surprise. “Lilyknewabout you?”
Oliver nods. “Lily. Archie. Maud. And an old friend of ours from Boston. Those are the only people who knew our secret.”
The fire dies down. I grab the stoker and shift the wood. I use the iron rod to stoke the flames into wildness once more.
Oliver pulls out the single remaining page we have from the original Wilde manuscript ofThe Picture of Dorian Gray. Hands it to Tobi. “It’s yours.”
Tobi’s hands tremble as he grips the deteriorated paper. “This is—”
“The last page we have left.” Oliver puts a hand on Tobi’s shoulder.“Before you burn it, you should know that Lily, Archie, and Maud all had the chance.”
“Lily could— She could still be alive?”
“If that’s what she wanted.”
Tobi holds the paper to his chest. Breathes in the particular scent of aged paper. I can feel Lily’s presence. She’s with us. She’s telling me to stop Tobi before it’s too late. She’s telling me she’s in a better place. That she wants Tobi to join her someday. Wants me and Oliver to join her too.
New York TimesClassified Ads
October 31, 1983
My wandering Stravinsky,
Did you see they arrested the serial killer at last? His name is Dennis. What a mundane name for someone who destroyed so many lives. Guess The Jackal had nothing to do with it after all. Boys like us won’t be disappearing from the streets of London anymore. Perhaps it’s a good sign. Maybe tomorrow the virus will be cured. Maybe the day after tomorrow you’ll summon me. Please summon me. We can hide from The Jackal’s family together. I’m cut in half without you. An incomplete child of the sun whose heart is freezing in Iceland.
Your lonely Neruda
Bram. London. January 1. 1982.
Oliver is angry with me. Again. He blames me. He has every reason to. “I told you we should go home. I knew there was something sinister in that limousine. I could see he was staring at us.” I begin to pack a small bag. Throw some of my clothes inside. Some of Oliver’s too. Oliver takes his clothes out. Puts them in a different bag. “Wherever we’re going, we’re not going together. It’s over. Our little experiment failed. We can’t be happy in our prime.”
“Maybe this isn’t our prime.” I open up the floorboard. Pull our journal out. “Maybe our best is yet to come.”
“JUST STOP.” He unleashes decades of resentment at me. “Look around. You’ve been waiting since the nineteenth century for some fictional perfect time when we can live free of hate. Where is it? When is it coming?”
I open the journal. Read one of his notes aloud. “I didn’t think it was possible, but the world has gone from minor to major.”
“Those were the words of a fool.” He takes the journal from me. “It’s all getting worse. Open your eyes. It’s never getting better. Our people are dying, and nobody cares. They’ll exterminate us when they get the chance.”
I snatch the journal back. Read more of his words back to him. “I’m watching you sleep as I write this. You look so peaceful and beautiful. Lily is frying up fritters downstairs. Maud is in the shower. It’s the simple things, isn’t it?”
