NATE
We’re in time. I watch Tariq turn away from the check-in desk, passport and boarding pass in hand, and then stop dead as he sees me. He’s dressed in chino shorts and a white short-sleeved shirt – preppy and cute. He just stares. I give him a nod and a small wave. Like I used to when I’d see him walk into the school library.
Dylan (shorts, vest top and flip-flops like he’s already at the pool, because he’s one of those types), clocks Tariq, then me, then Jack, his face a picture of fury as he storms over and whisks Jack away from the check-in queue, leaving Tariq to walk over to me.
“Hey,” I say.
“Nate, what are you doing here?”
“Came to see you off?” I attempt a laugh, but I can’t manage it. I wanted to make this light, fun and easy, but I feel different to how I thought I would.
Tariq looks at me, pityingly. “Nate, I—”
“Can we talk though? Just quickly?”
“I guess,” Tariq says. He glances over to where Dylan looks like he’s having a very intense conversation with Jack, and then back round the check-in hall. “Should we get a coffee?”
I nod. “Great.”
I sit at a small table in Costa as Tariq comes over with two cappuccinos, which have inappropriately been adorned with chocolate powder in the shape of hearts.
“So?” Tariq says, stirring three sugars into his.
I swallow. “Still like the sugar, huh?” I say.
“Nate,” he says. “I really don’t have long, we’ve gotta get through security, and—”
I nod. “I know. I’m sorry. I just wanted to say…” And I stop because now I’m here, sitting in front of him, everything’s a tangle and I can’t think where to start. He wasn’t right for me? I wasn’t right for him? Did I try to make him fit when he didn’t? Is that my fault? Was he in the wrong? I don’t know and everything sounds wrong now, so I just end up saying,
“I miss you, Tariq.”
Which sounds hideously needy, and isn’t something I even mean.
He looks down at his coffee.
“I did think we were good together,” I tell him. “I really did. I thought we were a perfect match, but I guess maybe it was only me who thought that. Because if you thought that too, I think things wouldn’t have happened between you and Dylan. Is that … is that a fair thing to say?”
There’s a pause, then Tariq looks up at me again. “Dylan was there when … we started talking about stuff that I … you know, there are things that happened that you don’t know about, stuff that—”
“Like what?”
“Like…” Tariq sighs. “OK, like my parents were … accepting when I came out to them, but the same can’t be said for the rest of my family. You know, it hurt me, the stuff that was going on, and one day, I just started talking to Dylan about it, and he…”
“You could have talked to me!” I don’t mean to sound so hurt, but it’s hard, hearing him say this. Hearing him say there was stuff he talked to Dylan about instead of me.
“But, Nate, you weren’t out yourself. You were messed up about the whole thing. That’s not your fault, I don’t blame you for that, I know it’s hard, but right then I needed to talk to someone who had been there, done that, you know? And that was Dylan.”
My throat tightens and my heart squeezes.
“When we first got together, you were so nervous of it, so … skittish. And I totally get that. I really do. But all the secret stuff, all the undercover and no one must find out … I couldn’t keep living that lie. I needed someone who made me feel like it would be OK, Nate. I needed to feel safe and Dylan made me feel safe.”
I start to cry. I can’t help it. I feel like I’ve let him down. I never made him feel like it would OK. Like he could be happy. Like he was safe. “I’m sorry,” I mutter, wiping my eyes.
“I really liked you, Nate,” he says. The fact he doesn’t say “love” speaks volumes. “But I didn’t really know if you liked me.”
“Of course I did,” I say.
“You never told me.”
I stare at him, trying to remember, thinking it through.
“I didn’t know what was going on in your head half the time,” he says. “Keep it all to yourself, don’t you? Look … I’m not saying any of this to justify what I did. I hurt you, and I was wrong, and I’m sorry. And you’re right, we were good together. I think, maybe, we’re right for each other – just in some parallel universe where we collide at a slightly different time in our lives, or where our messed-up world doesn’t make life a billion times harder for gay teenagers.”
I wipe my eyes on the scabby piece of tissue I’ve got in my pocket. Maybe Tariq’s right. But then maybe … maybe he isn’t. And maybe … Jack is.
“No,” I say. “No, we’re not right for each other, not in this world, or a parallel one.”
Tariq stiffens slightly.
“I probably never did tell you how I thought I felt, but … know what? That’s me, isn’t it? I don’t… I find it hard to be that open about things, but I think you knew that, and still, you didn’t ask me instead. You didn’t even try to talk to me about it, when that was what I needed. But it’s OK, Tariq, because that’s who I am, and if that doesn’t work for you, genuinely, that’s OK, because I think it’s better for me to find someone who is OK with it, who is fine with me as me, rather than me as some fake version of myself I try to create just so I’m not alone. And I understand what you’re saying about your family, and I can’t begin to imagine how hard that must be for you, but if Dylan can help with that, then Dylan is right for you. And I’m not. We can’t just see each other’s highlights reel, Tariq, because the thing about a highlights reel is that it’s hard work. You gotta work hard to maintain that level of fakeness. It’s better to be with someone who sees the full thing, warts and all, but is happy with you anyway.”
Tariq takes a deep breath. “Wow. You got deep this summer.”
“I’ve always been deep, Tariq. You just never noticed.”
“Ouch.”
“You’re a dick.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Is he good in bed?”
Tariq laughs. “Shut up, Nate.”
“Well, enjoy your holiday. Bet you’ll get some good pics for Insta, so there’s that.”
“Still doing yours with Jack?”
I shrug. “Not sure there’s much point. I mean, you got the big one, didn’t you? You got Ibiza. Sundowners on the terrace and all that jazz?”
“Not really ‘jazz’, more ‘ambient chill’.”
“Ohh, funny.”
Tariq smiles at me. “So. You and Jack?”
My eyes widen.
“Always kinda inevitable,” he chuckles.
“I have no idea—”
“Oh, come on!”
“Literally, what are you taking about?”
“You and Jack,” Tariq says. He takes in my confused expression. “I mean, that’s what … you are, aren’t you?”
“Are what?”
“Together!” he nearly screams. “You and Jack! You’re a thing, an item, boyfriends!”
I spit out my coffee. How the hell has he got this idea?
“Oh,” Tariq says. “Or, not, then?”
“Correct,” I say. “Not, then.”
Tariq chews his lip a bit. “OK, it’s just… I guess your joint Instagram feed kinda gives that impression, that’s all.”
“Why, because it’s joint?”
“No, because of what’s posted.”
My eyes widen. “What’s posted? What do you mean?”
“I mean, you see it, right?”
“No, I don’t really do Instagram. I mean, I’ve seen bits, approved some of the pics—”
“Yeah, it’s not the pics.”
“Then what?”
Tariq picks up his phone and starts scrolling through our feed. “Picture of you asleep in some hotel bed, caption: Aw! Love this boy so much – look at him! Hashtag sleeping beauty.”
“That’s just Jack being Jack.”
“Picture of you soaking wet for some reason—”
“Yeah, I’d fallen in a lake.”
“Right, caption: Nate got a little damp today – lent him my oversized jumper to keep warm, but this calls for hot chocolate!” Tariq raises an eyebrow. “I mean, that certainly sounds—”
“Jack does this thing sometimes where he—”
“Acts like he’s your boyfriend?”
“I mean, no, but it’s the type of thing he—”
“Sounds caring. Sounds romantic.”
“Yeah, but it’s Jack, Tariq! He messes about, doesn’t he? He makes me say ‘I love you’ whenever I leave the room.”
Tariq laughs. “Am I supposed to think that’s normal?”
“It’s in case one of us dies!”
He stops laughing. “Wow. OK. That’s … yeah.”
I sip my coffee. “Just Jack, that’s all. What else? Anything else?”
Tariq purses his lips and scrolls through a bit more. “I mean, OK, he calls you ‘hot’ in the one with your top off…”
“Clearly a joke. Clearly sarcasm.” I glance at the pic. “Dammit, I told him not to post that one.”
“To be fair, it’s not bad, Nate. You’ve almost got abs.”
“It’s just the shadows. Next.”
“Ah!” Tariq says, stopping scrolling and smiling. “Yeah.”
I raise my eyebrows.
He hands me the phone. It’s a picture I genuinely didn’t know he was taking, just me, in the tent at the festival when it was raining, taken slightly in profile, and I’m just … smiling. I admit, it is a nice picture, and where I’m concerned, that’s no mean feat. It’s an accidentally really nice photo, so fine. I’ve no issue with it. And the caption reads: Love it when he smiles. I can see why Tariq might think this was suspicious, but we’re just mates, and he just doesn’t understand the level of our banter.
“Tariq, this whole Instagram thing, the sole purpose was to piss off Dylan, and to a certain extent, you. All the pictures, the captions, they’re all carefully thought out to present a version of our summer which … hasn’t really been how it maybe looks.”
Tariq frowns. “Has your summer been bad, then?”
I open my mouth to say, “Well, yeah,” but stop, because, actually, no, it hasn’t been bad. It’s been… We’ve laughed … a lot, we’ve seen places and done things, we’ve talked … we’ve buried differences and maybe reconnected a bit. And me, I’ve seen what friendship can look like, and specifically, how with Jack and Elliot, I don’t need to hide, or be afraid, and that with them, I feel … stronger. Better for having them by my side. We haven’t been to a crazy expensive gig, or a big show, and we’re not off on the holiday of a lifetime, but actually, I think what we have done, the journey we’ve been on, is a million times better.
A smile spreads across my face. “No, Tariq, summer has been amazing.”
He nods.
“You probably need to catch your flight,” I continue. “Let’s go.”
“OK,” Tariq says. “But, Nate? I am sorry. Just to reiterate that. And also, one thing that will never change – we’ll always be each other’s first kiss.”
“Actually, Tariq, I’m sorry, but you weren’t my first kiss.”
And I grin, then we walk out of the coffee shop, knowing that he’s got a million questions and that I’m not gonna answer any of them.
I stroll back into the check-in hall feeling lighter and happier than I’ve felt in a long time, so much so that I don’t even really find it that annoying when Dylan strides up to us, totally ignores me, and goes straight for Tariq, saying, “Everything OK?” like I might have upset him, and that Tariq needs Dylan’s protection against big bad me.
Tariq nods and smiles. “Yeah, good.”
“Where’s Jack?” I ask.
Dylan shrugs. “Dunno. We talked and he went off.” He turns back to Tariq. “We gotta go.”
“What do you mean, ‘he went off’?” I ask.
Dylan grimaces in irritation. “He went off! Walked off, what else do you want me to say? I’m not his keeper!”
“Well, where was he going?”
Dylan stares at me a moment. “Er, we’re at an airport so take your pick from literally hundreds of destinations! Tariq? Come on.”
I blow out a breath. Dylan is such a prick. I don’t know what Jack ever saw in him. Except Dylan’s pretty, of course, so I guess there’s that. Pretty people get away with being utter shits, and no one seems to care.
Anyway, Tariq and Dylan head off to security, and I’m left just standing in the middle of check-in, thinking I should stay there because maybe Jack’s gone to the toilet, or to get a drink, and will be back soon. But when he doesn’t show after ten minutes, I text him. And then, after another couple of minutes, I text again. And then I actually call, which is when you know it’s serious.
It goes straight to voicemail.
Something’s not right. I felt it wasn’t right in the way Dylan told me that Jack “went off” but now I know it. I do a three-sixty turn, the airport and people swimming around me, but there’s no sign of him. I call Elliot, but Elliot is getting a back rub at some walk-in massage stand and Jack isn’t with him. I tell Elliot to get himself over to me, and he’s there in about five minutes, but there’s still no sign of Jack.
“We could ask if they can do one of those lost child announcements over the tannoy system,” Elliot suggests.
It’s a good idea, and there’s a big part of me that hopes we’ll rock up at the lost child centre, and Jack will be sitting on one of the chairs with a balloon and a lollipop, waiting for us. But he’s not, and he’s still not there after about five announcements made over the whole airport.
“Could he have headed back to the Airbnb?” Elliot says. “Maybe he was upset after talking to Dylan, and wanted to be alone for a bit?”
It’s possible. I message him and leave a voicemail saying we’re heading back to the house, and to meet us there, and to call as soon as he picks this up. But as we sit in silence on the tube back into central London, I have this increasing nagging feeling in my stomach, and when we get back to the Airbnb, and there’s still no Jack, and no word from him whatsoever, I just run and find my parents because I don’t know what else to do.
In the middle of me gabbling the story to my folks, a text pings through:
Gone back home. Don’t worry.
I don’t know what happened at the airport to have caused this, but right now, I don’t even care. I just want Jack back with us and I want him to be OK.
“I’ve gotta go and find him,” I tell Dad.
He nods. “Yeah. You do. You owe him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing, just go.”
“No, wait, tell me what you meant by that.”
Dad sighs. “Nate, everything that boy has done on this trip, he’s done to try and make you happy. Going to see Elliot was his idea, because he thought you’d like to see him again. Inviting Elliot along was his idea too, because I think he thought you … liked him liked him.”
I stare at my dad.
“And now I think he needs you.”
I don’t have time to process what he’s said; I need to get myself together, get on a train and get back home.
“Take my card,” Mum says, handing me her Visa.
“Really?”
Mum just nods, where once she would have given me a lecture about budgeting.
“OK, thanks,” I say, grabbing my wallet, phone, keys and a rucksack.
“And, Nate? Talk to him, then both of you get back on a train and get down to Plymouth,” Dad says.
“Why? Shouldn’t we just stay—”
“You have to get to Plymouth,” Dad repeats. “That’s the whole point.”
“Point of what? What do you mean? What’s going on?”
“Get him, and bring him to Plymouth. This trip isn’t over yet. You’ll see.”
Dad looks at me, deep into me, like he’s never looked at me before, and I swallow, a chill running through me. But I know not to argue. And I don’t have time to argue anyway.
The last thing I hear as I head out of the door is Rose.
“Go get your husband, Nate!”