It was getting dark as I arrived in Wrexham. As Phil drove me home from the station, I enjoyed looking at the many houses in the village that I’d grown up in before joining the army. We drove past the village pub, the Wheatsheaf, in which I’d spent many an afternoon with Dad. I quickly thought about the Tuesday I’d skipped school and sat with him while he was having his daily drink. It was 11 September, the day the world changed. Everyone remembers where they were that terrible day. I was fourteen years old and sat in a pub keeping my drunk dad company.
I glanced through the windows to see if he was in there drinking at that very moment. I couldn’t see him and felt relieved but, as we drove away, I noticed his bucket from his window-cleaning round positioned just inside the entrance. He was in there after all. Some things just didn’t change.
Arriving home, Mum came out of the front door followed by the family dog, Monty, to greet me. She squeezed me tightly and then looked me up and down. This was a regular occurrence with Mum. She needed to give a visual inspection and then follow it up with something like ‘Oh, you’ve lost weight, James! Are you eating properly?’
I settled my things into my old bedroom, still pretty much untouched since I’d left three years earlier. My cabinet was crowded with the lead soldiers Dad had collected for me in years gone by. On the shelf above them lay many presentations from my days in the Army Cadet Force which were the pride of my early teenage years. Life had certainly changed since those days. It was sweet that my folks hadn’t redecorated my room and changed everything around, but I kind of wished they had. I wasn’t the young innocent boy who had left three years ago. I was leading a secret life in the capital, of which Mum and Phil had no idea; nobody north of London did. I wondered whether I’d find the courage to tell them while I was visiting this time. I dismissed the idea almost immediately.
After dinner that night, I asked Phil if he’d mind me using his laptop to check some emails. He set his computer up for me and left me to it. I only had one thing on my mind. I wanted to know if that gorgeous guy called Thom, who spelled his name differently, had read my message and responded. I almost didn’t want to check just in case he’d read the message and not bothered sending one back. With hope I logged on.
‘Hey James, I’d love to meet you for a drink. Are you doing anything on Saturday?’
I was overjoyed that he’d replied. I imagined his voice as I read his words. He’d obviously looked through my profile and liked what he’d seen. I studied his pictures again and again. He was beautiful. As crushes go, I was smitten.
I considered how our date would play out: we’d meet up, have a few drinks, I’d pay, of course, and then we’d go somewhere, maybe to his flat or something. Did he have his own place? Did he have flatmates? Maybe he owned a car and we’d go somewhere in that. I had so many questions, but I simply replied that I’d be very up for meeting him on the Saturday and asked if he had a particular place in mind. I was already conscious not to scare him off. I really wanted to meet him and for him to like me. I considered all the possible reasons why Steven had lost interest in me the previous year. I was desperate not to let the same thing happen again.
I spent Friday preparing for our date. I went out and bought myself some new clothes and spent the remaining time wishing away the hours. The whole thing felt different from normal. Well, for a start, we’d planned to meet for an actual date as opposed to the usual ‘pop around to my place for a shag’ scenario. There was a chance that we both might want to see each other again.
Mum and Phil had noticed my new outfit and excited behaviour that day and asked if I was meeting someone.
I didn’t lie and say I wasn’t, but I was very sparse with the details and ended up telling Mum to mind her own business. She left me to it.
Saturday dawned. It was a beautifully bright morning without a trace of cloud or rain; you could tell already that the forthcoming summer was going to be great. I grabbed some breakfast and slowly got myself ready.
I wondered what Thom was doing in preparation. I bet he was probably just chilling out in his flat somewhere, watching some TV. I wondered if he’d be early, or late for that matter. I felt my experience in meeting men, although quite vast, was lacking in the actual art of conversation and holding interest. In the past, whenever I fancied somebody, I’d buy them a drink, tell them I was a soldier and, if I felt slightly mischievous, I’d even lie and say I was a virgin. That was it. Chat, taxi, bed. Today was going to be different. We were meeting at 1 p.m., at a busy wine bar chosen by him in the town centre. I assumed we’d eat and therefore spend at least an hour in conversation. Could I hold a conversation for an entire hour, trying to eat elegantly at the same time?
In the army, soldiers eat extremely quickly. Manners are left at the door. What other habits had the army taught me that made me a nightmare to date? I couldn’t cook. I didn’t need to. I was fairly good at tidying up, but only if my room was being inspected. Without that order, I lived in a bit of a mess. Fashion? All my ideas of fashion were taken from what all the other boys in the army wore: jeans, polo shirts, white trainers. Swearing. I realised that in most of my sentences was a swear word. Judging from his pictures and the information on his Gaydar profile, he didn’t know anything about the military, and he probably assumed I was ripped with an impeccable six-pack or something. I’d been amazed how often people back in London assumed I’d be ripped like a weightlifter when I took my clothes off; there was always disappointment.
Mum offered to drop me off in town, but I thought it too much of a risk. What if Thom was waiting outside? She’d see I was meeting a boy. What if she followed me and saw I was having lunch with him? I decided to take the bus.
The bus route drove me right through the village, passing the lane that led to my old school and past the fish-and-chip shop I used to work at. As it headed out of the village towards the town, it drove past the block of flats where my father lived. It was Saturday lunchtime. He’d be out cleaning windows on such a fine day. As I went by I looked up to his living room window and saw that the light was on. That was very odd. It was a bright day, the curtains were wide open, there was no reason whatsoever why that light would be on. Perhaps Dad hadn’t been home since the previous evening. I worried that he might be dead just inside that very building. Why didn’t I just call on him and see if he was OK?
The town centre was about three miles away from the little village of Gwersyllt. The road passed through dozens of green fields as it meandered its way to Wrexham town centre. As the bus came to a halt opposite the bar, I regretted not getting off a stop earlier and walking the final few hundred metres. I felt like I needed to have a final few minutes to myself before heading straight in. As it was, I was now getting off a bus and walking into a busy environment for a gay date. Two young men sat gazing at each other, hopefully flirting and maybe the odd affectionate touch of the hands or feet. I was about to do this in Wrexham. Wrexham! The place I’d grown up in and never even heard of a gay couple, let alone seen one. But it was too late for that concern now.
Thom had told me the night before that if the weather was good, he’d be sat on the roof terrace. I was a little early so headed up to grab a table, able to get a good look as he walked over from the doorway.
The outside terrace was fairly quiet for a Saturday lunch time. There were a couple of girls sat next to the wall which slightly overlooked the road below, they looked like they might be out on a long drinking session; there was an elderly couple sat near me at the doorway, probably on their weekly trip out to the centre of town; and in front of me, in the middle of the terrace, was a young guy sat on his own. Fuck! It was Thom. He’d arrived early too.
He smiled at me and I walked over; as I did, I thought to myself how fit he looked. In the past, a few people I’d met online, admittedly for casual sex, looked very different in reality to their online photos. This was different. Thom’s Gaydar profile matched exactly the guy sat in front of me. He was incredibly well presented. I reached his table and Thom reached out his hand. I met it and we both greeted each other, as if we were two businessmen about to negotiate a deal. I thought it a little rude he didn’t stand up initially, but I parked myself down and quickly forgot about it.
Our conversation passed by without much hesitation. It was incredible that I’d thought we’d be sat in silence for the most part. There were a couple of very notable points that I’ll always remember. About halfway, Thom said that he did need to get something off his chest. He said I needed to know something about him that was very important. What was he about to say? He was born a girl? He was actually in a relationship and looking for a friend? He was dying?
‘You know on my profile it says I’m eighteen…’ Uh-oh, I thought. ‘Well, I’m actually nearly eighteen.’
So the sneaky sod had lied about his age. If I’m honest, it didn’t concern me. So what if he’d said he was three months older than he actually was? If he’d said he was ridiculously younger than eighteen, OK, we’d have had a problem.
‘The thing is I don’t really have any gay friends and you can’t be on Gaydar if you’re under eighteen!’
Panic was written all over his face. I told him it was fine and that if he’d have just said it in a message that would have been fine, too. We continued to sip our wine.
I’d thought I looked great as I was leaving Mum’s house earlier that day, donned in my new blue jeans and polo shirt, but Thom was dressed impeccably. He was clad head to toe in designer labels: Ralph Lauren jumper, French Connection jeans and Gucci shoes. For a trainee hairdresser probably on less than minimum wage, Thom certainly looked the part. Maybe he was rich?
It turned out Thom didn’t share a flat with somebody in town; in fact he still lived at home. I ignorantly assumed that he, too, wouldn’t be ‘out’ to his parents and worried where we’d hang out together, if indeed we were going to meet again.
Everything he’d said so far was fine with me. I didn’t care that he was still seventeen; I was only nineteen after all. I also didn’t overly mind that he lived at home, usually it didn’t matter anyway as I’d only really have one thing on my mind. This, of course, was different from the start.
Thom and I had certainly hit it off. To be blunt, we really liked each other. It wasn’t as one-sided as I thought it might be. Although he played it cool, I could tell that he’d probably spent hours getting ready. He mentioned again and again that he’d told the girls in his salon that he was going on a date with a real soldier, so he’d clearly been excited about the whole thing. He kept making references to us meeting again: ‘Oh, we’ll have to go to the cinema and see it’, ‘Wait until you meet the girls in the salon’. This was music to my ears. I really fancied him and to hear him implying he saw us meeting again and doing things together really filled me with joy.
Our plates were cleared away and our thoughts turned to what we might do next. At this point, I had assumed we’d either go back to his flat, which now didn’t exist, or head our separate ways.
‘Well, we can head nearer to my place, there’s a nice pub down the road from my house. Do you fancy another drink?’
I thought it incredible how this seventeen-year-old was taking charge. It could have been so different. He might have been very shy and sheepish, but he wasn’t.
‘What about your folks? Won’t they be in?’
‘Yeah, they might be. But they’re fine!’
Oh my God! Thom’s mum and dad knew he was gay. This was incredible! He instantly became my hero. How ironic it was that Thom had spent more than an hour telling me how much of a brave person I must be, being a soldier and all, when all along he’d clearly been a lot braver than me. He didn’t live a lie with his mum and dad; he was the total opposite to me. I wanted to quiz him endlessly about how he’d told his folks. I thought that perhaps his parents were liberal hippies.
‘My dad will like you. He’s a soldier, too!’
Oh. My. God. ‘Your dad’s in the army?’
‘Yes… Well, the TA anyway. He spent his life in the army, then joined the TA when he left. He’s a master chef.’
Christ. Not only was I facing meeting a fellow soldier whose son I was dating, I was about to face a senior warrant officer, which I knew he’d be due to his appointment as a master chef, with a hell of a lot of service under his belt.
‘My mum used to be a soldier, too. That’s where they met. She was a dental nurse.’
If I’m totally honest, I didn’t want to go to Thom’s house, ever. I just didn’t feel brave enough to meet his mum and dad and spend an hour telling them everything about me and my job. Thom’s dad would know just about everything there is to know about being a soldier. He’d know everything about barrack life, about the binge drinking that occurred in the bar. He’d surely know that young soldiers, especially troopers like me, were quite a wild breed. I wondered if Thom had mentioned me to them yet.
I told Thom that I wasn’t overly keen on meeting him for the first time and then a few hours later meeting his parents. Call me old-fashioned, but it was just too much for one day’s stress level. He understood and insisted I joined him for another drink near his house anyway. I agreed, as it wasn’t a million miles away from my own parents’ house, and we headed off on the bus.
I enjoyed a few more hours with Thom in his local pub. I remember it being run by an older gay chap, who knew Thom’s situation and was someone Thom would talk with and confide in. He was a role model in a sense. We all need those characters in our lives. By the end of our date we were both quite tipsy and Thom asked me again to consider going to his house with him. It was obvious what he was implying. My response was quite an achievement. I told him I’d love to see him the following day, but I didn’t want to go to his house with him. This was possibly the first time I’d ever declined an invitation to return home with someone, and it wasn’t just down to the whole parent thing. I didn’t want to jump into bed with him straight away. In my mind, sleeping together was the last thing I did with people before never seeing them again.
‘I’m playing golf tomorrow with some friends. Do you want to come?’
In my head I was screaming ‘NO!’ but to be honest, if Thom had asked me to jump out of a plane to see him again I would have said yes. So it was decided. I was off on a second date the following afternoon. I felt amazing.
As we said our goodbyes at the pub, Thom leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. Forgetting where I was, I complied and kissed him back. He turned away from me and as he did I noticed two familiar faces sat on a table near the exit, staring at us both. The pair were friends of Mum and Phil’s. And they looked extremely surprised by what they’d just witnessed.
In the taxi heading to Mum’s, I panicked that the couple were already on the phone to Phil or Mum telling them about what they’d just seen. Oddly, however, I also felt slightly relieved. What if they were? Was it all bad? It would certainly take the pressure of making the announcement away from me.
Of course it would be bad. It would be a catastrophe! Imagine my mum being told over the phone from somebody else that her baby son was gay. That’s how she’d take it. It didn’t matter how old I was, or what my role in life was either, I was her baby boy.
Even if the two didn’t ring my mum and break the news to her, imagine if she bumped into them at the supermarket or something, and they just mentioned as a matter of fact that they’d seen me with my ‘boyfriend’. That would be a complete nightmare. She’d have a heart attack.
I got home and considered how the next few days of my life might run. I turned the key to the front door and took a deep breath. What would be waiting?
In the living room, my folks were sat in relative silence while watching some Saturday-night TV. They both looked at me.
‘Well? Good day?’ Mum was clearly intrigued about the day’s events.
‘Erm… Yes. It was OK.’
‘So, who’s the girl?’ For a second I felt a little relief. No phone call had been made from the two spies in the pub.
‘I’ve told you, Mum… It’s no one. Honestly!’
‘Why are you hiding it from us? You don’t hide anything from us.’ She threw Phil a glance, looking for encouragement. Phil, as I’d come to expect, told her to leave me alone.
‘He’ll tell you when he’s ready, Pauline.’
I took my cue to leave and headed upstairs. I could hear them both bickering over me downstairs. Phil was always a very laid-back chap and I just considered it normal for him to back me up on things, but nowadays I think that he knew the news Mum was pressing me for was a lot heavier than she’d be able to handle. Phil had realised some time before that some aspects of my London life were indeed very private.
When I returned downstairs some time later, Mum didn’t mention my date or my new love interest for the rest of the evening. But she was clearly troubled by the situation. I hated myself for putting her in that state.
Soon enough my secret would be known. And what then?