I needn’t have worried. Dad gave us both a smile and said that Flynn had really impressed him over the summer and was free to move in properly whenever he wanted. No one mentioned the
issue of Flynn and me sleeping together but after Dad had gone off to water the vegetable patch, Flynn insisted that when he finally brought all his stuff over he was going to stop even pretending
to use the sofa.
I was nervous about Dad’s reaction so I had a word with Gemma. She promised to talk to Dad about it and, much to my relief, Dad came to me the next day and said that Flynn and me
officially sleeping together was fine, so long as I didn’t feel under pressure to do so.
‘I don’t, Dad,’ I said, giving him a hug. It’s really what I want.’
‘Okay,’ he said, still looking a bit concerned. ‘And you’re definitely, you know, being safe . . . taking precautions?’
‘Yes,’ I said, blushing.
‘Then I guess that’s okay then.’ Dad sighed. ‘I mean, I’m not wild about it but . . .’
He tailed off and I made some excuse to scuttle away, relieved that the whole business had been resolved at last.
Flynn moved in the following weekend and, for the next fortnight, we were totally inseparable. In fact, the only times we were apart for more than an hour during that period were on the
Wednesday evenings when Flynn went for his counselling sessions. He’d had an assessment at the centre earlier in the summer and they’d recommended anger management group therapy.
I’d hoped Gemma would run the sessions but she explained that she wasn’t a youth specialist.
‘Anyway, it wouldn’t be right because I already know Flynn,’ she said, as we discussed the situation in the kitchen, her rings clinking against her mug of tea. ‘It would
be too complicated for me to facilitate his sessions. But Sally Dunsford specialises in anger management
and
young people. She’ll be perfect.’
I still had no idea what therapy of any kind involved – Flynn hadn’t ever talked properly about the counsellor he’d seen in London – but I was sure that the new sessions
would continue to help. After all, Flynn was transformed from the person he’d been at the start of the year. He was always respectful with Dad, friendly with Ros and Gemma and polite to
everyone else who lived on the commune.
In fact, he hadn’t lost his temper for months.
Of course, he had had absolutely nothing to provoke him since we’d moved in together, but I was sure the counselling had made a massive difference too.
Leo sought me out that first Wednesday when Flynn was away, appearing at my side within minutes of Flynn leaving the commune. When I turned and saw him in the kitchen my heart sank. Leo had been
so awkward over the summer whenever Flynn and I tried to talk to him. However, as soon as we started charting, I relaxed. Leo was more fun than I’d expected – all open and enthusiastic
about the music he loved. He stuck by my side for the whole hour and a half Flynn was gone, only slinking away out of sight when we heard Flynn’s footsteps in the hall.
Leo came and found me again during Flynn’s second Wednesday evening counselling session. This time we talked about sixth form college. Our start date was just around the corner and I asked
Leo if he felt nervous. He confessed that he did. I’d been feeling a bit anxious about it myself and it was good to know I’d have Leo to turn up with on that first day. Of course, Flynn
would be there too, but he was a year older and therefore taking different classes with entirely different people.
Once I’d brought up the subject, Leo chattered away. It turned out that rather than pretend college wasn’t happening, which was what I’d done all summer, Leo had read up on our
courses. He was studying English, Economics, Spanish and French. I was down to do English, History, Politics and Psychology, so most of our conversations were about the books we were going to be
studying for our one shared subject: English Lit.
‘I’m glad we’re doing Shelley,’ Leo said. ‘His stuff’s amazing. Listen.’ He reached for one of the books on the kitchen table and skimmed through the
pages.
‘True Love in this differs from gold and clay, That to divide is not to take away.’
He looked up at me, this strange, sad expression on his face. ‘Isn’t that
beautiful?’
I nodded. My early impression that Leo was a bit odd, created during our first meeting and borne out through his behaviour over the summer, had only been reinforced during our two long
conversations. It wasn’t so much the fact that he passionately loved poetry (though admitting to it as freely as he did was certainly unusual) as the intense way he talked about specific
poems. In fact, it was the intense way he talked about
everything.
‘There’s a bit here that made me think of you.’ Leo’s pale cheeks blushed as he focused on the
page. ‘. . .
smiling they love and call life pleasure . . .’
I looked away. It had just occurred to me that Leo might have a bit of a crush on me and the thought left me feeling self-conscious and uncomfortable.
‘I think I’ll go and find Dad,’ I said, standing up and pushing my chair away. ‘Before Flynn gets—’
‘River?’
I turned back. Leo’s eyes were bright against the red of his face.
I frowned. His whole body had tensed. ‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘I think I might be gay,’ Leo blurted out.
My eyes widened. So Flynn’s hunch had been more or less right after all. I sat down again and stared at Leo. So much for me thinking he might fancy me.
He blinked nervously. ‘I don’t know for sure, but I think maybe . . .’ He tailed off, looking embarrassed.
‘Oh.’ I had no idea what to say. I wanted to find some way of expressing how I felt, but ‘There’s nothing wrong with being gay’ sounded really patronising, as did
telling him that I was really touched he’d confided in me. Anyway I was more thrown than touched. I hardly knew the guy, yet here he was telling me his deepest secrets.
‘Have you ever—’ I stopped, my question about whether he’d ever fancied a guy suddenly seemed way too personal. Anyway, suppose Leo liked Flynn, as Flynn had once joked?
I felt my face reddening. That would certainly explain why Leo seemed so intimidated by Flynn – and why he steered clear of us as a couple. ‘Er, have you talked to your dad about
it?’ I finally stammered.
Leo raised his eyes. ‘You’re kidding, right? Dad’d just tell me it was a phase. Anyway, I doubt if he could tear himself away from Ros long enough to listen to me.’
I nodded. Even being completely wrapped up in Flynn as I was, I’d noticed how Leo’s dad and Ros had started sitting next to each other every evening at dinner, and laughing hard at
everything the other one said.
‘Sorry, River, you don’t want to hear all this.’ Leo put his head in his hands. ‘I just don’t have anyone else to talk to.’
He stared down at the rough wooden table. Poor guy. Now that I knew he wasn’t interested in me I realised all his intense, shiny-eyed looks must be because he felt confused and lonely. I
reached out my hand and squeezed his arm.
‘You can talk to me anytime you like,’ I smiled.
Leo looked up. ‘You won’t tell anyone, will you?’ he said. ‘Not even Flynn?’
My two-second kiss with James jumped, unbidden, into my thoughts. I pushed it away. If I wasn’t going to tell Flynn about that, there was definitely no need for me to tell him about
Leo’s worries over his sexuality. After all, it really wasn’t any of Flynn’s business.
‘I won’t tell anyone.’ I squeezed his arm again. ‘I promise.’
The slam of the front door echoed along the corridor towards us. I took my hand off Leo’s arm and, a few seconds later, Gemma and Flynn walked into the kitchen.
Flynn glanced at me, then at Leo. He scowled. My heart sank. I could tell he was in a bad mood. He’d said his first group therapy session last week had been a bit boring,
just a lot of introductions, but nothing that he couldn’t handle. He’d seemed quite cheerful in fact.
Tonight was different. He slouched over to the kitchen table and slumped into the chair next to Leo, his long legs sprawled out beside the table. Leo looked away. It was funny seeing them side
by side: Flynn radiating his sour mood; dark and troubled and powerful. Leo, like a shadow beside him, blond and pale in comparison, a slighter person, a smaller presence.
‘Are you okay?’ I asked.
Flynn said nothing. Gemma wandered over to the stove and put the kettle on. I headed to the fridge to get the milk, wondering what the matter was. Leo and I both preferred ordinary tea to
Gemma’s peppermint. Flynn rarely drank anything except black coffee. I opened the fridge door. Ros’s row of beer bottles stared back at me from the top shelf. For a second I considered
taking one. I knew Ros wouldn’t mind. And Flynn was never bothered about me drinking either, so long as I didn’t get drunk. But maybe not tonight. Maybe, right now, if I could just get
Flynn to open up in front of Leo, perhaps the three of us could start to be friends.
Closing the fridge door, I placed the milk beside Gemma, hoping she’d make some sign to indicate what had happened tonight, but she was staring out of the window and didn’t seem to
notice me. Flynn and Leo were still sitting silently side by side. Flynn was drumming his fingers on the table. Leo shuffled uncomfortably in his chair.
I sat down. ‘What happened, Flynn?’ I asked. ‘How was it?’
Flynn shrugged. He stared, pointedly, at Leo. It was obvious he didn’t want to talk in front of him.
So much for hoping he would open up.
Leo cleared his throat and got up. ‘I have to . . . do something in my room . . .’ He left the kitchen.
‘What’s wrong?’ I said.
Flynn still said nothing. I turned to Gemma. The kettle had boiled and she was pouring water into a row of mugs. ‘Gemma, what’s the matter with him?’
Gemma glanced over. ‘Not sure, honey. Hey, Flynn, tell her what happens next month.’
Flynn sighed. He raised his eyes at last. ‘In four weeks’ time, we have to bring someone who’s been affected by our “negative behaviour”,’ he said grumpily.
‘Which should be a laugh.’
‘What does that mean?’ I said.
‘It means you have the chance to go to group counselling with Flynn,’ Gemma said.
I frowned. That sounded like a positive thing. Why was Flynn so annoyed? ‘Don’t you want me to come?’ I asked.
Flynn shrugged again. ‘I guess it’s fine,’ he said.
My head spun. I couldn’t work out what the problem was. But before I could try and get Flynn to talk about it some more, he had got up and walked outside. Resisting the urge to follow him,
knowing he was best left alone for a bit, I turned to Gemma.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked.
Gemma ran her fingers through her long black hair. ‘I think it’s just a lot for Flynn to get his head around, that’s all.’
She set a tray of mugs on the table, as Dad and Ros and Leo’s dad all came into the room. Dad and Gemma started talking about their day and I wandered over to the open door. Flynn was
already on his way back to the kitchen, his head bowed. As I stood outside waiting, he looked up and smiled. The act transformed his face – like the sun coming out after a storm. He walked
over and pulled me into a silent hug.
‘Sorry,’ he whispered.
It’s okay but what’s the matter?’ I said, feeling more confused than ever.
Instead of answering, Flynn went inside where Dad and the others were sitting around the table. I followed him indoors, still feeling troubled.
‘You want to be careful with all that negative gender stereotyping,’ Ros was saying to Leo’s dad. ‘You’ll give Leo a complex. I mean, you’re his primary role
model, God help him.’
‘If
he’s
Leo’s primary role model I don’t think God’s help will be anything like enough,’ Flynn said as he crossed the room to the sink.
Ros roared with laughter. Leo’s dad managed a thin smile. He nudged Ros with his elbow. ‘Stop it.’
She nudged him back. ‘Stop it yourself.’
Jeez, they were behaving like a couple of little kids.
I caught Flynn’s eye as he poured himself a glass of water. He shook his head.
‘Hard work, isn’t it?’ Gemma said, wandering over with a cup of peppermint tea in her hand.
I wasn’t sure whether she was referring to the group counselling Flynn had just come back from, or having to listen to Ros and Leo’s dad.
Flynn shot a resigned smile at her.
‘Have you been to your evening class?’ Leo’s dad said, also coming over. ‘How was that, son?’
I froze. The smile slid off Flynn’s face. I knew he hated being called ‘son’ almost as much as he hated being asked questions about his counselling sessions. The other
residents all knew Flynn attended them but, so far, they’d been tactful enough not to pry.
Flynn cleared his throat. ‘We were exploring issues of anger, identity and belonging,’ he said in a high-pitched, slightly nasal, American accent.
Gemma stifled a giggle. I guessed Flynn had just done a good imitation of Sally, the woman who led his group counselling.
‘Oh, aye,’ Leo’s dad said. ‘And what’s that about when it’s at home?’
‘Stuff about how important it is to have roots, to belong somewhere, to know where you come from.’ Flynn sounded bored but I could feel his body tensing. He was hating being
questioned.
Jeez,
suppose he started getting cross . . . lashing out?
‘We have to go,’ I said suddenly, taking Flynn’s hand.
Ignoring the surprised look on Leo’s dad’s face, I led Flynn out of the room and up the stairs. He didn’t protest and we didn’t speak until we reached the corridor
leading to Dad and Gemma’s rooms.
I dropped Flynn’s hand and leaned against the wall.
‘Thanks for getting me out of there,’ Flynn said. His eyes were soulful in the dim light that seeped out from under the closed doors down the corridor. I’m sorry I was so . . .
so down before.’
‘So . . . what do you think about all that stuff . . . about where you come from and where you belong?’ I asked. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to know, I was just hoping Flynn
would tell me more about the counselling session . . . especially if I was going to be coming along in a few weeks’ time.