Never Too Late To Believe - 27. A Meeting of Minds

Eyes slitted against sunshine that had no fucking right to exist so early, Tyler Jackson scowled at the shirt he held out at arm's length. Supposedly white, various stains on the thin, greying fabric were now joined by a small burn on one cuff. Small, but fucking obvious.

“Bollocks.” He'd left the iron for two seconds to catch a notification. Story of his fucking life.

He only possessed two school shirts – both second-hand – and the other had splodges of grease and ketchup from the day before's school food. Free food. Food for losers who couldn't afford anything better. That shirt lay balled-up on the bedroom floor, joining the rest of the crap round his bare feet.

“Tyler! Get down here now!”

His mum's tired, shrill, demanding voice broke through his thoughts. Huffing out a breath, the youth dragged on the clean shirt. Its seams pulled tight across his shoulders. Did his mum have any other setting? Yes, a dull voice in the back of his head reminded him. When she got right in his face, two bright spots of red the only colour in her face, and yelled. Plus the slaps. Fucking humiliating they were.

“Bitch.” His mouth snapped shut. The word hung in his bedroom. He'd promised to try and keep his cool around her. Be in control. Pity she wasn't following the same fucking rules. Gritting his teeth, the youth took aim at his ancient, battered backpack with the sole of one foot. The pack somersaulted across fraying carpet onto a nearby heap of abandoned homework.

Tyler eyed the black uniform trousers which were now visible. Why the fuck hadn't he picked them up earlier? He gave the trousers a vicious shake. Over-worn, shabby material sagged. Why did he have to wear such shit? With another disgusted huff, the youth finished dressing.

“Tyler? If you don't get your useless arse down here now, you'll be late.”

For school, she meant. Only he was going to that reconciliation shit. His guts writhed. One hand clamped on the front of his trousers as if that'd suddenly make everything better. His mum knew fuck all about the meeting. Just the absolute basics so she'd sign the necessary forms. No way was he having her in the actual meeting. He'd fucking die. And there was his dad, holed up in his cell over in Wolverhampton. Dying would be easy compared to the never-ending grief which would be heading Tyler's way if he even found out.

Where was the fucking apology? The youth scanned his small room, eyes skittering over the chaos. Jesus Christ – he couldn't have fucking lost it.

A WhatsApp chime broke the febrile silence. Tyler snatched his phone up from crumpled bedding.

Don't forget breakfast

Rob Bairstow. What the fuck did he know? Tyler's guts clenched again. He'd puke up anything and everything.

I'm serious. Something plain – plenty of carbs, not too much sugar

Breakfast was fucking breakfast. Where did he think Tyler lived? The fucking Ritz?

Lost my apology was all he typed back.

No – you haven't. Checked your backpack?

Had it out last night

His free hand clenched into a fist. Where was the fucking thing? He'd never get his words out in the right order without that sheet of paper. His heart raced.

Breathe

The single word made him grimace. Rob Bairstow was a dick sometimes. A dick who could see straight through Tyler.

I am

Yeah?

Tightness in his chest made Tyler suck in a huge gulp of air. Another less desperate lungful followed. Wasn't breathing meant to be automatic?

Yeah He imagined the other guy's infuriating smirk. So where the fuck's my apology?

Backpack

“Dick!” But the youth stretched out one arm and hooked the errant container to within searching distance. There, exactly where he'd remembered leaving it previously, was the fucking crumpled sheet of paper. “Losing yer mind, man.”

The noise level elsewhere in the house rose. His sisters screaming and giggling; his mum yelling instructions over the row. They'd be gone soon.

Found it

The thumbs-up that followed was typical of the other guy. Who the fuck used emojis that lame any more?

You ready?

Tyler stared at bare feet. It would have to be yesterday's socks. Yeah

Pick you up in 20. Where we agreed. The meeting's in Leominster, yeah?

K

The front door slammed. Silence, freaking precious silence returned to the house. Ignoring the matter of his feet, the youth charged downstairs. Breakfast called.

At the cottage, Andy watched Eric buckle himself into the 4x4's passenger seat. His friend knew how to get himself to Leominster without any problem, but Andy didn't want him to panic over cancelled trains or any other obstacle that might further fray his self-control. Plus, it made sense for them to arrive together.

“OK?”

Eric, pale-faced and grim, shrugged.

“You eaten?”

Another shrug.

“I've allowed some leeway. We can grab something in Leominster.” He reached to turn the key in the ignition, then stopped. “Got everything?”

“I've left that bloody phone behind, if that's what you mean.”

Andy snorted. “Why am I not surprised?”

That drew out a small smile. Eric tapped one pocket of his usual battered jacket. “Spent part of yesterday writing some things. Can't think on my feet at my age.”

“Great idea. It's too good an opportunity. You wouldn't want to mess it up by forgetting something.”

Later, they sat in a chain coffee shop waiting for the ten o'clock start time. Eric inspected a teabag sitting in water that may have been hot but was obviously not boiling. Andy smirked into his own perfectly acceptable, white Americano.

The older man gave his drink an aggressive stir. “Why do these places bother if all they give you is tea dust in lukewarm water?” He sipped experimentally and pulled a face.

“You're exaggerating. How's the toasted teacake?”

“OK – though the amount they charge for it, I expected something twice the size.” Eric picked up the offending food and took a large bite.

The banter was fun. Even Andy understood it as displacement. “How're you feeling?”

Eric munched for a moment and swallowed. “Tense. Scared.” He frowned. “Curiously in control.”

“In control?”

“Whether I went out and challenged the little bastards or stayed indoors, I always felt they had the upper hand.”

Andy nodded.

“Now, one of them has to explain himself. Then he'll have to listen to me. No running off, no cheek, no sneaking back the following day as if nothing happened.”

“Let's hope so. If everything goes according to plan, you and Tyler should benefit.”

Eric stuffed the remaining tea cake into his mouth and gave the failed drink another glare.

Andy smirked. “Ready?”

“As I'll ever be.”

Once Rob Bairstow killed the car engine, Tyler was out on the pavement in no time flat. Any longer listening to old man 80's shit and he'd fucking explode. He paced up and down a short stretch of cracked paving stones and wished his guts weren't home to a mob of crazed gerbils. Not that he'd ever had a pet. His primary school had kept a couple of gerbils and he'd always been fascinated by their frenetic activity. And fucking gnawing teeth. One hand kneaded the source of the pain. That second bowl of whatever breakfast crap the girls ate might not've been a great idea.

The other guy stood by the car watching him. Tyler slowed. “What?”

“That's us.” He pointed to a brick and glass building opposite, sandwiched between another fucking charity shop and a take-out selling the sort of shit Tyler knew too well. A small metal sign on the building's front read Herefordshire Youth Service.

His stomach did a somersault. They crossed the road.

“Wanna go straight in?”

Did he? Someone opened the door into the fast food place. The blast of air, greasy with the previous night's over-cooked burgers and stale chips, nearly made him puke. He shrugged.

Rob smiled and held out an arm. “Let's report in. Then we can find somewhere quiet for a few minutes. Settle some nerves.”

Not trusting his voice, Tyler nodded and they went inside.

In the bland, windowless, oblong room, Eric shifted in his seat. Despite patches of padded upholstery on its arms, seat, and back, the chair's rigid, tubular construction didn't bode well for Eric's chances of sitting still. Beside him, though further back, Andy lounged, legs crossed, as if his own seat was the most comfortable piece of furniture ever. Eric rolled his eyes – the virtues of being young. Opposite them at a short distance two other chairs waited, presently unoccupied. In between the pairs of seats and off to the side, a middle-aged woman sat quietly sorting through a pile of papers balanced on her knees.

A buzz from the door made Eric look up. It opened, allowing Rob and a jittery-looking youth to enter. He and Rob exchanged a quick glance of greeting before Eric focused on his companion. The lad broke away from Rob and marched to the empty seats, body all straight lines and angles. Eric guessed this was a display of confidence. Looking at the lad's pale, tense face, he wondered if it were more of a charade. The youth dropped into one chair and glowered, one hand clutching a piece of paper, the other moving restlessly to his hair, his mouth, the arm of the seat and back again.

The woman looked over and gave the new arrivals a professional smile of welcome. Rob acknowledged her, but the youth didn't appear to notice. Eric studied Tyler Jackson, noting clothes and shoes that looked in worse condition than he'd ever put up with, even at bad times. His own mother would've died before she sent Eric to school looking like that. The old man frowned. She worked hard to keep the family respectably dressed, scrimping on the housekeeping money and wielding a needle late into the night. Maybe, he would've preferred his mother's love and attention to a sock which was more labouriously sewn darns than original material.

However, Eric admitted to himself, the youth's shirt was ironed, his hair washed, and his battered shoes a suspiciously uniform black which might've come from a marker pen or some such. Tyler had made an effort. That gained him a few points before he'd even opened his mouth. Eric stared down at his own clothes – they were what he wore every day. Behind him, Andy shuffled in his seat. Eric looked round to see the younger man adopt a much more upright posture. They must be about to start.

On cue, the woman began speaking – formal greetings, followed by a list of stock reminders about fire evacuations, where the loos were and such. She continued on with how the meeting would run. Eric barely heard one word in four. Blood rushed through his veins, filling his head with static noise. He took a couple of deep breaths. The hissing receded a little. If he was getting into this much of a state, part of him wondered how Tyler Jackson felt. Eric blinked. The thought surprised him. He breathed out again. And again.

A general, anticipatory silence fell. Eric twitched, aware he must've missed something important.

The woman, he had no idea of her name, looked towards the seats opposite Eric and smiled. “Tyler, are you ready to begin?”

The lad's head jerked once, previously pale complexion now ashen. Despite himself, Eric sympathised. A frown creased his face. How was it a month ago he'd barely knew what empathy meant, and now, he was apparently oozing the stuff? Swallowing a sigh, Eric recalled his first attempt at being filmed for that A Helping Hand video – making himself speak before he should be sick from nerves.

Tyler opened a piece of paper and looked at it. His mouth opened. He gulped, spluttered, and closed it again. Another try was just as unproductive. Eric noted the youth's look of panic.

“I can't. I can't fuckin' do this.” Tyler half rose in his seat. Rob was by his side in an instant, murmuring, soothing. The woman went to a side table, poured a glass of water and handed it over. Tyler took a gulp, quickly followed by another. Rob continued to whisper, asking questions, Eric thought, as the youth alternately nodded and shook his head.

After a couple of minutes and more water, Tyler took an audibly deep breath. He held the piece of paper as if it were a lifeline. “Mr Whitehouse, when me and my mates first met up in your garden last year, we knew it was wrong but we didn't care.” The lad gulped, seeming to swallow temporarily his quiet, subdued voice. “We continued… I continued to go there because it was somewhere different, somewhere secret, somewhere I felt I could be myself.”

Eric strained to hear above renewed rushing in his ears as Tyler continued. Statements of what he did, including the vandalism, were followed by more acknowledgements that they were wrong. Finally came the apology.

The youth looked him in the eye. Eric looked back, feeling their connection.

“Mr Whitehouse, I'm sorry I caused damage. I'm sorry I went where I shouldn't have been.” Tyler licked his lips. “I'm sorry I've been a shit to you.”

After a moment, Tyler's gaze dropped down to his lap again.

The woman broke the silence. “Thank you, Tyler.” She turned. “Eric, I understand you have some things to say to Tyler.”

Eric's throat constricted. He croaked, “And a couple of questions.”

The woman nodded. She looked towards the youth who appeared to be almost shaking. Eric guessed it was some kind of reaction. From his seat, Rob leaned over towards his charge, offering more encouragement or advice. Eric watched, riding a sudden, fleeting burst of pride that he had two friends who gave their time to help others. Then the anxiety roared back in.

He sucked in two long breaths. His hands trembled. That was familiar again from the filming. He conquered it last time and he could do so now. Fingers fumbled with opening out his own sheet of paper. Eric discovered he didn't need it. What he wanted to say glowed like a script in his head. The shock made him cough.

A moment later, he found himself talking. “Tyler, when you and your friends invaded my garden, you scared me. You made me feel unsafe in my own home. You took away control of who I allow into my life. I'm a private man. I share who I am with few people.” Eric paused. After the video, that wasn't strictly true any longer. In practise, maybe, but it reflected how he felt. “Without the friends I've been lucky enough to make over the past year, you would've made my life a misery. Their support has been a lifeline. It doesn't make your actions any less bad.”

Tyler's downcast face now had two red slashes across the cheekbones. Shame, Eric hoped, rather than anger. The youth chewed at a thumbnail.

“Tyler?” Slowly, a pair of dark eyes rose to meet Eric's. They glistened slightly. “Why me? Why my garden? What have I ever done to you?”

The lad's gaze dropped. He shrugged. “Nobody round there knew me. No neighbours. No old farts who'd complain about me bunking off school. Then I spotted you'd got visitors. Fag visitors.”

Nobody swore or exclaimed, but Eric felt the atmosphere in the room thicken with disapproval. Rob leaned forward. Tyler flushed red in response to whatever Rob said.

“Sorry,” the youth continued after a moment. “I mean, ehm… queer?” He looked back at Rob. The older man raised his eyebrows. “Err… gay?” Tyler tried again. “LGBTQ.” Only he got the letters in a muddle.

Eric recalled vividly Adam's onetime remark about he and Andy sticking out in the small town. “Why should that make any difference?”

“Never been anywhere–” Tyler's eyes widened. Eric could almost hear him rifling through the alternative terms. “Gay people hang out.”

He barked out a laugh. “My home isn't a gay club or community centre. So what if two men who happen to be gay visit me?”

Another shrug. “It's sick to hang out somewhere with a different vibe.”

“What? So 'sick'–” Eric had to guess at the word's meaning. “That you destroyed parts of my garden and vandalised my front door?” A kernel of anger glowed in the pit of his stomach.

Tyler's gaze dropped to his hands. “I had some shit going on that day. Personal shit. Let my feelings take over. Anger, y'know. Sorry – should never've done that.” He shifted in his seat. “You're gay as well, aren't you?”

Rob half got out of his chair, but Eric decided to answer a version of the young man's question. “Yes. I've said so publicly. So what? Does that suddenly make me rich, or attractive, or a media star, or knowledgeable about queer things? No – it doesn't. What were you hoping? That some of the supposed glitter would rub off on you? What glitter? I'm old. You know I'm old. And poor. Worked all my life for little money, like many pensioners round here.” He let out a sigh. “The first time I told anyone else about my sexuality was roughly this time last year.”

Tyler was watching him now.

“I've spent my adult life hiding in the shadows when it came to relationships and sex. At sixteen, Tyler, I could've had a relationship with a girl; with a boy, it would've been illegal. And anyway, how d'you think it would've gone down round here if I had?”

The youth closed a mouth that had been hanging open and blinked. “Illegal?”

Eric spotted Rob's eye-roll. He wondered briefly what caused it. Something to ask another time maybe. “Yes. Homosexuality had been partially decriminalised only a year or so before. You had to be twenty-one to be involved with another man.” Now it was his turn to shrug. “Not that I really knew anything then. There was no sex education. Nothing at all. I was as ignorant as they came.”

He took a breath, not quite sure why he was telling the lad. It felt right. Tyler regarded him, brows furrowed.

The woman broke the silence. “Eric, have you said everything you want to?”

He nodded, not knowing how to finish. If what he'd said needed finishing.

She continued speaking. Eric didn't pay any attention. His ears were roaring again. He felt untethered, disconnected.

Standing by his seat, Andy touched him on the shoulder. “You staying for tea?”

He didn't want to remain in the stale, suffocating room one moment longer. “No. I need some fresh air.”

“OK.” Andy smiled. “You did great, Eric. I'm proud. Meet you outside in quarter of an hour or so?”

“Yes.”

Clutching a cup of tea that would definitely incur Eric's wrath, Andy selected a biscuit from the uninspiring selection on offer. He moved to catch Rob's eye. The other man was talking quietly to Tyler Jackson. Rob nodded an acknowledgement to Andy.

After another minute or two, he broke away from the youth and strolled over. “Eric not around?”

“No. I think he'd had enough. He's taking a break.”

“Yeah. Not a great room to have these things in.” Rob took a sip of water. “I think that went as well as could be hoped. Eric made a considerable impression on Tyler.”

They shared a smile.

Andy fingered his beard. The pre-wedding cut was less than a week away. The thought gave him goosebumps. “Well, Tyler gets to join the ever-increasing band of people who have met Eric and come away changed in some way.”

“Too true.” Rob looked over his shoulder. The youth was munching biscuits in a way only teens could. “Like to meet him?”

“Yeah. If he is queer or questioning, it'd be good to have a connection. Though, of course, he's got you.”

An eyebrow went up. “Yeah. Me. One guy.”

“Point taken.”

Tyler watched them approach. Andy got the impression he was being sized-up.

After the introductions, the youth blurted, “You're one of the guys who visit Mr Whitehouse. Chased me from his garden one day, didn't you?”

Andy nodded. “And as you know, I'm gay.”

The youth flushed slightly. “Where d'you work out, Andy?”

He exchanged a glance with Rob. The other man shrugged.

“I don't. My job as a landscape gardener means I'm outside a lot. And I cycle.”

“Never had the chance.” The look of longing on Tyler's face was almost comical. “The freedom'd be sick.”

“My fiancé and I love cycling. It takes a while to build up stamina for the longer trips though. It'd be easy enough to cycle around town.”

“Only I'd need a bike.” The youth kicked a chair leg.

“True. I'm sure Rob and I can work something out.”

“Yeah?” The word was laced with suspicion. “I ain't no charity case.”

“Never said you were. It's easy enough to buy a basic bike second-hand. Adam and I could show you how to get it looking great.”

A scowl passed over Tyler's face. “An' where the fuck's the money coming from?”

Rob smiled at him. “Let's leave that for now. This is all a bit new – to me, anyway. I need to get you back to school and Andy's got work to do. How about we explore this further the next time we meet? Give me and Andy a chance to chat.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” The sudden disinterest fooled no-one.

Andy hid a smirk. Memories of him wheedling his first serious bike from his parents flooded back. He was pretty sure 'whatever' had formed part of his own teen strategy. “Great to meet you, Tyler. Hope to see you soon on a bike.” The youth shrugged. “Rob – speak later.”

He left. Another connection made. Another life about to take a different course? Maybe.

Outside, Eric sat perched on the 4x4's bonnet. Andy grinned at him. “Sorry. If I'd have thought, I could've given you the keys.”

“It's fine. Had plenty to think over.”

“Was it worth doing?”

Eric looked back at him. “Yes, I think it was.”