Tigerland (36 page)

“This pretty bad place,” Matt said, sensing blood in the water, “was it something to do with Heyward?”

Dec gave him a rueful smile. “I’m not here to tell tales, Matt. But Simon made my life better. Even when circumstances worked against us, especially when I was outed and had to step into the glare of a so-called new life, he was there every time, for every crap moment. When the fans hated him, when the WAGs made it hard for him to first come into our strange world of the AFL, and when I ran away from our problems at times instead of dealing with them—he was still there when I came back.”

I couldn’t believe he was saying all of this on television, knowing that it would probably be up on YouTube within minutes, and that people all over the country would be dissecting it over the next couple of days as it was picked up by other media outlets.

And he was doing it for me. He was so reticent and withdrawn in so many ways, and yet when he felt he had to make a point, he did it to the extreme.

“Simon has been a partner in every sense of the word,” Dec continued. “And when all this stuff started with Greg, and I wanted to maintain what I thought was a dignified silence, just because it was what I thought was best, Simon supported me. Even when Greg made up stuff about him, basically a whole lot of shit—” He faltered. “Uh, guess I can’t say that—”

“That’s live TV for you.” Matt laughed nervously, looking straight into the camera. “Lucky we have a three second delay just in case this kind of thing happens.”

“Sorry.” Sheepishly, Dec scratched at his nose. “Anyway, what Greg and Jasper Brunswick were writing was false. And I guess they would think they had their reasons for it, like making it into more of a story the public would like. But it’s not the truth. And Simon has been through hell because of it.”

“Hang on a minute,” Matt said. “Are you claiming that Greg Heyward lied in his book?”

“I’m saying he and Jasper wrote their version of events. And that it’s, to put it politely, not the correct one.”

“That’s a huge claim to make.”

“It’s also a true one. And I wouldn’t come on this show if I thought I would get caught out in a lie. When I joined the Devils and moved to Tasmania, Greg and I had already been broken up for almost a year, and it was still another six months or so before I met Simon.”

“That’s very different to what Heyward wrote.”

Dec shrugged. “It is. I’m not going to keep repeating myself about whether it’s the truth or not. The main thing is I let them say all that stuff without countering it. And I let Simon suffer along with me because of it, just because that was the way I wanted it, but I can’t do that anymore. I have to think of him and put him first.”

“Do you think the public will believe your side of the story?” Matt asked.

Dec hesitated for a moment before shrugging. “The public will believe what they want to believe, but I only want to finally be on record saying that 90 percent of what Heyward is saying is crap. And anything he says about Simon is 100 percent bull crap.”

“Do you think going on the record will end the speculation?”

“I hope so, because this will probably be the last time I say anything about it.”

“Really?” Matt asked.

“Never say never, Matt. But like I said, I hope so. All I wanted was to have the record set straight about Simon. He deserves that at least.”

“Straight?” Matt asked, unable to resist an obvious dig.

A tired old joke, but Declan knew he had to play along to keep the media happy. “Figuratively speaking.”

“So what are your final thoughts on Greg Heyward’s book?”

I could tell Dec was thinking of a way to be diplomatic, but he also wanted his own point to come across. With a slight shake of the head, he sat back in his chair. “I think he’s a lonely guy who’s still trying to find his way in the world, and it’s going to take some time.”

Matt nodded in that overly thoughtful way most journalists seem to affect when a camera is on them, especially at the end of an interview. “That was an exclusive from Declan Tyler, regarding the recent controversy about Greg Heyward’s soon-to-be-released memoir
Out on the Field
. Thank you, Declan.”

Declan reached across and shook his hand.

“After the break, the latest news and weather for our show.”

Commercials were counted down, and Dec rose from his chair, pulling his microphone out of the collar of his T-shirt. He was surrounded by staff, wanting to speak to him, but he glanced away and happened to look to where I was standing behind one of the flats. He brushed off his admirers and walked over to me with a nervous gait that amused me more than anything.

“I’m not surprised, but how did you find out?” he asked.

“Coby has friends everywhere. It’s kind of scary.”

“What’s scary is how fast news spreads in this city.”

“It’s the information age, baby. And speaking of fast, man, you should have seen me running to get here.”

“You?” Dec asked incredulously. “Run?”

“I’m sure I could ask for CCTV footage to prove it to you.”

“Would it also prove that it was more of a slow jog?”

He knew me too well. And after what he did this morning, he had proved he loved me too well.

“Dec, why did you do this?”

“Did you not hear my interview? I’m sure it’ll be up on YouTube soon if you wanted to recapture the moment.”

“You know I didn’t ask you to do it.”

“You didn’t ask. And you didn’t expect,” he agreed. “That’s why I had to do it. For you. Not for me. Not for Heyward, and not to get even with him, or even to shaft Jasper. It was for you.” He reached out and took my hand, swinging it slightly in the space between us. “Nobody wants to hear shit said about the person they love. They will fight to defend them, even if ‘fight’ is in the broadest sense of the word, and it actually means they will go on some cheesy morning show and divulge details of their private life.”

“And start up the whole media circus again?”

He shrugged. “So what? We’re used to it. We always get through it. Us against the world, remember?”

Hoping to hell the cameras wouldn’t turn on us and capture the moment to an audience of one and a half million eating their Vegemite toast, I grabbed Declan and kissed him. His arms encircled me, and I think that he even easily lifted me off the ground slightly, in some romantic comedy cliché clinch. But I didn’t care. It’s usually us against the world, so what the hell?

Right then, it felt like we were the world alone.

I
WOULD
have liked everything to have calmed down after that little spectacle, but Dec’s short interview only helped fan the flames of interest for a while.

But we felt much better that our word was out, and from there on we felt more at peace. It also helped that Jasper Brunswick backed me up by saying I hadn’t pushed him into the Yarra, so maybe there was hope for him yet. Unfortunately, he still accompanied Heyward on the book tour, and I have no idea what their current relationship is. Strangely enough, for both their sakes, I hope it’s improved and they’re both happy in it. I don’t have high hopes for Heyward, though. Not for a while, anyway.

He still kept trying to keep his fifteen minutes of fame alive. The book sold well, but was criticised by reviewers and generally perceived to be a one-sided exaggerated version of events with a lot of mistruths thrown in to gain Heyward more sympathy. I am sure Heyward used the massive amounts of money gained by his royalty cheques to dry his eyes over that, though.

For a while there were talks about a miniseries being made, but the bad reviews and Dec’s refusal to give any support meant they eventually fell through. Life began to settle down again. Trams could be ridden without knowing glances by the other passengers, phones could be answered without dread, and parents no longer asked embarrassing but well-meaning questions about our relationship.

And it didn’t seem that long until we found ourselves standing at the altar, although it wasn’t in a church but a beautiful outdoors ceremony in the Fitzroy Gardens.

Not that it was us who were getting married—that’s still illegal and not for our kind. It’s hard not to feel a little resentful on days like these, although you are truly happy for the couple getting hitched. But it’s just wrong. Especially when that man looks so good in a tuxedo.

Dec, of course, was Abe’s best man. He was standing beside Abe’s brother, Will, who we didn’t get along with that well as he was never comfortable around us, “backs to the wall!”, all that kind of juvenile stuff that we are meant to take
in good fun
. But for that one day they stood there together, differences put aside to celebrate the happiness of a person they both loved. It was a shame that it could only be done on a special day instead of every day.

I sat with Fran and Roger, and, to be honest, we were almost as giddy as Abe and Lisa looked under the natural arch of the tree branch they stood beneath.

But then the celebrant said those words which are like a knife in the heart to any queer person attending a marriage ceremony:
Marriage, according to law in Australia, is the union of a man and a woman, to the exclusion of all others, voluntarily entered into for life.

To the exclusion of all others.

That is basically like the government giving you the finger, saying
you’re not as special as us, nyah-nyah-nyah.

I could see Dec’s jaw set a little as he heard the words, even though he knew they were coming. And I felt that flush of what could only be likened to shame or embarrassment, as if there was now a huge neon sign over me saying
Gay here
! I couldn’t help but glance over the aisle at Lisa’s real-life guncle and his partner of nineteen years, and wondered if they felt the same way. Does time lessen the sting, or do you grow even more bitter?

Abe and Lisa also looked a little stony-faced as the words were read—it was the law they had to be said at every marriage ceremony, so it wasn’t like they could do anything about it. Except not get married, and who would want them to go to that extreme?

The celebrant continued speaking, and it was now time for Abe and Lisa to exchange their own personal vows. Lisa, however, turned to look at all of us who were seated, her eyes bright with happiness
and
nervousness, a special mixture which only seemed to coincide with big events.

“Before we begin,” she said, one hand straying over the small bouquet of purple lilies she was holding, “Abe and I would just like to point out that, no matter what we have to say because the law tells us to, we think love is a universal thing, and we hope that one day we will be able to attend the marriages of those who can’t do so right now.”

To say it was a surprise is an understatement. There was a rumble among the guests, but it seemed positive. I saw Declan scratch at the corner of his eye in that tough-guy-not-gonna-cry way, especially when Abe leaned in to whisper something to him. I saw Will stiffen a little, as if the madness was catching.

Fran reached across to pat my arm, and I heard Roger give a little chuckle of appreciation. Lisa’s guncle was beaming at her proudly, and Dec peered around Abe to catch my eye. I gave a surreptitious thumps-up underneath my elbow, and he grinned.

The vows were exchanged, and it was time to eat, drink, and be merry.

I hadn’t really gotten to see much of Dec during the day. A best man has a lot to do, and he was seated at the wedding table, so Fran and Roger had to put up with me without Dec to buffer the extremes of my personality when I had some free booze in me.

Roger was caught up at the bar when the bridal waltz began, so when the guests were invited to join the newlyweds, Fran grabbed me by the hand before I could protest, and we were whirling around rather idiotically together. Despite the fact that Fran still wasn’t drinking in the hopes of getting pregnant, she was feeding off my mood, and our laughter at times rang out above the music. Fran swung me out under her arm, but instead of holding on to my hand she let me go, and carried on by the momentum I crashed into Dec’s chest, where he was waiting to catch me.

Her mission accomplished, Fran went in search of her husband so her dancing could continue uninterrupted.

“May I?” Dec asked, mockingly formal.

I couldn’t help but look around, but everybody was focused on either their own partners or in watching Abe and Lisa break free from the shackles of the waltz and start dancing less formally but more closely as the music shifted into something more modern but romantic.

“I thought you’d never ask,” I drawled.

Under the fairy lights strung out among the beams of the high ceiling, we danced slowly, hands on each other’s hips and foreheads touching. We said nothing, not wanting to disturb this moment of being together, in the open, amongst family and friends, almost as if it was for our own wedding.

I wanted those few moments to go on forever, but of course they ended before I had time to fully drink them in and appreciate them for what they were—these short spells that never came often enough but burned so brightly when they did, they shielded you from the world without.