Tom Houghton (35 page)

As we drove to the airport in a rented car, we passed my school and, next to it, the high school where Fitz, Harlen and Spencer were all destined to fail. They would barely remember me after I was gone but, for the first time in my life, that felt okay.

I
got up early on my last day in London, while the sun was still shy. It had been Hanna's idea for me to write letters to, as she termed them, ‘the affected'. I'd called her yet again and told her of my demise, my meltdown. She'd suggested that written apologies had a gravity to them, a millennia of tradition that made them feel more robust and heartfelt.

‘And when will my apology arrive?' she asked.

‘Apologise to you? For what?'

‘For ever questioning that everything I say is the best advice you will ever receive.'

It felt rather archaic to be writing letters, but given my behaviour, anything else felt wholly insubstantial.

The first one I wrote was to Victor. I admitted being an alcoholic, something that felt freeing rather than imprisoning. I swore to him that I would never drink again, that without his friendship I was a lesser man and even if he never offered me work again, I would grieve the loss of his presence in my life as friend and confidant. I told him I loved him and he was the one man in my life who'd proved to be a constant.

I wrote one letter each to the three producers of the Edinburgh run of
Who's Afraid
. I confessed that I was an alcoholic. I went on to explain that the drunken ramblings of a bitter, lonely and soul-searching Australian mess bore little resemblance to fact. My suggestion that Victor's insistence on hiring me was evidence of his personal integrity and generosity was not, I hoped, lost on each of them.

Mickey the festival head came next. Apologising to him was one of the hardest – how to word around the delicacy of the situation? I decided on self-deprecation, suggesting that if ever his wife wanted to see the world's least attractive and most self-deluded specimen I would, at her order, agree to do any demeaning work she could dream up and pass on my pay to the charity of her choice.

The film producer I'd had lunch with received a note, really, nothing more. While I acknowledged that her princely offer was the highest compliment I had ever received, I was not in a position to accept it. I could only plead to the reasoning gods of comeuppance that this most difficult decision would not prove to be my only chance of working with her, and a sealing of my fate as pantomime fodder.

I woke Lexi to say goodbye and gave her the prepaid credit card I'd purchased. It was my entire life savings aside from enough money to see me home via a stopover in Tokyo, not that she was to know.

‘I want you to promise me you will only use this money for further travel,' I pleaded and I believed her when she said she would. ‘I hope when I grow up I turn out to be someone like you.'

‘Before you go, Dad, I need to know . . . Something I've always wanted to ask you but couldn't, not before our chat last night. Why did you go out with Mum?'

‘You know it's complicated . . .'

‘No, it's not. I think you owe it to me. And she wasn't the only woman either, was she?'

‘No.'

‘But you always knew you were gay.'

I sat on the side of the bed; she shuffled slightly to give me more room. ‘I always knew I was attracted to men, yes. Without doubt. For as long as I can remember there has been a magnetism of the male form that I cannot ignore. But you know how I told you about being bashed by those straight guys in New Zealand, my stupid advances on poor Mal, a failed tryst with one of his nephews . . . ? Well, every one of those led me to pain and rejection. I didn't want to be gay, I think that was it, if I'm being honest with myself. Maybe I still don't want to be. And at university, with everyone more or less on an even field, I had a chance at a new start. Sure, it was easier to be gay as a student but maybe I still couldn't face what I had become . . .'

‘And Mum?'

‘She was lovely when I met her. We didn't fall in love, not by a long shot. But we became good friends and we were both into drama and the theatre and we'd just go and see movies for the hell of it, skip class and see the very next session that was on, regardless of what was showing. Then we tried an E together for the first time and it was like all the weight of my past had melted away and there were no restraints, only unlimited possibilities.'

Lexi yawned and I asked if I was boring her, though I knew I was not. She elbowed me in the ribs gently, encouraging me to continue.

‘Well, not that first night but a few nights later, Lou threw a party and there was this boy there – Anthony. My heart went a-pitter-pat and all that. He was just the most delicious thing I had ever seen but of course he was straight. I really think, obsessions aside, he was the first boy I had genuine feelings for. He left the party and I was so upset, but then the drug taking started and somehow your mother and I ended up in an embrace, and then things started happening. Needless to say it was my first time – with anyone, because you can't count Mal's nephew, we didn't even touch each other, just watched each other play – oh god, too much information?'

‘Jeez, Dad, seriously? You'd think I'd be used to you by now.'

‘I guess, sorry . . .' I took a deep breath. Truthfully, I hadn't thought about this time in my life since the events themselves, hadn't wondered why, or wished otherwise. ‘So that first time was abysmal. I was drunk and stoned and couldn't . . . well, you know, and so I was mortified. I liked Lou, but more than that, I think I still craved a life like the men I fantasised about. I thought a woman, someone softer than me, might make me feel fulfilled, masculinise me. So I kept trying with Lou until we got it right . . . and she was a very patient partner, she taught me so much and then, well . . . you came along.'

‘And that was the end of that.'

‘Well, no actually, it wasn't. I was over the moon at the prospect of having a child and I'm brave enough to admit that maybe part of that was about being a patriarch, you know, a power trip of a kind. And when you came along I couldn't believe you were mine – didn't for a little while – but then the reality of baby life set in and I was terrible at it. Lou and I fought, a lot, and I was out till all hours drinking with uni mates, then I would come home and Lou would be angry and tired, but then I was too useless to be much help. And so that bitter cycle continued for months. I was so dejected, so disappointed in myself, but you need to know something, Lexi, it was always me that was fucked up, not Lou. I met a boy – who am I kidding? lots of boys – and I came to the realisation that this was the worst possible environment for you to be brought up in and I thought, I honestly, hand-on-my-heart swear to you right now, believed that you would be better off without some gay desperado in your life. I wanted to be there for you, wanted to be a father, to face my responsibilities like so many of the men I wanted to emulate, but in reality I just couldn't. I was weak and I was insecure and I would never have been the role model you needed.'

‘I disagree . . .'

‘Well, I thank you, sweetheart, very much. But back then? I could barely stand myself, so doubted a little girl would have been all that fond of me. And when I left, Lou took you away, and I didn't fight her because I agreed that away from me was better for you. But you know the rest, honey, Lou fell in with the wrong crowd, and now here we are, Fucked-Up Family, proud medal bearers.'

Lexi ignored my attempt at humour. ‘What about the other women you slept with? If you were so drawn to men, why fuck around with their feelings?'

‘It wasn't all so one-sided, not every time. Sex has always been fucked up in my life. Invariably the men I fancy are straight. Women tend to fancy me. When I realised I could perform for both, well, I took it when I could. I would always tell a woman I was bi, just to set the record bent. Sure, some of them fell in love with me. But like some of the straight boys who played with me that I fell heavily for, if you go into things knowing the facts then you're a fool to let your mind trick you into thinking otherwise. I love women. More than men, as friends. Men make lousy friends. I need women in my life but not sexually, and I never do that any more. But no regrets, Lexi, not now. I hope you don't regret the decisions of your mother or me either.'

‘You know, there are quite a few peeps I know who'd give their left nut to have you as a father and Lou as a mum. You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. Don't get me wrong.' She slapped me lightly on the back of the head. ‘I'm not forgiving you entirely, but you do need to let it go. All things considered, I think I've turned out all right.'

‘Better than all right, I'd say.' I leant down to kiss her on the forehead. ‘And you were wrong last night. We would stay in touch if you stopped making the effort. I will make sure of it. I've come to the realisation that children – you, Lexi – are a tonic. You are a truth serum and, without you in my life, I think I would be sinking.'

‘Well!' She stretched her arms and yawned again. ‘This is where I get off. Schmaltzy Thomas isn't my bag, thanks all the same. All out, all change. But thanks for the travel coffers, I promise I'll put it to good use.'

We didn't actually say goodbye beyond that, but when I turned to close the door behind me I saw her sliding her fingers madly across the screen of her phone and she was smiling, a glint of mischief in her eye.

I couldn't help myself. My last apology could never have been a letter. I asked the taxi driver to stop at Eddie's address on the way to the airport. Surprise was one word for the expression on his face when he opened the door after buzzing me in. That he buzzed me in was all the encouragement I needed.

‘I am a worthless sack of shit,' I began. ‘I know I am a man who will die riddled with regret. You, Eddie, will be at the top of that list. I do not deserve you, I never did, and my appalling self-protection was at your peril. You are a much better man than I and I need you to know no one will ever come close to the feelings I've developed for you.'

He stood staring at me, his lips pressed tightly.

‘Say something . . .' I urged. ‘Please just acknowledge that I know I have done a truly horrible thing.'

‘Indeed you have,' was all he said.

I
t had been Mal's idea to complete a loop of the South Island and stop wherever took our fancy along the way. I sat in the passenger seat, a travel guide propped open in my lap, and I'd read ahead to choose where we would go next. I had never seen such beauty, was awed by how the landscape could change so dramatically even within an hour. We talked and laughed a lot and I felt happy for the first time since getting out of hospital. Along the way, we visited a lot of Mal's relatives. All of them welcomed me into their homes with big hearts and open arms and the kids even started calling me their cousin. I'd never had relatives before. I touched a sea lion at a beach a few kilometres from the main highway, the blubber soft under my fingers. Mal said if you approached them from behind they were so docile they'd hardly even notice you were there. Four of them lay on the beach, barely moving in the heat of the day, and further down a fur seal dozed on the shoreline, occasionally being lapped at by waves. Later that day we trekked to some falls and sat in the dappled sunlight for over an hour, neither of us choosing to speak, just listening to the running water and the sounds of the bush. At night, we found a caravan park and the relative comfort of a cabin.

Travelling like this, almost man and son, I was relaxed and talkative around Mal. The days were long and unpredictable – a dip at a beach one day, climbing over a petrified forest the next. It was the first time I had been anywhere other than Australia and I was surprised at how relaxed I felt, despite being so far from all I knew.