Much Smaller Things, page 28
Alfie planted a kiss on Tom’s muddy shoulder. “I don’t like you getting into fights because I don’t like seeing you hurt, but… I was there, Tom. I may not have been right there like you, but I could tell Jason and the others were being dicks. I could tell they were getting to you long before the fight. You could only have ignored them for so long. But for you to snap like that? What were they saying?”
Tom sniffled. “They were whispering from pretty much the start of the match. Jason and Levi and a few of the Hatton players. I could tell they were talking about me. I did try to ignore them, but then at half-time I heard them properly. They were only saying the usual stuff, about me being bi. Nothing I haven’t heard a hundred times before. But then Jason started talking about… about you. He saw my Insta post and apparently he’s seen you around. I dunno, but he was being really gross and horrible about you, and I… I lost it.”
In his retelling, Tom’s resolve seemed to change like a flick of a switch. He sat up straighter, eyes entirely dry. “You know what? I’m glad I punched Jason. He fucking deserved it. Nobody should say stuff like that about you.”
Alfie truly did feel guilty for Tom getting into another fight for him, but mostly, he was very grateful and extremely touched. He had never had someone who would fight for him before.
A silence fell between them then. Alfie swallowed, wanting to get the inevitable over and done with. It had been his fault, after all. “So,” he said. “About before… when you said th-that thing…”
“Don’t worry about that. You didn’t have to say it back.”
“I know. It’s just… I hate that I reacted like that. That I hurt you by not explaining myself.”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to.”
“But I want to, Tom. I… I did want to say it back, I just… can’t.”
“Why not?”
Alfie took a breath, and Tom’s offered hand. He gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I’ve said those words so many times in my life and not once have I ever meant them. Liam used to tell me he loved me all the time, and if I didn’t say it back, well… I said it back.”
Tom’s grip tightened, and his jaw twitched. “What a fucking arsehole.” He screwed his eyes shut for a second, as if trying to rid himself of the fury which had risen inside him at Liam’s name. “I knew there must have been something—some reason for you to react like that. I never blamed you for not saying it back, but especially not now. That—Jesus, Alfie, it makes me so fucking sick.”
Alfie looked down at his lap, at his own unripped-jeaned knees beside Tom’s muddy bare ones.
“I didn’t say it to hear it back,” said Tom. “I just wanted to say it because it’s true. I do love you.”
Unbidden, a spike of terror struck Alfie before he could conceal it. He gripped Tom’s hand and tried to breathe through it. He knew how he felt. He just had to say it.
Don’t be an idiot, Alfie. It’s only three words. They won’t hurt you.
Tom won’t hurt you.
“I,” he managed. “I feel the same. I’m sorry I can’t say it, but please know that I do… feel the same.”
Tom’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yes.” Alfie matched Tom’s smile of disbelief. “Maybe one day I’ll be able to say it properly.”
“Don’t worry about that.” Tom pulled him closer, a little awkward side by side on the bench. “You don’t ever have to say it if you can’t. There are more ways to show love than three little words.”
“Right,” said Alfie, smirking. “I’d better spend my time making it up to you in other ways, then.”
Alfie leaned in to kiss him, forgetting to care about the blood, even when he tasted metal. “I think there is one thing I can do,” he said when they parted. “To show you how serious I am about this. About us and, well, about everything.”
Tom looked at him, intrigued. Willing himself to remain calm and steady, Alfie reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the box. “Remember this?”
“Of course I do,” said Tom. “I did go to a lot of trouble to return it to you.”
“Right. You’ve been doing massive acts of love pretty much from day one, you sap.”
Tom shrugged. “I had a massive crush on you. It couldn’t have been helped.”
Alfie smoothed his fingertips over the engraved wood, just as he had done a thousand times before.
“It’s a nice box,” said Tom.
“Well, thanks, because I made it.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. In woodwork when I was in Year 7. Don’t look too closely, it’s not actually that evenly sanded.”
Tom chuckled. “Aw. That probably only makes it more beautiful anyway.”
“Maybe.” Before Alfie could think too hard about what he was about to do, he flipped the lid open. He heard Tom’s intake of breath, felt him tense beside him, saw his confusion, his frown.
“Alfie, what…?”
Usually, Alfie would take out the collection of pills and turn each of them over in his hand in turn. He had done so every time he’d opened the box for almost as long as he could remember.
“I stole them from my mum,” he said. “One at a time over the years. She never noticed anything was missing. There’s enough to kill me several times over. They were reassuring, comforting, an option I always had. A final option.” He looked away from the multicoloured pills, into the watery gaze of his favourite person. “There have been times when I’ve really thought about using them, but now, you’ve become my final reason not to. You’ve helped me see there’s more in life I want. That I’m worthy of. I want to live not just for you, but for me.” He shrugged. “I figure, if I can be worthy of your love, then surely I can be worthy of a lot of other, much smaller things.”
Alfie got to his feet and strode to the nearby bin. He was about to chuck the box into it when—
“Wait,” said Tom. He had followed him and now stood, hand outstretched.
Frowning, Alfie let him take it.
Tom tipped the pills into the bin, then snapped the lid shut again. “What were you thinking? This is way too nice to throw away.”
A burst of laughter escaped Alfie’s throat, taking him by surprise. “It’s just a box.”
“But you made it, and it’s so lovely. And plus, it helped you, didn’t it?”
“Well, I don’t want it,” said Alfie. “You keep it if you want.”
Tom looked down at the small wooden box in his hands, far more overjoyed than Alfie could fathom. “Are you sure? I dunno, it seems too special to just give away.”
“You’re special, Tom. And you’ve given me so many things. Let me give you something in return. Even if it is a shitty, wonkily sanded box I made when I was eleven.”
“And I shall treasure it always,” said Tom with a smile. “Thank you, Alfie. I’m really happy for you and proud. And you are worthy—so worthy—of all the good things. I just hope can be, too.”
“You are, I promise. You really are.”
38
Tom
There you are!” came a shout. “Oh—”
Tom and Alfie looked up to find two very awkward faces watching them. “Sorry,” said Connor. “Didn’t mean to interrupt if you were, um… having a moment.”
Max elbowed him. “Mate, shut up.”
“It’s okay,” said Tom, slowly blinking out of the bubble he and Alfie so often disappeared into.
“Mr Cooper sent us to tell you to come back and play the second half of the match,” Max explained.
“What?” said Alfie. “Tom shouldn’t have to play anymore. He’s injured. And plus, he shouldn’t be forced to play alongside some biphobic jerk like Jason Warren.”
At the wide-eyed expressions on Max and Connor’s faces, Tom couldn’t help but grin. A wonderfully warm swooping sensation took over him at Alfie’s indignation on his behalf.
Connor shook his head. “Jason was way out of order, mate.”
“We’re really pissed off with him, too,” Max insisted. “He should never have said all that stuff about you. Or about Alfie.”
“And where was all this back on the pitch?” asked Alfie, scowling. “You all just stood there while Tom got pummelled.”
“We’re really sorry,” said Connor.
Max nodded fervently.
Alfie opened his mouth to retort again, but Tom said, “It’s okay, Alfie.”
“It really isn’t.”
“Yeah, well, I should probably go and at least talk to Mr Cooper, to explain myself. Will you come with me?”
“Oh.” Surprised, Alfie smiled. “Okay. Of course.”
Tom took Alfie’s hand and the two of them followed Max and Connor back through the St. Andrew’s gates, back across the school toward the football pitch. The two teams had gathered around their coaches in the middle of the field. Alfie found a low wall to perch on, and Tom accepted his good luck kiss before tentatively jogging over to join the group.
The stands were full of murmurs, and it felt like they were all about him. Like the coaches were discussing how much Tom had messed up.
Jason was surrounded by his friends, sporting a particularly shiny black eye as well as the remnants of a previously bloody nose. The front of his football top was spattered with red.
Tom felt a pang of guilt at the state of him, but then Mr Cooper’s stern look distracted him. He placed his whistle to his lips.
The blow was cut short as the teacher’s gaze fixed, frowning, upon something behind Tom. He looked around. A woman was striding across the grass toward them, clearly furious, heading straight for Mr Cooper, straight for Tom. He gulped and took a step back. He had met Mrs Warren on a few occasions and always avoided repeating the experience when he could help it.
However, Mrs Warren sidestepped both Tom and Mr Cooper to fuss over her son.
“Mum!” Jason groaned, trying to wriggle from her grasp. “Get off. I’m fine.”
“Why on earth is my son being asked to play on when he’s in this condition?” Mrs Warren rounded on Mr Cooper. “And why is this boy”—she jabbed a finger in Tom’s direction—“being allowed to play after such a brutish display of violence?”
“Mrs Warren,” said Mr Cooper with a barely concealed sigh. “Both the nurse and your son have assured me he is feeling well enough to continue. I did offer for one of our reserves to take over, but he refused. And, well…”
As Mr Cooper continued to explain, Tom thought, to be fair, Jason’s face did look quite painful. Jason himself was shaking his head at his mother, more than a little embarrassed. He kept repeating, “Mum! I’m okay” and “I’m not a pussy.”
“Well,” said Mrs Warren, a little shrilly. “I don’t want that boy anywhere near my son.” She rounded on Tom, green eyes piercing. “Such utterly out-of-control behaviour. Why on earth would you think to exert such violence on my son when he has done nothing to—?”
“Jason was saying homophobic things about me and my boyfriend.”
The words came out a lot louder than Tom intended.
At once, Mr Cooper turned to Jason. “Jason? Is this true? Were you being homophobic?”
Jason opened his mouth, but Mrs Warren cut him off. “Don’t answer that, petal. I’m sure you did the right thing.” Her mouth had thinned into a narrow line, and her skin had turned a sickly green colour. “Mr Cooper, I’m sure you mean well, letting anyone and everyone onto the team, but do you really think it’s appropriate to let people like—like that into a space designed to be safe for young people—?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
A furious flame had ignited in Mr Cooper’s eyes. Hatton Academy’s teacher turned away and distracted himself by wrangling his team away from the drama unfolding.
Tom felt like maybe punching Mrs Warren wouldn’t be let go of as lightly as punching Jason, but he was starting to think Mr Cooper might get there first.
As Mr Cooper’s eyes blazed and Mrs Warren’s mouth got thinner and thinner, Tom fizzled out of the altercation. His heart pounded in his head, his knuckles tingled under their bruises. He could taste the metallic tang of blood, could still feel Alfie’s hand in his, warm and solid—because it had slipped in there without him noticing.
Tom looked around to find Alfie standing beside him. He looked angry and pale, but he tugged lightly on his hand, and Tom’s feet moved of their own accord.
The rest of the team was already nearing the changing room doors. It seemed like the match was not going to continue after all.
Alfie gave him a quick kiss, then waited outside as Tom went in to grab his things. He didn’t stop to shower or change. He wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. He just wanted to go home.
*
The drive home from the match had been tense. Frederick had been torn between berating Tom about the fight and concern about the reason for the fight. It was nice to know his dad wasn’t completely unsympathetic, but since Tom had almost definitely quit football—at St Andrew’s at least—it was clear his dad was still hurting from the loss.
Tom didn’t care what his dad thought. All he knew was that a weight had been lifted, and he felt ten times lighter for it.
That Saturday, Alfie accompanied Tom on the drive across town to Jason’s house. Alfie tried to keep up a steady stream of chatter, which Tom was grateful for, but it could not quite dull the inherent sense of frustration and unfairness surrounding the whole idea.
On the night after the fiasco at the match, Mrs Warren had turned up at the Rowlands’ house. She had spoken with Debbie while Tom and Alfie were, thankfully, out walking Basil. She had demanded that Jason be compensated for his injuries—that he had exams to focus on and couldn’t do so while he was in pain. Mrs Warren had demanded an apology from Tom to Jason, and Debbie had reluctantly agreed to ask Tom. Mrs Warren had not been pleased about this particular method of parenting.
Debbie had relayed the entire miserable interaction to Tom and Alfie that evening at dinner, complaining about how she had never got along with Jason’s mum. “I’m sure your mother was lovely, dear.”
Alfie had snorted. “Trust me, Mrs Warren is lovelier.”
Tom pulled up outside the massive front gates of the Warrens’ house. The two of them sat there for a moment, gazing up at the house with its sweeping driveway and gurgling fountain topped with a winged lion.
“I wasn’t aware Jason was, in fact, a prince,” said Alfie. “Did you take a wrong turn? Or is this a train station?”
Tom scoffed. “One of the only decent things about knowing Jason is spending time at his stupidly fancy house.”
“I still think your house is better,” said Alfie. “More cosy. Homey. This just seems cold and, I dunno… I suppose it’s big enough to hide from your family members because they probably all suck.”
“Yeah.” Tom gritted his teeth and gripped the steering wheel.
Alfie slipped a hand onto his knee and squeezed. “Hey. Would you like me to go in with you? It’s your decision. If not, I don’t mind waiting here.”
Tom shook his head absently. “I don’t want Jason to be rude to you, too, but I also really don’t want to go alone.” Alfie’s presence always made him feel stronger, braver. Reminded him he had something worth fighting for. With a huff, he flung the door open. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”
They crunched up the gravel driveway, past the fountain, to the large oak front door.
“I still can’t believe I’m the one being made to apologise,” Tom groaned. “You didn’t hear the things he was saying.”
“It makes sense though, right?” said Alfie, shrugging. “Why he is the way he is. His mum is just as bad.”
“At least she doesn’t seem to be home.”
The large driveway was, in fact, empty. Tom took a deep breath, raised a hand, and lifted the ornate knocker. A moment later, Connor answered the door.
“He’s here!” he yelled. “And he brought his boyfriend!”
“What are you doing here?” Tom asked quietly as they stepped over the threshold into the spacious entrance way.
“We heard about what Mrs Warren is making you do,” said Connor, leading the way up the sweeping staircase. “So we thought we’d be here for, I dunno, moral support.”
Exchanging bemused looks, Tom and Alfie followed Connor along the landing, into Jason’s bedroom where he and Max were lounging on beanbag chairs, game controllers in hand. Tom suddenly became extra glad Alfie had come along. As Jason sneered at them, Alfie’s hand in his was very grounding.
Max paused the game, and Jason got to his feet. “Joint at the hip now, are you?” He folded his arms and glared daggers at the pair of them. “Go on then. Let me hear it.”
“Jason,” said Tom. “I’m sorry I punched you.”
Jason raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“And… err… I’m sorry your mum made me do this? I’m sorry she’s a homophobe and she’s made you one, too. But I’m not going to apologise for having a boyfriend who I love and who I’d do anything for. Especially punching someone like you if they’re gonna be rude to him.”
“Come on, mate,” said Max from his bean bag, as sheepish as Tom had ever seen him. “You’ve had a problem with Tom ever since he came out.”
“Yeah,” said Connor. “Didn’t we agree over the summer, when we saw his Insta post, that it wasn’t a big deal? We were happy for him then, weren’t we?”
Jason shifted where he stood.
“But then we got back to school,” Connor continued. “We assumed your dad had been bugging you again, but has it really been about Tom being bi this whole time?”
“I suppose it’s a lot harder to ignore now he has a boyfriend,” said Alfie.
Jason whirled around at Alfie, as if he wanted to say “Who asked you?” But thankfully, he held his tongue. Tom did not need to get into yet another fight.
