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Chapter One – Out in Greenwood
Hey. When are you back home? We need to talk. Johann x
Tim Johnson was not an expert on relationships by any length, however even he knew getting the dreaded ‘we need to talk’ message was the great big shiny number one in the 1,000 Texts That You Don’t Want To Receive From Your Almost-Boyfriend homosexual dating guidebook.
Now, coming out as gay is often romanticised in films, books, and on television as if going from monochrome to technicolour. A character’s grey backstory is suddenly replaced by a brilliant rainbow-filled life, with them being thrown into a world of partying, confetti cannons, and newly found confidence. The reality is, if you are gay, you spend just as much time being stuck in the mundane as everyone else.
Tim’s current version of the mundane found him sat waiting for his family on the edge of an endless field of fruit, the smell of freshly spread manure invading his nostrils. Maybe strawberry fields were forever after all.
Is everything okay? I will be home in thirty. T x
He re-read Johann’s message after firing off his response, slumping at the base of a solid oak tree at Mr Murray’s Park ‘n’ Pick farm. There was something ominous about Johann’s tone, especially the harrowing second half. Each word felt like a pair of hands squeezing his temples together. He grabbed at his hair, trying to break their grip. His muscles were stiff after a long car journey back from the family holiday in Clacton. He needed to be anywhere else but right here, right now.
He gazed across the fields, bleached gold by the August sunshine, at the heads of his parents and brother, who were still shoulder deep in fruit plants. Tim had enjoyed the holiday on the Essex coast, despite getting soaked to the skin for most of it. It had rained heavily for five days out of seven at the Eternal Sunshine Holiday Park. Having left their caravan at just before midday, Tim could have been on his way to meet Johann at least an hour ago. According to the Sat-Nav, the drive in the family Volvo would have been just over three hours (or three-and-a-half with a toilet break added in).
Trouble started not long after handing in the keys to the park reception. Firstly, they had got stuck behind a dawdling tractor on a single-track road for forty-five minutes, and then some sheep had got loose as they passed through Heynsham, which caused yet another tailback. On top of that, a milk spillage across the main road close to Greenwood had finally stopped them from completing their journey altogether. The smell of evaporating milk in the heat was vile, and Tim had resorted to burying his head into the neck of his t-shirt, trying to mask the scent with the Lynx he had liberally sprayed over himself that morning.
All these incidents came before it was decided they would swing off the road altogether to be dragged into Mr Murray’s. At present, Tim decided he hated farms, farmers, and anything related to either. After all, they were only here to collect berries so his mum could make some fruit pies for the upcoming fete.
The Greenwood Secondary School Fete was always the key event in the summer calendar. This years would act as a fundraiser in order to afford much needed building repairs, such as fixing the windows in the English block which either didn’t open (awful in summer) or wouldn’t shut (freezing in winter). Tim’s mum had been obsessed with the Bake Off element since it was announced a few weeks ago, even though she was someone who constantly burnt microwave meals.
Tim laid back on the cool grass and closed his eyes, taking in the sound of a light aircraft passing overhead. The peace was broken quickly when his mobile rang. He jumped up, ready to speak to Johann. His heart sank a little when he saw it was just Leo’s name on the screen.
“Alright, Leo?” Tim answered.
“Hey. Where are you at?”
“I’m at Murray’s. You?”
“Home. I’m bored,” Leo said. “Mum has got me helping to plan the Christmas arrangements.”
“Already?”
“I know, it’s ridiculous. We’ve got most of the Caribbean side of the family coming over though so apparently this takes a military operation to organise.”
“Can always come to mine on Christmas afternoon if you need to escape.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha. I would take you up on that, but there would be no way my mum would let me. You know how full-on a Gardener family party is. When are you home this evening, anyway?”
“No idea,” sighed Tim, looking back across the fields. “Hopefully before six. My parents are so slow at picking,” he added, gesturing towards his parents before realising Leo couldn’t see them over the phone. “Leo, can we hang out tomorrow?”
“Yeah, for sure. Lydia is having a buffet thing if you want to come?”
“I guess that works,” Tim replied.
Leo was quiet for a moment. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Tim?”
Tim let out a sigh, realising Leo knew him too well for him to be able to hide his emotions. “Johann just messaged me.”
“Why’s that bad?”
“He said we need to talk.”
“Ah, shit,” Leo replied, matter-of-factly.
“Shit, indeed,” Tim agreed. “And he forgot to send me a goodnight message on Instagram on Monday and Wednesday.
“That sucks, mate, sorry.”
“I was kinda planning on asking him to be my boyfriend properly, too.”
“You still can.”
“He’s going to break up with me, isn’t he?” said Tim. Saying it out loud made it all far too real.
“No, course not. He probably wants to catch up. Anyway, you don’t need to make all this boyfriend stuff official, as it pretty much is anyway.” A newly irregular breathing pattern stopped Tim from replying. “Trust me, Tim, it’ll all be fine. Look, I gotta go. Mums come back with more post-it notes and pins. Keep me updated won’t you, just stop thinking about Johann and you’ll feel better. If you need back-up, gimme a shout. Laters.”
The screen went blank. Zero new notifications in the last five minutes. Since the Sunday four weeks ago when he had first met Johann, Tim’s life had revolved around him. Seeing Johann, thinking about Johann, learning about Johann’s Swedish childhood, messaging Johann, everything Johann. Them holding hands in the park for the first time had made all these feelings multiply by approximately ten billion percent. The fear of losing that made Tim decide there was no time to lose. He would need to make Operation Boyfriend a reality!
He opened the notes app to start a plan. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but his mind was blank. As he was still coming to terms with accepting his sexuality, a real date terrified Tim. How could he publicly date another boy (even if it was an extremely, breathtakingly, annoyingly hot one) when only Leo, Lydia, and his brother knew he was gay? With school starting again soon, being out would make Year Eleven extra crappy. If homophobia was an arrow, Tim would be a bullseye. He had two weeks to sort out this mess.
He checked his messages again. Still no new notifications. Would double-messaging Johann be too keen? By this point, Tim didn’t care.
Yo J! Just near Greenwood still. I am stuck fruit picking. Please come and rescue me lol x
As soon as he hit send, the voice of an announcer on his dad’s portable radio drifted across on the warm breeze. He quickly buried the phone in his shorts pocket.
“…and the time is now coming up to a quarter to six. I will be back with the birthday shout-outs and then a lovely cheesecake recipe sent in by Sandra from Northlee, shortly after a travel update from Rob in the FoxyCopter”
“…Yes, thank you, Judith, the traffic is currently still looking very heavy after the earlier milk spillage on the Greenwood slip road. I can see the services down there now trying to fix the issue. The temporary traffic lights are still in place by the Tesco store so there are some blockages in that area also, making progress slow in both directions, and—”
“Please can you turn that off or change the station or anything? I can’t listen to more of the same news and boring recipes on loop all day!” Tim said, picking at some loose rubber on the side of his Converse.
“The radio stays on,” replied his mum as she took a seat on a nearby picnic table, rearranging one of her new oversized kaftans she had suddenly started wearing literally everywhere she went. “Your dad wants to hear the football report.” She turned her attention to a crossword in the latest edition of her Live Your Life magazine, slowly tapping at her front teeth with a blue ballpoint, before adding, “We are nearly ready to go home now, anyway, so just sit and wait.”
“We’ve been nearly going home for an hour now,” Tim responded.
“Well, I wasn’t the one who poured a load of milk on the road, was I?” said his dad, placing two baskets laden with fruit down next to him.
“Nor was I!” Tim replied, as he started punching his thighs with clenched fists.
His brother, Marty, stood a few metres away, messaging on his phone with blackberry-stained fingertips, headphones on full volume. His dad took a seat at the table, leaning forward on his elbows, checking out his t-shirt suntan in the small make-up mirror from his wife’s handbag. Most of his tan had come from his time on a boat in the Pacific during the few months he had spent there as part of his latest Navy expedition. As it had rained in Clacton, it can’t have been from catching the rays of the sun this week. Tim looked down at his own forearms, noticing his own tan was closer to a ghost than one of the Strictly Come Dancing celebrities.
Tim stared into the distance. He was certain he could see the roof of his house in Oak Tree Crescent if he squinted enough through the heat-haze. “Can I just walk home from here?” he asked.
“Absolutely not!” replied his dad.
“Why not?”
“Ha!” exclaimed his mum. “You would have to cross the main road. You’ll get yourself killed.”
“How? No one has moved on there for yonks. It just said on the radio. I won’t get run over.”
“A no is a no,” she said again firmly, turning the volume up to drown out the moaning from behind her. She had given up on the crossword already and had tucked the pen behind her ear, under her short platinum-dyed hair. He was desperate to get home he even thought about calling Pat and Pet, who lived next door, asking them to drive up and collect him. The radio was tinny and on the verge of giving Tim a headache. The slight wind made it harder to hear, which was good, but this didn’t stop him learning all about Sandra’s stupid cheesecake.
“What’s with that face?” Marty said as he moved closer, his phone camera pointing towards his younger brother, oblivious to the argument. He sat down next to Tim, slipping his headphones off and nudging his brother’s foot with his own. He pulled at his black band t-shirt to cool off.
“Stop taking photos of me,” Tim said, pushing Marty’s phone away. “And there’s nothing wrong with my face. I just wanna be home.”
“I didn’t mean your face, but never mind. Hey, hopefully we’ll be home by half six,” Marty said. “Got any plans?”
“Nothing concrete, nah, but I need to see Johann. I also need to do some reading on diving techniques too because I missed my last lesson and can’t fall further behind.”
Marty shuffled closer and put his headphones into Tim’s bag. “Enjoy the holiday, though?” he asked, offering Tim a Malteser from a share-sized bag.
“Yeah, it was okay,” Tim replied, taking four.
“What was your fave bit?”
“I’unno, maybe the amusements?”
“Not Harry in the café?”
“Shut up!” Tim whisper-shouted. “We can’t let them know I’m G-A-Y,” he added, nodding in their parents’ direction.
“Spelling it out hardly helps, mate. They’re not dogs.”
Right, okay, so yes, the café was Tim’s favourite bit of the holiday. It was called “Creams” (bad name) and sat just on the edge of the holiday park near an algae-strewn (and criminally underused) boating lake. Tim had been to the café every day, sometimes twice, to read. The holiday park coffee may have been the best Tim had ever tasted, apart from the ones he used to get at The Lucky Coffee Café in Greenwood, which had sadly gone bankrupt.
Harry the barista was the second most attractive person Tim had ever seen in his life (after Johann, obviously). His perfectly formed sharp jawline drew you up to his rich, dark eyes. He always wore a sky-blue polo shirt, which allowed toned, tanned arms, to bulge out in all the right places. Looking at him was enough to make Tim lose his place in his book multiple times. Harry inspired Tim to make more effort in gym classes at school, rather than just at his weekly diving lessons. Tim was thin and spindly in comparison, like if you stood a tomato plant next to a cactus.
Anytime Tim got caught staring, he would feel his cheeks turn crimson within milliseconds. He would have put Harry at about twenty-one years old, so too old for a relationship, discounting the fact he himself already had a boyfriend (sort of, but not officially). Harry probably wasn’t even his name. They didn’t wear name badges frustratingly, but to Tim he looked like a Harry. If he were to build a Harry he would have surfer-style blonde hair, Cadbury’s-chocolate-coloured eyes, and perfectly shaped biceps. Therefore, this was a Harry.
Tim had found the café on Instagram and painfully scrolled through all two thousand, three hundred and twenty-six followers they had, but alas, had no luck in finding a personal account. On the penultimate day, Marty had come to the café and quickly realised Tim was besotted. Since that moment, Marty had teased his brother about it, which had made Tim feel guilty for looking at other boys. He did know Marty had kissed a girl from a caravan placed seven berths down from their own, though, so he had some comebacks, except Marty knew this girl’s name (Moesha), and they had swapped numbers AND social media handles. She lived in Scotland, though, so it was unlikely their relationship would blossom, or even produce a tiny green sprout of romance.
Thinking about the previous week, and aside from Harry and his biceps, Tim decided the only other part of the holiday he had enjoyed was the amusements. (Obviously. Who doesn’t like a seaside amusement arcade?)
There was something about their nostalgic faded glory that appealed to him. He had spent around £15 on the two-pence sliding machines alone. It was worth it as he had come home four rubber Stegosaurus keyrings richer. He planned to give one each to Johann, Lydia, and Leo. He and Marty had also challenged each other on a basketball game named Slam Dunkers, which Marty won (three times in a row), a confusing one called Polybius which wasn’t there on the second visit, and they had fought on some retro arcade machine called Street Fighter II, which seemed to revolve around smashing any of the available buttons and hoping for the best. Marty also won that.
“Still got your keyring?” Marty asked, continuing the conversation in the shade of the tree.
Tim waved it at him and smiled, before looking back across the fields. He could see there were no other fifteen-year-olds stuck out here on a Sunday afternoon. They would all be out with friends or seeing their own almost-boyfriends. His mind wandered back to Operation Boyfriend. We need to talk. Why had Johann gone and said that? Tim could feel sweat forming under his armpits again, so he sat up, putting his weight on his knees, before reaching out and grabbing some strawberries. He stuffed them in a napkin and buried them in his pocket.
“What are you doing with them?” asked Marty, spotting the theft.
“Gonna give them to Johann,” he replied.
“You could at least rinse them in water first. They’re covered in mud. What if he’s a germaphobe?”
Tim shook his head. “Nah, he isn’t. He said he wants to go to Berlin on holiday next year.” His mouth became dry again. “Marty, speaking of Johann, can I ask you something?”
Marty moved to sit close to him. “What is it?” he whispered.
Tim pulled out his phone and showed the message. “What do you think this means?”
His brother took the phone and started scrolling. Tim wished everyone would be so cool with him being gay. Marty had been protective from the moment he had seen Tim’s secret in a notebook that he had foolishly left on his bedroom desk. However, not being out to his parents or any adult at all in Greenwood made Tim paranoid he was being silently judged. Whenever he was asked if he had a girlfriend by anyone, he would go silent and fidgety. It felt as if he was walking round with a megaphone on his head screaming the word GAY back at them. The thought of actually telling the truth scared him more than heights or even spiders.
He wanted his own coming out to be perfect. In his head he had played through around a million scenarios, ranging from leaving them a letter and running away for a weekend, to hosting a gigantic coming out party in their front garden with balloons and party bags. Maybe the latter was slightly too over the top, though. Anyway, he’d never be able to afford that on his paper boy wages, even after scrapping the idea of having a marching brass band introduce him to the guests.
Marty handed the phone back to Tim. “Johann just wants to talk to you,” he said dryly.
“I know that, but this is bad, ain’t it?” Tim replied, begging for some useful guidance.
“Not always, he might just have missed you as much as you have missed him, as unlikely as that is,” Marty said, making sure their parents were out of earshot.
The holiday was the longest he and Johann had been apart since meeting. Tim knew he would miss Johann, but he didn’t realise just how much. It wasn’t just the holding hands part (they had done that a few times secretly, but not in town), or the kissing part (they hadn’t technically done this yet, but Tim thought they would have if he didn’t have to go to the other side of England to stay in a caravan). He just missed being around Johann. The holiday had been made slightly worse when Johann had forgotten to send his usual goodnight “X” Instagram DM on two occasions (Monday and Friday).
The more he thought about it, the more he convinced himself Johann had changed his mind about their relationship (if he could call it that). It was making him feel ill, and he even did a small sick-burp. He went back to Instagram and replied to Johann’s latest story. He didn’t care how desperate the triple-messaging looked, because it was far less desperate than he actually was.
Johann appeared online, but then disappeared again without even beginning to type. Tim threw the phone into his bag and leant back against the bark again, staring blankly at the clouds. He tried to focus on something positive. He was looking forward to restarting his paper round at Patterson’s Papers on Tuesday. Mr Patterson was good at providing advice to Tim, even if he couldn’t tell his manager exactly what was troubling him just yet.
Operation Boyfriend would mean, eventually, Tim would have to be courageous enough to go on his first ever real-life gay date. That would be a key part of the mission before school restarted. Leaving things in limbo always led to uncertainty, and the stomach cramps he was experiencing about being summoned to talk were too painful to continue like this. Tim wasn’t Johann’s first boyfriend, so he had some catching up to do. He needed to act like a Very Normal Human BeingTM when in his presence, rather than a bumbling bag of jelly-like stress.
So far, the couple had mainly gone to Freddie’s Diner for chips. Normally he wouldn’t think twice about heading in and getting a table, but with Johann he questioned every single moment.
Have I picked the best table?
Am I sat on the chair correctly?
Am I being boring?
Would ordering chips with ketchup AND mayonnaise be weird?
Am I talking enough?
Am I talking too much?
Tim wished he was more like Leo, who had taken his own bisexuality in his stride and never had mini panic attacks when talking about it. The difference was, though, Leo wasn’t not-dating someone.
“Next weekend we should head into town,” said his mum, breaking Tim from his thoughts. She switched off the radio. His dad’s team had been beaten heavily. “You need new shoes and trousers for school so we better head down to Keates’ and get them before they sell out of your size.”
“Can I have a new jumper as well?” asked Tim.
“Yours still fits. And you only need it for one more year, anyway.”
“But Mum, it’s already quite faded. It’s not a nice blue anymore.” Tim was at the age now where he wanted to fit in more. He had started becoming more self-conscious at the end of the previous schoolyear and had dabbled with skinny jeans, eyeliner, and pretending to like rock bands rather than his secret pop star favourite, Saint Monique. Even if it was just a mask, he needed to keep his new cool persona going. Having a cheap, tired looking jumper would ruin that impression on day one of Year Eleven.
“We will see. I might have Marty’s old one in the loft somewhere which could do the job.”
“Nope,” Marty responded. “I used it last year at Halloween when we all dressed as zombies. I mean, I think I still have it, but it’s got holes ripped into it and it’s covered in fake blood.”
“Katherine, buy the boy a jumper,” said his dad, looking again at his tan.
“But they are forty pounds,” she replied.
“Forty quid? It’s just a jumper with a logo stuck on. Can’t he get away with just a blue one from Primark or something?”
“He probably could, Cameron, but he thinks he is above that now.”
“Can you stop talking like I’m not here?” questioned Tim.
“I am just saying a blue jumper is a blue jumper,” his mum responded.
“Even so, I don’t want to look cheap.”
“We have to be careful with money, darling,” she sighed.
“But Dad must have earned a bit from his last tour?”
His parents didn’t respond but looked at each other silently. His mum didn’t push the matter, instead turning back to the table as she ate Jelly Babies, using a copy of Slimming World as a makeshift plate.
Thinking about going to back to school agitated Tim, even more so on top of the Johann silent treatment situation. There was the unstoppable GCSE exam stress, and he would need to join a new committee, too. He didn’t want to get involved with the School Disco Committee again, after lasting less than two months on it last year. Maybe he would try again with forming a Diving Club. If it turned out just to be him and Leo, it would be a start. Of course, without Greenwood Secondary having a pool, let alone a diving board, there wouldn’t be much they could do in this club aside from watching videos of divers on YouTube.
Campbell from Year 11 Jupiter had asked Tim just before summer if he wanted to join his Scrabble society. However, over the course of the last few months he had realised Campbell was homophobic, and therefore a knobhead (a word Tim had since learnt would score him eighteen points, more so on a bonus square or two).
Tim scrunched up his eyes. Thinking about school had brought the sick feeling back. Before long he will be back covering his schoolbooks in scraps of old wallpaper, and stickers of his favourite things as he prepared to be bombarded with GCSE hints and tips. In Year 8, their French teacher ran a competition on who had the best book covering. Tim came second, losing to Matthew, the school football captain, who only won because they were in hospital with kidney stones. He still hadn’t come to terms with the injustice.
“Where are you off to now?” asked his mum as he jumped to his feet and started walking in frustrated circles in the picnic area picking at low-hanging leaves on a nearby tree.
“Stretching my legs,” he lied. It felt like his brain was being swamped by a huge Swedish fog that was trying its best to consume him. What if Johann had met someone new whilst he had been away? No, that couldn’t be it. Oh God, what if he knew about Barista Harry (and his arms)? No, not that either. No one aside from Marty knew about Harry, and he wouldn’t have told anyone. His brother could be an idiot, but he would never do that.
Finally, his phone vibrated in his hands, Johann’s name flashing out like a beacon. He took three deep breaths before nervously opening the message.
Hey. Meet me at the end of your road. I’ll be waiting. J x
His heart sank further. Waiting for what? To break up with him? To tell him he was a rubbish almost-boyfriend? To tell him he would never be good enough to have a relationship with?
He felt an arm around his shoulder. “Hey, we are off now,” Marty said. “Look, when we get home, I’ll help unload the car and you go and see him, okay?”
Tim nodded, and buried his head into his brothers’ shoulder, before letting go and walking towards the car. He scuffed his shoes across the gravel car park as the family finally made their way to the car. He was lagging a fair few metres behind.
As he caught up, Marty gave him a nod. “It will all be okay, I promise.”
Tim smiled, although inside he was knotted. “Thanks, mate.”
“Whatever,” Marty said, smiling back, before putting his headphones back on as he opened the back door of the car.
Out in Greenwood, James A Lyons
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