“I was so scared,” he says. “So scared and so ashamed. And so I did these things, thesemadthings I’d never have thought I could ever do, all because I was terrified of losing my friend. My friend who sits with me in the hospital and makes me laugh. My friend who rubs my back when I’m puking my guts up. My friend who saves me every day and doesn’t even know it. I couldn’t lose him. And so I betrayed you, Dylan, and I’m…” His voice cracks. “I’m so sorry.”
“I know you are.”
“Dylan…” He’s sobbing now, his face shining with tears, his poor body shaking. “Dylan, I can’t love you like Ellis did, but Idolove you. So much. You’re my brother, my best friend. But I also know, after what I’ve done, things won’t ever be the same between us. And I can accept that. I can. I just hope…” He presses his hands together. “Dylan, please. Justpleasedon’t hate me.”
“Mike?”
I wait until he turns to face me.
And then I don’t hesitate.
I pull my best friend into the fiercest hug.
It’s still Year One, Anno El, but three months since he died. I’m standing on the shingled shore, feeding mouldy bread to a very dysfunctional family of ducks. The father’s strutting about and the big brother seems to be a crumb-stealing jerk but the mother still fusses over him. The youngest, meanwhile, is doing his own thing at the waterline. I wonder if he’s into dude ducks, but I guess that would be stretching a ridiculous comparison too far.
Looking down, I brush the crumbs off Ellis’s old yellow shirt. I talked to my therapist about vacuum-sealing it to keep the El smell alive, but I decided you can’t hold onto things like that. Maybe I’ll remember his smell forever, maybe it’ll fade over time, and maybe I’ll be pottering around in the library’s large-print section sixty years from now and two kids will wander by, laughing and hugging, and I’ll catch the ghost of it again. Who knows?
Another therapy decision: helping Julia pack up his room. She told me I could take whatever I wanted and I chose a drawing or two, and these Iwillpreserve as best I can. Not just because they’re memories, but because I will show them to the people I love and the people I’ll come to love and I’ll say,This was who he was. This was my Ellis.
The ducks scatter and I kneel down and unzip my backpack. This is the last time I’ll talk to him, at least for a while. It’s a deal I’ve made with Dr Rosenthal. So here goes:
I think you’d like her, El. She’s quiet and listens and sits on the floor with me while we talk. We even share a packet of Starburst every now and then. But don’t get big-headed, we don’t just talk about you. We talk about how it’s going at my rented place and how Mum and Dad pop round for a cup of tea and a chat every Thursday. We’ve kept it weekly because it’s hard, rebuilding trust, and baby steps are best. Anyway, up until last month I was buried under catch-up essays and exam prep, so I didn’t have time to see much of anyone.
Mr Morris has been amazing. I think he practically had a heart attack when I called the school and asked if I could at least try to get back on track with my A levels. Mr Robarts was wary, especially after the police officer/assembly showdown, but – get ready to piss your pants laughing – it was the Grand High Dementor herself who defended me. Yup, Miss Harper went into battle on my behalf, taking on all-comers, slaying every opponent with a single glare. I think she did it for you, El, but I’m grateful just the same.
So, yeah, university in September,ifI’ve passed my exams. And I’m going into halls. I don’t think I could afford a flat all by myself, and anyway, starting a new life as the weird Billy-no-mates is not a way to meet friends and influence people. And I want to meet new people, El. I really do. So I’m thinking of signing up for theatre club (I know, I’m bound to trip over a spear-carrier or whatever) and I’m going to enrol with theLGBTQ+ Society. I wonder if the spear-carrier will be cute and klutz-friendly, like you? A boy can dream, right?
Only one thing will interrupt my first term at uni. Sometime in October I’ll be required to give evidence at Denman’s trial. He hasn’t confessed. I didn’t think he would. It’s not a monster’s style to make things easy for its victims. Not that it matters – the police have more than enough evidence against him, and since his arrest, other students have come forward with their own stories. Kids from Ferrivale High and from a school where Denman taught previously. Their testimonies have added to the prosecution case, and maybe even more importantly, they’re now getting help to deal with what happened to them.
Okay, El, I want you to know something: in all this moving on, I’m not leaving you behind. I don’t think I’d be able to do that even if I tried, and Dr Rosenthal agrees. I’ll always carry you with me. My first love, perhaps my best, maybe my only, who can say? All I know is that you sketched out a place in my heart and there you will stay, bold and strong and indelible. You changed me; you made me braver and better than I ever thought I could be. For that alone, I’ll never forget you.
I squat beside you for a moment now, my head resting against you. It’s almost time. But, oh yeah, one more thing to make you smile: Chris has come out as bi. Yep, seems you really were onto something with that infallible gaydar of yours. He’s just started seeing his new boyfriend, Zac, the pedicurist from Mum’s favourite beauty salon. Honestly, El, I hate to say it, but they’re even a little bit adorable together. Anyway, I think that’s pretty much all my news.
From behind me I can hear George Ezra singing “Pretty Shining People”. I turn and smile up at Mike and Ollie, Mike carrying his dad’s old boom box down to the shore. Ollie gives me this sheepish grin. I don’t know. Yes, he did a shitty thing, but we’re all human and we all do shitty things to each other all the time. Anyway, we’ve talked and, although we’ll never be best buds, I can’t carry around all this hate. And that’s not Dr Rosenthal talking, that’s just my own brilliant insight.
The same goes for Mike. He’s doing okay, by the way. His chemo’s finally finished and he’s starting his final year again just before I head off to Bristol. He’s already planning a couple of weekend visits and has made me promise to find him aLGBTQ+ SocietyAlliance straight girl who has a thing for footie boys with buzz cuts. I watch him bounce down the incline, chatting away to Ollie, and I send up a prayer, for what it’s worth. There are no guarantees, I know that now, but there’s hope, right? That’s the one wildcard the universe lets us hold onto.
“Hey, Bumboy,” he says, cuffing my head.
“Mike, I gotta say, that is a bit homophobic,” says Ollie.
“Oh, get over yourself. Just because you’re now all out and proud, it doesn’t mean you get a say over my and Dylan’s perfectly harmless nicknames.”
He nudges Ollie with his hip and starts singing along with George. I squint. Mike’s singing has this nails-on-a-blackboard quality. It really is something special. I bump fists with Ollie and ask if Mumzilla and Big Mike are in position.
“They’re on the spot. I told Dad it was totally illegal and he’s really excited. Mum said she’s waiting in the car in case a quick getaway is required.”
“And you’re sure about this? Mike, it’s all the money Gemma gave you from the Easter dance.”
“Correction: the Dipshits Ball. And I can’t think of a better way to spend it.”
“Seconded,” says Ollie.
“Okay then.”
I lift your urn out of my bag and hand it to Ollie. He holds it like a sacred object, which I guess it is.
“I’ll take care of him, Dylan.”
