Callum appears in the doorframe. “Need any help, Dad?”
I’m about to raise an eyebrow but stop myself.
“Thanks, Cal, but I’ve just finished,” says Theo. “Although I’m glad you’re joining us. I think we could do with a group chat.”
Callum tugs on his fringe and takes a seat between Mabel and me. Theo signals for Mabel to take out her earphones. She doesn’t object.
“Now, I don’t want you two to be upset by what happened earlier,” Theo begins, sitting down opposite them.
“Dad, it was awful,” whimpers Mabel.
“Yeah, but you need to know the world’s a much better place than it used to be for people like Adam and me—or at least it is in Europe. You do still come up against these attitudes and you do still find pockets of intolerance. But we need to make sure they don’t upset us.”
Callum curls his hands into fists. “But Dad, how can you just accept it?”
I’m interested to see that he looks genuinely outraged.
Theo leans forward. “I don’t accept it, Cal. But sometimes the best way to fight these attitudes is to show the bigots we’re better than them.”
“Also, those men were pretty old,” I offer. “I expect their attitudes are dying out.”
An orange, black and white butterfly lands on a trunk of vine and basks in the glow of the evening sun.
Mabel turns towards me. “What do you think it was like for your uncle, when he went into town with his boyfriend?”
Again, I’m about to raise an eyebrow: until now the kids haven’t shown much interest in Wilf’s story. But I stop myself. Part of me would like to show them Wilf’s letters and photos—or at least the stone—but that doesn’t feel right. Besides, I still haven’t shown Theo.
“I don’t know, but I imagine it was very hard for him,” I answer. “We’re seeing his friend Angelika tomorrow, so we’ll be able to ask her.”
The butterfly flutters away.
“But even when Adam and I were growing up it was hard,” points out Theo. “Have you heard about something called Section Twenty-Eight?”
Callum and Mabel look at each other and shake their heads.
“It was a law brought in by Margaret Thatcher’s government in the 1980s,” Theo explains. “It made it illegal for anyone employed by local councils—including teachers—to say anything positive about gay people.”
“Why?” asks Callum.
“Because they thought this would corrupt children and ‘turn them’ gay. Basically, the government thought being gay was so awful that people had to be protected from it. But Section Twenty-Eight meant there was nobody to defend children whowereactually gay and being bullied for it. And it made life very difficult for gay teachers. If they were open about who they were, they could lose their jobs.”
Callum picks at his brace. “Is that whyyoudidn’t tell anyone?”
A little frown appears between Theo’s eyebrows. “It’s one of the reasons, yeah. When I first became aware of my feelings, I tried to bury them. Because everyone would think I was a terrible person, but also because I wouldn’t be allowed to have the career I wanted.”
I’ve never heard Theo talk about this before but it makes perfect sense.
Mabel cocks her head. “That’s so wrong.”
“It’s fucked up,” Callum agrees.
Theo nods. I notice he doesn’t tell Callum off for swearing.
“But the point I want to make is,” he goes on, “that law doesn’t exist anymore. There are still laws like it in places like Russia, but not in our country. And not in Italy, either.”
“But there are still horrible old men,” comments Mabel.
“Yeah, but they’re in the minority,” insists Theo, weaving his fingers together. “Look at all the other people we’ve met in Italy. All the other people we’ve seen when we’ve been out and about. They haven’t said a word.”
