Now they keep trying to introduce me to nice girls from Church (nice girls from Church, like Becky Price), in case being queer could be catching. I wish they’d stop. It’s embarrassing. What happened to platonic love? Why does it always have to be about sex?

And then there are the little talks: talks about friends, and girls, and school, and if anything’s ever happened to me at school that made me feel uncomfortable. I thought about saying: My teacher’s queer. He likes to put his hand on my leg and touch me through my trousers. That would make them both sit up. They might even believe me. They’d certainly take it to the Head, and to the Board of Governors, and even maybe to the police. But then they’d take me out of school, and I’d never see Harry again.

I’ve thought about Harry a lot this week. I’ve ridden my new bike past his house. Once or twice, I’ve even stopped to have a look in at the windows. Harry has curtains, like everyone else, but they don’t quite meet in the middle. If you stand by the window, you can see inside. Harry’s got a Christmas tree all covered with stars and glass baubles. A real one, not a tinsel job like my parents always have. And he has candles burning there; and a holly wreath on the door; and everything looks warm and safe, all lined with books and records.

Yes, it looks safe in Harry’s house. Safe, and warm, and welcoming. The kind of place where you can go to talk about anything at all, and someone’s there to listen. I’d already been there so many times, always meaning to knock at his door. But somehow I’d always chickened out. I guess it’s a big step, Mousey.

Today I went back, on my bike. This time, I was planning to knock. I’d brought Harry’s present with me—a special edition of Pink Floyd’s The Wall—and his Christmas card, of course. I knew they’d be late, but that was okay. At least he’d have them before New Year. And I’d get to see his face as he read the card, and maybe then, I’d tell him—

It was cold. There was snow on the ground. I was wearing my duffel coat. Even so, I was freezing, and I could see my breath in the air like the ghosts of the people I’d been. I left my bike by Harry’s front gate and looked through that gap in the curtains. The fire was lit in the front room. I could see a pot of tea on a stool next to the fireplace. Two cups.