I clatter down the stairs as my parents struggle through the front door with armfuls of plants from their visit to the garden centre. They both took a week off work at the same time, specifically so they could ‘sort the garden’ and simultaneously ruin some of my hard-earned break after finishing GCSEs by constantly asking when I’m going to get out of bed and why I need to spend so long in the shower.

“What do you think?” Mum says, holding up a stone statue of a curly haired boy with fat cheeks, holding his dick. “It’s a peeing cherub.”

I nod, slowly.

“We needed a centrepiece for the water feature,” she explains.

“Cute little fella, isn’t he?” Dad grins. “Reminds me of you.”

My eyes widen. I do have curly hair, but I’m not half a metre tall, and I don’t permanently have my dick in my hand. But it gives me an idea. “Speaking of … cute fellas…” I begin.

“Cam, there’s a tray of begonias in the boot – grab ’em will you?” Dad says.

“Huh, sure,” I say, heading out as Mum and Dad take their bits through to the back. My heart sinks as I see our Ford Mondeo is jam-packed with what must be most of the garden centre. We’re gonna be here all day and it’s so hot my shorts are already sticking to my legs. The only way this’ll be made better is if one of the items somehow leads to a conversation about me being gay, but I can’t see how. “Mum – here’s the weedkiller, and also, I’m gay.” It just doesn’t work. I grab what is possibly the tray of begonias and walk back through to the kitchen.

“You could have brought something else in with you,” Mum complains.

“Dad just said the begonias.”

“Well, they’re not even begonias. They’re geraniums.”

I put them down on the worktop. “Mum, the thing is—”

She puts up her hand. “There’s no thing about it, Cameron. Use your initiative. You’re a big strong lad, you can carry more than just one tray of bedding plants.”

I blow my cheeks out. Big and strong are not words you would use to describe me. “OK, Mum, can we talk?”

There. I’ve said it. I’ve asked if we can ‘talk’. Now she’ll know I’ve got something BIG to say.

“Fancy helping me plant out the sweet peas?” Dad says, appearing at the back door.

“Apparently he wants to talk,” Mum tells him.

“Oooooh.” Dad grins. “Do we need to sit down, Cam?”

I sigh. “If you want to.”

They both sit down at the table. “OK,” I say. My mouth is suddenly really dry, but I tell myself to chill out. It’s no big deal. It’s just me and who I like. And I’m ninety-nine per cent sure they’ll both be cool with this, because they were fine when my sister told them she was vegan, and that’s a much bigger thing, especially when your dad is a manager at a turkey nuggets factory. “So, you know how I’ve got posters of Hamilton, Wicked and Dear Evan Hansen up in my bedroom? Well, it’s a sign—”