madly in love with that person and would still be with them if it was up to you? Then you miss them. But what if that person slept with your friend in New York a month after he moved there and after he’d told you he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you? Well, yes, you still miss them, but you kind of don’t any more so much.’
My mother stared at me, involuntarily wrapping her arms round herself. ‘What?’ she said, with a catch in her throat. ‘I knew it was serious, but…oh, my darling…’
‘Yes, blah blah,’ I said. ‘But it turns out he’s a lying so-and-so and I was wrong about him, so let’s forget about it, shall we?’
‘Yes, let’s,’ said Mum, and gave me a hug. ‘I don’t know, you children. I know I’m always saying this, but in My Day…’
Thankfully, Kate came into the kitchen. ‘I was going to go and wake Tom. He’s been asleep for nearly six hours, you know. He told me he hadn’t slept at all the previous three nights because…he wanted to tell us.’ She smiled wanly.
‘I’ll go and get him,’ I said.
‘Be nice to him,’ said Kate. I stared at her. Kate, the scariest woman south of the M4? Kate, who made the postman cry? I expected her to support her son but in a bluff, Kate-ish way, but there were tears in her eyes.
‘Oh, Kate,’ I snapped. ‘Is it that much of a surprise to any of us? It’s hardly like finding out about John Major and Edwina Currie, is it? I mean…’ I tailed off. She was looking at me in a really scary way. ‘I’ll be off then,’ I said hurriedly, and ran out of the door. I bounded upstairs, shoes clacking on the wooden staircase, and knocked on Tom’s door. No answer. I banged again.
‘Hello…?’
‘Tom, it’s Lizzy. Can I come in?’
‘Lizzy…’ The voice was muffled and distant. ‘Hello…ouch.’
I pushed open the door. ‘Hello again,’ I said, and sat on the bed.
‘Hi,’ said Tom, from beneath his duvet. ‘Oh, God…’
‘Your mum sent me to get you.’
‘I can’t go down there and face them.’
‘Why not?’ I enquired.
‘I just can’t. I made such a fool of myself earlier.’
‘It doesn’t matter, silly,’ I said, stroking his feet. ‘They don’t care – none of us cares.’
Tom sat bolt upright and stared at me. His hair was incredibly amusing. It was springing out stiffly from his head at a 45-degree angle. I giggled.
‘That’s just it,’ Tom said angrily. ‘None of you cares. You knew all along. Here I am, carrying this awful secret around, living this double life where everyone at work and most of my other friends all know, and I haven’t told you, the people who mean most to me in the whole world. And when I pluck up courage to tell you this terrifying thing, all you do is laugh. Well, I wish I’d never bothered.’ He ran his fingers through his hair.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I whispered, horrified. ‘Honestly, none of us is laughing at you. We’re proud of you for having the guts to do it. Even if we did know. And I wasn’t laughing about that just now – your hair looks mad.’
‘I made a fool of myself,’ Tom moaned.
‘No, you didn’t,’ I said.
‘Yes, I did. Don’t lie to me, Lizzy.’ He stared up at me briefly, then buried his head under the duvet again. ‘Just go away,’ he mumbled.
I decided honesty was the best option. ‘Well, yes you did,’ I said quickly, ‘make a bit of a fool of yourself. But – oh, Tom, can’t you see why? You had red wine round your mouth, you were swaying and you fell over! That was why it was funny at first, and that’s what you’re probably remembering – if you can remember it,’ I added. ‘And the only way to show it doesn’t matter is if you come downstairs with me now, have a coffee, and make the others laugh so that they think you’re OK and they don’t have to be embarrassed about it.’
‘Perhaps you’re right. But…I just don’t want to go back down there.’
‘Oh, come off it, Tom,’ I said. ‘Get a grip. Look at the sorry collection of humans downstairs. Jess? What does she care if you’re gay, straight or a homicidal maniac? Gibbo? He’s only known you a day – I hardly think this is a body blow to him. Chin? Her friends are always coming out of the closet – look at Marcus.’
‘Marcus is gay?’ said Tom, pursing his lips and making snake eyes at me. ‘Fanbloodytastic.’
‘And, Tom,’ I continued, hoping I was on the home straight, ‘what do you think our family’s going to remember this Christmas for? You telling us what we already knew? I don’t think so.’
‘Mike…’
‘Exactly,’ I said, slapping his thigh. ‘When you look at it objectively, your news hardly compares with the ageing lawyer uncle bursting in on Christmas Eve with his busty bride of two days and acquaintance of four weeks. Think about it.’
‘Holy guacamole,’ said Tom, ‘you’re right.’
‘Of course I’m right. Come on, get up, you idiot.’
‘Lizzy,’ said Tom, hugging me, ‘you’re great.’
‘Yes, I am,’ I answered, and I allowed myself a moment of internal glow for my good deed.
‘I’m not playing Shoot Shag Marry with you again, though,’ said Tom, swinging his legs off the bed. He picked up a glass of water from beside his bed and glugged it down. ‘You’re terrible at choosing – you always pick completely the wrong people. And I don’t just mean David. Remember when you said you’d rather marry Duncan from Blue over Ryan Philippe?’
‘I stand by that,’ I said, as Tom pushed me through the door. ‘Duncan’s gorgeous and he’ll cut the mustard when he’s fifty, but Ryan’s pretty-boy looks will be gone in a flash.’
‘You’re hopeless,’ said Tom, as we trotted downstairs together. ‘Really you are. You’re the one who needs the sympathy, not me. You couldn’t spot a good thing coming if he was completely gorgeous and wearing a T-shirt that said “Good Thing Coming” on it.’
‘I know,’ I said, linking my arm through his.
‘I hope so,’ Tom said. ‘What about Miles? You could always shag him – he’d be up for it.’
‘You make me sound like a complete slapper,’ I said, not without a note of pride in my voice.
‘Oh, Lizzy,’ said Tom. ‘You wish. But listen to me. Anyone but David or that madman Jaden, and you’ll be fine.’
I couldn’t say, ‘But I don’t really want anyone but David,’ so I said nothing except ‘Come on, we’re here.’
As we stood in the hall, I looked through to the sitting room. There,
