This Still Happens

Chapter Three - Baptism: Gordon

Char leaps out of a tree and plunges into the lake with a shout. The water shoots up around her like a circle skirt, and she disappears well below the surface for nearly a minute. And then she bursts right out again, brown hair drenched, shoulders covered in pondweed. "God, I fucking love summer," she shouts, rubbing her eyes and then striking out for the jetty.

She climbs up onto the wooden slats to sit next to me, lake pouring off her, and leans over to look at my phone. "You caught it, right? My dive?"

"Of course," I say, tilting it and shading the screen with my hand as I replay the video for her. "You're like a lil kingfisher!"

Char kisses me on the cheek. "Thank you, darling," she says, hugging me with one (revoltingly soggy) arm before scrambling to her feet. "See you in a minute." She stands up straight, and pencil-jumps into the water, a flash of Tiffany blue in her one-piece.

The reflections of the sun and the branches on the lake break the surface up into a thousand bright shards, hiding Char under petals of light until she breaks through a few metres away, pondweed washed away, hair still plastered against her forehead. All I can see is her smile.

And then her smile falls away, and her eyes widen. She points over my shoulder.

I turn around to face the bridge, and spot Sophie and Chris picking their way down the footpath from the street to the beach on the north side of the lake.

Chris has his head down, and Sophie is pulling him along behind her. I can't hear what she's saying, but I can hear her voice, just snapping at him occasionally.

Quietly, very quietly, I whisper, "Fuck," get up from my spot on the edge of the jetty, and run into the boathouse.

I'm not avoiding Chris. I'm not avoiding anyone. That's not what I'm doing at all. (Even the notion.) I'm just putting my phone and my glasses away in my rucksack, which just so happens to be in the boathouse. It's a total coincidence that it makes me mostly invisible to anyone approaching from the bridge. I swear.

It wouldn't make a difference, even if I were avoiding him. He spotted me—or Sophie did—long before they would have reached the jetty, and before I know it, Sophie's poking her head through the doorway into the boathouse.

"Knock, knock," she says, grinning, "Can I come in? I've got someone here who wants to apologise to you." She looks behind her, and I spot her eyes going sharp. "Properly," she adds, "Isn't that right, Chris?"

I force myself to smile. "Uh, yeah, yeah, that's... uh... cool. Come in." I sit down on the damp floorboards and tuck my knees up under my chin, patting the space next to me as Chris trudges in behind Soph.

Soph elbows him until he sits down, and then sits on the other side of him, pushing him sideways until he reluctantly shuffles up and closes the gap between us.

"Go on, then," she urges him.

"I'm really sorry, Gordon," Chris says, "I thought I was getting to be OK with it, with you being... being..." He coughs. "I thought I was OK with it, but I'm kind of... not... yet. I'm sorry. I know you're my mate and everything, but it's... it's difficult, you know?"

I shake my head, shrugging. "Why would I know?"

Chris sighs. "You know what I mean, though, right? I mean, finding out that someone who's been my friend for... for years... is..." He chews his lip. "You know."

"Gay?" I raise my eyebrows. "You can say it. It won't choke you."

"Gay!" says Chris, "That you're gay! Sorry if I can't fucking get my head around why you'd want to—" He shudders, and his face is grey around the edges.