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“You too I guess,” he muttered.
George sighed. “I gotta go. We’re good, yeah?”
“Yeah, call me from the hotel.”
“I will. Later.”
“Bye.”
The line went dead.
Joq had a feeling if he kept pushing this, it was going to end very badly. He pulled the USB stick out of his bag, looked at it, and tossed it in the bin.
28
Sitting in the surveillance room later that morning, Joq half-heartedly watched the screens and listened to Sue explaining to Simo that if he kept eating like he was, he was going to have a coronary— “Just because you’re skinny, doesn’t mean it’s not killing you on the inside.”
Joq snorted, but his heart wasn’t in it.
Simo guffawed and gave his usual line: “Every man dies, but not every man truly lives!”
Joq’s phone buzzed.
A message from his mum. He opened it.
It’s doing the rounds again… He should make a statement this time.
Joq clicked on the attachment. He knew what it would be and it was. That old rumour nicely packaged in an article with the usual suspects from around the world. Another gay blog, though this one was inching closer to mainstream. His mum had a point—well, beyond her usual point about George not being man enough to stand beside her boy—but her other point being, every other athlete on here had responded in some way over the years except George.
Joq forwarded it and, in light of their conversation that morning, felt oddly triumphant as he waited for George to reply.
Seen it, came back immediately.
Joq frowned. The triumph wavered as a quiet sense of foreboding came over him.
But, he was a dutiful boyfriend: You okay?
All good.
Joq didn’t know what to say to that. Over the years, George ignored the rumour stoically, but he’d borne an undercurrent of terror whenever it came up. Joq wanted to be there for him and yet, he’d felt responsible somehow. Guilty. Which was stupid, but it made it impossible for him to discuss it, to help.
If you wanna talk…
He sent anyway, cringed, and waited.
It’ll blow over, came back promptly and when the next message came through—Boarding—Joq felt like the door blew firmly shut with it.
29
George was laughing, tinny through the speakers, his face filling the screen on his laptop from where he was perched on his bed in a hotel room in Sydney.
“You shoulda seen it though, babe,” George went on and Joq felt butterflies at the endearment; it’d dropped off lately, and it was nice, reassuring. “Lacy was livid!”
One of the vets had got him good with the old—‘Hey, can I borrow your toilet, someone’s using mine?’ and then taken a huge shit, stinking out his entire room.
“He’s been around long enough not to fall for that,” Joq said and leaned back in his office chair at home.
“I know, I know,” George petered out. He was smiling and talking like the article hadn’t come out that morning, like he’d genuinely squared it away and firmly closed the door on discussing it. “What’re you up to tonight? You look tired.”
