Harry Oldham is writing a novel based on his criminal and sordid past. To do so, he has returned to live at Park Hill, where he grew up, and the place that he once left behind. That was then and this is now, in which the old world collides with the new. (Parts 1 to 18 are available to read in the menu)

Perfectly Hard and Glamorous – Part 19

April 1984
When you look back over a life, there’s always a year that stands out. My annus mirabilis was 1984. Not that anything exceptional happened. But things were happy, and I was rolling in money.

It was also the year I turned eighteen.

Now I’m about to turn sixty, and it feels like a distant memory. Almost a life that belonged to someone else.

I remember one April night. The days were getting longer, and when darkness fell the sky above Park Hill was clear and moonlit, the air sharp with a chill. I leaned on the balcony rail and told myself something I had started to believe.

I was a male prostitute.

That didn’t bother me.

I thought about all the names people might have used to describe me. Queer. Faggot. Bender. Nancy boy. Shirt-lifter.

None of them applied.

Because I wasn’t any of those things.

I was straight.

Anyone could see it. I was a good-looking lad who could get any girl he wanted. That was obvious to everyone.

Especially Andy and Jack.

That year I’d become a bit of an enigma to them. I still hung around with them like I always had, but they didn’t know what I was really doing. None of us had jobs—we were living on the dole. Wasters, really. Nothing to do and nowhere to go. Boredom got us into trouble more often than not.

Our parents hated it.

But I didn’t care.

I didn’t need a job.

I always had money.

More than enough.

Andy and Jack couldn’t work it out. They didn’t understand how I could afford to go out most nights. What annoyed them even more was that I never invited them along.

We’d grown up together. We knew everything about each other.

Or at least they thought we did.

Andy took it the worst.

One night he punched me in the face. We were walking down the street when he suddenly turned and landed one on my chin. I charged at him and shoved him over a wall before Jack managed to drag us apart.

Later Andy said he didn’t know why he’d done it.

But I knew.

He could feel there was something about me he didn’t understand anymore.

Something I wasn’t telling him.

And there was Paolo.

I’d kept him away from Andy and Jack for a reason. If they ever met him, it would be game over.

Paolo was my work partner.

And because I kept telling myself I was straight, I hadn’t admitted something else.

He’d also become the person I cared about most.

Things had changed the year before. One side had been taken out… and those of us left were requisitioned by the survivors. Frank Smith had it all planned. Stage one complete. Now on to stage two of his masterplan.

The new world he dragged us into was worse than anything before.

But it paid.

Men didn’t just watch anymore—they wanted us. Big houses. Fancy mansions. Weekends filled with food, drink and sex.

A lot of sex.

And money.

So much bloody money we didn’t know what to do with it.

Sometimes it felt like we’d already sold everything there was to sell. Our innocence. Our dignity. Our bodies.

But every now and then we escaped from it.

One night Paolo curled up beside me in the back of a big Ford Granada and asked if he could stay at my place. His black curly hair brushed against my cheek, and I realised I liked it.

My parents were away visiting relatives in Skegness, and my younger brother Adam was off somewhere up north on a school trip.

There was no reason to say no.

Besides, I wanted him safe.

We got dropped off on Duke Street and walked in silence to my parents’ flat. Paolo had his coat wrapped tightly around him and a scarf pulled up around his neck so that he looked like one of those preppy American boys from the films.

I didn’t know much about the place where Paolo lived.

But when I opened the door to ours it smelt of burgers, chips and stale cigarettes.

I suddenly felt ashamed.

Paolo grabbed my hand like a frightened kid and let me pull him inside.

The flat was silent.

What we were doing felt wrong—but exciting at the same time. The same thrill I used to feel when the Geisha Boys broke into someone else’s place.

Except this time it was my home.

Paolo stayed close while I switched on the lights, hoping nothing embarrassing would reveal itself.

We were both bruised and exhausted. He asked if he could have a bath.

“I need to wash them off,” he said quietly.

The dirty old men.

I nodded.

He went into the bathroom and turned the hot tap full on. It ran loudly for a while before suddenly stopping.

“Harry?”

His voice echoed down the hall.

“Where are you? Come here.”

The door was unlocked. Paolo was sitting in the bath hugging his knees.

“Are you going to join me?”

I shook my head.

“Harry… I’d really like you to get in with me.”

So I undressed and climbed in.

It felt strange. We both knew every inch of each other’s bodies, but sitting there face to face suddenly felt awkward. I stretched my legs either side of him and he rested his elbow on my knee.

“The first time we met,” he said, “you hit me.”

I remembered.

“I didn’t know you, did I?”

“Would you ever hit me again?”

“No,” I said. “And now I’d hit anyone who hit you.”

Paolo smiled at that.

“I love you, Harry.”

I grimaced.

That was what Geisha Boys were supposed to do.

We slept together in my single bed that night. Nothing happened. He held me all night and I kept my arm around him. When he finally fell asleep, I rested my chin on his thick curly hair.

For a moment I felt something close to peace.

It didn’t last long.

The next day Andy called me a faggot.

He’d seen Paolo go into my flat.

“Who the fuck was that you took home?”

This time I hit him first.

I punched him so hard his nose burst and blood ran down his chin.

“You’re a cunt, Andy. That was my cousin.”

He didn’t believe a word of it.

“You’ve gone fucking weird,” he said.

Later Jack rang.

“Harry, you’ve busted Andy’s nose.”

“He called me a faggot,” I said. “And I ain’t no faggot, am I?”

“Nah,” Jack said. “I told him that. But he’s still pissed off with you.”

I couldn’t tell Jack the truth.

Mostly because I didn’t know it myself.

I wanted to say something else.

Do you remember Mr Johnson who taught us English? Let me tell you something, Jack. Last week he fucked me up the arse. Yeah. Our school teacher rammed me from behind.

But I ain’t no faggot.

But I couldn’t say that.

Could I?

I also remembered something else.

Years earlier we’d all been drunk at a party and ended up piled together on a sofa. We were messing around, laughing.

Then Andy and Jack kissed each other.

Properly.

Tongues and all.

That pissed me off. I stormed out and walked the streets for an hour because I was jealous.

But that didn’t mean anything.

Did it?

“A penny for your thoughts, love.”

I was sitting in June’s kitchen stirring a mug of tea far too many times.

“I’m a bit confused, June.”

“Is it Frank?” she asked.

“He’s the least of my problems.”

She smiled.

“So that means you’re thinking about Paolo.”

I gave her a look.

“Paolo’s a jewel,” she said. “And you, Harry, are a rough diamond. But when you put the two together something beautiful happens.”

“I ain’t queer, June.”

She didn’t argue.

“But you care about him,” she said gently. “And there’s a fine line between caring for someone and loving them.”

“It’s all a mess.”

“Is it?” she said softly. “I don’t see why.”

She leaned forward slightly.

“Paolo is a wonderful person. And I think—for the first time in your life—you’ve met someone who adores you exactly as you are.”

I looked down at my tea.

“Accept that,” she said. “Give him the chance.”

“And what happens then?”

June sighed.

“Harry… I don’t like what Frank’s doing to you both. I’ve told him so. But despite all that…”

She paused.

“I think something unexpected has happened.”

“What?”

“You’ve fallen in love with him.”

I laughed at that.

But June didn’t.

Frumpy old June—with a voice like an angel—had just told me the truth.

And I still wasn’t ready to hear it.