‘He’s so laid back, he doesn’t care. He’s far too interested in his photography to worry about whether Dad likes him or not. Anyhow, he’s thirty-five
years old, he’s seen it all before and it doesn’t faze him. I mind for me, that’s all.’
‘Dad probably feels you’ve been led astray by an old pervert.’ She watched Toby’s mouth twist into a reluctant smile.
‘Hardly old, Helena.’
‘Seven years older than you. To Dad you’re still a baby.’
‘Well, this baby knows what he wants.’
‘Then that’s fine. To hell with Dad. Who cares! As long as you’re happy. You have to think of yourself, you know, and not live your life for other people,’ she said, considering her own situation and the two heartbroken children who slept innocently on the back seat.
‘We both have to think of ourselves, Helena. No one else is going to,’ he replied gravely then fell silent and watched the grey road stretch bleakly out in front of them.
Helena and Toby had always shared all their secrets. Even though he was younger than his sister by two years he had always been more mature than other boys his age. That’s what comes of keeping secrets, it wears one out and makes one furtive, Helena reflected. She had known Toby was gay long before he had decided to tell his parents. She had always known he wasn’t interested in girls, that he was happier with his books on worms and beetles than going to nightclubs. It wasn’t that he was frightened of women, he wasn’t. He adored his sister, admired his mother and had lots of good girl friends. Toby just wanted their friendship; the idea of physical contact was as alien to him as football. When Helena’s friend Annabel Hazel fell in love with him, crying hopeless tears of unrequited love onto her shoulder, Helena began to wonder whether Toby might be gay. He never dated anyone. He could hardly marry one of his unfortunate beetles. Helena was usually too distracted by her own desires to have the time to notice anyone else’s, but Toby’s sexuality intrigued her and wrenched her out of herself. She watched him closely. It was in the Chilean summer of 1972, that Toby had flown out to spend a few weeks with his sister who had settled happily into married life with Ramon.
Helena was distressed to see that Toby had grown fat with misery and taut with anxiety. He was suppressing his feelings and choking on his efforts. He was unemployed and unhappy and his usually buoyant smile could barely manage
to float. They walked up and down the beach and talked as they had never talked before. Toby spoke of his difficulty in finding a job in London, how the fumes of the cars made him sick and the noise made him nervous. ‘I just don’t feel me any more,’ he explained hoarsely.
‘Well, you’re not going to get a boyfriend by being miserable,’ Helena said nonchalantly. Toby stared at her, his face at once pink and white and his eyes full of terror. ‘It’s okay to be gay, you know,’ she continued and smiled at him in understanding. ‘You’re still my darling Toby.’ Toby sat down on the sand and put his head into his fumbling hands and sobbed as he hadn’t done since his dog, Jessie, had been run over that hideous winter morning fifteen years before. Helena sat next to him and placed her arms around him. ‘You’re fat because you’re not happy, you’re not happy because you’re confused. You always have been. That’s why you went to London because you couldn’t cope with your secret in Polperro. I don’t blame you.’ She laughed. ‘That town is way too small for you. But you know, it’s where you belong and it’s where you’ll be happy-’
‘I know.’ He sniffed. ‘I want to go home. I hate London. But,’ he sighed heavily as if the weight of his secret was being released through his breath. ‘I
want to be loved like everyone else.’
‘And you will be. There are lots of gay people all over London, all over the world. You only have to have the courage to find them.’ Toby turned and looked at his sister with shiny blue eyes that resembled a clear sky after a heavy rainfall.
‘How come you knew?’ he asked.
‘Because I know you. Because I care,’ she said. ‘I’ve known for a long time. Ever since you rebuffed Annabel Hazel. I began to think about it then. You never dated anyone, you were more interested in those wretched insects of yours. I thought there was something strange about that. No one else did, mind you, because you had always been eccentric. But no one was as close to you as I was.’
‘Still are,’ he said and smiled with a gratitude that made her eyes water with emotion.