Made up to Break Up

June 28, 2007

Real Bands Need Electric Guitars

The small crowd had gathered, their umbrellas erect in a futile attempt to shield themselves from the persistent drizzle that rained down upon them. There was a muted aura of depression and anger that surrounded the group as they stood huddled around Paul Sinclare's grave site. His sister, Madeline, stood quietly beside the father of her child. She was completely drained and had no more tears left to cry. There was only one person she loved more than her dear brother and that was her only son, Tommy. Tommy stood away from the others, his heels sinking into the moist ground a few yards away as he coldly eyed the mourners. His best friend, Nigel, looked hopelessly lost and torn between his sense of decorum and the urge to break away join Tommy. Occasionally Nigel would peer up at Tommy from beneath the giant mass of curly blond hair that had fallen into impossibly droopy wet tendrils across his face. Paul's lover, George Acker was there beside Paul's ex-wife, Deborah Sinclare. Gracie Meyer, Deborah's daughter from another marriage stood behind her mother looking bored with the whole procedure and dramatically sighing as she twirled her dark curly locks. There were many other people of Paul's acquaintance that Tommy didn't know. He crossed his arms and scowled at them and wished that he could be anywhere else in the world. Madeline broke away from the group as a minister finished his blessing and they began to mill around sharing their thoughts and memories of the deceased. She approached Tommy, cutting a swath across the damp green grass as she went. Tommy shifted uncomfortably and glared at her hoping that she would realize he didn't want her around.

"I wish you would join us, Love," she held her umbrella over the sopping wet figure of her ten year old son.

"I wish we could go home," he stared at her unwilling to let any emotion akin to grief surface in front of her.

"Soon, enough," she clucked at him and pressed her hand against his back. He resisted her touch as she tried to move him forward.

"I don't get it," he muttered. "Why do we have to be here? Uncle Paul is dead."

Madeline stopped in her tracks, turned and crouched down to his eye level.

"It's about paying our respects, Thompson," she replied.

"They could have done that while he was still alive," Tommy pointed out.

Madeline brushed her hand across his pallid cheek in an effort to comfort him. He didn't shy away from her touch, but he didn't welcome it either. Madeline stood up with a sigh and offered her hand, which Tommy did not accept.

"Come on, there are people I want you to say hello to."

"I want to go home," Tommy repeated himself and crossed his arms.

"At least come out of the rain," she pleaded.

He shook his head.

"Look, I know this is difficult for you." She tried once again to connect with him, but he was having none of it.

"We knew he was going to die," Tommy replied flatly.

"I don't think you understand..."

"I know what death is," Tommy said.

"Okay," Madeline huffed. She walked away with exasperation on her lips and no idea what to do with her son.

Tommy watched her sidle up to her ex, his father, and begin to argue with him as they gestured in his direction. He stared at them for a moment as his feelings began to overwhelm him. Paul had not only been his uncle, but was also the closest thing to a father figure Tommy had ever had. Steven, his biological father, was an unwelcome presence, and the thought of the man trying to become a part of Tommy's life after all the years he had been gone was just as devastating as the loss of the boys uncle.
He felt like he was suffocating with the effort of bottling up his emotion, but he felt he couldn't let his mother see how upset he had become. He didn't want to let her down. If she would allow Steven back into her life, then Tommy didn't feel as if he should question it. As silent tears began to streak down Tommy's cheeks, he was thankful for the rain.

Tommy felt feverish that evening from stubbornly refusing to stay dry that morning. His cheeks had taken on a rosy pink hue and despite his best efforts he knew his mother had spotted his red rimmed eyes on their way home. She had stayed silent on the matter, opting instead to give Tommy his space, something that Steven didn't seem to understand he needed. The father had spent the ride home asking Tommy about school and his friends and receiving one word answers or no answers at all.

"May I be excused," Tommy whispered at his mother as he ran his fork through the burnt puddle of mashed potatoes she had tried cook. "I want to practice my guitar," he explained.

"Yes of course,." Madeline granted permission. He stood up and cleaned his plate while his parents sat in awkward silence and waited for him to disappear into his room.

"I think he's taking it well," Steven commented as soon as Tommy was gone.

"Oh, Please," Madeline laughed sarcastically. "He's horribly depressed, Darling."

"Horribly depressed?" Steven knit his brows in concern. "Well, he never talks much when we talk on the phone. And I mean, I haven't seen him cry once."

Madeline clucked at her ex and shook her head before replying.

"Steven, I told you, and you remember, Tommy likes to talk. He's not really quiet; he just doesn't trust you. He doesn't know you at all. He's going through some kind of pre-adolescent phase or something. He's gets that you not being here is not normal, and we've never really given him a good reason why you aren't around."

Steven thought about this for a while as he gamely shoveled mouthfuls of the charred meal Madeline had created in to his mouth.

"Well," he finally said. "I think you should move back to America. Paul is gone, bless his soul, you don't have to take care of him anymore."

Madeline dropped her fork onto her plate and focused her full attention on Steven.

"Do you really think that's the only reason I left you?"

"Isn't it?" Steven frowned sadly.

"Steven," Madeline sighed. "You were never home. I had no friends in Alabama. I hated it there. I don't think any of that is going to change, you're still driving trucks across the country all the time, aren't you? Fuck knows what you do on the road. I can't take that uncertainty again. Sitting at home taking care of a baby was hard enough. Now you want me to take that little boy away from all his friends and do it all over? I don't doubt you're well intentioned, but that's just insane. You shouldn't even have come here this week."

"I didn't think you should be alone," Steven said. "I know how much you love your brother."

"Yeah, I know," she frowned. "You're always trying to be nice, and I'm such a mess."

"You're doing alright," Steven observed.

She smiled ruefully at him as the muted strumming of a guitar wafted towards the kitchen from the bedroom area.

"He's surprisingly not horrible for a little kid," Steven pointed out as he chewed on a forkful of overcooked green beans.

"Yeah, he's been practicing practically non-stop since ...well, you know," Madeline said sadly. "Paul taught him how to play."

"I'm sorry, Mad." Steven reached across the table and took her hand.

"Don't be, Darling." She smiled up at him. "Hearing Tommy play is just about the only thing that makes me happy these days."

---
One Year Later:

Brian sat on the rickety old stool in the corner of his room a bit in awe of the fact that Tommy Sinclair, the most popular kid in school, had dropped in for a visit. It was a general consensus around the other children that Brian was "dodgy" and not who they should be seen in company with if they were to keep their reputations intact. Therefor it was quite the surprise when that afternoon had brought Tommy to his doorstep in full Soccer kit, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and a sly grin on his face asking if he could come in. Brian wasn't about to say no to that even though he had the vague feeling that it somehow might end in disastrous humiliation.

And so Tommy Sinclair sat there upon his bed, twirling a soccer ball around in an absent minded way as he looked around the room at everything but Brian. Brian was glad for Tommy's distraction since it left him ample time to stare at his guest, whom he nursed a huge crush on.

"Why'd you come here?" Brian finally asked as he began to get nervous about where the afternoon was heading. He could only stay perched on his stool basking in Tommy's presence for so long.

Tommy let the soccer ball drop into his lap and finally looked at intently at Brian.

"Word is, you like me," he said purposely. "Is that true?"

"What?" Brian yelped back at Tommy a bit surprised that the rumors that had been going around school were being flung directly at him and by the object of his alleged affections no less.

"You heard me," he replied flippantly.

"Well..." Brian took a gulp before stammering an answer.

"Well, I, you, I...Of course I do, Everybody does."

"That's not what I mean." Tommy continued to gaze at his host with no hint of malice.

"What do you mean?" Brian asked timidly.

"I mean..." Tommy rolled his eyes. "...If I wanted you to, would you kiss me?"

"What? You think I like boys?" Brian tried to laugh and muster up some indignation at the notion, but could only manage a strangled sigh. The rumors were true after all.

"Tell me you don't," Tommy said.

"Okay, okay, I do, alright?" Brian frowned. "Does everybody know?"

"Pretty much, yeah. It's kinda obvious." Tommy shrugged. "Look, I don't care, mate. My uncle was gay. I know what it's about."

"Oh, Brilliant," Brian said. "At least one of us does. I don't know nothing. Nobody ever even looks sideways at me, but to snigger, and now you? What do you really want?"

"I really want you to kiss me," Tommy replied shortly and stood up placing his soccer ball on his hip. "You don't have to if you don't want to. I'll just go home."

"No," Brian practically shouted at him and halfway stood up as if to stop Tommy's impending departure.

"I mean, maybe I want to." Brian looked around nervously. "Maybe I don't. Your mates aren't waiting outside to kill me are they?"

"I only have one mate, and he wouldn't kill you," Tommy assured him.

"But what about..." Brian started but was only interrupted.

"I'm serious." Tommy stepped towards him and placed his hands on Brian's shoulders letting the ball drop. It bounced on the hardwood floor and rolled into a corner.

"Why me?" Brian's voice faltered as the realization of their proximity caused his entire body to start tingling.

"Because, you're the only gay person I know that's not old," Tommy admitted.

Brian frowned at the knowledge that Tommy's reasoning had nothing to do with actually liking him. It was a blow to be sure, but Brian wasn't about to slam the door in opportunity's face.

"That's as good a reason as any, I guess," he replied as he placed his hands on Tommy's waist, leaned forward and closed his eyes...

Tommy accosted his mother in the kitchen later that day as she scrubbed furtively at the old stove top.

"How was football, Love," she asked as she gratefully took a break from cleaning to pour two fresh glasses of lemonade and sit down with her son at the table.

"Fine," Tommy mumbled, then sighed, hoping she would ask him further about what was on his mind. He still had no problem sharing his troubles with his mother. She was his confidant and his protector, and she went out of her way to make sure he was comfortable telling her anything. Their bond at this time was undeniable and seemed unbreakable.

"What's the matter, darling?" she sipped her lemonade and looked knowingly at him from above the rim of the glass.

"Would you be terribly disappointed with me if I kissed a boy," he asked.

She choked a little on her lemonade before setting the glass down.

"What did you do?" she asked in hopes that she had misheard.

"Well, I was walking with Kelly Jackson after school the other day, and she wanted me to kiss her, so I did," he replied with the full story streaming out in one uncensored blurb.

"It was alright, but the more I thought about it the more I wanted to kiss a boy too, just to see what it's like, so I did, but it was Brian Humboldt. I mean, he's not as strange as everybody thinks he is. He's got horrible taste in music though. Anyway, I think I'd rather play football." He shrugged and took a sip of lemonade. "The whole thing is causing me a lot of stress."

Madeline breathed a sigh of short sigh of relief, but then frowned worriedly.

"Oh, I didn't want to have this talk now," she fretted. "You're so young."

"What talk?" Tommy eyed her suspiciously.

"Well, you know..." She fidgeted in her seat searching for the right words to express herself.

"You mean sex?" He offered.

"Oh, bloody hell," she murmured as she dramatically placed the back of her wrist against her forehead.

"Are you angry?" He asked her as he cautiously sipped on his Lemonade.

"No, Baby, I'm not angry. I just didn't think this would happen so soon."

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "It was just a kiss."

"Two kisses," she murmured more to herself than her son.

"Well, it was more than two if you want to get technical." He laughed.

"Okay." Madeline's voice took on a deeper shade of worry. "We're going to have to have the talk aren't we, before these little snogging sessions get out of hand?"

Tommy shrugged non-committaly. Though he didn't especially want to get into an in depth discussion about the birds and the bees; he had a feeling there was no way he was going to get out of it after all the beans he had spilled.

---

One Year Later

"You are going to come aren't you?" Nigel scowled at Tommy as he handed him an envelope.

Tommy eyed the envelope but didn't open it.

"Come where?" He asked instead.

"To my birthday party," Nigel replied. "I mean, you never want to come over mine anymore."

"Yeah, I do. I'm here now, ain't I?" Tommy refuted him. "Can I help it, you're always off somewhere...posh?"

"Am not," Nigel grumbled.

They were sitting in Nigel's garden idly passing the time away as boys are wont to do. Nigel had been Tommy's best friend from nearly the moment they'd met at the daycare center at the magazine that his mother co-owned. Madeline was the assistant to Nigel's Mother, Bunny. They were both surprised and pleased that their boys had struck up a friendship and in turn had become friends themselves, which was something that Madeline had desperately needed at the time after spending three lonely years in Alabama trying to raise her son more or less alone. Through the years the boys had become inseparable despite the huge class difference between them.

"I was trying to study for the exams, besides," Tommy said. "I mean, now I got that scholarship to your posh school, I'll see you all the time right?"

"I suppose," Nigel admitted. "And we can have more time to practice!"

"yeah!" Tommy smiled at the thought.

After Paul had passed away, Tommy had convinced Nigel that he wanted to start a band. Nigel went along with Tommy's idea, finding it impossible to say no to his friend. He began to learn the drums and they had everything set up in on of his mother's guest rooms.

"But you're going to come to my party, right?" Nigel asked again. "I mean, it'll be balls without you."

"I don't like your friends." Tommy scowled. "They think they're better than me you know."

"They're wankers," Nigel decided.

"Why do you invite them?" Tommy asked. "I don't invite anybody from my school. I don't like any of them that much."

Nigel thought about this for a minute before coming up with a suitable answer.

"Because I get more presents?"

Tommy laughed at him. "Don't be daft, Nigel. Of course I'll be there."

It had only been a few minutes since Tommy had triumphantly defeated a couple of Nigel's friends at a Two on Two impromptu soccer match in the yard. Nigel, was becoming a hopelessly tall and awkward adolescent and hadn't been of much help in this sporting event as he spent much of the time tripping over his own feet. Tommy was proud of himself being good enough to take on two practically by himself, but wasn't afforded much time to revel in his glory as the losers snidely informed him that they were only letting him win because it was Nigel's birthday. Tommy fumed at this revelation, wondering if he should punch one of them in the face or turn around and catch a bus back to his end of town. Nigel stopped him from doing either and pointed him back in the direction of the house.

"You don't want to miss the cake," Nigel informed him, and Tommy did not want to miss the cake, so he joined the group inside where they sat playing video games and making fun of Tommy for not knowing how. Nigel stood between them looking a bit exasperated at his school chum's mere presence and yet longingly wanting to play his game. Tommy told him to go ahead and play, and took a seat where he could watch but didn't have to hear the whispering.

It wasn't long before he could hear shuffling outside the door. Tommy peered around the tall backed chair he'd settled in to spy Nigel's mother, Bunny, talking to a woman he didn't know. Standing next to the doorway with downcast eyes was a blond haired boy about Tommy's age. He was dressed impeccably in a suit and tie, unlike the rest of Nigel's party. He watched as the unknown woman practically shoved the boy into the room while Bunny caught her breath and instinctively reached out to stop him from falling over. The other woman was unconcerned and marched away. Bunny looked after her, then said something to the boy before scurrying away in the direction the woman had disappeared.

Tommy watched as he took one glaringly disapproving look at the melee of boys playing video games and turned around to walk into the sitting room across the hall. He stripped his jacket off and threw it onto the floor before slumping into Bunny's Antique Baroque sofa where he commenced staring up at the ceiling with his arms crossed. Tommy stared at him curiously for a while before turning around. He smiled a bit to himself for no reason he could discern, then turned around again. The boy was staring back at him from where he sat, framed by two doorways. He arched an eyebrow at Tommy and squared his jaw defiantly. Tommy turned around, his smile widened then he stood up and walked into the other room.

"Alright." Tommy greeted the boy and sat down next to him. "How's it goin', Mate?"

"I am not your mate," the boy said coldly as he squirmed as far away from Tommy as he could.

There was a palpable tension in the air. It was something that Tommy had never felt before. It made him slightly uncomfortable, yet he forged ahead.

"I'm Tommy Sinclair, Nigel's best mate." He stretched out his hand to the boy but got no response.

"So, what's your name?" He asked.

"Richard," he replied as he continued to shrink away from Tommy.

Tommy, for once, was at a loss for words as he sat there watching Richard try to disappear into the cushions. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but he had hoped it would have been something a bit more receptive. He decided the best way to alleviate the pressure would be to retire to one of the accompanying chairs in order to give Richard some space. It seemed to work as the blond haired boy relaxed a bit and resumed his cross armed slump.

"Why are you staring at me?" Richard finally asked after a long moment of silence.

"I'm not," Tommy said indignantly even though he knew he had.

"Why did you come over here?" Richard asked as he unconsciously pushed the sleeves of his dress shirt up to scratch at the previously hidden bandages that covered his forearms.

Tommy took one look at them and knew who he was.

"You're Nigel's cousin. The one who committed suicide."

Richard's mouth dropped opened at the frankness of Tommy's declaration before the corners turned up into a perverse grin.

"I am," he admitted. "Is that why you came over here, then? To laugh at me?"

"No," Tommy replied. "No! It's not very funny is it?"

"Oh, it's funny," Richard laughed. "Poor sad little rich kid, can't do anything right. Can't even kill myself."

"Stop laughing," Tommy entreated, feeling increasingly uncomfortable and unsure of what the proper response to someone behaving as inappropriately as Richard was.

Richard did stop laughing. His scowl returned along with a bucket of tears.

"I don't know why I do this," he sobbed as he desperately tried to wipe his eyes dry again. "Saul says I scare people with the way I talk, but I can't help it. Nobody understands. I can't stop myself."

"It's...it's alright," Tommy stammered

Richard shook his head as he became ever more distressed, pulling at his bandages while he sobbed. Tommy glanced around to make sure nobody was watching before he reclaimed his seat beside the boy.

"Look, no need to cry," he said as he patted Richard timidly on the back.

"Yes there is," Richard wailed back. His hands fell to his sides and his head collapsed onto Tommy's shoulder.

In that moment Tommy froze as he felt his cheeks start to burn and his heart jump up into his throat where it fluttered about uncontrollably, but before he could react Richard sat straight up and pushed him away.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, wiping the tears away with loose ends of his bandages.

"C'mon," Tommy said. "Let's get that fixed up, yeah?"

"No, no," Richard cradled his arms and shook his head. "I've got...I can do it at home."

"Don't be silly," Tommy insisted brightly. "You can't leave the party before they serve the cake."

Richard looked up at him with his piercing stare. He felt a calm feeling wash over him as his eyes met Tommy's.

"Okay." He shuddered a bit at the thought of another person touching him but found himself agreeing anyway He thought about warning Tommy about what he was about to reveal but pursed his lips and smiled instead.

Tommy stood staring in the mirror that night conflicted about what he saw there. He had never really been concerned about his appearance before. He'd only noted fleeting glances of dissatisfaction as he went about his daily life. He traced his finger over the three small beauty marks on the left side of his face, one at the corner of his eye and the other two on his cheek. He cursed the pale complexion of his face which had a tendency to flood red with every influx of any emotion. He ran his hands through the wispy dark hair that flipped up in all directions. He sighed in frustration at being so small and soft and he couldn't stop thinking about Richard Blume.

His first day of the Academe had been going as well as could be expected. Everybody knew who he was and everybody was whispering about him. He tried not to let it bother him, and it was a help that Nigel Caughton, one of the wealthiest boys in the place, was his friend. He sat on the brick wall of the yard surveying the sea of perfectly pressed uniforms exiting the building. Unlike them Tommy's shirt was somewhat wrinkled and unbuttoned revealing his undershirt. His ill-fitting jacket was stuffed into his messenger bag and he was wearing a wooly green and brown knit cap that his uncle had given him.

"What do you say to a little buskin'?" Tommy asked Nigel who stood beside him.

"I say you're tryin' to stand out." Nigel grumbled.

"Whatever," Tommy replied with a grin as he fished a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it. "You're a freak anyway. Don't tell me about standing out."

Nigel laughed a bit as Tommy took his guitar up from it's case and strummed a few chords as he puffed away. As Nigel stood there listening to his friend start to pick out a song they were approached by one of the other scholarship winners, Liam Fische. Liam Fische was even more unkempt than Tommy, with spiky brown hair and eyebrows that met in the middle of his forehead. He'd spent the entire first day scowling his way around the corridors and making enemies.

"You ain't half bad," Liam said.

Tommy glanced up at Liam then at Nigel before doffing his hat.

"Tuppence for a song?" Tommy asked earnestly.

"Come off it," Liam grumbled. "Can't you take a complement?"

"Compliment can't buy me supper," Tommy pointed out with a laugh.

Liam rolled his eyes, "Neither can two p, idiot."

"Alright then," Nigel cut in and placed a hand on Tommy's shoulder. "We ought to get going. We have to set up for practice."

"What practice?" Liam curiously asked after them.

"Band practice," Tommy replied. "We're in a rock band."

"Really?" Liam brightened considerably at this news. "I play a little y'know."

"Oh, yeah?" Tommy feigned interest as he stood up to put away his guitar, stubbing his cigarette out on the wall he'd been seated on.

"Yeah," Liam replied hopefully.

Tommy glanced up at Nigel who was saying nothing, but was pulling on one of his curls in a distressed fashion. Tommy narrowed his eyes at Nigel who shrugged and grimaced. It was a clear signal that he wanted to cease all communication with the mono-browed intruder, which gave Tommy all the impetus he needed to ask Liam what his instrument was.

"I play bass," Liam remarked proudly.

"Wow," Tommy gasped a theatrical response in Liam's direction. "Did you hear that, Nige? We ain't got one of those in our band."

"Do we need one?" Nigel squinted sharply at his friend.

"You should come by tonight," Tommy said as he clicked the latches shut on his guitar case. "Give him your address Nige."

"I couldn't impose," Liam said.

"But we need you," Tommy insisted as he walked towards the exit gap in the wall without further discussion.

Nigel sighed after him and resignedly gave Liam his address before running after Tommy.

"What was that?" Nigel asked. "We don't even know him."

Tommy shrugged. "What? Is he too poor for you?"

"Oh, no," Nigel replied as they walked. "You do not get to have that chip on your shoulder."

"Why not?" Tommy stopped abruptly as they stumbled upon Richard Blume standing alone by the curb.

Nigel peered over his friend's shoulder and muttered a barely audible "Shit".

"Be Nice," Tommy said sharply. He felt his cheeks grow hot again and his fingers went numb. He was completely confounded by this reaction but forged bravely ahead.

"Oi, Richey!" He smiled brightly and waved.

Richard turned dubiously around and his face fell as soon as he saw Tommy and Nigel approach.

"Tell, your friend to stop staring at me." Richard looked past Tommy and addressed Nigel.

"You don't remember my name?" Tommy spoke up intending to sound indignant but sounding like a kicked puppy instead.

Richard regarded him curiously before replying.

"Tommy Sinclair," he said.

"You can call me Tom," Tommy replied eagerly. "Nobody actually calls me Tommy. It's kind of a pansy name, don't you think?"

"Whatever you say," Richard said coldly. "You know, I heard you playing. You say you're in a band?"

"Yep." Tommy nodded happily. "We're rehearsing tonight over Nigel's if you want to come."

"You're not very good." Richard crossed his arms and looked down his nose. "You can't have a rock band anyway. You're only twelve."

"Gotta start somewhere," Tommy said, feeling as if he had been shoved off cloud nine and onto the cold hard pavement.

"You're just bored," Richard continued. "Got nothin' better to do. You'll quit soon enough, go onto somethin' else."

"Bollocks," Tommy growled at him. "This is a serious band."

"How can you be serious with that guitar," Richard gestured towards the beat up guitar case Tommy held in his hand.

"Don't you talk about my guitar," Tommy pointed an angry finger in Richard's direction as if the boy had just insulted his mother.

"Real bands need electric guitars," Richard baited him with pompous inflection apparent in his tone.

"Let's go, Tom," Nigel leaned forward and whispered in Tommy's ear, but Tommy shrugged him off, not content to walk away.

"What do you know from real bands?" Tommy stepped up to Richard who stood his ground.

"I know one when I see one," he icily replied. "And you, sir, are not it."

A limo pulled up beside them before Tommy could return a response. Richard bid them a good evening and disappeared into the vehicle.

"I fuckin' hate him," Tommy announced angrily.

"At least you're not related to him," Nigel commented morosely.

---

Richard showed up to rehearsal much to Tommy's chagrin that night.

"What is he doing here?" Tommy hissed at Nigel.

Nigel sighed resignedly. "My mother invited him. Says he's got no friends."

"I cannot imagine why not." Tommy rolled his eyes then addressed Richard, who stood unwelcome in the corner of the room with downcast eyes.

"Look here," Tommy addressed him. "You come to have a laugh at our fake band?"

"About that..." Richard took a step forward. "I'm sorry?"

Tommy regarded him for a moment while he contemplated the half-hearted apology. He didn't want to forgive Richard for making fun of something that was so important to him, but he felt unable to remain angry as Richard stared at him with sad eyes.

"Okay, have a seat," Tommy finally relented. "Introduce yourself to Liam."

Liam nodded from where he was sitting and Richard gave him a non-committal wave as he sat down at a small table. It wasn't the best practice he could have observed. Tommy spent most of the time familiarizing Liam with the songs they were playing and showing the boy where to put his fingers on the fretboard. Nigel sat behind his drum kit bored and pounding out self gratifying solos while his band mates were otherwise occupied. It was late by the time they'd finished. Liam had gone home and Nigel had retired to his room, and that left Tommy and Richard heading home at the same time.

"You don't live around here," Richard noted as he curiously watched Tommy light a cigarette.

"No." Tommy took a drag, blew a plume of smoke out into the cold night air and said nothing further.

"Well," Richard queried. "Where do you live? I can have Saul drive you home."

"I don't...I can take the bus home," Tommy stammered, suddenly acutely aware of Richard's financial status as compared to his. He had never really felt ashamed of his provenance until that very moment. It was never an issue with Nigel, and until Richard had shown up he'd never wanted to impress anybody.

"That's silly," Richard insisted. "Just tell me. I already know you're poor."

"We're not poor," Tommy scowled. "Just because I don't live in fucking Kensington, doesn't mean I'm poor."

"Well, you aren't rich," Richard pointed out. His observation, though factual and devoid of any emotion, rubbed Tommy the wrong way.

"Oh, you...you are beyond..." Tommy sputtered at him unable to formulate an accurate description of Richard. "Yeah, I'm going home now. Back to the East End with me."

"So it's out with it," Richard noted. "It doesn't really matter, you know. Not to me."

"Big of you," Tommy huffed. "Now if you don't mind, I've a bus to catch."

"No you don't," Richard replied. "I'll wake Saul."

"Don't bother, don't wake anybody." Tommy refused.

"Or you could stay," Richard offered as he stopped in front of a home two doors away from Nigel's.

"You live here?" Tommy asked as he eyed the residence.

"Mmmhmm," Richard mumbled caustically.

Tommy shrugged. He thought about the offer to stay the night for a moment before quickly accepting. They made their way into the abode through the corridors and up the main staircase to the top floor. Tommy carefully observed it all in silent awe as they traveled.

"You're impressed," Richard said disappointedly once they reached his room.

"Am I supposed to not be?" Tommy said. "I mean, your entrance hall is bigger than my whole bloody flat."

"Yeah, who cares?" Richard shrugged. Tommy followed him past the bed and desk and into yet another room which contained seating and a small television.

"Well, you don't have to care." Tommy glanced around with his eyes as wide as saucers wondering how anybody could live in such a place. Yet as his eyes scanned the cavernous bedroom suite, he could tell there was something missing. The walls were white, and the entire room was devoid of any decoration.

"Can we, like, not talk about money," Richard grumbled and fell onto the sofa. "Is this the extent to which you converse with your very best mate, Nigel, because they've got just as big a house, haven't they?"

"Yeah, but Nigel's feels like home," Tommy said as he took his own seat in a recliner. "This feels like...a showpiece. Except for in here. Don't you have any stuff?"

"Not much room for stuff in a dormitory," Richard replied sadly. "Spent most of my life in one. More than half, y'know."

Tommy pursed his lips then frowned. He couldn't fathom spending that much time away from his mother but was loathe to ask Richard how he felt about it. It was obvious from looking at the bandages that Richard had sought to end his time at boarding school in a decidedly permanent way. That was something Tommy didn't want to contemplate let alone talk about.

"I've got a few CDs," Richard continued, oblivious to Tommy's silence. "But I spent most of my allowance saving up to buy a guitar just like Johnny Gallow."

"Johnny Gallow?" Tommy perked up at the mention of his guitar hero's name. "You mean of Eutectic?"

"Is there another one?" Richard asked as a smile crept over his face.

"A Blue Telecaster?" Tommy asked ever more excitedly.

"You want to see?" Richard replied just as enthusiastically.

Tommy nodded and Richard disappeared only to arrive a few moments later hefting his guitar case. Richard knelt on the floor beside Tommy's recliner as he lifted the instrument from where it was entombed, an uncharacteristic happiness radiating from his face. Tommy had completely forgotten what they were even doing or that there was a guitar involved in that moment as he sat studying Richard's expression of joy.

"Isn't it nice?" Richard finally spoke proudly after a moment of adoration.

"Yeah, it's nice," Tommy whispered focusing on the guitar for a moment, before leaning forward with his chin in his hands, his eyes glued to Richard.

Richard glanced up to gauge Tommy's reaction to his pride and joy only to once again catch the unabashed gaze of the boy he barely knew. It was the third time in a week and it was making beginning to make him uncomfortable.

"You can borrow it," Richard said as he placed it carefully back in it's case deliberately ignoring the uneasy vibe that had permeated the room. "I won't be able to play for a while yet. I need to do physical therapy." He trailed off as the frown returned to his face and the sad inflection to his voice.

"I hope you're still not laboring under the notion that real bands need electric guitars," Tommy said. His focus had returned as soon as Richard's dour expression had.

"No, that was stupid," Richard agreed with a shrug. "Of course I don't think that. I just want the Telecaster to go to good use. I worked so hard to get it. I don't want to see it sit in a closet."

Richard sat there in the middle of the floor absently stroking the finish of his guitar. "You're really good, Tom," he said. "I can't believe how good you are. How long have you been playing?"

"Two years," Tommy said. "My uncle taught me."

"Cool," Richard replied. "You're close to your uncle? I've never even met mine until that birthday party."

"Well, my uncle's fucking dead now," Tommy said derisively. The residual anger he'd felt for his uncle leaving him bubbled to the surface in a way it never had before. He hadn't even known he felt that way until the bitter words came spitting out of his mouth towards Richard.

"Oh, I'm sorry?" Richard replied softly, his apology phrased in the form of a question as he was wont to do when he didn't know the proper social reaction required.

"It's just me and my mum now, and that's the way it should be," Tommy continued.

"Oh," Richard said. "Is your dad dead too?"

Tommy snapped out of his angry reverie to glare at Richard. The question was so blunt that he was caught completely off guard.

"Might as well," be Tommy seethed. "He lives in the United States. I only ever met him once. Talk to the bloke on the telephone all the time, but fuck that. You can't be a dad on the phone."

"I wish I'd never met my dad," Richard hugged his knees to his chest and buried his head.

He took one long shuddering sigh as he did this then looked up brightly with a smile painted on his face quite contrary to his despairing body language. He felt compelled for the first time in a long time to make an effort to keep a friend, and could feel himself start to slip deeper into the frightening behavior that often scared people away. He couldn't even fathom why, after being so completely insulted that afternoon, Tommy was there with him at that moment.

"I'm sorry," Tommy said sincerely. "Is he really that bad?"

"He works a lot," Richard said. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Can I try?" Tommy held his arms out towards the guitar in it's case desperately trying to veer the conversation back onto a more pleasant course.

"Yeah, yeah, of course, yeah!" Richard, relieved that Tommy had changed the subject handed over the telecaster he had never let anybody touch before.

They showed up simultaneously at Nigel's house the next morning laughing and in good spirits despite a lack of sleep. Nigel was sitting in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal when he looked up and spied them with droopy morning eyes.

"What are you doing," he asked them suspiciously. "Didn't you go home last night, Tom?"

"Nah," Tommy swung himself into a chair across from his friend. "I stayed over Richey's."

"You stayed," Nigel dropped his spoon into his cereal and focused his attention upon his guests. "Why'd you do that?" He asked. "You coulda' stayed here."

"It's alright," Tommy pulled a chair out for Richard and gestured for him to sit down. "We had a good time, didn't we?"

Richard nodded but excused himself to the bathroom leaving the two best friends to hash things out.

"You had a good time, did you," Nigel grumbled. "I thought you hated him."

Tommy shrugged. "Maybe I was wrong. He ain't so bad after all. Get this, he's letting me borrow his tele."

"Huh," Nigel frowned. "His what?"

"Telecaster, Nigel." Tommy grinned. "He's got this blue Telecaster just like the one Johnny Gallow plays."

"Whatever," Nigel replied completely uninterested in his friend's adulation of the band Eutectic and it's enigmatic lead singer, Johnny Gallow.

"Also," Tommy said. "He knows more about music than I do. You've probably got more things in common than you think."

"Maybe," Nigel replied dubiously.

"Yesbe," Tommy assured him with a grin

"This is the bloke that said our band isn't a real band because you're just some bored little twelve year old," Nigel pointed out.

"I play football because I'm a bored little twelve year old," Tommy pointed out. "He knows that. He apologized. Said I was really good."

Nigel rolled his eyes and took up his spoon once again.

"And all is forgiven?" He pondered before shoveling his mouth full of shredded wheat.

Tommy shrugged at him and tapped the table nervously with his finger. "Yeah," he decided. "It's not like I never said anything horrible to you, and you forgive me all the time."

"That's different."

"How's it different," Tommy asked.

"It's different," Nigel answered, "because we're not intentionally cruel."

Tommy pouted about that for a moment as he contemplated reasons for Nigel's stubborn unwillingness to be friendly towards his own cousin. It wasn't long before the boy in question returned.

"Your mum is ready," he muttered. "She said we can go with if you'd like, Tom."

"Great," Tommy grinned and jumped out of his chair leading the way out of the kitchen. Richard followed behind him.

Nigel grumbled as he shuffled along after them. He didn't like seeing his best friend getting so chummy with his cousin right away, and he didn't like the jealous feeling overwhelming him. He knew, however, that it was no use trying to change Tommy's mind once he got a notion in his head, and it was apparent that he had a notion to include Richard in their formerly two man circle of friends.

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