539

By this time the toast was made and table set.  Eleanor came in and wished them both a good day. 

While they were eating, Jason avoided any deep topics.  They talked of simple things, until when they were finished, just crumbs on the tablecloth and dregs in the teacups, he said, “Eleanor, I have to tell you something.”

She cocked her head at him, her iron-grey hair already coming loose from its grips.  Bolt whined a little at Jason’s feet, wanting another morsel of buttered toast.

“Well, I haven’t been honest with you.”

She raised her eyebrows, her eyes intelligent and kind and a little amused.

“My real name isn’t Jason Wellbury.  You remember I told you that was my name when I first came here?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“It’s … well, it’s a bit more complicated than that.  A lot more complicated. Unfortunately.  My father is the Duke of Coniston. Wellbury was my mother’s maiden name.  My real surname is Armstrong-Beaufort.  But it is such a mouthful and anyway I also have a title, Viscount Saint James.  I didn’t want any fuss.  I wanted to get away from England, from the whole situation there and …”

“I know.”  Eleanor placidly sipped her tea.

“You do?  How?” 

She smiled at Jason’s surprise.

“I guessed last night after Lucasta talked about the Queen.  I looked it up in my very old Who’s Who.  Of course, you weren’t in it, but you,” she turned to Lucasta, “were.”  She smiled slightly.

“Oh.  Right.”  Jason and his grandmother exchanged glances.  “You see, Eleanor, I’ve decided to stay in Australia, and to set up a place, a kind of hostel where gay or bisexual children who’ve been thrown out of their homes can stay.”

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Episodes 1 to 500 (without pictures, 20 episodes per chapter)   

529

Alone in his bedroom, Jason took up Bart’s diary again.  He hadn’t looked at it for a couple of weeks.  He flipped it open towards the end.

Monday.  Saw ____ again at footy.  I love him.  He’s so cute and handsome.  But I haven’t told him.  I wish I had the courage to tell him.  

Tuesday.  _____ accused me of being a homo in front of a whole group of his friends.  I feel so ashamed.  I wish I wasn’t gay.  After school some of them waited for me and taunted me as I walked home.  It was only just outside the door that they stopped.  I know mum saw it but she didn’t say anything.

Wednesday.  More of the same.  In class I felt that even Father McAlister knew, from the way he was looking at me.  When I sat down at my desk I could smell dogshit.  Someone had put some in my desk.  When I opened the lid there were chortles from half the boys in my class. Father McAlister didn’t stop them, though he’s normally so strict.  He just watched me with his eyes so hard, his mouth a thin line.  I wish I was dead.

Jason couldn’t bear to read any more.  He was filled with rage at the bullies, at the judgments and prejudice.  It didn’t seem that it had happened twenty years ago.  It felt immediate, real.  He wondered if any of them had ever regretted what they had done.  Did they lie abed awake, staring at the ceiling?  Did they try and make amends now?  Or had they just gone blithely along with the rest of their lives, forgetting the young man they had driven to his death? Did they ever look at a gay guy now, and think about Bart? 

Then he remembered that he himself had done wrong; that Brent too had killed himself, not because he was gay but because—in the end—because he had been ashamed of being poor, and had stolen money to try and keep up with Jason.  And Jason hadn’t been there for him.  Knuckling tears from his eyes, Jason wept for himself and Brent and Bart.  He wept for humanity.

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Episodes 1 to 500 (without pictures, 20 episodes per chapter)   

451

“He’s was such a dear lad.  So funny and clever and wise.  But he was, well, sensitive.  No, let me be truthful.  He was a little effeminate.  But such a joy to be with, so bright and lovely.  And then he started to lose his sparkle. At first, you know, I didn’t worry.  Teenagers can be so moody.  It’s such a difficult and awkward time.  But it got worse.  I guessed he was being bullied at school.  I asked him about it but I … I didn’t think I should intervene.  I thought he should be toughened up.  Which is another way of saying, “made more manly”.  May God forgive me!”  She stopped and stared out over the peaceful vineyards.  Very quietly, she said,  “ One day he hanged himself.”

“My dear!” said Lucasta softly and put her hand on the other woman’s. 

Jason watched the two old ladies in silence, wanting, as he had the first time he’d heard the story, to weep, to howl at the universe, to strike and thump the haters.

The waiter arrived with more champagne, and topped up their glasses.

There was a long silence.  At last, Jason said, “Well you both know about me and Brent.”  “My own selfish stupidity!”

Jason didn’t expect either woman to disagree with him.  His grandmother wasn’t the kind of woman not to face facts, and nor was Eleanor.  For all their kindness and compassion there was a bleak resolution at the heart of their characters, the kind of character strength that comes from loss faced with courage. 

His grandmother said, “We all make mistakes, Jason my dear, mistakes which we wish with all our hearts we could undo.”

He smiled at her.  “I don’t believe you ever made a mistake in your life, grandam!”

She just smiled at him.

“Come!” she said.  “Let us toast something and be happy.  To friends and family!”

They raised their glasses and echoed her toast.  The champagne was pale gold in the flutes, and caught the afternoon sun which slanted through the French doors nearby.

 “You are both, to me,” said Jason, looking in turn at the two women.  Very moved, they both raised their glasses to him, but didn’t speak.

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