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Date Posted: 18:01:32 04/09/22 Sat
Author: Cirrus
Subject: Part 2
In reply to: Cirrus 's message, ""Dear Ronan" (Complete Story)" on 18:14:44 04/07/22 Thu

Dear Ronan,

I can’t believe the grand final is tonight! I’ve been well giddy all day, but I’m not the only one. Every time George sees me with a goofy look on his face he just grins. I’m typing this in the computer lab right now, and George is next to me on Facebook.

I guess it’s been a week or two since I last “wrote” hasn’t it? I guess the biggest thing since I last wrote is that George and I have been hanging out way more at school. Meeting up in the library has sort of become our “thing”. He’s shown me more of his drawing. He’s deffo got talent! We were sitting there on Monday, and he’d drawn one of his superhero sketches... Batman facing off against the Joker... and he’d drawn a big speech balloon but couldn’t think of anything to put in it. He was going half mental trying to come up with something. So I pulled it over and wrote in little tiny lettering “Tell me honestly.... does my bum look big in this?”. George saw it and he was in hysterics. He put on this really deep husky voice and said, camp as anything, “Oh Batman, you look so manly in that cape. And you just know I go crazy for a man in a cowl...”. So then I put on this really high squeaky voice. “Aw bless Joker! You know just what to say to make a girl feel good about herself”. Then George sketched a picture of a super-buff Joker (“just back from a day’s hard work at the steel mill”) coming home to Batman in an apron, waiting patiently with freshly-baked cookies.

“Dicker-doodles!”

The librarian gave a stern shushing at that point. We were well off our heads.

The more I hang out with George, the more things I find we have in common. With Jamie, Gazza and Dean it was always girls or premiership football or getting lagered. With George I can talk about my favourite television programmes (we both like “Big Bang Theory”) or astronomy (he’s been to a real observatory) or who your biggest competition is.

I found out a bit more about why he moved to his school. His dad used to be a big-shot in the city... investment banker or summat. Posh house, fancy car, bleeding gold-plated schools for the kids. Well the whole financial crisis happened, and his dad lost his job. They were luckier than some...his dad managed to sell the house and the fancy car, and they managed to end up “comfortable” instead of filthy bleeding rich. George says the change in his dad has been really weird. He used to be this really intense, driven person that George never saw. Since he lost his job, he’s mellowed out completely, grown his hair long, taken up painting, and is around all the time. His mum’s a teacher and she’s the worker in the family now.

I’m trying to imagine my da losing his job and turning into a hippy practicing yoga in the lounge, but I just can’t picture it.

I’m so excited about tonight! I’m heading home with George after school. I’m gonna have dinner at his place, and then we’re going to watch the final together. And then we’re having a sleepover. Seems like it’s been ages since I’ve done one of those. Jamie and I used to do all them all the time, then he decided they were kid’s stuff and “too gay”.

Good luck Ronan!

Crossing all fingers and toes, your super-duper fan,
Alex

Dear Ronan,

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! No no nooooooooo! I can’t believe it! I can’t believe you didn’t win! You got soooooooooo close! I was just dying as they counted down the non-winners one by one. When it was down to you and Jai I was sooooo sure you were going to win. Ahhhh! I couldn’t believe it! You were deffo better than Jai.

And the night was going sooo well up until then!

I guess I should start at the beginning.

George and I walked back to his house from school Friday arvo. Stopped at the chippie on the way and picked up some snacks. It’s weird... his street isn’t so far from mine, and it doesn’t look all the different, but you can just tell the people living there are just that little bit richer. The front gardens have hedges and flowers and stuff instead of concrete and weeds, the brick looks a little bit newer, little bit less rubbish on the street.

George lives in a terrace house same as me. It looks like every other house on the street from the outside, but inside it’s real nice. Not like super-fancy or nothing, but modern and all, with polished hardwood floors and cream walls and Swedish furnish that looked elegant and stylish, but you could actually see yourself sitting in it. It feels I dunno... comfortable? Cared for?

George told me it had been pretty run down when they moved in, but his dad discovered his “inner renovator”. I was dead impressed with that. My dad can barely hold a hammer without hitting his thumb. He’s a menace to society when he tries to fix something he is.

When George saw how I impressed I was, and I wasn’t taking the mick when I said I liked it, he couldn’t wait to show everything off. They’d opened up the whole lower floor, so the dining room flowed into the kitchen, which flowed into the living room, which opened up into a courtyard at the back of the allotment.

“Cor blimey mate.”

My reaction when I saw their garden. Honest to god I think they transplanted a jungle back there. It had a small patio with a table and chairs and barbecue, and there were vines everywhere and pot plants and flowerbeds overflowing with every kind of plant and shrub and flower.

“Your dad did this too?” I asked George. “He didn’t go half mental with planting stuff.”

It was too cold to stay out there long, so George took me back inside and showed me his room. He’s got the attic room right at the very top of his house. He’s got a small bathroom of his own (dead jealous about that!) and it’s got a skylight and he’s got his own TV and a desk and his own laptop. There’s even a small couch you can sit on while you watch the telly, or play on the Playstation. It was really nice. We played a bit of Call of Duty.

“You really are rubbish at this aren’t you?” he commented as I got killed by the same sniper for the sixth time in a row.

“Shove off. We ain’t got a Playstation at home so I only get to play this at Jamie’s. And he ends up playing it most of the time anyway.”

“Well how about we play something else then?” He puts in Uncharted and the game is just brill. We were playing the story rather than against people. One of us would play till we died then we’d hand the controller over to the other person. The graphics are so good it’s like watching a movie so I didn’t mind even when I wasn’t playing.

George’s mum called us down to dinner, and I think she must have teenager boy telepathy because she’d ordered pizzas. We all sat round this nice wooden table and I finally met George’s parents. George’s mum seemed dead nice... like she’d got it all sorted. I didn’t know quite what to expect from George’s dad. From the way George talked about him I wouldn’t have been surprised to meet a tie-dyed-shirt-wearing pothead straight off the ashram. But he just had jeans and a t-shirt on. His hair had gone grey and he had a tidy beard. Both his dad and mum asked lots of questions about what subjects I liked, what sports I played, how long I’d been in the choir. And they listened to the answers too.

I’m not bagging my parents. They're decent folks, and I’ve got nowt to complain about compared to a lot of people. But compared to George’s parents they seemed kind of... tired? Like getting though my sister’s teenage years had worn them out, and they didn’t have any energy left to pay attention to me. Every night at our place it seems like we just spend hours watching the telly, not saying a word to each other.

Speaking of brothers and sisters, George has got one of each - older brother, younger sister. His brother’s about to start uni - he’s moving out to go to school somewhere up north. He was teasing George something fierce, and George must have told him “Gerrof!” about fifteen times during the meal. His sister seemed adorable in that little kid way, but George thought she was a brat. She’s got a ballet recital coming up, and she gave us a blow-by-blow rundown of every step in her part of the performance. It cracked me up, but George just rolled his eyes.

After dinner, George dragged me up to his room. He left the main lights off and just turned a couple of lamps on. With the heat cranked up, it felt like our own personal cave. George dug out this big blanket to cover us as we watched the show.

Our excitement just kept building and building as each act came out and did their thing. Some of them really impressed me, others I thought were complete rubbish. When you look at some of the acts that got through compared with some of the acts that didn’t even make the semis, it makes you wonder.

Oh my god! I just remembered that newspaper article about you. You don’t need me to tell you the one I’m talking about - the one says it’s all a fix, and Simon has been preparing you for years, and they wanted a gay boy to sell albums or summat. The last bit is the naffest thing I’ve heard in years.

Look, if you’re one of us, it bloody well ain’t anyone’s business but yours when you decide to tell anyone. Them tabloids can say all they want, but no one knows the truth of it but you... and as far as I can tell you ain’t telling. So good on ya for that. Don’t let the bastards win, that’s what I say.

George and I were still arguing over what you would and should do as your finals song, right up until the minute you stepped on stage. George grabbed my hand he was so excited.

“Soz about that mate,” he said as he pulled it back.

“S’alright mate,” I told em. Didn’t really mind it there, see. Don’t think he meant much by it. George is me mate, s’all.

Well what I can say about final performance?

Kelly fucking Clarkson.

You’ve got balls of steel, you have.

I mean our Kelly has got some right pipes on her. Lungs rated at “Diva” level. And let’s not even get started on the history between her and Simon. That took cojones.

And even more amazing is that you pulled off. I was up on my seat yelling when the choir came on. Bit undignified really, but only George was there to see me lose my mind, and if his grin had got any wider it would near well split his head open.

I was pumping my fist shouting “That’s what I’m talking! That’s what I’m talking about!”.

Kelly fucking Clarkson. From a little guy like you. I still can’t believe it.

Of course there was still a bunch of acts to go, and then the wait for the results show. George and I argued about your performances. I thought “Because of You” was your best performance, while George thought you did “Feeling Good” better.

I tell you, if it had been me up on that stage, I would have been crapping my pants as they read the results. Before they read out every name I was whispering “Not Ronan, not Ronan, not Ronan”, and then they’d read another name and I’d feel like I could breathe again, and then the spooky music would start out once and they’d announce “the person finishing in fifth place on Britain’s Got Talent is...”.

When it was down to just you, Jai and New Bounce, that was the first time I let myself think “Holy crap... he might just do it!” Then New Bounce came third and they were announcing the winner and it was...

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

How could Jai have won? How? How? How? The teenage girls of Britain failed me.

And you were all composed and shit and saying really nice things to Jai, but I know the truth. I know you must have been gutted. To come soooooo close. I would have been just devastated.

I was stamping round the room in frustration, just fuming I was, and then of all things George gives me a hug. In any other circumstances the warning bells would have been going off and I would have run a mile. Only the fairy boys hug you know? But here? In George’s room? With just the two of us? It felt... nice. I was just starting to wonder if the hug meant summat more than sympathy for your second place when he dropped it.

Well bed time came around and I was looking for a sleeping bag, or fold out bed or something.

“Oi George, where am I gonna sleep?”

George looked at me all confused like.

“My bed of course. There’s lots of room.”

He was right about that - it was one of them big double beds and it seemed to have acres of space. I was also kind of curious to see what George slept in. I’d brought my jammies, but I’d feel a bit silly wearing them if he wasn’t. He kind of answered that question by stripping down to his underwear. I was trying to peek without peeking if you know what I mean, and George was pretty cute. He still had that little boy thing going, smooth and slim and no hair anyway. He was already in bed pulling the covers over himself when he asked “Well? You coming?”

I know it was only George, but I was danger of tenting summat embarrassing so I shucked my clothes and hopped into bed besides George right fast.

Funny how beds always seem big until you’re sharing them with someone.

If I ever send this, and you ever read it, you’re probably afraid this is going to turn into some smutty porn story at this point. I’ll end the suspense now.

Nothing happened.

Didn’t mean it wasn’t a weird night though. Cause even though I might not have been thinking about George “that way” before, I sure was now. And I was starting to wonder if he were trying to send me some kind of signal or summat, and I was too much of a twat to realise.

It does your head in when you start thinking like that. Every time he rolled over I wondered “is he trying to make a move on me? Should I make a move on him? If I make a move on him will he hate me forever?”.

Musta thought about reaching over to touch him a hundred times that night, and chickened out on every single one of them. Straight boys have it easy I reckon. If they hit on a girl, they’ll probably not get decked for it. Though come to think of it, Jamie has come pretty close a couple of times.

Even though you only got second place, I hope it means big things for you.

Your fan,
Alex.

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Part 3 -- Cirrus, 18:02:15 04/09/22 Sat

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