The Challenge That is Tony

by Pedro

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Late September, Year 10.

It's Thursday and I take a seat opposite Tony at lunch in the school canteen. Sitting opposite I get to enjoy looking at his whole face and not just his profile. I can read his expressions better, too.

Our friend Paul comes in late. "You all packed for camp, tomorrow?" He asks as he plonks himself down in the space next to me.

Camp? Nobody has mentioned anything about camping to me. I turn my head towards Paul and can see he's looking at Tony, expecting a reply. I take a guess that he means they're going to Scout camp over the weekend, but before I can ask for confirmation, Tony says he is going to do his packing after school.

So not only has he not mentioned that he will be away this weekend, but I will be doing my homework alone this evening. That pisses me off. Why couldn't he have told me he is going to camp to me before? Or was he not going to tell me at all and just leave me hanging all weekend? I shoot him an evil, questioning, look. He notices and blushes. Normally, I find it cute, but today it just reinforces my mood.

Before I can say anything, Paul continues his questions. "You're sharing with Scotty, again aren't you?"

From his grunt in reply, it seems Tony isn't too keen on the idea. "Any chance you can swap with him?" he adds.

I can sense Paul shaking his head. "No, you know we always pitch our tents in patrol groups, and you're in a different patrol to me."

I would be mildly jealous if Paul was sharing a tent with Tony. Not that I think they would get up to anything — we know Paul isn't interested — but he is top class eye-candy! On the other hand who is this Scotty? Tony's never mentioned him before. Is he interested in trying something with Tony?

For once, I'm glad it is not curry today. I need the reassurance of real comfort food, and thankfully Cook has done a beef stew with dumplings.

Tony is avoiding eye contact with me. He knows I am annoyed. But I manage to find some discretion and don't challenge him. The kind of argument I can see us having would be best somewhere more private. Not in front of our friends and certainly not in the middle of the school canteen. I'll catch him after lessons.

Except he does a runner.

I do manage to have a few words with Paul though. He confirms the camp is for the whole weekend, coming back late Sunday afternoon. So other than school tomorrow, I won't see Tony until Monday.

"Who's Scotty?" I ask. "Tony didn't seem too keen on sharing a tent with him."

"Mm, you're right. That surprised me a bit as they have always seemed to get on well together. I think they have shared a tent at camp every time since Tony joined the troop. But I wasn't at the last camp," he admits, adding that his Dad was home on leave. "Maybe something happened between them."

"I should hope nothing did happen between them!" My tone is only half joking. Paul picks up on it.

"Hang on!" He sounds defensive. "The last camp was in June, before you and Tony got together."

I have to concede the point.

"Have you and Tony got anything planned for the weekend?" Dad asks as we are having our evening meal.

"Nope," I grouch. "I haven't. Tony's buggering off to Scout camp."

That gets a chorus of "Language!" from the 'rents.

"Well, the first I heard of it was when Paul mentioned it at lunch today. I don't think Tony was going to tell me. He would have left me twiddling my thumbs all weekend."

I get a sympathetic 'ah' from Dad before he grins. "We can't have you doing that — it's a sign of incipient dementia…"

"Sheesh! Dad. That's not funny."

"…so instead, you can come and help me. Your Aunt Doris wants some decorating done. If we start on Saturday, two of us should be able to get it finished this weekend. That way we won't have to visit her two weeks on the trot."

I can see he gets another thought by the way his eyes light up.

"Only one of her meals to suffer instead of two!"

Mum takes the bait and rises to defend her sister. "Oi! Her cooking's not that bad…"

Dad and I give each other a look that says otherwise.

"…Anyway, she will still cook you two meals, just two days in succession."

I was worried about that but Dad has an answer ready.

"Nah! The chippy will be open on Saturday. You can nip round there and get us all fish and chips."

Yay!

For some unknown reason, school seems even more frenetic than usual on Friday. There isn't a moment when I get the chance to talk to Tony alone. Of course we still get to chat (publicly) at lunch. I grudgingly give him some credit when he asks what I am doing over the weekend.

"Since you're not around, Dad has signed me up to help do some decorating at my Aunt Doris' place. He thinks it will be a two-day job."

"See, you wouldn't have to do that if you'd joined the Scouts. You could've come camping with us, instead. We could've shared a tent." He waggles his eyebrows.

Tony knows I am ambivalent about the Scouts but he's always suggesting I join. I decide to wind him up.

"If I joined, I'd be in Paul's patrol and be in a tent with him!" It's my turn to waggle an eyebrow.

"Hey! Don't drag me into this!" Paul interjects.

Except Paul drags himself into it when he catches me alone at going-home time.

"One of the troop leaders called me about camp last night, so while he was on I asked if Tony and Scotty had had an argument. He wasn't sure but did notice things were a bit strained between them on the second day. They didn't look to be enjoying camp as much as usual. He said Tony seemed more affected by it than Scott."

I thank Paul for the info and for being a good friend.

"I must go or I'll be late for the bus taking us to camp. I'll let you know if I hear any more," he says before dashing off.

Dad has me helping him load the car with the tools and supplies he thinks he will need to do his sister-in-law's decorating task. Judging by the stuff we cram in, I think our next car needs to be a Transit van. There are the obvious things like brushes, rollers, sand paper, and the tool box we always seem to take with us to Aunt Doris'.

"We'll take the pasting table as well, just in case," Dad says, handing it to me to put in the car. "Your aunt didn't mention wallpaper, but you know what she's like. It will do as a work bench if we don't need it for pasting."

The last thing we pack is a small folding work platform for standing on to reach the ceiling. Even then we haven't got everything.

"We'll have to go via the DIY store. I need some sugar soap and more gloves."

On the way, I ask him what sugar soap is and what it's for. He tells me that it is a cleaner for washing down before decorating. It is more powerful than normal domestic cleaners and has the advantage that it leaves less residue that might interfere with paint adhesion.

"Why is it called sugar soap then?"

"Because originally it came as a crystalline powder that looked like granulated sugar. Now you can buy it premixed as a liquid. Both need diluting with water before use."

We find the soap in the store, and then Dad picks up a box of disposable butyl gloves. He prefers these to the latex ones as he thinks they don't tear as easily. He picks up a second box, in a smaller size, for me to use.

When we get to Aunt Doris', Dad and I go with her to assess the work to be done, while Mum goes to make us our first cup of tea. Dad says her job is to keep us supplied. He is only half joking.

Our task is to repaint the gloss on the woodwork — doors, window frames and skirting boards — and to repaint the ceiling, which is covered in an embossed paper in what Dad describes as a Jacobean pattern. He sucks his teeth at that. "We can't do that ceiling with the roller," he says. "It'll be a brush job and will take forever. Probably need two coats, too."

At least we don't have to do the walls. They are covered in a washable wallpaper that is still in good condition, although it does need a wash down. Dad tells me that the sugar soap will be too strong for the paper. We'll use a mild, ordinary household cleaner.

Of course the first job is to move as much furniture out of the room as possible. The rest of the pieces we move away from the wall and cover them and the floor with dust cloths.

With two of us working, we manage to get the furniture out and everything washed down before we stop for lunch. We leave the windows open so that the room can dry while we have our break.

After lunch, I get sanding, while Dad starts painting the ceiling. He is soon complaining his shoulders ache. He can't delegate the chore to me though. I am not tall enough yet to be able to reach the ceiling, even when standing on the work platform.

When we stop for a cuppa half way through the afternoon, I check my phone. There is a text from Paul.

"Tony seems relaxed around Scotty. Whatever the issue was between them, it must be resolved. They've had their arms around each other's shoulders like old pals."

Do I need to be jealous? Paul must have read my mind because there is a second text following on from the first.

"And before you ask, I don't think you need to be jealous. Their body language is no different from what it has always been!"

My reply to Paul includes a suitable array of emojis.

Dad goes back to his ceiling and I start undercoating the timberwork. We have both just finished when Mum puts her head round the door.

"Get cleaned up. Doris has gone for the fish and chips. I'm going to put the kettle on for the tea."

On the way home, Dad summarises the work we have done today.

"We've done well. I'm hoping that ceiling won't need another coat. We'll see in the morning. Either way we should finish tomorrow. If we crack on and get done before lunch, maybe we can avoid your aunt's cooking."

"No, you can't," Mum counters. "You'll have to wait for the gloss to dry a bit before you can put the furniture back." Then she adds the clincher. "Unless you want to come back again another time!"

On Sunday morning when I come down to breakfast Dad is there nursing a cuppa. He stinks of muscle rub.

"I hope that damn ceiling doesn't need another coat," he moans. "My shoulders are killing me."

He is in luck. The ceiling gets Aunt Doris' approval. We still have the gloss paint to do. Dad does the window frames, while I do the doors and skirting. Dad ducks out of helping with the latter saying I'm nearer the floor than he is.

We get everything finished and cleaned up in time for lunch. It's then we find out that Mum has taken pity on us. Lunch will be edible as she has taken charge of the cooking by craftily suggesting Doris bake us a fruit cake. Now that is the one thing Aunty is good at! I just hope Dad doesn't get to it first or neither Mum nor I will get any.

After lunch Dad and I carefully put the furniture back. We don't want to catch it or our clothes on the still sticky gloss paint.

Once back home and in my room I reflect on the weekend. It has been fun in a strange sort of way. Certainly not like I imagine Scout camp is supposed to be fun. I'm lucky in that I like spending time with Dad, learning by doing things together like these odd jobs for Aunt Doris. He enjoys having me there, teaching me various skills that will be useful in later life. Not everyone has parents as interested. Tony's are, but their interest is more in academic learning.

Although I see Tony at school on Monday, he doesn't say much about Scout camp apart from confirming that he had a good time. In fact he deflects the conversation at lunch by asking about my weekend and the decorating job Dad and I did for Aunt Doris.

I get my chance to find out more when we go to my house to do our homework. But first I make us some tea and snag some biscuits out of the tin. Hopefully that will help him relax enough to spill the beans — if there are any beans to spill.

"So you had a good time at camp?"

"Yes, thanks."

"Good. Because I thought you sounded apprehensive when talking to Paul about it at lunch on Thursday."

"Did I?"

His tone suggests an attempt to deny the memory. I pry some more.

"Something about not wanting to share with some kid called Scotty? Did you share with him in the end?" Of course, like the best lawyers, I know the answer to that already, thanks to Paul

"Um, yes."

Tony isn't blushing but he has gone all coy. I use an expression I've heard Dad use.

"So all sweetness and light, then?"

"Matthew Arnold," Tony states. That throws me.

"What?"

"Matthew Arnold, Victorian poet and social critic. You quoted him. Inappropriately, I might add."

I am about to ask the walking encyclopaedia to explain, when I realise he has made another deflecting manoeuvre.

"So you are back on good terms with Scotty? Do I need to be jealous?"

"No," he mumbles. "Not anymore."

Is that a Freudian slip? I don't think I was meant to hear that last bit.

"What do you mean? Not anymore?"

Eventually I get the story out of him.

They have some kind of buddy system at their Scout troop. When Tony joined, Scott was his buddy and they have been mates ever since, always sharing a tent when at camp. Because Scotty goes to a different school and lives in a different part of town, Tony and he only ever see each other at Scout meetings and events.

These last few months, Tony's teenage hormones have been doing their thing (much like mine!) and he admitted, somewhat sheepishly, to developing a crush on Scotty. At the last camp, he was getting more frustrated but couldn't overcome his natural shyness — he said 'reticence' — to say anything to Scott. With hindsight, he realises that Scott never showed any interest in Tony as anything other than as a friend.

Tony didn't want to share a tent at this camp as he was afraid he would try something with Scott.

"But this time, I didn't find him attractive at all. I can't think why I ever had a crush on him. We're back to being just good mates. Maybe it's because I have you as my boyfriend — even though we've never done much!" He raises an eyebrow.

If that was the cue for a make-out session, we are frustrated when I hear Dad arriving home, and clumping up the stairs to get changed out of his work clothes. He pokes his head in through my open door.

"Hi, Tony. Lad. Have you boys been doing your homework?"

"Still on with it. We seem to have more than usual," I dissemble.

"Don't forget to ask your mother, if Tony wants to stop for a meal."

Dad retreats to his bedroom.

Tony and I look at each other. Does the casual way Dad commented about the meal indicate an acceptance of our relationship?

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