Chapter 19
It’s the day my mother died, and I’ve just smashed a hole in the wall with my fist. What I realise now is that the action is almost a metaphor for everything that was happening in my life that day. I was at the start of a long road, where I would have to face several barriers, all of which needed smashing. Someone had already made an aperture in the first of many, that barricade being my inability, publicly, to admit my homosexuality.
I’m talking about Gary Caldwell, who will have been the first to read this narrative and, I hope, give it his blessing, for his name will only appear with his permission, as will the others within these covers. Each will have received at least a portion of the book as it pertains to him or her before I seek a publisher, although, at the time I wr
