Gigi Sinclair

Of all the rituals of Catholicism John Paul had grown up with---the obligatory stint as a candle-carrying altar boy, his school friends mistaking the Virgin Mary in their hallway for a souvenir from a Madonna concert, eating fish and chips on Fridays when Myra remembered, which wasn't that often---confession had always struck him as the most bizarre.

"It's like truth or dare," he told Kieron, as they lounged on the sofa half-watching some unfunny comedy on the television. "But without the dares, and the only one listening to your truths is a pervy priest in a wooden box."

"Pervy priest, eh?" Kieron commented lightly, reaching for his lager.

John Paul smiled and inched closer, pressing their shoulders together. "Present company included, of course." Kieron snorted. An old lady on the television made a joke about rap music that would have been current in about 1996, and John Paul went on: "It's mad. I mean, what's the point?"

"It can be hard to have a secret," Kieron said. Yeah, tell me about it, John Paul thought. "Some people find it helps to tell someone they know will keep quiet."

"So what's the weirdest thing anyone ever confessed to you?"

"You know I can't tell you that."

"Oh, come on, Kieron." John Paul moved to lie on the sofa, resting his head on Kieron's lap. "You don't have to name names."

"The point of confession is that anything you say is between you and God. I'm just the mediator."

"You could never tell anyone, no matter what someone confessed to you?"

"That's the idea."

Oh this, John Paul thought, tuning out the television entirely, was going to be fun. "So if, say, Ste confessed to murdering a guy in prison with a plastic fork, you couldn't go to the police."

"I would strongly advise him that if he truly was penitent, the best way to achieve forgiveness would be to make amends to society." That sounded like priest-talk to John Paul. Hearing words like that in Kieron's deep, sexy voice sent shivers up his spine, in a way he didn't think he ought to examine too closely.

"But you wouldn't tell on him?"

Kieron took a long drink. "No."

"What if Kris told you he wanted a sex change?"

"I would say it's a mistake to interfere with God's plans, and he would be better off seeking guidance through prayer."

"You'd say that to your best mate?"

"If he came to me as a priest."

"If he came to you as a friend?"

Kieron smirked. "I'd tell him I don't think he's got the legs for it, but I'd buy him a frilly nighty to wear in hospital." John Paul laughed, and Kieron drained his bottle. As he leaned forward to put it on the table, he added: "Anyway, Kris isn't my best mate." He looked at John Paul, his eyes reflecting the flicker of the television screen, and John Paul felt his stomach flip.

"Oh, no?"

"No," Kieron smiled and ran a hand through John Paul's hair.

"So, tell me Father, what deep dark secrets do you confess when you're in that box?" John Paul meant it as a come on, an opening for Kieron to start his adorably hesitant attempts at dirty talk that would, inevitably, lead them to the bedroom.

Instead, Kieron withdrew his hand and sat back a little. "I don't confess anymore."

"But if you did," John Paul persisted, eager to get him back on track. If they got into this again, into Kieron's dilemma and guilt and uncertainty, he knew they'd never get to bed before Niall came home. "I bet you'd have some really juicy things to tell Father Roman, right?"

The hand came back, but Kieron still felt distant. After a long pause, just as John Paul was about to try something else, he said: "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Of course." John Paul grinned. "I'm dying for it."

"In that case, I'd tell him I love God, but I was wrong about my vocation. Then I'd say I'm in love with an amazing, wonderful, sexy man who makes me happier than I've ever been in my life."

That, John Paul thought, was more like it. "Steady on, you'll make him jealous."

"And after that," Kieron went on, "I'd say I am so afraid something is going to come between us that sometimes I can't sleep at night." John Paul didn't say anything. "But, as mad as it is, I'm not afraid that he'll get fed up with all the lying, or that he'll find someone new, or anything like that. I'm afraid that sooner or later, Craig is going to have to come back from Ireland, and when he does, I won't stand a chance."

The words hung in the silence for what seemed, to John Paul, like hours. He didn't know what to say. Neither of them had mentioned Craig since John Paul used him as an excuse to break it off with Kieron, because he was scared. John Paul didn't even think about him much anymore; he'd certainly had no idea Kieron did.

Finally, John Paul did what he always did when he couldn't comfort Kieron with words. He sat up and kissed him, stroking his face with one hand and unbuttoning his shirt with the other.

The next morning, they had a quiet breakfast with Niall. As soon as he'd gone, Kieron disappeared into his bedroom to get ready for work, and John Paul took out the assignment he was meant to hand in today but hadn't, in fact, started. He was debating handing it in late but well done versus on time and rubbish when Kieron came back, dressed and ready to go.

"Will you have time for lunch today?" John Paul asked, immediately deciding in favour of "late and well-done." More or less.

"I don't know. I'll give you a ring."

"OK." He went over to Kieron and hugged him.

"Listen, John Paul, about what I said last night..."

"It's all right," John Paul interrupted. He didn't want to talk about it any more than Kieron did. "I know I'm your best mate."

Kieron smiled, clearly not fooled. But he said: "Yeah. You are." He picked up his jacket. "I'll see you later." He kissed him, a little more quickly than John Paul would have liked, and left.

***

It had been years since John Paul had been in a confessional. When he was a child, Myra forced him to go almost every week, and he remembered sitting on the hard wooden seat, his feet dangling above the floor, trying to think of something to confess. He usually came up with a minor childish sin, like cheating off a classmate on a geography exam or pulling the heads off Michaela's dolls and claiming neighbourhood dogs had chewed them. Along with his penance, the priest always gave him a lecture about honesty or family, and he'd usually ignored both.

He was amazed that, even after all this time, stepping into the musty wooden box instantly brought back memories of boring Sunday mornings and knowing he should feel guilty without knowing why.

Rather than work on his assignment, John Paul had spent the morning trying to figure out how he would tell Kieron what he wanted to say. When noon, and then one o'clock, came and went without the promised phone call, he decided he had to act as soon as possible, even if he wasn't sure of his words.

"Yes, my child?" Kieron sounded tired as John Paul sat down in the confessional. No wonder, John Paul thought. They'd been up late last night.

"I'm looking for that guy who's really good at keeping secrets."

"John Paul?" He sighed. John Paul kind of wished he could see Kieron's face, but it was going to make this easier if he couldn't. "This isn't the place."

"There's a man I really, really love," he pressed on, "But I think I might have worried him because a long time ago," well, three months, John Paul thought, but who was counting? "I told him everything I went through with Craig was worth it because I loved him." Kieron didn't say anything. "What I didn't say was that Craig never made me feel like I was worth it to him."

John Paul hesitated. Talking about Craig again brought everything back: the pain, the humiliation, but also the good times, the fun they'd had together and how deeply in love he had been. "It was great, some of the time," John Paul said, "Don't get me wrong. But I knew Craig would never really accept me if he couldn't accept himself."

After another pause, Kieron cleared his throat. "I think the man you're with now understands that. But he might know from experience that people can change, especially if they've had time to think about what they want out of life."

"Kieron, he could come back waving a rainbow flag and singing the Village People's greatest hits. I've moved on. I love you." He sighed. "Listen, I don't know what's going to happen in the future, OK? No one does. You could decide to stay with the church, or find another bloke, or anything."

Imagining either situation made John Paul feel ill, but the thoughts had crossed his mind more than once. "But I know that right now, I want to be with you, no matter what. And don't think I don't know exactly what that means, because I do." He'd gone through it once before and survived. For Kieron, he could do it again. "It's worth it."

When Kieron spoke again, John Paul could hear a smile in his voice. "And here I thought you were going to tell me you murdered someone in prison with a plastic fork."

John Paul felt like going into the other side of the confessional and taking Kieron into his arms. Instead, he said: "Come over later, all right? Mum's at work tonight."

"I'll be there."

As he left the confessional, John Paul felt like a weight he hadn't known he was carrying had been lifted from his shoulders. Maybe, he thought, it wasn't so mad to think that confessing might be good for the soul.

It was definitely good for the heart.

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