Page 52 of The Unlikely Heir
My grandad’s words formed the bedrock of my attitude towards my sexuality after that. I wasn’t ashamed. I wasn’t going to hide. I would look people in the eye and tell them this is who I am, like it or shove it.
“That’s a really lovely story,” Callum says quietly when I finish telling it.
I nod, the familiar choke overtaking my throat when I think of my grandad. I wish he and Nan had lived to see me become prime minister. They would have got a kick out of visiting me at Number 10.
How much of the strength I needed to blaze the trail of being the first gay Prime Minister of the UK had come from that moment with my grandad? Lots of it, I was positive.
And without thinking, over the past few months, I’d tried to pass some of that strength onto Callum. Letting him know it’s all right to be himself.
It’s proof that you can never fully comprehend the ripple effects of your actions. My working-class grandad, a man who’d labored away in the bowels of the earth, could never have imagined that by sharing that message with his gay eighteen-year-old grandson, one day, his words would be used to help the future king.
“Did you ever know your dad?” Callum asks.
I shake my head. Then I give him a brief rundown of my origin story.
“You’ve never been tempted to try to track him down with a genetic test?” Callum asks.
I shrug. “No. Not really. I quite like the idea that somewhere there’s a Grant or Graham sitting in his slippers watching the news, shaking his fist at me standing in the House of Commons, with absolutely no idea I’m his son.”
Callum looks down at the almost-empty plate. “It’s weird how my life is now so defined by who my father was while you’ve managed to get to your position without even knowing your father.”
“I guess my life was defined by an absent father. And an absent mother too, most of the time.” I swallow because thinking about my mother always churns up emotions inside me. I can see a questioning look on Callum’s face, so I quickly pivot the conversation to him. “What was your childhood like?”
Callum gives a wry smile.
“I was an awkward kid, as I’m sure you can imagine. My current clumsiness didn’t spring from nowhere. My mother tried to teach me how to ride a bike, but after I broke my arm twice, she gave up.”
And so Callum continues to tell me about his childhood, being raised by a single mother in an exclusive gated community, his father an infrequent visitor after the first year of his life.
How his mother begrudgingly let him come to England for two weeks every summer, on the agreement his time would be spent in Balmoral, away from the press, but those holidays abruptly ended after his father’s death.
“And how old were you when your mother died?” I ask.
“Twenty-one.”
“That’s a hard age to lose a parent,” I say.
Callum bites his lip. “When she died, it was like losing my safety net,” he says softly. “When she was alive, I knew I could leap as high as I wanted because if I fell, she would be there. I never realized how important that security was until she was gone and I was left alone.” His jaw tightens and pain flashes across his face.
How has this guy been through so much, yet he remains so upbeat and positive?
“What was your mother like?” I ask.
He studies the tabletop, reaching out to rearrange the salt and pepper shakers before answering me.
“She was a good mother. She definitely wasn’t perfect, but she made me feel like I was the most important thing in her world.” He looks up at me. “And she was really protective of me. Maybe too protective. She’d had a taste of fame as an actress, and she knew the cost that came with it. She did everything possible to protect me from any kind of scrutiny.”
“She did the right thing, letting you grow up away from the spotlight.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Callum reaches up to rub the back of his neck. “Obviously, she had no idea what the future held. I can’t help thinking that if I’d been exposed to some of this as a kid, it might be easier now. Amelia and Nicholas definitely seem to be adjusting better than me.”
I want to reach out and touch his arm, but I keep my hands to myself.
“You’re doing fine, Callum,” I say softly. “Anyone would find it difficult to suddenly have the whole world’s attention.”
Callum stares at the table. “I really appreciate your support with everything.”
“You’re welcome.”
