"They are opening his skull to relieve the pressure caused by the swelling," Henry's mother informed me with teary eyes, when I burst through the hospital doors. She rushed towards me and hugged me. "Thanks for coming," she added. Derek quietly shook my hand.

Peter kept staring at the hospital floor, not even acknowledging my arrival. To be perfectly honest, he looked shell-shocked. Henry's mother followed my gaze.

"I think Peter is blaming himself, the stupid boy," she said, her voice so soft I was barely able to make out the words. "I don't know what to say to him. None of it is his fault. He didn't do this."

"I'll talk to him, Mrs Thornton. Oh, by the way, this is my dad."

I introduced the two parties, then walked over to Peter and took a seat next to him. Silently, I took his hand.

He looked up. The utter devastation written all over his face shocked me and made me gasp.

"Henry is a fighter, Peter. He'll get through this. I can feel it."

Peter hadn't seemed to hear a word of what I had said.

"When you left, I got ready to go home, too." His voice sounded robotic. "When I grabbed my jacket, I overheard two of the bleach-blonde girls practically shouting out to the world that my old best buddies were going after Henry tonight and that this time they meant business. Henry had left 20 minutes earlier or so. I dropped everything and started running. But I was too late, Cat. I was too late."

"If it hadn't been for you, Peter, Henry would have died. Alone, bleeding, lying on the pavement. You saved him. Thank you for that." I stroked his hand.

Peter's eyes were shiny. He sighed.

"You know, I hung with them, because I didn't want to be a victim anymore. This cowardice has now made someone else a victim. It should have been me, Cat, not Henry. So, please, don't thank me. You should hate me."

I had never heard more desperation in anyone's voice.

I injected some steel into mine.

"You did not do this, Peter. And it shouldn't have been either of you. Don't ever say anything like that again! Henry and you buried the past ages ago. You are friends. Henry would not want you to blame yourself – and he would most certainly not want you to be lying in that hospital bed with a broken body and that terrible head injury. And you know that!"

"That's because Henry is too good for this world," Peter countered, unwittingly echoing one of the last words I had said to Henry earlier. I felt myself choke up but knew that I had to remain strong. Thank God I had a lifetime of experience in covering and burying my true emotions and feelings.

The truth was that I felt guilty, too. I had encouraged Henry to come out of the closet, to be true to himself. Now look where that got him. But I knew that Peter, Henry's mother and Henry were more important than I was right now. I could have my private pity party later, when no one was around.

"Does the police know who it was?"

Peter nodded. "I told them everything I know. The arseholes are at the station now, being questioned. It wouldn't surprise me if they got off with community service because of their tough childhoods." He shook his head.

I didn't answer for a while. Peter was probably not too far off the mark. The attackers were young and came from rich, but dysfunctional families. Judges would be extremely lenient. It made me bitter for a second. Then I remembered Henry and his second chances, Henry looking behind the crime at the underlying reasons.

I didn't know anything about those boys other than that they all lived on the right side of the tracks but grew up without parental supervision or love. Of course, there are other kids whose lives are even worse who still know the difference between right and wrong. But on the other hand, the system had failed those boys. They had displayed aggression and deviant behaviour for years, and nobody had questioned why. Nobody had felt it was necessary to intervene.

I let out a breath. At that moment, I chose to draw on Henry's moral compass. I chose not to hate those boys. That is not to say that I didn't want them punished. It is to say that I wouldn't waste my energy on hating people who in a way were victims themselves.

Why do people do terrible things? I couldn't answer that question. What about culpability? Does a bad childhood reduce your culpability? Who knows?

But I believed, and still believe, that when Henry had told me that instead of bearing grudges he chose to focus on the positive, he was actually on to something.

While I was still contemplating these questions and stroking Peter's hand, the doors suddenly burst open and a doctor appeared. We all jumped up.

"The operation was successful. Apart from the head injury, Henry has three broken ribs and hematomas all over his body. If he makes it, he'll have a long road in front of him. The next 48 hours will tell us more. Henry is in ICU now. There is nothing you can do for him now. I suggest you all go home and get some rest. We'll notify you immediately if anything changes."

He turned towards Henry's mother. "Mrs Thornton, I will allow you to go and see your son, but I need to warn you. He's hooked up to a lot of machines and his face is terribly swollen. But I understand that you need to see for yourself that your son is alive. You have two minutes."

While Henry's mum followed the doctor, the rest of us walked out of the hospital. Morning had broken long ago, and we were in desperate need of daylight and fresh air.

My father was talking to Derek, and I found myself still holding Peter's hand. When I looked down at our intertwined hands, Peter snatched his away.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't even realise."

I grabbed his hand again.

"I like holding your hand, Peter."

"You deserve better than me, Cat."

"I think you are a good guy. You turned your life around. You were never even really bad to start with, not deep inside of you. You protected Henry and me that one day, when I tried to save Henry. Remember? When I threatened to throw the stone at you? I wasn't sure until now, but now I am positive. You never wanted to hurt anybody. That day was the first time that you saved Henry – and me. So please, give yourself a chance! And maybe me, too."

Peter looked down into my face. Then he put his arms around me.

"I honestly don't know how I would have made it through this terrible night without you, Cat."

I put my arms around his waist and realised that I felt comfortable. I squeezed.

"I'm glad you're here, too." Then I stopped. "Henry has met someone. He told me last night. Do you know who he is? Has he been notified?"

Peter nodded. "Henry told me last night, too. He is actually one of my neighbours. Lovely lad. I've known him for years, but I have no idea how he met Henry."

Peter swallowed hard, then said, "I phoned him but also told him that there was nothing he could do at the moment. Considering their relationship is pretty new, Julian felt his showing up at the hospital would be a little inappropriate. I agreed. I promised to phone him, when Henry regains consciousness."

* * * * *

The next few days were the worst and – I'm kind of ashamed to admit – also the best days of my life. We spent most of our time at the hospital, although we were hardly allowed to see Henry. Only when Henry's mother, who was keeping vigil at his bedside day and night, needed a short relief of duty, did we have a chance to see our friend for a few minutes. Henry was unresponsive anyway. But no change was good. At least, that's what we told ourselves.

Two days after the attack, Peter resolved to have a word with Henry's mother. Together, they decided to give Julian a call and give him a chance to see Henry. Mrs Thornton was actually quite excited to meet her son's first official boyfriend. It felt good to see her smile, even if the smile was tentative and a little wobbly.

Julian was allowed five minutes with Henry alone. He came out of the room with a small smile on his face.

"Weren't you shocked at the way Henry looks?" I asked, rather upset. What the hell was there to smile about?

"He looks beautiful to me." He sounded gentle.

"But his face..." I was at a loss for words.

"Hasn't your boyfriend told you where we come from, sweetheart? Being a 'pretty boy' in that kind of environment doesn't invite hugs and kisses. I've seen my share of black and blue – in the mirror."

My jaw dropped. How awful. I looked towards Peter. He had averted his eyes in what looked suspiciously like shame.

Julian misinterpreted my expression.

"Sorry, Peter. I thought she knew that we come from the wrong side of the tracks."

Suddenly, I felt an old, familiar sensation bursting through my guts, a sensation so powerful that it catapulted me out of the shabby plastic hospital chair I was sitting on, the same way it had catapulted me off the dirty brown bench that fateful day in the woods.

"Stop being embarrassed about something stupid like that!" I growled.  "Who cares how big your house is and whether your parents are working and raking in the money or hooked on a bottle and living on the dole? You think my life is so different from yours? That everything is brilliant, because mum drives a Merc and we've got more bedrooms than people?"

I stopped and glared at him. "Let me fucking educate you here, because all this hypocrisy, all this division of people into weird communities is getting to me now. We are all human beings. That's our race, our only race. Not black, not white, not able-bodied or disabled, not grade A student or struggling student and also not rich or poor. The thing that is different between living on my side of the tracks is that where your life is raw and often shows how ugly it is, my life has a thick shiny golden veneer over all of that. But, believe me, we have the same kind of ugly. We just don't admit it."

I breathed in hard. Julian and Peter stared at me.

A little calmer, I carried on, "Can't we focus on what unites us rather than the things that set us apart? Those things should come second, because they are not so important. But they should also be cherished, because they make life colourful and exciting."

I looked at Peter. "Please, please, please, never be ashamed of your background or where you live. It's what you make of your life that you'll be judged by, at least by the people that matter." My voice sort of fizzled out towards the end, when it all of a sudden hit me that Julian had called Peter my boyfriend.

My anger evaporated.

"Wow," Julian and Peter responded in unison.

"I might be gay, but I'm still a guy, and there were a lot of words there. Does that mean she doesn't mind that your dad was a druggie and that your mother is working three jobs just to get by?" Julian deadpanned.

Peter's mouth slowly broke into a grin.

"Man, I'm not even gay. My vocabulary is even more limited. But I take it that that's exactly what she said."

He pulled me in for a hug.

"I think you're beautiful. Inside and out. I'm the luckiest guy in the world to have people like you and Henry in my world," he said with a tentative smile on his face.

"Are you my boyfriend?" I squeaked in response.

"Would you want me to be?"

I nodded, and Peter gave me a gentle kiss on the nose.

Julian made gagging noises in the background, and despite the fact that my best friend was fighting for his life a few short metres away, I felt on top of the world.

Don't get me wrong, I was fully aware of the situation, but I knew that my best friend would be happy for me. He was the only person in the world who knew nearly everything about me, including my most shameful secrets – apart from 'the woods'. That was something I still didn't want anyone to know about. He had witnessed first-hand how I struggled to find my way. He had also been the first person to see the good in Peter. I just knew he'd wake up. He simply had to.