by Tara Simon
“No, I’ll take over,” Martin says, turning back towards the house.
When they make it to the hall, they see Jacob and Lin on the first floor landing. They’re leaning close together; his head is a little bent while hers is tipped up. She laughs, low and warm-hearted. He touches her arm. It could be all very platonic, but there’s something about the way they interact, that Martin interprets as being very, very intimate.
Gwen must have thought the same, because she says, “Oh.”
Chapter 10
2002
“So would you be okay doing the science project together?” Jacob asks as he filters out of the class.
Martin hoists his rucksack on his shoulders and falls behind him. “Yeah,” he says, quite happy with the arrangement. “Yeah, that’d be great.”
“Lovely,” says Jacob. He spots Luther at the same moment Martin does. “Um, I meant to go pick Gwen up. She’s finishing history and I promised we’d go into town after.”
“Just go and have your romantic get together,” Martin says, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’m sure she’s dying to see you.”
Jacob traces a finger down his jaw line, looks to Luther and then back to Martin. “Right, I’d better go. See you Friday!”
As Jacob skids off, Martin raises his hand, walks over to Luther. “Didn’t you have basketball?” “Yeah, shoulder hurts though,” Luther says, rotating his arm. “I’m out for two weeks.” “Oh,” Martin says, wincing on Luther’s behalf. “Have you seen a doctor?” “Yeah.” Luther smiles. “I’m fine. Just not ready for practice.” “Oh,” Martin says. “Okay, so want to hang out?”
They spill onto the street as Luther says, “Actually, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Okay,” Martin says, worrying his lips. “Go on then.” “Not here,” Luther says.
Though it’s rained and the roads are thickly coated with mud, they go out to the lake. They can’t sit down and they can’t strike out across the high grass. Martin’s mum would never forgive him if he destroyed his school uniform and Martin’s fairly certain Uther wouldn’t be any happier to find his home covered in sludge tracks.
All in all Martin’s left wondering why Luther wanted to come out here on a day like this but when he pushes and prods, Luther’s mostly silent. He sits on the bole of a chopped tree, his hands deep in his pockets because the wind’s fit to flay skin today. Martin’s own cheekbones are being sandpapered in the chill air. “There was something you wanted to say?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“Really?” Martin whistles. “Quite a feat!”
“Shut your mush,” Luther says, “you’re stealing my lines!”
“You’re stalling.” Martin gives Luther a pointed look. Maybe that’ll get him talking and stop worrying Martin. Not to mention the climate conditions aren’t favourable to hearts to hearts. “And you know that.”
“I’ve been thinking about what I asked you to do.”
Oh, no, not again. “Luther, I told you, I was happy to go with you.”
“Yes, yes you were,” Luther says, pinning his gaze on Martin, eyes shining with something Martin fears is self-reproach because Luther’s looking vulnerable right now and that can only mean he’s blaming himself. “And I’m grateful, honest. You’re the only one who… And I’ve never given anything back, have I?”
Okay, Martin wasn’t right. “That’s not what friendship is about. Expecting something in return. That’s not what we are about.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Luther says, grabbing him by the arm and letting go when he realises
he’s been a bit over the top with that one. “What I mean is, I was thinking that I’ve never helped you getting what you want.”
“Luther you’re making no sense,” Martin says, because that’s just not true.
“You miss your dad the way I miss my mum,” Luther says, staring down. “I know how that feels. But the difference is there’s a chance your dad is actually alive. I want to help you find out.”
Martin is speechless. His heart stalls then starts again, giving him painful jabs that set his blood running faster. “Luther,” Martin says, “I… Thank you, but no.”
Luther’s shoulders sag and he tears off the bole. “You don’t trust me, do you?”
“No!” Martin says. “It’s not that!”
“I told you about my mum,” Luther says, facing the lake.
“Luther, there are so many reasons why I don’t want to,” Martin says, his body suddenly heavy with the weight of all of them. “Honest.”
“I don’t get it!” Luther swings round, then the fight goes out of him. “I don’t really get it.”
“I’d rather not find out,” Martin says. “Because if I do, I’ll have the answer. And that answer might be that he’s dead.”
“What if he isn’t?” Luther says so low Martin barely hears him.
“Considered that too,” Martin says, kicking the trunk of the tree. “I suppose that would mean he doesn’t want to acknowledge me.” He inhales. Every time the purport of that hurts him a little bit more. Maybe that’s because he’s stopped making excuses for the man. “If he’s alive, then he’s made his choice. And I’m choosing to make the same one.”
Luther crosses back to him, puts a hand on his forearm, high up and short of the shoulder. “I get it now. I do. And if he’s out there and doesn’t want to get to know you, then he doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.”
Martin swallows. His tongue feels thick and his throat does too. “Thanks.”
“No thank you, Martin,” Luther says, tipping his chin up. “Learn how to take a compliment.”
Martin grins, the thickness in his throat slowly dissolving. “It was just the shock of hearing one.”
Luther claps him heftily on the shoulder, nearly throwing Martin off balance. “Ha, ha,” Luther says. He drops his hand, shuffles from foot to foot. “Let’s get you back or your mum will have my hide.”
* * *
Gwen puts her hand over her mouth, then drops it immediately.
Jacob and Lin spring apart. “It’s not the way you think!” Lin says.
“It’s fine really,” Gwen says, her voice stumbling over the word ‘fine’. “I’m not… I’m surely not entitled to know.”
“What the hell’s going on?” Luther asks.
Martin elbows Luther in the ribs, gestures for Luther to cut it.
Luther looks at him with dawning realisation and his eyes go wide.
“Gwen, I wouldn’t have said anything,” Lin begins.
“Really, Lin,” Gwen stops her, “I understand perfectly and there’s nothing wrong with it.”
Lin descends the rest of the steps, and takes Gwen’s hand. “It was just a one night stand. I’m still going to New York and he’s still going to Asia.”
“Lin,” says Gwen, as Martin tries to inconspicuously tug Luther into the kitchen. “You’re adults, free agents. It’s really not my place to…”
Martin has nearly managed to lug Luther into the other room, when Lin says, “I know that. But I need you to know we never meant to hurt you.”
Gwen’s response is drowned when Martin opens the tap.
“Martin,” Luther says, mouth open. “My sister and Jacob…”
“Yeah,” says Martin, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think we should meddle.”
“Well, they were being obvious!” Luther says, grabbing the head of lettuce Martin lobs at him with both hands. “I’m concerned.”
“She’s an adult,” Martin points out, silencing the voice in his brain that tells him Lin has picked the person coming with the most complications. But then again, he supposes, you don’t choose who you love. He looks at Luther. He’s turning the lettuce round and round. Probably has little idea what to do with it. “She can look after herself.”
“What about Gwen though?” Luther says, throwing the lettuce back at Martin, who barely catches it.
“I think she’s an
adult too,” Martin says, placing the recovered head of lettuce under the tap. “And they’re friends. It will all smooth itself out. Somehow.”
“You sound so sure,” Luther says.
“You do sound concerned!” Martin says, grinning. “It’s quite touching all this brotherly devotion.”
“Shut up,” Luther says, turning the lettuce under the jet, shredding random leaves from it. “Let’s try and cook or we’ll have no Christmas Dinner. We ought to have something, even if everybody’s more concerned with their sex lives.”
With the help of Sarah and Tristan, who come down to avoid the discussion going on in the drawing room, they manage to get the two Turkeys in the oven and to start on the preparation of a few side dishes. When he gets in doubt about something, Martin phones Freya. After an exchange of very loud well wishes, Martin obtains instructions on how to prepare a few simple recipes.
“Is the door to the living room still closed?” Tristan asks, peeking out.
Martin does too. He bites on his lips but gives himself a shake. He wasn’t lying to Luther when he said he was sure his friends would sort it out. It’s just that he can’t help but hope that none of them gets too hurt. “Yes, I think they have things to discuss.”
Tristan presses his lips together and Martin’s sure he overheard enough to understand what Martin means. “Hopefully. Breaking up over the holidays would be sad.”
Martin blinks then says, “I hope you would only do that after giving the matter a lot of thought.” “Yeah,” Tristan says, watching Sarah unwrap the Christmas Pudding. “Yeah.” “Well, let’s start on the mince pies.”
As he and Tristan discuss the finer points of the instructions, Leon pokes his head in. “Uh, Martin,” he says, holding up his phone. “My mobile’s dead for some reason. And I meant to email a few colleagues, you know happy holidays blah blah blah, and I was wondering if I could use your laptop?”
“If my old battered PC is all right with you,” Martin says, taking down a bowl, “you can use that, but it will take some time to boot.”
“That’s fine,” Leon says, smiling. “Thank you, Martin.”
Over the next few hours they manage to finish the preparations. Not all the food looks like it’s come out of a Nigella Lawson special, but Martin’s quite happy with the final result and grateful for the help he got. They transport the food into the living room, and lay the table.
“So is everything all right?” Martin asks Lin.
She smiles, steals the dried cherry from on top the pudding and eats it. “Yes, Martin, whenever isn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” Martin says, looking to Jacob who’s sheepishly avoiding everyone’s eyes, but especially Luther’s, back to Lin. “You don’t always have to… You know. Present a strong front.”
“Strong people can’t help it, Martin,” she says, and Martin would worry, if she wasn’t smiling confidently. “It’s an innate virtue.”
Martin nods then both he and Lin join the table. Since the others are already seated they take their place too. As soon as he’s down Martin springs back up. “I just wanted to say…”
“Martin, are you giving us a speech?” Luther asks, rolling his eyes.
Martin sends him a silencing glare and continues. “I just wanted to say,” Martin says, belatedly grabbing a glass and hoisting it, “that I’m so grateful to have you all here. It makes my heart glad and my holidays that little bit more special.”
Lin claps. “Hear, hear!” she toasts him.
“Aw, that’s so sweet, Martin,” Gwen says, clapping her hands together.
Luther says, “Martin’s gone mushy.”
The others congratulate Martin and they all toast each other.
A sense of slight headiness overwhelms Martin. He knows he’s not drunk. It’s just that he feels warm on the inside. He wants to cling to the sensation. Wants to bask in it. He understands how fragile these things are, so he lets his smile stretch and his eyes embrace his guests.
Then he clears his throat, ear reddening, and sits back down.
They all tuck in. At first they don’t talk much. The kind of conversation that does make it is comments about the quality of the food. By and by the talk gets more general again and they all contribute to it. Probably to avoid the elephant in the room, i.e., the love quadrangle, Sarah starts questioning Lin about things to do in New York.
Morgan seems to love the subject so she regales them with a list of the places she means to visit when she’s on her own time. She brightens up even more when she says, “You ought to come. You’re all invited. It’s on me.”
“I’ll be in Cambodia by then,” Jacob says, drumming his fingers on the edge of his dish. “But thank you.”
“Well, that’s minus two then,” Leon says, putting a piece of bread in his mouth.
“What you aren’t going too?” Tristan asks.
“No,” Leon says, swallowing, gaze sliding around the table. “I’m going. I was talking about Martin.”
“Martin?” Luther says, whipping round in his seat.
Of course. Leon browsed his mail… Shit. Martin sets out to explain, though he doesn’t know how to, when Leon talks right over him in a conversational tone. “Martin is moving to New Zealand.”
“Moving to New Zealand,” Luther repeats, his mouth barely articulating the words. He laughs. “It must be a mistake.” He turns to Martin wearing a wan and straight face. “Tell him it’s a mistake, Martin!”
Martin’s mouth sags. “It’s not a mistake.”
“Not a mistake,” Luther says, dry, balling his napkin. “You’re moving to New Zealand and it’s not a mistake.”
Martin has all eyes on him. “Er, no, my father turned up and he offered me a job.”
Luther stares straight ahead. His face works, muscles twitching, lines forming. “When are you going?” he says, so dry Martin’s afraid he’ll get cut on that voice. “When, Martin?”
“Mid January,” Martin says, wanting to chase that tone from Luther’s voice, needing him to smile at him, but knowing full well his words won’t do anything to achieve that.
“Mid—” Luther stands, lobs the napkin at the table and stalks away.
“Luther!” Martin yells after him, twisting in his chair. “Luther, don’t be such an idiot!” He kicks at his chair’s leg. “Why is he being like that!”
Lin tells him. “Oh, Martin, I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?” Martin says, his heart sliding in his chest, a free fall. “Knew what, Lin?”
Lin arches an eyebrow, but the steely effect is mitigated by her softening gaze. “Luther has always been in love with you, you numpty.”
Martin tears out of the room, ears pounding, blood draining from his head.
Chapter 11
2002
Ealdor station has only two platforms, one for down and the other for up trains. Most routes only link to Cardiff. The train is idling on the tracks, people spilling out, the conductor taking a stroll down the length of the conveyance.
Martin says, “So going off to uni, eh?”
“Yeah,” Luther says, putting his suitcase down. He’s leaving with a rucksack and one small Samsonite, the bottle green kind, Frantic style. Martin wants to make a joke about it but he can’t because his throat is as tight as steel bands.