After The Fall

by Sarah Goodwin

  One of the women next to Emma, a ginger woman with a thin, pale face, stood up and put her hand on Emma’s shoulder. Together the three of them picked up their coats, left their drinks, and walked out.

  Gregory whistled. “Jesus. Thought we were going to have handbags and Cosmos lobbed at us for sure.”

  Marg stuck her elbow into his ribs and Gregory jerked and went silent.

  “You alright?” Nate asked.

  “What do you think?” I snapped. I scrubbed a hand over my face and sighed. “Fuck! I’m going to the chemist.”

  I grabbed my coat and walked out, down the street and into the pharmacy. At the back, amongst the condoms, fake nails and eye glitter, was a small white counter where I handed over my prescription. I’d forgotten that Nate had my JSA book, but I had a crumpled tenner in my pocket, so I paid for the tablets and waited for the woman behind the partition to put them in a paper bag. While I was waiting, I heard clomping boots, and then Nate appeared at my side.

  “Marg and Greg are eating lunch, thought I’d come give you your job seekers book, but...apparently you don’t need it.”

  I didn’t say anything, and Nate sighed.

  “OK, don’t talk to me.”

  “I’m talking to you, I just don’t have anything to say.”

  “That didn’t even make sense.”

  “Oh for-”

  “Twenty-eight Citalopram for Connor Ray?” The pharmacist appeared, long pink nails clutching my prescription bag.

  “Thanks.” I took the bag, and opened it straight away, popping my first tablet. No time to start like the incredibly testing present.

  We walked back towards the flat, and on the way, I realised that I couldn’t take the silence anymore. I needed to get away for a while and get rid of the heaviness in me head and the acid in my stomach.

  “I think I should go to the internet café, check my emails, maybe look at a few job sites?”

  Nate shrugged. “I’ll be back at the flat.”

  I could tell he wasn’t happy, that he wanted to talk about what the doctor had said, or what I was going to do to get myself back on track. But I couldn’t take the guilt of being alone with him after Emma had seen us. I felt exposed and dirty, like I’d been caught doing something wrong.

  The internet café was, luckily, empty, and I got a station under the notice board. There were six stations, each with its own sticky, grey cased computer with a beaded coaster on one side, and a mouse on the other. I bought myself an hour of web time with my pharmacy change, and signed into my hotmail account to take a look at my inbox.

  A legacy of spam had built up since I’d last taken a look, and I didn’t even bother to delete it. I was already tired, and wishing I’d just gone back to the quiet and safely of the flat. Just the idea of having to walk all the way back there was making me sag in my chair.

  I check job sites, meaning I logged on to them and look at the jobs all lined up in columns, and then don’t apply for any because entering all my information in those little boxes was just too much of a hassle to even think about. Not to mention the fact that I don’t know the answers to most of the questions. My employment history, my school history, it was all on pieces of paper that I didn’t have on me, stashed in my box of things from the house I used to share with my wife.

  I was about to log off and leave when a dialog box jumped up.

  Doing OK?

  It was Coop, of course. I hadn’t spoken to him since that quick message the night I left Emma.

  Another message popped up.

  How did leaving your wife go? You disappeared quick. Were you serious?

  Yes. I moved out just after I spoke to you.

  Shit, why? Did she find out you were gay?

  She already knew. She lied to me that we were still together. Turns out I left her before the accident.

  Sounds like a crazy thing to do. Fuck. Where are you staying? Hostel?

  With someone.

  A bloke?

  Yeah. Another memory-loser like me.

  Sleeping with him?

  ...Something like that, yes.

  Good deal.

  It’s not like that.

  What is it like?

  I thought for a moment. What was it like between Nate and me? We were friends, good friends. He’d been taking care of me, helping me, since I’d met him. I felt something for him, but I didn’t know whether it was love or not, or just the first time I’d been with someone who I trusted, someone I was attracted to.

  He’s a good friend. I like him. I haven’t met anyone like him since I woke up.

  Cute.

  I mean that he’s honest. He likes me, not who I was before.

  Was there something wrong with that guy? He seemed OK to me.

  I’m just not the same person anymore. I’m not better. But, different.

  So you’re going to shack up with this new bloke, stay with him for good? Or are you looking for somewhere?

  I didn’t honestly know, I’d thought about it, but I was enjoying my time with Nate. For the most part he was considerate and simple, easy to get along with. But I felt like I should be making a move out on my own, not living off of his good will.

  Still looking. But...I think even if I find somewhere else, I’ll still want to see him. I think I might be outstaying my welcome, making a nuisance of myself.

  For a second I wondered why I was even talking to Coop about this, aside from the fact that he was there, and when it came to Nate and me, I didn’t have anyone to talk to.

  Do you mind me talking to you about this? I mean, because of how we were?

  He took his time answering, and I almost worried that I’d pushed it too far. Then he typed, Nah, I don’t mind. We weren’t exactly friends before we started...you know, but I’d like to get on with you now. Not many gay guys around where I am.

  Good. Not that you’re alone – but that you don’t think us talking is weird. I could use a friend who I’m not...living with.

  No problem, I’m around if you want to talk. But I don’t think you can wear out your welcome with someone, if they really like you.

  I’ve been kind of pissy, and I’ve had a bit, well, a lot of bad news, made me kind of depressed. Hard to deal with.

  He must understand what it’s like. I expect he’s been through things like that too, if he’s lost his memory.

  That’s another thing, I don’t know anything about him, not really. And, I don’t know what it is he’s looking for, with me. What it is he wants.

  What anyone wants. Not to wake up alone one day, wondering why no one cares.

  It was such a short, sharp thing to read that it stilled my fingers, and I couldn’t type back. What could I say to that? I was spared trying to find an answer when Coop abruptly wrote, G2G, and signed off.

  I sat and looked back through the conversation. The things Coop had said to me hadn’t really made me feel better about my situation, but he had succeeded in lighting a small fire under me. I was going to have to get myself together, for the sake of me and Nate. If we were ever going to get on like any other pair of gay men, we’d have to start off on the right footing – each with our own places, our own lives. Otherwise, what would we be but two ghosts rattling around Nate’s housing association bedsit?

  I signed off of the computer, and went over to the little counter by the door, where Dianne, the owner, was sitting with a piece of rag rug tatting and a cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows daubed in edible glitter.

  “Off then?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “Still no luck with jobs then?”

  “None.”

  She sighed. “Shame. I get all the unemployed people in here you know, or most of them, the ones that can’t get in to use a computer at the library. I only set this place up because I couldn’t find something with another company.” She set aside her rug and pushed up the sleeves on her baggy, sea green jumper. “I think I’ve got some leftover lemon bars in the back, and some bread that’s
gone a bit hard – soak it in milk and bake it with sugar and raisins. Lovely.”

  “Thanks Dianne.”

  “Oh it’s fine. Once you taste my lemon bars you’ll be everyday, trust me, I’m a genius.”

  She sent me on my way with a bag of stale rolls and six lemon bars in a paper bag. By that time I was starving, but I waited until I got back to the flat to open the bag. Nate had left the door on the latch, and when I came in he was just starting dinner, chopping onions in the kitchen.

  “Dianne let me have some things from yesterday’s baking.”

  He raised a smile, kept chopping and, without looking up from his onions he asked,

  “Find anything good?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing, as usual. But I’ll go back against tomorrow.”

  I wasn’t actually sure if I’d be able to, I felt completely exhausted, like my brain hadn’t rested in months. I knew that this depression, the black cloud in me, had been brewing for months, and the last few weeks had just been the final straw, it would take a while to get it under control. Still, I was angry with myself for not being able to snap out of it.

  “I can come with you, if you want,” Nate said, slinging his onions into a waiting pan. Hissing filled the kitchen as the hot oil exploded into life.

  “I’ll be OK on my own I think, but thanks.”

  Nate threw bits of beef into the pan and didn’t comment. I hopped up on the counter behind him, and he passed me a can of beer. I watched him cook, adding beer to the pan and chopping carrots, potatoes. Preparing the boxed dumpling mix to put on top of the stew.

  “You know if I got my own place, I’d still want you over to cook.”

  His shoulders shook with laughter. “Really?”

  “You’ve got me used to a certain standard. You can’t hold your skills hostage now.” On impulse I jumped down from the counter and cupped my hands around his waist, kissing the side of his face. I could just see the edge of his smile, and I squeezed him lightly.

  “Why don’t you sling that in the oven, and come in the other room with me?”

  Nate half turned towards me, raising an eyebrow, I slid closer and kissed his jaw, feeling the warmth of my breath bounce back at me off of his skin. He put the lid on the stew, put it in to oven, and followed me out into the other room. I kicked off my shoes and slid back on the duvet, when Nate joined me the mattress complained, and I wrapped my arms around him, wondering at how warm he was, how nice it felt to have him on top of me, pressing me into the soft mattress, a solid weight even with the softness of his stomach against mine.

  He lifted my hands over my head, laying them on the pillow and pushing my shirt up, nosing and kissing my skin. I ran my fingers over his choppy brown hair, tickling the back of his neck.

  I jumped when he blew a loud raspberry against my stomach. I looked down to find him grinning up at me.

  “Freak,” I muttered.

  “You love it.”

  He tickled my sides and I laughed, batting at his hands. Nate edged up the bed on his hands and knees, flumping down next to me.

  “You know something? I’m too tired.” Nate shook his head in disbelief. “I’m getting old, and I don’t even remember being a randy little bastard.”

  “Hmmm,” I rolled over and buried my face against his shoulder. Nate turned on his side and put his arms around me.

  “You’re just too bloody comfy,” He chided.

  I poked my tongue out against his neck until he snorted and pushed me away. “Geddoff, filthy git,” he patted my arse through my jeans, and nuzzled the top of my head.

  I don’t know how long we dozed, but by the time Nate started to stir next to me, I could smell rich beef and the room was a lot darker. Nate grunted and kicked at the duvet a little with his feet.

  Together we got up and I stretched until my back clicked, I let out a groan as the crampy muscles made their presence known. Nate shuffled into the kitchen on socked feet and pulled the casserole out of the oven.

  “Done to perfection,” he said, pulling the lid off and poking the steamy contents, “if I do say so myself.”

  “Smells good.”

  “High praise indeed,” he drawled, “get some bowls down.”

  He dished up the beef stew, plunking dumplings on top and opening two bottles of beer with the side of his paring knife. We sat in front of the television, though it wasn’t on, and dug in without talking for a while, both starving hungry.

  After a while, Nate broke the silence and said, “I was thinking, maybe we could look for another place.”

  “You mean for me?” I felt my spine stiffen, my stress level climbing. “I have been looking, but, if you want me out soon, I can step it up a bit.”

  “I mean a bigger place, so there’s more room for the two of us,” Nate said, “if I’m coming over to cook for you anyway, makes more sense.”

  It was a joke, but it wasn’t. I thought about it, Nate and I in a little flat with a proper kitchen and a lounge, his DVDs on a shelf next to my books, his cooking things hanging up rather than languishing in cardboard boxes. I’d go for a run in the morning, trainers slapping on the pavement, t-shirt sticking to my skin, coming home to hot tea and a bowl of porridge. Nate reading the sports results in the paper over triangles of toast with marmalade.

  For a moment the picture was so vivid, so real, that it had the texture of memory. The thick, solid weight of something that I had done, set in the concrete of my mind like a handprint.

  Then it was gone. I knew that it wasn’t real, that the mind was not concrete, or a vault or any of the other things that people liken it to. It was a beach, subject to strange tides, erosion, damage. A wide, roving expanse of grey sand and tufted grass. Cold and blustery. January and the cries of distant birds.

  But how nice, how good it would be, to have someone waiting for me, when I came in from the cold?

  To have Nate waiting for me?

  I pushed a piece of carrot around my plate and smiled slightly.

  “Yeah, let’s do it,” I said, “we can start looking tomorrow, or you could, while I’m doing my job search?” Even though my enthusiasm was real, my energy levels were low, still, I wanted to make it happen, our own little flat.

  Nate smiled. “Sure.”

  That night, once the dinner things were washed and I’d put the leftover stew in a plastic box in the fridge, Nate and I went to bed.

  When he kissed me, I knew this time was different. That this was it. The thing that I’d been waiting for without knowing it. His touches were hot and urgent on my skin, and I held onto him, touched him with the same ferocity. I clung to more than his skin and limbs, I was keeping hold of him, of Nate, who was looking out for me, good to me. Who told me things about browning meat and making good pastry, pinched my arse to get the duvet off me at night, and who blew raspberries on my stomach.

  His hands travelled the length of the insides of my thighs, parting them so he could kneel between them. Naked, looking up at him, I felt a shot of vulnerability shake me, but he kneaded my hips and thighs like a cat treading a much loved cushion, warm hands chasing chills from my skin.

  He had lubricant, condoms, all in a Reebok shoebox under the bed. The box of condoms was new, unopened, and I knew he’d bought them for me, for this, and not for anyone else.

  It hurt a bit (a lot, to be completely honest) when he started to put his finger inside of me, but I knew he was going as slowly as he could, and he winced along with me. It was unlike any other sensation I’d experienced since waking up. Unique in its oddness, the feel of Nate opening part of me, knowing that soon he’d be inside me properly, in a way I hadn’t really thought we could be.

  It was the first time in memory that I’d had sex, full sex, that felt so intimate. Nate knew me, and I knew him, and both of us were eager to feel each other. To be together. It was unlike anything else, and it quickly overwhelmed me.

  When he was over me, just before he started to push in, he kissed me, a quick snatch of lips against
mine.

  It wasn’t all that bad, pain-wise. More confusing, because, while it hurt, and I wanted it to stop, for him to go back, I also felt that I’d cry out if he stopped. The good equalled the bad, and, after a while, the good won out.

  I didn’t know where my hands were touching, grabbing, stroking, what words were spilling from my mouth, or how many times Nate’s lips met mine, sucking and nipping. It blurred, all of it, mixing and sparking off pleasure through me, hot and liquid. I moaned shakily at the cracked plaster overhead, feeling my body tense and shiver as it was pummelled, as Nate moved in me, quick and intense, then slow, so slowly that I almost hit him in frustration, wanting more, always more, to get him deeper, to feel more of him. Both of us jerked, felt the end approaching as rapidly as a crumbling cliff, coming within a few seconds of each other, even afterwards, Nate didn’t pull out of me, but rested on top of my body, so I could feel the shiver of his muscles, the ticking of the blood in his cock, like an engine cooling down. He eventually rolled to one side and we pressed close together, panting, hearts drumming, until the raging heat of our skins dulled, banked down, and became the warmth of a readily shared bed.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I woke up the next morning, and felt like shit.

  It wasn’t completely unexpected, I’d known the pills wouldn’t make the depression go away overnight. Still, I had thought I might feel a bit better, maybe a little more willing to get up and go. As it was I could barely contain my despair at waking up to the same grey ceiling again.

  I rolled over, felt Nate’s sleep slackened hand on my hip, and remembered, with the help of the ache in my body, what we’d done the previous night. Whilst my mood didn’t brighten terribly, I did feel a rocket of surprised glee bounce around my stomach. I moved closer to Nate and wrapped myself around him, making him rumble in his sleep, pleased. As tired and wrung out as I felt, there was room for contentment beside my grungy mood.

  That morning, as Nate made bread pudding from the stale rolls, and we munched slightly past their best lemon bars with tea for breakfast, we were as shy as newlyweds. Or, at least, as shy as I imagined newlyweds to be.