The Harder They Fall

by Debbie McGowan

  On to the sixth form ball photos: as well as the unofficial photos they’d taken during the night, the blurriness increasing along with their blood-alcohol content, there were those taken by the official photographer, and Josh had every single one depicting the elements of their current friendship group. There were the generic ‘lads’ and ‘girls’ ones, which included between them everyone but Shaunna; then there were several more of pairs and trios in various combinations: Andy and Jess; Andy, Dan and Adele; Dan and Kris; Kris and him; Josh and Eleanor, and so on. Seeing them all now, it was easy to spot the problems they were facing then. Eleanor appeared drawn and in pain, and had probably spent most of the evening vomiting up the three course meal. Kris looked exhausted, perhaps from trying to support Shaunna and Krissi. Andy and Dan were tense and standing as far apart as they could, generally with someone else in between them. Adele was the same as ever, although her nose was bigger and her boobs were smaller.

  Looking at himself, he would have believed he didn’t have a care in the world, but this was the night his infatuation started for real. From being mates, going on bike rides and hanging out together at Josh’s house, to doing what they had to do to get Ellie through her bulimia, it had been nothing more than friendship, albeit on a deeper level than most of those endured in childhood and adolescence. Any sexual attraction he felt was either suppressed, or directed at Kris, in private and far away from school. Then all of a sudden, right in the middle of the sixth form ball, whilst everyone drank and danced the night away, it hit him. He was totally and absolutely, head over heels, interminably, in love; with Josh.

  And then they all went off to uni, and he had a good time. He joined the LGB society, met other guys, no requirement to keep his sexuality hidden. The longer he stayed away, the easier it became to push Josh from his mind, but he never succeeded completely, and each time they returned for the summer break, the whole thing would start up again. The worst time of all was when he came back for good. Eleanor and Jess were still studying; Dan had stayed in London; Adele was working full time. Andy had attended their local university, and stayed around just long enough to save up for his adventures, before he was off around the world. Meanwhile, Kris took all the work he could get and spent all the time in between with Shaunna and Krissi.

  And then there was Josh: still at university, but not so far away really. At first he seemed quite receptive to George’s weekly phone calls, and didn’t dismiss outright his suggestion of going to visit, but he kept putting him off. Then he stopped answering the phone, or got his housemate, whom George now knew was Sean, to field the calls on his behalf, because he was ‘at the library’, or ‘in the loo’, or anywhere else but on the other end of that phone. George knew these were excuses, but there was no way he could confront Josh and demand the truth.

  It would be another four years before he told anyone how he felt, and it was the worst decision he ever made. First he mentioned it ‘in passing’ to Kris, who didn’t pick up on how he had contrived to bring it up in conversation, thus didn’t pass comment at all. Next, he tried to tell Eleanor, but she was too caught up in her new romance with Kevin to think about anyone else. So he just went for broke, called Josh, arranged a movie date, and blurted it out in the popcorn queue. The real indication of how horrific the evening was from there on was that he had no recollection whatsoever of what the film was, nor what happened afterwards. However, he had no problem remembering the weeks of ignored phone calls, and the return of the lying about ‘being too busy’ whenever he tried to talk to him about it. Eventually they re-established contact, in a protracted form and always in the presence of other friends, but it was never spoken about again.

  Then George’s father died and left him the ranch, and in a naïve, last-ditch attempt, he wrote Josh a letter, pleading with him to come to America, as friends, and see how things went, because in all of the time that had lapsed since he first confessed his love, Josh hadn’t said ‘no’.

  These reminiscences had occurred in tandem with the documenting of the same period in photos: the holiday they all went on to a tacky tourist resort in Spain on their first summer break; the somewhat more authentic trip they took to the Lake District the following year; the twenty-first birthday parties, Eleanor’s first wedding (which was just after he told Josh how he felt and thus had permission to miss), and lastly Kris and Shaunna’s house-warming, which doubled as his leaving party. These photos revealed nothing new: George examined himself in them, impressed at what an excellent job he’d done of carrying on as if all was well, when he felt like he was dying inside. But now he’d reached an era that was unfamiliar: the years he was away in the States.

  Up until this point, he’d not felt particularly guilty about looking through the album, for the photos were mementos of shared experiences, but now he was crossing a threshold, about to trespass into Josh’s personal, private recollections of the ten years he had been away. For the first time, he was aware of just how appalling it was to be doing this. If the tables were turned, he’d find it very difficult to forgive Josh for prying, and still he kept on flipping those pages. The first few photos were nothing special: a trip to France with Eleanor, with the anticipated set of shots of them both atop the Eiffel Tower and standing outside the Louvre. A full two-page spread was dedicated to an excursion to the Freud Museum, with some seemingly random shots of people on the London Underground. George examined the first two or three of these in an attempt to fathom what they were about, but it was far from obvious, and he gave up and moved on. Next up was the visit they all made during his first year in America. He was terribly homesick, and so excited to see everyone that he took them on a tour of the full extent of the ranch, boasting about how many acres there were, and the number of horses and cattle he owned. Since then, he’d come to realise that compared to some of the other ranches nearby, his father’s was about as impressive as an allotment would be to a farmer, but even so, his friends shared his early enthusiasm for the place. Or so he’d thought.

  Three page turns later, George was wishing he’d left well alone, because now he was more confused than ever. At first, the photos of their visit were precisely what he would have expected: Andy and Dan clowning about in the airport; unattractive shots of Kris and Shaunna on the plane, fast asleep and with their mouths hanging open; group portraits of them all sitting together outside the house, which looked a lot worse in the photos than he remembered it being, and it had been pretty awful. He could even recall these photos being taken, with Josh setting the timer on his camera and then racing to get into position before the shutter went off. But it was all the other photos after this that were really freaking him out. George flicked backwards and forwards through the pages to check that he wasn’t seeing things. No, it wasn’t just his imagination. All of the photos were of him.

  “OK,” he said, trying to control his breathing and on the brink of hyperventilating. There were still a few more pages to go, and he reluctantly turned to the next one, with a very clear idea of what he thought he’d find, and yet hoping he’d be proved wrong. It was like a technicolour diary of his visits home, sometimes appearing with other people, but mostly caught on his own, and almost always staring wistfully into space. The very last page was of Adele and Tom’s wedding, finally with a few photos that didn’t include him, because he’d only arrived later in the day, a moment marked by a sneaky shot of him leaning down to kiss Eleanor whilst glancing around the room. To see his obsession documented so graphically was beyond embarrassing. He felt as if he’d been stripped naked. He dropped the album back into the ottoman, no longer curious about the rest of its contents, replaced the cushions and bedding, and stumbled from Josh’s room along to the bathroom, absently turning on the shower and catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. He looked as ghastly as he felt and had the urge to escape, to get out of there as quickly as possible. He turned off the shower again, grabbed an old jacket from the back of his door, threw a few changes of clothes into his rucksack, and
left.

  CHAPTER TWENTY:

  LOSING REASON

  George tried to walk slowly, his racing pulse and soaring adrenaline levels pushing him to break into a run, but he needed time. He couldn’t possibly share his discovery with anyone else, not even Kris, and wasn’t yet up to faking being his usual self. If it had been at any other time and relating to anything other than Josh, he’d have gone to see Eleanor. Without this option, he had to find a way to push it from his mind, if only for long enough to ensure that the others wouldn’t ask what was wrong. As it turned out, he didn’t have too much to worry about, as when he arrived at Kris and Shaunna’s, she was trying to persuade him that the most sensible arrangement was for George to sleep in the lounge, on the sofa, or they could get a camp bed out of the loft. They’d obviously been discussing it for some time.

  “Are you OK with the sofa?” she asked, bringing George a cup of tea before he’d even taken his bag from his shoulder.

  “Or he could have my bed and I’ll share with you,” Kris repeated. He hated having people stay on the sofa. It was one of those funny little irrational things and he knew it, but that’s how he felt. Casper dropped a tea towel at George’s feet and he picked it up, bewildered.

  “I don’t really mind. I’m just grateful to you for letting me stay, so put me wherever suits you. I’ll even share with Shaunna, if that’s easier all round.”

  “Yes!” Shaunna said. “That’s a brilliant idea!”

  “Are you kidding me?” Kris scoffed. “You’re not sharing with Shaunna,” he told George.

  “It was only a suggestion,” he muttered. Casper prodded him with his nose. “Maybe Casper will share his bed with me, what d’you think?” He tickled him behind the ears, and the dog turned away to have his rump scratched.

  “He’d probably let you!” Shaunna remarked, then to Kris: “So your choice is he either sleeps on the sofa, or comes in with me.”

  “You won’t want to,” Kris said to George. “Her feet stink.”

  “Bugger off!” Shaunna took the tea towel and flicked it at Kris.

  “Just be glad she didn’t suggest top and tailing,” he added and pulled in his behind just in time to dodge a second hit.

  All of this row was conducted in jest, and so, unconventional as it was, George and Shaunna were going to share the double bed, with Kris in his single bed in the room next door. Now that they had told people the truth about their relationship, it was apparent that they were happier than they’d ever been, sharing their house and doing things together as best friends. George was just a tiny bit jealous, although not so much as to get in the way of being pleased for them and as the evening wore on, he felt himself relax in their presence, enjoying the chance to sit and watch TV without worrying about saying the right thing, or constantly waiting on a signal from Josh as to how he was really feeling. Kris was reading a script and Shaunna was browsing through a magazine, which she passed to George once she was done. Later, when she went up for a bath, Kris turned to him and waited until he looked up.

  “I’m not going to ask how you’re feeling, because I could tell when you arrived that things are really bad.”

  “I’m OK,” George said lightly.

  “Really?”

  “I’m OK now,” he clarified.

  “Well, that’s all I’m going to say. I’m here if you need me. We both are.”

  “Thanks. You’ve done more than enough already.”

  “It’s the least I can do after you helped me out so much last year.”

  “Well, I hear that’s what friends are for.”

  “Yeah,” Kris said, rolling his eyes at the cliché. “But you’ve been warned, so don’t come crying to me tomorrow. Her feet really do smell.”

  “Even after she’s had a bath?”

  “Especially then,” Kris winked. George laughed and they each returned to their respective reading material.

  The problem with knowing you’ve got a problem is that it doesn’t always follow that you know how to resolve it. The grout between the bathroom tiles was as white as it had ever been, and still he was fighting the desperate, almost uncontrollable requirement to take a hammer and chisel to it. The tiles were fine. They didn’t need replacing. Neither did the carpets, but it was a bit too late for regret when they were at the rubbish tip already. So he had been back to the house, and left wet clothes in the washing machine. Fair enough, he’d have had trouble drying them, when the tumble dryer was in the back garden, but that was beside the point. And he’d been in the ottoman again.

  “MY ottoman, George,” Josh said aloud. His voice echoed around the bathroom and out into the empty, carpetless house. “In MY room. How could you?”

  The fact that he’d been through George’s suitcase without his permission didn’t make it any less of an intrusion. He was in half a mind to go straight round to George’s mother’s and have it out with him. He’d lied about that too, and Josh had never revealed that he knew where they lived, to protect him from the cruel judgements of others. He’d have fought harder last night, when he declared that was where he was going, if he’d believed George would last more than one night away. He’d got that wrong then.

  Josh looked at the tiles again, commanding himself to leave them alone, and felt his way out of the room, with eyes closed; the less he saw, the less likely he was to want to destroy it. He edged blindly along the wall and opened the door to George’s room, the only one left untouched, for it was the only place immune to this compulsion. He sat on the bed and stared at the wall. There had to be a way to make this go away again. All that was required was willpower and a little thought adjustment. If they could just get through Ellie’s wedding. He lay down, resting his head on the pillows, inhaling George’s scent and trying to resurrect his crumbling resolve. His phone vibrated underneath him and he ignored it, clutching at the pillows and letting that scent take him over. Just a little bit longer, and he’d leave it behind him. Forever.

  “Sorry it’s so late,” was how Sophie started her phone call to George. “Are you at home?”

  “No,” he said suspiciously. “Why? What do you need this time?”

  “Hey! I’ve only ever done that to you once.”

  “Twice. Both times involving a cat.”

  “All right. Twice, but anyway, I was just ringing to warn you that Sean’s on his way round to your place.”

  “At eleven o’clock at night?”

  “Yeah. He’s been drinking. By the state of him I’d say he’s been at it all day. He was drunk when I got here about three hours ago.”

  “Oh hell. I’m actually staying over at a friend’s. Thanks for letting me know, Soph. You OK?”

  “Yeah—a bit confused and stuck with this sodding cat again, but I’m all right. Are you?”

  “Not really, but I need to go and find out what’s going on. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, yeah?”

  “You mean you’re going to turn up for lunch this time?”

  “Ah. Sorry. I totally forgot. I’ll see you at one tomorrow. Promise.”

  Sophie hung up and George carefully pushed back the duvet. Shaunna was fast asleep and facing the other way. It was a very odd sensation to be sharing a bed with a woman, or indeed, with anyone at all. He threw on his clothes and picked up his shoes, creeping out of the room and along the landing as quietly as he could. A floorboard creaked underfoot, and he paused, listening out in the hope that he hadn’t disturbed anyone. Casper gave a small woof from downstairs, but otherwise the house was in silence. He left a note on the pad on the kitchen table, took his jacket from the back of the chair, and stepped out into the blustery night.

  Sean tripped up the step into Josh’s porch, fell against the front door and laughed at himself.

  “Saves knocking,” he said, standing back in the full expectation that the door would open at any second. When it didn’t, he looked around for a doorbell and couldn’t find one, so hit the door with the flat of his hand a couple of times. The noise made Josh jum
p awake and he sat up, startled and disoriented. He’d fallen asleep on George’s bed. Another bang on the door was necessary before he realised what had woken him, and he made his way down the stairs, lightheaded and unaware of how late it was.

  “Sandison. Open the feckin’ door!”

  Josh took a deep breath and counted to ten in his head. “Just bloody perfect.” He opened the door and glared. “What are you doing here? And how much have you had this time?”

  “Enough to tell me that you and I need to have a little chat.”

  “It’s…” he took his phone from his pocket, ignoring the seventeen missed calls, “…gone eleven. Are you insane?”

  “I don’t think so. Am I?” Sean glanced past Josh and lost his balance. “I mean, is it me who’s ripped up all the carpets? And what else, Joshy? Have yer taken yer bed to pieces again, or no?”

  “Oh please just go away. This is neither the time nor place to have this conversation.”

  “There is no time or place for it. Did yer think I’d forget?”

  “I hoped you might.” The dog next door was barking and a couple of lights had gone on across the street. “Come on. Five minutes. That’s all you’ve got.”

  Sean staggered past him and fell against the wall.