He felt George’s leg twitch against his back and reached behind him, seeking out his hand.
“The past two years have been torture, watching him tiptoe around me, trying so hard to say and do the right thing, believing as he did that one wrong move could be fatal.”
George was fully conscious again and was listening to Josh, but looking at Sophie. She was stroking his head, stopping occasionally to wipe away a tear from the corner of his eye, or her own.
“I want to live,” Josh repeated, “for him, and for me. He makes me feel alive and I owe this much to you, Sean. You gave me the chance to stay and fight, and believe me when I tell you that it has been a fight. Your methods got me through the darkest time of my life, until I was ready to take down the wall, to let myself feel again, the good and the bad. Looking back—maybe they weren’t so far off with the bipolar diagnosis, but it’s symptomatic. I’m ready to live, and to love, even if it means going without sleep for days on end, even if there are times when the black dog is constantly snapping at my heel, even if it means…”
“Ripping up carpets.”
He turned to George and smiled.
“Even if it means ripping up carpets,” he said. “I love you, George Morley. I want to make you happy, prove that I am worthy to be your best friend.”
“You already have.” Slowly George pulled himself into a sitting position. “But that’s it. No more lies, or secrets, because these—what are they called again?”
“Dissociative seizures,” Sean told him.
“Yeah, those. Man, they suck.”
Part IV
Josh parked up outside Sean’s house and turned the ignition key to the ‘off’ position. It had been just a few hours since Sean and Sophie went home, but it felt like days ago. In the aftermath, he and George had cuddled up on the sofa, using the silence to reorientate themselves in this brave, new world. Then they played Crash Team Racing and George was defeated again, but only on-screen. Afterwards they went to nap in Josh’s room, setting the alarm for 6 p.m., and snuggling together under the duvet, Josh finally able to let go, no longer caring if his sleeves rode up in his sleep, which they did; George awoke just before the alarm, with Josh’s arms wrapped around him, the scars a reminder of how far they had come and where they had yet to venture. He covered them with his palms and closed his eyes again. The future, whatever it held, was before them and he was ready for it. The alarm sounded and Josh rolled away. George turned over.
“Hey.”
Josh opened one eye and looked at him, using his trapped arm to pull him close.
“Hey,” he smiled. “How are you feeling?”
“OK. You?”
“Like I want to stay here, like this, forever.”
“Well, Sean and Soph aren’t expecting us for another hour, so you’ve probably got…” George looked at the clock, “…thirty seconds or so, if you want to have a shower before we go.” Josh pretended to be offended.
“Even I can be ready in an hour,” he protested.
“We’ll see.”
“Actually,” he turned onto his side and propped himself on his elbow, tracing the outline of George’s lips with his finger, “why don’t you come with me? Hurry me along.” George stared at him in disbelief.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“I am. I’ll even wash your back.”
“No. Definitely not a good idea.” The mere thought of it was proving too much.
“And your front, if you like.”
“Would you please stop?”
Josh laughed and kissed him.
“Come on,” he said, “it’ll be fun.” With that, he was out of the bed, pulling George behind him.
What happened next was a bit of a blur, and a dreamy, blissful one at that. To begin with George kept his eyes tightly shut, focusing his energy on staying in control, which worked for all of sixty seconds. After, when he opened his eyes and saw that Josh didn’t care, he let the sensation of his hands, his lips, the cascade of water over their naked bodies, wash over him and set him adrift.
“Yes,” he said finally, “I’m OK with it.”
Part V
Sean heard the car pull up outside, and wiped his hands dry on a tea towel.
“I’ll go,” Sophie offered, but he dismissed it and was already on his way.
In the few hours that had lapsed since they returned, Sean had confessed and they had rid the house of alcohol: a practical strategy to keep his mind from wandering back down the years. At times, as they prepared the meal together, if she noticed the regression, she would wait to see if he pulled himself out, only going to the rescue if he was struggling. After all, he’d said this was what he wanted: to face down the ghosts and set them to rest.
“Always bang on time, aren’t yer, Sandison?” Sean grinned, flinging the door wide open.
“I try my best.”
Josh and Sean embraced on the threshold. George edged around them and walked through to the kitchen, where Sophie was trying to stir two pans at once.
“Hi,” he said, setting the coffee beans down and taking over one of the wooden spoons.
“Everything OK?” she asked.
“Better than OK, sort of,” he smiled.
“Same here.” They were distracted by the raised voices now coming from the lounge. Sean and Josh were still winding each other up, taunting each other with insults, arguing over trivialities (the merits of red versus green wallpaper) but this time it was different. They were laughing.
“It’s gonna totally throw the rest of them when we start back at uni next week,” Sophie remarked.
“Yeah,” George agreed absently. He and Josh had been talking when they were sitting outside in the car, and he’d reached a decision about the counselling course. He was dreading telling her, but he had to do what was best for him. She stopped stirring her pan and watched him.
“You’re dropping out.”
“Err…Yes. I am.”
“Why? Because of what happened to Josh?”
“Partly. I don’t ever want to go through that again, and I know it won’t be the same when it’s someone else who’s facing all that pain. It’s just not for me. My head needs a break.”
She examined him for a moment, to decide if it was worth trying to talk him out of it, but she could see that his mind was made up.
“Plus,” he continued, “I need to find a job. We’re going to get a house together.”
This was where their conversation in the car had started: the house next door but one to Sean’s was for sale, and whilst they weren’t necessarily thinking of buying that one in particular, Josh had suggested that getting somewhere together would help him to control his destructive tendencies, should they ever return, although he was hopeful they wouldn’t. Even so, George pointed out that they would be best finding somewhere with wooden floors instead of carpets. It was said with ‘tongue-in-cheek’, of course; he’d lived with Josh long enough to fully comprehend what he was letting himself in for. He was sure he could cope, but not if he also had to listen to everyone else’s problems all day, every day. So tomorrow he was going to see if he could pick up some work at the farm, and maybe, at some point in the future, look into training as an animal psychologist. For now, though, he just wanted a nice, easy job that he didn’t have to think about, so he could heal; so he could love.
“You’re making the right decision.” Sophie’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “I can see it in your eyes. But you have to promise to stay in touch.”
George listened to the banter continuing to come from the lounge and raised an eyebrow.
“Somehow I doubt that’s going to be a problem.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR:
THREE FOR TWO
The final scaffolding poles were secured in the back of the van.
“There you go, mate,” he said, smiling expectantly.
Cheeky bastard, Andy thought. They’d been paid before it was erected, as per their terms. He pulled a ten
pound note from his jeans pocket and shoved it in the man’s grubby hand, eager to see the back of him so he could get on with the rest of the jobs.
“Nice one. See you again.”
And off he went, the van and its contents rattling loudly as the tyres sank and left grooves in the deep gravel drive. Andy followed at a distance and watched as it trundled out onto the road, then disappeared into the Saturday afternoon traffic. He shut the gates and paused for a moment: it had been a close call, but he’d made the deadline. He started making his way back towards the house, so busy congratulating himself that he didn’t hear another van pull up to the gates. The sounding of the horn made him jump.
“Oy! Knobhead! Wanna open these for me?”
Andy closed his eyes, took a deep breath and turned back.
“Not really, but seeing as you asked so nicely.” Once again, he dragged the heavy gates across the gravel, and stepped out of the way to let Michael pass. They nodded a frosty acknowledgement at each other and his older brother put his foot down, skidding to a halt between the house and the statue outside.
“You can’t leave it parked like that,” Andy stated, once he’d completed the fairly lengthy walk back. “You’re blocking the way for everyone else.”
“So?” Michael had the rear doors open, an untidy pile of paint trays, rollers, brushes and dust sheets accumulating at his feet. One of the trays had tipped and a blue puddle was forming beneath it.
“So shift it, if you wouldn’t mind very much, thank you,” Andy told him curtly. Since when was he a painter and decorator? It was rhetorical and he wasn’t about to ask, because he didn’t care.
Michael grabbed a suit bag from inside the van, shoved it at his brother, threw his equipment back in and slammed the doors.
“You do know I’m staying here?” he half-asked, half-told him.
“Yeah. Mum said.”
“It’ll be just like old times, hey, bro,” he grinned falsely. Andy returned the sentiment.
“With you leaving your shit everywhere, you mean?” He glared at the patch of blue gravel and Michael scuffed it with his boot.
“Nothing a good hose down won’t sort,” he said. “So, what’s with you? That posh lawyer bird finally saw some sense, did she?”
“Don’t fucking start.”
“I was only asking.”
“Oh, right, and how’s Anne these days, then?”
That shut him up. This was the third time Michael’s wife had kicked him out, and no doubt she would have him back again, but he didn’t want to discuss it any more than Andy wanted to talk about Jess, or indeed engage in a conversation about anything else with him. Andy handed the suit bag back and went inside, Michael following not so far behind. He stopped in the entrance hall.
“Fuck me!” he said, looking around the expanse of polished black and white marble.
“This is the first time you’ve been to see her? She’s lived here for almost a bloody year, Mike!”
He didn’t respond, overwhelmed by the size of the place and its lavish décor. It was one of those nineteenth century vast country homes, with twin staircases curving up either side of the ‘atrium’ and what was effectively a balcony running around the top perimeter of the upstairs storey, a good twenty feet or so above which was a stained-glass dome, fans of multi-coloured light extending and fading to nothing as they transcended the stark white marble walls, to the black and white chequered floor, currently covered in cables and debris.
“She could’ve cleaned up the place,” Michael joked.
“Yeah,” Andy agreed, adopting the same change in tone, because there was still much to organise and he really could do with a hand. “They’ve only just taken down the scaffolding,” he explained carefully, “so I’ve not been able to get things straight yet. We’re gonna have to get those lights up before we do anything else, though.”
“We?”
Andy ignored his protest, knowing that when it came to the crunch, Michael would do whatever he told him to, so long as it pleased their mother, which, of course, it would, because it was for ‘her baby’.
“The sound system’s coming at five, and they’re setting up the bar in there at six.” Andy indicated to a door to their right and Michael wandered over to take a look.
“You could fit a bloody pub in there, never mind a bar,” he said. “Dad The Fourth’s minted then, yeah?” The title derived from their mother’s insistence that her three sons always refer to their current stepfather as ‘dad’, and the present incumbent was a definite material step up.
“Yeah, like lottery win minted, as opposed to posh,” Andy told him. Len, his name was, and he didn’t like to talk about how he’d ‘earned’ his millions, but it was safe to say it wasn’t by legitimate means.
“I take it she’s buggered off for the afternoon?”
“Nope. She’s in the pool.”
“A pool as well? Bloody hell! She’s well and truly hit the jackpot this time. Just goes to show really, if at first you don’t succeed…Well I best go and say hello, I s’pose.”
He waited for some indication of the general direction in which he might find the aforementioned pool, and Andy pointed to the passageway ahead of them. Michael wandered off with his suit bag still slung over his shoulder, and Andy set to work on clearing the brick dust and marble off-cuts. It wasn’t as bad as it looked, and a few loaded shovels later, all that remained was a pile of cables and lights. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and looked up, scanning the banisters and mentally plotting out his lighting. It was going to be tricky running the cables back without them being seen, and he was a bit concerned about overloading the circuits. He was in the middle of calculating maximum loads in his head, when the sound of someone behind him sucking air through their teeth made him lose his train of thought. He turned around.
“It’s gonna cost ya,” Dan said, shaking his head, “but I think I can do it.”
Andy grinned, but not at Dan.
“Addy!” Little Shaunna squealed, wriggling to break free of her dad’s arm. Andy grabbed her and tipped her upside down, which made her squeal even more.
“You all right, bro?” Andy asked.
“Pretty much. Other than having to walk half a mile up the drive with Madame here. She’s a lot heavier than she looks.”
“Oh, poor girl. Daddy’s saying you’re a fatty. Are you a fatty?” Andy blew raspberries on her belly. She giggled loudly and grabbed him by the nose with both hands. He pretended to fight her off. “Why didn’t you bring the car up to the house?”
“Couldn’t be arsed opening the gates. Aside from which, some idiot’s blocked the driveway with their van. Ah,” he said, as someone emerged from the passageway in front of them, “that’d explain it. Alright, Mike?”
“Dan,” his brother acknowledged. Little Shaunna turned to see who the voice belonged to and suddenly became quiet, a very serious frown crumpling the dainty bridge of her little nose. Michael clapped his youngest brother on the back, with no more than a passing glance at his niece. He’d only seen her once before, when she was first allowed home from hospital and Dan and Adele were doing the rounds.
“Glad you could make it,” Dan said, suppressing the urge to say something about Michael’s ignorance towards Shaunna. It was much easier that way; both he and Andy had long since stopped fighting or arguing with him, because he really wasn’t worth the effort. “I want to ask you a favour,” Dan continued, and put his arm loosely around Michael’s shoulders, guiding him towards the room opposite the one that would later become a bar. This was where the food would be. Andy watched them go inside and close the door.
“Shall we go see Nana?” he asked little Shaunna.
“Nana!” she repeated enthusiastically and they set off in the direction of the pool, Andy twirling her upside down and around and around until she was shrieking and squealing with excitement again.
The pool was located in an elongated conservatory that extended from the back wall of the house and was w
here they probably once grew all sorts of herbs and vegetables for the kitchens. Unlike modern conservatories, this was a good, solid structure, with large, arched, leaded windows. Years of condensation gave it an overall green hue, and it smelled like a hothouse that had been flushed with bleach. Andy wondered what Alice would make of it later, and made a mental note to show her around, just to see if it looked as green to her as it did to him.
His mother had seen them coming, and was already out of the pool and wrapped in a thick, fluffy bathrobe.
“Hiya,” she called to little Shaunna. Her granddaughter gave her a toothy grin (she was very proud of her new teeth) and planted a soggy, open-mouthed kiss on the puckered lips presented to her. “Dan and Adele are here then?”
“Dan is. Adele’s probably at the hairdresser’s, or something.”
“Hmm,” his mother said, tending to little Shaunna, but with a thoughtful look in her eye. “Surely she won’t let him down again?”
“She won’t,” Andy asserted. She still didn’t seem convinced. “Not now they’ve got this little lady to contend with.” He gave his niece another flip upside down with the usual result.
“I hope you’re right, for my sake as well as his. I was banking on having at least a couple of grandchildren before I hit seventy.”
“That’s another five years away, Mother. Plenty of time.” It was an automatic defence, because she still didn’t know and now seemed the perfect time to tell her. She had her back turned and was bent over, drying her hair with a towel; relatively defenceless.
“And anyway,” he ventured on, trying to sound as if what he was about to say was as trivial as thanking someone for holding a door open, “you already have two granddaughters.”
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