Rhapsody on a Theme

by Matthew J. Metzger

  “S’isn’t a dream,” he whispered into Darren’s lips, sinking back to the bed and rubbing his fingers over that tattoo as Darren followed, transferring his attention to Jayden’s neck and pulling at his T-shirt, coaxing it up. “It’s never been a dream, not you and me.”

  Darren said nothing, focusing on Jayden’s neck and chest and pleasure; Jayden felt the tattoo through the rise and the peak and the fall until it must have ached, but Darren still said nothing.

  Chapter 3

  Jayden was woken by a very persistent tugging sensation on his arm, and groaned. It was too early for being alive—if it was before noon, it was too early, and it was Saturday, for God’s sake, and Christmas Day—and he mumbled something incoherent to make Darren leave him alone. There. Awake. Now go away.

  Then there was a wet sort of sob, and Jayden woke the rest of the way up—only to find, on opening his eyes, the tugging was on the wrong arm, and his brain was stupid anyway. Darren was buried under the duvet by the wall, because since never did Darren wake up before Jayden did; Jayden’s right arm was hanging off the bed, and being persistently pulled by…

  “Rosie?” he mumbled, scrubbing sleep out of his eyes.

  She sniffled again, putting her hand in her mouth along with a corner of her security blanket. She was dressed in her pink butterfly pyjamas, hair askew from the plaits Mum tied in for her at night, face as red as her hair and tear tracks gleaming in the light bleeding into the room from around the curtains. His door was ajar, and the landing dark beyond it.

  “Hey, what’s the matter?” Jayden asked when she escalated from sniffling to a quiet sort of crying, little shoulders hitching. She held up her arms beseechingly and he picked her up, settling her in the bed between himself and Darren, petting her fluffy red hair. She clung, sniffily and upset, and Jayden made a low cooing noise to hopefully avoid a full-on wailing fit. Rosie could shriek when she cried.

  “I can’t find Daddy,” she mumbled tearfully and buried her face in Jayden’s shoulder.

  “Did you have a bad dream?” he coaxed. The alarm clock said it was half past seven. The light around the curtains was dull and grey and barely-there.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, did you check in Dad’s room?”

  “Uh-huh. I can’t find Mummy either,” she mumbled. Jayden cuddled her and nudged Darren with his elbow.

  “Urgh.”

  “Darren, help me,” he whispered.

  “Why, Jesus.” Or at least that was probably what he said. Jayden huffed and elbowed him again insistently. “What?”

  “Rosie’s upset.”

  “She’s not my sister.”

  Rosie unglued her face from Jayden’s skin to wriggle around and hit the duvet where Darren’s head would be. “Dan. Wake up.”

  “Rosie, cuddle Darren for a bit while I find Mum, okay?” Jayden coaxed, tucking her into the duvet with Darren. Darren grumbled when Jayden peeled back the sheets enough to find his head, but seemed mollified by Jayden kissing his curls, and let Rosie squirm under his arm and latch on to him contentedly. “Okay, Rosie?”

  “Uh-huh,” she mumbled and wiped her nose on Darren’s arm. Jayden decided not to inform him, and slipped out of bed, closing the bedroom door behind him to keep her in one place. Darren would be okay with her. He was used to little sisters, right?

  The baby gate—the source of many bitter arguments between Mum and Dad as to when it should be decommissioned and put back in the loft—was still locked, and he hopped over it and down the stairs. Dad’s boots and coat were gone but the hall was bathed in early morning sunshine and the kitchen light, and Mum was sitting at the table in her dressing gown and slippers with a large mug of coffee and a plate of toast.

  “Hello, darling,” she said absently, looking rather as though she’d only just gotten up herself.

  “Rosie woke me up,” Jayden said. “I think she had a nightmare. Says she can’t find Dad.”

  “Oh, poor poppet.” Mum grimaced. “The nursery took them to a petting zoo last weekend and she didn’t like the goats very much. She’s been a bit clingy since. Has Darren got her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, she’ll go back to sleep, then,” Mum said and rose to hug him and smooth down his stuck-up hair. Jayden’s was the wrong colour, but it was just as fluffy as Mum’s and Rosie’s. He’d hated it in school, but Darren was always stroking it if they went to sleep together (actual sleep, not euphemistic sleep) and Jayden kind of liked it now. “Your father’s gone to pick up Uncle Andy. Do you want breakfast before he gets back, or do you want a fry-up with them?”

  “Some toast now?” Jayden decided.

  “Will Darren be joining us?”

  “Yeah, like, this afternoon,” Jayden said, sinking into her abandoned chair and wincing at the lingering soreness from last night. There was a downside to being a bit worse for wear when having sex with Darren. “He was already tired yesterday and then we went out and everything, so…”

  “Mm,” Mum said sceptically, giving him a knowing look, and Jayden coloured a little. “How is he doing, darling? I know you were worried about him in London.”

  “He’s okay,” Jayden said, stealing a slice of her toast as she got up to make more. “I was worried, but once the doctor took him off those pills…”

  It had been the first attempt at medicating Darren’s depression and it had been…ugly. Jayden never wanted to think about it again. Worse before it got better didn’t even begin to describe what had happened, and it had made Darren really ill instead of just ill, and Jayden had hated every last minute of it, and he had immediately registered them with a new doctor when they’d moved to their current house in Cosham. He was worried about what was going to happen when they went to that doctor, but for now…

  “He got over those pills,” he finished, “and he’s okay. He’s not better, but he’s okay for the minute, especially given it’s winter and he’s worse anyway in the winter, so…yeah.”

  Mum smiled sympathetically from the toaster. “He’s better than he was when you were so far apart.”

  Jayden nodded.

  “Darling?”

  Jayden looked up around the slice of toast.

  “I know you’re going to pull a face at this, but is Darren the one for you?”

  Jayden did pull a face, and Mum rolled her eyes. “I don’t know,” he said on reflex.

  “Mm,” Mum said, catching the toast as it popped free and opening the fridge. “I suppose it’s just me, darling: after your father—your real father, you know, the student—I was always worried you’d be as silly as I was and fall hook, line and sinker for some fleeting shadow-in-the-night. I suppose I like to think you’ve been smarter than me, luckier than me…but then I remember you’re still very young.”

  Jayden bit his lip. “Don’t tell him.”

  “Oh?”

  “I don’t like to think of him as my boyfriend anymore,” he confessed lowly. “It sounds too…temporary and childish and stuff.”

  “Oh, darling,” Mum said and bent to hug him as she put the plate of toast down in front of him. “You know, when he ran off—your father—and dumped me for being pregnant, I thought he was the worst mistake I ever made. And in terms of men, he still is, most certainly. But then I remember I got you out of it, and you,” she kissed the top of his head, “have made me so, so proud.”

  Jayden went scarlet, didn’t quite know what to say to that, so awkwardly hugged her back with one arm.

  “What was he called?” he blurted out. He’d never asked his father’s name—or anything about him, really, because he had Dad, and he’d never really been curious because—well, why would he be? He had Dad, and Dad had been more than enough, and Jayden didn’t remember a time before Dad, and he’d actually been kind of upset when they’d explained to him why he didn’t look anything like Dad. If he could pick, Jayden would be Dad’s kid, like Rosie.

  So he’d never really asked about his real father. He didn’t need to know. He kn
ew the story, and that was about it, but suddenly…suddenly he had an urge to pin something on to the shadow.

  “Oh, you’ll laugh,” Mum said, turning back to the counter and checking on the oven. It was beginning to smell suspiciously like roast turkey.

  “Go on.”

  “It was ridiculous. He insisted on his full first name too, no nicknames or anything. I thought he was suave. He was just pretentious, actually, but there you go. I was eighteen and completely naive, I didn’t know any better. I was just a shop girl and he was a glamorous student. I thought the world of him for a little while.”

  “Mum.”

  “Frederic,” she said and grimaced.

  “What?”

  “Frederic.”

  “…Seriously?”

  “Yes,” she said and covered her face with both hands. “He was so attractive but such an arse, pardon my French, darling.”

  Jayden stared at her incredulously. “You actually dated someone called Frederic?”

  “Yes!” She threw up her hands.

  “And then you married someone called Colin…Mum, seriously, your taste in names kind of epically sucks,” he admitted, and she swatted him with a tea towel. “Come on! My name is bad enough, and then you called Rosie…”

  Speak of the devil, and he shall appear; the moment that Jayden uttered his sister’s name, a shriek sounded upstairs, and the baby gate clanged. A heavy tread announced the bearer, and a moment later, Darren shuffled into the kitchen, still shirtless and rumpled, and deposited Rosie gracelessly into Mum’s arms.

  “I’m done,” he said and flopped into the chair next to Jayden, shamelessly pillowing his head on Jayden’s arm.

  “What’d you do to Darren, huh, Rosie?” Mum cooed; Rosie messily kissed her mother on the cheek and cheerfully announced that ‘Dan’ didn’t want any ‘tisses’ and was being ‘gumpy.’ Jayden laughed quietly, carding his fingers through Darren’s hair and kissing his ear.

  “You want some toast?” he offered.

  “I want some sleep.”

  “You could go back to bed,” Jayden offered doubtfully.

  “No, because then the monster’ll be back.”

  Jayden smiled, kissing him again when Mum protested that, “My daughter is not a monster, thank you very much.”

  “How about a fry-up when Dad and Uncle Andy get back, then?” he coaxed, and Darren made a low grumbling noise.

  “Fine,” he said, but didn’t move. After a little while, he seemed to actually slip into a light doze, and Jayden scratched his scalp, and mocked Mum’s attempts to feed Rosie, for once entirely content with Christmas morning.

  * * * *

  By lunchtime, the house had gone into hectic mode.

  Rosie had been parked with Uncle Andy—her favourite, largely because he was so terrified of dropping her or making her cry (children frightened Jayden’s perpetual bachelor of an uncle) that he let her get away with murder—in front of the Christmas film, and Darren had retreated back to Jayden’s room at twelve to talk to Scott on Skype. Jayden had been put to work peeling potatoes in the kitchen with Mum, while Dad and Aunt Lisa bitched at the table about Aunt Lisa’s latest ex-boyfriend.

  Jayden didn’t typically like Christmas—too busy, too noisy, too chaotic, and still strange without Nana—but this Christmas was…fine. Better than, really. Darren was okay, and they were home, and not to sound totally cheesy and, well, gay, but the future was looking good. Darren would be home as of tomorrow, proper home in Cosham with Jayden, and they would get back to the life they’d been sorting out when he’d been sent to London, and they could start working on making it even better. Maybe perfect.

  If this was what being grown up was about, then Jayden was kind of okay with this part.

  Darren reappeared at around half twelve, sliding his arms around Jayden’s waist in a hug and propping his chin on Jayden’s shoulder to peer at the potatoes. “Are they going to be mashed?” he asked hopefully.

  “Yes,” Jayden said, squeezing his elbow against one of Darren’s arms. “How was Scott?”

  “Typical.”

  “Oh?”

  “He’s shaved his head, broken his leg, lost his passport, and got dumped by his girlfriend.”

  “Oh God.”

  “Yep.”

  “Isn’t this the girlfriend he was briefly engaged to a few years ago?”

  “Mhmm.”

  “…Why doesn’t he give up?”

  “You know Scott,” Darren said and kissed Jayden’s ear. “Can I have your carrots when you give up on them and stop pretending you’re eating healthily on Christmas Day?”

  “You’re like a dustbin, seriously,” Jayden complained, but softened when Darren hummed against his jaw. “Fine. I don’t know where you put it, though; seriously, are you hollow?”

  “You’d know.”

  “Why don’t you just have two lunches?” Jayden asked tartly, and Darren squeezed tightly until he lost his voice.

  “Then you’d call me fat, like always.”

  “You should be fat.”

  “Jayden!” Mum scolded.

  “When the kid’s right, he’s right,” Dad opined, and Aunt Lisa laughed. Darren smiled against the back of Jayden’s shoulder and let go.

  “Fine,” he said. “I’m going to corrupt Rosie. At least someone loves me in this house.”

  “Only because you buy her sweets,” Jayden said.

  “Hey, love’s love,” Darren threw over his shoulder; Jayden huffed, shaking his head, and Mum laughed.

  “Oh, go on then,” she said fondly, taking the sieve from him, and he rinsed his hands before nipping out of the kitchen in Darren’s wake and catching him with damp fingers at the living room door.

  “Oh no you don’t,” he murmured, reeling Darren in for a long kiss against the wall, wrapping those wet fingers into wild hair. For a brief second, he felt sixteen again, like they were kissing in the shadows with everyone unaware of what they really were, and a little thrill spiralled down his spine.

  “Mm, is this supposed to be a punishment?” Darren asked, his voice a deep purr of contentment when Jayden let him breathe, and Jayden chuckled quietly.

  “A warning,” he hedged. “You’re getting cheeky.”

  “You like me that way.”

  “Mm, but you can’t think you’ll get away with it every time.”

  “Yeah, this is really discouraging,” Darren snarked, and Jayden kissed him again, short and sharp. “How about this for an offer?” Darren murmured lowly in his ear, twisting long fingers into Jayden’s shirt to keep him close. “You, me, your room, you on the bed, me on my knees. Haven’t done that in a little while.”

  “It’s kind of hard with you in London and me in Portsmouth.”

  “Hard’s definitely the right word…”

  Jayden laughed, sliding his hands to Darren’s hips and pushing his own forward slightly. “Mm, it is,” he agreed lightly, and smiled. “We’ll have to be quick.”

  “Oh, trust me, I’m not going for a record here,” Darren said, and Jayden laughed, taking his hand and pulling him towards the stairs.

  “I don’t know why I love you,” he stated as they padded up them, expertly avoiding the creaks and trying not to be heard.

  “Yeah, you do,” Darren parried, and Jayden curled his toes lightly in his socks. Because he did—and it was nothing to do with Christmas, really, or anything else.

  It was just Darren.

  Chapter 4

  They got home at quarter past ten on Sunday morning.

  ‘Home’ was a little house in a quiet street in Cosham, just north of Portsmouth. It was technically a three-bedroom semi-detached job, but the attic had been converted into a fourth bedroom, which Jayden had immediately decided was theirs, tucked right up into the eaves with a beautiful sky swimming above the bed from two skylight windows. Jayden could lie for hours falling into that sky, and once he had talked Darren into slow, slightly drunk sex and stared at the stars overhead and had felt s
o impossibly immortal.

  They had moved right after Jayden’s graduation, from the little flats in Southampton to this little house in Cosham. Rachel had been commuting into Portsmouth for a year to a new school after getting on a part-time PGCE course to become a full-time primary school teacher; once Jayden had gotten the job offer from the paper, Darren had simply applied to transfer to the CID unit in Portsmouth instead of Southampton.

  It had felt frighteningly adult, at first, to apply for the mortgage and go to a meeting with Darren’s bank manager and sign the dotted line to have a joint mortgage with him, but…but then it had been a wonderful feeling too, to have their own house and to lie in their bed looking up at the stars and thinking, This house is mine, this man is mine, this life is mine.

  Technically, Rachel didn’t pay rent. There was a thing in their mortgage contract about subletting, so they got around it by Rachel paying the household bills but no rent. She had the bedroom next to the bathroom, as far from the attic stairs as possible ‘so I don’t have to hear you two!’ and the cat, a black-and-white juvenile that she’d adopted from an animal shelter the moment they’d offered her the no-rent-but-bills deal, had decided her bed was its own too.

  It was a home. It had been a home since July, and Jayden was still dizzy with the ramifications of the whole thing. He had half a mortgage payment going out every month, and he’d signed it with Darren, and this was permanence, right here. This was them, forever, creating a unit. Like a family. For good.

  They arrived at quarter past ten, catching a bus from the train station and walking from the high street after getting off to buy Pepsi. It was a short walk if they cut through the parks, and in the lonely light of Boxing Day, they did. The cat—Paganini, though Darren called her Pog—was washing herself on the doorstep, and rubbed around their ankles pleasantly, but declined to come in. Rachel was out, her coat and boots absent from the mat in the hall and her car missing from the road, and Jayden peeled Darren out of his coat and kissed him on the doormat.

  “What’d I do?” Darren asked, smiling against his mouth for the second assault, and Jayden laughed.