Lovers Leap

by JL Merrow

  “Might just take you up on that,” Michael said gruffly. “C’mere.”

  Michael cupped Rufus’s face in his hands and kissed him.

  Michael was still snoring when Rufus got out of bed the next morning. He felt a bit bad leaving him there on his own, but his stomach had remembered that uneaten meal of sausage and chips and was complaining about it really loudly.

  Anyway, if he got up and got cooking, he could bring Michael breakfast in bed, which meant he was being a good boyfriend, not a bad one. He headed down to the kitchen, where he found Shelley sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of tea and the local newspaper. “Ooh, love, have you seen this week’s County Post?”

  “No, why?”

  “Your Michael’s in it. There you go, it’s on page seven. ‘Jilted Woman Takes Revenge.’”

  Rufus read the article. Well, he started it. After he’d got through When lovestruck Southampton resident Trixie Horcambe (27) took advantage of the ancient custom that allows women to propose to the man of their dreams on Leap Day, February 28, she little dreamed she’d be callously rejected by her boyfriend, Michael O’Brady (36), he decided not to bother with the rest. “Great piece of reporting, that. Totally unbiased and one-hundred-percent accurate.”

  Shelley nodded. “She’s a good writer, that woman. She does the agony column too. I’d never of thought he was over thirty, though, would you? I know I got no right to talk about age gaps, what with me and your dad having all them years between us, but—”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s a misprint,” Rufus said quickly. “They got Trix’s age wrong too. She’s older than that.”

  “Is she? Poor love. Maybe that’s why she got a bit desperate? Well, I’m not going to pretend it’s easy, being a single woman once you’re past a certain age. All the good blokes get snapped right up.” She sighed. “I worry about it, sometimes.”

  Rufus frowned. “You’re not single. You’ve got Dad.” And she’d better remember that.

  “Yeah, but . . .” Shelley put her mug down and stared into its milky depths. “One day he’s gonna wake up next to me and think, ‘God, she’s looking a bit saggy there.’ And then he’s gonna realise my looks have gone and they were all I had going for me, cos let’s face it, what am I good for? I can’t even keep the books without you checking I haven’t gone and done something daft.”

  Rufus stared. “What are you talking about? Dad, like, worships you.”

  “No, he don’t. I mean, I know he’s fond of me, but, well, he knows what I’m like. Rubbish. And when you leave home—”

  “I’m not leaving home. I said that last night.”

  “Yeah, but your dad and me, we talked about it last night after you went up, and he wants you to go. Says he can’t expect you to bury yourself here any longer. He wants you to go up to London and get an apprenticeship in one of them fancy restaurants. And I want that too, love. I really do.”

  Rufus wasn’t entirely sure which of them she was trying to convince, there. “It doesn’t matter. I’m fine staying here.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re young, love. You should go where your talent takes you.” She smiled sadly. “I never had nothing I was good at, but you shouldn’t waste what you got.”

  “There’s lots of things you’re good at,” Rufus insisted loyally.

  “Yeah? Not to put you on the spot, love, but name one.”

  Oh shit. “Um . . .” Rufus had never been so glad in his life to see the door open and Liz walk in, Kieran in her arms. “Liz! How’s it going?”

  “Meh.” She put a struggling Kieran down, and he toddled over to his Auntie Shelley, who beamed as she hugged him and sat him on her lap. “What you up to, then?”

  “Making breakfast for me and Michael. Want some?”

  “Some of us had breakfast hours ago. But yeah, go on. I’ll have a bacon butty, and you can bung an egg in there too if you really want to.”

  Rufus fluttered his eyelashes at her. “Ooh, can I? Can I really?”

  “Or I could bung it somewhere else for you. Your choice. Tell you what, me and Shelley’ll go and watch Peppa Pig with Kieran, and you can bring it through when you’re ready.”

  Oh. Rufus tried not to be hurt at the news his best friend would rather spend time with his stepmum than with him. Then he spotted Michael standing in the doorway with only his jeans on and forgot all about Liz. Michael yawned and stretched, his arms going up to show cute little tufts of armpit hair.

  Yum. “I was going to bring you breakfast in bed,” Rufus said, going over to slip his arms around Michael’s waist.

  Michael grinned and pulled him tight. “Yeah? Do that for all the guests, do you?”

  “Only the good-looking ones.” Actually it tended to be the elderly and decrepit ones, or those suffering from a case of holiday tummy, but saying that probably wouldn’t have gone down so well. “Bacon and eggs all right? I think we’re out of black pudding, though.”

  “Hey, you serve it up, I’ll eat it. Why’d the girls bugger off, though? They still pissed off at me?”

  “No, of course not. Why should they be?”

  “They’re women. Do they need a reason?”

  “Probably not, if they hear you saying stuff like that. You know, you’re going to have to let me go if you want me to cook anything.”

  Michael’s hands tightened on Rufus’s arse. “Maybe I don’t. Maybe all I want for breakfast is your—”

  “Good morning, boys,” Dad said mildly, coming in with his newspaper. He sat down at the kitchen table and opened it up noisily. “Don’t mind me. You just carry on.”

  Michael dropped Rufus’s arse like a couple of buns that’d just come out of a very hot oven.

  Rufus got on with the cooking. It wasn’t long before he had two plates of bacon, egg, sausage, tomatoes, and mushrooms, plus Liz’s bacon-and-egg butty. And Michael, who’d insisted on helping, had made almost an entire loaf’s worth of toast. Which was at least half a loaf too much, but Rufus hadn’t liked to tell him to stop while he was enjoying himself.

  He plated up, then stuck his head round the door of the sitting room, where Liz, Shelley, and Kieran were watching cartoons. “Liz? Your second breakfast is ready.”

  She looked up. “So where is it, then?”

  “Do you seriously want to sit there watching Peppa Pig while eating a bacon sandwich?”

  “What Peppa don’t know ain’t gonna hurt her. Nah, I’ll come through. You gonna be all right with him, Shelley?”

  “Course I am, love.”

  Liz joined Rufus, Michael, and Dad at the kitchen table. Dad gave their plates a wistful look, so Rufus bunged some bacon on a slice of toast and handed it to him. Michael muttered, “Soft git,” and put some of his own bacon on Rufus’s plate.

  Liz gave them both a hard stare. “Don’t expect me to join in your little game of pass the bacon. This butty’s all mine.” She took a large bite, staking her claim.

  “Did you check if Shelley wanted anything to eat?” Dad asked.

  Rufus felt a bit guilty. “Um, no, but she doesn’t usually have a cooked breakfast. Maybe I should—”

  Liz humphed. “She’s quite capable of speaking up for herself if she wants something. Or getting it herself.”

  Everyone turned to look at her.

  “Um, Liz?” Rufus asked. “Want to tell us where that came from?”

  “I’ll tell you where it came from. It came from you treating your stepmum like she’s a child, or some Barbie doll that’s only there to look pretty. Maybe if you actually gave her a chance to do some stuff around the B&B, she’d do okay. Did you ever think of that? All she needs is a bit of help to get into it.” Liz turned to Dad. “Did you ever, once, encourage her to go to evening classes or anything like that? Learn a bit about running a business? You don’t let her do anything.”

  “Shelley hasn’t had any experience running a B&B. It seemed—”

  “She’s never had any experience with kids, either, but she’s great looking after
Kieran.”

  “That’s different,” Dad protested. “And I gave her the books to do when she asked.”

  “Yeah, but we all know it’s Rufus who keeps ’em straight cos she’s never learned to do anything like that. Didn’t it even occur to you to send her on a bookkeeping course first?”

  “I suppose I thought she’d just pick it up as she went along,” Dad muttered to the table.

  “No, you didn’t. I’ll tell you what you thought. You thought, ‘Drop her in at the deep end, and she’ll soon see she shouldn’t be worrying her pretty little head about it,’ didn’t you? Go on, admit it.” She leaned over the table with an angry gesture of her bacon butty.

  Dad drew back.

  “Oi, that’s not fair,” Rufus put in. “Dad didn’t think that. Did you, Dad?”

  Dad took a moment to answer, and when he did, he sounded way more old and tired than he had a minute ago. “I just didn’t want her to feel she had to do anything. Bad enough she’s married to an old fogey like me—I wouldn’t blame her for not wanting to stick around if I were to expect free labour from her as well.”

  Rufus couldn’t listen to this. “Dad, she likes being married to an old—I mean, to you. She told me this morning she’s worried you’re going to leave her.”

  “Why on earth would I do that?” Dad’s eyebrows practically hit the ceiling.

  “Cos she thinks you only want her for her looks.”

  Dad looked completely heartbroken.

  “I mean,” Rufus said quickly before his insides could knot up any more from the sight, “I told her it wasn’t just that. But she thinks she’s rubbish at everything.” He paused. “You know, I’m not sure her first husband was very nice to her.”

  “Her first husband,” Liz said darkly, “oughtta be hung, drawn, quartered, and castrated. He did a right number on her self-confidence.”

  “I need to talk to her,” Dad said, getting up.

  Rufus stood up too. “We’ve got to tell her we think she’s great. Best stepmum I could have had.”

  “Oi, you lot, sit down and listen to me,” Liz said firmly. “We’ve got several problems here. One, Rufus.”

  “I’m not a problem,” Rufus complained, sitting down.

  “No, he sodding well isn’t,” Michael came in with supportively.

  “Shut it. If I say you’re a problem, you’re a problem. You wanna be a proper chef, right? Which means not having time to make all the beds round here and cook everyone bacon and eggs in the morning. That’s problem one. Problem two: Shelley.”

  “Shelley is most definitely not a problem,” Dad said. He’d sat down as well, but he looked seconds away from making a dash for it.

  “No, but she’s got one. She thinks she’s worth nothing cos you never let her do nothing, and she hasn’t got the confidence to start.”

  Rufus thought he could see where this was going. “So you think I should teach her how to do stuff?”

  “Did I say I’d finished talking? Zip it. No, this is where we come to problem three. Me.”

  Michael laughed. “Yeah, finally one we can all agree on.”

  “Shut it. See, I love my boy, but I’m going mental spending my whole day talking to a two-year-old. And all my benefits go on rent and kid stuff. So I want a job, but I don’t wanna shove Kieran in a nursery with people who don’t love him, and I can’t afford to anyhow. So this is my solution, right?”

  “Finally,” Michael muttered.

  She shot him a dark look. “One: Rufus buggers off to chef school. Piss off, do not pass Go. Two: me and Shelley do a job share.”

  Dad frowned. “But—”

  “No buts, yeah? I’m not finished. See, it’s gonna be a sort of sliding one. I did the same hospitality and catering course as Rufus, right, so I reckon I could take over what he does around here no problem. And while I’m doing that, Shelley can look after Kieran. ’Cept I’ll be showing her how to do stuff as well—and maybe she can go to college and do a couple of courses, like basic bookkeeping and food hygiene and things like that—so it gets to be more and more her doing B&B stuff. I reckon by the time Kieran starts school, she’ll be up to speed, so then maybe I’ll look for something else, yeah?”

  “Have you asked Shelley what she thinks about this?”

  “Yeah, and I think it’s brilliant,” Shelley said, coming in with a flaked-out Kieran in her arms. “I wanna feel like I’m part of this family, Gerald. Like I’m doing my bit. And I’d love to spend more time with Kieran. And, right, I had a thought. If Liz and him lived in, she could save on rent, yeah? And if Rufus goes up to London, we’ll have a room free, won’t we?” She turned to Rufus. “Not that I wanna kick you out, love, of course not.”

  It was like driving over Brading Down, that bit where you crested the hill and suddenly you could see right over the Solent to where the whole of the mainland was spread out before you. Or, yeah, like trying for hours to launch a kite up on the cliffs, and then somehow you got it just right and the thing soared into the sky like a bird with a cat on its tail. Or like watching a really long black-and-white movie, and then when it finished, you looked around and it was like, wow, you’d forgotten there were all these colours in the world. It was like baking a soufflé—

  Liz nudged him. Hard. “Oi, earth to Rufus. Wanna close that mouth before your bloke gets any disgusting ideas?”

  Shelley peered at him anxiously. “You don’t mind, do you? I mean, if you don’t wanna go after all—”

  “I want to go!” Rufus practically shouted it. “I mean, seriously, this is like the best idea ever. I can’t believe I never thought of this before.”

  “I can,” Liz muttered.

  Rufus didn’t care. “I’ll be able to do my City and Guilds, get properly qualified, get trained, get a job in a place with like a million Michelin stars . . .”

  “You could be the next Jamie Oliver,” Shelley suggested excitedly.

  Liz snorted a laugh. “Yeah, without the mockney accent, thank God.”

  “Or Gordon Ramsay,” Shelley went on.

  Dad frowned. “Well, I hope you won’t let your language get as bad as that.”

  Rufus beamed at them all. This was, like, the best day of his life. The only thing missing right now was a celebratory snog.

  He looked around, and frowned. “Where’s Michael?”

  Michael might’ve known he wouldn’t be able to hide from Rufus. Not that he’d tried all that hard, to be honest—just taken himself off down to the seafront to stare out at the waves. He was happy for Rufus, he really was. ’Cept . . . it was more a case of knowing he was happy than actually feeling it. He’d had to get away. Didn’t wanna rain on Rufus’s parade.

  It was another bright winter’s day, with gulls screeching themselves daft in the air and a stiff breeze whipping his hair around his face. Mum’d tell him to get it cut—

  Yeah, right. If she ever spoke to him again. And yeah, Rufus had said she wanted him to go home, but that’d been like half an hour after the row. Less than, even. Maybe she’d had third thoughts now. And anyway, did he even wanna go home?

  She’d called him and Rufus disgusting.

  But she was his mum.

  It was all seriously doing his head in, so he hopped up onto the wall, stepped over the railing, and jumped down onto the sand. It was dry as dust at this end of the beach, whipped into soft ripples by the wind and mixed in with bits of dried seaweed and old lolly sticks. The smell of the sea was so strong he could taste it, and he had a sudden memory of digging in the sand somewhere, and his mum’s voice, laughter in her tone, saying, “Look at you, Michael. You’re covered in the stuff.”

  His chest tight, Michael blinked—and then the spell was broken by Liz’s voice yelling, “Here he is!”

  He turned to see her and Rufus climbing over the railing. “Michael?” Rufus called. “Are you all right?”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. Guess.”

  Rufus gave him a look. “But?”

  “J
ust wasn’t in the mood for all that Happy Families shit.”

  About a dozen different expressions crossed Rufus’s face, and Michael thought for a mo he was gonna apologise for being happy, which, fuck that. “She’ll come round,” Rufus said finally.

  “Have you tried calling her?” That was Liz.

  Michael gave her a steady look. “You planning on coming up with a solution for all my problems and all?”

  “Nope. You’re on your own there. But it’s never gonna happen if you don’t talk to her.”

  “Maybe it’s too soon.”

  “No. You’re her kid. It’s not too soon. Trust me, I’m a mum. It probably feels like three hundred years to her.”

  Michael glanced at Rufus.

  “Call her,” Rufus said firmly. “Liz is right. She was really upset when I spoke to her.”

  Michael rolled his eyes. “Fine. You gonna gimme your phone?”

  Just as well the landline at Mum’s was the one phone number he had memorised. She’d drummed it into him when he was a nipper, just in case he ever got lost or missed a bus or anything. Michael punched it into Rufus’s phone and hit Call before he had time to get cold feet.

  While it rang he mouthed Piss off at Liz cos, jeez, give a bloke some privacy, yeah?

  Rufus could hang around, though. Michael might need him, so he snagged a finger in one of Rufus’s jeans belt loops and yanked so he’d get the message. Liz made a face and pissed off.

  “Hello?” Mum’s voice crackled down the line. It was hard to tell, but he reckoned she sounded worried.

  His chest went tight. “Mum, it’s me. Michael.”

  “Oh, Michael.” No mistaking the relief there. Christ. That made two of them. Michael almost fell over with it. He hadn’t realised till now just how hard he’d been braced for her not wanting to talk to him. “Are you all right? Where are you?”