by L.H. Cosway
His eyes lingered on my mouth before moving up to meet my gaze. “You’re not with anyone now?”
I shook my head. He frowned and asked another question. “Why not?”
I pulled self-consciously at the hem of my blouse. I’d been wearing it all day, and it was starting to feel a bit clammy. “I’ve just been busy,” I answered, then hastened to add, “With the agency, keeping everything running smoothly. You hardly get a moment to yourself when you run your own business.” And have a five-year-old to take care of, my conscience put in.
King stared at me, and the silence lasted for a long time until I had to break it. “What about you?” I whispered, and now it was his turn to become self-conscious.
“I haven’t, I mean…some of the women here, they try with me, but I’m always…I’m never really present enough, you know.”
What he said caused my protective instincts to kick into high gear. “They never tried to be with you against your will, did they?”
King’s eyes flared at my question, and he hurried to correct me. “God, no.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “So you haven’t?”
He shook his head, and my heart ached for him. He really had been imprisoned. So alone. It shocked me to realise that I might have preferred for him to have someone. Don’t get me wrong, I hated the idea at the same time, because in my heart he belonged to me and no one else. But the fact that he hadn’t had any companionship shone a stark light on his suffering. I would have wanted him to have a moment of relief amidst the turmoil, even if it did make me jealous as all hell.
We shared a moment of deep, intense eye contact, and then I heard music begin to play from inside the circus tent. It was a sound check, and light, tinkling piano drifted all around us. King’s expression morphed at the very sound of it, and I knew he was remembering how much he used to love playing.
“I told you that Elaine started playing again, didn’t I?” King stared at me. I cleared my throat. “Well, not for audiences or anything like that. Just at home. I think it’s therapeutic for her. You should think about….”
“I’m not playing the piano again, so please stop pushing.”
“I’m only trying to help you,” I whispered.
“You are helping me. Just by being here, you’re helping. Trust me.”
I swallowed. “Okay.” A pause. “Will you at least consider seeing a doctor? That cough doesn’t sound too pretty, and if left unchecked, it could turn into something nasty.” It already sounded like it had turned into something nasty, but I was just so desperate for him to go and get checked out that I’d latch on to any reason.
He stared at the floor. “I told you I didn’t want to.”
“Yeah, you did,” I said, losing my gentle tone. “And do you know what else that tells me? It tells me that you don’t care about yourself enough to worry that you might be badly sick, and that is the scariest fucking thing, Oliver. The scariest.”
He let out a dark, miserable laugh. “Look at me, Alexis. Everything about me should tell you that.”
Now I grew upset, my voice shaky with unshed tears. “But I want you to care.”
I saw his self-hatred wriggle its way into his expression. It was awful to look at, so ugly. I wanted to kill it dead, but it had been corrupting him for years. You didn’t kill corruption like that in a day. What he believed to be true had moulded him to hate himself.
“It’s hard to care for something that’s already falling apart,” he said vehemently.
I stared at him, suddenly pissed off at the way he spoke. “That’s a fucking cop-out, and you know it. Just because something’s broken doesn’t mean it can’t be fixed. It’s just takes guts, guts and a whole lot of effort. But clearly you don’t want to even try.” My words were a challenge, and I desperately needed him to stand up to them, counter them. I saw the flash of temper in his eyes and knew what I’d said had riled him.
He leaned forward, his expression sharp and his gaze narrowed. “There’s broken, Alexis, and then there’s irrevocably broken. Maybe I’m the latter. Maybe trying is futile.”
The way he hissed his words made me stand quickly from the table, my stool scraping harshly at the plywood panels that had been set down to create a makeshift floor. “You’re not irrevocably broken until you’re dead, King. You can try — you just don’t want to.” My voice quivered as my anger was slowly overtaken by self-pity. “Perhaps you don’t think I’m worth it.” A single tear fell down my cheek, and King rose from his seat. The hardness in his expression had vanished, and in its place was remorse. He reached out to touch my cheek, and I stepped back.
“Alexis, I….”
“When you speak like that, when you hurt yourself with alcohol, you’re being cruel to both of us. You know that, right? Don’t think you’re the only one suffering here. When I told you I care for you a great deal, I was telling the truth. Every bit of damage you do to your body, you might as well be punching me in the gut at the same time.”
My words made him flinch. “That’s not true.”
“It is true! I know how I feel.”
He grew incensed again and pulled at his hair. “Yes, but you don’t know how I feel. You don’t know how hard this is.”
I shook my head at him. “Another fucking cop-out. The Oliver King I used to know never backed away from a challenge. He relished them. Challenges were what he lived for.”
Before I could move, he was all up in my space, his face stormy. “But don’t you see, I’m not the Oliver King you used to know. For fuck’s sake, Alexis, I’m not him anymore.”
He was fuming, but so was I. I was about to throw more words back at him when suddenly Jack was there, pulling King away from me.
“What the hell?” he said, looking between the two of us.
All of a sudden, the wind went out of my sails. What on earth was I doing, arguing with King like this? It wasn’t going to help. He was sick, and I was putting my own feelings before his illness. In that moment, I felt horribly ashamed.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I should…I should probably go.”
“Yeah,” said Jack. “Maybe that’s for the best.”
Nineteen
I couldn’t go back to the circus the next day. Mostly because I had to work, but also because I was upset and angry at myself for letting things get so out of hand the night before. I needed to have more control, needed to understand that King wasn’t going to be completely logical when he was having withdrawals, and there was no sense arguing with an illogical person. It was just so hard not to get emotional. I was upset by how much he devalued himself just because he wasn’t the same man he was before. I’d never judged people by their status in life or what job they had. I judged people by who they were as people.
Anyhow, I was thankful to have work to focus on to take my mind off things. Elaine had arrived at the house bright and early to watch Oliver, and I’d stood in the doorway, bag over my shoulder, car keys clutched in my hand, as I listened to them chatter. Grandmother and grandson. The strength almost fled me in that moment. I wasn’t the only one King needed to be saved for, and it made me that much more determined to see him pull through this.
I’d concocted something of a plan, but it was going to take a bit of trickery. There were always lots of classical shows going on in London at any given time, but by some stroke of luck I’d managed to find a recital of Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2 at the Royal Albert Hall. It was the same piece and the same location where he’d last seen his mother play. I thought the significance might bring him back to himself somehow. A step in the right direction. Anyway, the trickery would be needed in getting him there, because I knew if I suggested it outright he’d refuse to go, the same as he refused to see a doctor.
I’d purchased four tickets online, planning to ask Lille and Jack along, too. I could tell that Jack was closest to King; he seemed to have a calming effect on him. This meant that if my plan backfired and King freaked out, I’d have someone there
who could calm him down.
Jay had told me that the circus was staying in London for the next three weeks, which gave me time to take things slow. I thought that was key, because forcing stuff to move too fast never worked. So, even though it killed me to do it, I decided to stay away from the circus for a day. I’d return on Tuesday evening after work, but this way I was giving King some space to get his head around everything. I was home from work and eating a bowl of spaghetti for dinner (Oliver’s favourite) when I got a text from Jay.
Jay: Where you at? King’s been asking.
The text made me want to hop up, throw on some shoes, and go to him immediately, but I had no sitter for Oliver, and it was too late to call Karla or Elaine. Therefore, it would have to wait until tomorrow.
Alexis: I can’t make it tonight, but I’ll visit tomorrow evening after work. About 6 or 7.
My attention was drawn away from my phone and across the table, as Oliver made a loud slurping noise sucking the spaghetti into his mouth.
“Today I asked Granny Elaine about the flowers,” he said randomly. I would have called my son the master of random statements, but I knew that was just all kids. They said whatever they were thinking.
“The flowers?” I asked.
“The ones in her garden. She told me they’re called tulips,” he said, sounding out the new word.
“Oh, you went for a walk to Granny Elaine’s house today?”
Oliver nodded, red spaghetti sauce all over his mouth. Elaine often took him out and about, especially when she was having a good day. If she was having a bad day, and feeling down about King, she usually stayed indoors. I took it as a sign that today had been a good day. I also took it as a sign that maybe I needed to tell her I’d found her son sometime soon.
“Yep. They’re yellow with green….”
“Stalks?” I provided, smiling fondly.
“Yellow with green stalks. I asked her if the colours were the same to her as they were to me.”
What he said made me smile. I swear my boy was already a little philosopher, thinking about perception in his own particular way. God, and now I was thinking about how I needed to tell King he had a son. Why did all the explaining have to fall on my shoulders, huh? The emotion hit me quite suddenly, but I reminded myself that although it might be a stressful experience at first, I was excited for King to find out about Oliver, to get to know him. I was certain he’d fascinate him just as much as he fascinated me.
“And what did Granny Elaine say?”
“She said the colours were the same for most people, but some people have colour blindness. That means they don’t see the colours the same.” He paused, his brow crinkling in concentration as he looked at me. “I have blue eyes and Granny has blue eyes. Is that why we see the same? You have brown eyes, Mummy. Does that mean you see different?”
“No, Oliver, that’s not how it works.”
He frowned, confused that his logic wasn’t making sense, so I tried to explain it to him. “It doesn’t matter what colour our eyes are — it’s our brains that tell our eyes what colour we’re looking at. So our eyes have three message receivers in them. One for red light, one for blue light, and one for green light. We see colour through the light. These receivers see the light and send a message to our brains, and then our brains interpret the message to tell us what colour it is.” I tried to explain it to him simply, insofar as I could. “However, some people have a defect in one of their message receivers, which means they see the light wrong and send the wrong message to the brain. That makes them colour blind.”
Oliver seemed worried now. “I don’t want to have a defect in my receiver.”
His statement caused me to let out a soft laugh. “You don’t have a defect.”
He rose up by levelling his hands on the table, totally distressed. “But how do you know?!”
Oh, my God, I honestly couldn’t take how cute it was when he got stressed out about stuff, like it was a matter of life and death. “Well, actually, I don’t. We’d have to test you.”
I twisted some spaghetti around my fork, concentrating on my food again.
“What are you waiting for? I want you to test me now, Mummy.”
I gave him my stern look. “I will, but first you have to finish eating your dinner.” He wasn’t happy with my answer, but he settled back in his seat nonetheless and finished his food. I had to go look up a colour blindness test online and do it with him afterwards. When he got the result that he wasn’t colour blind, he literally jumped for joy, throwing his small arms around my neck and squeezing.
“Oh, Mummy, I’m so glad I’m not colour blind. I don’t want a dog.”
I laughed harder this time, realising what had caused him so much distress. He thought he’d have to get a Seeing Eye dog if he was colour blind. Seriously, sometimes he was too cute to handle.
“All those poor blind people. Not getting to see the colours,” he went on, his words striking a chord in me. King used to see the colours, but he didn’t anymore. The world was all in grey. I needed to teach him how to see them again.
“Yeah, baby,” I whispered. “All those poor people.”
The next day after I closed up the office, I drove straight to the circus. I lied and told Elaine I’d be home late because I had a business dinner. She accepted my explanation without question, which made me feel even worse for lying. It was a necessary evil, though. For now.
The same as the first night, I couldn’t find a decent parking space because lots of people were arriving for the show. I spotted Lille out front, a queue of kids lined up at her booth, waiting to have their faces painted. I was just about to go over and say hello when I saw King. He was over by the entrance, pacing frantically, his eyes searching the faces of those who passed him by. The second he spotted me, he was on the move, determinedly threading his way through the crowds.
“Hi,” I said awkwardly when he stopped a few feet away.
He ran a hand through his long hair. “You didn’t come yesterday,” he stated gruffly.
He sounded annoyed, and I don’t know, there was something about it that satisfied me. I liked that he’d noticed my absence. Maybe it would help him realise he still wanted things, and that there was stuff worth getting better for. Or, more to the point, that there were people worth getting better for.
“I had to work,” I answered.
He frowned hard. “Do you work all through the night?”
“No.”
“Well, then, why didn’t you come?”
I arched my eyebrow and restrained a laugh. Seriously, his entitled tone reminded me so much of our son right then it was too funny. I made sure to keep my expression neutral, though, not wanting to distress him further.
“Because I was exhausted, and I’m not sure about you, but some of us use the nighttime for a little thing called sleep.” Being sassy with him was a risk, because it could have sent him off the deep end. It was a relief when it didn’t, as he continued fingering his long hair and apologised.
“I’m sorry. I’m ten hours sober. It’s making me tetchy. And I thought you might have stayed away because of how I spoke to you the other night.”
I eyed him meaningfully. “We had a little fight, King. It was nothing, and certainly not enough to make me give up on you. But anyhow, I thought you weren’t supposed to be going cold turkey?”
He let out a gruff breath. “I’m testing the waters, seeing how long I can go. I feel like shit, but I can handle it.” His eyes came to rest on me, and their intensity made me a little breathless. “I’m glad you came. I need a distraction. And I’ve missed you.”
I inhaled sharply at the stark honesty of his statement, and felt my heart give a hard pang of yearning. He was tugging at his hair now, but I wasn’t sure he realised he was doing it. Stepping closer, I tentatively reached up and untangled his fingers from the long strands. It was a little dirty, and I wondered if he’d washed it since two nights ago when Jack helped him.
“You’r
e going to end up pulling it out from the root,” I said softly, and he let me lower his hand, watching me closely all the while. Feeling a strange need, I sank my hands into his hair and ran them right down to the ends. King didn’t stop me from doing it, only continued stoically watching, and it gave me courage.
“You know, I really like your hair like this.”
“You do?” he asked, perplexed.
“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “It’s gorgeous, but it’s in need of a wash. What kind of sink does Marina have in her camper?”
King shrugged. “I don’t know. Never really noticed.”
“Well, do you think she’d mind if we used her bathroom for a half-hour to wash your hair?”
He narrowed his gaze. “You want to wash my hair?”
“Yes, Oliver, I do. Now, do you think she’d mind?”
Shaking his head and exhaling heavily, he answered, “No, she won’t mind.”
“Good. Come on, then,” I said, and gestured for him to follow.
I led the way to the back of the circus where the mobile homes were stationed, feeling King’s curious gaze on me as he walked a foot or two behind. I was wearing jeans again, and my spidey senses went on alert. I could practically feel him checking out my arse. He always used to do it before, and the thought gave me a rush of excitement. Any small sign of the old him was cause for optimism. When we reached Marina’s camper, he shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out a key to unlock the door. I let him lead the way inside as he walked to the bathroom.
“It’s a bit small,” he said, looking around.
I brushed off his comment and began rolling up my sleeves, sensing his apprehension. He was radiating want and…whatever the opposite of want was, like he was dying for me to wash his hair but at the same time dying for me not to. I understood. He wasn’t used to people touching him these days, and if my gut feeling was right, he wasn’t used to washing, either. He’d been living like a hobo, but I planned to gently guide him back into the land of soap and water. It was of the utmost importance.