Oskar Blows a Gasket
Page 23
“OK. She barricaded herself in her room.”
“It was terrifying,” Carol added. “The whole world went crazy. Then Paula had a hair crisis.”
“And this was after she left me with the stalker?” He wasn’t sure what Oskar had told the others about Dad and Jim. “It seems like days ago. Was it only Friday?”
“Yeah. She shut herself in, but we heard screaming. Man, it was mental. Paula called her dad and he turned up, and now she’s gone.” Carol smacked her lips noisily. “We’ll never know if Josh was real. Selfish, if you ask me—buggering off home without telling us. She could’ve left those letters.” A lot of the time, Gareth didn’t know when people were joking and when they were serious. He glanced at Paula, who shook her green head slightly.
“I thought she was having a few issues,” Gareth admitted. “I tried to ask if she was OK, but she wouldn’t tell me. I wish I’d tried harder now.” So much had happened in the last few days, the world felt changed forever. “Poor Stella. I liked her, when she wasn’t being mean. Maybe she couldn’t help herself.”
“Yeah. And Oskar’s lost the plot. What did you do to him? He played the songs for hours and hours, and we could hear him shouting. Then it all went quiet. He wouldn’t let Paula in, not even for a hair emergency like this.”
“That is serious,” he agreed. “I better go see him.”
“But you haven’t told us about the stalker?” Carol whined. “What happened? All Oskar would say is that creepy guy is someone you know trying to get in touch. What the fuck does that mean? And do we have to give the presents back?”
“Sorry. I forgot about that.” He sat back down and decided to get it out the way. “It’s going to be difficult to explain, but basically the stalker is a guy called Jim who was asked to keep an eye on me by my father. I was estranged from my family. So…it’s all OK, no need to worry. You get to keep the presents. But I can’t talk about it right now because it’s all still…a shock.” He heard the words and hoped they wouldn’t ask him any questions in case he got upset again or said more than he could handle. Paula hugged, which pushed him towards the precipice. “Sorry,” he said brokenly.
“Oh my god,” she whispered. “Are you all right?” He nodded a few times, wondering if he’d ever be all right again. “That explains why he kept waving at you.”
“Yeah. It all makes sense now. It was my dad sending those parcels. A sort of apology for being out of touch so long.” He withdrew from Paula’s hug and stood up. “I’m going to see Oskar. Wish me luck. I might need your help. I’ll ask him about your hair.”
“Good luck,” Paula said sympathetically. She leaned forward. “Are you wearing mascara?” He shrugged. “And hair product? It’s not normally sticking up like that, Gareth.”
“The things we do for love.”
“It looks good, though,” she said uncertainly. A noise like a trapped squeal came suddenly from Carol. Gareth hurried off to Oskar’s door before he changed his mind.
His heart beat so fast it was possible he might collapse from the stress. Oskar had cleaned the red goo from the door. Instead, there was a poster of Bear Grylls with the words you broke my heart in 99 places written in the same colour as Paula’s hair. He knocked. “Hey. It’s me. Are you in? It’s me. Gareth. Give me five minutes. I have a surprise for you!”
As expected, there was no reply, so he sped to his room and began preparations.
****
Many of the parcels were still in the corner, untouched. But now he knew they were from Dad and he could keep them, Gareth hugged a sweater and began sorting through until he found the black jeans and t-shirt. He stripped quickly and changed, though zipping up took effort because they were so tight. He lay flat on the bed and mentally went through Dad’s instructions on how to win Oskar back.
“Clothes, make-up, hair,” he said firmly. By a series of careful and delicate ass shifts, he was able to inch off the bed even though his waist felt like it was being crushed by a car.
The boots were still in the box. He gingerly took off the lid and peered in with something like fear. Oskar had never seen them because Gareth had hidden the box quickly in case he’d been forced to try them on and—horror of horrors—wear them. “Oh, god,” he whispered. “I hope you’re right, Dad.”
The boots were black, adorned with chains and tiny silver spikes. Gareth touched one, wondering why Dad had ever thought he might like such a thing. His phone pinged, as if sensing his reluctance. “Dad? I’m just…looking at the boots. Yeah! They’re very…nice. Mm. I have to be a what? A bad-ass? Oh. I have to just look like one. Yeah. I’ll call you after I’ve spoken to Oskar, yeah. If he lets me in. Bye. Love you too.”
He sat on the bed—though it was only possible while not breathing—and pondered. A few days ago, he’d been without family yet here he was texting Dad and dressing up to look like a biker from hell. With mascara that Dad had applied. He called Dad again. “It’s me. Are you sure? I look kind of dumb. What if Oskar laughs?” He listened to the advice. “OK. Yeah. Bye.”
Things hung from the jeans. He practised walking with them flapping about, but they looked stupid, so in the end, he tied them around his waist without looking in the mirror in case he started laughing and lost all nerve.
Walking was no longer easy. The shape of the boots forced him to stand up very straight because the hard metal dug into his heels. He flung out one leg then the other like a Gestapo soldier, and made his way down the corridor. Paula and Carol stood back to let him pass, their faces frozen with shock. He nodded.
“Go on,” Paula urged. “Nothing ventured.”
“Unto the breach,” Carol said.
Instead of his normal tentative knock, he grasped Oskar’s handle and pushed open the door so hard it crashed into the wall. He looked back in terror at the girls, who gestured frantically towards Oskar’s room. He stepped inside. “Hey,” he said loudly.
Oskar was sitting at his desk working. He blinked up and then rubbed his eyes. Dad’s advice had been mostly to take control and not let Oskar bamboozle him with long words. “It’s me.” He crossed his arms and tried to look strong. Oskar’s mouth began twitching, but no words came out. “Gareth.” He uncrossed his arms and tried putting hands on hips.
Oskar leaned back with his mouth slightly open. His eyes went up and down Gareth like he was trying to work out from which planet he originated.
“Gareth. Planet Earth.” There was some noise from the doorway, like someone being strangled.
Oskar stood up and moved slowly until he was standing close enough to smell his perfume. His hands went straight for Gareth’s zipper, but instead of peeling down the ridiculous trousers, Oskar deftly untied the hanging things. He looped one around Gareth’s right arm then the other on his left.
“Braces, Lollipop.”
Gareth stared stupidly as Oskar pushed Paula and Carol out, then shut the door and locked it. Muffled hysterical laughter came through the door. “Oh. Like…suspenders? Is that what they are?” Of course, he knew it should have been him who took charge like that, but the truth was he loved it when Oskar got bossy. He grinned as Oskar pinged the elastic. “Awch.”
“Trying to change oneself for someone else is never wise.” Oskar put his hands on his hips and looked serious. “Gareth Fraser is actually much more attractive to me than the iron man.” He stroked Gareth’s chest, which caused great turmoil about if it was best to grab Oskar or not. “You may kiss me.” Soon, Gareth was lost in the important business of whirling his tongue against Oskar’s and trying to push their bodies as close together as was possible. He paused to hold Oskar’s jaw, then noticed his eyes were open. “Is that midnight blue, Lollipop?”
“What?” Gareth said breathlessly.
“The mascara. Is it midnight blue?”
Gareth laughed into Oskar’s mouth. “I don’t know! Dad sent Jim into town to buy some. Do you like it?”
Finally, Oskar smiled, his face dissolving into dimples. “I’m not sure. Make-up’s not fo
r you, Lollipop.”
“What? But! You’re kidding me, right?” Already, he had lost control and had no idea how to take it back or even if he wanted to. He somehow snuggled Oskar onto the bed, unzipping his own jeans so he could breathe. Unable to wait any longer, he peppered kisses wherever he could.
“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.”
“At least you’re talking to me. Are you OK? What happened?”
“Sit up and lean against the wall.” Gareth did as he was told. Oskar climbed on to sit astride with his arms around Gareth’s neck. “That’s better. That’s how I like you.” He started rocking slowly, holding Gareth’s head and staring into his eyes with a serious expression. “Sorry I called him a wanker. It slipped out.”
“Did Dad’s plan to win you back work?”
“No. And I can’t believe you asked him for relationship advice!” Oskar shook his head. His hands guided Gareth’s under his top, writhing slightly. “God, I love it when you touch me. I’m meant to be studying and all I can think about is your bloody hands.” He made breathy noises. “I am your sex slave. My body obeys the language of your hands.”
“So we’re still not dating? This is maybe not the time, but can we talk about it soon? I don’t want us to be only banging. Though I’ll take whatever I can.”
“I never said that. It feels like we’re dating. I’m not one to put on pretences, as you know.” Gareth nodded silently. His pulse was racing from the contact, and also from something else. “Things have gone fucking crazy.” Oskar stopped rocking and tugged Gareth’s hair. “Your dad turns up and suddenly you’re the kid of Indiana Jones.” He put his hand on Gareth’s mouth to stop him interrupting. “Stella-Artois shits a brick. And—” he suddenly grabbed at his own hair, messing it all so it stuck out in all directions “—and my own life is coming to a climax of volcanic proportions. I just couldn’t sit there talking make-up with Michael Fraser. It was too mental.”
“Let me help. What do you mean, your own life?” Gareth thought hopefully of the radio broadcasts. “Is there something you wanna tell me? ’Cause if there is—I’ll understand. OK? I will definitely—most certainly—understand.”
Oskar narrowed his eyes. “I am coming apart, Lollipop. My body and soul may be scattered to the winds and no-one—not even you—will be able to find all the pieces. You probably won’t like me once you see what some of the bits are.” He sighed deeply. “Human beings are weak and fragile creatures.”
“Pretty sure I will.”
“All this was Michael Fraser’s idea?” Oskar indicated Gareth’s head and clothes. “You don’t need no bandana!” He tugged it off and threw it across the room.
“Yeah. If this fails, it’s on to stage two. Did it fail?”
“Wait just a sec. I’m getting that ridiculous make-up off because you don’t need it, and anyway, why does he think I’d be impressed by the trappings of superficiality? He hates me, doesn’t he?” He squirted cream onto a tissue and began rubbing at Gareth’s face. “Close your eyes.”
“No. Actually, he thinks you’re great.” Gareth winced against Oskar’s rough treatment. “He thinks he’s messed up my chance of dating you.”
“Sorry! That’s better—there’s my Bear back! Who does your dad think he is?” For a while, but not long enough, Oskar stroked Gareth’s face and hair until presumably he was happy it had returned to normal. “What do you mean, this is phase one? Off.” Gareth raised his arms obediently so Oskar could remove his top. By now, he was uncomfortably aroused. He shivered from the cool air and from the way Oskar was looking at his body. “Fucking braces! Take it all off right now.”
“Phase one was clothes and make-up. Phase two—you have to wait and see. Help me with these boots. I’m not even sure they’re going to come off. By the way, Paula wants to know if you’ll help save her hair.”
“Oh, they will.” Oskar expertly removed the boots quickly then started on the tight jeans. “Off!” Finally, Gareth was stripped down to his underwear. It didn’t help that Oskar was standing looking with hands on hips. “Off.”
“My underwear?”
“Yeah. I need to see Bear Grylls. Naked. I can’t wait to see what phase two is going to be.”
Gareth stood naked and decided it was time to take charge. “In the drawer,” he said simply and then got onto the bed on his hands and knees. His body tingled, heart beat wildly, but he was ready.
“What?” Oskar’s voice went high with shock. “Now? And—I thought we agreed I was going to go first?”
“Can’t a guy change his mind?” Gareth waggled his ass suggestively. “Hurry up!”
“Well, OK, then. I mean, if you insist,” Oskar giggled and rummaged in the drawer. “You need to wear braces more often.”
He’d thought about sex for years, of course. But now it was about to happen, with Oskar, Gareth couldn’t wait. He spread his legs ready and knelt slightly forward, enjoying the anticipation. “That’s nice,” he murmured.
“Oh my god. It’s never going to fit.” He could tell Oskar was nervous—he dropped the condom and fiddled with the lube.
“It will,” he assured. “Just go slowly.” He pumped his own dick a few times, not able to believe they were actually going to do it.
“OK. Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop.”
“Keep going,” Gareth assured Oskar who held still. “It’s a little weird. Can you believe we’re doing it?”
“Are you sure? I don’t wanna hurt you. That’s not hot!”
“No, that’s good,” Gareth cried. “Hold my hand?”
“Always.” Oskar leaned down to kiss his neck and shoulders, and that attention sent Gareth over the edge.
“I’m going to come,” Oskar grunted, and then they were lost in a frenzy of words and limbs. It was chaos and screaming, like running together through a waterfall hand in hand. Tears and laughter spilled from Gareth—or maybe it was Oskar—followed by unintelligible murmurs that held more meaning than any words.
“Shit,” Gareth said a while later. “Huh?”
Oskar untangled himself from Gareth’s neck. “Mm. Emotional literacy, Lollipop. Shit is right up there with raptures of ecstasy, and undulating orgasm.”
Chapter 22: Pump It Up
Oskar
Dear Mum,
Remember how Morris said life is a bag of spanners? I have fucked up big time.
Oskar.
P.S. And why the fuck didn’t you teach me not to tell lies?
P.P.S. I got the visiting permit and will be coming in the next few weeks.
P.P.P.S. If you shout at me in the visiting room, I will leave.
P.P.P.P.S. Fuck sake. Write to Aunty Kath.
****
Gareth
In some ways, nothing changed. He went to college and studied, still avoiding the other students as much as possible without being rude. They talked a lot about drugs and alcohol, boys and girls, occasionally zoology and work. He listened carefully when they confessed to family secrets, hoping to glean information he could potentially use.
After college, he went back to the hostel with Oskar, or ‘home’ to see Dad and Bubble, splitting the week up between the two places. To have two homes where he felt welcome was not something he could yet believe, and this was the change that kept him up at night living in a state of perpetual head-spin. It had been a few weeks now since the volcano erupted and Dad appeared. They were strangers, yet not, and Dad had become weirdly obsessed with checking on Gareth’s happiness. That day, he had already called twenty times. It was irritating, nice, and confusing.
He watched Oskar applying something purple to his face, the stick held halfway between lips and hand. Apparently, they still weren’t dating. Phase two of Dad’s plan was about to be tested. Oskar stuck out his tongue, often a sign that Gareth hadn’t been listening or paying enough attention. “Pardon? I love that shade.”
Oskar scowled. “You’re not listening to me, are you? Sometimes I don’t know why I don’t simply get myself
to a cliff and let the wind take me. I am unappreciated and unloved. And stop trying to butter me up! Whether you love my aubergine dove is neither here nor there.”
He wasn’t really cross. Gareth knew that by now, just like he could guess when Oskar wanted to be cuddled and encouraged, and when he was plunged into depression. Something had been building since the day they met. A few times, Gareth had been sure it was about to erupt just like his own day with Dad, but then it subsided again. It had been a while since the last radio broadcast.
“Sorry. I was thinking about Dad. You’re not unappreciated, though. And definitely—categorically—not unloved.”
Oskar’s mouth twitched. “He’s rung again?”
“Only twenty times so far. He wants to know if you prefer The Smiths or The Cure?”
“Oh my god, he does not!” Oskar flung his hair about until it landed across his shoulders in that way Gareth secretly loved. “I swear that man is my brother.”
“That would make you my uncle.” Gareth went cross-eyed. “And what we just did was incest.” The touching was out of control, pure wildfire that swept through them both even in the most awkward places, like the library that morning. He blew a kiss. “Have you thought any more about if we can date again?”
Oskar suppressed a smirk, but only just. “Haven’t made my mind up.”
When it was just the two of them, the rest of the world was irrelevant and distant, but Gareth sensed something coming nearer every day. The messages were there—subtle changes to Oskar’s hissy fits, more frowning, red eyes in the morning, fewer 80s nights. The urge to come right out and spill what he knew about Morris was strong, especially on days when sadness poured from every pore of Oskar’s lithe body. However, Gareth was sure he wouldn’t know what to say to help, and would probably make it all worse like he had with John. He was shit with people.
So he fell back on sex. He knew exactly how to touch Oskar to make him lose control, go pliant and soft. At the time, it seemed so powerful—united together—that it would conquer anything else happening in their lives. But afterwards, he ached for something else. He shifted closer. “What would make you decide?” The flirting was a cover, dependable and safe. It enabled him to hold Oskar, which was what he’d wanted to do all day. “What could I do? You know I’d pretty much do anything?”