Beat the Rain

by Nigel Jay Cooper

  “I’m just saying I don’t believe it,” Louise says to Adam, a little too often, like she’s trying to convince herself.

  “Don’t believe what?” Adam replies.

  “That he’s gay, he’s so…well, he doesn’t look gay at all. I think he was saying it to shame Imogen.”

  “Louise, don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I’m not being ridiculous,” she says, a dog with a bone.

  “Well, call him out on it if you don’t believe him,” Adam replies.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Adam. You’re his running buddy, surely you must talk to each other? Does he mention it?”

  “What, that he’s gay? It doesn’t come up. Besides, we don’t talk that much, to be honest, we just run.”

  And that’s true, they don’t talk much. They meet up and run, they grab a coffee or a pint, but it’s a friendship of few words – and they both like it that way. They don’t explore each other’s lives, they don’t ask unnecessary questions. They feel comfortable with each other, without any weight of expectation. It’s the closest relationship with a man he’s had since Tom died and while nothing would ever recreate that relationship, he’s also never had a friendship like it, one so comfortable and easy. When Tom was alive, they were such a unit that all friends were secondary. And after Tom, he’d focused on Louise, then the children. Meeting Jarvis was a revelation, filling a hole in his life Adam hadn’t admitted was even there. Friendship.

  But that’s not the whole story, there’s more going on than he’ll admit to. Part of him knows his friendship with Jarvis is taking him down a dangerous road, one his marriage will never recover from – but he’s enjoying the ride so much, he’s wilfully ignoring it, enjoying it while it’s still good, while it’s still positive.

  * * *

  Take last week, Adam and Jarvis sat in the pub, quietly drinking a pint.

  “Ten K today, see,” Jarvis said.

  “Yeah, can’t believe it,” Adam said, smiling and leaning back into the swirled red-and-gold fabric of the pub booth.

  “Told you your fitness would build up quickly.”

  “Yeah,” Adam said. They lapsed into silence, sitting side by side, watching the people around them, sipping their pints, not talking, not feeling the need to.

  “Kids okay?” Jarvis asked eventually.

  “Yeah, good,” Adam replied. “Maria is reading already, it’s mad how quickly time flies.”

  “And Louise?” Jarvis asked, leaning forward slightly, looking at Adam, his brow furrowed. “How’s she?”

  Adam couldn’t tell where the concern came from – was Jarvis becoming too close to his wife? They were always having little chats. After a run, Jarvis often pops in to say hi to Louise while Adam showers. Adam hears the two of them downstairs, laughing and chatting like the oldest of friends.

  Friends. Just friends. Sitting there in the pub, Adam couldn’t help feeling a tiny stab of jealousy, a feeling he didn’t want to explore or explain. Things were so much better with Jarvis in their lives, he didn’t want to ruin it with jealousy or paranoia. He wanted things to carry on like they were, so the best thing was to push the things he was thinking and feeling to the back of his mind so they didn’t take hold and spoil everything.

  “She’s good, I think,” Adam said. “Things are good with us.” And then, because he couldn’t help himself, “I mean you know that, you talk to her a lot, don’t you.”

  Jarvis smiled, a wide grin crossing his face. “Are you jealous, Adam?” he said lightly. Adam squirmed slightly, annoyed at himself for letting his paranoia show.

  “No, I didn’t mean that.”

  “Good, you don’t need to be.”

  “Yeah, I know, I didn’t mean…”

  Jarvis chuckled lightly. “Another pint?”

  “No, better get back,” Adam said.

  “Okay,” Jarvis said. Then, “Seriously, you know you don’t have to worry about me and Louise, don’t you? That’s the last thing you have to worry about.”

  * * *

  And Adam did know – it was the alternative he didn’t want to admit. When did he realise it was happening? Before the dinner party, maybe? Perhaps the first night he met him, if he’s honest. But that’s just it, Adam isn’t being honest. He isn’t acknowledging what’s going on at all. At least he wasn’t until today. But something happened earlier that means he can’t ignore it anymore and now he has no idea what to do. It wasn’t a big thing, no lines were crossed, nothing explicit was said or done, yet everything has now changed.

  “Looks like it’s gonna snow,” Jarvis said, glancing at the sky. “Want a drink before you head back home?” They’d finished a run and were getting their breath back by the garage under Jarvis’s flat.

  “Yeah, why not,” Adam replied. Minutes later, snow started falling and the world was blanketed in big fat flakes dropping from the sky.

  “Here,” Jarvis said, wandering into the living room and handing Adam a steaming mug of coffee.

  “Cheers,” he replied. They both surveyed the snow-covered scene through frost-rimmed windows.

  “I hate training in winter,” Jarvis said.

  “Yeah,” Adam replied.

  “I had a friend who got married in the snow.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Jarvis paused, cupping his coffee in his palms. “Weird, eh? Most people don’t marry outside in winter, do they?” They stood side by side, watching the snow being blown from Jarvis’s windowsill into the air, swirling and dropping out of sight.

  “Is that it?” Adam asked comfortably, still staring from the window.

  “Is that what?”

  “The end of your story?”

  “Yeah.” Jarvis smiled. “Is that all right?” They stared at each other, relaxed smiles on their faces. After a few moments, they turned back to the window and watched the world. Every now and then, they’d sipped their coffee, letting the warmth travel down their bodies. At some point, Adam doesn’t know when, he realised they’d leant slightly into one another, as he could feel Jarvis’s shoulder pressing ever so lightly against his, making his skin tingle.

  “I’d better get back and have a shower,” he said quietly, not moving a muscle. “Before I cool down too much.”

  “Yeah, Louise will wonder where you’ve got to,” Jarvis said, leaning away and breaking contact. He held his hand out for Adam’s cup. “Maybe see you later?”

  “I don’t know,” Adam said. “Depends what Louise’s got planned for me.”

  As Adam left Jarvis’s flat, he knew their relationship had shifted. Nothing had been said, nothing had been acknowledged. But he knew what was happening. It scared him as much as it excited him. Uncharted territory. That spark of desire, the fluttering heart, the blood flowing through his body… Adam hasn’t felt that kind of passion since he coveted his twin brother’s girlfriend. The forbidden, there’s nothing quite like it, nothing that can preoccupy the body and mind more effectively than that which you must not yield to, must not contemplate. And Adam’s always had a self-destructive streak – the drinking, the marrying Tom’s girlfriend. He never takes the easy route in life, he takes the path with pitfalls and grief and guilt and hardship. That’s what makes him feel alive and that’s what’s been missing for so long.

  It’s weird, he hasn’t even given much thought to the fact Jarvis is a man. Adam isn’t gay, he doesn’t think about other guys in that way, but he’s never been repulsed by it either. He had a thing with a friend when he was at school, nothing much, nothing he’d have thought twice about if his mum hadn’t caught them at it. Tom took the piss out of him for months after that, but only because he could, not because he particularly cared. They’d never had any secrets from each other…well, not until Tom found out he was dying and committed the ultimate betrayal – dying without telling Adam it was going to happen.

  And now, Adam can’t stop thinking about Jarvis. The first time they went running, Jarvis had bent over to do some stretches and Adam had
noticed him. More specifically, he’d noticed his arse. As weird as it sounds, Adam had shaken the feeling off and hadn’t given it much mental space. It was just…a thing. Sometimes, everyone thinks weird thoughts, thoughts that are out of character. And Jarvis arriving had already been changing things for Adam and Louise; they were already happier and more positive. So he’d put it down to the excitement of a new friendship, or the fact he was starting to take charge of his life again.

  But the thoughts had kept coming, popping in at inopportune moments, as if there were opportune moments. And the wanking…that’s when he knew something was going on.

  “Oh fuck,” he’d whispered to himself, immediately overcome with guilt as he’d wiped himself clean, realising Jarvis had featured a little too heavily in his fantasy. He’d glanced over at Louise asleep next to him in bed and leant over to kiss her cheek, as if this could undo the thoughts he’d been having. It couldn’t, of course.

  But he’d never act on it. It was a crush, a stupid crush that he’d get over. He’d definitely never act on it. He could never do something like that. Not to himself. Not to his wife. Not to his children.

  Interlude

  It’s a terrible sound, your own scream. At first the howls are loud and anguished, but quickly – more quickly than you’d ever imagine – you can’t find the strength and you become silent, voiceless, letting death happen to you.

  I’m about to be nothing; a misremembered phantom photographs won’t accurately reflect. But the memories I’m experiencing now seem real, like I own them fully, like they’re the ones I’ve never discussed with anyone, the untainted, pure ones. If I could live, I’d take more care of my memories. I’d keep more of them to myself.

  “Leave.” A voice from another time now. It wears no flesh, it’s a disembodied sound, something I can’t grasp, can’t hear properly. Won’t hear properly. “Just leave,” it persists. What if I’d done it? What if I’d left?

  “I can’t,” I hear myself reply. But you know what? I could have. It would have been the right choice. I could have avoided all of this.

  Choices, life is all about choices in the end. Sometimes we act like we don’t have them, that other people rob us of our choices, overwhelming us with their own desires – but you know what, that’s a lie. If it’s taught me nothing else, my imminent death has taught me that. We always have choices and other people are not in control – we like to live that lie because being in charge of your own destiny is so scary. Just because some choices seem difficult doesn’t mean they aren’t available to us. Looking back, I always made the wrong choices, allowing bad ‘luck’ a greasy foothold in my life time and time again. But I’m to blame, nobody else.

  I must be feeling, mustn’t I?

  My head is bleeding.

  “Yeah, it’s been bleeding since this morning,” a voice replies, not my own. Someone I love, someone I haven’t seen for so long, too long.

  What now?

  No breathing.

  No sensations.

  Am I dead?

  “Nearly. You were never the survivor.”

  No, I don’t suppose I was.

  “Try and switch off, this next bit is horrible.”

  But I don’t want to miss it.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  I want my life back, I want another chance.

  “No second chances, not this time. Not any time, actually.” But it feels like I can still smile.

  “You can’t. I’m sorry … Hush now, it’s nearly over. And you’ve got to be ready.”

  Part Four: Falling

  “I don’t blame anyone. Not even myself.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “You may be feeling shocked, sad, distressed, or angry following the crime you have just reported.” The policeman stares at Adam, smiling widely and inappropriately. Adam squints in the weird strip lighting of the police station.

  “No, I’m okay.” His voice sounds dry and slightly warped. The desk sergeant smiles again, too young to be old and too old to be young. His muscles are pushing at the fabric of his white short-sleeve shirt, Adam can’t help noticing.

  “Just take a seat for a second.” He indicates a row of seats opposite the desk. “I’ll get you a victim-support leaflet.”

  Adam still feels lightheaded, but at least he’s been looked over by a doctor and knows there’s no lasting damage. He and Louise turn and silently move towards the plastic chairs, sitting down next to each other despite the fact that neither wants to.

  “Adam, we can’t go on like this,” Louise says. “I know it hurt you, but it was a year ago. If we can’t move on…”

  Hurt him? She says it like it was nothing, a minor misdemeanour. She tried to take her own life, to remove herself from the world and leave her family behind. He knows he’s supposed to be supportive, that he’s supposed to understand that she wasn’t in her right mind, that she’d had a terrible shock, but deep down inside, in the place he tries to hide things, where all nice people suppress the truths that would overturn their lives, he hates her for it. Nothing, not even Jarvis, could have been so bad that you could inflict that on your loved ones.

  Oh, his rational voice overpowers those thoughts: she was temporarily out of her mind; she didn’t know what she was doing; she couldn’t process what she’d learned; she couldn’t blah blah fucking blah. She was prepared to leave Adam and their children the legacy of a suicide wife and mother. He’s already lost his twin and she wanted to leave him a widower and single father as well. He says he doesn’t blame her, that he’s there for her, that he understands. But he’s lying. Emotions aren’t as easily persuaded as the mind. His mouth can say things his mind and body don’t feel with worrying ease. Given that she’s never actually told him why she did it, he can’t feel the things he knows he should. He can’t feel pity or forgiveness or love. Of course, in reality, he knows exactly why she did it. Maybe if they’d talked about it, even once, the past year wouldn’t have been so excruciating for them both.

  “Adam, are you listening?” Louise says.

  “What?” Adam replies, pressing the towel against his head to soak up the blood still seeping out. Lots of veins in the scalp, apparently. Nothing too much to worry about. No concussion, just a lot of blood. A lot. Easy for the doctor to say there is ‘nothing to worry about’ but what does she know? Adam doesn’t feel great at all. In fact, he feels woozy.

  “We can’t go on like this, what’s the point?” Louise is saying, sitting next to him in the police-station hallway, all white walls and yellowing floor and uninviting strobe lighting. She doesn’t look her age, Adam thinks, glancing at her and wincing as another bolt of pain spikes his head and eyes. She could still pass for her late twenties still, Adam reckons. But he knows he’s looking older now. The odd grey hair already, bags under his eyes. And his hangovers are longer lasting than they used to. When he’s sober long enough to have a hangover.

  “Well, what do you suggest, Louise? Splitting up?” he says irritably, wanting to shut her down. He’s been mugged, he’s bleeding from the head, is it really the time for this conversation?

  “Yeah, maybe.” Her response is quick, like the words have been poised to sprint, straining on the starter blocks at tip of her tongue and his retort was the starting pistol, setting them free to run.

  “Okay,” he replies simply. He isn’t sure he even cares anymore. That’s not true, he is sure. He doesn’t. He wants her to shut the fuck up and leave him alone. That’s all he’s wanted for the past year.

  The mugging had all been so quick, over in a flash – one minute he’d been getting his wallet out in the street to get a £20 note out and the next he’d been smashed over the head, his wallet was gone and he hadn’t even seen a thing.

  “We’re all done here,” the policeman says behind the counter, “unless there’s anything else…?”

  Adam stands and walks over to the desk sergeant to get the leaflet being proffered to him with twitching fingers, the white-and-gre
en glossy paper glinting in the strobe lights as Adam squints at the front cover. Louise stands up and moves quietly next to Adam, looking down at the counter, not offering any comfort, not seeming like she’s mentally there at all. Adam notices her eyes flicker down and hover over the policeman’s toned chest for a moment before she looks away again. Nothing has changed, she’s still the same old Louise, looking for something – someone – better, shinier, newer and more exciting.

  “No, no I’m good,” Adam says.

  “Good,” the desk sergeant replies.

  “What?” Adam says, slightly confused.

  “You’ve been mugged,” the policeman repeats, as if it’s necessary, as if Adam might not have realised. “It’s a shock, but you’re lucky, it could have been a lot worse. No lasting damage.” He nods towards Adam’s head. “And you’ve cancelled all your cards?”

  “Yes,” Adam says, trying to break eye contact with him. The policeman waves at his leaflet as he begins to speak again.

  “Feelings of anger after such incidents are common and…” the policeman pauses, taking the leaflet from Adam and opening it up to scrutinise it, running his finger down the page until he finds what he’s looking for, “…victim support are willing to help wherever they can.” He looks up at Adam, frowning.

  A long pause draws out until Louise eventually says, “I’ll look after him, he doesn’t need victim support.”

  * * *

  Their walk home is silent, both of them trapped inside their own thoughts and memories, not wishing to open them out to each other – it would be too damaging now anyway, they have too many secrets, too many lies between them. Nice people’s lies, aimed at protecting each other but actually driving them slowly but surely apart. Sometimes, Adam thinks it would have been better if they’d never met Jarvis at all, if they’d carried on living in greyscale. Better that than the brief, intense burst of intoxicating light he brought them that turned out to be tumescent. But in the end, Adam can’t regret it, no matter how screwed up that seems to him. Jarvis destroyed everything and still Adam can’t regret meeting him. What’s the point of life if you’re treading water and not living, like they were before they met him? If Adam regrets anything it’s not acting on his feelings sooner, it’s not going for it and committing 100% before it was too late, before everything else unravelled. The kids would have been all right, they’d have got their heads around everything. Because what was the alternative? What did they end up with but one parent going through the motions, a husk, and the other descending into functioning alcoholism and depression?