And Adam hadn’t grieved. Nobody knew what had happened between him and Jarvis, so in the aftermath, he had nobody to talk to, nobody to tell. So he internalised everything, buried it deep within and tried to carry on. Besides, he had to support Louise after her suicide attempt; he had two children to bring up. But something fundamental had changed for them. Every glance, every look, every lie and half-truth they told each other from that moment on, all in the name of protection…stung. It was like each lie was another barb fired in one another’s direction, each one more lethal than the last. He pours himself another glass of wine, conscious that Louise has only had two mouthfuls of hers. He stands staring at the tiles on the kitchen wall, trying unsuccessfully to clear his mind.
“Drinking isn’t the answer, Adam. It’s not going to solve anything. It didn’t solve things after Tom died, did it? It prolonged things, stopped you from dealing with it.”
“Oh, what the fuck would you know.” Adam reels around on Louise, spitting at her, filled with fury. “We spent all our time after Tom dealing with your grief, Louise, don’t you remember. It was all about you, it’s always been all about you.”
Louise shrinks back in her chair slightly, her face falling half into shadow under the hanging light.
“It wasn’t like that, Adam, and you know it.”
“Oh wasn’t it. Really?”
“You know it wasn’t. It isn’t. I’ve always tried to support you and look after you. Maybe you don’t always recognise it, maybe you don’t…”
“How did losing Tom make me feel, Louise? Tell me. How have I always felt? I’m not sure you’ve ever noticed, I’m not sure you’ve ever cared.” Adam is shouting and he doesn’t mean to, but he feels like he’s drowning, overwhelmed with…something. Self-pity, maybe, he’s not sure.
“Alone, Adam. You felt alone,” Louise says quietly. Adam puts his wine glass back on the side and runs his hands through his hair, trying to blink back his tears.
“Louise, I…” Adam starts. But he doesn’t know what to say.
“Save it, Adam,” Louise continues, her voice still quiet, but not gentle, not kind. “Because you know what, your self-pity doesn’t interest me. It never has done.”
Adam clutches the kitchen sideboard, feeling dizzy, his head still throbbing. It’s gone too far, he knows it has. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to get rid of the floating black squares in his vision. After a few moments, he opens them again and the dizziness has passed. He stands upright and attempts to let go of the side, to see if he can stand okay. He can.
“Don’t leave me,” he says quietly. The tears building up behind his eyes are actually painful, like little pins, pricking and piercing their way to freedom. He glances over to the table. Louise is no longer there, she’s walked away. He doesn’t blame her. He wouldn’t put up with himself, either. And that’s it, no more words, nothing poetic or ornate. Just life. Real life in all its stinking glory. The beginning of the end.
* * *
As he’d walked into Jarvis’s driveway that night, leaving Louise in the shower at home, he purposefully hadn’t glanced over the road at his wife’s café – he didn’t want to feel guilty. After all, he wasn’t doing anything wrong, he was going to put Jarvis in his place, to tell him what was what.
“Hi,” he’d said into the intercom, standing on Jarvis’s doorstep nervously as the sun had started to set blood red behind him.
“Hi,” Jarvis had replied, buzzing him in. As Adam had mounted the stairs he’d found Jarvis’s front door already open. Jarvis had silently and casually stepped back to let him in. And it had all been so natural, Adam had quickly been offered a glass of wine, which he’d sat twirling in his fingers, staring at Jarvis, an irrepressible smile on his face.
“Takeaway?” Jarvis had asked, grabbing the phone.
“God yeah,” Adam had replied, his jeans itching the skin of his legs, his cock curled sweatily, twitchily, into his black briefs.
Before he knew it, Adam had felt silly for all of his overthinking. Nothing felt awkward or strained, they were chatting and drinking a glass of wine. It was comfortable, not tense at all. He’d started to think the whole thing was probably in his mind, all that ‘leaning in to each other’ and ‘tingling skin’. Because he couldn’t remember the last time he had a friend – a real friend, someone that was his, not a ‘couple’ friend, not someone who saw him as half of ‘Louise and Adam’ or worse, the surviving twin, the living half of ‘Tom and Adam’. Jarvis was his friend. Someone who asked about him, talked to him. Hell, someone who cared about him and vice versa. There, he’d thought it. Someone he cared about.
Adam would be lying if he said he hadn’t felt slightly unnerved by the afternoon’s events, but maybe it had all been in his mind anyway. But if that were true, why was that other feeling lurking around, no matter how hard he’d tried suppress it. He hadn’t felt it since those early days with Louise: the excitement of the forbidden. The feelings he shouldn’t feel, the ones he shouldn’t give in to. Which is why his chest was dancing a butterfly dance, of course. Which is why he’d come over to Jarvis’s house in response to that text message.
As the night progressed, things got more and more relaxed. Adam was happier than he could remember being in such a long time, even when Jarvis produced a spliff for Adam with a devilish grin.
“I haven’t had a smoke for years,” Adam had said, slightly nervous. He’d spent a long time kicking his weed habit after Tom died, he didn’t want to smoke again. And he was surprised at Jarvis, he was so fit and healthy, it seemed so out of character.
“I used to be a bit too into weed, you know?” Adam had said, inhaling deeply. “Like it took over my entire life.”
“Yeah,” Jarvis had said, flopping back down onto his sofa. “It can get like that sometimes, can’t it. I don’t smoke much anymore, but sometimes there’s nothing like it.”
Adam had stared at a burgundy-coloured square of carpet in the middle of Jarvis’s otherwise beige floor. One single solitary square of red carpet, what had that been about? He’d handed Jarvis the spliff back, sure he’d had enough already, making eye contact as he did so.
“I don’t want it,” he’d said.
“Okay,” Jarvis had said, stubbing it out. “Listen…”
“Let’s not go there, Jarvis,” Adam had said, transfixed again on the carpet, not daring to look at him. “Once we talk about it, it’s real. We can’t undo it.”
They’d both remained silent for a moment and then Jarvis had started giggling uncontrollably.
“No, I meant listen – I think the takeaway man’s at the door.”
Fuck. Adam had blushed, looked away, not knowing what on earth to do or say to cover his tracks, to…
“But we do need to have that conversation,” Jarvis had said, standing up and putting his hand on Adam’s shoulder as he sauntered past him to open the front door to get their takeaway.
They hadn’t rushed towards the conversation at all, though. They’d eaten, they’d had more wine. Adam had refused more weed; he didn’t like the way it made him feel, slightly nervous, anxious, paranoid like something bad was about to happen. They’d sat quietly, listening to music, chatting intermittently. People’s actions say so much more than words, Adam had thought. And he didn’t just mean big things, he meant the little things: a nervous scratch or a nibbled nail, a ring flipped around and around and around between his thumb and forefinger, a low chuckle that made Jarvis’s shoulders shake, a smile, a half-smile, a blink, a flick of the wrist, a hand covering an unwanted smirk, a soulful glance and an empathetic stroke of the hand.
In the end, they didn’t have ‘the conversation’ at all – like all things in their relationship, words had never been the most important thing, doing something, anything, had.
“So,” Jarvis said, leaning over Adam and, when he realised Adam wasn’t pushing him away, kissing him on the lips. He had soft lips, softer than Adam had imagined for a guy, he’d kind of thought a man would have
rougher lips but…
“I can’t, Jarvis,” Adam had said weakly, still not pushing Jarvis away. Without speaking, Jarvis had simply carried on where he’d left off, except this time his tongue had penetrated Adam’s mouth. And Adam had given in to it, stopped fighting, stopped pretending to fight – he’d decided to go with it and experience it and see where it took him. Of course, if he’d known where it would take him, he’d have shoved Jarvis off, put a stop to it all. But hindsight is a useless bastard – he doesn’t exist in the present where you need him the most.
Afterwards, as Adam did his jeans up and knocked back some more wine to remove the taste of guilt from his mouth, Jarvis said the unthinkable.
“Leave,” he’d said, and Adam knew it wasn’t something he was saying lightly. “Just leave,” he’d said again, almost desperate.
“I can’t,” Adam had replied, “you know I can’t.”
“But why not? Seriously, you’ve got choices, we can make it work.”
And then the door buzzer had rung and all hell had broken loose.
“Fuck,” Jarvis had mouthed as Louise’s voice came through the intercom. He’d waved Adam back towards the bedroom and Adam had taken a moment to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind and he’d gone into the bedroom, crouching by the wardrobe at the back, in case Louise for some reason came into the bedroom. His heart was pounding faster than he’d ever known as he squatted in the darkness, listening to Jarvis trying to put Louise off coming up and failing miserably, finally buzzing her in. Destiny calling, in a fuck-me dress and high heels.
Chapter Twenty-Two
His flat was different in real life. She’d seen it from afar, of course, but as she walked in, she realised she’d never actually been in there in person. Jarvis always came to them – he’d come for dinner, or to pick Adam up for a run, or they’d met in the pub, but they’d never actually been to his flat. Or at least Louise hadn’t – Adam probably had. It was smaller than she’d expected, with a narrow corridor leading to the back rooms and the front door opening directly into the living room. The carpet was cream and burgundy and slightly worn, clearly the same carpet the previous owners had laid as Jarvis hadn’t been there long enough to wear it so thin. The sofas were leather – they looked nice, but in practice Louise always thought leather sofas were quite uncomfortable – they got sticky if it was too hot and in her opinion, nothing beat a cosy, cushioned sofa. She could see why people with young children had leather sofas – they were a godsend as you could clean the marker pens, food, wee and poo stains off them easily and without fuss. But Jarvis didn’t have kids, so he must have bought them because he thought they looked trendy.
Jarvis had stood staring at her, not speaking as she’d stepped into the room. He’d seemed nervous, more nervous than she’d ever seen him. He’s feeling the same things I am, she’d told herself. Pushing thoughts of Adam to the back of her mind, she’d decided to go for it, to tell him how she felt and see how the cards fell.
“I love you,” she’d said, lunging straight for him and kissing him on the lips. He’d jolted back so violently, she’d lost her balance and narrowly avoided landing face down on the carpet with a thud.
“Oh shit, shit,” Jarvis had said, grabbing her arm to prop her up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I’m sorry.” He’d helped her upright and she’d stood awkwardly for a moment, embarrassed and not sure what to do or say. Looking across the room, she’d seen a bottle of wine on the side, two glasses, both filled. He’d prepared for her, that’s why he’d taken so long to answer the door. She’d walked over and picked a glass up, taking a large gulp.
“Look,” she’d said. “I know this is hard for you. I know you’re gay, so falling in love with a woman…it’s not easy. I know that, I don’t want to rush you, take all the time you need. But we’ve got to start talking about it, we’ve got to be open about it.” She’d looked away from him then, making a deliberate attempt not to see the expression of horror on his face, not wanting to accept what was becoming so clear to her, so obvious. She’d been wrong. He didn’t feel the same way, he didn’t love her, not at all, not one little bit.
“Louise,” he’d said gently. She’d stared away from him at the painting on his back wall, a woman with a long cigarette in a long black holder, like Bette Lynch used to have in Coronation Street. A weird picture for a guy to have on his wall, she’d thought. She didn’t like it at all. It didn’t seem to fit Jarvis’s character at all.
“I do love you,” he’d said, and her head had snapped away from the picture on the wall to drink in his face, his beautiful green eyes, so like hers, so unusual.
“I knew…” she’d started.
“No, no listen,” he’d said, cutting her off and walking towards her, arms outstretched. “Not like that, it can never be like that.”
“I don’t understand,” she’d said, a coldness running through her body, not shivers, a rigid, cement-like cold, solidifying her to the spot.
“I’m so sorry, I should have told you right from the beginning, I should have told you sooner.”
“Told me what,” she’d asked, white lips whitening, taut skin tautening.
“I meant to, I mean, when I first came here, I’d planned to tell you straight away. But then it got…I don’t know, complicated. You opened up to me, started telling me about your life, your childhood.”
“What are you talking about?” Louise had to grab the arm of the sofa to steady herself.
“And then there was Adam, I hadn’t expected Adam and…”
“What are you talking about, Jarvis?” Louise had asked, a horrible thought entering her mind. Did he fancy Adam? Was that what he was going to tell her?
“I’m your brother,” he’d replied, dropping his arms to his sides and holding her gaze. Nothing in the world could have prepared Louise for that, it was almost literally the last thing in the world she could have expected.
The silence that attacked the room was violent and aggressive, choking the air from Louise’s lungs and clouding her vision.
“Your mum…” Jarvis continued. “My mum. But I never knew, Louise, I didn’t even know Mum had been married before, it was a complete shock when I found out.”
Silence.
“Louise, say something.” Jarvis leant over to grasp her arm and she flinched away.
“You can’t be,” Louise had responded instantly, desperately, making eye contact, hoping it was some sick and twisted joke, some horrific…
It wasn’t a joke, she could see it, looking at him. She could see herself there, see her mother there. How had she not seen that before, the similarities. The nose, the teeth even.
“Are there any more of you?” Louise had asked quietly. He’d shaken his head.
“Just me, Louise,” Jarvis had answered. “Is that okay?”
Okay? Is that okay? What fucking planet is he on?
“Does she want to see me?” Louise said, surprising herself. Of all the retorts, or all the responses, she hadn’t expected that. But her mum had run out and left her, cold and alone, shivering in the street with small stones embedded in the soles of her feet. And she’d never come back, not once. Louise remembered the time when she and her dad had visited her mum; she remembered her mum shouting that she could have more children, that she didn’t need Louise. And all of a sudden, she needed to know, had she even cared? Had she regretted it? Had she ever thought about her?
“Oh God, I’m sorry,” Jarvis had replied slowly. “She’s dead, Louise, last year. I didn’t know about you until then and I…”
Louise didn’t hear anything Jarvis said after that, her head had been filled with a piercing white noise, so loud that it felt like blood would start dripping from her ears. She’d been looking at him, but all of his features had been blurred apart from his eyes. Those eyes, so like hers.
He’d been talking and talking and talking but she can’t remember a single word that came out of his mouth from that point on. That had been enough. That had be
en too much. How could he be her brother, how could he have done this to her, come into her life and make her feel the things she’d felt? He’d made her…a pervert. A monster. Disgusting.
“Louise, please,” Jarvis had screamed. Why had he been screaming, what did he have to scream about? She was the one whose life had been ruined and turned upside down, she was the one…
“Tell me you’re lying,” Louise had said, glancing down to see a broken wine bottle clutched in her hand, waving it at him. Behind Jarvis, she could see a mirror on the wall. Her reflection was large and smudged and puffy. Disgusting, depraved, irredeemable.
“I’m sorry,” Jarvis had muttered, his head leaning back, making his neck more, not less, exposed to the bottle in her hand. “I meant to tell you, but then… I don’t know…we got on so well. And then Adam and I became friends and it got complicated. But I swear,” he took a step away from her, “I swear I had no idea you had feelings for me.”
“What?” Louise had said. “Of course you did, how could you not?” Louise took a step towards him, thrusting the bottle a little closer to his neck.
“Louise, please, I didn’t, I swear. Don’t you think I’d have said something if I had?”
“Shut up,” she’d snapped, not even able to look at him. “What about all those times in your flat, when you were…when I was…you knew. I know you knew I was watching.”
“Watching? What are you talking about? Look, Louise, I’m sorry, I really…I wanted to get to know my sister, I didn’t plan any of this…”
Louise stared down at her hand, shocked again to see that she was holding a broken bottle. Her fingers had opened, dropping it to the floor.
“Why didn’t you tell me straight away?” Louise had said, almost to herself. I’ve masturbated over you, she thought but didn’t say. She’d clutched her stomach for a moment, sure she was going to be sick. She was thinking of every romantic fantasy, every finger-flicking filthy thought she’d had over the past months about him – her brother.
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