Beat the Rain

by Nigel Jay Cooper

  “You’re drinking early.”

  Adam nurses his near empty pint glass, not daring to turn around, not daring to believe it’s true. Then an arm touches his shoulder lightly and the voice continues.

  “Adam?”

  Finally, Adam turns around. Jarvis has the same smile, the exact same smile he’s always had. It’s all Adam can do not to grab him and kiss him and hold him tight. It’s like someone has opened the door and the stuffy pub is full of fresh, spring air and not the stale, overheated winter air it had moments ago. He doesn’t care if it’s been a year, he doesn’t care about anything that happened, the lies, he wants Jarvis to hold him tight and tell him everything will be okay.

  “Jarvis,” he says uselessly. For a moment, neither of them move, not sure how they are supposed to greet. Are they friends? Ex-lovers? Enemies? Adam isn’t sure, he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do or say. After all, Louise tried to kill herself because of this man, so he shouldn’t be happy to see him. But Adam doesn’t think you can spend your whole life blaming other people for things.

  “You just left,” Adam says eventually. God, it was a year ago, let it go, Adam.

  “Yes.” Jarvis nods. Silence for a moment, then he does something unexpected but welcome. He leans in and grabs Adam for a hug and holds him close. For a second Adam doesn’t return the hug, then he gives into it, feeling the warmth and strength of his arms, squeezing him and feeling safe, so safe, safer than he’s felt for months. And then Jarvis disconnects, prises his arms away and stands looking at Adam’s face, smiling again, seeming genuinely pleased to see him.

  “It’s good to see you, Adam,” he says.

  “You too,” Adam says, wishing he was a little more sober, a little less wobbly. They stand comfortably for a moment, and then Jarvis indicates to his pint.

  “Another?” he asks.

  “Yeah, thanks,” Adam replies.

  “You’re worse for wear for this time in the afternoon,” Jarvis says, gesturing to the barmaid for another round, pointing to both of their empty glasses. “Mind you, I’m a bit pissed myself. Special occasion.”

  “Special occasion?” Adam asks, still drinking in his face, his voice, and his presence. It’s like the sun has come out again, shining on him, warming him.

  “Stag do,” Jarvis says, pulling up the bar stool next to Adam. “I’ll have to get back to everyone in a bit.”

  Adam nods, but doesn’t speak. It feels slightly surreal, like this can’t be happening at all, today of all days. Jarvis is back.

  “I’m sorry I left,” Jarvis says eventually. “I thought it was the best thing to do.”

  “I thought you’d fight for us,” Adam says, surprising himself. “Or for Louise, at least. She’s your sister after all.”

  “I did come after you that night,” Jarvis says, pausing to pay the barmaid for their pints, then holding his glass up for Adam to cheers, which he does. “But when I got to your street, an ambulance was already there, Louise was being carried out, you were in bits.”

  Adam nods, a piece of the puzzle becoming clearer to him. He’d spent all these months wondering how Jarvis could give up on both of them without another word, without any explanation, just disappearing and selling up. And now it made sense. Guilt.

  “I stood there, not knowing what to do. I wanted to come to the hospital, to make sure she was okay, that you were okay. But how could I? It was my fault. I’d fucked everything up so badly. So I went home.”

  “And then you ran,” Adam says simply.

  “Yes, I suppose I did,” Jarvis replies. “I thought it was the best thing to do. I’d caused enough trouble and heartache.”

  The afternoon pub clatters on around them. In the next room, there’s a screen showing some sporting event or other, nothing big, nothing raucous but it’s got a few of the afternoon crowd in. Behind them there’s a number of guys drinking, joking and laughing – Adam presumes they are the stag and party that Jarvis is with. But Adam can’t see anything except Jarvis. He’s back, he can’t believe he’s back. Adam’s heart is beating so fast in his chest he can feel his t-shirt moving in time. He wants to reach over and touch Jarvis again, brush the skin of his hand. Something.

  “Kids well?” Jarvis asks eventually.

  “Yes, great. Matthew’s started school as well now.”

  “Good, I’m glad. And you and Louise? Still together?”

  Adam nods. “Yeah, well sort of. Last legs probably.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “No, no it’s all right. Best thing for both of us,” Adam says.

  “At least you didn’t split up after me, I don’t have that on my conscience as well.” Jarvis smiles.

  Does he think it’s all water under the bridge and that he didn’t leave a legacy behind?

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Adam finds himself saying, slightly angry. “You left behind a shit storm, Jarvis.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound flippant, I know what I did.”

  “Do you?” Adam does feel angry, he realises; he does still need Jarvis to know, even after all this time. “Louise tried to kill herself, Jarvis. Because of you. And you left, sold up and fucked off without a word.”

  “I know and I’m sorry…”

  “We never recovered from you, never. You know that right?”

  “All right, Adam,” Jarvis says, moving to get up from his bar stool, “this was a mistake. I saw you and I thought it was fate or something, seeing you on my stag do. I thought enough time had passed to make amends.”

  “What?” Adam says, sure he couldn’t have heard right, he’s drunk enough to be mishearing anything and everything.

  “I thought we could say our goodbyes without any anger. But I don’t want to fight with you, Adam. I am sorry.” Jarvis puts his hand on Adam’s shoulder, but Adam isn’t listening, he’s frowning, confused, not able to compute what he’s hearing.

  “Your stag do?” he says eventually. Jarvis drops his hand away and nods. “But…” Adam continues. “I don’t understand. You’re getting married?”

  “Yes,” Jarvis says. “Not that hard to believe is it?”

  “But you’re gay,” Adam splutters.

  “Yes,” Jarvis says, frowning himself, like he doesn’t understand why this would confuse Adam, after all that had passed between them.

  “I don’t understand,” Adam says. “How can you be marrying after all that’s happened?

  “What do you mean?”

  “Me, Louise. You’re gay, how can you be getting married?”

  “To a man, Adam,” Jarvis says. “Times change you know. Keep up.”

  Adam feels another wave of devastation hit him, like a blow to the stomach. At least he’s sitting down; at least it didn’t knock him from his feet.

  “I still love you,” he says. Shit.

  “Adam, don’t,” Jarvis starts.

  “Call it off,” Adam says desperately, grabbing Jarvis’s arm. “We were good together, you know we were. Louise and I are over now, the kids would cope. We can make a go of it.”

  “No, Adam.” Jarvis pulls free of Adam’s grip and Adam wobbles slightly, having to grab the bar to steady himself.

  “Tell me how to make things right with you,” Adam slurs in desperation.

  “We had our chance,” Jarvis says. “And you did the right thing, you stayed and looked after your wife and kids. I was the one who fucked everything up, for you and for Louise.”

  “Please, Jarvis. I was so much better with you around.”

  Jarvis shrinks back from him, imperceptibly. “You can’t rely on me to make you better. Isn’t that what went wrong with you and Louise?”

  The pub seems colder than it did before. There’s a clattering of glasses and the bustle of a young afternoon drinkers, happy and content. Adam feels like the entire place must have stopped breathing and are staring at them both, waiting to find out what happens next.

  “But I’m in love with you,” Adam says again.

>   “No, Adam, you’re not. You never were.”

  “I am… I know how I feel, Jarvis.”

  “You don’t even know me, Adam, you never did. I’m sorry for everything, I am. That’s what I came over to say. I got caught up in everything, you and Louise, the whole mess. But now I’ve had time to see it for what it was – a mistake.”

  “Don’t tell me how I feel, Jarvis,” Adam snaps before lowering his voice again, worried people will hear them. “You’re like Louise, always telling me how I feel.”

  “And you’re still blaming everyone else for everything,” Jarvis says, glancing down at the pavement. “Come on, Adam, be honest. You’re in love with the idea of me. You and Louise both were. What do you actually know about me? Tell me something, anything about me other than the fact I run the garage and like running.”

  “Jarvis, you’re being…” Adam starts, but he can see that Jarvis is angry, angrier than he’s ever seen him.

  “Be honest, Adam. Tell me one thing, just one. Prove to me you loved me, that you know me and I wasn’t some escape for you, some invention or fantasy to take you away from the boredom of your life.”

  Adam remains silent, horrified that as hard as he’s trying he can’t think of anything. Jarvis likes pizza and he had a weird beige carpet with squares of burgundy in his flat. He’s gay. He’s Louise’s half-brother. He didn’t like his mum much. What else? He stares into Jarvis’s green eyes and gets lost in them for a moment, so beautiful, so like Louise’s.

  “But I lov…”

  “What was my favourite food? Film? Book?” Jarvis is angry and this surprises Adam. How can Jarvis be angry? How can he have the right to be angry after what he did? “No? Something easier then: where did I grow up?” He doesn’t pause for an answer, not that Adam could give him one anyway. “Okay, let’s make it even easier. What’s my surname, Adam?”

  Adam stares at Jarvis, dumbfounded. He doesn’t know. He literally barely knows anything about this man, but how can that be? How can he have known so little? He tries to get off his bar stool and staggers a little, dizzy again, before righting himself by grabbing the bar.

  “It’s how I feel that matters, Jarvis.”

  “Enough lying to yourself, Adam,” Jarvis says, a little more softly, like the anger has escaped out of him and he’s deflating now, feeling some of the softer emotions he used to feel. “We’d never have worked. You see that don’t you? It was never real, it was a mistake.”

  “That’s not true,” Adam says. He can still feel Jarvis’s lips on his, can still feel his tongue in his mouth that night in his flat, before Louise knocked, before the shit hit the fan. “I…”

  “I was an idea for you, Adam. A projection. Go back to Louise, Adam. Repair the damage. You two were always meant for each other, you know. You’re both too stubborn and too caught up in yourselves to realise it.”

  “I don’t want to,” Adam says sadly. “Jesus, I’ve wasted my life with her, Jarvis. But with you, I could be different. I am different with you.”

  “What are you talking about? You’ve got two kids, you’re married to a woman you love… You haven’t wasted anything.”

  “I should have run away with you when I had the chance,” Adam slurs quietly.

  “But you didn’t, and that was the right choice, Adam. Tell Louise I’m sorry I didn’t tell her sooner. And I am sorry, Adam. I’m so sorry.” He leans over and kisses Adam on the cheek, smiling sadly. Then he turns around and addresses all the guys on the other side of the pub, his stag party.

  “Right, next pub, guys.” He glances back at Adam and gives him one last smile. “Moving on,” he says loudly as he ushers his friends and family out of the door. And then he’s gone, disappearing, a ghost, almost like he was never there at all.

  * * *

  Adam stands swaying by the bar, not sure what to do next. Eventually, he pushes himself back out onto the street, shivering. His t-shirt isn’t keeping him warm, but why would it? It’s November and by the looks of it, it’s been raining while he’s been inside. At least he missed the rain. He puts his arm in the air to hail a cab. As it pulls over, Adam realises his hand is stinging and he has developed a bleeding valley on his left knuckle where he’s been scratching as he spoke to Jarvis. Old habits.

  “Beachy Head,” he tells the taxi driver, sitting back and closing his eyes, thinking of the canvas print on his living-room wall from that perfect family photo that Jarvis took of them last year. They seem so happy in that picture, like they have everything. Smiling, windswept faces. His children, young and excited to be having a picnic with their parents. Adam knows it wasn’t real – both he and Louise had fallen for Jarvis by that point, but he wants the illusion back, he wants to feel like they did back then in those fleeting, happy moments. Right now, he can’t think of anywhere better to go.

  Thankfully, the taxi ride is silent, like the driver senses Adam isn’t in any frame of mind to make or listen to small talk. He probably shouldn’t be taking him there at all, not with Adam so obviously drunk. When he arrives, Adam pays the driver with a healthy tip and walks hunched towards the top, filled with a strange kind of relief. He wasn’t meant to survive Tom’s loss. They were two halves of the same egg, maybe he was never supposed to carry on regardless after. He was like an imbalance of nature, abhorred, a wound in reality that needed stitching. Maybe this was all a punishment for his continued existence.

  His head is spinning as he stands at the top of the white cliffs, taking in the view, the waves and majestic skyline, the vastness of it all making his problems seem that much smaller, that much more manageable. The wind is cold against his face and arms, making him feel alive, like he can feel something other than misery. He loves it up here, always has done. It’s such a beautiful spot, dramatic and – if it’s out of season, quiet. Somewhere to think, to get away from everything and just ‘be’.

  He takes a step closer to the edge, glancing down at his trainers and the white rubble and grass beneath his feet as he does so. His mobile, in his pocket, starts ringing. He fishes inside it out woozily to see ‘Louise’ flashing on the screen, her photo beaming at him, asking him to answer, to speak to her. He clutches the phone in his hand and stares out at the horizon from his vantage point high on the cliffs.

  “Go back to Louise,” Jarvis had said. “Repair the damage.” But he’s not sure he wants to, he’s not sure he can. How can they repair the damage when she won’t speak to him? When she won’t open up. But who is he to talk? Maybe the only way forward is for him to be honest with her as well, tell her everything. Then they can decide if they want to try again. But only when they both know the score. They’ve been hiding their faces from each other for so long, they don’t know what each other looks like anymore. He’ll tell her everything and in doing so, he’ll force her hand. He knows she wanted to leave with Jarvis. He knows everything. If he’s honest with her, they can at least talk honestly and openly about everything. Maybe then they’ll be able to move forward. He glances at the ringing, vibrating phone in his hand again, finally deciding to answer it as it rings off. He brushes it against his teeth, thinking for a moment before it beeps, telling him he has a voicemail. Pressing to hear the message, he lifts the phone to his ear.

  “Adam, I’m sorry,” he hears his wife say. “I…look, please call me back. Please come back.” She pauses and Adam squeezes his eyes shut, the dizziness coming again. “I love you. I want to tell you everything, I want us to open up again, like we used to.”

  He reaches out his hand to steady himself against something, anything, as his vision blurs again and he stumbles, losing his footing. But there’s nothing to grab, nothing to hold on to. The phone falls from his hand and he staggers forward and topples, his ankle buckling beneath him, his head ploughing straight off the side, his body following after, a helpless hostage to gravity. He’s falling, heart thumping, lungs aching, eyes streaming.

  Epilogue

  Tom and I are listening to our parents singing lullabies over
the sea. We’re trussed warmly to their chests, watching waves lapping pebbles, lapping pebbles, lapping pebbles. We’re comforted by their gentle voices, rocked by their quiet breathing, made drowsy by the sun’s fading fingers. Above, we can hear less-fortunate children wailing from deep within graceful, white, feathered bodies. We gurgle. Snuggle into our parents’ jackets.

  When my body is found, they’ll say my death was instantaneous, they’ll say my head cracked open on the rocks and there was no water in my lungs, indicating I died instantly and didn’t drown.

  But an instant is a relative term. A lot can happen in an instant – if you don’t believe me, ask your dreaming mind. Entire dreamscapes and adventures and lifetimes can happen in the blink of an eye. An instant could be an eternity in the right circumstances.

  I don’t blame anyone, not even myself. Sometimes things aren’t anybody’s fault, they just happen. Events simply cram together, grating against one another like sardines in a can until finally the bloody, fractured reality bursts into the world through the open wounds. It was inevitable. It’s almost like my death was the first thing set in stone and everything else sprang from that: effect feeding back into the cause.

  Before I go, I’ve got one more favour to ask. Will you tell them how much I love them? My family, I mean. They shouldn’t need to be told, but they’ll think I did it on purpose. And in case they never find out, I need them to know I was never going to kill myself. I was always coming back.

  – END –

  If you enjoyed Beat the Rain, please recommend it to a friend and review it on Amazon.

  About the Author

  Beat the Rain is Nigel’s first novel. He lives in Brighton with his partner, their two children and their greying ginger dog Luka. He’s also co-founder and CMO of digital agency, Qube Media. He was previously a writer and editor for Channel 4 Television and a newspaper sub-editor. Find out more about Nigel on his website and social-media pages: