And it wouldn’t shut up.
“Right,” Darren said slowly, and held up an index finger, the bow clamped between the others. “Never do that again. I think I had a minor heart attack.”
“Okay,” Jayden said breathlessly. “Sorry,” he said again. “I just…seriously, this is…”
“You owe me a coffee,” Darren reminded him, dropping off the edge of the stage almost casually and packing up the violin again. “And I definitely heard something about a cookie.”
“So…cookies are the way to bribe you?”
“Snack food in general is the way to bribe me, now cough up,” Darren said. “A bribe was offered, and I’m taking you up on it. Let’s go.”
* * * *
Father’s car was in the drive when Darren got home.
The sight of it was so unusual that it took a moment to remember that it was Father’s car, and not one of Scott’s friends. If any of Scott’s friends could afford a Mercedes. Or knew how to put their car through a car wash.
Father being home meant that Darren’s usual route—raiding the fridge, failing to find anything worth eating, and retreating upstairs to hide in his room and scatter his homework everywhere to avoid even more music practice—was cut off. Father, unlike Mother, liked updates. Darren was the only kid he knew who was older than seven and was still being asked…
“Darren. What did you learn at school today?”
He hadn’t even managed to close the front door. Damn it.
Father was waiting in the living room doorway. Beyond it, Darren could hear the news channel on loop, which meant Misha was probably still at her ballet lesson. Judging by Scott’s car being missing, he’d probably escaped to pick her up. Lucky son of a…
“Tuesday is mostly science and maths, Father,” he replied, hoping to put him off. Father was a corporate lawyer and fully intended for Darren to study music at university. Darren fully intended to go any other way possible. “I have basic calculus, so…”
“You also have practice.”
“I had Mr. Weber’s orchestra this afternoon,” Darren returned.
“And if you are to keep your place in it, you must practice. You will not be accepted into any reputable music college without significant…”
“I’ve been first violin for over a year!”
“Don’t take that tone with me, Darren. I’m only looking out for your future.”
Darren ground his teeth, toeing off his shoes, and shrugging out of his blazer to hang it up. They’d had this conversation—and every possible variance of it—nearly every day for the last four years. Ever since he’d been accepted onto that stupid orchestra in the first place. There would be absolutely no point in having it again.
“Don’t ignore me, Darren. You have practice.”
“Well, I’m not going to bloody practice,” Darren snapped. “I’ve been practicing all afternoon, my wrist hurts, and I have calculus homework!”
Father drew himself up and folded his arms over his chest. Darren could remember being five and afraid of that stance, but it was ten years ago, and those ten years hadn’t been kind to Jeff Peace. His stomach was forcing its way over the top of his suit trousers, he was going bald, and the last summer (and Darren’s violently quick growth spurts) had reinforced the simple fact that Father was not as tall as he made out to be.
“You have a talent,” Father growled, but his voice wasn’t deep enough to do it properly, “and talents are the keys to success in this world. If you want to ever be a success, you have to nurture your gifts, and that means practice.”
“Yeah, well, I seriously doubt any engineering school gives a fuck about my ability to mangle the entirety of The Four Seasons!” Darren shouted, finally losing his temper, and stormed upstairs, dodging the grab Father made for his elbow and running the last ten steps until he could swing into his room and slam the door. The bang was satisfying.
He’d left his bags downstairs, though, which meant no homework. And Father would tell Mother about the ‘debate’ (row) and she’d come up later when she got home and shout at him for being disrespectful. She might even try and get him to apologise for swearing (which was not going to happen).
But he’d gotten out of practice, and Darren found a bitter smile from somewhere as he forced his chest of drawers across the carpet and behind the door to barricade it shut. By the time Mother came home and had a go, it would be Misha’s bedtime. Which meant he had a couple of hours to kill before she came home and he’d have to unblock the door and get his homework.
He opened up his laptop—a hand-me-down from Scott—and hooked up to the internet. Doubtless she’d take it away as punishment, so best, really, to get his downtime in now.
Chapter 6
“What happened to you?”
“Don’t ask.” Jayden groaned, dropping his bag and his abandoned blazer onto the front row of seats. His hair felt like it had been glued together in clumps. It probably was.
“No, seriously, what happened?”
He heard a faint squeak of complaint from the violin as Darren set it down. He’d been composing, Jayden thought, and a music sheet covered in scratchy, pencilled handwriting floated to the floor to hug the violin as Darren stood up and dropped off the edge of the stage to look at him.
“You don’t tell me, I’ll have to guess.”
“Guess, then,” Jayden snapped. He was so irritated—furious, even, because Mum would take one look at him and start fussing about school again and talking to that headmaster because this isn’t on, darling!—that he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about snapping at Darren. It had been about Darren in the first place.
“You look like someone poured coffee or something on your head.”
“Close enough.”
“Shit,” Darren said conversationally. “Was it still hot?”
“It was from the newsagents next to school. It doesn’t start hot in there.”
“Well, that’s…”
“And it was a hot chocolate with double cream,” Jayden said bitterly. “Hence, my hair.”
Darren lifted a hand as if he were going to touch it. Jayden ducked away. “Did you have hairspray?”
“Yes.”
“That kid who mouthed off at you when we met?”
“One of his friends,” Jayden muttered, kicking the nearest chair. “I just…Mum’s going to throw a fit. She’ll go and talk to the head again, like she thinks it helps, but they only tell them to stop and then they know I told, and it gets worse.”
“Have you told your mum that?”
“She does it anyway,” Jayden hedged. In truth, no, but it would just upset her. There was no other school he could go to, and it wasn’t like they could afford St. John’s without that scholarship.
“Hm.”
“I can’t let her see this, Darren,” Jayden sighed, and he hated the note of a whine creeping into his voice.
“Well, your blazer got most of it,” Darren noted, unfolding the sopping garment. “Do you need this for school? Like, what’ll happen if you show up without it?”
“Nothing.”
“Give it here, then, I’ll run it through the dry-cleaners where Mother takes my uniform,” Darren said. “I can bung it on her tab, she’ll never notice.” He shoved it unceremoniously under the chair to crumple wetly between his bag and a plastic bag that contained what looked like a gym kit. “And come with me. I had football this morning; my shower gel can double up as shampoo. Wash your hair out in the sink in the gents.”
“Seriously?”
“Sure.” Darren was on his knees, rummaging through his bag, and Jayden stared dumbly at the top of his messy head. Frankly, the shower-gel-for-shampoo thing didn’t surprise him—there was no way those curls had ever seen conditioner—but…but…
“Are you…?”
“Seriously,” Darren agreed, straightening up and shaking a bottle of something generic at him. “I can’t muster up hairspray, but if you’re really lucky, I might have a comb in the
re somewhere.”
“I have a comb,” Jayden interrupted.
“No surprises there. Come on.” Darren caught him under the arm and hauled him back the way he came, pulling them into the toilets near the empty, abandoned café. His hands were warm and slightly dusty or…Jayden chanced a look, and realised they were inky.
“What have you been doing?” he asked, gesturing at them as Darren tossed him the bottle and leaned against the door.
“Chemistry,” he said. “My biro made like a reaction and exploded.”
Jayden managed a laugh—it wobbled uncertainly in his throat—and ducked his head under the tap. The water was icy and took his breath away, but the mess started to clear as he tugged at the clumps in his hair.
“What did they do it for?” Darren asked, unusually gently.
“I told you, I’m gay.”
“They say that every time? Must get boring.”
“If…if you must know…they said having Costa coffee dates with my boyfriend must be expensive, so I could bring him this instead. It’s free.”
“Charming,” Darren said. “You didn’t wait for your boyfriend to see it or anything.”
Jayden laughed wetly, scrubbing violently at his hair. “Yeah, well, I don’t even have one.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Seems a bit odd.”
“…Why?” Jayden asked.
“It’s a bit like saying Mila Kunis doesn’t have a boyfriend. I’m sure it’s been true at some point or other, but she’s too fit for it to last long.”
Jayden’s brain stalled. He just called you fit! the voice shrieked. It was beside itself. He just called you fit! That settles it, he’s gay, gay as a christening robe, now get your head out of the sink and kiss him!
“Um,” he said instead.
“You get brain freeze under there?”
“Um, no,” he mumbled, his face hot enough to offset the cold water, and scrubbed a handful of shower gel into his soaked hair. And he really should have thought harder about it, but the smell of Darren surrounded him in a haze, and he suddenly had to concentrate to stay on his feet.
“How long has this been going on?”
“Couple of years,” Jayden mumbled.
“And, what, you just put up with it?”
“I tried fighting back once. Canning nearly put me in the hospital,” Jayden retorted.
“Yeah, I can’t see you as a fighter,” Darren muttered. “Your friends don’t do anything?”
“My friends are girls,” Jayden said. “The other guys, they don’t…you know, it’s weird. Being friends with a gay guy. You know, they might…I don’t know, it’s like they think I’m catching.”
Darren snorted. It echoed oddly in the bathroom. “I’m friends with a black guy; doesn’t mean I tan better in the summer.”
Jayden laughed again. There was still a shake in the middle of his chest when he did it. “Yeah, well, gay guys perv on you in PE. You didn’t know that?”
“Apparently not. I’ll have to put on more of a show,” Darren said, then snickered. “Or maybe not. Pretty sure one of the guys at football is gay, and no thank you.”
Jayden rinsed the last of the gel out and turned off the tap, squeezing water out of his hair with his hands. “Not…not a Mila Kunis?” he tried.
“Definitely not,” Darren said and shuddered. “More like a Jabba the Hut, if you know what I mean.”
“Ew.”
“Yeah. Good in goal, though. I think he’s about the same width.”
Jayden laughed, and then the shiver in his chest hiccupped and a sob caught in his throat. His face burned and he buried his face in his hands as it rose up out of him, and the tears were shockingly hot after the icy water.
“Oh, hell,” Darren murmured, and then a large hand was tugging on his shoulder. “Come here, come on.”
Jayden went into the offered hug without protest. For someone who apparently didn’t like hugs, Darren was good at giving them: he was warm and solid under that deceptive school uniform, and he smelled of coffee and that shower gel and when Jayden buried his face into the top of Darren’s shoulder, he didn’t say anything about how wet he had to be getting.
“‘M sorry,” he mumbled.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“You don’t…” Jayden hiccupped and tried again. “You don’t like hugs.”
“I don’t like surprise hugs. And neither would you if you had my older brother.”
Jayden laughed, and another sob wriggled free. He felt like a basket case, laughing and crying at the same time, but Darren’s arms were wrapped right round him like warm bands of freaking steel, and he’d never needed a hug so much in his life.
“Or my little sister, actually,” Darren said. “Just don’t wipe your nose on me and we’ll call it good.”
Jayden sucked in a deep breath and fought with the tears. Darren was rubbing a hand over his shoulder in little circles—okay, big circles, because Darren’s hands really were huge, and they weren’t capable of little circles. And it felt so fucking good, just for Darren to hug him and not go ranting off about how awful it was, because Jayden knew how awful it was, and Charley and Mum would always rant and Dad would shake his head, and he just wanted a fucking hug…
“How…” He grasped at something to talk about, something to take his mind off the stupid crying and how embarrassing this was. “How old’s your sister?”
“Six. She cries when balloons burst and then she just latches on to you and there’s no getting rid of her. I don’t voluntarily hug her, it’s disgusting. Spit and snot everywhere.”
Jayden’s laugh was a little more genuine.
“She’s called Michelle, but Scott—that’s my brother—we just call her Misha most of the time. Or Mish-Mash. Or Potato.”
“Potato?”
“She’s kind of lumpy.”
Jayden laughed properly and untangled himself, scrubbing at the tears with the heel of his hand. “What about your brother?” he mumbled.
“Scott? He’s nineteen,” Darren said, vanishing into a cubicle briefly and reappearing with a wad of paper that he handed over. Jayden scrubbed at his eyes and mumbled a thanks. “Well, you’re welcome. Presuming it helped. I can hug, but that’s about all I can do for tears.”
“I think I needed a hug,” Jayden admitted, still sniffing. “I just…I love my mum and she tries but she’s always trying to fix it and she can’t fix it, she just can’t, and Charley goes and rants about them and says how we’re going to be amazing one day, and I just…I just need a hug sometimes.”
“Well, you know where to find me,” Darren said and squeezed Jayden’s upper arm. “Feeling more like a human being and less like the floor of a Starbucks?”
“Yeah,” Jayden said, running a hand through his wet hair. “God. Thank you. Seriously, I mean, first I take your shower gel and then I cry all over you…”
“Still better than practice,” Darren said briskly as they walked back to the auditorium.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Go ahead.”
“How do you know about rinsing hot chocolate out of your hair in a sink? I mean…that can’t happen at St. John’s, right?”
“You’ve seen my hair. It gets in everything. It gets in things I’d swear I haven’t been near.”
He had a point, Jayden supposed. Darren’s hair wasn’t long, but it was out of control. It was just a mass of big, loose curls and only seemed to obey gravity because it was too heavy to try for the ceiling. If he actually styled it properly, any girl would have killed for it; as it was…yes, Jayden could see how Darren knew about removal-of-things-from-hair.
“Yeah, but…”
“And I’m lazy.” Darren shrugged. “Why have a full shower when the mess is only in your hair?”
Jayden managed a smile, pulling himself up to sit on the edge of the stage. Darren had already been to Costa, apparently, an empty cup sitting by his abandoned chair, and Jayden g
ave it a dirty look.
“I’m happy to go and punch someone if you like,” Darren offered.
“It wouldn’t help. And they’d just beat you up anyway.”
Darren raised his eyebrows. “Such faith. I can hold my own in a fight, I’ll have you know.”
“It wouldn’t help anyway. It’s not like you’re there all the time,” Jayden mumbled.
Darren hummed, rummaging in his blazer pocket. He produced a pen and wiggled it under Jayden’s nose. “Go on, write your number on my hand and I’ll ring it. You can text me pithy insults about them when you’re wound up if you like.”
Jayden turned the pen over in his fingers. “You don’t have to deal with this, you know. I mean, I’m not…it’s not your problem. You don’t have to…”
“You’re my mate, it’s my problem,” Darren shrugged and held out his fist. “Go on. I can’t promise you won’t get some seriously weird texts from the freaks I call friends now and then, but it’s mostly awful nicknames and badly-adjusted song lyrics.”
Jayden bit his lip. To have someone to talk to during the day as well…or to be able to talk to him when he wasn’t here, because two days out of seven was rapidly becoming too little time…but on the other hand, getting a number from a guy Jayden had to admit was a crush? A guy who said Mila Kunis was fit, and who was therefore definitely, absolutely straight?
He implied you were fit too, the voice interrupted, and Jayden wrote out his number carefully.
“I don’t even know your last name,” he said eventually, and reddened when he realised how that sounded. “I mean…like…I don’t…”
“Peace,” Darren said, and pulled a face. “Darren T. Peace.”
“What’s that stand for?”
“Oh, no,” Darren said. “It’s horrible. If I wind up married with a bunch of children, I’m not even telling the wife what it stands for.”
Jayden bit his lip and half-smiled. “Phillips,” he offered. “But I don’t have a middle name.”
“Lucky you.”
“At least your first name is normal. Mine’s girly.”
“Well, you’re a bit girly yourself, so it fits.”
Jayden shoved his shoulder; Darren laughed and dropped down off the stage to rummage through his bag for his phone. He had a haphazard way of looking for things that made Jayden wince—especially when a textbook was flung aside carelessly—but he surfaced again quickly enough and programmed in the new number on his meander back to the edge of the stage.
Vivaldi in the Dark Page 5