Twin Effect

by Ann Somerville

  “Australia. She married this Aussie guy last year—Ian something or other, never met him, not that I’m entitled to—and emigrated. Kieran loves it.”

  “But? Something’s making you miserable.”

  “Rachel’s pregnant again, planned this time. Due near Christmas. And she wants her new kid and Kieran to have the same surname, so she asked me if I’d mind if her husband adopted Kieran. They’ve floated the idea with him, and he’s happy, so they want to go ahead after her baby is born. How could I say no? It makes sense from a legal point of view, gives Kieran extra security.”

  “He’s still yours by blood.”

  “Yeah. I don’t know. I wish I knew the man better. What if the marriage doesn’t work out? Kieran will be shafted. They both will be.”

  “So this is why you’ve looked so miserable every time I’ve seen you. Worrying about your kid.”

  “No, I’m just a miserable git, Max. Old, grumpy, issues the size of Mt Snowdon, and I hate what you drink.”

  Max laughed. “I don’t only drink cider, Dylan. I like lots of drinks.”

  “Just not real ale.”

  Max leaned in, and dropped his voice. “Oh, I don’t know. I could learn. Want to teach me?”

  Little rat. “Down, boy,” Dylan said, to his penis as much as to the tease next to him.

  “Woof. So, can I walk you home? Maybe you could invite me in and we could talk some more.”

  “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “Not when I want something, no. Mum always said that I was the most determined kid she’d ever met.”

  “And Toby?”

  “Where I went, he went. And where he went, I went.”

  “‘Went’? Not ‘goes’?”

  Max’s brow creased, as if the question confused him. “No, still the same. Only I have my work, and he has his studies. Don’t see as much of him as when we were kids, but we’re still close. Like we share a soul.”

  “So...you’ve never had a fight?”

  “With Toby? God no. It would be like fighting myself. He’s half of my heart. No matter what happens, we’re there for each other. Do you have a brother?”

  “No, just my sister. She’s a psychiatrist, married with three grown up kids. Her husband’s a good guy too. She was pleased when I got the job at the university. They’re in Sussex by the coast. I’ll see more of her and the family now.”

  “Oh, good. For a minute you had me fooled that you really were this miserable old loner, incapable of love and affection.”

  “Piss off,” Dylan muttered, though he grinned.

  “So, coffee?”

  “Just coffee.”

  “Sure.”

  Dylan got to his feet, ignoring Max’s offered arm. “I can manage.”

  “Sorry. How bad is it?”

  “Just stiff. I broke a lot of bones, and arthritis is a certainty. Plus the getting old thing.”

  “You’re fifteen years younger than my dad.”

  “Surprisingly, that’s not as comforting as it might be. Right, let’s go.” This is a very bad idea, Dylan told himself. Yet he wasn’t ready to lose Max’s company just yet, and there was no harm in coffee, surely.

  Pull the other one, Gallaher, it’s got bells on.

  It had been so long since he’d gone anywhere with a good-looking man, even one nearly half his age. Max’s company put a spring in Dylan’s step that even his buggered back couldn’t ruin.

  At the flat, Dylan unlocked the door and turned the light on. The bare bulb shone a desolate light on the piles of cartons and wads of bubblewrap shoved against the wall. “Pardon the mess. I’m afraid I unpacked the necessary items and left the rest until I felt up to it. Which I haven’t yet.”

  Max walked around, picked up one of the journals, checked out the view from the big window. “It’s nice. Do you like it?”

  “It’s fine for me. I can catch a bus to work, and there’s good transport everywhere else. Where do you live?”

  “Other side of the river. With my parents, like Toby. But I have a workshop not that far from the pub.”

  “I’d like to see that one day.”

  “I’d like to show you.” Max turned around from the window. “Coffee?”

  “Hang on, I’ll just put the kettle on.” As he lifted the kettle, Dylan realised his prosthesis’s battery was running low. He should take it off, but would Max mind?

  Time to find out, he supposed. He went into the bedroom, took off the hand and liner, and put the prosthesis on the charger. He washed the stump carefully in the bathroom, checking automatically for any signs of damage. Then he changed into a long-sleeved shirt which covered the stump, and went back into the kitchen.

  Max had found the instant coffee, and had poured the boiling water into mugs. He held up the coffee jar. “I figured this would be okay for night time.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Milk? Sugar?”

  “Milk, no sugar, and I should be doing this.”

  “Nearly done...um, did you lose something?”

  “Oh this?” Dylan held up the handless sleeve. “Time for a break.”

  “You changed clothes too.”

  “Yeah. I just thought you’d—”

  Max rolled his eyes. “Freak out? I do know you have a stump, Dylan.”

  “Yeah...but it’s not the nicest thing to look at.”

  Max walked forward, and lifted Dylan’s right arm. Gently, he rolled back the sleeve until the mutilated arm was revealed.

  “Oh yuck, it’s so gross, euww, icky,” he said quietly, before he bent and kissed it. Dylan shivered. “It’s just an arm,” Max said, stroking it with his thumb. “Missing a hand, that’s all.”

  “People freak...that’s why we wear the cosmetic hands even though they don’t do anything. They don’t look quite real, but people would rather look at that than the injury.”

  Max moved in closer and put his arms around Dylan’s shoulders. “I would rather look at you. All of you.”

  “Max, I’m—” Dylan caught himself. “Coffee. We said just coffee.”

  Without looking away, Max reached behind him, fumbled for one of the mugs, and brought it around to his lips. He took a big sip, then set the cup down. He leaned in and kissed Dylan, tongue probing carefully. “Coffee,” he whispered. “The best way.”

  “Oh God.”

  Max kissed him again. This time Dylan was right on board. Max dragged him over to the couch while still deeply involved with Dylan’s mouth, swallowing Dylan’s “ooph” as he hit the cushions. Dylan tangled his fingers in Max’s curls, while Max’s roving hand pushed under Dylan’s shirt, laying eager fingers on Dylan’s skin and nipples. But his real intentions were lower. He rubbed his hand under Dylan’s waistband, exploring his underwear....

  And Dylan realised this was all going where it shouldn’t be.

  He pushed Max’s hand away from his zip. “Stop. Max...I don’t have anything.”

  Max looked up, his eyes bright and lust-filled. “Neither do I.”

  “No, I mean I don’t have condoms or stuff. I told you, it’s been a long time.”

  “It’s okay. Don’t need condoms for this.” He slid lower and bent his head.

  Dylan pushed at his shoulder. “No, don’t.”

  “But you want it.”

  “Yeah, and that’s the problem.” He sat up a little, though Max held on. “This is way too fast. You said coffee. I meant coffee.”

  “I can tell.” Max moved up to kiss him again, and Dylan let him because, by God, the kid could kiss. “Dylan, I want you.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Don’t lie. You want me. You want something, at least.”

  “Yes, I do. And you’re so.... Damn it, Max, you’re just a kid, and I’m a lot older and...not ready yet. Please.”

  Max moved to the floor, and knelt up. “You don’t have to beg me to stop. I’m not that much of a prick.”

  “You aren’t a prick at all.” Dylan stroked the messy curls. �
�You’re wonderful. Desirable.”

  “So are you.”

  “I’m really not.”

  “You don’t see yourself the way I do. What do you want me to do? Leave?”

  “No. But it is getting late.” He touched Max’s face. “I’d offer to let you stay over but that seems a bit rude in the circumstances.”

  “I can’t stay anyway.”

  “Why not? Don’t your parents know you’re gay?”

  Max smiled. “Oh they do. But I can’t stay.”

  Why? It made no sense, unless Max was lying about where he lived. But Dylan wasn’t entitled to ask for more details. He rubbed his hand through his hair, trying to get himself under control. “Do you still want that coffee?”

  Max held out a hand to stop him getting up, then climbed to his feet. “No, I’m fine. Are you all right?”

  “Much better. You don’t have to rush away.”

  “I’m not. But you’re right. It’s late. I had a good time. Did you?”

  “God yes. Max, it’s not that I don’t fancy you.”

  “It’s that I’m too young and too hot.”

  Dylan laughed. “Yes. At least for a Sunday night when I’m not feeling my most attractive.”

  “So, when you’re feeling more attractive....”

  Dylan pushed himself to his feet, groaning as his back protested. He’d pay for this for days. “Still friends?”

  “Of course. But I’m not giving up.”

  “I don’t want you to.”

  Max’s face lit up. “Great.” He put his hand on Dylan’s shoulder, and pulled him closer so he could kiss his cheek. “When can I see you again?”

  “Busy week—”

  “Friday again?”

  “Saturday’s better. How about lunch?”

  Max’s face twisted as if that was a difficult suggestion to process. “I...don’t think so. Friday’s definite.”

  “Okay. Friday. Supper?”

  “No. Later. Coffee? I can come here.”

  Did the kid have an eating disorder or something? “All right. I’ll be in all evening. Just ring the bell.”

  “Great.”

  “But better give me your telephone number, in case I have to change plans.” Dylan took the notepad from the side table. “Write my address down so you don’t forget, and give me your details.”

  Max obliged, writing his name and telephone number in a messy, distinctive hand. “There you go. But please don’t change plans.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “I’ll let myself out. Give your back a break.” He kissed Dylan again, deliberately rubbing his left hand against the stump of Dylan’s arm. “Next week. I’ll bring condoms.”

  “I’ll provide the lube.”

  Max’s grin was dazzling.

  The flat was very quiet. And dull. Max’s spirit blazed brighter than a naked flame, and without it, the room was darker, colder.

  Dylan shook his head at his own stupidity, turning down an offer a dozen better men would have taken without the slightest conscience. Max was an adult. The only problem was in Dylan’s brain, not in Max’s. He had a week to make his mind up. Leading Max on was unfair.

  Not to mention, he thought, adjusting his jeans again, bloody hard on the mechanicals.

  Chapter 3

  His week was filled with meetings. Meeting new tutors, meeting grad students, meeting more staff, meetings with staff, and meetings to plan further meetings. He made some time to unpack a little more, and yeah, tidy up a little. Change the sheets, that kind of thing. Not that he was making any assumptions about Friday evening, but he was prepared to keep an open mind about it, especially after talking to Lisa on Wednesday night. She hooted at the idea of him being too old for Max, ridiculed any notion of him being a poor catch, and wondered aloud if he was losing his marbles, turning down a hot, admiring piece of male loveliness.

  “Coming from a psychiatrist, that’s not very professional,” he said.

  “Don’t care. Dylan, there’s nothing wrong with you. Max sounds like what you need, and he sounds mature enough to deal with a casual relationship. Where it goes from there, you can negotiate. Don’t make moping your life’s work.”

  “Not moping,” he lied. “I’ve been busy.”

  “You’ve been moping since Rachel moved to Australia. You still talk to Kieran as much as you did before, and he treats you just the same, right?”

  “Yeah, but...he’s not here. I can’t do things with him, like before. I may not see him again for years.” Or ever.

  “No, and that’s a big change. You’re allowed to grieve, like you did after you lost your hand. But don’t let it become overwhelming. Let Max distract you. And send me his picture. He sounds cute.”

  “Lisa!”

  “Hey, I’m allowed to look. When are you coming down again?”

  “After term starts, I hope. Still sorting things out, but I’m getting there.”

  “It’ll be good to see you. We’ve missed you.”

  “Me too. I’ll let you know how things go.”

  “They’ll be fine. Just relax and let him take charge. He sounds like he knows what he wants and how to get it.”

  “Oh, he does.”

  She laughed. “See you soon, Dylan.”

  The conversation strengthened his resolve to let Max have his wicked way with him, if he still wanted to. What was the worst that could happen? Bad sex? Failure to perform? Wouldn’t be the first time, and at least Dylan knew he could have a conversation with Max if everything else went tits up. He was worrying about nothing.

  The prospect of Friday made Thursday drag, so he was glad of the chance to escape outside for an hour and eat lunch in the open air. He had a splitting headache, so he didn’t even bring his laptop. Just a sandwich, water, and a determination not to think about anything relating to grants, teaching, or students for the next sixty minutes.

  He liked this campus. It was old enough to be green and leafy with some gracious gardens, and modern enough to have decent facilities. Of course, whether he’d feel the same when it was overflowing with students in a few weeks’ time, he couldn’t tell, but there seemed to be plenty of space and light. Ironic that he wouldn’t have applied for a job here if Rachel hadn’t gone away. One door closes, every cloud has a silver lining, and so on. He’d heard all the platitudes about change after the accident. In this case, they were true.

  He finished the sandwich, dusted his hands and looked for a bin to dispose of the wrapper. Brown, familiar curls and lanky limbs caught his eyes. Max? What was he doing here?

  “Hey!” ‘Max’ turned and scowled, and Dylan realised his mistake. “Oh, you’re Toby. Sorry.”

  Toby clutched a folder to his chest, and intensified the glare. “Who the hell are you and why do you keep following me?”

  “I’m not following you. Look, can I just explain?”

  Dylan climbed to his feet and moved closer. Toby didn’t retreat, but his expression warned Dylan not to push it. “I know someone who is a dead ringer for you, okay? And he said he has a twin brother called Toby. So naturally, I thought...I’m not following you. I live here, and I’m a new lecturer in the Engineering department. Dylan Gallaher.”

  “You already know my name, but I don’t have a brother. Not any more.”

  “I don’t—”

  “He died six years ago.” Toby paused, and his mouth twisted. “He was knocked down by a drink driver and killed.”

  “I’m so sorry. What was his name?” Dylan whispered, afraid of the answer.

  “Max. Max Symonds. My twin. So you can’t possibly know him.”

  “But...that’s his name. My friend is Max Symonds.”

  Toby’s jaw set dangerously. “He’s not my brother, and if he says so, then he’s lying. Either someone’s having a laugh at you, or you are. Anyway, keep away from me, Dr Gallaher. I’m a student here and I won’t put up with harassment.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Good.” He turned on his heel
and walked away, fast enough to make it clear that Dylan better not follow.

  What the bloody hell was going on? Why would Max lie...but how could he be lying? How could he fake such an astonishing resemblance? Was he faking, or was this Toby Symonds lying?

  He pulled out his phone, looking in his wallet for the note with Max’s number on it. He called it but got a woman’s voicemail. He checked he’d dialled the right number, then put his phone away, frustrated. He hadn’t got the sense that either Max or Toby were lying, but they both couldn’t be telling the truth.

  He returned to his office and fired up Google. In seconds, he was staring slack-jawed at the screen.

  This was not possible.

  ~~~~~

  He jumped half a foot when the door buzzer went, even though he’d been expecting it for hours, and had thought of little else all day. Nearly eleven. He’d been waiting for hours, thinking and worrying, but still had no idea how he was going to handle this. He’d called Lisa and told her what he knew. She’d advised caution dealing with Max, even inviting someone over to give Dylan some protection in case Max turned violent. But he knew no one he could ask. If he’d had a way of contacting Max, he could have arranged a meeting in the pub as usual, but he didn’t.

  So all he could do was sit and wait. And fret.

  He opened the downstairs door, and unlocked the door to the flat. He heard Max bounding up the stairs, full of enthusiasm. That only made Dylan feel worse. He plastered on a calm expression, and held the door open.

  Max kissed his cheek. “Hi! You’re waiting for me.”

  “Yeah, of course. Come in.”

  Max threw his arms around Dylan’s neck as soon as the door closed, but Dylan ducked out of his embrace.

  “Uh oh. What’s wrong?”

  “Come and sit, Max. I need to talk to you.”

  “You’ve changed your mind?”

  “It’s more than that. Do you want some coffee?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  Dylan indicated the couch, and Max sat down. Dylan took a seat in the armchair. Better to keep a little physical as well as emotional distance.

  “So what’s up?”

  Max looked so unconcerned. Dylan’s minimal reserve of confidence disappeared. “I, uh, ran into Toby at the uni today.”