Twin Effect

by Ann Somerville

  “Don’t say that. Old people die.”

  Dylan cupped Max’s face in his hand. “Young people die too, Max. Don’t start fretting about that now. Come to bed.”

  Max curled around him, his breathing still snuffly. "Things are moving fast, seems to me," Dylan said.

  "I don't know why I'm here."

  "I think you're here because Toby needs you to be here. I don't believe in spirits or ghosts but—"

  "Here I am," Max said.

  "Yeah, exactly. So I guess you're here because Toby is in some kind of crisis. Maybe because he's going back to finish his course. He says he's over his mental health issues but he's so not over losing you. As things were, I don't think he ever would be. So I guess your job is to help him. And my job is to help both of you."

  "You don't have to."

  "I think I do now. Maybe I need to. I've been sleepwalking through my life for a while. You two woke me out of it."

  "What will you do when I go away?"

  The clench in Dylan's gut was his answer, but he pretended to be mature about it. "I'll manage. It's not like what Toby went through. I've lost people before and survived."

  "Oh."

  "Not that I want you to go away, you nitwit." He tightened his grip around his companion. "None of us know how this will end, or if it will. Something is going to happen, maybe soon. But it doesn't have to be bad for you."

  Max went silent. Contemplating your own death—or erasure—would do that to a man.

  "You okay?" Dylan finally asked.

  "Yeah. I'm not worried for me. Wherever I was, it wasn't bad. I didn't feel anything. Or know anything. So I'm not afraid, except for Toby. And...."

  "And?"

  "I wish I could see Mum and Dad again. I miss them too. I know I won't see them again when I...go. Toby's lucky he still has them."

  "Yes, he is. But losing you means he can't see that. Losing a sibling is harder than losing parents, I think. I don't know. You don't expect to lose a brother at twenty."

  "I didn't expect to die then either. The world has changed. iPhones."

  Dylan chuckled. "That's one change, yes."

  "If I could stay...even if I just lived nice and quiet in Toby's head, I'd like that. Especially if he stayed friends with you."

  "I wouldn't say we're friends, Max."

  "You are. He trusts you because I trust you, and because you helped him. Us. All his old friends dropped him. He's not making new ones at the uni. He's afraid of being dropped again."

  "Damn, people can be bastards."

  "Yeah. He was always bad at making friends. I used to introduce him to people, but I can't now."

  The sadness in his voice made Dylan hold him closer, because he could. "Except that you did, didn't you? You introduced him to me."

  "Hey, that's right. Maybe that's what I came back to do!"

  "Steady on. Toby needs friends his own age, with similar interests."

  "He needs people who like him, Dylan. He needs people to love him and like him. Like you do. You don't have any friends either."

  "I do so have friends. Rachel, my sister. People back north. I've only just moved here."

  "Uh huh."

  "Brat."

  Max shook a little against Dylan's chest. Laughing at him.

  “Anyway, I have new friends with you two.”

  “Yeah, but that’s different.”

  “Does that matter?”

  “No.” Max wriggled to make himself more comfortable. “Why does love have to cause so much pain? I would never have hurt Toby. Now all I do is hurt him.”

  “We’ll get him past this. Keep trying to talk to him. That’s what he wants. It may never happen. I can help him get used to that. You’re not doing anything wrong, Max.”

  “Why did that driver have to drink and drive? We had such happy lives.”

  “Crap happens. Death happens. No meaning, no hand of fate. Just bad luck and bad judgment. It’s not your fault.”

  “You’re so nice to me.”

  “You’re easy to be nice to. Now get some sleep and let your brother rest. I’ll see you soon.”

  Max tilted his head and planted a tongue-delving kiss on Dylan. Dylan’s hand came up to cup the back of Max’s head, and he would have deepened the kiss still further, before he remembered Toby. “We shouldn’t,” he whispered.

  “He won’t mind.”

  “But...he can’t consent, Max. I mind. Sorry.”

  Max moved back, and rested comfortably on Dylan’s chest. “I understand. Maybe one day, he’ll be here too.”

  Dylan didn’t answer. He didn’t want to sound greedy.

  ~~~~~

  He let Toby sleep in next morning. The kid looked worn-out and miserable even while unconscious. Dylan bet he’d had some horrible dreams.

  He poured his muesli and made a pot of tea, then called Kieran while the cereal soaked. Kieran’s conversation was dominated by the two looming events in his life - his new sister, and the end of year exams. Dylan listened and hummed in the right places, and was unusually grateful for teenage self-absorption.

  Toby slept through most of their chat, emerging just as Dylan was saying “Goodbye, give my love to your mum”. Although Dylan had closed the call window before Toby was within range of the camera, Toby still apologised for interrupting.

  “You didn’t. How do you feel?”

  “Better. Worse. Dunno.”

  “Toast? Tea?”

  “Please.”

  Toby drank a few sips of his tea, then set the mug down. “You talked to him?”

  “Yes. He was upset. He’s as desperate to talk to you as you are to talk to him. I told him to keep trying, but to relax. Same as I’m telling you. It’ll come. I’m sure of it.”

  Toby stared at his plate. “He’s upset? God, I don’t want that.”

  “You can’t do anything about it. I think it’s possible the stress is what’s stopping you hearing each other. You said you can’t be hypnotised, but if you could let all the worry and sadness go, then he might be able to...come across. In a way.”

  Toby rolled his eyes. “Let it go. Yeah, right. That’s so easy, Dr Gallaher.”

  “Sorry. Are you busy today?”

  “I have course work. But it can wait. Why?”

  Dylan had his own work to do but he needed to help his friend—his friends—more. “I thought we could spend some time together doing something you like. Go somewhere you feel happy and safe. Just let your brain take a rest for a bit.”

  “I bet yours never shuts down.”

  “Not shut down, nitwit. Just...relax. I’m the last person to advise you how, though. Any ideas?”

  Toby applied himself to his toast and tea, not meeting Dylan’s eyes. Dylan decided not to push. He knew himself how hard it was for someone pushing themselves to succeed against the odds to just let it all go, even for a few hours.

  “Maybe it was a bad idea,” he said, topping up their mugs. “Let’s forget—”

  “No, it’s a good idea, and I have a place...only it’s a bit morbid, and it’s so cold outside.”

  “Tell me.”

  “The graveyard where Granny is buried.”

  Dylan stared in surprise. “You’re right, that’s really morbid. I thought somewhere like an art gallery or something.”

  “Oh.” Toby’s brief animation died, and he stared at his plate again.

  Dylan had put his size twelve foot in it again. “Tell me why.”

  “We both loved to go there. Max and me, I mean. We knew she was dead and cried at the funeral and all that. But Mum said Granny would always be watching over us, and listening to us, so we shouldn’t be afraid of talking to her or feeling odd about missing her. We used to go to the graveyard and sit with our backs to the headstone, talking to her, and talking to each other. It’s not far from our house, not by bike. It’s a lovely little church—where she used to worship. She was devout, but she never pushed it on us. It was her comfort after Granddad died, I think. She did
the flowers and polished the brass and had tea with the vicar. Like her second home, really. She’d take us there so we could see the stained glass windows and admire the flower arrangements. A few times we went to services with her, and she taught us some of the hymns. It sounds so religious but...it was Granny. It always felt like her.”

  “I’d love you to show me, if you want to.”

  “But it’s freezing outside. What about your legs?”

  “They’ll be fine. A walk would do me good. How about we take a flask and a rug? I don’t think it’ll snow this morning.”

  “Are you sure, Dylan?”

  “Do you want to call your parents? Will they worry?”

  “I called them from the bedroom. They’re okay. I think they think it’s good I have a boyfriend.” Toby grinned at Dylan’s expression. “It was the easiest way to explain.”

  “You two are taking years off my life, you know.”

  “Hope not. So, what can I do?”

  Dylan set him to making more tea while he went in search of his long-unused picnic rug, and a backpack to put it in. He threw in an extra fleece and made sure he was dressed warmly, because his abused back would not appreciate being made colder than it needed to be. The BBC said the outside temperature was currently minus three. But as he’d thought, there was little chance of snow until later in the day. Cold was fine. Ice and snow were a nightmare.

  Toby shouldered the pack without giving Dylan a chance to refuse the offer, and they set off. It was a two-mile walk along the towpath, but there was a bus that would take them most of the way back. Perfectly doable, even for him.

  He let Toby set the pace and the conversation. At first morose and quiet, Toby brightened after half an hour, when their exertions had overcome the chill of a bright but brutally cold morning. Frost crunched under their feet but the path provided a safe and solid surface for Dylan and his cane. He wore gloves on his hands, both real and mechanical, so their passing attracted nothing more than polite nods from those going the other way. There were plenty of walkers taking advantage of the weak sun and dry weather after the recent rain and sleet, but as they approached the church, Dylan and Toby found themselves on their own.

  “It’s very pretty here. Very English.” The kind of setting that could grace biscuit tins across the nation without a hint of difficulty.

  “So was Granny. Her house has changed—my parents redecorated it and let it out—but the church is just the same. It smells of her. Or she smelled like it.”

  “You’re smiling,” Dylan said. “It does make you happy.”

  “I feel...loved. Remembering her. And being here with you. You make me feel safe.” Toby reached for Dylan’s right hand. “I know that sounds childish.”

  “No. But you’re squeezing the fake one.” Dylan grinned at Toby’s surprise. “It’s okay, and thank you. Show me where she lies?”

  His parents had been cremated, and he’d never had the slightest inclination to visit the destination of their ashes. But then he had lived in their house—the house where he’d grown up—until he’d left for University, and his sister and family still lived there. He didn’t need any reminding of their existence because they had been all around him all through his childhood.

  But the existence of a grave in a place already associated with love and happiness...yes, he could see that being a powerful draw. He envied Toby it, in a way. “You come here often?”

  “Not any more. Not since Max...I came here once after the accident, hoping it would help. It made it worse, remembering two losses. The vicar found me in the graveyard practically unconscious. Dad had to come fetch me. It was...the start of...well, you know.”

  Damn it. If Dylan had known that.... “Uh, are you sure you should be doing this?”

  “I told you. I’m all cured. And Max is here. Come on.” He led the way through the lychgate, and into a small, licheny and beautiful graveyard surrounding an equally licheny and lovely church. “It’s sixteenth century. Bits of it, anyway. Granny knew its history better than the vicar.”

  “He, uh, won’t be surprised to see you here?”

  “Dunno. Don’t care. This way.”

  Toby walked unerringly to the west side of the graveyard, and to a flat grass patch in front of a simple granite headstone bearing two names and their years of birth and death. Husband and wife, joined in death. “This is her. Hi, Granny. Meet Dylan.” He laid his hand on the headstone and closed his eyes, smiling, but sadly.

  Dylan put his hand on Toby’s shoulder. “Hello, Mrs Westin,” he said. “Your grandsons are good people.”

  Toby looked at him. “You don’t believe in all this stuff.”

  “After meeting Max? You must be joking.”

  Toby grinned, then knelt on the ground. “Want to sit?”

  Manoeuvring to the ground took some doing, and Toby grabbed the wrong hand to help, but Dylan finally managed to sit somewhat inelegantly on the rug. “The tea, quick. I’m freezing my nuts...um, toes off.”

  Toby lifted his eyes to the sky. “Sorry, Granny. Can’t take him anywhere.”

  “Brat. Both of you.”

  Toby settled with his back against the headstone, and poured the tea. Dylan moved around so he could sit at Toby’s side, using the headstone as a support too.

  “This is cosy,” he said, after he’d had a good gulp of hot restoring tea. Toby broke out the biscuits and they munched contentedly.

  “We...Max and I...would bring a picnic here sometimes. Not in weather like this though. Lots of people come here in the summer.”

  “I can understand why.” The church and graveyard were picture postcard material, even in this chill. He took Toby’s hand and held it in his lap. “Feeling okay?”

  “Yeah. It’s not like the last time. You’re here. Max is here...somewhere.”

  “Why don’t you close your eyes? Let your thoughts wander. Think about your grandmother, and him.”

  “Too cold, Dylan.”

  Dylan put his arm around Toby’s shoulder, and pulled the spare fleece out of the pack. “Throw that around yourself.”

  “The vicar will have a fit if he sees us.”

  “I hear there are one or two liberal vicars in the C of E. Don’t worry about it. Get comfortable.”

  The rug provided only minimal protection from the hard ground, and now they were no longer moving, they weren’t generating enough extra body heat to counteract the falling temperature. Yet despite these distractions, Toby nestled against Dylan and went limp with a speed that made Dylan wonder if the kid had fainted. But no, his eyes were open, half-lidded, and his colour was good. Dylan rubbed Toby’s arm gently, to remind him that he was safe and in the present, though Toby showed no signs of distress at all.

  The quiet was broken only by Toby’s occasional murmur, and the distant racket of jackdaws. Even traffic noise didn’t penetrate this green and stone-protected place. Dylan’s parents had been lapsed Catholics turned atheists, so church going had never been part of his upbringing. He’d been inside churches, of course, and visited graveyards. But he’d never done this—sat quietly and contemplated. Contemplation wasn’t really his thing. To be honest, he hadn’t really expected this to work at all for Toby. So far, it was going better than he’d dared hope.

  “Max, please, I can’t hear you. Talk to me.”

  Okay, this wasn’t good. Toby’s face had contorted, his eyes squeezed shut. He was no longer speaking aloud, but his lips moved as if talking. Dylan let it go for half a minute, then shook the kid.

  “Toby. Toby, come back now. Toby!”

  Toby’s eyes opened, and darted around, looking without seeing.

  “Toby, you’re safe. I’m here. Look at me.” Dylan shook Toby again. “Toby?”

  “I’m here. Leave me alone.” Toby scrambled to his feet, abandoning Dylan and leaving a cold emptiness at his side. He walked away a little, staring across the graveyard. “It felt...I was so close. I thought I could hear him, but the more I called, the more he went away.
It didn’t work.”

  “It worked a bit.”

  “No, it didn’t. I’m kidding myself. Thanks for helping me try, but it’s all bullshit.”

  Dylan tried to get up but he had stiffened up too much. Toby came over to help, grabbing his good hand. As Dylan made it upright, he said, “Just because it didn’t work this time, doesn’t mean it wouldn’t work ever. You liked being here, didn’t you?”

  “At first. But as soon as I tried to contact Max, all the pleasure went away. I want to go, Dylan.”

  “Can’t we just look at the church first?” Dylan didn’t want Toby to leave with unhappy memories. Not again.

  Toby shrugged, indicating assent if not excitement. He packed up the rug and other things, shouldered the pack, and headed over to the church without a word.

  Dylan followed slowly, letting Toby have his privacy. But when he reached the church portal, he found Toby staring at a sign on the door. “It’s locked. It was never locked before.”

  “Theft is a problem, I guess.” Dylan read to the bottom of the notice. “Oh, they have a lady vicar.”

  “She’s new. It’s all changed. Let’s get out of here.”

  This was all going so well. Things changed, sure, but did this one have to change so much right now? “She’s probably very nice. The new vicar, I mean.”

  “Yeah. It’s not that.”

  Toby lapsed into silence again as they walked to the bus stop. Dylan suggested they stop for coffee in town, and Toby nodded, though not with any great enthusiasm. Dylan pummelled his brain to try and find a way to cheer up his companion, but he couldn’t think of a thing. “We could go see a movie, if you like. I think there’s something on at the civic centre too.”

  “You don’t have to pamper me, Dylan. I’ve been living with this a long time. I’m not going to go mental on you.”

  It had started to snow by the time they reached the High Street. The coffee shop was warm but crowded, and the rush of people seemed to bother Toby. “We could go somewhere else,” Dylan said.

  “No. Here is fine. But I should really go home and stop wasting your time.”

  “You’re not.”

  “I am, and I’m lousy company too.”

  “Stay for coffee. Please.”

  Toby made a face but let Dylan order coffee and cake for the two of them. He picked over his food without interest, though he drank the coffee.