Twin Effect

by Ann Somerville

  “I’ll be with you. I think it’ll be fine. I’ll ring you later. My mobile number’s by the phone. Use it if you need to.”

  Twelve hours later, Dylan held onto Max’s shaking arm as they stood on the road outside a tidy house in a row of tidy houses. He hadn’t asked the taxi to wait, since he had no idea how long this would take. Or whether Max would be leaving with him at all.

  “I can’t do it,” Max said, turning to him, wild-eyed. “Mum will know.”

  “She’ll see what she expects to see, Max. If Toby jumps in to help you, then that’s good. If he doesn’t...then at least we’ll have tried. Please give it a go.”

  Max drew in a deep breath, then wiped his eyes. “Okay.”

  They walked up the little garden path, and Max unlocked the door. “It’s me, Mum,” he called, his voice almost steady, as they came into the hallway.

  A tall, thin woman with short, unfussy hair emerged from a door on the side. “Toby, love, I thought you were...oh, you didn’t say you were bringing someone over.”

  Dylan thought he’d better jump in to save Max trying to negotiate a conversation with his mother. “Hello, Mrs Symonds. I’m Dylan Gallaher. Toby’s friend? We’re just picking some clothes up for him.”

  She relaxed. “Oh...yes. Dr Gallaher, from the university.”

  “Please, call me Dylan. Toby?”

  Max bobbed his head. “I’ll just be upstairs.” As he approached his mother, he clenched his fists, his mouth working.

  “Toby, are you all right?”

  He shook his head, then pulled his mother into a tight hug which startled her as much as it did Dylan to see it. “I missed you,” he whispered.

  “Oh love, you’ve only been gone a day. What’s wrong?”

  “N-nothing. I’m just...been a bad day, that’s all.”

  She pulled back so she could look at him, and stroke his face. “You look terrible. Maybe you should stay here tonight. Dylan’s welcome, of course.”

  “N-No. I...he’s helping me. With stuff. Back at his place.”

  Dylan cleared his throat. “I don’t mind if you want to stay here, Toby. It doesn’t—”

  “No. I can’t.” He let his mother go. “I’ll...be back in a few minutes.” Max ran up the stairs.

  “Take your time, love,” his mother called, glancing Dylan’s way. “Tea, Dylan?”

  “That’d be lovely, thank you.”

  “This way,” his mother said, indicating the door she’d entered through.

  She led him into the kitchen, and indicated he should sit at the table. “You don’t mind not being in the living room, I hope? It’s cosier here.”

  “Of course not. Is Mr Symonds not at home?”

  She poured water into a pot. “He’s at a meeting. I’m glad Toby turned up. It’s so lonely in the house without him.”

  “I imagine it is.”

  She set the pot down on the table. “You know about Toby’s brother, I take it. And, um, the problems Toby’s had after that.”

  “Yes, I do. A very difficult situation. He’s doing well though.”

  “I thought so, but...you’re not one of his lecturers, are you?”

  “No, no. Just a friend.”

  “More than a friend, he said.”

  Dylan’s face heated up. “Well, yes. But a friend too. He’s...uh...having a bit of trouble adjusting back to the course work.”

  “Nothing else? He looks so sad. Like he did after Max died.”

  “The stress, I think,” Dylan said, lying like a champion. “Time of year too.”

  “Yes. Me too,” she said, sighing. “Milk? Sugar?”

  “Milk please.”

  She poured for them both, and sat down. “The anniversary is two days’ away. We always make sure we’re together that night. Toby wanted it. We all did. The doctors said it was better to concentrate on happier times, for Toby’s sake. But I can’t help....” She wiped at her eye with a flick of her hand. “I’m sorry.”

  Dylan reached over and touched her hand. “Don’t be. I know what it’s like. I lost my parents when I was young. You never forget, and there’s always part of you that aches for what could have been.”

  “Yes. That’s it isn’t it? All the memories you’ll never make. All the love they will never have through you. I was there when my mother died, and that’s a comfort. But Max was already...Toby told you?”

  “Hit and run. Awful. I’m so sorry.”

  “We weren’t even home. He was coming back here, but none of us were in the house. He died out on the street on his own. They said he didn’t suffer but...I would have liked to have been able to hold him.”

  “I’m sure wherever he is, he knows that.”

  She nodded, and sipped her tea. “Are you a religious man, Dylan?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Neither am I. But part of me hopes that Max is watching us, and knows he was loved. Is loved.”

  “I’m sure he does. Don’t ask me how, but I’m sure.”

  She sighed again. “At least we still have Toby. We fought so hard to help him find his way back. He fought so hard. Dylan, if you think he needs help, don’t let him hide from us, will you? Promise me?”

  “I promise to do everything I can to make sure he doesn’t. He doesn’t like the doctors much, though.”

  She looked down as if ashamed to meet his eyes. “No. I wouldn’t make him go back to them unless there was no alternative. I mean, unless he was in danger of hurting himself. We never did make him. I hope you know that. He agreed to everything. He knew he needed help. We’re not monsters.”

  “I know. He knows.” Dylan looked up at the ceiling. “He’s taking his time.”

  “Let him.” She roused and smiled with an obvious effort. “Would you like to stay for supper? I won’t be waiting for Keith. He won’t be back until much later.”

  “I...I think maybe Toby might prefer not to. You could ask.”

  She stood. “No, I don’t want him to think I’m fussing over him. But let me give you something to take back with you. It’s stew. It’ll travel nicely.”

  “Thank you.”

  Max appeared as his mother was sealing up the container. He carried a large backpack, and there were fresh tear marks on his face. “Okay, I’m ready to go. Dylan, do you want to call the taxi?”

  Dylan hit the number. Max’s mother brought the plastic bag over with the food. “I put supper in there for you and Dylan, love. How long will you be staying with him?”

  “Uh...a few days. I don’t know.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You come back when you’re ready. You know you can, don’t you?”

  Max flung his arms around her neck. “I never want to go away again, Mum.”

  “You don’t have to. You never have to.” She kissed his cheek and held him until he calmed down again. “Oh, but you’ll be here on Saturday, of course. Why don’t you come too, Dylan?”

  Max turned. “Saturday?”

  “The seventh?”

  Dylan held his breath. Max merely looked confused.

  “The anniversary. Toby, the date when....” His mother’s eyes narrowed. “How could you forget that? Toby, what’s wrong?”

  Dylan silently hung up on the call he was trying to make. Max moved away from his mother. “Mum, I have to go.”

  She held onto Max’s arm. “You’re not going anywhere until someone explains what’s happening. Toby, tell me what’s really wrong.”

  “Tell her the truth,” Dylan murmured.

  “I can’t.”

  “Toby, please. Whatever it is.”

  “I’m Max.”

  His mother stared at her son, mouth open, rigid with shock.

  Dylan coughed. “Max, you’re staying. You two need to talk.”

  ~~~~

  He stepped outside into the garden for a few minutes to let them get past the first awkward moments alone. He returned to find mother and son seated at the kitchen table. Max was sobbing, and his mother patting his back, her fac
e tear-streaked as well.

  “I haven’t called the taxi yet. I’ll go if you want.”

  Mrs Symonds shook her head. “No, please stay, Dylan. Have a seat. I gather you’re caught up in all this.”

  He pulled out a chair and sat. “Pretty much. Shall I tell you what I know?”

  “If you would. Max, love, it’s all right.” She kissed the back of his neck. “You could have told us.”

  “I don’t think he could, Mrs Symonds—”

  “Greta, please. I think we’re well past surnames. Tell me what’s been going on.” She put her arm around Max’s shoulders. “Tell me everything.”

  So he did, right from when Max first walked into his life. Greta listened with what Dylan considered an admirable patience and lack of scepticism, not interrupting, and holding onto Max the whole time.

  “And that’s why I convinced Max to come over here.”

  “You think Toby’s still here?”

  “I think he has to be. You don’t seem surprised.”

  “Oh, I am. But the important thing is my sons’ well-being.”

  “You don’t doubt Max is here?”

  “Max, love, sit up. Dylan, hand me that pad and pen on the sideboard, please.” He did so. “Now, Max, write your name.”

  Max frowned, but obeyed, using his left hand. Greta gave Dylan a sad smile. “Toby’s right-handed. And that’s Max’s handwriting. This is Max. Just don’t ask me how.” She hugged her son and he buried his face in her shoulder, crying again. “It’s all right, love. Welcome home.”

  “Er, I should point out my sister thinks—”

  “Your sister’s wrong,” she snapped at Dylan, her eyes flashing. “I know my children. Now, how do we bring Toby home too?”

  “We thought this might,” Max said, lifting his head. “But he’s still not here. Mum, I don’t know what to do. Dylan said we should go to the doctor again.”

  “No. I don’t think so. I couldn’t put Toby or you through that again. I wish you’d told me sooner.” She gave Dylan a reproving look.

  “They didn’t think you would understand.”

  “I don’t. But after what happened when my mother died.... I don’t believe in ghosts or any of that nonsense. But I know what happened to Toby after...well, the accident. He said it was like being split in half. I believed him, but I didn’t know how to help him. Now I do.”

  Through the tears, Max’s eyes showed a glimmer of hope. “How, Mum?” A child’s belief in the omnipotence of its parents, but looking at Greta’s determined expression, Dylan wouldn’t be the one to argue Max was mistaken in his trust.

  “For a start, by insisting you stay here tonight. We need to talk to your father. Dylan, you’re welcome to stay, of course.”

  “Thanks, but I can’t, not tonight.” He had a routine he had to adhere to with his stump, and he hadn’t brought over the things he needed for that. Besides, Max would be safe here. “I can come back tomorrow evening, though.”

  “Yes, please do. Stay for the weekend. And stay for supper tonight? Keith can run you home when he gets back.”

  Chapter 9

  Four hours later, Dylan felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. Toby was still hiding, but now Max was safe, his parents knew and were ready to help, and Dylan didn’t have to sneak around and feel like he was a monster for keeping a sick man from the treatment he needed.

  Though Greta broke the news to her husband, it was a close thing as to whether Max’s dad would need an ambulance. She had to sit him down and give him some water, which allayed any fears he was about to faint, but the poor sod had still cried uncontrollably for a good ten minutes, clutching at Max and sobbing against his shoulder. Dylan hadn’t known what to do. He’d kept back and let son and wife deal with it, but clearly Max’s father had taken the loss of his son harder than any of them had suspected. Kept it closed in, stiff upper lip and all that crap, but when confronted with something none of them had dared dream of, it had all come pouring out.

  But after a bit Keith regained his composure, and insisted he was fine, going off to wash his face, clearly embarrassed at breaking down. By the time he’d eaten and had a little time to adjust, he said that running Dylan back across the river would be no problem. They didn’t chat as he drove, Dylan offering directions but nothing more. The traffic was light and so they were back in Dylan’s street in five minutes.

  “There you are, Dylan. Do you want a lift tomorrow night? It’s no trouble.”

  “No, thank you, Keith, but I’m not sure yet whether I’m going to leave from here or the university. Are you sure it’s okay for me to come over? Don’t you want some more time with him?”

  Keith Symonds looked him in the eye. “You brought him home. You come over, or I’ll want to know why.”

  Dylan grinned. “Of course. See you then.”

  He slept better than he had done in weeks, and in the morning, the issue with the sensor proved to be a single line of code causing cascading errors. Fixing that, fixed everything else, so there was no need for him to devote more time than planned to it. The rest of the day passed without incident, and without Max to worry about, Dylan could devote himself entirely to his job.

  But as Friday night and his visit with the Symonds approached, his unease returned. What if being back with his family and them knowing his secret, didn’t bring Toby out of hiding? What if Toby wasn’t there any more to bring out?

  And if Toby didn’t return, what did that mean for Max, trying to pick up a life long gone, hitching a ride on a lost twin’s existence? How would his parents react to that?

  The gloom had all but taken him over completely as he walked up the Symonds’s garden path. He might even make the problem worse. Toby believed Dylan liked Max better. Dylan’s presence might discourage him from showing up. Damn, he hadn’t thought this through properly.

  Too late now. He knocked on the front door. A smiling Greta opened it. “Dylan, thanks for coming over. Do come in.”

  “How is he?” Dylan asked as he stepped inside.

  “He’s doing well. No sign of Toby yet, but we have a plan.”

  “Plan?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  Oh good. Dylan hated surprises.

  When he entered the living room, Max came over and hugged him, then dragged him over to the sofa. “Did Mum tell you?”

  “Er...what about?”

  “She’s found a hypnotist!”

  “Oh.” Dylan looked at Greta for an explanation.

  “Max, give the poor man a chance. Go help your father set the table. We’ll eat in ten minutes.”

  “Okay.” Max gave Dylan a kiss on the cheek and went off to do as his mother asked.

  “Sorry about that,” Greta said. “He’s been excited since I arranged it this afternoon. Helen Sidings is a friend of ours and a hypnotherapist. She tried to help Toby while he was ill but she discovered that Toby couldn’t be hypnotised.”

  “Yes, he told me. So how can she help Max?”

  “Because Max probably can be hypnotised. It’s all about personality, you see. Toby’s one of those “check everything three times” kind of people. Keith’s just the same. But Max isn’t like that. She’s agreed to come over in the morning.”

  Things were moving too fast for Dylan. He could only nod. “Right.”

  “You don’t think this is a good idea? You said your sister thought it might work.”

  “No, I think it’s great. You should try it. But what if it doesn’t work, Greta? He’s pinning a lot on this.”

  “Then we’ll try something else. Don’t look so worried, Dylan. He’s our responsibility. Both of them are.”

  “I don’t want them hurt, that’s all.”

  “Neither do we. Now, let me show you where you’ll be sleeping. Max said you’d be happiest sharing a room with him.”

  “Oh did he? Cheeky brat.”

  Greta laughed. “This way.”

  The mood over supper was excited, e
ven joyful, and it worried the hell out of Dylan—not just because the chances of failure were so high. Max was delighted his father had carefully stored all his old tools and equipment.

  “We could even set up a workshop together again. Wouldn’t that be great, Dylan?”

  “What is Toby going to say about that? What about his studies?”

  Max looked at his father, then at Dylan in confusion. “Well, he would keep doing them.”

  “How, Max? Doing a degree takes a lot of time, and then when he’s a teacher, he won’t have much time for woodwork.”

  “We thought it could be like a hobby,” Keith said. “Obviously there would have to be compromises. It’s an unusual situation, for sure, but Toby’s a reasonable chap.”

  Dylan had no answer for this. But if Toby was listening to all this, Dylan wondered if the message he was getting was that his dad was delighted to have the son back who had followed his interests more than the brainy kid who had no talent for carving. Toby had already expressed the view that Max would have a happier life than he could ever wish for.

  “I talked to Toby about maybe coming into engineering. It’s an option, with his maths abilities.”

  “And make clever hands like you do? He’d love that,” Max said.

  “Would you?”

  “Doesn’t matter so much. So long as he’s happy.”

  Greta, perhaps realising what Dylan was getting at, frowned a little. “We want you both to be happy, Max. And we want you both here. We always did.”

  “Of course we do,” Keith said. “I’m still flabbergasted at Max coming back, that’s all.”

  “We all are,” Greta said. “I’m looking forward to talking to Toby about it. It’ll make such a difference for him.”

  Dylan certainly hoped it did. He wasn’t at all sure it would, though.

  Max was still hyper and happy when they went to bed in Toby’s tidy bedroom. “Really hope it works tomorrow,” he said, snuggling up to Dylan. Dylan had insisted on proper behaviour since they were in his parents’ house and in Toby’s room, but cuddling was fine. “I have a good feeling about it.”

  “I hope it works too. Don’t be too upset if it doesn’t.”