Falling (8 page)

I can’t help thinking I should have talked Eleanor into getting help for her anxiety years ago. I feel so guilty that it’s probably my own skewed opinion of what constitutes normal behavior and what doesn’t, and perhaps my own fears of mental health departments that have kept me from dealing with this in the best way. Her life could have been so much better than this.
Should
have been.

“Can we speak to Eleanor now?” Ella asks.

I stay sitting down while Angus gets up and shows them through to Eleanor’s room. Their low voices drift through the flat’s thin walls, though I can’t hear what they’re saying. I pick at the trails of wax on the table’s surface, thinking about Angus when I should be thinking about Eleanor. When they return, the nurses look as though they have made a decision.

“We’re going to recommend Eleanor comes in of her own free will as an inpatient. I will contact the hospital and leave the details with you,” Ella says.

Angus chews his lip and looks at me.

It strikes me that they can’t have taken her agoraphobia into consideration—the fact that she’s not left the flat for the past few years.

“How?” I frown. “Did Eleanor agree to go in?”

“No. She wasn’t particularly responsive. You will need to speak to her in the morning.”

Without making it obvious to anyone but Angus, I roll my eyes.

“What if Angus was here on his own. Would he be expected to convince and then somehow get an extremely anxious and agoraphobic woman to hospital?”

“If we deem a patient is a threat to others or a threat to themselves, we will arrange immediate ambulance transportation. We agree Eleanor needs treatment, but her participation is entirely voluntary, and therefore she needs to make her own way to the hospital.”

Angus leans back against the kitchen wall and squeezes his eyes shut as though he just wants to disappear or at least make all this shit go away. The relief he displayed earlier is gone.

“This is ridiculous,” I say, shaking my head and standing up. Ella seems to be the one in charge, so I speak directly to her. “You need to send someone out tomorrow morning to help us. And it needs to be someone who has experience in dealing with this sort of situation. Eleanor needs help. She needs treatment for her anxiety, but she also needs it to be respected. I will not force her to do something that terrifies the hell out of her, and you cannot expect her
son
to do that either.”

Ella sighs. She looks at me for a good long moment as if weighing up how much trouble I’m going to be if she says no, and then she takes out her phone. “I will see what I can do. If she would perhaps prefer to be sedated, I can send someone out to talk to her about that.”

I nod okay.

I
DON
’
T
sleep much. Mostly I worry about Eleanor. The thought of her in the hospital brings back so many echoes of my past. It’s not a trigger for anything. I have coping mechanisms that let me deal with things like this—coping mechanisms that stop all feelings going too deep, that keep all hurt at a surface level, like a superficial graze that will never need stitches.
Don’t feel anything, don’t let anything go too deep inside, and you’ll be okay
is the rule I live by. But I know things are beginning to slip beneath my defenses.

I worry about Angus too, though I try not to. The way he dealt with the situation tonight, calling the nurses, acting instead of ignoring, made me realize something. All along I’ve thought of him as this helpless, unworldly kid, but now I’m beginning to think I might have been wrong.

Curled uncomfortably on the sofa, I doze off just before dawn. I wake when Oskar uses the bathroom and the flushing of the toilet permeates my dream.

I’m shocked when I see it’s 9:00 a.m. I don’t have to be into work until eleven, but I want to be downstairs when the nurse comes for Eleanor, and I meant to be awake long before now. Oskar has gone back to sleep, splayed out possessively across my comfortable bed, and I don’t want to disturb him just to get dressed. Still wearing the clothes I slept in, I quietly make my way downstairs.

Angus’s face is a mask when he opens the door. As soon as I step inside, he leans into my personal space, hesitating for a brief moment before resting his forehead on my shoulder. The contact is warm. Angus is warm. His breath washes over my skin. There is something about being breathed on so closely like this that turns me on. My dick is getting hard. I wish it wasn’t, and I wish I’d taken a shower and put some deodorant on, because breathing me in can’t be a real pleasant experience for Angus right now.

“They’ve taken her,” he whispers.

My desire dies.

“When?”

Leaning back against the door, I pull Angus into my arms, feeling him melt against me.

“About half an hour ago,” he murmurs.

“You should have come and got me,” I say thickly, my lips against his hair. He really should have. “Was she okay?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, but he doesn’t elaborate further.

I really hope she was okay. It still hurts to think of her in the state she was in last night, but I don’t press Angus any further as I sense he doesn’t want to talk about it.

We stand like that for so long, I begin to lose circulation in my arm from where it is pressed between Angus and the door, but I don’t want to move.

And I don’t want to think about why not.

I
COOK
Angus a bit of breakfast and sit with him while he eats it. There is not much food in his fridge, and I make a mental note to go shopping later.

“I’ve got to work in a bit. Are you going to be okay?”

Angus pulls a resigned face and sighs. “I’ll go for a long run. I’ll be fine.”

“It’s probably best that you don’t tell anyone about Eleanor going into hospital for now.”

“Because of the flat and stuff?”

I nod even though that’s not the reason I was thinking of. I’m more worried about Angus’s dad finding out and then pressuring Angus to go back and live with him. I just don’t want to bring that subject up.

“They said we could go see her tomorrow if she’s settled in,” he says quietly as though he can’t speak any louder without his voice cracking.

I look away and nod. Angus doesn’t need to know the rush of warmth his including me like this causes.

“Just let me know the times, and we’ll go.”

O
SKAR
IS
dressed in his own now clean clothes and hobbling around my flat by the time I get back upstairs. I only have a few minutes to get dressed and leave for work.

“I’m getting picked up in a little while,” he tells me as I hunt around trying to find my wallet.

I stop. As he stands in the doorway to the kitchen, the morning sunlight floods the space behind him, surrounding him with light. I stare at him for a moment, caught in the brightness.

“You really don’t have to go.” Suddenly I want to push it. I think he should stay until he’s healed. I think I should do this one good thing. “I mean, if you have somewhere better where they’re going to look after you, fine, but don’t just go because you think you have to. I’m just naturally miserable and bad-tempered, but it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t stay here. I’m not completely heartless.”

I don’t think, anyway. I frown.

Oskar raises an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t say you were bad-tempered, just a bit… antisocial.”

“Thanks,” I say, raising my eyebrow, though I give him a smile.

“It’s okay. I should… go. I can walk… sort of… and my foot should be better in a few weeks.”

He looks resolute.

I keep a bit of money in a book in the hall. For emergencies. Before I leave, I take it out, put it in an envelope, and place it on the coffee table next to where Oskar is now resting his foot.

“I’d feel better if you had this,” I say. “It’s not going to make me feel less guilty about anything, but I want you to take it.” It’s not much, a few hundred pounds maybe. I didn’t want to count it. “Just pull the door to when you leave.”

Oskar gives me a grateful look, and I know he stares after me when I leave.

A
FTER
THE
first customer of the day leaves, Soren just about bounces across the shop floor toward me—looking far too happy to be at work, as usual.

“Josh, you’ve got a face like a wet weekend. What’s up?” he asks.

People like Soren shouldn’t be allowed in the morning.

“Eleanor’s anxiety got worse. She’s in hospital.” I take a bit of paperwork out of the plastic folder in front of me and then take twice as long putting it back in, waiting for Soren to say “I told you so.”

“This is your neighbor, right?” Soren leans over the cash register I’m sitting behind, his light blue eyes scrutinizing me. Once again I am reminded how disgustingly attractive he is.

“Yep.”

I dig around under the cash register for any stray receipts or rubbish. Perhaps if I look like I’ve got something to do, he’ll go away.

“So, she’ll get some help now, right?”

Soren puts a hand out and squeezes my shoulder. I force myself not to freeze, but I’m shocked. Casual contact always shocks me, especially from other men. Repeatedly I tell myself I’m just not a tactile person, but I think it’s more than that. I think it’s perhaps related to my determination not to feel anything too deeply, not to become involved.

“Hopefully,” I murmur.

“How’s her son taking it?”

“Okay.”

But I don’t want to talk about Angus. I’m filled with such weirdly protective feelings every time I even think about him, and I’m trying really hard
not
to think about him.

“So, I hear you and Emma had a little chat yesterday.”

Soren changes the subject faster than the fucking wind. For a moment I am a little lost, and then I remember. Fuck. Emma is best friends with Lucy, Soren’s girlfriend. Emma has probably announced to the whole world that I’m gay by now. Not that I particularly care that everyone knows. I’ve never hidden it, but I’ve never broadcast it either. I’d just rather it not be the focus of attention.

I hold Soren’s gaze, wondering if that was why he touched me just now—if it was some weird reassurance that he doesn’t care.

“I’ve known you were gay since forever,” he says softly, flicking his damn lip ring with his tongue and smiling.

How?
I wonder, but I’m not going to ask. I’m hardly obvious. I’d always thought I’d been careful not to display any inclinations. Emma’s suggestion that I might be asexual is closer to how I imagine I appear.

“I’ve had a crush on you since the day I sat in on your interview. When we first met, you tried to hide it, but I could tell you were attracted to me. People have tells, you know.”

Tells? I wonder what mine are. I wonder how I give myself away.

I swallow, trying to take in this new information, because it doesn’t make sense. Soren, my boss, who is stunning, has a crush on me. “And you’re admitting this now because…?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, stepping back. “Thought it might cheer you up. Don’t be under the impression I’m going to do anything about it. You’re too antisocial, and more importantly, I have a girlfriend.”

“Antisocial….” He’s the second person today to say that. I guess I shouldn’t be offended by the truth.

“Uh-huh. And it’s like you’re nice to look at and talk to sometimes, but then you get too maudlin and you think
waaay
too much about shit. One day, though, I’m gonna get you to come out with us, and I’ll show you what a good time actually is.” Grinning, Soren winks at me and goes to annoy the next customer through the door.

Despite not knowing exactly what to think about Soren’s revelations, the rest of the day passes pretty quickly, and I find myself being worn down by his constant conviction that I need to get a social life and his promises of a good time if I agree to go out with him and his friends. Finally I do agree. They have a sort of unofficial Christmas celebration happening in a few weeks, which sounds innocuous enough. At least I don’t think Soren will try to hook me up with anyone like Emma would—he seems to have no agenda about matchmaking. Soren doesn’t interfere in people’s lives so much as he needs to know what’s going on in them.

A lot can happen in a few weeks, though, so perhaps Soren will have forgotten about his invitation by then.

I
STOP
at a supermarket on the way home and get some groceries—mostly for Angus, though I get a few bits for myself too. I’m aware Angus is quite capable of shopping for himself, but I want to do this for him. I’ve been shopping regularly for Eleanor for years now, but since the burglary our routine has, not surprisingly, become out of sync. I wish she’d told me she needed some more food, though. I feel like crap for not noticing—for not thinking.

A
NGUS
IS
sitting on the stairs in the communal hallway when I get back. I wish my heart wouldn’t do the stupid speeding-up thing it does when I see him—it makes me feel light-headed.

He grins at me and flicks his gaze away shyly, although there is an awful lot of relief in his expression too when I smile back at him. I suspect he thinks I might not call in to see him now Eleanor’s gone.

I hold out a bag of shopping for him. “Your fridge was empty,” I say by way of explanation.

Angus takes the bag, peering inside and looking a little stunned.

“Thank you…. Do… you want to come in for a bit?” he asks hesitantly.

I think about sitting in Eleanor’s flat with him without Eleanor there—the smell of bleach still permeating the air, and I shake my head.

“I was, um, just going to make a pizza.” I suddenly feel incredibly self-conscious. I realize I’ve never done what I’m about to do before. “I always make too much…. Do you want to put your shopping away and come up?”