Junk (15 page)

“And yet you still managed to make yourself broke?”

Lewis coloured some more and stared at the books. “Sometimes the system breaks down. Especially if I’m under stress. I have a tendency to try and buy people’s affection when I’m feeling insecure.”

“You? You feel insecure sometimes?”

“Don’t we all?”

“I never knew.” Jasper reached out and touched Lewis’s hand where it rested on the book. “You have nothing to feel insecure about, believe me. Any man would be lucky to have you.”

“I wish you’d been around to tell my ex that,” Lewis murmured. But then he gave a brittle smile. “So, enough about me. This is your time. Your rules we need to be thinking about. Do you have any ideas?”

Jasper had all kinds of ideas. Ideas about Lewis, and how Jasper was going to show him just how good they’d be together. How he’d cherish him more deeply than he cherished his piles of books. But one way to do that was to work on this whole acquiring problem, wasn’t it?

“Anything you want to suggest?”

“Perhaps we could start with whether you’re actually going to read it. How would you feel about a rule that you plan to read the book yourself?”

“But what about if I saw something someone else would love? I could buy it for them.”

“You could. But how are you planning to keep a cap on that? I bet you know people who’d get something from loads of the books in here.”

“Erm… It would have to be someone I was going to see in the next few days. Someone like Yusef—he likes mysteries—or Brenda at work. She’s into pretty much anything historical… Or you.”

Lewis tilted his head and smiled. “I don’t need any books, Jasper.”

“No, but you might be interested in them.”

“I can always get them out of a library. I mostly read on my iPad these days, anyway. It’s easier, and I don’t have anywhere to put books at the moment. I don’t even have my own place.”

“No. Of course. I should have thought of that.”

“It’s okay. You’re thinking of it now, and that’s what counts. Perhaps you also need to think about whether people are going to want these gifts, and how often. The occasional one might be okay, but what if you saw ten a week you knew Yusef would be into?”

“Yes. Sorry. I didn’t think of that. I don’t think he reads that fast. Maybe limit it to one a week per person?”

“Sounds like a workable rule. I like it.”

Jasper glowed inside. “Okay, so I have to plan to read it myself sometime in the next year, or to give it away to someone else within the next week. And only one book per week for those people.” A thought occurred to him, making his heart skip a beat. “What about me? Should I set a limit on how many I can have for myself each week?”

“How many books can you read in a week, Jasper?”

“Fiction?”

Lewis nodded. “Let’s start there.”

Jasper mused. Just how long had he been reading his current evening tome? And then there was the one he liked to pick up in the morning too. “That’s one of those how-long-is-a-piece-of-string questions. It depends on the length of the book.” He scanned the shelf in front of him. Perfect. A copy of
Anna Karenina
—more brick than book. “Tolstoy, for instance. I read
War and Peace
, but it took me a good month. Maybe longer, whereas a Terry Pratchett might only take a couple of evenings. And I don’t just have one on the go at any one time. I have morning and evening books. And sometimes a weekend one too. I like different kinds of reading at different times of day. Nothing too heavy-going late at night. Gives me bad dreams. God, I’m babbling, aren’t I?”

“That isn’t babbling. It’s explaining, and you don’t need to apologise for that. Does it make you nervous, the idea of limiting your book acquiring?”

“Yes. It shouldn’t, should it? I should be more worried about the idea of getting buried under a pile of paper. I mean, what exactly is going to happen if I tell myself I can only bring home…say three new books a week? Fiction, that is. We’re not talking nonfiction here. I dip into loads of those every week.”

“And what is going to happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you limit your acquiring. If you set a number on it, like three a week. How would that affect you?”

Jasper stared at the shelves in front of him. He was used to taking home whatever he fancied, but this would prove a serious challenge. “I’d have to choose much more carefully. Take my time over it. Make sure the books were really, really special.” He pictured himself browsing the charity shops, trying to find just one or two gems among all the used paperbacks. But talking about gems… “Hang on. If I set those limits, I could afford to buy more expensive books, couldn’t I? Like, new ones, or really old ones. Proper antiques. Oh my God, I’m a total idiot. Why didn’t I see that before? I could be a real book collector, with nice shelves to put them on and keep them safe. Maybe even get some glass-fronted cabinets for the really valuable ones.” He pictured the spines standing to attention behind glass. Of spending happy evenings curled up on an armchair by the fire, reading a beautiful old tome he’d selected from his own shelves.

“And you’d like that?” Lewis was grinning now, his face mirroring the enthusiasm Jasper felt inside.

“I’d love it!” He gave into impulse then and hugged Lewis to him. “Thank you. Thank you so much. You’ve given me a… This is going to sound stupid, but it feels like an epiphany.”

“I didn’t do anything. This is all you.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Lewis let himself be embraced for a few moments longer, but eventually he pushed back. “Come on, then, epiphany man. Let’s think about a few more acquiring guidelines. How about over coffee?”

“Sounds good to me.”

And hopefully, one day soon, Lewis would ask Jasper out to coffee when Jasper wasn’t paying him for his time.

Jasper touched his lips, remembering their fleeting kiss, and smiled.

Chapter Fourteen

Later that afternoon, Lewis met up with Carroll for their weekly mission to help the Lehrmans clean out something. Anything. Normally it got him down, what with Mr. Lehrman’s relentless inability to let even the smallest item out of the house—especially when he could see how desperately his sister wanted a clean and clear home.

But today was different. Today he felt hopeful.

Carroll noticed it straightaway. As they went to get their first baskets of stuff from the dining room, she nudged him with a pointy elbow. “So, why the secret smile, bro? You break your self-imposed celibacy pact yet?”

“Not yet, no.”

“It’s only a matter of time, though, right? I can see it in your eyes. You’ve gone all dreamy again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lewis grabbed a bundle of mismatched knives and forks, still held together with an elastic band, dangling price tag attached. “Did we already show them this?”

“Don’t think so. And don’t change the subject. How’s book-boy doing?”

“Well. Really well. I think we had a breakthrough today. He took five books back to the charity shop.”

“Five? Not bad. Still a ways to go, though.” Carroll picked up a toy rubber duck and frowned at it. “What the hell reason is he going to give for keeping this piece of crap?”

But Lewis didn’t want to think about Mr. Lehrman’s quirks. “That’s not all. Jasper’s starting to visualise a life without the clutter, and making up rules for acquiring.” They’d come up with a small list for fiction, and Jasper had promised to work on the one for nonfiction in his spare time. It was a real pleasure to work with a client who had Jasper’s degree of insight and intelligence. Once the emotional barriers were worked through, he should have few problems dealing with his hoard. “I’ve got a really good feeling about this. He might be ready for the big sort out sooner than we think.”

“Cool. Well, the storage rental nearest his place is all pretty full except for the tiny units, but I found a warehouse in Bedminster. It’s bigger than he needs, but it’s on his route home from work. Think that’d do?”

“Sounds great.”

“So, no OCD, no depression. Any idea what got him started hoarding in the first place?”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t depressed. He feels down in the house. Exhausted.” A bit like Lewis did looking up at all the crap the Lehrmans had accumulated. Why on earth did the two childless elderly siblings have a broken Barbie playhouse?

“But not clinical depression.”

“No. Doesn’t seem that way. He cheers up easily enough when he’s away from the house. But as to what got him started… I don’t know. He won’t really talk about his mother, but it sounds like she was a bit of a magpie. Possibly a control freak too, but I don’t know for sure as he always changes the subject when I mention her.”

“Uh-oh. Another gay man with mother issues. What a cliché you both are.”

“Shut up.” Lewis picked up a threadbare cushion and bounced it off Carroll’s head. “I haven’t got any mother issues.”

“You sure? I think I have.” Carroll screwed up her nose. “I might love her, but the woman’s a major pain in the arse. She was on at me to do something constructive with my life the other day. As if what we’re doing here isn’t constructive.”

“Actually, sometimes I think it’s more destructive.” At Carroll’s quizzical look, he expanded. “Well, look at it this way: they’ve spent all these years building up their piles of stuff, and then we come along to tear it all down.”

“We’re making their lives better.”

“Not denying that, but it’s like the process I take some of them through. It can hurt, knocking down all those ingrained thought patterns and habits. And sometimes they have to work through past traumas on the way.” God. He hoped Jasper didn’t find it too tough when they got to the root of whatever his problem was.

“Don’t worry. He’s got you to hold his hand.”

“How do you do that? Reading my thoughts?”

Carroll shrugged. “I dunno. Creepy twinny psychic bond?”

“There’s no such thing.” He knew that for a fact, after years of them testing it out with all manner of experiments.

“All right, then. It must have been the way you got that soppy yet terrified expression on your face. I know that one. It’s the I-want-to-get-involved-but-don’t-know-if-I-dare one.”

“Rubbish. I most definitely don’t want to get involved.” Which was a bald lie, and Carroll must have seen through it, but for once she didn’t challenge him, contenting herself with a noncommittal hum. Lewis pulled a plastic bag full of balls of yarn down. “Do either of them knit?”

“Don’t think so, but I’m sure he’ll come up with some reason. Maybe he hopes to own a kitten one day.”

“God forbid. Can you imagine the stench?”

“I don’t have to. Remember old Alfie’s place?”

Lewis shuddered. “Don’t remind me.” Hoarders with animals were the worst clients to work with. If the place was too unhygienic, they had to pass it on to the local council enforcement team, as was the case with Alfie and his five dogs, who’d been allowed to do their business pretty much wherever they liked. Clients like that, they got him down. The ones who were unwilling or unable to change. But Jasper—he was a model client, eager to please. A dream client. The best client he’d ever had.

Oh God. What if he was experiencing counter-transference?

Or worse yet, what if he was genuinely falling for Jasper?

Lewis chucked a broken shelf bracket and a couple of loose cassette tapes into his basket. Better distract himself from the whole Jasper situation. They still had a long way to go before he was rehabilitated. But as to what happened then, when their client/therapist relationship ended? Lewis’s stomach fluttered.

Yes. That could be interesting. Bring on the recovery.

He’d just have to hope that whatever it was Jasper was hiding, it was something Lewis had the skills to steer him through.

A week after his epiphany, Jasper felt ready to start on the newspapers in his kitchen. He told Lewis as much when he arrived for their usual Monday-morning session.

“I thought we could take them out onto the veranda a stack at a time and sort through them there,” he said. “It’s way too hot and sticky in here.”

“It’s pretty humid out there too.” Lewis wiped at the strands of hair that had stuck to his forehead. “Ugh. I hate this kind of heat. How do people cope with living in the tropics?”

“I don’t know. Give me dry heat any day.” Jasper went to pick up an armful of papers from the stack that was most annoying him, as it prevented the door from opening fully. “I’d rather roast than steam.”

“Is that what it’s like in Egypt?”

Jasper froze momentarily, then straightened up slowly, papers in his arms. “I don’t know. I’ve never been there.”

“Oh, sorry. I assumed having family out there, you would have visited.”

“Family? I don’t have any family.” It came out sounding much more bitter than he’d intended.

“Does your mother not have any surviving relations, then?” Lewis moved forward, his eyes soft with concern. “I didn’t realise you were all alone. That must be tough.”

“Tough? I don’t know. It’s all relative, isn’t it?” It was hard to shrug nonchalantly when you had your arms piled high with newspapers. Even more difficult when you felt anything but nonchalant. But while it would be easier to say nothing, to change the subject, he felt he owed Lewis some kind of explanation. “I’ve got used to it. And her family are probably still around, but they cut Mama off when she married outside her religion. What would I want with a bunch of fundamentalist Sunni Muslim relatives? I’m better off pretending they don’t exist.”