What Remains (5 page)

September 26, 2014

Turned out Rupert hadn’t imagined the twitch in Jodi’s hand. After that first time, it happened every day, but the neurologist had flatly confirmed it was nothing more than a muscle spasm. Rupert absorbed the news with little emotion. Jodi had been in a coma for weeks, and he’d grown used to any sign of recovery turning out to be a symptom of Jodi’s prolonged vegetative state.

Vegetative state. Jesus fucking Christ. It was a term Rupert had only seen on TV before, and despite the doctor’s reassurances that it wasn’t necessarily permanent, the phrase haunted him as he kept his vigil at Jodi’s bedside, went to work, and lay awake at home, counting the hours until the hospital let him in again.

The only break in the torture was when the physical therapist came in to manipulate Jodi’s body to combat the muscle wastage ravaging his already slight frame. Rupert liked to think Jodi enjoyed the young Asian man’s attention. The therapist was good-looking with the kind of easy smile Jodi loved, and the thought of Jodi opening his eyes to that grin was oddly comforting. It was a shame the therapist hadn’t smiled today, a week after Jodi’s hand first moved. Instead, he’d discovered a blood clot in Jodi’s injured arm and alerted the ICU doctors. Jodi had been rushed to surgery in the blink of an eye, and he’d yet to return.

Rupert stood and walked to the waiting room’s wide window. Outside, the hospital car park seemed to go on forever. He counted every car he could see—sixty-eight—and wondered if the window’s placement had been deliberate in the hospital’s design. If the architects had known the distraction of counting cars would be far more soothing than the blandness of some pretty flowers.

“Rupert?”

Rupert turned. Caz, Jodi’s primary nurse, stood in the doorway. “He’s back. You can come and see him now.”

“Thank you.” Rupert followed Caz to Jodi’s bedside. She scribbled on the fat wad of notes at the end of the bed, touched Rupert’s arm, and disappeared, leaving Rupert alone with Jodi.

He took in Jodi’s prone form—the wires, the tubes—then peered closer at his pale face, losing himself in the dark circles under Jodi’s eyes. How was it possible for him to look so tired when he’d done nothing but sleep for sixty-three days? As Rupert claimed Jodi’s hand and dropped into a chair, it struck him darkly ironic that Jodi had spent the day pumped full of anaesthetic when he was already so deeply unconscious that he was practically dead.

Stop it.

Rupert silenced the demon on his shoulder, the harsh adversary that kept him awake almost as much as his constant fear that Jodi would never come back to him. He squeezed Jodi’s good hand. There was no response. Defeated, he closed his eyes and let his head drop, breathing in the stale antiseptic scent of the hospital. The ICU ward was stifling and claustrophobic and in the harsh light of the early morning, it was unbearable. His heart quickened, his skin prickled, and for the first time in the four years since he’d met Jodi, he felt uncomfortable in his own skin, a feeling that was exacerbated by the creeping sensation of someone watching him.

Seriously?
Rupert beat his irritation back and pressed his fist into his forehead, but it wouldn’t quit. He sighed and opened his eyes. Madness had threatened to overcome him so often since Jodi’s accident that it had begun to feel like an old friend, like a droll antidote to the pessimistic monster in his mind. Sometimes he welcomed the distraction, but not today. Today he craved the distressing gravity of his reality, something—anything—to tie him down to the world. He returned his attention to Jodi, seeking out the bitter reassurance of his serene, sleeping face. Instead, an unseeing dark gaze staring back nearly sent him to his knees.

February 26, 2010

Are you working tonight?

10-10, but maybe later if something goes tits up

Fancy a drink after? At Dorothy’s?

I’ll do my best — R x

Jodi slipped in the side door of Dorothy’s and scanned the faces already sitting at the bar. None were Rupert, and he tried to reason with the wave of disappointment that tickled his belly.
I’ll do my best
, Rupert had said. Chances were he wouldn’t make it at all, let alone be waiting for Jodi an hour before his shift finished.

In need of distraction, Jodi got himself a pint of stupidly pricey hipster ale and took a seat at the end of the bar, half an eye on the West Ham game replaying on the big screen. Not that he cared much who was winning. Football was for overpaid douche bags and lagered-up wankers. His first pint slipped down like a dream. He bought another two while he scrolled through a few stock sites on his phone, searching for vectors to use on his current project—a full rebrand for a tattoo studio. The shop was an old-school ink parlour, awash with flaming skulls and biker paraphernalia, but it had been recently bought out by a younger artist, and Jodi was hoping she’d be game for something a little more modern.

He bookmarked some images and logged out just as the lights dimmed to signal that the bar was about to get hot and heady. A bottle of WKD appeared beside his empty glass. He glanced up to find a thirtyish redhead grinning at him.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Jodi smirked. “Looks like you already have.”

“Nah, I bought it for the twink over there, but he turned me down.”

Jodi followed the man’s gaze to a slinky young figure tearing up the dance floor. “That’s a woman.”

“Really?” The man’s eyebrows shot up. “Fuck. You’d never tell.”

Dick.
Jodi started to turn away.

“I was only joking, mate. I bought it for you.”

Jodi regarded the man and considered his options. Boozy pop wasn’t his bag, but Rupert’s shift had ended ages ago and it appeared he wasn’t coming.
Fuck it.
Jodi lifted the bottle to his lips. He felt like another drink, or three, and the sickeningly sweet WKD was the closest thing, even if he had to make small talk with an idiot who was clearly after a cloak-and-dagger handjob in a nearby alley.

On cue, the man leaned closer. “Have you been here before? I’ve never seen you. I’m Dean, by the way, in case you were wondering?”

“I wasn’t.”

“What’s your name?”

“Jodi.”

“Jodi, eh? Isn’t that a girl’s name?”

“If you say so.” Jodi rolled his eyes. Like he hadn’t heard that before. Like he gave a shit that his name made people assume he was either a girl or a little bit gay. Besides, they were half right. He
was
a little bit gay, perhaps gay enough, drunk enough, and stupid enough to give Dean the Dick a second glance.

At least until Dean encroached too far into Jodi’s personal space and belched stale smoke-laced beer breath across his face. “Want to ditch this place and come back to mine?”

Fuck no.
Jodi downed the WKD and slid the empty bottle along the bar. “Nice try, mate, but if you’re after a shag, it’ll take more than a bottle of pop and some shite small talk. See ya.”

Jodi left Dean to it and wandered through the crowded bar. A few blokes made eye contact, but he didn’t stop. By his body clock, it was early, but despite Rupert’s warning that he might not make it to the Tottenham bar, Jodi had counted on seeing him and him alone. Didn’t seem much point staying out.

He edged around the dance floor and headed for the side door, his mind on the bottle of Sailor Jerry and teensy bag of weed he had stashed at home. A few shots and a jazz fag would mellow him enough to sleep—

“Leaving already?”

Jodi jumped and stumbled into the tall frame blocking his path.

Rupert steadied him. “Whoa. Easy now. Didn’t think you’d be falling over your feet just yet.”

Jodi stared at Rupert’s hands on his arms. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

“Isn’t much that would keep me away.” Rupert put two fingers under Jodi’s chin and tilted his face until their eyes met. Jodi’s world narrowed to Rupert’s tired grin, his warm, gold-flecked gaze, and the crazy heat blooming where they touched. “Do you want to get a drink?”

“No. I want to go back to mine.”

Rupert didn’t take much persuading. They ditched the bar and walked to Jodi’s flat. Before long, they were camped out on the couch with tumblers of spiced rum and Nutella on toast, a late-night snack that seemed to make Rupert’s day.

“I make this with bananas for Indie. It’s her special treat when she stays with me.”

Jodi licked chocolate off his fingers. “How often is that?”

“Once a month if I’m lucky. My ex likes me to babysit, but she’s not keen on my place. Says it’s minging.”

“She really does sound like a bitch.” Jodi sipped his rum. “She must know you wouldn’t let Indie come to any harm. You’re a fireman, for God’s sake. How much more responsible can you be?”

“It’s not a good night to ask me that, mate. We lost three to a house fire. That’s why I was late. Had a lot to sort before we clocked out.”

Rupert said the words like such horrors happened to him every shift. Perhaps they did. Jodi didn’t know much about the day-to-day life of a firefighter. “Bet that shit stays with you.”

“Sometimes,” Rupert said. “You get used to it, though, even the scary stuff.”

Jodi wasn’t sure he wanted to know just how scary Rupert’s job could be. He chanced a change of subject. “So, have you been seeing anyone since I saw you last?”

“As in going out with someone?” Rupert cringed and rubbed his palms on his thighs. “Fat chance. I wasn’t taking the piss when I said I was new to this. Tonight was only the second time I’ve ever been in a gay bar.”

Jodi chuckled. “That’s not something to be ashamed of. Being gay isn’t all about shagging and raving, you know.”

“That’s just it, though, isn’t it? I
don’t
know. I don’t know fuck all about how to be who I am. You’re the only gay bloke I’ve ever spoken to.”

“So? You don’t have to be like every other gay bloke, mate. You’ve just got to . . . be, I guess. Be
you
. Fuck anyone else.”

“Chance would be a fine thing.” Rupert grinned. “Not that I’m propositioning you, or anything.”

Jodi winked and poured them both another rum. “Never say never.”

A little while later, he was quite happily, and quietly, drunk. Rupert seemed to be in a similar state, slouched on the couch, one hand behind his head, the other resting idly on Jodi’s legs that were sprawled in his lap. Jodi wasn’t sure how they’d ended up entangled on the couch, but he had no desire to question it. Relaxing with Rupert felt right. He didn’t need to know any more than that.

“So,” Rupert said. “You’ve heard all about my sordid past. What have you been up to the last year or so?”

Jodi shrugged. “Not much. I left my job in the city eighteen months ago and set up my own company. I’ve only had time for a few friends with benefits. Nothing serious.”

“Benefits, eh? Sounds interesting.”

“If you say so,” Jodi said. “I went through a phase of whoring it up when I split with Sophie, trying to out-gay my imagination, you know? But I settled down when I moved in here. Found my own company more fun than I thought.”

Rupert smirked and waggled his fingers. “Even I’m familiar with my own company, mate.”

“Ha-ha.” The idea of Rupert having a wank was enough to derail Jodi’s train of thought. He lost himself in the tickle of Rupert tracing absent patterns on his jean-clad thigh until the bellyful of rum got the better of him, and he yawned so hard his jaw cracked.

Rupert stirred and looked at his phone. “Jesus. It’s nearly three. I should go.”

“Go where? Home?”

“Yup. I’m off for a couple of days now.” Rupert lifted Jodi’s legs and stood. “Shit, fucking Tube’s shut, isn’t it? I need to catch the bus.”

“The night bus? Fuck that. Do you have anywhere to be tomorrow?”

Rupert shrugged. “Not really. Just the gym and getting my barnet chopped.”

“Screw it, then. Stay here.”

“On the couch?”

“If you like.” Jodi stood too and held out his hand. “Or you can kip in with me.”

Rupert didn’t strike Jodi as a man who made rash decisions. Perhaps it was the rum, but it wasn’t long before he abandoned his plans to leave and followed Jodi to his bedroom. He stared at the minimalist decor and neatly ordered shelves that contained nothing but alphabetised DVDs.

“Jesus. It’s like an IKEA showroom in here. Where’s all your stuff?”

“Where it should be. I can’t sleep in clutter,” Jodi said. “It’s gotta be neat, or I lose my fucking marbles. Do you want something to sleep in?”

Rupert shot Jodi a smirk that made it clear he thought it was too late for Jodi to be worrying about his sanity. “I’ve got about a foot on you. I reckon your skids are gonna look pretty bloody daft on me. How about I sleep in my T-shirt and boxers?”

Getting Rupert out of his jeans was all kinds of okay with Jodi, but he silenced the horny devil dancing in the back of his mind.
He’s new to this, remember?
“Fine by me, mate. Wanna pick a DVD?”

He gestured to the categorised collections at the end of the bed, then turned his back to change his clothes, leaving Rupert to ditch his jeans and socks in peace. When he looked again, Rupert was crouched by the shelf, in his boxers, as promised, running a finger along the titles. “You like epics, eh?
The Last of the Mohicans
,
Braveheart
,
The Last Samurai
.”