What Remains Read online

  “You always used to, you know. Even after we’d split up, and before, when we’d stopped having sex and started seeing other people, I could always talk to you about anything. You’re my best friend.”

  “I am?”

  Sophie sniffed. “Of course you are. But it’s not the same— You’re not the same. Or maybe you are. Sometimes you sound just like you used to, and it hurts, Jodi, because we miss you, I miss you. I’m with you all the time, but I miss you so much.”

  Jodi didn’t know what to say. It was the second occasion in as many days he’d been called someone’s best friend, but he didn’t believe it. Couldn’t. How could he be anyone’s best friend when he didn’t have a clue who he was? “Why are you crying today? I don’t understand.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Sophie shrugged and grabbed a sheet of kitchen paper from a nearby roll. “It’s hard to keep up sometimes. We had a lovely day last time I was here, and it felt like I had you back—as my friend—and you said you had fun with Rupert too. Then the next thing I know you’re biting my head off again, and it’s upsetting, you know? It’s like the old you gets dangled in front of me, then ripped away. I can’t imagine how Rupert—” Sophie bit her lip.

  Jodi raised an eyebrow. “How Rupert what?”

  “How Rupert copes without you. Jodi, you’re everything to him. You and Indie. You know that, don’t you?”

  Did he? For a moment it felt like every other question Jodi couldn’t answer, then Rupert flashed into his mind, with his steady hands and unwavering gaze, and Jodi knew Sophie was right.

  He loves me.

  “You haven’t wanted to talk about Rupert since our sessions began. What’s changed?”

  Jodi sat back in his chair and considered Ken’s question. He’d come to the session under the usual cloud of apathy and boredom, but he’d barely sat his arse in the squeaky leather chair before he’d found himself confessing his ever-growing infatuation with Rupert.

  Ken’s reaction hadn’t been as clarifying as Jodi had hoped. “What’s changed?” Fuck’s sake. Hadn’t Jodi just bloody told him?

  “Everything’s changed,” Jodi said. “I woke up one day thinking about him, and I haven’t stopped since.”

  “I doubt it was as cut-and-dry as that. Perhaps something triggered these thoughts. Have you read back through your journal?”

  Jodi resisted the urge to roll his eyes—it made him dizzy—and shrugged. “Er, I never really got round to starting it.”

  It wasn’t strictly true. He had written a few entries, but none of them were about Rupert, and it had been weeks since he’d even thought of it.

  Ken didn’t seem surprised or annoyed. In fact, for a brief moment, he looked almost amused. Then his expression sobered. “So, you have feelings for Rupert that you don’t remember having before the accident.”

  “I don’t remember Rupert at all from before the accident.”

  “Don’t you? You mentioned the Olympics in our last session. Said you went to the women’s weightlifting at Excel Arena.”

  “So?”

  “The Olympics were in 2012, two years after you met Rupert.”

  Jodi blinked. “I don’t remember that.”

  “You don’t remember the event? Or you don’t remember telling me?”

  Jodi wanted to say both, that he couldn’t remember either, that Ken was mistaken, but the harder he thought about it, the clearer the recollection of his last session with Ken became. They’d been talking about sports in general and Jodi had admitted he cared little for football and rugby.

  “What about a big occasion? Like the World Cup, or the Olympics?”

  “Just give them a ball each. I’d rather see someone do something incredible . . . like lift twelve times their body weight in bags of nails.”

  The image of himself and Rupert watching Chinese women doing just that had manifested moments later, so clear and strong Jodi couldn’t deny it was real, could he?

  A hand on Jodi’s shoulder made him jump.

  “Jodi?” Ken’s voice sounded unnaturally close. Jodi’s vision cleared to reveal Ken had left his desk and was now kneeling on the floor in front of him. “Would you like some water?”

  Jodi shook his head. “No . . . I’m fine.”

  “Sure? You’ve gone a little pale on me. Have you eaten today?”

  “Yes. Rupert massacred an omelette for me before he went to work.”

  “Good.” Ken stood and returned to his side of the desk. “What shift is Rupert working today?”

  “Six till six.”

  “You were up early, then?”

  Jodi nodded absently. He’d got up that morning to have a piss, and met Rupert in the hallway on the way back. Following him into the kitchen had felt so natural he’d hardly noticed himself doing it.

  “You know, I ask you quite often about Rupert’s movements, his shift patterns, how he spends his time when he’s at home. You never used to know . . . like you didn’t care enough to keep track. Have you noticed your awareness improving in general? Or is it just Rupert you’re paying more attention to?”

  Ken spoke with his gaze down, studying the meticulous notes he scribbled on a pad with a Snoopy cartoon in the corner of each page, but he looked up as he posed his last question, leaving Jodi nowhere to hide.

  “I don’t know,” Jodi said honestly. “I know I’m getting better, but I’m not the same as I used to be.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Sophie . . . and Rupert. They seem so sad when they look at me. I feel like I’m failing them.”

  “Sophie is very dear to you, even now when you haven’t been a couple for a long time, and you know she loves you, but what about Rupert? Are your feelings for him the same? Or something else?”

  “Something else. And he loves me too. He’s never said it, or done anything to make me think he has the same weird thoughts as me, but I know he loves me . . . in a different way than Sophie.”

  It felt good to say it out loud, but Ken didn’t give Jodi long to enjoy it. “What makes you think your thoughts are weird? We’ve never talked about sexuality. Do you remember feeling this way about other men before the accident?”

  Jodi opened his mouth. Shut it again. Then a perspective he’d been lacking since he’d opened his eyes in that damn fucking hospital crashed into him like a train. “Oh God.”

  His voice had faded to a whisper, but Ken heard him. “What? What is it?”

  “I—I have felt like this before . . . I think. Sort of. I went out with a bloke at uni for a while. I didn’t sleep with him . . . I didn’t. I don’t think I even wanted to. But I fancied him. I did. I know I did.” As the memory firmed up, Jodi spoke to himself as much as Ken. “Why didn’t I remember this before? I thought it was only the last five years I’d lost. What does this mean? I don’t understand.”

  “The main bulk of your amnesia has centred around the past five years, but it would’ve been impossible for the doctors to know for sure that you’d retained every memory you had before then.”

  The notion that the gaps in his mind could be more vast than he’d imagined made Jodi feel sick. “How will I know?”

  “I don’t know if you ever will. Perhaps it would be wiser to consider your sexuality as it stands now, rather than brooding on what it might have been. Do your feelings for Rupert upset you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t understand them.”

  Ken made a note, then turned the page over, like the subject was closed. “Have you talked to Rupert about this?”

  Or maybe not. “Fuck no. I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?” Ken fixed Jodi with a stare that made him want to sink through the floor. “You and Rupert were close before the accident, and you have become close again now. Why not confide in him?”

  “You want me to tell my flatmate I’m having pervy thoughts about him? What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

  “He was your friend before,” Ken s
aid as though Jodi hadn’t spoken. “One who cared enough to put his life on hold to look after you. He has seen you at your very worst moments and stayed by your side when you’ve pushed him away. I think it’s unlikely there is much you could do to make him turn his back on you now.”

  Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one fantasising about a bloke who was clearly the best friend a man could ever have. Great way to repay Rupert, eh? Daydreaming about his cock . . .

  Jodi left Ken a little while later with his mind more fragmented than usual. He walked half a mile to the bus stop, checking his pocket for the Oyster card Rupert and Sophie made sure he had with him every time he left the flat, even when they were with him. Except they weren’t always with him now. A few days ago, the whole world—Jodi’s world, at least—had sat him down and informed him that he’d regained enough of his faculties to be left to his own devices a few afternoons a week. Afternoons that he mainly spent walking five times further than he needed to, as despite his newfound freedom, no one seemed keen on him crossing the street by himself.

  The bus rumbled into the stop. Jodi double-checked the number and route, then felt like a twat. He knew it was the right bus because it was the same bus he’d taken two days ago when he’d come to his occupational therapy appointment. The same bus he’d taken with Rupert two days before that when he’d seen the brain doctors in the opposite building.

  He boarded the bus and swiped his Oyster card, then found a seat near the driver so he could ask for help if he lost track of the stops. It would’ve been easier to take the Tube—he could follow a bloody straight line—but he hadn’t been in the Underground since he’d lost his shit on it a few months back and wound up clinging to Rupert’s leg like a hysterical cat.

  That’s got to change. The notion and accompanying determination took Jodi by surprise. Until now, it hadn’t seemed to matter. Why would it? It wasn’t like he needed to go anywhere he couldn’t get to on the bus. But there was something about sitting at the front of the bus, surrounded by elderly women counting their change, that suddenly rankled him. What the fuck was so hard about taking the damn Tube?

  Now felt like as good a time as any to find out.

  Without pausing to think, Jodi pressed the Stop button and rose from his seat, making his way to the door as the driver pulled the bus into the next stop. There was a Tube station twenty metres away. He manoeuvred through the crowds and shoved his way down the steps. Below ground, self-doubt kicked in. He stared at the brightly coloured map on the walls and tried to trace his journey home. Instinct drew him to the Victoria line. He closed his eyes and called on the logistical memories his brain had managed to retain. He couldn’t remember ever needing to come this far south before the accident, but the conviction that he had done, many times, was suddenly overwhelming.

  He opened his eyes and studied the map again, following the bright blue line down from Tottenham until it came to where he was now . . . Brixton. What the hell was in Brixton? And then it came to him, and the answer was the same as it had been for many other questions he’d asked himself recently: Rupert. Rupert worked in Brixton, at the fire station, and he had done so since long before they’d apparently met. Jodi took a deep breath and another piece of the invisible puzzle slotted into place. He couldn’t think of a reason why he’d come to Brixton with Rupert—to a fire station of all places—but he had. Knew he had. Felt it in the bones he’d longed to leave in Ken’s stuffy office.

  In a daze, Jodi tore himself away from the map and followed the signs further underground. Then the heat of the looming platform hit him, and his thoughts of Rupert evaporated. Since the accident, he’d grown used to the oddly slanted perspective that often plagued him—a shifting sensation that made him feel like he was walking sideways—but today, as the ground rushed up to meet him at an alarming rate, the lack of equilibrium had never been more terrifying.

  The slam of concrete never came. As he braced himself for impact, strong hands caught him and held him upright.

  “All right there, mate?”

  Jodi blinked as the bottleneck platform entrance he’d stumbled in returned to normal. His rescuer came into focus . . . a thick-set, ruddy-faced man who looked familiar. “Thanks.”

  “No worries. Thought you was gonna hit the deck.”

  “Me too.”

  “You okay?”

  Was he? Jodi took stock in the slow, measured way his OT had taught him. Can you walk? Can you talk? Do you need help? Yes, yes, and . . . probably not. Jodi nodded slowly. “I’m fine. Just lost my balance.”

  “Not surprising. Not long been outta King’s, have ya?”

  “Um—”

  “Don’t worry, Jodi, mate. Don’t worry. I’ll let you get on. Good to see you out and about, though. Your old fella’s not been himself since you got clobbered. Tell ’im I’ll buy him a pint next time he comes down the Chequers. You too. Look after yourself.”

  With that, the gallant stranger was gone, swept away in the crowd of commuters who’d disembarked from the train that had pulled into the platform while Jodi had lost and regained his bearings. Jodi stared after him, watching the back of his head as it disappeared. His cockney slang was far from native, but Jodi knew enough to know “your old fella” could mean anything from someone’s dad to their—

  Fuck.

  Jodi staggered to a nearby bench and sat down. His pulse—which had slowed while he’d attempted conversation with the ruddy-faced man—roared in his ears. “Your old fella.” Jesus bloody Christ. Rupert wasn’t Jodi’s father, which left only one feasible reality, a reality that up until now had seemed nothing more than a perverted, twisted dream. A fantasy forced on him by having his skull smashed into Tottenham High Road. Rupert loved him, of that he was certain, and the affection, attraction, and addiction Jodi felt in return was real.

  So fucking real.

  Another train rumbled out of the dark tunnel and stopped at the platform. Jodi stood and mechanically boarded, drifting to a vacant seat. The journey passed in a blur of whiplash-inducing emotions he struggled to name, but he couldn’t deny the relief flooding through him. Nothing had made sense to him in months. Nothing had been tangible, like it was really his to feel.

  The tannoy called out for Tottenham. Jodi stood, moved to the door, and jostled his way above ground. The flat was a stone’s throw from the Tube station, and he found himself home before he could blink.

  Inside, a flashing red light on the landline phone caught his eye. Jodi checked the log and saw he’d missed three calls and a voice mail from the same number. He pressed the Play button. Rupert’s soft Irish brogue filled the hallway. “Jodi? Pick up your damn phone, will ya? I called you a million times. Fuck’s sake—”

  The message ended abruptly. Jodi frowned. Rupert sounded stressed. “Pick up your damn phone.” Jodi patted his pockets. Shit. He’d left his phone in the bathroom when he’d taken a shower that morning and forgotten all about it.

  He found his phone by the sink, the screen jammed with missed calls and messages from Rupert and Sophie. Jodi fired off a text to Rupert, then deleted his messages without reading them. He did the same with Sophie, trying to ignore the guilt tickling his veins. House rules were that he stayed in touch with Rupert and Sophie when they left him alone, letting them know he’d made it through another few hours without stepping in front of a speeding car. Most days he remembered, but not today. Today, it had been hours since he’d last checked in and the fear that he’d worried them made him feel like a dick.

  Sophie’s reply came through in minutes, but he found himself loitering, waiting for Rupert’s. And waiting, and waiting. He drummed his fingers on the countertop. His mind was abuzz with a million things he needed to say to Rupert, but, albeit briefly, for some reason a couple of electronic words felt like they’d be enough. If only he could think of anything coherent.

  He stared at the phone, fixated. It was a while before he realised it had grown dark. Damn it. Some days he couldn’t care less if it was night
or day, but the sensation of time disappearing while he languished in his chaotic thoughts was, at best, annoying.

  At worse it was terrifying, but Jodi had too much on his mind to worry about the holes in his brain today. All he wanted—craved—right now, was any sign he was on Rupert’s mind as much as Rupert was on his.

  Finally, Rupert’s name lit up his phone screen. Jodi swiped the message open, preparing himself for the subtle disappointment in him Rupert could never quite hide, even in the short messages they exchanged when he wasn’t around.

  The whole-screen paragraph took Jodi aback. He scanned the message, and his heart sank. Far from the gentle admonishment he’d expected, Rupert had sent a list of things Jodi needed to do before he went to bed. Things Rupert usually helped him with. Things Jodi would have to do alone because Rupert wasn’t coming home.

  The greasy, choking heat of burning oil came at Rupert from all sides. He crouched down and felt his way through the blazing chip shop, searching for any sign of the elderly owner who was still unaccounted for. His hand hit something that could’ve been a shoe. It wasn’t. Further inspection of the object revealed a chip scoop.

  Rupert cast it aside and pressed on. He’d just searched the flat above the shop, but the smoke was thickening by the second and time was running out. Another few minutes and anyone still alive on the ground floor would be dead. And Rupert didn’t need a body on his hands. Not today. His crew had already attended a fatal industrial accident, and he wasn’t in the mood to lay another dead soul in the back of an ambulance.

  So he pressed on, trying not to count how many chip-fat-based fires he’d attended over the last few months. Did people never learn?

  He reached the service counter, creeping closer and closer to the heart of the fire. A window at the back of the shop blew. He ducked lower, dodging the surge in heat as the backdraft gusted through the burning shop. Adrenaline quickened his pulse. Six years on the job had dulled his fear of flames, but the thrill of dancing around them never got old. Running out of oxygen worried him more. His tank sounded its warning alarm. He didn’t have much left. Just another few steps—