What Remains Page 17

  “The what?”

  “That white stuff you put on the rugs to make the fairies’ feet smell nice. Daddy says it makes Henry stink less too.”

  For a moment, Jodi was lost again. Who the fuck is Henry? But then the hoover appeared in his brain, neatly put away in the cupboard . . . directly below the bottle of Shake n’ Vac. “I didn’t use it today. Forgot it was there. You can do it for me next time, if you like?”

  Yeah, ’cause that’s every little girl’s dream, isn’t it? To help her dad’s retarded boyfriend destink the pit he calls home?

  The venom lacing the errant thought caught Jodi off guard. Did Rupert see him that way? Did Indie? Two days ago it hadn’t mattered; now it mattered more than anything.

  Indie hadn’t answered Jodi’s question, or, if she had, Jodi had missed it in the ramblings of the devil on his shoulder. He looked down, but she was asleep, the wolf squashed under her arm and her thumb jammed in her mouth. Jodi smiled and pushed her fine hair off her forehead. Her innocence was a balm to the riot playing everywhere else he turned, and it wasn’t long before his own eyes felt heavy.

  “Still awake in here?”

  Jodi opened his eyes to find the TV had switched itself off and the room was in darkness, something that didn’t bother him with Indie safe in his arms. Or perhaps it was the fond smile Rupert was treating him to from the open door. “I think so.”

  Rupert snorted and ventured closer. He reached under the covers and deftly plucked Indie from Jodi’s grasp. He tucked her against his chest and padded out of the room, presumably to put her to bed, though Jodi had no idea what the time was.

  A few minutes later, Rupert returned to his leaning post in the doorway. “You okay?”

  “Me?” Jodi sat up. “I’m good. What about you? How did your phone calls go?”

  Rupert grimaced. “I could do without taking any more days off work, but it is what it is. Indie—and you—you both come first. Who needs money, right?”

  Money wasn’t something that had occurred to Jodi in a very long time, and the bolt of common sense that struck him felt, as ever, like a sledgehammer. Tottenham wasn’t an exclusive area of the capital, but Jodi remembered enough general knowledge to know that London property prices were insane, especially compared to a firefighter’s salary—a firefighter with a child to support. “How the hell are we managing?”

  “Managing? You mean financially?”

  “Yeah. How much is the mortgage on this place?”

  Rupert frowned. “A thousand, plus bills, food, and everything else, but I don’t want you to worry about that. You took out a critical-illness policy when you got the mortgage. It doesn’t cover it all, but we’re doing okay.”

  “I should go back to work.”

  “No, you should concentrate on your recovery. That’s what insurance is for. And anyway, do you honestly feel up to spending eighteen hours a day staring at a computer screen, like you used to?”

  “Eighteen hours a day?” Just the thought of it was enough to turn up the volume on Jodi’s perpetual headache. “Did I really work that much?”

  “Sometimes. We both used to work a lot.”

  Rupert didn’t have to explain why he’d cut his hours down—even Jodi could figure that. “That insurance policy won’t pay out forever. What are we going to do if I can’t go back to work?”

  “Nothing,” Rupert said. “All you need to do is get better, and not worry about things I’ve got under control.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. You looked after me for years. It’s time you let me return the favour.”

  Rupert left the room again. Jodi thought about following him and forcing him to talk about the whole new can of worries they’d somehow opened. Jodi couldn’t comprehend going back to a life he couldn’t remember, but, more than anything, all he wanted was to throw his arms around Rupert and kiss him—kiss him until both of them believed everything was, eventually, going to be okay. ’Cause it will be okay, won’t it?

  Jodi had no idea. His heart screamed at him to force his tired body from the bed and chase Rupert down so they could close the door on the doubt that had hurt them both so much, but he didn’t move. Rupert loved him, of that Jodi was certain, but loving him and wanting—desiring—him weren’t the same thing, and as Jodi drifted to sleep, the courage to find out how Rupert truly felt deserted him.

  “I just don’t get it.” Rupert walked out of the fire station and turned his face into the drizzle, letting it refresh his scratchy, sleep-deprived eyes. “He says he still doesn’t remember anything, but he keeps doing all this shit that he used to do, like he does remember. It doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

  “Hang on.” Sophie closed a door at the end of the crackly phone line. “Since when has anything about this made sense? He recalibrated my MacBook for me when he came over yesterday, but he doesn’t remember learning to use the one he bought himself two years ago.”

  “You should see the living room too,” Rupert said. “Remember he was on about moving the couch to the back wall last summer?”

  “Don’t tell me he’s gone and done it?”

  “Yup. I came home to find he’d moved the whole room around—the furniture, the TV, everything. Thought I’d walked into the wrong flat.”

  Sophie laughed, but Rupert couldn’t find any humour in the situation. The flat looked different every time he came home, and after months and months of upheaval and heartache, Jodi’s renewed housekeeping obsession was taking some getting used to.

  “Anyway,” Rupert said. “I’ll let you get on. Sorry for bending your ear. I didn’t know who else to call. I miss you.”

  Sophie’s answering sigh was hard to take. “I know, hon. I miss you too. It feels weird sleeping in my own bed so often, but it’s better for everyone. Jodi needs to think about you now, not that he needs much encouraging.”

  She probably meant to cheer Rupert up. Everyone else seemed to think the progress Jodi had made over the past month was nothing short of miraculous—and something to celebrate, but Rupert hadn’t seen much to rejoice about. So what if Jodi now knew Rupert was—had been, whatever—his lover before the accident? Indie’s sleeping arrangements aside, not much had really changed. Jodi was asleep every time Rupert came home, or exercising, or cleaning. What the hell was Rupert supposed to do? Wrestle the hoover from him and demand to know exactly where this vague imitation of their lost relationship was going?

  Yeah, because things weren’t fucked up enough already.

  He wished Sophie a good night and let her get back to her own life with a heavy heart. He’d meant it when he said he missed her. Jodi could fend for himself when Rupert was at work, and with Indie slotting neatly back into life at the flat like she’d never been gone, there was no need for Sophie to stay over as much. In fact, it had been a week or so since Rupert had last seen her at all, and her absence was like another punch to the gut. Missing someone, even when they were right there, seemed to be what his life had become.

  He caught the Tube heading north and found a seat, slouching with his hood up and his earphones jammed in. London wasn’t a city where strangers interacted much, but he kept his gaze down anyway. He wasn’t in the mood for half smiles and pointless small talk.

  Forty minutes later, he walked into the flat to find Jodi working through the strengthening exercises for his injured arm. Great. Rupert ducked into the kitchen without a word and opened the fridge. A few months ago, watching Jodi struggle to so much as touch his toes had been enough to move Rupert to tears, but things had changed in recent weeks. Now, Rupert could hardly look at Jodi’s flushed cheeks and sweat-sheened skin without his eyes watering for an entirely different reason—one that made Rupert hang his head in shame. What kind of bloke perved over someone while they recovered from a feckin’ brain injury?

  A bloke like Rupert, apparently.

  “Rupe?”

  Jesus Christ, I wish he’d stop calling me that. Rupert pulled his head from the fridge. “Yeah
?”

  Jodi grinned. “You okay? You scuttled in here with a face like a drop-kicked pie.”

  And there was another thing Rupert couldn’t get used to: the reemergence of Jodi’s ridiculous sense of humour. Rupert had spent four years laughing until his stomach ached, and so many months yearning for Jodi to raise a smile, but now, faced with Jodi’s relaxed grin, Rupert felt like puking. I should probably tell him that I’m a complete fucking pervert. “Did you take your tablets?”

  “Yeah.” Jodi’s smile faded. “I ate lunch, went to the ortho quack, and did my exercises, then I managed to buy a loaf of bread from the Tube station without trying to pay with bananas.”

  “The Tube station? What were you doing there?”

  Jodi looked at Rupert like he was an idiot. “Coming home from the hospital. My TARDIS is broken.”

  “You took the underground?” Rupert couldn’t hide his surprise. He hadn’t taken Jodi on the Tube since his meltdown a few months ago, and Sophie hadn’t for even longer. Jodi didn’t like the Tube, not since the accident. “Was it okay?”

  “It was fine. I’ve been doing it for a while now. Face the fear, and all that.”

  Rupert ignored the unease that came with knowing Jodi had been on the Tube by himself. “What was it you were afraid of?”

  “The dark.” Jodi shrugged, like it was nothing. “I didn’t realise that’s what it was at first, but it felt the same as when you used to turn the light off and close the door when you put me to bed. Like I was trapped in a hole, like I was—”

  “Locked in,” Rupert finished. “That was one of my biggest fears, you know, when you were in that bloody coma. That your senses were still working, you just couldn’t tell us. It was worse than imagining you dying . . .”

  He didn’t go on. Didn’t have to. Jodi stepped closer to Rupert and closed his hand around Rupert’s arm, his gaze suddenly darker, his grip tight and brutal. “I wasn’t locked in. I don’t remember anything about it. First thing I knew, I was waking up to your face.”

  Rupert laughed bitterly. “And it was the last thing you wanted to see, right?”

  “No,” Jodi snapped. “I just didn’t know why I was seeing it, or where I was, or why every part of me hurt so much I wished I was fucking dead.”

  Jodi stormed out of the room. A minute later, the bedroom door slammed shut. Rupert sucked in a shaky breath, rocked, as usual, by the sheer speed he and Jodi could tumble into a row neither of them understood. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, trying to pull himself back to the few moments when he’d truly felt encouraged by Jodi’s progress.

  His mind took him to the morning after Indie’s impromptu arrival. After a conversation Rupert was still trying to wrap his mind around, Jodi had fallen asleep beside him, and stayed asleep for most of the day, save a few nonsensical mumbles. For the few hours Rupert had been able to watch over him, he hadn’t dared close his eyes, terrified he’d wake up—on the couch—to find Indie’s bed empty and Jodi’s gaze as blankly apathetic as it had ever been. Nothing had prepared him for the week that followed, those few blissful days when he’d almost been able to convince himself everything was going to be okay. Jodi seemed fascinated by Indie, and for a while, they’d shut the rest of the world out.

  But it hadn’t lasted. Indie had gone back to Jen’s, and the very next day, Jodi had come home from a neurologist’s appointment in the blackest mood Rupert had ever seen. He hadn’t spoken for two days and now, two weeks later, Rupert still didn’t know why. And Jodi’s sudden return to good humour on the third day had made even less sense. How the hell am I supposed to keep up?

  Rupert put the kettle on, then flicked it off. Opened the fridge, shut it again. Then, with world-weary sigh, left the kitchen to face the music.

  He found Jodi sitting on the bedroom floor, squinting at something on his laptop screen.

  “Sorry for being a dick,” Rupert said. “I’m knackered, not that I’m making excuses.”

  Jodi didn’t look up. “Don’t worry about it. Sophie told me I’ve been a dick to you ever since the accident.”

  “That’s a little harsh.”

  “Is it? She seemed to think she was being kind.”

  Rupert ventured further into the room. “When did you speak to her?”

  “This afternoon. She rings me every day after work.”

  “Ah, like she used to, eh?”

  “Yeah?” Jodi finally tore his gaze from the laptop. “I like that. I was worried I’d never get to talk to her when she stopped staying over. I couldn’t work out how the three of us—and Indie—all fit together.”

  “Like a melted welly boot.”

  “What?”

  “Your words, not mine.” Jodi stared, clearly mystified. Rupert let it go and sat on the bed, trying not to read over Jodi’s shoulder. “Are you hungry?”

  “No.”

  “Sure? I’m going down the chippie.”

  “I’m fine—” Jodi started to shake his head, then appeared to think better of it. “Actually, can I come with you?”

  As if Rupert could refuse. As if he wanted to, because despite his fears that Jodi’s newfound well-being was too good to be true, he couldn’t resist an opportunity to do something so normal with him, sloping off down the chip shop like they used to.

  While Rupert had been contemplating what his life had become, with his head in the fridge, outside, it had grown dark. Jodi gazed up at the stars like he’d never seen them, apparently oblivious to the Friday-evening bustle of Tottenham’s streets. “I like nighttime better, don’t I?”

  “Aye, you’re a night owl.”

  “A night owl who’s scared of the dark? What a cunt.”

  “We’ve been over that.” Rupert took Jodi’s arm to cross the road at the traffic light fifty yards away from where he’d been run down. “Besides, you’ve been taking the Tube, haven’t you? Doesn’t seem like you’re scared of anything.”

  Jodi grunted. “Still sleep with the fucking lamp on, though.”

  “So?”

  Jodi’s only answer was a glare.

  Rupert guided him across the road, then released his arm. “What were you doing on your laptop? Working?”

  “Hmm?” Jodi blinked like he’d forgotten Rupert was there. “Oh, no. I was doing some memory exercises online. Trying to retrain my brain.” He pulled a face that, despite the dark scruff on his chin, made him look like a twelve-year-old.

  Rupert chuckled. “How’s that going?”

  “Shite, but I’m not surprised. Dr. Nevis told me I’m pretty much done with my neurological recovery. He doesn’t think I’m going to get any cleverer.”

  Rupert frowned. “When did he say that?”

  “A while ago.”

  Rupert did the maths. “A while as in . . . about two weeks ago?”

  “If you say so.”

  “Makes sense,” Rupert said. “You didn’t say a word all weekend after your last appointment.”

  Jodi winced. “Sorry. It kind of threw me.”

  “I get that, but why didn’t you tell me later on?”

  “You weren’t here. You went to work on Monday and you didn’t come home till Wednesday morning. I was over it by then.”

  It was Rupert’s turn to be contrite. A factory fire in Stockwell had pulled Green Watch out of their jurisdiction and stretched Rupert’s shift so far into the following day there had been little point going home before the next one. “How do you feel about it now?”

  Jodi shrugged. “Dunno. Some days it doesn’t seem to matter, and others it’s the worst shit in the world.”

  “What is?”

  “That I have to start from the beginning with the things I want the most, and I don’t even know if you want them too.”

  They’d reached the chip shop, and Jodi ducked inside, leaving Rupert with his mouth open. Is he serious? How on earth could Jodi not know Rupert wanted him back—wanted him now—more than anything in the world?

  He followed Jodi inside and found him at
the back of the queue, staring at the hot-hold counter, clearly bemused. “I don’t know what I usually have.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Are we still talking about chips?”

  “You tell me.”

  But Jodi couldn’t, and Rupert knew it. He tapped his finger on the warm glass of the hot-hold counter. “You usually have two steak pies, large chips, mushy peas, and a battered sausage.”

  “Two pies? Really?”

  Jodi looked so horrified that Rupert couldn’t help chuckling. “Shall we just get one to start with? Ease you in?”

  They settled on a pie, a bag of chips, and a couple of jumbo sausages, and took it all home to share. On the way, Rupert waited for Jodi to pick up the conversation where he’d left off, but he didn’t, and back in the flat, without Tottenham’s busy streets as a buffer between them, an awkward silence took hold, suffocating the tentative good humour they’d shared in the chip shop.

  Rupert picked at his food, his agitation growing as he watched Jodi do the same, like they’d got off the roundabout for the hundredth time and gone back to the start. Frustration overwhelmed him. “I’m sick of this. It’s doing my feckin’ head in.”

  He got up and tossed his plate on the coffee table, storming into the kitchen without waiting for Jodi’s response—if there was to be one. Chances were, there wouldn’t be. They’d become experts at half conversations that went nowhere. Masters of scratching a wound until it was open and bleeding, and then leaving it to fester.

  He didn’t expect Jodi to follow him.

  Jodi chucked his own plate in the sink. Chips scattered across the draining board. “It’s doing your head in? At least you know what you’re fucking missing, if you’re missing it at all? Maybe you’re not. Maybe you dodged a bullet, eh?”

  “What?”

  “Oh, come on. Just because we were together before, doesn’t mean we should’ve been. Doesn’t mean we were happy, does it?”

  “Happy? Of course we were— What the fuck? What makes you think we weren’t happy?”

  “You don’t seem happy now.”

  “What have I got to be happy about? So, you know we were together . . . doesn’t change much. You still don’t want me.”