What Remains Page 23
“I’m sorry.”
Jodi glanced up. “Don’t be. It all worked out in the end, didn’t it?”
“I guess so.”
“You know so.” Jodi held out his hand and beckoned Rupert closer, then tugged him into the bed to lie beside him. “This whole thing has been a nightmare for both of us, but I’m happy now, Rupe, I really am.”
“Then I’m happy too. I still don’t understand, though.”
Jodi shrugged. “Neither do I, but I don’t care. I reckon there will always be a part of my brain out there, waiting for me to catch up, but I’m in no hurry to find it. Here and now, you and me, it’s enough for me.”
It made as much sense as anything ever had. Rupert pulled Jodi close and kissed his head. “It’s more than enough, boyo. It’s everything.”
Indie clutched Jodi’s hand and pressed her face to the glass window. “Can we have the white one?”
Jodi followed her mesmerised gaze and regretfully shook his head. “No kittens, remember? Daddy said.”
“Daddy said no pets, ever, actually.”
She had a point, but Jodi was hoping Rupert hadn’t truly meant the words he’d uttered so forcefully when Jodi had asked if he could bring Indie to the rescue home half a mile from the flat. “I’m sure he’ll change his mind if we find the right one. A grown-up cat who doesn’t make a mess.”
“But I don’t know which one to choose,” she wailed. “There’s so many. I want them all.”
“Okay, how about we go and get a drink and have a think about it?”
It took a while to coax Indie from the kitten ward of the rescue home, but eventually they found themselves in the café, Indie drinking a lurid pink Slush Puppie that would make Rupert’s hair curl when he found out about it, and Jodi fumbling with the cap on a bottle of water.
Indie took the bottle from him and removed the cap. “Jodi?”
“Yeah?”
“Will your hands always shake?”
He resisted the urge to sit on his offending hands. He’d grown so used to the random tremors that he often didn’t notice them, but Indie did. Indie saw everything. “Only when I’m trying to make them do something they’ve forgotten how to do.”
“Ah.” She nodded sagely. “Have your eyes forgotten how to see your computer too?”
He chuckled. “A little bit, but it’s all right, because I’ve got me some Clark Kent glasses to help.”
“Daddy likes those glasses.”
“Does he?”
“Yes, I heard him telling Aunt Sophie they make him want to—”
“Okaaaay.” He cut her off before she could repeat something she was far too young to be saying. “Back to business. Are you sure you want a cat? We could get a dog, maybe?”
She shook her head. “Dogs smell.”
“So do cats when they live indoors with a litter tray.”
“You won’t let it smell,” she said confidently. “You make even Daddy’s socks smell nice.”
It was nice of her to say, though Jodi couldn’t remember a time Rupert had ever smelt anything less than amazing. And, in a world where so much had apparently changed, Indie’s faith in his age-old cleaning obsession was oddly reassuring. “So, a cat it is. You’re going to have to choose one, you know. Or let one choose you.”
“How would I do that?”
Good question. “How about we go back inside and ask the nice lady if we can sit with a couple? See if any of them take a liking to you?”
“But not the kittens?”
“Not the kittens.”
They finished their drinks and went back inside. A friendly member of staff showed them to a “socialisation” room, which was attached to one of the many compartments that held multiple cats.
“We’re running out of room,” the woman explained. “Ideally, they’d all have their own pod.”
It was on the tip of Jodi’s tongue to ask what would happen when the centre reached full capacity, but he stopped himself just in time, remembering Indie’s innocent ears.
“What happens when you’re full?” Indie asked.
Jodi cringed and tried to catch the woman’s eye, but she ignored him and fixed Indie with a steady gaze. “Some of the older animals, and the ones with health problems that are least likely to be adopted, will be put to sleep.”
Indie’s eyes widened. “You mean, they’ll die?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Jodi glared at the woman, ready to give her a piece of his mind, but Indie slid into his lap before he could speak.
“We have to get a disabled one, Jodi. Can we? Can we, please?”
It broke Jodi’s heart that Indie had spent the last year—like they all had—learning what being disabled truly meant—the limitations and restrictions, the pain and heartache—even though most folk would look at Jodi and have no idea that he woke up some mornings unable to remember how to dress himself.
Don’t be so dramatic. Okay, so shit like that was rare these days, but there was no denying Jodi’s accident had irrevocably changed the lives of everyone he loved, Indie included.
The woman opened the plastic window separating them from the cats, and Indie instantly lost interest in anything Jodi had to say, her gaze fixed on the window. For a long moment, nothing happened, then, as fate would have it, a three-legged cat hopped through the gap straight into Indie’s reaching arms, and Jodi was more certain than he’d ever been of anything that Rupert was going to kill him.
Rupert stared at the black bundle of fur making itself at home on top of the fridge. “What the bejesus is that?”
“It’s a cat,” Jodi deadpanned, staring at Rupert like he was the world’s biggest idiot.
“That’s not a cat.”
“Yes, it is.”
“It’s got no legs.”
“It’s got three.”
“Okay, so it’s half a cat. What the hell is it doing in here?”
Jodi rolled his eyes. “Like you don’t know.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“Why?”
“So I can tell you you’re a dickhead without any fucking loopholes.”
“Aw, come on now.” Jodi slid off his stool and came to Rupert’s side. “You’re not really cross.”
“Aren’t I?” Rupert fought to maintain his glare as Jodi slipped his arms around Rupert’s waist and brushed a featherlight kiss to his cheek. “’Cause I’m pretty sure I told you—and Indie—that if you brought a cat back here, I was off to live at the station.”
“Didn’t mean it, though, did you?”
Of course he hadn’t. He’d known full well how Indie and Jodi’s trip to the animal shelter a week ago would end. “When did it get here? Don’t tell me it’s been here all week and I haven’t noticed?”
Jodi chuckled. “No. The woman from Apple Wood came by yesterday to inspect the flat, and I picked the cat up this morning. It took you ten seconds to spot Forrest when you came home.”
“Forrest?”
“Forrest Stump.”
“Forrest Stump?” Dear God. Rupert had craved Jodi’s ridiculous sense of humour while it had been missing in action, and somehow he’d forgotten how terrible it could be. “You called half a cat Forrest Stump?”
“It’s not half a cat.”
“It ain’t a whole one.”
“Would you say that if she had half a brain?”
“What? No, of course I wouldn’t . . .” The penny dropped even as Jodi’s arms slackened from their loose embrace. “Jodi—”
“Don’t,” Jodi said. “It’s okay, honest. I know you didn’t mean anything by it, but that’s the point, isn’t it? Forrest had been at Apple Wood for six months. Her time was up next week, and you know what would’ve happened, don’t you?”
Rupert knew. “Jodi, that doesn’t happen to humans.”
“Not anymore. If I’d had that accident a hundred—Christ, even fifty—years ago, I wouldn’t have made it this far.”
The jump from stray cat to
grown man was vast, but Rupert heard Jodi loud and clear, and the thought of him being cast aside for the sake of a disability most people would never notice hurt his heart.
Rupert caught Jodi as he turned away, and pulled him back into his arms, laying his hand over the steady beat of Jodi’s heart. “Boyo, you’ve got everything you’ll ever need right here.”
A little while later, Rupert found Jodi in his office, working on whatever he was working on, like he did around this time every day now that his business was cautiously up and running again. After many false starts, they’d figured out that routine was one of the best ways to keep Jodi on track. It didn’t pan out every day, mainly because what remained of the old Jodi objected so fiercely to such a structured life, but today was a good day. At least, it had been until Rupert stuck his foot in his mouth.
Rupert dropped Forrest on Jodi’s desk, grinning as she sashayed straight across the keyboard, blocking Jodi’s view of the screen. “We made friends.”
Jodi smiled too and nuzzled Forrest’s face. “Yeah? Hello, girl. Told you he was all right really.”
“‘All right,’ really?”
“Yeah,” Jodi said. “You’re all right, you know. I’d shag ya.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.” Rupert did his best to look miffed, and failed, because it was hard to be truly annoyed when Jodi was smiling. “We can fuck later, though. We’ve got shit to do first.”
“We have?”
“Yup.” Rupert brandished the real reason he’d sought Jodi out—the flowery photo album they did their best to update every week. “Have you picked your photo yet?”
Jodi shook his head and retrieved his phone from the windowsill behind him, plugging it into the computer and bringing up the photo application. “I took loads this week. I don’t know how I’m going to choose.”
“So choose a couple.”
“That’s against the rules.”
“Our rules, so who gives a fuck?”
Jodi laughed. “True. Oooh, what about this one?”
Rupert peered over Jodi’s shoulder at the screen, dodging Forrest’s tail as she swiped it over his face. The image was of Jodi and Indie, sitting at the top of the slide in the nearby park, grinning like idiots and squinting in the summer sun. “That’s lovely. When did you take that?”
“Thursday. We went to the park when you were in the shower, remember?”
Rupert shrugged and mussed Jodi’s hair. “I don’t remember everything, boyo.”
Consternation flashed in Jodi’s gaze. Too often he did expect Rupert to remember everything, like he’d forgotten that even without a brain injury life just wasn’t like that. “You know I really appreciate you letting me take Indie out, don’t you?”
“I reckon you appreciate it as much as I love that you want to.”
Jodi shot Rupert a quizzical glance. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Rupert shrugged again. “Your relationship with Indie was one of the things I loved most about you.”
“You mean . . . before?”
“Aye. I never gave up on you, boyo, but there was some shit I convinced myself I’d never see again. You and Indie against the world was one of them.”
For a moment, Jodi looked upset, but his gaze quickly cleared. As his recovery had progressed, he’d got better at handling negative emotions. He clicked through a few more images, finishing on a selfie he’d taken of him and Rupert outside the fire station a couple of nights ago when Jodi had met him after work. “I like this one too.”
Rupert studied the photo. At first glance it seemed like nothing out of the ordinary, then he remembered that had been the day Jodi had come into the station and shown his face to a station full of men he hadn’t seen since the accident—men he had no memory of. He had spent the week leading up to his visit learning their names and histories so they’d never know it. “I love you.”
Jodi lolled his head on Rupert’s shoulder. “I love you too. Shall I print these out?”
“Aye.”
The printer in the corner flashed to life, filling the room with the whirring Rupert had always found strangely calming. He waited until it was finished and then replaced Jodi’s phone with his own as Jodi took the already printed photographs and set about sticking them into the last few pages of the album.
“We need a new one,” Jodi remarked.
Rupert nodded absently as he printed the photo he’d picked out to be the final image in the album. Jodi appeared at his shoulder as he pulled it from the printer.
“Our mortgage agreement? Are you fucking serious?”
“Deadly.” Rupert trimmed the edges of the photo so it would fit in the small album. “It’s kinda crass, but I want to remember this.”
“You’re not likely to forget we’re moving house, mate.”
“No . . . but I might forget there was a time when we didn’t think we’d ever be able to.”
Jodi said nothing, his gaze suddenly distant as he clearly searched his patchy memories for ones that matched what Rupert meant. “It never bothered me that this place was mine, even before. I never felt like you owed me or some shit. You know that, don’t you? It wasn’t my home until you and Indie came.”
“I know, boyo, I know. If it’s any consolation, I never felt like a kept man, but this . . .” Rupert gestured at the photograph that documented the joint mortgage that would finance their exodus from the bustling big smoke of the city. “Moving away with you and Indie, to a house I can put my name to . . . Fuck, I don’t know. I guess I just feel like I’ve finally given you both what you deserve.”
“Indie deserves the world, Rupe. Me? I’m happy with a jar of Nutella and a wank job.”
Trust Jodi to lower the tone. Rupert took a halfhearted swipe at him, but Forrest intercepted his hand, leaping onto Jodi’s shoulder with a low growl that told Rupert as much as he needed to know about whose cat she was going to be.
As if he’d expected anything less. Jodi had been irresistible to him from the day they’d met, and despite what life had thrown at them, nothing had changed—nothing, and everything.
“Do you think Jen will ever want Indie back?”
“Hmm?” Rupert glanced down at Jodi. “Oh, shit . . . I don’t know. I’m still getting used to the fact that she gave her up in the first place.”
Jodi grunted. He hadn’t seemed at all surprised when Jen had appeared one evening a few months ago, bearing the good news that she was emigrating to Brazil with her new boyfriend. “Face it, mate. She’s a selfish twat.”
Indeed, and her loss was Rupert’s gain. He wasn’t going to let her invade another moment of his life, not even this one . . . especially not this one. Rupert pulled Jodi close again and squeezed him as tight as he dared. The accident had nearly killed them both—in different ways—but what they had now was as imperfectly perfect as it had ever been, and he wouldn’t change a thing. “I fucking love you, boyo, you know that?”
Jodi looked up and grinned. “Course I do, knobhead. That’s why I made it this far.”
“Knobhead?”
“Yeah . . . knobhead, my whole fucking world, whatever I call you, it all means the same, ’cause I love you too, Rupe. More than you’ll ever know.”
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Garrett Leigh is a British writer and book designer, currently working for Dreamspinner Press, Loose Id, Riptide Publishing, and Black Jazz Press. Her protagonists will always be tortured, crippled, broken, and deeply flawed. Throw in a tale of enduring true love, some stubbly facial hair, and a bunch of tattoos, and you’ve got yourself a Garrett special.
When not writing, Garrett can generally be found procrastinating on Twitter, cooking up a storm, or sitting on her behind doing as little as possible. That, and dreaming up new ways to torture her characters. Garrett believes in happy endings; she just likes to make her boys work for it.
Garrett also works as a freelance cover artist for various publishing houses and independent authors. For cover art info, please visit blackjazzdesign.com.
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