Copyright Alex Douglas 2009
Author's note: This is a revised version of a previous unfinished story. It's taken me 6 years to finish it, so finally here it is. All feedback greatly appreciated. Email me at alex_d0uglas@yahoo.co.uk and I'll do my best to reply.
Two weeks passed and not a word from Cal. Sean phoned a couple of times, but no one answered, or called back. He tried to think of other things, his physiotherapy, Owen, what the hell he was going to do with the rest of his life. Megan was finally taken into hospital. Thirty six hours of false labour and then nothing. She had been exhausted, and hadn't felt like any visitors when he called up to see her, so he went home.
The red light was blinking on his answering machine when he got home, armed with fish and chips and a six pack of beer. He didn't feel like being alone so he called Owen and asked him round, feeling guilty when he heard the enthusiasm in the other man's voice as he made brief arrangements to pick up further booze. Three messages, the first from Declan Crilly, one of the old school friends he'd become re-acquainted with through Friends Reunited. `Hey mate, thought you'd want to know the reunion's on for the first of May at the White Horse! We got one of those Old Skool DJs lined up and everything. Gimme a ring and let's get together sometime for a few beers." The second one, a few seconds of silence followed by a tearful woman's voice. Cal's mother, calling to find out if Sean had had any luck tracking down her youngest son. And the third one, which made his heart hit the floor. The consultant at the hospital, telling him to come in a month early for his follow up because he wasn't happy about Sean's "pain issues."
Sean popped open a can of beer and went upstairs, puzzling over what to tell Valerie Rodgers. How on earth had Cal become estranged from her? He was her baby, her youngest, the one she loved the most. That fact alone had been clear for everyone to see. Cal never had to go home to clean his father's vomit off the floor, or master the use of foundation to hide the bruises on his face. His family was happy, loud, messy, loving. Valerie always had time to hug, clean scraped knees, slip a coin into a grubby hand. Cal's father, Jack, always horsing around with his boys, teaching them football, fishing, cricket. The garden full of toys and bikes. All the things Sean had longed to have.
The box of photos was sitting at the bottom of the closet, under a heap of clothes. Sean sat on the bed and lifted the top one, his year photo, taken in his final term at school. His eye scanned the rows of smiling faces. There was Damien Smith, the one who had later committed suicide, forever held in a goofy pose, holding his fingers up behind the head in front. Julie and Heather sitting in the front row, identical smiles. Heather's knickers were showing. Sean remembered how she had cried when she'd seen that. Declan Crilly, standing at the end of the row, towering over his classmates like a street light. Himself, in the middle of the back row, looking off somewhere to the left and laughing. And Cal at his side, where he had always been. His hair black and immaculate, his face relaxed. Dimples in his cheeks.
Eighteen years gone since then. He thought about Damien, traced around his smiling face with his fingertip, leaving a faint circle in the dust. The names and faces of a lot of the others were starting to slip away, lost in time. Other photos were scattered underneath, of the last few weeks at school. Teachers, classmates, the gerbils in the biology lab. He'd been snap happy with his new camera. A line of arses, the rugby team pulling a moon for him in the boy's toilets. The alleyway near the newsagents where they'd gone to smoke at lunchtimes. A blurred shot of Cal, dragging his boot along a clump of grass, angry after standing in dog shit, the other guys chuckling in the background.
He let the photo slide to the ground and continued digging into the box until his fingers brushed against an old video tape. "First of Many!!!" Dee's handwriting across the sticker in pink, flowery letters. His first tandem skydive, eight years ago. Suddenly sick to the stomach, he put it back, piled the photos back on top. The feeling reminded him of the first few days after he and Cal had fallen out, that loss, so strong that he thought his veins would collapse. The box went back into the cupboard and Sean lay back on the bed, pulling a pillow over his head and staring into the dark behind his eyelids, as the image of the world faded slowly away.
= = = = =
He's riding fast, his t-shirt and shorts flapping around him like a wind sock as the bike eats up mile after mile of grey tarmac, flanked on either side by peaceful scenes of grazing sheep, the green patchwork of Irish fields. The wind is rushing in his ears, deafening. He can feel his hair beaten by the currents of air. He isn't wearing a helmet. Realising that, he suddenly knows the whole thing is wrong. This is a dream. It wasn't that way. He tries to slow down but he can't. His muscles are weak, he can't force the brake. He tries to shake himself out of the dream, because he knows what comes next. But his whole body is paralysed. He can't even breathe. It's only a dream but he's stuck in it, as he loses his balance and the bike starts to slide out from under him. Wake up, move, breathe... but he can't...
The quilt was tangled in his hands as he managed force his muscles to move, and gulp in air. His heart was thumping almost painfully, sweat pricked at his scalp. His breathing started to slow as the terror oozed away from his body. Then he jumped. Someone was watching from the shadows.
"Bad dream?" Owen stepped forward, swinging a key from his forefinger. "Sorry, I let myself in when you didn't answer the door."
Sean sat up, as Owen switched on the light. "Jesus, you're white," Owen said, brushing his fingertips down the side of Sean's face. "Are you OK?"
The blood rose in Sean's cheeks. Yeah," he muttered, mortified that Owen had seen. "Funny that I didn't dream of the accident at all for the whole six months I was in hospital. Then I came home and then...well, here's Johnny." He rubbed his eyes and forced a smile. "Sorry about that."
They went downstairs where the smell of chips and vinegar hung heavy, wafting up from a grease-stained brown paper bag. Owen unwrapped them and dumped them out onto a plate. "Maybe you have that post traumatic stress thing or something. Like maybe you should...I dunno, see someone? If it's that bad?"
"You mean see a shrink? I'm not American," Sean scoffed. "I know perfectly well that the dream isn't logical. I'm a skydiving instructor, for Christ's sake. I've done over 1500 dives. It's not like I I've never my life." He smiled as he remembered the first few tandem dives with Dee, how far he had come since those days. "And I loved it. Absolutely loved it. I...just don't know why I'm getting so...afraid, all of a sudden. It doesn't make any sense."
Owen shrugged. "Well, just thinking out loud, like." He sighed and flicked on the TV, where 24 was just starting. "God, Jack looks good in a suit."
Sean glanced sideways as Owen crammed chips slowly into his mouth, no doubt imagining it was Kiefer Sutherland's cock. That was the nicest thing about Owen, he thought. No need to talk and over analyse everything. It was just a pleasure sometimes to lie around, eat and talk shit. Owen caught him staring. "What?" he said, a half smile on his face. There was a blob of ketchup on his chin. Sean leaned forward, licked it off and kissed him lightly on the lips, drawing him out, teasing him with his lips and fingers until Owen pushed him onto his back, breathing heavily, his arousal evident in the well packed crotch of his jeans. "I love my job," he muttered, pulling Sean's flies apart. "Not too much money coming in but the perks are ok."
Sean raised an eyebrow. "Just OK?" but Owen was already busy swallowing his cock, up and down, up and down. He groaned and stretched, thinking of nothing but the ache of arousal in his groin. Just as he was approaching climax the doorbell rang, and they froze. "Bollocks!" Sean swore, panting.
Owen looked up and mumbled something, the vibrations of his voice dancing down the length of Sean's dick and making him break out in goose bumps. Sean laughed. "Didn't your mum teach you not to talk with your mouth full?"
"It's probably one of them beggars pretending to be deaf and selling shite," Owen said, letting Sean's dick slip from between his lips, his eyes dark. "Don't answer it."
"K," Sean murmured as Owen started again, blotting out all thoughts as he pushed his fingers through the thick hair. "Oh...damn you're good at that!" The doorbell rang again. "Fuck...fuck." Owen's rough hands, strong fingers working their magic inside him. Just as Sean felt his orgasm building, his mobile rang. "Ah Jesus!" He started patting his jacket pockets, gasping. "Who the fuck...!"
Owen smiled, his lips slick. "Fuck it," he whispered, and took Sean over the edge, swallowing every drop as his lover's body jerked and spasmed. The mobile phone flew across the floor, still ringing, Cal flashing up on the screen.
"Ah shit," Sean took deep breaths, trying to slow his breathing. "I'd better answer that." As his body started to glow, he kissed Owen deeply and stood up. His trousers dropped round his ankles and he tripped over backwards, knocking over the yucca plant Megan had given for a housewarming present. Clumps of soil rolled over the floor. Catching Owen's eye, he burst out laughing, struggling to pull up his trousers with one hand as the other groped for phone. "Hello, yes?"
"It's me," Cal's voice was quiet. "Where are you?"
"Was that..." Sean mouthed a ssh! to Owen who was still chuckling on the sofa. "Were you outside a second ago?"
"Are you in?"
"Yeah just a second, I'll open the door. What's up?" But Cal had hung up already. Sean buttoned his jeans, stumbling out to the hall where he caught a glimpse of his flushed face, his hair sticking up at the back. He licked his palm, tried to flatten it down, but it sprang up again. He gave up and opened the door.
Cal stood shivering on the step, wrapped up in a black coat. His hair was greasy and uncombed, the dark circles under his eyes standing out against his ashen face like bruises. His cheeks had hollowed even more, his jaw peppered with stubble at least 3 days old. He stared blankly at Sean, as if he was a stranger.
"Jesus Christ," Sean pulled him inside. "What...?"
Cal stepped forward and put his arms around Sean, burying his face in Sean's shoulder. Surprised, Sean returned the hug, silent, not knowing what to say. Then Cal pulled back, his arms falling limp at his sides. "I'm sorry, I had to get out of the house," he said. "I won't stay long." He walked into the living room, pulling off his coat.
Sean felt awkward as he followed Cal into the living room. Owen was sitting on the couch with a demure expression on his face, clutching a large cushion, no doubt to cover the erection that hadn't yet subsided. Sean watched Cal's eyes fix on the fallen plant, the cushion, Owen's flushed cheeks. The ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Cal's mouth. "I've interrupted something here," he said. "I'm sorry, I should go."
"God, not at all," Sean said, gesturing towards the chair. "We were just. Um. Watching 24. Do you want a beer? Gin? Something soft?"
Cal's expression was unreadable. "No really. I'll go." He pulled out his phone, glanced at his watch, his eyes everywhere but on Sean, or Owen.
Sean followed him to the door. "What...?"
Cal paused, his hand on the latch. "Why did you lie to me?"
"I didn't lie. You assumed." Sean leaned against the wall, folding his arms, relieved in a way that he didn't have to hide any more. I thought it would be less complicated that way, he wanted to say. Because I love you. But he just stared at the forlorn figure before him, and his heart filled with pity. He'd come home from the hospital to lounge on the sofa, have sex, drink beers. What Cal was going home to, was something he didn't want to imagine.
"Yeah, I guess I did," Cal said, his voice almost a whisper. He leaned his head against the frosted glass, traced a pattern in the cloud left by his breath. "Last night he was just screaming, the pain was so bad and... it's a fucking nightmare. I don't know how much longer I can stand it." He pulled the door open, buttoning his coat against the bitter wind, and stepped outside.
"Look...your mum's been ringing," Sean blurted out, stepping forward, needing to prolong the contact. "Do you want me to give her your number?"
Cal froze, turned. The streetlights made him seem almost ghoulish in the orange light. His eyes were black as he thrust his hands in his pockets. "You've been talking to my mum?"
"Yeah, I rang up ages ago, looking for your number. I'm sorry, I had no idea that you weren't..." Sean shivered, hugging himself for warmth.
"Did you speak to my dad?"
"No, just your mum. She told me not to ring the house any more though, but Cal, what happened? You guys were always so..."
"Yeah the happy family," Cal spat. He was shivering now, his teeth starting to chatter as his voice rose. "Belfast's equivalent of the fucking Waltons, all that churchy, loving and caring bollocks! But god help you if you ever felt the wrong kind of love! You can tell my mum," he jabbed a shaking finger at Sean, " Tell her, yeah, I made my so-called choice, and look at the price we paid! They'll be so fucking happy that God is alive and kicking!!"
He backed off, and strode towards the car. "Cal..." Sean went to go after him but the ground was wet and gravelly under his bare feet and he limped back into the hallway. Cal was already in the car and revving up to go, but the Audi shot backwards into the lamp post, denting the rear with a clang, before it roared off into the darkness. Sean closed the door, smelling the evening air on his clothes, Cal's outburst ringing in his ears. An unusual emotion stole over him. For the first time in his life, he was thankful for his own parents. They had barely noticed his existence, never mind his sexual preferences. But for Cal, it must have been one hell of a fall.
======
Megan's baby arrived the next morning, a healthy boy. As soon as he was allowed, Sean sat with her on the bed. The room smelt of flowers, sweat, milk. Megan's friends were lining up outside to visit her, laughing and excited, clutching bags and boxes of gifts. The baby was red faced and squashy looking, like an angry maggot, but Megan stroked the little cheek as he nursed and gazed at him as if he was the most beautiful creature in the whole world. There was a little blue band around his wrist, spidery writing announcing "Baby Rooney."
"My last chance was the best one," she said, clasping Sean's hand and smiling. "He's wonderful, isn't he! Can't really say he looks like me yet, but this blonde hair is definitely Rooney hair. I suppose his dad could have been blonde too, who knows."
Sean touched the tiny fingers. He was grinning, he couldn't help it. The baby was beautiful because it was part of them, him and Megan, and of course, the sperm donor. She had always said she was waiting for the right man to come along before she tried for children, but he never had. She'd been unsure about becoming a single parent, but if she had any regrets, they didn't show in her face. It was glowing with happiness, like he had never seen before.
"I think I'll call him Jack,' she said. "Just Jack. No stupid middle names like we got."
Sean grinned. "Yeah, anyone would think our parents hated us!"
Megan's eyes filled with tears. "They did, Sean. There's no other explanation for how they were." She stroked Jack's hair. "I would die for him, I knew that the minute they put him in my arms. So how they could have... I'm sorry I left you alone with them, all those years."
"There's nothing to be sorry for, sis. I turned out OK, didn't I?" He hugged her close and ruffled her hair. "I love you, that's all that ever mattered."
She sniffled for a bit then laughed. "God look at me, getting all sentimental in my old age. Is there a Coke machine somewhere? I'd love something sugary."
The machines were all at the entrance, beside the café and the overpriced gift shop. Megan's friends trooped inside, and judging by the bulging bags, they had brought half of a supermarket. Sean went downstairs and bought a newspaper and a coffee which tasted like boiled boot scrapings. He grimaced as the first sip hit his taste buds, and turned to the back page to check the football news. Not much there. His team had lost again so he avoided the depressing headline. The crossword was always good for killing time, so he flattened the newspaper and pulled out his pen. Soon he was so engrossed in it, that when someone pulled out the chair beside him, he jumped. It was Cal, and he gaped for a second, forgetting the clue he was about to fill in.
"Jesus, what are you doing here?" Sean rubbed at his stubble, wishing he had worn something better looking than his tracksuit and one of Owen's Bon Jovi T shirts, which was too tight around the stomach.
"Jeff just had an operation. I'm here to take him home. He's supposed to stay in, but he's a stubborn bastard." He ran a hand through his hair. "What are you doing here, stalking me?"
Sean puffed out his chest and grinned, wishing he had a cigar. "Don't flatter yourself, mate! I'm an uncle. Megan had a baby this morning."
Cal's face was transformed by the first genuine smile Sean had seen on his face since the day in Clement's café. "Aw great!!" he said. " Congratulations! I'd buy you a drink to celebrate, but I think the coffee here is more of a curse than a gift."
"You could say that,' Sean took another gulp and winced. "I've tasted better rugby pitches."
There was a silence while Cal bit at his thumb, staring at the table. "Look...I'm sorry for storming off last night. You weren't to know about that. I shouldn't have shouted."
Sean fiddled with the newspaper. He remembered the sound of heartbreak in Valerie's voice and felt torn. She was paying her own price for whatever had happened, and it was also a heavy one, a life of estrangement from the son she had loved the most. "Yeah no problem," he said, looking up, meeting Cal's gaze. For a second he felt the faint pulse of electricity in the air as he saw himself reflected in the brown eyes, and his heart reminded him what love really felt like.
The warm feeling edged away when he felt a nudge at his elbow. It was a girl of about five years old, with dark ringlets and a snotty nose. "Are you famous?" she asked, sucking the sticky, dog-haired lollipop in her hand.
"What? No!" Sean was astonished. "Why did you think that?"
She pointed. "There's a man there taking pictures of you. Are you going to be in the newspaper? Are you..." but what she was going to say was lost as her apologetic father swept her up in his arms and carried her off. Sean looked over to where she had pointed. Jeff was sitting there in a wheelchair. He had lost weight and his skin was yellowed, but his eyes were clear.
"Jeff!' Cal jumped back from the table. "You're ready already?"
Jeff grunted and put his camera away. "Yeah, ready as I'll ever be." His expression was sullen. "If that nurse ever calls me a trooper again...Anyway, hi Sean. What are you doing in this den of death?"
"My sister's just had a baby," he said, grinning despite himself. "A boy."
"Congratulations," Jeff said, wincing as he shifted in the seat. "One goes out, another comes along. Isn't it wonderful how people can be replaced so easily." Suddenly he burst into tears, and Sean gaped, not knowing how to respond.
"Jeff!" Cal looked at Sean, horrified. "Just shut the fuck up." His hands were shaking as he gripped the handles of the wheelchair and started to push. "I'm taking you home right now."
Jeff wiped his eyes and stared at his lap. "Oh sorry, am I not behaving properly? I'd better consult the Lonely Planet guide to the Afterlife. You know the ones they use in the movies, where all dying people are stoic and intelligent and encouraging about their partners lining up replacements right before their eyes."
He was still mumbling as Cal, purple in the face with obvious mortification, pushed him towards the door, pausing to mouth a quick "sorry" over his shoulder before stepping outside into the wind.
Sean stared after them as the doors slid shut. Was that what Jeff really thought? He felt a blush prickling at his cheeks. He'd been so busy focusing on what Cal was going through that he hadn't really given Jeff a lot of thought. He swallowed the last mouthful of tepid coffee and tossed the cup in the bin, thinking that's it, just stay clear. Enough for now.