Junk (5 page)

“Yeah, right. Well, I’m ready to take over whenever. Face it, bro, you’ll be packing your bags and moving in with him as soon as you’ve got his place livable.”

“Bye, sis. See you tomorrow morning.” He stepped down from the van and closed the door firmly. Not firmly enough, though, and he ended up having to open it again before doing the old slam-jiggle trick. “Speaking of getting vehicles serviced, this old heap of junk is in dire need of some TLC.”

“Nah. Alice is fine. You just have to know how to treat her right.” Carroll revved the engine and shot him a bright smile through the window. “Oh, and bro, if you dream of Jasper tonight, make sure you show him a good time.”

Lewis shook his head. “I’m not that cheap. He’d have to wait till the second date at least.”

Carroll stuck out her tongue, flashing the silver stud there. The van peeled away on squealing rubber, drawing disapproving glances from a couple of yummy mummies in designer track suits jogging along behind their three-wheeled baby strollers. Lewis gave them an apologetic shrug and turned to the house.

Another night alone in front of the telly while his parents were gadding about. Why, yes, there really was something wrong with this picture.

However, when Lewis pulled the front door open, he was assaulted by mariachi music playing at full volume, and the familiar scent of pan-fried chillies. He tried sneaking past the open kitchen door, but his dad’s hearing was uncannily sharp.

“Lewis! Hey, fancy trying some of this? I need a willing victim.”

Lewis stuck his head around the door to find his dad naked except for a frilly apron, holding out a wooden spoon full of something dark and evil looking.

“Is it going to take all the skin off the inside of my throat like that last lot did?”

“Oh, don’t be such a baby. And no, these are only habaneros in here, so you should be fine.”

Only Alan Miller could refer to habaneros like they were baby food.

Lewis stepped into the room. “What is it?”

“Chocolate-and-lime truffle mix.”

“With chillies in.”

“Of course. Come on, taste it. I need to road test whether it’s going to work for Christmas presents for the history department.”

“Christmas? Dad, I don’t know if it’s escaped your notice, seeing as how you keep the heating on full blast all year round, but it’s June right now.”

His dad just folded his arms smugly. “What can I say? Organisation is my middle name.”

“I thought you were called Alan ‘Shameless-naked-chilli-fiend’ Miller.”

“Nice one. Stick a professor on the front of that, and I think I’ll have it on a plaque on my office door. Now come on, give it a try.”

Lewis screwed up his nose and touched his tongue to the gooey mixture. “Okay, it’s passed the first test. No third-degree burns just yet.”

His dad looked at the ceiling as if to say, w
hat did I do to deserve a son like you!
so Lewis girded his loins and scraped a small mouthful off the spoon with his teeth. He’d learned the hard way not to get his dad’s concoctions on his lips if he could possibly help it. The velvety chocolate melted over his tongue.

“Actually, that’s all raa-a-a-arrgh!” His mouth on fire and his eyes watering, Lewis ran to the sink and stuck his head under the tap. He fumbled with the mixer until cool water began flowing, washing the devil’s own truffle mix off his tongue.

When he’d just about recovered the use of his tongue, Lewis turned round to find his dad waiting with a towel, a decidedly sheepish smile on his face. Lewis took it and dried his face.

“So, still too hot, then?”

“You could say that. Dad… I know it goes against everything you believe in, but how about you make some Christmas truffles without any chilli in them? Most people haven’t destroyed all their capsicum receptors like you have.”

“Nonsense. Chilli and chocolate are the perfect combination. I just need to get the dosage right. I’ll halve it in the next batch.”

“Or how about starting with just a tiny bit and working your way up?”

“Now, now, Lewis my boy. Where’s the fun in that?”

”It’s fun to burn the roof of your mouth off?”

On his way to the stairs, Lewis passed the lounge door and peered in. His mum was lying on the sofa, reading a book. Could have been like anyone else’s scene of domestic harmony, if it weren’t for the fact she was stark naked and reading a book called
Hellenism and Homosexuality in Victorian Oxford.

“Hey, Mum, I thought you were going out tonight,” he said when she finally noticed him standing there.

“Oh, there you are, darling. Yes, we were meant to, but Shona McBride ended up muscling in on it, and I just couldn’t face spending any more time with her and her sense of self-righteous indignation.” Shona was an up-and-coming lecturer in Gender Studies and his mum’s main rival for head of department when the current incumbent retired at the end of the year. “She’s civilly partnered to a disabled Indonesian woman. How am I meant to keep hold of my liberal credentials with only one gay son in the family? I’m considering taking on a girlfriend to bolster my languishing bisexual identity. I’m sure your dad wouldn’t mind.”

“I so hope you’re joking.”

She winked at him. “I’d let him watch.”

“Mum!”

“Don’t you
mum
me. It makes me feel old. Anyway, if you don’t want me to do anything disgracefully bohemian, you’ll have to help me out. How about Brandon? Is he single yet?”

“I don’t think so. He’s still with Jos, last I heard.” Lewis should call Brandon, he knew. It was a challenge to keep friendships going sometimes when relationships interfered, and Brandon and Jos were tighter than a pair of shrink-to-fit Levis.

“Oh. Shame. You’d look adorable together. And I know for a fact the board choosing the next head of department has a healthy mix of ethnicities and sexualities represented. They’re like a multicoloured QUILTBAG explosion. Alan and I look like a couple of middle-aged, middle-class fuddy-duddies in comparison. Keeping my maiden name is so old hat. I need something new to impress them.”

“You could always try turning up to work starkers and seeing how that goes down,” he teased.

“Don’t think I haven’t considered it.”

Lewis stared in openmouthed horror.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. There’s nothing wrong with the naked human form.” She gestured down at her body, and Lewis couldn’t help his eyes tracking the motion. He shuddered. There were some things a man shouldn’t have to know about his mother, and whether or not she shaved her pubes was one of them.

Best change the subject before she really did take his suggestion seriously. “I’m not going to start a relationship with someone just to improve your chances of being promoted.”

“No, of course not. It’s just you’re the kind of man who needs someone in his life. And I’ve always liked Brandon. Nice boy. Very…committed to social causes.” Her face brightened. “How’s about you just invite him around next time I have a dinner party? You don’t have to actually kiss him or anything. Just, you know, make out you’re in an open relationship or something. Or a ménage with this other man. He could come too. Actually, yes, that’s a fabulous plan. Polyamory is so in right now. I could invite a few gossips from the uni, and word would soon get out.”

“I’m not going to lie for you.”

“Oh, come on. It wouldn’t be the first time. What about that Christmas when you pretended to have chicken pox just so we could get rid of Alan’s awful brother?”

“You still owe me for that!” His parents had been so uncomfortable after having to spend an entire week clothed around the house, they’d staged an elaborate ruse to send Uncle Rudi back to Australia a whole two weeks early. It had involved some brilliant makeup work from his mum and a fair bit of play-acting from Lewis. Carroll had refused point blank to waste a day of her Christmas holiday sitting around in bed, but Lewis had always gone along with things to keep the peace.

“Just have a think about it anyway. You don’t want your poor old mother languishing on a lecturer’s salary for the rest of her career, do you?”

The sad thing was, Lewis would probably end up agreeing if it weren’t for the fact Brandon would almost certainly refuse. “Night, Mum,” Lewis said, shutting the door firmly behind him.

As he climbed the stairs he wondered, not for the first time, how he’d managed to survive growing up with his sanity pretty much intact.

He could do it. He could throw something away all by himself.

Jasper sat up in bed and stared resolutely at the walls of stuff around him. He’d read through the worksheets Lewis had given him the previous night and rated his attitude to various aspects of hoarding. As far as he could tell, he had difficulties related to both acquiring and letting go of objects. Letting go of them seemed the obvious place to start, though. He absolutely had to clear some more space in the house, and after the first good night’s sleep he’d had in a long time, he felt ready to start.

He’d begun piling up fiction in the bedroom, as it seemed like the sensible place, seeing as how he loved reading in bed. Unfortunately, now the stacks of paperbacks surrounded his bed on all sides. He couldn’t get to his wardrobe, so he kept his current collection of clothing piled on the end of his bed. In winter, he could pull it up over him like an extra blanket, but in summer, it was a liability, prone to getting tangled around his feet. Some nights he’d give up on the stuffy room and go and sleep outside in the hammock. Waking up in the garden to the sound of birdsong was always a great way to start the day, even if he did invariably end up with a crick in his neck.

But this morning he was glad he’d spent the night up here, because now he was in the perfect position to choose something to throw away. A book. Surely he could get rid of one book. Not throw it away, of course, but pass it on to another reader. Perhaps he could find something Lewis might like to borrow.

No, not borrow. Have.
Keep
. A gift. Jasper could give something away. Of course he could.

The stacks next to the left-hand side where he slept were all twentieth-century classics, and he’d read every single last one of them. If he wasn’t so sure of a book’s literary merit, it ended up on the other side of the room until he’d had a chance to read it and make his decision. There were many more books on that side, it had to be admitted. Books that he ended up classifying as light genre reads made their way out onto the landing, seeing as how he’d completely filled the spare bedroom with them a few years back.

Jasper picked up Heller’s
Catch 22
and read the blurb. The memory of Yossarian’s wartime exploits filtered back in flashes of colour, but he could no longer remember the whole storyline. No, not that one, then. Not until he’d had another chance to read it and fix it in his memory.

Ulysses
presented the same problem, as did
The Sound and the Fury
. Even EM Forster’s
Maurice
—a book he must have read at least five times during his teens and which had helped him in so many ways—was little more than a frustrating set of isolated images and feelings. What the hell was wrong with his mind?

It would have to be one from the other side of the room. But when he crawled across the bed and examined the first stack, Jasper knew it was futile. How could he possibly decide to get rid of a book he hadn’t yet read? There could be useful information in there. Even the most unpromising-looking books contained hidden nuggets of truth and beauty.

Even Jeffery Archer must have his good points, although he couldn’t think of one off the top of his head.

For a moment, Jasper seriously considered offering Lewis a copy of Stephen King’s
The Stand
, as he was sure he’d seen it somewhere else in the house at some point. But who was to say Lewis would appreciate being offered a brick-sized tome of post-apocalyptic weirdness? No, safer to wait until Jasper had read it first, and then he could decide whether or not it would suit Lewis. He wouldn’t want to give the man nightmares.

Perhaps not a book, then. A magazine? Or a newspaper? But no one in their right mind would give one of those as a gift. Lewis would sneer at him, Jasper was sure of it. He’d never realise just what it had cost Jasper to lose even one paltry magazine.

As the familiar headache started up behind his eyes, Jasper gave up on the task. Better just get washed and dressed, then head into work. At least he could promise himself not to bring any more magazines home today, couldn’t he?

Yes, that would be something. An achievement, of sorts.

The bitter irony that his biggest achievement of the day would lie in not doing something didn’t escape him, however, and Jasper’s steps were heavy as he negotiated the crowded trail between his bedroom and the bathroom.

Chapter Five

By the afternoon, Jasper’s mood had lifted—the result of a happy couple of hours in the back room entering new books into the system. He loved that job, with its comforting ritual of entering the data on the computer. And best of all, he got to open the boxes to unleash the scent of fresh books. Being the first one to lift them out of the packaging was always a buzz. This particular supplier used the concertina-cut cardboard packaging, which he always found pleasing. It might not have the fun potential of bubble wrap, but he loved the way they could turn a waste material into something useful simply by scoring a lattice of cuts into it.