Two Christmases (2 page)

From there it didn’t take much for me to move in, become part of his life. The only negative thing I remember from that time was the row I had with Marty. Leaving him proved to be vicious, and I was just at fault as he was, pulling no punches. Until then I’d never realized it was anything more than a casual fling, but fight we did. I told him I was leaving in his living room. He gazed at me and I noticed the specks of saliva at the corner of his mouth, the way the sunlight from the open window behind him lit up his dark hair. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans but said nothing. The wind blew one of his line of family snaps on the mantelpiece down onto the thin blue carpet, but he paid it no attention. I took a step forward to retrieve it for him, and it was then that he spoke.

“Leave it.”

I stopped at once. “Okay, but I was just—”

“
No
. Leave it. So you’ve found someone else?”

“Yes.” I could see he was sweating now. “Look, I’m sorry, but it was never anything serious, what we had, was it?”

A sudden pain on my mouth and the next thing I knew I was flat out on the floor with Marty scrabbling on top of me, tearing at my skin and punching my face. And all the time he was swearing at me, called me a bloody bastard and a wanker. We rolled from side to side together, each trying to gain the advantage, slamming into the sofa and then back into the wall. I tried to reason with him, but it was no good. After a few minutes of this, my nose was blood-soaked and my stomach felt sore. Finally I managed to grab his hands, knee him in the balls, and push him away. He let go with a groan and started to sob.

“For God’s
sake
, Marty,” I muttered, putting as much space between us as I could. “For God’s sake.”

I wiped my face, and the blood smeared over my fingers. Whilst trying to catch my breath, I pulled my handkerchief from my pocket and thrust it into Marty’s grasp.

“For God’s sake,” I said again.

I waited until his crying had stopped, and then I got up. “Look, I’ll go then. Okay? I’m sorry. I didn’t know you felt like this, I swear it. I- I’ll just go.”

“
Yes
. You do that, you bastard.” Unexpectedly his hand gripped my arm, causing a bruise that would last for a week. “You’ve always done exactly what you wanted when you wanted it anyway. But don’t think you can go that easily. I’ll pay you back. Maybe not now, but at some point. Just you see.”

His eyes were shining now, but not with tears. I’d never seen him look more determined. Trying to ignore the way I’d started to tremble, I shook him off, stood up, and left without another glance.

I was still trembling when I made it back to Jake’s flat, and I only really stopped when I found myself in his arms. It was always the place I felt most at home. I swore then I’d forget about it and simply get on with my life.

Well, my own stupidity and thoughtlessness had come back to haunt me now, hadn’t it? Now I suppose he’d want to go back to using condoms again, if he found out what I’d been up to. Not that I’d been stupid with Marty; I’d been sober enough to make sure I wasn’t, just… but even so…

“Danny?”

My boss’s voice brought me out of my meanderings with a jump, and I knocked yesterday’s unwashed coffee mug off my desk. It broke into almost perfect halves. Robert ignored it and fixed me with a firm but perceptive stare.

“Aren’t you well? Is there something wrong?”

“No. What makes you say that?”

His eyes narrowed and a frown creased his forehead, a sure sign he knew I was lying. “Easy. You’ve forgotten to shave, your hair’s not seen a comb at all today, and you look like it’s a long time since you last got any sleep. Are you sick?”

I ran my hand across my chin, feeling the bristles against my palm. “Sorry. No, I’m not sick. I’m just….”

Just what?
I thought. What the hell did I think I was going to say to my boss at this point anyway? After all, I couldn’t tell him the truth. I couldn’t say I was terrified I was about to lose the bloke I loved because I’d got plastered, smoked some skunk (pretty damn good skunk actually), and screwed around with a bloke I used to go out with but didn’t love. Robert wouldn’t react well to any of that. Not that he had anything against gays; he knew about Jake and me. He simply didn’t like it when personal life made its way into work life. And who was to say he was wrong? Today I didn’t much like it either.

All of which explained why I gave him my brightest smile and trotted out the answer he really wanted to hear. “No, it’s nothing. Just overslept, that’s all. I’ll freshen up now and buy a razor at lunch. You won’t know the difference by the time the day really starts. Trust me.”

For another moment, Robert stared at me and then the frown disappeared. “All right. Just don’t be late again tomorrow, will you? It’s going to be a busy few days.”

I nodded, and he left me to my own devices. He was right about the busyness though. I didn’t have time to think and only barely managed to fit in that promised shave before six p.m. came ’round. Which was probably a good thing, as I didn’t have time to worry about Jake. Or Marty. Though twice, in between potential client phone calls, last-minute event changes and the sudden disappearance of the previous week’s hen party file (we found it eventually, between the radiator and the furthest filing cabinet, God knows why), my fingers itched to dial Jake on the mobile, just to hear his voice. But he’d be busy, and that wasn’t our way. We rarely chatted whilst at work, not unless it was something urgent. If I rang he’d think something was wrong. Hell, he’d be right too.

Marty hadn’t rung me back either. I began to wish I hadn’t left that message on his voice mail. Maybe that had been stupid. Tidying my desk at the end of the day—Robert always insisted on a clear desk policy—I couldn’t seem to get my notes into any sort of order. Or at least none that made sense. My skin felt as if I’d been running, and my brain was firing in all directions. I could have done with a smoke, of any kind, but I knew that was impossible.

Swearing softly under my breath, I was about to go through the whole damn pile again when a hand was laid on my shoulder and the sound of a soft cough reached my ear.

It was Robert. He smiled, but the frown was back on his forehead.

“Don’t sweat it, Danny,” he said. “You’ve worked like a demon today. God alone knows how you do it, but thank you. Why don’t you sod off home now?”

“But—”

“Just do it. That’s an order.”

I blinked. “Okay. Thanks.”

At the door, Robert spoke again. “Danny?”

“Yes?”

“Whatever it is that’s been bugging you all day, get it sorted, will you? For your own sake, let alone mine.”

I nodded, tried for half a smile, and left. Would to God it might be that easy, I thought.

All the way home, my mind was racing, going through all the possibilities that might happen, over and over again, and some that probably wouldn’t. By the time I arrived, I was desperate for a smoke, but I had to discount it. Jake would be able to tell if I was spaced, and he hated that kind of stuff. It was part of the reason I loved him.

It took me a while to open the front door. I couldn’t seem to get the key in the right place. Sometimes it warped slightly during the winter, but if you jiggled it around in the lock, it could come free easily enough. Jake must have heard me, but when I finally made it into the hall, he was nowhere in sight, though I could hear movement from the kitchen and the sound of the kettle boiling. Around me, the decorations he’d already put up for the holidays glittered like an accusation. My throat suddenly felt dry and I blinked. I think I knew then that my stupid game was over.

Every step I took toward the kitchen felt as if my feet were weighed down with rock. I was sweating and couldn’t catch my breath. In the kitchen, Jake was facing away from me, leaning on the marble-effect work surface. The kettle clicked off. He didn’t turn round. His mobile phone was on the floor, as if he’d flung it away in frustration. Or anger. Or something else. I looked at the way his hair curled against the smooth skin of his neck, knew how much I wanted to touch him. And then I spoke.

“Jake?”

He made a sudden movement with his right hand, and I shut up. It looked like an order. I wanted to say I was sorry, but I didn’t dare speak. Instead I edged into the room and stood in the corner so he could turn and see me if he wanted to. The cupboard carved its shape into my back. I waited.

When Jake spoke, it was quickly and almost a whisper, so I had to lean forward in order to hear him at all. And he still wouldn’t face me.

“People said you’d be trouble when I met you,” he said. “My friends told me you had a reputation. They said you were just out for some fun, and they warned me about the drugs too. Is that what made you do it, Danny? Was it the drugs? No, don’t answer that. I haven’t finished. It’s my fault, isn’t it? Because I knew what you were like when we started, but I wanted to be with you. More than anything I’d ever wanted before. And then I thought you were different from how everyone said you were. I believed you at first when you said you were off the drugs, and I thought you weren’t sleeping around. Is this the first time, Danny? Is it?
Really?
You’ve got to answer me that.”

He turned round then, brushing his hair away from his face. I could smell the faint echoes of his aftershave. Armani’s
Code Homme.
I could almost taste its lemon sharpness on my tongue. He was frowning and his skin looked pale.

“Answer me,” he said again.

I swallowed. “Yes. It’s the first time. Please, you’ve got to believe me—I’m so sorry. I was drunk and I just lost it. I’m sorry. Did Marty tell you? Is that how you know?”

“Yes. Your
easy screw
texted me on my mobile and then rang me and told me all about it,” he said. “Talked about a letter, but I didn’t understand him. I didn’t get any letter. And I didn’t believe him initially either. I thought he was just jealous. But then it all made sense, the way you looked when you came home on Thursday. The way you acted. Were you drugged? Had you taken anything? Was that why you fucked with him?”

Slowly, I sank to the floor. The metal handle of the floor cupboard felt cold against my head.

“I don’t know why I did it,” I whispered, refusing to look at Jake but feeling his anger rolling around us both. “I was drunk, I told you. And yeah, I had some skunk too, but it was a
club
. That’s what happens. But it didn’t mean anything. It’s not like you and me.”

He laughed, but the laughter ended with a gulp. “Not like you and me? Bloody hell, at least you admit there might be a ‘you and me’. I suppose that’s something. I should be grateful. I should be, but I’m not. I’ve
always
been faithful to my boyfriends. That may be old-fashioned, though God knows in this day and age, that’s surely no bad thing. You
knew
what I was like, how I felt about things like that, when you moved in. You told me it would be fine. You said you wouldn’t do drugs any more or any of the other stuff. You
promised
me. So how can I believe you now?”

Then he couldn’t speak any more. Again I wanted to touch him but thought it would be unwelcome. Why would he want me here anyway? I’d let him down, big time. When we started living together, he’d talked about his family life and his parents’ drawn-out breakup. I knew perfectly well about his father and how much he’d messed Jake’s mother around, how there’d always been his father’s other women throughout Jake’s teenage years. The rows, his mother’s tears, the difficult court case. Oh yes, I knew how he felt about monogamy, how important it was to him. And I’d taken that knowledge and put the knife in with it. What sort of a boyfriend did I think I was? Still, I thought he was wrong about the drugs. Wasn’t he? Yes, I knew I hadn’t given them up as I’d promised him I would. Not entirely. But my encounter with Marty hadn’t been to do with any of that. It had been something else—the way the evening had shaped up; that feeling of being a little out of control but not dangerously so; the fact that I’d just wanted to have sex and hadn’t much minded who with. It was nothing to do with the drugs.

Or was it? Maybe I was simply fooling myself. Maybe I’d had too many after all, breaking yet another promise to Jake, and I’d been nothing more or less than an accident waiting to happen.

“I’m sorry,” I said. And I meant it too. “I’m sorry in a way you can’t possibly believe. Bloody hell, Jake, I wish
so much
I could go back to last week and put it all right again. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

I didn’t know what else to say. It felt as if whatever I said or did would never make it right. This time I made a move to touch him, but he shook his head, veered away from me.

“You know… you know what the really funny thing is about all this,” he whispered.

I didn’t think anything about this was funny, though I knew what he meant, so I simply waited.

“I was going to ask you. It’s Christmas, so I was going to do it.”

I stared at him. “Do what? Ask me what?”

He took a deep breath. Turned to look at me. His eyes were red and his face crumpled.

“I was going to ask you to be my partner,” he said. “I’d had it planned for tonight. It’s our nine-month anniversary of getting together. And, as I said, it’s nearly Christmas. I wanted… I
thought
I wanted to be with you forever. I didn’t mind about the drugs—because yes, I do know you still do them sometimes. I’m not a fool, Danny. I just thought we should be together. But now, well, now I’m not so sure.”

I didn’t know what to say. I could feel my face growing hot, then cold. And hot again. I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth, found I was shaking.

Outside the window, snow began to fall.

Neither of us spoke for a while. Finally, Jake got to his feet. Walked over to the kettle and reached up to the cupboard for a mug. Just the one, I noticed. Just the one.

“Do you want me to go?” I whispered, not able to look at him.

He made a sound, halfway between a groan and a sob. “Yes. Maybe that would be best right now.”

I didn’t remember leaving. Not really. I couldn’t catch my breath properly. All I remember is walking for a long, long time and how very cold I was. The London streets, the houses, the people, the Christmas lights, and the clubs were nothing but blurs at the edge of my vision. All I could hear was the sound of my own breath, all I could feel was the beating of my heart against my chest. Somewhere during that time, I rang Marty.