Page 58 of Maybe
The scent of Carly’s dad’s fresh paint job had long faded, and, as if to demonstrate his point, Isaac gave a small cough, then wrinkled his nose at the damp, musty smell. Normally, I never noticed it, but ithadbeen raining this morning. When Jontycomplained he was cold, I’d closed all the windows and cranked the heating up.
Nevertheless. My stretched nerves reached snapping point. And the lover in my tired, fretting bones went AWOL. “Go and have a lie down on your bed, buddy,” I told Jonty, in the voice I reserved for when I wasn’t fucking around. “Put your pyjamas on.” The internal walls were paper thin, and he’d hear every word anyway if I lost my rag, but at least he wouldn’t actually witness me imploding. “I’ll be with you in a minute, sweetheart.”
After Jonty left, Isaac did a slow 360, his face inscrutable for once. I brushed past him into the tiny sitting room. God, I was overwrought. And strangely wobbly, like I wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. And I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done that. Probably during the decade the flat had last seen new carpets. I heard Isaac walk into the kitchen at the end of the hallway and pictured him absorbing the shabbiness of that, too.
We’d always had enough, me and Jonty. I worked during the hours he was at school, took whatever government handouts I was entitled to, and Carly did her best by everyone. Her folks always made sure the kids were spoiled on their birthdays. But, yeah, sometimes keeping it together was tiring. Because when the only things holding my head above water were coins tossed into a hat by random strangers and an ingrained self-belief I was their equal, it was no surprise my foundations shook from time to time. Especially when, two weeks ago, the kid ensuring I got out of bed every morning had almost stopped breathing.
Sinking into the sofa, I stared up at the water stains, like an old man’s liver spots, dotted around the ceiling, seeing them through Isaac’s critical lens. A minute later, as I knew it would, the seat cushion sunk down next to me, and his solid hand slipped into mine. He tipped his head back too.
“That one’s shaped like the Big Dipper.” With his free hand, he pointed to a constellation of seven mustardy-yellow patches.I’d always thought they resembled splattered egg yolks. He shuddered slightly.
“They’re not catching, you know,” I said, needling him. “And thanks for the medical advice but you can return to your cosy mansion flat now.”
Isaac sighed. “I knew you’d be like this, Ez.”
“Like what?”
“Stubborn.” He huffed a laugh. “Those three are Orion’s Belt. And that looks like the rest of him, over there. Who the hell was that Orion geezer anyhow?”
“The brightest star in your darkest sky,” I quoted, though I couldn’t remember what from. Too much fucking else filling my head.
Bringing our joined hands up to his mouth, Isaac brushed his lips against my knuckles. “Nah. You hold that spot, Ez.”
“Yeah?” I swallowed uselessly against the lump in my throat. “Even when I’m being a dick?”
“Yeah. Especially then. It’s part of what makes you you.” He kept my hand there as he carried on studying the ceiling. “This is why you turned up at the will reading, isn’t it?”
When I didn’t answer, he carried on. “I know you don’t care about money, Ez, and you made your views on Dad’s tainted foreign lucre pretty clear. But you wanted to get Jonty out, didn’t you? Somewhere decent that wouldn’t damage his lungs.”
My silence confirmed he’d guessed right. I closed my eyes, my eyelids a flimsy barrier against the prickling flush of wetness growing behind them.
“I used to pretend to Jonty that we had Dalmatian patterned wallpaper.” I clamped my lips shut before my voice cracked.
“Yeah?” Isaac kissed my knuckles, one by one.
“Yeah. He used to love that film. He doesn’t believe it anymore, though he still pretends.” I blew out a deep breath. “Sitting in that solicitor’s office, hearing that nice man coming tothe end, with no mention of me, it felt like being eighteen again.”Don’t think you can turn up here, cap in hand, to me, Ezra, and expect me to make your problems vanish. You made your bed with that girl. It’s time to lie in it.
“The landlord had put the rent up here by another fifty quid a month. Pin money to a lot of people, but… I thought about letting Jonty go back to live with Carly. Dave, her bloke, is a solid guy. Jonty would be fine there. But I don’t want some other fucking man bringing up my kid.”
I pushed the heel of my hand into my eyes. “I thought… I told myself not to get my hopes up—but… fucking hell. That bastard’s done it to me twice now. He must have had something against hard-up home renters.”
My attempt at a joke landed flat. To be fair, it was hard to pull off with tears running down my cheeks. “Sorry. Self-pity isn’t usually my style. Just… knackered... from the hospital, worrying about Jonty and everything.”
Bless him, Isaac didn’t say anything, only waited until I pulled myself together. Which happened surprisingly quickly, as Jonty was coughing and shuffling about next door, fetching himself a glass of water from the kitchen. Seeing me upset would scare the living daylights out of him.
Isaac gave my shoulder a nudge. “Do you remember when you once informed our father he was ‘the syphilitic aborted remains of a medieval gangbang’?” He laughed softly. “That was an interesting end to one of their supper parties.”
“Yeah.” I smiled at the memory. A house full of guests had never departed so quick. “My aesthetic at the time was philosophical pessimism. In the same argument, I believe I also bemoaned my deep disillusionment with education models that devalue knowledge unless it can be used to generate profit, and a longing for a space free to learn unencumbered by aneoliberal agenda. Pretentious attentionhare.”
“Perhaps, but I never bothered trying to win an argument with you, Ezra. I still wouldn’t. I’m not man enough to be on the receiving end of one of your clever, spiteful put-downs.”
Jonty coughed some more. I checked the time. His next round of nebs was due. Perhaps I should open all the windows, air the place out a bit, despite the rain. “What’s your point?”
“My point is Jonty’s only recently recovering. He’s still short of breath and at risk of a relapse.”
“The GP said he’d probably improve quite quickly if he completes the course of steroids and uses his spacer four times a day.”
“She hasn’t seen that mould. Nor the age of the gas boiler.” For someone not keen on debating with me, Isaac was producing some snappy, robust arguments. “As I said,” he continued, “I’m not going to quarrel with you, Ez. But I am asking you nicely. As a concerned brother, boyfriend,anda doctor. Leave with me now. Stay at mine until we’ve ironed out something better.”
