Page 4 of Treehouse Whispers
Benji couldn’t answer because he didn’t know. He couldn’t remember stopping at all, and cataloguing his body now, he realised he was starving and thirsty. Obviously, he hadn’t.
Jamie cupped his face, startling him, and said, “Please set an alarm on your phone from now on. I can’t bear to think of you not taking care of yourself. It’s important, Benji.”
Benji nodded, willing to agree to anything to take the worry from Jamie’s face.
Since that day, Benji had mostly remembered to set the alarm, and the odd time he hadn’t, something else grabbed his attention enough to pull him out before he went too long.
Strolling to the kitchen, he filled a large glass of water, which he drained, and set about making a sandwich. Within half an hour, he was feeling more himself. He washed his used pots and plodded back to the other spare room—his collection room. He spread the paintings out all around the room, allowing everyone to see what he’d made. He wasn’t ashamed or self-conscious about Jamie’s family seeing them; they’d seen his work previously. It wasn’t to everyone’s taste, but no artist could please everyone.
Benji heard a knock on the door, then it opened.
“Benji? We’re here!” Jamie shouted from downstairs.
“I’m upstairs,” he called back.
He heard several pairs of feet climbing up to meet him, but as Jamie crested, Benji saw the lines bracketing his face. Benji frowned. Why would Jamie be worried?
Until everyone else followed him in, and Benji understood. It wasn’t just Jamie’s parents. There was Jamie, Jamie’s parents, Jamie’s two siblings—both with their partners—and Benji’s parents. Nine people had come to view his work. No wonder Jamie appeared upset. Benji didn’t do well with large groups, ever since he’d been trapped in a large crowd when he was fifteen, even when they were all family.
“Hey…um, have a look. Um, I need five, so whichever you think…” With those words, Benji backed out of the room, his breaths shallow and quick, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He tried to control his breathing to allow his nausea to recede, but it wasn’t easy.
“Hi, Benji! How are you, sweetheart?” His mother came and hugged him, and he calmed a little when the scent of her entered his nose: the smell of his childhood, the smell which had permeated the house for years after she’d moved out.
“I’m good, Mum.” He pulled back and fisted his hands into his pockets, glancing back and forth between the occupants of the room and his mother.
“I’m glad you decided to do the gallery. It’s so exciting! I’m going to have a rummage and see what trinkets I can find.” With a kiss to his cheek, she left him.
The noise of the visitors chatting and guffawing made his house feel extremely claustrophobic, and he quietly descended the stairs, grabbed his bag and scampered to the treehouse. As he sat, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and let the wind blow onto his face. After a moment, he opened his bag and took out his work, making sure to concentrate on his breathing as well as his drawing.
He had no idea how long he’d been there when Jamie popped his head up the ladder; he had a crick in his neck, though.
“Hey. I’m sorry about that. When I’d called Mum and Dad, they happened to be over at your parents’ house with Donovan and Claire. They decided it would be a good idea for all of them to come around and have a peek. I tried to persuade them otherwise, but you know how they get.” Jamie sat next to him, knees bent, head resting in his palms as his fingers slid into his hair.
“It’s okay.”
Jamie swiped a hand through the air. “No, it’s not okay. They have never understood that having them all here at once is too much for you. You would’ve thought with how long they’ve known you, they’d have figured it out by now.” Jamie’s voice was quiet but with an underlying edge of sharpness, and Benji rushed to reassure him.
“Honestly, it’s alright. At least I had a hideaway I could come to. I’ll go see them in a few,” he said, although not wanting to.
“They’ve gone. I told them you were busy preparing and you’d asked us all to help so you could get some work done.” Jamie smirked.
Benji felt a smile creep across his face. “I’ll have to remember the excuse next time. Did you manage to decide on any?” He fidgeted with his pencil.
“Yeah, we’ve chosen our favourite eight, and I thought you and I could decide on the final five. How does that sound?”
Benji nodded. “Thanks.”
“No problem. It’s half-five, shall we go inside, and I’ll cook you some dinner?” Jamie asked.
“That would be great, thanks.”
Benji used to worry about Jamie cooking for him after a long day at work, but Jamie had told him to stop because he loved to cook; it helped Jamie relax. Since the conversation, Benji never worried, but he did make sure they had enough takeaways, stopping Jamie from cooking every night. Benji couldn’t cook anything, so was no help and would live on takeaways if Jamie wasn’t there.
Dinner, as usual, was amazing, and afterwards, Jamie suggested playing cards. Gin Rummy was their go-to game, even though Benji was remarkably bad at it. Ever since Jamie introduced him to the game, Benji had been a slow learner. He knew how to play but figuring out which cards to throw away and which cards to keep, took more brainpower than he could spare most days. They didn’t keep scores as most people did, they figured out who won the round and left it there. The best thing about it was that Benji didn’t care if he didn’t win because he loved playing the game with Jamie.
When their hands began to cramp from holding the cards, they packed away.
“Shall we catch up on the cooking show?” Benji suggested, wanting to prolong his time with Jamie. “If you’re not too tired, of course.”
