Page 39 of Refrain
Whatever. He slumped sideways onto the mattress, then reached for the pillows. Maybe he could smother himself with one. He looped an arm over the top of the pillow so that the fabric pressed against his face. All it did was make him hot and frustrated and prove that the bedclothes needed a date with the washing machine. After a moment of huffing and puffing, he got up, stripped the bed and remade it with clean bedding. He ought to have done so before. This set was much nicer than the ones he’d taken off. He just hadn’t cared enough to do it. He’d only done it now because he was resigned to Xane staying at least one night. Maybe by tomorrow he could convince him to shuffle off again.
Wishful thinking.
And maybe he didn’t really want him to.
It was possible to get sick of yourself, and his hair did feel nice now. He let the strands waterfall through his fingers…
The scent of frying onions and spices drifted through from the kitchen. His stomach growled. How long was it since he’d properly eaten?
Xane had cleared the island worktop and repurposed the surface as a dining table with the aid of a selection of stools, a tartan blanket doubling as a tablecloth, and the emergency candles, which he’d jammed into the top of a couple of the empty Scotch bottles. In addition to curry, the aroma of which permeated the air, he’d rustled up a pan of basmati rice and a pile of naans, along with some homemade lime pickle. He was privileged; Xane rarely cooked anything.
Spook took a perch on the nearest stool, while Xane waggled a wooden spoon at him. “Curry is easy. You just chop stuff, throw it together with spices and chillies, and voila!”
“How much chilli?” Xane liked his food extra spicy.
“Some,” Xane replied, spooning portions of curry and rice onto their plates.
Xane stuck a fork into the dish and swallowed a mouthful. “Good, yeah? Might have slightly overdone the chillies.” He helped himself to a glass of milk.
Spook took his forkful back down to the plate and mixed a tiny portion of curry with a large amount of rice. The explosion on his taste buds was still intense. It was all flavour. Pungent, and if it wasn’t that it caught you in the back of the throat when you swallowed and made you want to breath fire through your ears, it’d even have qualified as a good curry.
Xane chucked a naan bread at him. “Little goes a long way. It’ll certainly clear away the cobwebs.”
He ended up making a sort of wrap out of the naan, a line of rice and the chicken pieces, leaving most of the sauce to stew in obscurity on the other side of his plate.
“So, how’d you get Ric onto a stage in front of a hundred thousand strong crowd?”
“I asked at the right moment, that’s how. As for why it was the right moment… It’s not like Ric’s big on sharing his inner thoughts. He probably just needed a break from Zach and Kara to remind him why he loves them both so much. All relationships get claustrophobic sometimes.”
“That why you’re here?”
“Nope. I’m here because someone needs to bring you to your senses, but we’re not going to talk about that over dinner.”
Joy. That meant it was on the agenda for after dinner. How long could he reasonably stretch it out? He tried spooning only a couple of grains of rice onto his fork at a time and holding the chicken pieces in his mouth for a count of thirty before chewing, but Xane cocked an eyebrow letting him know he was onto that game.
“I found thestenchmeister, by the way. You own a large and very mature wheel of Roquefort.”
“I like cheese.”
“It’s highly debatable whether it still qualifies, and really, nothing that smells like a roadie’s sock should ever go near one’s mouth.”
“That’s ripe considering some of the things you’ve stuck in yours.”
Elbows propped on the table, Xane laced his fingers beneath his chin. “Yeah,” he mused, smiling, “And some of those things belonged to you. If you’re looking for a rise out of me, you’re going to have to try harder.”
“I’m not looking for anything. I can barely remember how conversations work.”
“All the more reason why it’s a damn good thing I’m here. Are you done?” He nodded at the table at the remains of their meal.
Spook poked at his a little more, then set down his fork. “Yeah, I’m done. Does that mean it’s time to wash up?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s why the dishwasher was invented.”
“There isn’t—”
Xane just laughed. “I’ll sort it. Why don’t you go play me some riffs. You can still do that, right?”
He could. He wasn’t necessarily sure that he wanted to, but he could, and he didn’t really have to think about it. His fingers were so accustomed to the movements, he could strum without really thinking about anything. Hurrah for muscle memory, and anyway, strumming guitar certainly beat washing curry dishes, even if he did suspect that it was part of a ploy to entice him back into the band.
