Jake wriggled his way upright despite Cass’s protests. “Are you coming back tonight?”
“Do you want me to?”
Jake nodded. Yesterday afternoon was the third time they’d ever laid eyes on each other, but the thought of Cass leaving made Jake nervous. He felt safe with Tom, but Cass . . . Cass was fierce and strong, and in the cold light of the early morning, his hand on Jake’s arm felt like it had always been there.
Cass smiled a strange half smile. “I’ll see you both later then. Now relax, it’s the weekend.”
He left, but Jake didn’t go back to sleep. Instead, he absently stroked the sleeping cat and ticked away until he heard Tom get up and turn the shower on. Then he closed his eyes. From what little he’d seen so far, Tom and Cass’s house was old and half-derelict, but Jake had always liked the sound of creaking pipes and ancient groaning boilers. It soothed him, and it wasn’t long before he slipped back into a deep and dreamless sleep.
It was midmorning by the time he woke himself with a bruising punch to his chest. He shuffled downstairs and found Tom at the kitchen table, laptop open. By the empty mug and tired lines around his eyes, he’d clearly been there awhile.
Jake thought about creeping away and leaving him undisturbed, but a tic gave him up. “I like your bum. Shit.”
“Good morning to you too.” Tom looked up from his work. “Sleep well?”
No. “Yeah.” Jake shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Dressed in pyjama bottoms and a sweatshirt, blond hair ruffled, Tom looked more at ease than Jake had ever seen him, but despite his TS-induced daze, he hadn’t missed the tension between him and Cass the night before. “Wankers. Are you okay with me staying here?”
“Of course.” Tom leaned back from the table. He considered Jake a moment, then held out his hand, beckoning him closer. “Trust me, if either Cass or I wasn’t happy about it, it wouldn’t be happening. We both want you here.”
He let Tom pull him into an off-balance, one-armed embrace. “I thought you and Cass hardly ever come home?”
“Yeah, well, maybe it’s time that changed. Cass and I had a bit of a barney after you’d gone to bed last night, and we both know we need to put more time into things at home.”
“Cass said that too, yesterday, in the car, I think. Why’s it so hard for you? Can’t you just sleep at Pippa’s with him?”
Tom shrugged. “Because that’s all I’d be doing. Cass works till midnight most nights, and Shepherd’s Bush is miles away from where I need to be.”
It sounded to Jake like Tom and Cass needed some alone time to reconnect without a twitching idiot interfering, but with Tom’s arm warm and solid around his waist, he couldn’t find the will to pull away. “Can I have a shower?”
Tom sighed. “This is your home for as long as you want it to be. You don’t have to ask to do anything.”
Jake said nothing. Tom released him from his grip and picked up an envelope. “I have something for you.”
“What is it?”
“Wages, and don’t even think about tearing it up or giving it back. Cass just about ripped me a new one last night for letting you work for free. I’m not doing it anymore, got it?”
Jake bristled, but the edge in Tom’s tone stopped him from protesting. “What about rent? I don’t want to skank off you.”
“Figure it out with Cass. Whatever I say is bound to be wrong.”
A tic bubbled in Jake’s arm. He thought about fighting it, but he didn’t have the energy. His arm shot out and sent Tom’s empty mug flying. “Shit, fuck. Sorry. There’s rats in here. Fuck!”
Jake clamped his hand over his mouth, mortified. Rats, really? That was a new one. He bent to retrieve the shattered cup. Tom dropped down beside him.
“Sorry,” Jake said. “I break stuff. That’s why I haven’t got any.”
Tom picked up a few fragments of porcelain. His face was a study in diplomacy. “Jake, I see your TS every day, and I’ve seen you break stuff before, okay? Don’t worry about it. Besides, have you seen Cass cook in a domestic kitchen? There’s a dent in every pan in the cupboard.”
Jake whistled and smacked his aching arm. “It hasn’t been this bad for a while.” Since I met you. “I feel like I’ve lost control of it.”
“Maybe you have.” Tom piled up the shattered cup and pried the final piece from Jake’s fingers. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t get it back. Is there anything we can do to help you?”
Jake shook his head bleakly and sat back on his heels. Cass had witnessed the worst of his TS the day before, but Tom had only ever seen a fragment of how bad it could get. “The doctor gave me some drugs a while ago, but I don’t like taking them. They make me feel dead inside.”
Tom rose and fetched a dustpan and brush. He swept up the broken cup, helped Jake to his feet, and put his hands on his shoulders. “Listen, you’re an adult, and you know what’s best for you. Just promise me you’ll tell us, either of us, both of us, whatever, if you need help. You might be used to coping on your own, but that doesn’t make it right.”
Cass: FYI: You can still text me
Jake: Thought you’d be busy
Cass: I am
Jake: Tom is too
Cass: Cook some sausages. That always distracts him
Jake: He said you had a row
Cass: Did he?
Jake: Yeah
Cass: We’re okay, mate. I promise
Jake: I believe you
Cass’s texts petered out in the afternoon, but Jake had grown as used to that as he had to the daily contact with Tom’s lover. He questioned his deepening feelings for Tom every day, but Cass? Somehow, their virtual relationship had begun to feel normal.
As normal as anything ever felt, at least. Jake spent his first day at Tom and Cass’s house in his room, working on the new layout for the Pink’s website. He’d taught himself coding years ago, but his skills were rusty. Combined with a relentless stream of tics he couldn’t control, he’d about driven himself crazy by the time Tom came to find him.
“You done for the day?”
Jake turned away from Cass’s computer screen. He’d been staring at the same set of code for the past two hours, and he’d given himself a headache. “Sure. This is doing my nut in, anyway.”
Tom smiled. “Hungry? I owe you dinner after you made me lunch.”
“I didn’t make anything. I put some sausages in a pan and opened a tin of beans.”
“Still counts. Come on. I’ll buy you dinner at the Dragonfly.”
“The Dragonfly?” It took Jake a moment to remember it was the name of Tom and Cass’s bistro here in Berkhamsted. “Um . . .”
He rolled over and sat up, stretching the kinks out of his spine. He’d been flat on his stomach most of the day, trying to control his wayward arm by lying on it until it was completely numb. Even alone in his room, his tics were still off the scale.
Perhaps sensing the war going on between Jake and his nervous system, Tom stepped further into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “What are you worried about?”
Jake snapped Cass’s laptop shut. He didn’t want Tom to see the Pink’s website until it was finished. “What do you think?”
“I think that I understand, as much as I’ll ever be able to, but there’s way around it, at the Dragonfly, at least.”
“You want me to sit in the car park?”
Tom chuckled. “Not quite, but owning the place has its advantages. I have the best table in the house. No one will even notice us.”
A ripple of excess energy buzzed up Jake’s arm and across his face. The jolt shook the bed and knocked him off-balance.
Tom frowned. “Did that hurt?”
“No.”
Tom opened his mouth. Shut it again. “All right. Let’s start this conversation over. Do you want to come out and get some dinner?”
No. “Um . . .”
Tom sighed. “Do you trust me?”
Yes. “No.”
“Humour me, t
hen.” Tom stood and pulled Jake to his feet before he could protest. “Let me show you, and if you don’t like it, we’ll get a pizza and come home, deal?”
There wasn’t much Jake could say when Tom looked at him like that. They left the house and walked along the canal that ran parallel to the high street. On the way, Jake distracted himself by taking his first look around the distinctly middle-class town Tom and Cass called home. With its Tudor buildings and vintage streetlamps, it was nothing like the places Jake had ever lived before. Nothing like the bleak northern cities he’d grown up in.
“This way.” Tom guided him around the lock. “I’ll show you the front, then we can go in the side door.”
Jake wondered if the side door was part of Tom’s way of sneaking inside unnoticed, but found himself distracted again once Tom had steered them to the front of the restaurant. He stared at the simple white branding, and then at the subtly intricate dragonfly signage and frowned. “Where have I seen that before?”
Tom raised an eyebrow. “That fact that you think you have confuses the hell out of me, but I like it.”
“Eh?”
“Never mind.” Tom took his arm. “Let me know when you see something that jogs your memory.”
Jake let Tom lead him back down the alley they’d come from and to a door he hadn’t noticed first time around. Tom retrieved a set of keys from his pocket, let them in, and beckoned Jake into what appeared to be a corridor.
Tom pointed left. “Kitchen’s down there, dry store behind it. Dining room is this way.”
He took Jake’s arm again. Another door, another corridor, and then they were in a warm, secluded alcove. Tom pulled out a chair at the solitary table and guided Jake into it, hands on his shoulders. “Look around,” he said. “You can see it all, but no one can see you.”
Jake gazed at the crowded restaurant, at the packed seating area and buzzing bar. A nervous tic ran through him, but no one glanced his way. Tom was right: hidden in the alcove, no one knew he was there.
Tom massaged his shoulders. “This okay?”
“Yeah.” Jake nodded, letting out the breath he’d unconsciously been holding since they’d slipped in the side door. He whistled and tapped his chest. “I like it.”
“Good, ’cause I’m bloody starving. Get settled, I’ll get some drinks.”
Tom left Jake in the alcove and went to the bar. Jake watched him weave through the tables, nodding and smiling to people he knew, oozing the confidence and composure that had attracted Jake to him in the first place. Tom was a cool dude with a massive heart, a heart that seemed hell-bent on tying Jake up in knots. Why did being with Tom feel right and yet so wrong at the same time? Jake felt safe, comfortable, and like he belonged, but then he thought of Cass, pictured him and Tom together and knew he was intruding on something beautiful. Jake had only seen them together twice, but he knew they loved each other in a way he could only dream of ever understanding.
Tom dropped into the seat beside him and set two glasses down. “It’s nice here, isn’t it? Best of both worlds.”
“Wankers. Sorry. Yeah.”
Tom squeezed Jake’s shoulder. “You like chicken, don’t you? Gloria has loads of coq au vin going spare.”
“Gloria?”
“The chef here. She’ll be out in a minute.”
Jake took a nervous gulp of the beer Tom had brought him.
Tom squeezed his shoulder again and left his hand there. “Relax.”
The sensation of Tom’s big, warm hand on his skin was hypnotic. Jake settled back in his seat and took another, more sedate, sip of his beer. “What is coq au vin?”
“French chicken stew, but Gloria style. She’s Jamaican, so expect some heat.”
“And the rest, my darlin’. Here you go, boys.” A statuesque woman with red braids appeared from nowhere and set two steaming plates on the table. She kissed Tom’s cheek and sat down. “Let me hide here a moment. It’s been a long shift.”
Tom offered Gloria his beer, grinning when she waved it away. “Many more booked in?”
“Too many.” Gloria scowled, but Jake could tell she was pleased. She pulled a zipped plastic bag from her apron pocket. “Can you take these home for Cass? He said he needed them for tomorrow.”
Tom took the bag and stuffed it into his coat pocket. “Bloody typical. He’s coming home tonight. I’ll put them in his car so he doesn’t forget them.”
Jake watched the exchange with wide eyes. The contents of the bag had looked like shrooms, but that couldn’t be right.
Gloria noticed him staring and pushed his plate towards him. “Eat up. You need some meat on your bones, you all do.”
Tom laughed as she got up and kissed him again. “Jake and Cass, maybe. If I ate any more than I do already, I’d be in trouble.”
Gloria chuckled, ruffled his hair, and left them to go back to her kitchen. Tom picked up his fork, relaxed and easy. “You look like you’ve just seen a naked woman. What’s up?”
“What’s in the bag?”
“Mushrooms.”
“Mushrooms?”
“Yeah, dried porcini. We source them from a place down in Kent, but Cass always uses his stocks up before the next order is ready. Lucky for him, Gloria looks after him.”
“Oh.” Jake shoved a bite of chicken and mashed potato in his mouth to hide his embarrassment. “I thought they were a different kind of mushroom.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “You sound like Cass.”
“Really?” Tom had said that before. “I don’t do drugs. I tried them when I was at school, though. Weed was good for my tics, until the TS found a way around it.”
Tom said nothing for a moment, absorbed in his dinner, then he smiled a sad little smile Jake had never seen before. “Cass doesn’t do drugs either, but he was a wild child when I met him. Took me a while to tame him. Some days, I’m not sure I have.”
“He loves you.” Jake spoke the words without thinking, and the light in Tom’s face faded.
“Oh, I know he does, but life gets in the way sometimes. Cass isn’t like me. He grew up fighting for everything he ever had. I think he forgets sometimes that it doesn’t have to be that way anymore.”
The sadness in Tom’s gaze made Jake want to cry. He didn’t understand the convoluted mess between the three of them, but he knew Tom was a good man, and that he loved Cass to death.
Jake nudged Tom. “Gloria’s nice. Did you mean to put a strong woman behind every business you own?”
Tom chuckled, though the shadow in his eyes remained. “It wasn’t intentional. I do think every business needs a mother figure, though. It helps with staff morale.”
It seemed to Jake that Tom spent too much of his time making sure his staff were happy. “So who mothers you?”
“My own mum, when I let her. My parents live in Bedford, but I don’t get home as much as I’d like.”
“Work gets in the way?”
“Always.” Tom sighed. “You know me too well. I talk to them every few days, though. My mum called this morning, actually. She invited you to lunch on Boxing Day.”
Jake choked on his food. “Me? How does she know about me?”
“Because I told her.” Tom rubbed Jake’s back. “All right?”
Jake gulped some beer. “What did you tell her?”
“The truth, the clean version, at least. I told her we had a friend staying with us for a while. She asked if you were going home for Christmas, I said I didn’t know, so she told me to bring you home with us.”
“Did you . . .” Jake stopped. Was he really going to ask Tom if he’d told his mum they’d had sex? “Wankers.”
“So . . .”
Jake shovelled the last of Gloria’s coq au vin in his mouth. “So what?”
“Christmas.” Tom stopped, like he was measuring his words. “Oh and Cass would love it if you came to Pippa’s with me on Christmas Day. He only works till five, then we usually go out and get pissed.”
Jake drained his beer. Getting w
asted sounded appealing, but there were some major flaws in Tom’s plan. “You want me to get drunk with you, then visit your family when I’m tired and hungover? Yeah, that’s a great idea.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “Don’t get shitty. This is how it is: Cass and I are going to my mum’s on Boxing Day. I have two sisters and a brother, so with all their spouses and kids there’s loads of us. Plenty of room for you if you’ve got no other plans.”
Jake scowled in answer and pushed his plate away.
“So have you?”
“Have I what?”
“Got other plans. God, you don’t make this easy, do you?”
Jake had no other plans, but the thought of taking his TS to a family gathering horrified him. He’d ruined too many to feel anything else.
Tom rubbed his back again, reminding Jake his hand had been there all along. “It’s not really Cass’s scene either, but once you’ve drunk enough, it’s not so bad. He’ll look after you.”
More silence. Jake felt his unnatural energy crackle in his nerves and bubble out of him in a series of popping tics. “My mum hasn’t asked me to come home. I didn’t go last year, or for Easter.”
Tom finished his supper in one big bite. “When did you last see her?”
“Eighteen months ago.”
“Are you close?”
Jake shrugged. “Not really. My dad left her when I was thirteen. She remarried and had more kids, and my stepdad couldn’t deal with me. I think they were all relieved when I ran away to the big city.”
“Families are strange things,” Tom mused. “No two are ever the same. Where’s your dad?”
“Don’t know. Haven’t seen him in years.” Jake took Tom’s plate, stacked it on top of his, and brushed some stray crumbs from the tablecloth.
Tom smiled. “I do that. Drives Cass mad, but once a waiter, always a waiter.”
“Thought you said I was a crap waiter?”
“You are, because you hate it.” Tom pushed a small laminated menu into Jake’s hands. “Have some pudding and stop your moaning.”
Jake gave Tom the finger, but was grateful for the change of subject. He’d grown used to his self-imposed solitude, but his time with Tom had made him soft, and being alone was harder now, the nights longer, and the silence louder, punctuated only by the tics that had isolated him in the first place.
Misfits Page 11
