April just gazed at him. “Wanker,” she insisted.
Chapter Three
“Come on, Jay. Open up. I’m bleeding out here, man.”
Jay grimaced. Dean banged on his door again, just as he’d done for about the last ten minutes. April’s earlier telephone call was to warn him Dean was on his way over, but the cow ‑‑ Bitch! ‑‑ hadn’t warned him soon enough. No. She kept him chatting on the phone, then casually remarked that she and Dean talked a couple of days ago and that he was on his way over. He couldn’t handle this, not an hour after returning home from his break and setting foot in the door. Jay had cast his eyes around at the pile of clothes that needed washing, the things he hadn’t yet unpacked, the half-eaten sandwich, and barked out a panicked “When?”
“Oh, about now.” He could almost see the smirk on her face.
“April, I don’t need this right now.”
“You can’t avoid him forever.”
“I know that. I’ve just got home. I’m not ready to deal with this.” He was getting angry and he hated to do that with his sister, but she deserved it. If he had known she would set him up this way, he would never have told her. Maybe he shouldn’t trust her so implicitly anymore.
“When would you be ready to deal with it?” The only thing evident in her voice was exasperation. “I told him when you were getting home and he’s on his way. Deal with it or lose a good friend. I know what a pain in the arse Dean can be, but he’s a good bloke at heart and we both know it.” With that, she hung up.
Immediately, having no one to vent his anger on, Jay’s belligerence turned to panic. He grabbed a jacket, his keys, and made a run for the door. He almost reached it when Dean knocked and now, ten minutes later, Jay retained the sneaking suspicion that Dean wasn’t going to back off.
A large fist pounded on the door again, practically shaking it in the frame. Jay could picture the sound carrying through the walls to the ears of the other occupants in the block of flats. Jay put his hands over his ears, but it did nothing to impede the sound. He lowered his hands in time to hear the pounding stop and Dean’s voice call out, “I’ll sit here all night if I have to.” He might be calling through the letterbox as his voice sounded clearer this time. Jay heard a strange sliding sound and then silence, but he didn’t think for a minute that Dean had left. Maybe April was right. They needed to face each other sometime and the longer he left it, the worse it would probably feel. Not to mention what the neighbours were thinking. Drawing in a breath, he went to unlock the door, pulled it as far as the chain would allow, and looked out.
Dean sat on the floor with his back to the wall. The doorframe had to be pressing in an uncomfortable line down his spine. He held his hands clasped, his legs drawn back, and his elbows resting on his knees. A strip of cloth tied around one hand looked as if it might be a handkerchief. A large patch of red marred the white. He looked up.
“Christ!” Jay let the door close enough so he could unfasten the chain. He fumbled the first try in his haste, and then ripped the door open. “When you said you were bleeding, I thought you were being a wise arse and meant emotionally.”
Dean grunted, rose to his feet, picking up a couple of objects behind him, and marched into the flat. Jay didn’t bother to look to see what he carried. He closed the door and then led the way into the kitchen. When he turned back, a large bunch of greenery almost whacked him in the face. Jay blinked, looked at it, and then widened his eyes. Strange enough that Dean would bring him flowers, but he recognised them even if there were only a few struggling buds at present.
They were Christmas Roses and Jay loved them. The Helleborus niger was easy to grow, but he didn’t have a garden. They bloomed in the darkest months, even when everything else lay frozen. He liked their defiance. Most varieties were white or tinged with pink. Mrs Thompson’s were well established and especially lovely. She had the white, but also some that were a velvety, light purple colour against shiny, dark green leaves. “You took these from Mrs Thompson’s garden?”
“Why do you think I’m bleeding?”
“I take it the bite wasn’t Mrs Thompson.” Not that he found it difficult to believe the old woman had it in her; her bark was bad enough. He took the flowers and set them aside. “Run your hand under some water. I’ll get something to clean it with.”
He returned in time to hear Dean draw in a hissing breath as he washed the wound. Well, he might hiss, but the antiseptic was going to hurt worse. Jay put some things down on the table and told Dean to sit, then hooked out a chair with his foot. There was no choice, but to sit close. He pushed back the too big, too baggy sleeves of his jumper. To distract them from the moment more than anything else, he asked, “So, Toffee, or Fudge?” Mrs Thompson owned two equally vicious Pomeranians. Small, sharp teeth had definitely caused the injury.
“Does it matter?” Dean grunted out, and then swore when Jay wiped the wound with the antiseptic. “I guess I should get a tetanus jab or maybe rabies shot.” He was being vindictive; rabies wasn’t an issue. He paused, and then added, “I wonder if they put poms to sleep if they bite.”
Jay looked up, his eyes wide, not trying to hide his shock. “You wouldn’t!” He watched Dean’s face for a moment, until he was sure his friend spoke only out of irritation. From the man’s expression, he could also tell that Dean was teasing him somewhat. Why he did that, as though he wanted to see a reaction, was beyond Jay. “Don’t you dare,” Jay said anyway, lowering his voice and turning his attention back to the wound. He began to apply a dressing. “Besides, you were trespassing and stealing. You got what you deserved.”
“You don’t like the flowers then?”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“I thought you could pot them. I heard they grow okay in pots.”
Jay nodded. “Do you know the roots are poisonous?” Dean’s expression was almost worth it.
“See what I go through for you,” he muttered. Jay refused to look at him, and didn’t answer. He concentrated on the dressing.
“Horrid little things,” Dean said, maybe to fill the silence. “Came out at me from under a bush. Bloody thing was sleeping in the garden. I could have stepped on it. Don’t know what she sees in them.”
Admittedly, they always snapped and growled at everyone. “She loves them, and, anyway, you know what she’s like. Imagine what she’d be like without them.”
“Good point. And I wasn’t stealing.”
Jay began to gather the medical supplies. He flicked his gaze towards the other man. “Yes, you were.”
“I lent over the wall and took a few flowers.”
“You dug them up complete with poisonous roots and either way, that’s stealing.” Jay tried not to laugh, but couldn’t help the sound entering his voice.
“So? If I’d asked, she would have said no and people do stupid things for those they ...”
Jay paused, frowned. “What?”
“They do stupid things when they’re asking for forgiveness,” Dean finished. Jay, certain Dean stopped short of saying something entirely different, just sat there, his heart starting to pound. Dean picked up the second object. Belgian chocolates were Jay’s favourite. “Sorry,” Dean muttered. “I put them on the wall and then I knocked them off when the dog came rushing out and bit me. Then I stepped on them ...” He shook his head, allowing the words to trail off, the chocolates inside the decidedly dented box surely squashed. Jay couldn’t help it. He started to laugh. When Dean just looked at him, he laughed harder.
“I’m sorry. I really want to be mad with you right now.” He looked down. “Still, I’m amazed you know what I like.”
Dean opened his mouth to say ‘Of course, I know what you like’, but he didn’t. He wasn’t sure how that would sound. He half-raised a hand, unsure what to do with it, maybe touch Jay’s face, but his friend jerked back. Dean always touched Jay so casually ... well, maybe not his face, but still, the pain of that spiked through him. Perhaps they had lost the easiness between th
em because of his stupidity. He didn’t want that. He wanted things back the way as before. Jay eyed him warily now. Perhaps things had never been the way Dean imagined. He didn’t know why he wanted to touch Jay. Maybe the impulse was to find out if he was still real and not shrinking away to become something infinitesimal inside of that huge jumper. Since when did Jay start to hide in his clothes like this? That jumper was something you wore when you needed emotional comfort. He tried a lopsided grin. “Are you going to forgive me?”
Standing up and kicking back the chair, Jay moved further away. “I might forgive Dean Chapman, the usually bright and unselfish man who knew I was quoting from Adam Bede when I called him a cock who thought the sun had risen to hear him crow. The Dean Chapman, who not only knew that was a book by George Eliot, but that she was a woman called Mary Ann Evans. On the other hand, I’m not sure I want to forgive the Dean Chapman who sits calmly by while one of his workmates, one who probably reads nothing more than the nudie page in the newspaper, takes the piss out of me.”
“I know.” Dean stood up. “Look, let me make it up to you?”
Jay lent against the kitchen sink, arms folded across his chest, staring at him. He and April shared more mannerisms than they probably knew. “How?”
A lot hinged on that word. “By proving I’m not a complete arse.”
Jay looked down but his lips twitched. “Big order. How do you think you can manage that?”
Dean hesitated, but if he dithered too long, it would look as if he was trying to come up with something. Already, Jay’s eyes narrowed and darkened. “By proving I do know some things about you. That I’m not as oblivious to you as I sometimes pretend. That I regret stepping out of line and that I like having you around and don’t want to lose that. That I won’t do it again.”
At least Jay seemed to take in everything he said. He stood there now, the sleeves of the jumper having fallen forward. They covered most of his hands, his fingers curling tightly into his palms, gripping the edge of each sleeve, and pressing into his stomach. The posture was defensive, innocent, childlike and feminine. It was also altogether endearing. Was that a hint of disappointment in his eyes? Dean didn’t know what to say to make that right. He should stick to his plan.
“Come ‘round tonight.” This time Jay really did look surprised, and then he looked suspicious, which drove unexpected pain straight into Dean’s gut and heart equally. The three of them had known each other for so long that maybe he did take liberties with them, but he didn’t mean anything by it. He didn’t want to lose what they had, and they shared a great friendship. That friendship only changed recently. Once, the three of them spent many a night throwing popcorn at each other in the movies. Was it truly such a wonder that he touched Jay casually? He used to touch April the same way. His biggest regret was never managing to touch all that glorious hair before she cut it. When had things changed and where did this distance come from? Was it just life that pushed them apart or something else? Maybe he was the one at fault and he should make an effort, starting now.
“Just come ‘round,” he said. “Early, at six.” The look on Jay’s face ... he looked like an audience member staring at a comic and being set up for a fall, waiting for the moment when the joke descended on him. “It’s nothing bad, I promise. You’ll like it. Please. Trust me this once. This one last time, if it has to be that.”
Jay sighed and it sounded defeated, which translated to triumph from Dean’s point of view. “Wear the striped shirt,” Dean said. “It brings out your eyes.” Jay’s gaze jerked up to meet his, but clearly, his friend couldn’t tell if he teased or not. He did, but only a little.
* * * * *
“You cooked?”
“Do you have to sound so surprised?” Dean felt oddly pleased to see Jay wore the shirt. The garment was a light cream colour with thin, pistachio green, beige, pale blue and brown stripes. The cut was a better shape and fit than many of the things Dean had seen Jay wear lately. With it, he wore beige faded jeans. He looked good in them and it crossed Dean’s mind to tell him he should dress like this more often. For goodness sakes, he was gay after all. He didn’t say it, though. Maybe he would get the chance later.
Jay’s eyes wandered about the room, over the cream-coloured couch, the glass coffee table, the pebble-effect fireplace, and then across to the white bookshelves stuffed with books and model cars ‑‑ collector’s pieces all ‑‑ as though he’d never set eyes on them before. Then he cast his gaze over the table. The tablecloth’s deep red colour complimented the rich wine-coloured candles. In preparation, an Italian merlot already filled an elegant decanter, and the menu consisted of Italian food. Olives and a selection of cold antipasto rested on plain, white china plates as their starters. He poured the wine and then held out a glass, leaving Jay with no choice, but to pick his up and clink glasses. Dean hesitated to give a toast ‑‑ To friendship? To us? ‑‑ and the moment passed.
After the antipasto, they were having a small, second course of spaghetti with ragu ‑‑ tomato and meat sauce ‑‑ then seared tuna with caponata, which was an aubergine stew. He hadn’t bothered with dessert, but bought Jay another box of chocolates ‑‑ not that he doubted Jay would eat the squashed ones as well.
Jay dropped into his seat and fell into silence. Soft music played ‑‑ a compilation of classical music. Uncertain if Jay favoured a composer, even liked classical music, or if he merely put up with it due to his sister’s influence, Dean chose to play it safe. The recording varied enough not to irritate and the volume was set low enough so that they could ignore it if they wished. They ate and Jay finally asked him about work. Dean rambled on for some length about the cars in the workshop and then seeing Jay was staring at him, he grinned.
“Sorry. You know I like the cars.”
Jay nodded, but said nothing else. Dean served the second course in a small bowl, the portion no more than half a dozen bites, but to his surprise Jay twisted the pasta up onto a single fork and ate it perfectly, just as the Italians did. Dean changed the plates, asked Jay about work, asked after April and her work, their family, and listened to Jay’s monosyllabic answers.
“So, you really can cook.”
They had eaten half the main course, but now pushed food around their plates. Dean put down his fork. “So my girlfriends tell me.”
“Good seduction method, I guess.”
Jay said it lightly enough, but Dean would have to be deaf not to hear the confusion in his friend’s voice. He frowned, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took in a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I really am a wanker.” Jay made a small questioning gesture, sort of a blink and a jerk. “It’s what your sister calls me anyway. You’re right. This is how I’d seduce a woman or make it up to her after an argument. The very idea that ‘Dean can cook’ seems to blow them away.”
His friend smiled, but sadness existed in it. He wanted to remove that look, do something to make Jay’s expression change, but he couldn’t. “I’ve never cooked for a man.”
“No reason you would.” The words emerged very subdued and soft. Jay seemed to gather himself. He looked up. “It was very good.”
Dean stared at him across the table. “The candles were too much?” In truth, everything was probably too much. That was why, seeing Jay’s expression upon first glance at the table, he had left the main light on even though the candles burned.
The other man just gave a small smile, a sort of brief curving of his lips. Dean found it difficult to think of Jay as a man. He was so slim, so narrow-hipped and not, exactly, what you would call tall, plus he had all that long hair most women would kill to have. He was also funny at times, when he wasn’t angry or upset. Jay was smart, incredibly so, though he did his best to hide it. He often came across as shy, but Dean had seen him after too much drink, and suspected there were times when Jay let down his hair in other ways. Of course, Jay also got angry but Dean didn’t wish to dwell on that. “I don’t want to lose your friendship,” he said suddenly.
/> “I know.”
“I’m sorry it can’t be ... I’m sorry I can’t ...”
“I know,” Jay interrupted. Silence ensued. Even the CD ended.
“You look good in that shirt,” Dean told him for some inexplicable reason he just didn’t understand.
“Fuck you!”
“Pardon me?” Dean asked sincerely. He stared wide-eyed across the table completely taken off guard by Jay’s outburst. Jay’s eyes stared right back at him, flashing now, his friend’s face set hard in what looked like anger.
“I won’t pardon you at all. What do you want from me, Dean? To wind me up, set me up, drop me down. I’m not a fucking jack in the box.” Jay stood up, tossing his napkin down. He advanced past the corner of the table, his hips giving a little sway that Dean couldn’t be sure was intentional or otherwise. “How would you like it if I came on to you?”
“I wasn’t ...”
Jay reached him before he could say anything else. With a sinuous movement, Jay slid into the impossibly small gap between Dean and the table and onto his lap. Shocked, Dean allowed it. The line of the table surely pressed painfully into Jay’s side. Items on the table even trembled a little, but stayed put. Jay linked his hands around the back of Dean’s neck and tilted his head as though he intended to kiss him. For an instant, Dean sat stunned, and then just before those lips met his, he grabbed Jay around the upper arms and skirted the chair back as he did. He used too much force. Jay flew off his lap, hit the table, rebounded, and then fell in an untidy heap on the floor, taking Dean’s plate down with him. The pretty tinkle and chink sounds of crockery falling and breaking that usually sent consternation into a person’s heart were secondary. The sound of Jay landing heavily overcame Dean’s concern for a piece of dinnerware. Scraps of food soiled the carpet and Jay’s shirt. Dean rushed in to help him and, much to his surprise, Jay let him. Once he was standing, though, Jay pushed him away.
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