by Robyn Elliot
And Danny hated the feelings rising up within him. Joy. The shuddering release of ecstasy that filled every tingling nerve ending within; seeing Stef again, when he thought he never would. Seeing the man he loved…and the man who had betrayed him.
That was enough for Danny. He had no intention of being berated in the street by a self- righteous and defensive Stef. Although Danny was acclimatizing to random humiliations, this was one too far, way too far. So he picked up his pace, quickening, until before he knew it, Danny was running, skirting around people, the heavy rain slowing him down. He knew Stef would still be caught up in the traffic. He knew Stef’s temper would get the better of him, and he’d be ranting at a driver right now.
Danny kept on running, feeling absurd and melodramatic, yet something fired his limbs to keep on running, as if fleeing for his life. From his life. Yes, that was on the mark; fleeing from the life he had wanted and had dreamt of.
“Danny!”
He came to a sudden halt, shock, breathless, cold air whistling through his lungs, making him stand there, gasping, coughing for breath.
Danny leaned forward, grasping his knees with his hands. Dizziness assailed him. The pavement started doubling before his eyes, a curious concertina effect. He couldn’t run any more. Neither his body nor his will were inclined to. People were walking past, barely glancing at him.
At them.
Danny felt Stef’s hand on his back, rubbing between his shoulder blades.
“Don’t touch me, Stephane!” Danny spat furiously, erupting, standing upright again, his teeth bared in reaction to the sudden fury that overtook him. His emotions were out of control, bombarded with hate and love, but mainly the knowledge he was still in love with Stef, despite everything, still so very desperately in love with France’s greatest commitment phobe.
Stef lifted his hand away from Danny as if an electric charge had zapped him. And it had.
There they were, the rain still thundering down upon them with a vengeance, the world going about its business with occasional tuts and expletives, the maelstrom of feelings creating a tempest of its own.
Stef was shaking his head, a gesture of disbelief Danny surmised. The rain fell from Stef's hair, streaming down his face. Danny noted in the ensuing melee of emotional confusion, that he was still clean shaven, and another surge of fury hit Danny like a blow.
“Danny,” Stef said again, but Danny was in no mood for good manners. They’d been left behind about 2 cms of rain ago.
“What?” Danny shouted at him, “what have you possibly got to say to me, Stephane? That you are a cheating, deceiving shit with a secret as big as a fucking house, which I presume everyone else knew about, including your girlfriend! And more fool her, for taking you back; God, she must be so needy! Here I was, thinking I was the world’s leading contender for the neediness award, when all the time, she was my main challenger…and I didn’t even know it!”
His raised voice, reedy from pain, losing its beauty from too much of that pain, started to attract the attention of even jaded Parisians. A couple slowed their passing by, giving themselves sufficient time to look at the two rain saturated guys, evidently having a lover’s tiff. A lover’s row, rather; a great big, fierce-some fucking row.
Stef grabbed Danny’s arm, and started pulling him down the street. Danny immediately resisted, and pushed Stef away, making Stef’s temper rise in contrast to the by now freezing cold.
“Stop it, all right!” Stef shouted, his eyes blazing, his jaw set firm, and Danny couldn’t believe that now, even now, even after everything, he thought Stef was the most beautiful, sexy guy he had ever, and would ever, set his eyes upon.
Danny stood his ground. “Causing a scene, am I? Well, don’t worry, I’m going, if you’ll let me and stop trying to assault me; I was walking away from the detritus that was once you and me and back to cold Blighty and even colder fucking reality...so leave me be, and go back to your family, Stephane; go back, learn to be a decent human being, and be a good partner and a good father...adieu Stef…”
Danny was aware of his own voice, as if he were hanging suspended somewhere a few feet above the pavement, and wished he felt as brave and as stoic as he was sounding. He turned to go, and again Stef tugged his arm, spinning Danny back to face him. Before Danny could resist, Stef cupped Danny’s face with his cold hands.
And kissed him.
Several more people decided just to give up the ghost, and stop to gape. Because it was more than a kiss. It was the life affirming, soul symbiosis of a thousand meanings and just one.
I’m sorry, and I love you…
Stef put all he had into that kiss. It was bruising and passionate, yes, but the desperation within its intensity was what created the timeless memory of it.
Danny clung onto him, digging his fingers into Stef’s arms, as he allowed Stef’s tongue to taste his own, and they kissed and they kissed like men who had been deprived of sustenance.
Because they had been. Food and water? A mere technicality. This was what sustained Danny and Stef, it was this love that they had found with each other, and to be without it, even for the shortest time, caused withdrawal pains of the most savage variety.
A guy walked passed them, paused and said something, laughing as he did so. Then on his way he went.
They had to separate for oxygen’s sake; Stef pressed his brow against Danny’s, their breathing mingling, the rain making their skin slick, ice cool and sensitive to the touch.
A slight smile curved Stef’s mouth for a moment.
“What?” Danny whispered, his lips hovering over Stef’s.
Stef gave an imperceptible shake of his head. “He said…we should get a room…”
Danny recoiled, as if the rain on Stef’s face had turned white hot. “What the hell am I doing?” he said, almost to himself, but Stef wrapped his arms tighter about Danny’s waist.
“You’re soaking wet, come back inside with me.”
Danny twisted his body, determined to extricate himself from Stef. Seeing Danny getting agitated again, Stef unwillingly relented.
“Go back to your love nest?” Danny suddenly shrieked, wondering if he sounded ridiculously dramatic, “have a cup of tea, change a nappy? Get the hell away from me, Stephane…I’m sick of these fucking games.”
“Wait!” Stef moved quickly, blocking Danny’s flouncing exit. Stef put his hands up, a ‘fair cop’ gesture if there ever was one, trying to gather enough coherent thoughts to form a reasonable sentence. The words that might at least persuade Danny to stand still long enough so Stef could unscramble the confusion in his own head.
For less than ten minutes ago, Stef’s life had been orderly, sensible. And empty. He felt guilt about that, and tried to overcome that sense of guilt; but there was just too much of a guilt whirlpool swirling around Stef that even he, with his masterful sense of self (which had proved pretty fragile, after all) hadn’t been able to see a way of experiencing true and deep happiness ever again.
At least, he’d reasoned over the last few weeks, that he could be miserable in familiar surroundings, with familiar faces, the easy flow of language, the very French-ness of Stef making him only ever feel truly at home in France.
And then, it was as if a meteor had struck earth, the epicenter of the strike bang in the middle of Stef’s chest. At first, in the way everything kind of slows down when one can’t quite believe their eyes, Stef had seen the most beautiful guy staring at him across the street. Insanely, Stef’s brain a beat behind his heart, hadn’t recognized him in the first few seconds, seeing only this pale, lovely young man, looking back at him with the same sadness he, Stef, felt.
It was the sadness, the pain, that tripped his brain in recognition. Those, and the gamut of other feelings deciding to join the party; panic, disbelief, fury, indignation…and relief. Massive, tsunami waves of relief, sweeping over Stef until he couldn’t stand it anymore. Because Danny had stared at him with so much hurt, so much of a sense of loss, that the buc
keting rain and the darkening street made the perfect backdrop to the scales falling from Danny's eyes; seeing the truth at the same time as witnessing the lie. The lie that had been their love.
Okay, thought Stef frantically, aware of the slight chance Danny was giving him. Danny waited, obeying Stef’s command, or plea, but whatever it was, Danny remained still, his head cocked slightly to the side, his lips tightened, slightly reddened from the kiss, rain running over his eyelids, making him blink repeatedly. But Stef was still struggling, wanting to find words, knowing he had to find words, the right words, the explanatory words, but instead his mouth went dry and his heart went on kabooming.
“I-am-waiting, Stef,” Danny said, as calmly as he could, and Stef noted the shortening of his name for the first time. Whereas before it had always turned him on that Danny called him Stephane when they were being a bit snippy with each other, now it was just further evidence of how much damage Stef had done to them. “Please just tell me one thing, Stephane.”
Stef groaned to himself, the slight thawing merely an illusion, then.
Here it comes…
“Yes,” Stef said, and in that one word Stef finally ceased running scared. Because despite his trying to stop Danny, it was Stef who hadn’t stopped running for too long now.
They stared at each. Danny realized he was scared too; not of the question. It was the answer that was scaring the seven shades out of him, and somewhere in the back of his mind there was that tiny ganglion of nerve endings that was his hope center, inflamed with expectation.
Stef saw Danny’s struggle, the hesitation, the fear. So Stef rescued him.
“Yes…she is mine,” and he watched Danny sway slightly at those words. Stef reached to touch him, but Danny took a step back, shaking his head.
Stef waited for the torrent of retribution, the accusation, the whole heartbreak symphony about to reverberate in every one of his senses. But instead, what he got was the death stare, and never had he seen Danny’s face go whiter. “She’s nine months old, her name is Fleur...” and Stef couldn’t help the swell of pride as he spoke to Danny, for the very first time, about his daughter. And then…after all the months of desperately wanting to, yet being to terrified to do so, for myriad, crazy reasons…Stef found he couldn’t stop.
“Danny, you’d love her,” Stef assured him, forgetting that Danny was still thinking him the shit of the century for abandoning his girlfriend, with their baby, to go to London and play around with the nervy barrister. “I’m biased, of course, but she is such a beautiful little girl.”
Danny could hear Stef’s voice, but Stef had lost his attention the moment he admitted the baby was his daughter. The moment when all hope, the very last tendrils of it, were obliterated and ripped apart by one beautiful word.
Fleur.
Danny loved the name. His heart had leapt at the sound, the anguish momentarily forgotten, in the flood of happiness he could hear in Stef’s voice. Then, the pain had crashed into Danny again, and he’d stared sightless, somewhere over Stef’s right shoulder, hearing Stef, hearing the death knell of happy ever after, but too damned heartbroken to want to go on listening.
“Danny, Danny? Did you hear me?”
Stef touched Danny then, brushing his knuckles tenderly over Danny’s cheekbone. Danny didn’t flinch, and Stef breathed a little easier. Instead, Danny took Stef’s hand and kissed each knuckle with slow reverence. Stef closed his eyes, the sensation of touch, and closeness, and love, all colliding into something possible and yet, perhaps, unattainable.
Danny raised his eyes to Stef’s face, as his lips brushed Stef’s fingers. “Go back to your daughter, and be the wonderful father I know you can be; and make your girlfriend understand that she will be able to rely on you. Goodbye Stef,” and with that, Danny walked away, not looking back.
Now it was Stef’s turn to be rooted to the spot. He watched Danny’s retreating back.
“Danny! Will…will you stop being so fucking heroic!” Danny kept on walking. “Danny, for God’s sake, kick me, punch me, rage at me, but don’t…” Stef’s words caught in his throat, and he couldn’t see the shimmering, rain washed images in front of him, “just don’t leave me…” he finished, his voice barely audible above the clattering rain.
The evening seemed to swallow Danny up, and by the time Stef wiped his eyes, and regained the use of his limbs, all there was left to gaze at was the emptiness of the Parisian night.
Chapter Eleven
“That won’t help,” Madeleine pointed out, as Stef poured his second very large, glass of red wine.
“It will do for the moment,” Stef muttered, between his gulps.
“He’s only got himself to blame, so he deserves to descend into an alcoholic hell of cirrhotic despair!” Delphine, Stef and Guillaume's little sister, all dark flowing hair, crystal clear skin and long legged, youthful confidence, passed her balanced verdict on her adored but infuriating big brother.
Stef was still akin to Zeus as far as she was concerned, but even this recent behavior was going too far, and yes, even by Stef standards. Stef, throwing away his chance of true happiness.
Stef ignored both women, and collapsed onto one of the luxuriant sofas amidst the baby induced chaos that was the living room. Madeleine took a magazine, rolled it up and thwacked Stef on his head, before sweeping into the bedroom next door to check on Fleur. She needn’t have worried. Apart from the baby monitor doing its job, this little version of Stef was one hell of a sleeper. Which, so Elisabeth had advised Madeleine, was exactly how Stef had been; certainly made up for it though, the Marshal had added as an afterthought.
Delphine flopped down next to her brother, lying her legs over his. She took the rolled magazine, and thwacked him on the arm. “Stupid idiot!”
“Will you both stop assaulting me? And stupid idiot makes no sense; one or the other is sufficient, whereas both tend to dilute the general meaning.”
“Once a sacked doctor of literature, always a sacked doctor of literature,” Delphine mockingly opined, “though you only did your doctorate to show off and get laid. You taught me how to study, Stef...minimally.”
“Shut up,” Stef sighed, leaning his head against the cushions, closing his eyes, “besides, looking the way I do, I never needed a doctorate,” he added with characteristic modesty.
“I-we-can’t believe you just let him go! He comes all the way to Paris to see you, and what do you do? Let him walk away, tame as you like; what a disappointment you are, Stef!”
Stef slowly opened his eyes, looked at Delphine who was smiling at him with that mixture of adoring love, awe and mischief he knew so well.
“I thought you’d be on my side,” he murmured, leaning forward to retrieve his wine glass from the coffee table; the surface of the table was strewn with the kind of plethora denoting the presence of a very tiny person in the apartment.
“I’m the kid sister, remember? I’m supposed to say things like that.”
Stef slugged back the wine. “Listen to me; I’ve hurt Danny so badly that there’s no turning back from this…”
“Gutless shit!” Madeleine breezed back in the room, flopping down in the armchair opposite, “sitting there, doubtless about to get hammered from my wine store, whilst that poor boy…”
“He’s 27!” Stef interjected, half-heartedly. Because it seemed an apt description of Danny; a lost look about him, as if he needed nurturing and cherishing to enable him to flourish into the wonderful young man he could be.
A lacerating bolt of jealousy hit Stef in his chest. Wasn’t he letting someone else have the opportunity to share that sweetness with Danny. Not him. Some other guy, who would, over time, reduce Stef to nothing more than a memory. Stef swallowed painfully with the thought, whilst jealousy left a bitter taste. Even with Antoine’s infidelities he’d never felt particularly jealous, although admittedly that would have been the pot calling the kettle a deeper shade of noir…
“He does look so young,” sighed Madeleine, r
aising her brows, looking at Delphine pointedly.
“Hmm, I had a good look at him from the window…he’s a bit like a character from a Flaubert novel,” Delphine intoned, “his blond hair really stood out against the gloom and the rain. He looked so romantic, and ethereal...is that what you were thinking, Madeleine?”
Madeleine took her cue. “Yes, I did, and so beautiful, I can’t wait to see him close up. That’s if Stef stops sniveling into his glass, of course. Tough ask, my darling Stef, manning up.”
He glared at both of them. He folded his arms, unwittingly defensive. And they were right. Danny was -remained - very beautiful. Not Stef's type. No, never his type, facial features too delicate, body too lean and fragile looking, blond hair too curly and girly, too pale, too effete, too fey, too…too…wonderful for Stef to imagine he could ever have had a life with someone like Danny. Someone honest, and principled; and wholly loveable, desirable, adorable.
The women broke into his thoughts. “We saw how you looked at each other; you looked like the two of you were hypnotized. God, it’s so romantic!” Madeleine pressed a hand to her chest, affecting the vapors.
“Madeleine, do I have to listen to your obsession with romanticism? I mean, you sleep with Baudelaire under your pillow!”
“His essays, Stef, not quite the same thing…”
Stef had another try at deflection. “Oh, and must I take lecturing from my sister who defines a serious relationship as managing to stay with the same person for two consecutive nights; and my lesbian friend who, until recently, declared that the concept of love was invented by men with small penises…although seeing as you’ve never been near a penis in your life, it’s a strange conclusion.”
“I did suck a penis once, back in lycée,” Madeleine loftily declared.
“Oh,” Stef muttered, “I take it all back then; you evidently know, after all, what you’re talking about.”
