‘Psshhhhh, no such thing as normal,’ Oscar slurred. ‘Fascist conspiracy.’
Rachel tried not to laugh as Tom made a face and hissed, ‘Not a word.’
They helped Oscar shuffle towards the taxi and then clamber inside.
‘What’s up with him?’ the driver asked, pointing, the second the car doors were closed.
‘Jet lag,’ Rachel said swiftly. ‘He’s just very, very tired.’
Oscar began sniggering as the driver rolled his eyes and put the car in first gear. ‘You’re paying for a full valet if he chunders.’
‘He won’t,’ said Tom grimly, then looked at Oscar. ‘It’s not far and he’ll hold it in unless he wants his mum to get the bill.’
Oscar went pale and remained silent the rest of the way back to Stroud Green.
By the time the taxi stopped a few metres away from Tom and Will’s building, Oscar looked thoroughly nauseated. His skin was damp with the unhealthy sheen of the soon-to-be sick.
‘He’s going to throw up,’ Rachel said as they heaved him out of the Uber.
‘’M fine,’ Oscar mumbled unconvincingly.
‘Maybe it’s just being in the car,’ Tom said, putting his key in the front door and shoving it open. ‘He’ll be better once we get him inside.’
Rachel guided Oscar down the corridor and let him lean on her as Tom unlocked the flat door.
‘You’re well fit, y’know,’ Oscar said, as if this were a crucial truth that had just become clear to him. He stared at her with doe-eyed, inebriated adoration.
Rachel laughed. Tom pulled Oscar away from her, tugging him into the flat by his coat sleeve.
‘You never said you had a fit girlfriend,’ Oscar slurred. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you had a fit girlfriend?’
Exasperated, Tom briefly let go of his brother to tear at his own hair. Rachel observed it was becoming curlier and more unruly as his annoyance with Oscar increased.
‘Rachel isn’t my girlfriend, Oz,’ he said, with a touch more feeling than Rachel thought was necessary. ‘Men and women can be friends, you know. They can be in each other’s lives without needing to sleep together.’
Gee, thanks, Rachel thought, then reproved herself for being so ridiculous. Tom was only telling the truth, after all: there’d never been anything romantic between them.
Oscar swayed towards Rachel, staring up at her with eyes that she noticed were the same shape as Tom’s, but brown instead of blue.
‘Go out with me instead,’ Oscar said, taking both her hands in his and gesturing at his brother. ‘He’s an idiot anyway. And he’s old.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ Tom grumbled, reaching for Oscar to move him away.
Oscar tightened his grip on Rachel’s fingers. He looked greener than ever.
‘OSCAR!’ Tom bellowed, his temper finally fraying.
‘You can’t split us up,’ Oscar insisted, throwing his body towards Rachel’s. ‘She’s lovely. I think I might love her.’
Tom hooked an arm around Oscar’s middle. ‘You’re going to knock her over. And you don’t love her, you’ve only known her an hour.’
‘You’re just jealous!’ Oscar shouted triumphantly, still holding on to Rachel’s hands. ‘Back off, you had your chance!’
‘I’m sorry about this, Rach,’ Tom said, looking wretched. He moved backwards, still clinging to Oscar’s waist and trying to pull him away from her.
‘Nooooo!’ Oscar wailed, resisting.
Even as she saw Oscar clutch a hand to his stomach, Rachel couldn’t help giggling at the ridiculous spectacle of it all. She was still laughing as his jaw went slack and he lurched towards her, his stomach convulsing in an almighty heave that she realised, too late, would have very unpleasant consequences.
A fountain of projectile vomit erupted in Rachel’s direction, spraying her from her shoulders down to her waist. Before she or Tom could register what had happened, Oscar staggered forward and threw up again – this time spattering Rachel from thigh to shin with vivid reddish puke.
Oscar sank to the floor and put his head between his knees as Tom surveyed the carnage.
‘Oh my God. Oh my God … Is that blood? Is he bleeding?’
‘No,’ Rachel said. Beneath the acrid upchuck smell emanating from her sweater was an intensely sweet aroma she recognised.
‘I’m pretty sure that colour’s blackcurrant cordial. I think this is snakey-B vomit.’
‘Thank God,’ Tom said, relief giving way to horror as he looked more closely at Rachel, taking in the full extent of her soaking. ‘Oh fuck. Look at you.’
‘Yeah. Bit grim,’ Rachel said, feeling very grossed out and queasy herself but trying not to show it. ‘It’s probably a good thing he’s been sick, though … His colour’s already coming back.’
It was true. Oscar looked pathetic, curled up in a ball on the stained sitting room rug – but his cheeks had lost the waxy, washed-out look they’d had before.
‘Sorry,’ he moaned from the floor, sounding almost coherent.
‘Get him to bed,’ Rachel said, pointing. ‘Honestly, I’m okay for a minute.’
Tom sighed in resignation and crouched down to Oscar. ‘Come on, you absolute arsepain. I’ll be back ASAP, Rach.’
He hoisted Oscar up by his armpits, then helped him walk to the bathroom.
Rachel heard the sound of running water and low voices rumbling from the other side of the door. Delicately, she peeled off her damp sweater, inordinately grateful it was a button-down, and dropped it on the floor – careful to pick a spot that would need a mop in any case. Then she stood as still as possible to try to keep Oscar’s vomit contained, very aware that her neck, shoulders and chest were exposed in just her bra and cotton cami.
A moment later the bathroom door creaked open. Tom helped Oscar to the spare bedroom-slash-office. Through the open door, Rachel saw him lay his brother on an ancient IKEA futon. When he came back to the open-plan kitchen and living area, Tom was carrying Oscar’s dirty clothes.
‘I’ll wash and dry yours too,’ he said. ‘If you want me to, that is. I can lend you something until your stuff’s sorted … And I’m guessing you’ll want a shower.’
‘That would be great, I’m totally disgusting,’ Rachel said. ‘I think there’s snakebite sick in my hair.’
‘Urghh, I don’t know what to say. I’m so unbelievably sorry. I hope Oscar has the world-class hangover he deserves after this.’
‘He won’t,’ Rachel laughed. ‘Kids never do. But it’s okay. It’s not your fault.’
‘Let me find you some stuff to wear while I get your clothes clean,’ Tom said, heading towards his bedroom. He came back with a pair of blue joggers and a familiar grey marl sweatshirt – one she’d always liked, with a faded image of a snow-capped mountain and the word MONTANA printed above it in crumbling red and white letters.
‘There are clean towels in the cupboard behind the bathroom door,’ Tom said as he handed the stuff to Rachel. ‘Help yourself to anything else you need. We’ll stick the washing machine on after. And sorry again … A million apologies.’
‘Thanks,’ Rachel said. ‘But please stop apologising. Best you check on your brother while I’m getting cleaned up – make sure he’s sleeping on his side and not his back. Just in case.’
‘I will.’ Tom nodded, then raised his eyes to meet hers. ‘You’re being ridiculously cool about this.’
‘It’s fine,’ she said, looking back from the bathroom doorway. ‘What’s a little vomit between friends?’
‘Rach?’ Tom called before she could close the door. ‘One more thing.’
She bobbed her head and waited.
‘It’s just … You could never be disgusting. Even covered in teenager’s puke, you’re lovely. Oscar was right about that. I wanted you to hear it from someone sober.’
Rachel smiled and waved the compliment away, retreating into the bathroom.
With immense relief, she stripped off and started the shower running, trying not
to think about how bizarre it was that she was naked in Will and Tom’s flat.
Rachel emerged from the bathroom clean, if oddly attired. Tom’s too-long navy joggers pulled tight across her hips when she moved; they were cut for a tall, slim man, not a woman with no thigh gap. Conversely, her top half – braless – was drowning in his soft, oversized Montana sweatshirt.
She’d used something with a citrussy, mannish fragrance to wash her hair and body, and the scent now clung to her skin. The sweatshirt smelled fresh – clean and soapy – but maybe a little like the citrus stuff too. Breathing in Essence of Tom each time she moved was odd but not unpleasant, Rachel decided.
She made her way into the kitchen area and placed her soiled clothes, which unfortunately included her underwear, into the washing machine.
‘Can I start this now?’ she asked.
Tom looked up from the patch of rug he was ineffectually scrubbing.
‘Yeah. Let me, though, the machine’s ancient and the settings are awkward. I wouldn’t want you to boil-wash your stuff by accident.’
‘Under the circumstances, a hot wash might be best.’ Rachel smiled.
Tom came to stand behind her, then twisted a dial on the front of the machine and slammed the door. It whirred into life immediately.
‘How’s Oscar?’ Rachel asked.
‘Passed out, but looking less peaky by the minute. My suspicion is he’ll wake up ravenous, feel far less foul than he deserves to and have no memory of declaring his undying love for you. Apologies for that, by the way – he was clearly overwhelmed.’
‘Ha! Not a problem, really. It was quite nice in a way … More sincere than Laurence’s roses, in any case.’
‘Hmm, I don’t know how much of an accolade that is. But I’ll be sure to mention it to Oscar during the Serious Talk we’ll be having later.’
Rachel moved towards the sofa and armchairs at the other end of the room, stepping over a spray bottle of Vanish and several wet patches of floor.
‘I think your rug’s DNR, Thomas,’ she said. ‘Literally – it looks like it’s bleeding out.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Tom said from the kitchen. ‘I guess if it’s today’s only casualty, that’s not too shabby.’
A few minutes later he joined her on the sofa, placing a tray with glasses of squash and sandwiches on the coffee table.
‘Amazing,’ Rachel said, picking up a granary creation that appeared to contain chicken and sliced tomato. ‘Ooooh, that’s good.’
They ate and drank in silence, but when the last sandwich had gone Rachel turned to Tom and asked: ‘So. Are you going to tell me?’
He shifted uncomfortably, colour momentarily draining from his face. Then he asked, ‘About Oscar?’
Rachel nodded.
‘Ah. We’ve only recently been in touch, and I wanted to get to know him a bit before introducing him to anyone … Who knows, maybe he’ll even meet my mum at some point.’
‘Er. Okay?’ Rachel’s face betrayed her confusion.
‘Oscar is Christine’s son. Christine is the woman my dad ran off with when he left my mum and me. She was one of the secretaries at his firm and twenty years younger than him. I was fourteen.’
None of this was news to Rachel, exactly. She knew Tom’s parents were divorced and that their split had been bitter – but there’d never been any mention of his dad having more children.
She nodded, signalling she was ready to hear more.
‘As I think you know, I barely saw my dad after the split. He and Mum hated the sight of one another, and when he and Christine moved to Essex everything sort of fell apart. I was lucky if I got a birthday card. I grew to hate him almost as much as Mum did for choosing someone else over us. After a while I stopped trying to keep up any contact.’
‘I don’t blame you,’ Rachel said, livid on teenage Tom’s behalf.
He shrugged. ‘I found out towards the end of last summer that shortly after they ran off together, Christine and my dad had a baby. Oscar. It seems Mum couldn’t bear to tell me Dad had binned us off and started another family straightaway … I was hurt enough. I suppose she was worried I’d feel replaced. And after that, I guess there was never a good time to tell the truth.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Rachel breathed. ‘I mean, your poor mum. But … what a thing to keep from you.’
‘Yeah. I’ve been pretty angry with her. In her defence, though, she always thought my dad would tell me himself. Of course he left Christine within a couple of years for another woman – disappeared again – so that never happened. And there was no love lost between Christine and my mum, so I don’t think the idea of trying to forge a relationship between Oscar and me ever occurred to them. It was easier for them to ignore one another.’
‘That’s awful.’ Rachel twisted in her seat, struggling to comprehend what she was hearing.
‘Yeah,’ Tom agreed. ‘Anyway. As you’ve probably worked out by now, Oscar is a bit of a handful. He started poking around Christine’s attic one afternoon – the story is he’d taken to smoking up there – and discovered a wallet of old photos inside a leftover box of our dad’s. There was a little boy in some of the pictures, and he realised it wasn’t him—’
‘Because your eyes are blue, and his are brown,’ Rachel interrupted.
‘Exactly. So he interrogated his mum, and within a couple of weeks – even though she told him not to – he’d tracked me down online.’
‘Wow. I guess you can’t fault his nerve.’
Tom laughed and shook his head. ‘Definitely not. And he’s a good kid – he’s just a bit mixed up. When Christine found out he’d been visiting me in London, she freaked. I didn’t know he’d been going behind her back, and I told Oz we needed to sort things out properly before we could carry on spending time together – that I couldn’t come between him and his mum. Clearly, my sensible speech hasn’t worked.’
‘No,’ Rachel agreed. ‘But at least you tried. What are you going to do now? I mean, aside from give him two Nurofen and a round of dry toast when he wakes up.’
‘I’m going to have to call Christine and tell her he turned up here today. She’ll be even madder with him than I am.’ Tom winced.
‘Maybe there’s a way you can tell her most of the truth but avoid getting him into too much hot water,’ Rachel said.
Tom frowned.
‘Just … don’t be too hard on him,’ she went on. ‘I was a younger sibling. It’s a tough gig, even without all this extra complication thrown in. And this is a wonderful thing, or it will be: you and Oscar are lucky to have found each other.’
Tom squeezed Rachel’s hand, then sprang away as the washing machine gave an almighty CLICK.
Rachel jumped too.
‘Laundry’s done,’ Tom laughed. ‘Is all your stuff okay to be tumble-dried? Do you want a cuppa while it goes round?’
‘Yes and yes,’ Rachel said. ‘I’ll shift the washing while you put the kettle on.’
‘Cool. Changing the subject entirely,’ Tom said as he put teabags into two mugs, ‘I think the shoot went brilliantly this morning. The photos look great, and I liked Zack – even though I was snarky about him to start with.’
‘Me too.’
‘He’s left us two tickets for his first gig. It’s at some tiny music venue in Highgate next month. D’you fancy it?’
‘Er, yes,’ Rachel said, as if Tom was being very stupid. ‘How could we not go? He might be this generation’s Bob Dylan.’
Tom snorted. ‘Let’s not get too excited – I have a feeling there’s a reason the tickets are free. I’ll text you the details.’
They moved back to the sofa and drank their tea, chatting over Tom’s plans for the next exhibition shoot. He got up to check the contents of the tumble dryer when it beeped, then said: ‘All done. I guess you’re good to go.’
‘Oh. Okay, thanks,’ Rachel said, realising that she was actually in no rush to leave. Oscar would wake up soon, though, and Tom needed to talk to Christine
. It would be easier for everyone else if she went home now – and in any case, she had no reason to stay.
Tom stood aside as Rachel pulled her clothes out of the drum, perhaps aware that it would be weird for him to handle her smalls.
‘I’ll just go and change,’ she said.
In the bathroom, Rachel checked her reflection and immediately wished she hadn’t. Her hair was frizzy from using men’s shampoo, and her post-shower, make-up-free face looked washed out and tired. She couldn’t blame Tom for being so quick to deny they were an item when Oscar had suggested it; right now, she wouldn’t want to go out with her either.
Fully dressed, Rachel folded Tom’s shorts and sweatshirt before heading back to the living room.
‘Right. Guess I’ll see you next week sometime?’ she asked.
‘For sure,’ Tom said. ‘By the way … Will doesn’t know anything about any of this yet. Do you mind keeping it to yourself for a while?’
‘Of course not. Can you message me later, though? Let me know how Oscar is. How you are?’
‘I promise.’
Rachel handed Tom his clothes and put her coat on, deeply relieved it had been spared Death by Snakebite.
Tom saw her to the flat door, then pulled her into a hug. ‘Thank you again, for everything.’
‘My pleasure,’ Rachel said into his chest. ‘Well … mostly. Say goodbye to your brother for me, won’t you?’
‘Yeah,’ Tom laughed, stepping back slightly. ‘A very formal, platonic goodbye so he doesn’t get his hopes up.’
He smiled lopsidedly at her and for a split second her stomach twisted. Weird. Maybe she needed more food.
‘Rach,’ he said as she opened the door. ‘Keep this. Even I can see your jumper’s shrunk in our rubbish dryer. It’s only fair, and it looks better on you, anyway.’
He handed her the Montana sweatshirt and Rachel knew that she should argue. She loved it, though, and couldn’t bring herself to protest. She accepted the soft grey square, hugging it to her chest for a second before dropping it into her bag.
‘Bye, then,’ Rachel said, feeling strangely emotional as she pulled the door closed behind her. This really had been an odd day.
Rachel Ryan's Resolutions Page 20
