The Love Left Behind

by Daniel De Lorne

  Lyall’s mouth retreated with infinite slowness, but the tingling in his lips remained.

  ‘Wow,’ Rosie said. ‘I’d say get a room but it’s right next to mine.’

  Nick grabbed the back of the chair, but it wasn’t enough to keep him upright. He collapsed into his seat. His skin flushed. That was better than the kiss on the balcony.

  ‘Oh, are you still here?’ Lyall asked.

  ‘Yes, and I’ve been telling Nick all sorts of stories about you. Haven’t I, Nick?’

  He nodded while he regained the breath needed to talk. ‘Sure has. Very informative. Very embarrassing.’

  Lyall rolled his eyes. ‘I bet you have.’ He pulled food containers out of the bags. ‘Did she also tell you that when she was fifteen she got so drunk they found her naked up a tree in the local park?’

  She glared at him. ‘No, and I didn’t tell him about the time you got caught giving head to the next-door neighbour’s son.’

  ‘Had to practise somehow.’ Her attempt to embarrass him rolled off.

  ‘I bet Nick really appreciates it.’

  Nick wanted to die. Actually what Nick really wanted was to get Lyall alone so he could have another go at those lips.

  ‘I hope so.’ Lyall winked.

  They served up. Lyall’s nieces rushed in for a shy hello and to collect their plates then disappeared. That left the three of them to eat together. Lyall cracked a bottle of white wine which Rosie sipped. Nick was driving so didn’t want to get too much into him but, despite the family situation, he was able to relax and felt more like he was out with friends than on a date. He put his hand on Lyall’s thigh and it wasn’t pushed away. Perhaps he had only imagined Lyall’s distraction that morning, or it hadn’t been directed at him. Considering how obviously close he and Rosie were, it made sense he’d be more concerned about her than some guy he’d only just met.

  They’d nearly finished the meal when he remembered what he had to ask.

  ‘Rosie says your nickname is Sparks but she wouldn’t tell me why.’

  Lyall gave her a wide-eyed glare and she giggled.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s cute.’ He tried to sound reassuring.

  ‘Ugh. That’s what everyone says. It started when I was about five and we went to watch the fireworks. All I did was call them the wrong word—sparks—instead of fireworks, so Bryce started calling me it and it stuck. Helps that I became an electrician.’

  He imagined a five-year-old Lyall with chubby cheeks and stubby fingers pointing to the sky in wonder as it turned red and the family laughing. And what would have started as a joke taking on a special significance after Bryce died.

  ‘That’s not the only reason it suits you,’ Rosie said. ‘If you push the right buttons, you see sparks fly.’

  Nick frowned. ‘You’ve got a temper?’ Lyall didn’t look like the sort to get riled.

  Rosie whistled. ‘Oh, he’s got a temper.’

  ‘Sis, I think you’re not well. You should go lie down. You’re delirious.’ He tried to put his hand on her brow—or over her mouth—but she batted him away.

  She continued while they slapped hands. ‘Like this one time he had a major hissy fit at his eighteenth birthday party because the whole family decided to stick around when he wanted to drink and get stoned with his friends. Shit was thrown. Words were said. I seem to remember you smashed a window?’

  His eyes bulged at her. ‘You need to stop talking. Really.’

  ‘See?’ She pointed at Lyall’s brow. ‘Look at that forehead.’

  An artery did indeed throb.

  ‘Please. Stop.’ Lyall’s mouth barely moved.

  ‘You know I love you.’ She leaned over and kissed a reddening cheek then took the empty plates into the kitchen.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Lyall said, a little downcast. ‘I don’t really have a temper. She just likes to say I do to get a reaction.’

  Nick squeezed Lyall’s hand and unfolded it out of its clenched fist. ‘Don’t worry about it. At least when you get angry, you’re not in danger of killing a couple hundred people.’

  Lyall’s eyes widened and his mouth slackened.

  Nick held up his hands. ‘Joking. I don’t get mad when I fly. The opposite actually. It’s like I’m in a little bubble. I’ve left the world behind, no one can reach me, no one can bother me. And watching the clouds out the cockpit window is incredibly peaceful.’

  The first time he’d flown a plane by himself, he’d never before experienced such euphoria. In control, above the world, and able to go wherever he liked. He struggled to find that kind of peace on the ground.

  From the looks of him, Lyall was struggling to find his own peace too. He’d gone ashen.

  ‘Lyall, are you ok?’

  ‘Yeah … um … yeah, I just … I should … I should help Rosie. She should be resting.’ Lyall gathered the remaining plates and containers and hurried into the kitchen.

  What was going on? One minute he was hot and heavy, the next he looked like he was about to faint. Nick finished the rest of his wine and poured another, hoping it would take the edge off. Perhaps it was a mistake to come after all. He should have read the signs back at the apartment and followed them. What did he have to offer Lyall? Cancelled dinners, disrupted plans, another person to mess up his schedule. And if he didn’t like to travel it would be over before it started. Which just plain sucked. He took a drink.

  When Lyall came back out, Nick stood. ‘Look, I think I’ll go. I’m still a bit jet-lagged and I don’t want to get in the way if you need to take care of your sister.’

  Lyall’s eyebrows peaked in the middle, a panicked look that was all too endearing, if not for the fact that Nick wouldn’t be around to see it again.

  Rosie emerged from the kitchen. ‘Don’t leave on my account, Nick. I’m going to bed. It was very nice to meet you.’ She kissed him on the cheek and gathered up the girls, whispering a few words to silence their protests, and the three of them walked past him and down the hall to bed.

  ‘It’s probably best I go, isn’t it?’

  Lyall rubbed the back of his neck, his face hidden. Why couldn’t Lyall tell it to him straight? He’d been through this with other guys before, the way they tried to avoid hurting his feelings and that wasted everyone’s time. He wanted it to be different between him and Lyall. He put his hand under Lyall’s chin and tilted his face up.

  ‘Lyall, just tell me.’

  ‘I don’t want you to leave.’

  ‘Then what’s wrong?’

  Lyall’s eyes darted to the sides. He looked anywhere but at him.

  Nick crossed his arms, his hands locking into fists. ‘Look, I hate being jerked around. Either you want this or you don’t.’

  ‘It’s not that simple.’

  ‘For me it is. I want this and I want you.’

  ‘I want you too.’ But he said it to the floor.

  ‘So what’s the problem?’

  He sighed. ‘You remember I said I had a brother who died?’

  ‘Bryce.’

  He nodded. ‘Well, he died in a plane crash. SR252.’

  SR252?

  A cold wind blew through his chest.

  Shit.

  That had been big news. A plane taking off from Singapore had crashed when they tried to make an emergency landing, killing two hundred people, many of them Australian. It was the country’s worst aviation disaster for the number of Australian casualties. They’d studied it at flight school. The accident happened about twenty years ago but not enough time had passed for it to be forgotten. Especially not by those affected. Like Lyall.

  ‘Fuck. I’m sorry.’ What had he said before about killing people in a plane crash? Bloody idiot. ‘And I’m sorry about what I said. I didn’t mean to make light of what I do or of plane crashes. No wonder you looked stricken when I said it.’

  ‘It’s not your fault. You didn’t know. But ever since the crash I’ve had a thing about planes and flying, and it just …’

 
; The chill spread. Any colder and a rib would shatter. What torture had he put Lyall through just from spending this much time together?

  ‘Have you been on a plane since?’

  ‘Once, and it wasn’t pleasant.’

  Once in twenty years? That was some serious phobia. And there he was talking about flying and travel like it was as easy as turning on a light switch. It was a miracle Lyall hadn’t walked away sooner.

  It was still a possibility. And maybe for the best. If Lyall couldn’t get on a plane, what hope did they have of making it work? But even though he was suddenly flying with one engine, he wasn’t ready to give up yet.

  ‘Would it help if I told you I’m a really good pilot? Working for a great airline? With an excellent safety record?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘No, probably not.’ That was the thing with phobias. They couldn’t be bombarded with reasoning, they needed to be coaxed. ‘I’m really sorry if I’ve upset you. The last thing I’d want to do is hurt you. It’s really that big a deal for you, isn’t it?’

  He nodded. ‘I don’t know how to get past it, and I don’t expect you to stop flying or change jobs because it’s obvious how much you love it. I mean, I saw that list of countries, that’s impressive. The worst part about this is I really like you. I haven’t felt like this about anyone before and I could just see us together and it being great if not for …’

  ‘If not for the flying.’

  Not a straight-out rejection. They weren’t in disaster territory yet. There was still hope. The engine still worked, even if they—and his stomach—were in a tailspin and hurtling towards the ground. He had to think of something that could land them safely.

  Lyall looked away from him again.

  Thirty seconds ’til impact.

  ‘How about we see how this goes first? I’ll not talk about flying or being on a plane, and we’ll see how we get along, and then maybe later, if we find we’re happy together, that it’s working, then we can work on your phobia.’

  Lyall’s face lightened with hope. They were levelling out but not yet clear.

  ‘I know a few people who’ve worked with hypnotherapists and psychologists on fear of flying, maybe they could help. We could do this together.’

  Lyall’s fingers kneaded his forehead. ‘I don’t know if that’ll work.’

  He took hold of both of Lyall’s hands. ‘Isn’t it worth a shot? And really, I’ve got the hardest job out of this. Do you know how much I love to fly?’

  Dimples peeked through. Thankfully he saw the humour. ‘I have some idea.’

  He wanted to punch the air for pulling off the hardest manoeuvre of his life. He settled for breathing easy again, the air filling his lungs inflating his smile.

  ‘And considering that flying together is out of the question,’ at least for now, ‘I’ll just have to find other imaginative ways of showering you with love and affection.’

  ‘Oh, I can think of a few.’ Lyall pulled Nick into his arms and kissed him deep, his mouth relaxed and inviting.

  Welcome home.

  Lyall suddenly broke the kiss. ‘Where are my manners? I haven’t given you a tour of the house yet. Would you like to see it?’

  ‘I’d love to,’ he murmured hot against Lyall’s ear.

  ‘In that case, I think we should start in my bedroom first. What do you think?’

  ‘I think that’s a very good idea.’

  8

  Saturday night seemed an age ago. Lyall hadn’t seen Nick on Sunday—there’d been family things to do—and then Nick was away for a few days. Lyall forced himself to not think of how or where, instead sealing off the words and their connotations and replacing them with just ‘unavailable’.

  Like an engaged signal on a phone call.

  Or a short prison sentence.

  Nick was away, uncontactable, and couldn’t be seen—but he was coming back. It took a lot of mental energy to build those walls, but once they were up they were easier to maintain. Luckily, he could distract himself with work and replay the fun times they’d had in the hope of more to come.

  Nick returned on Thursday, but Lyall finished work late. Friday was family night again so they couldn’t meet until Saturday. By then his need was urgent; his skin humming in anticipation of being close to Nick. He’d arrive at noon to pick him up. They were going for lunch, hitting the beach—he wore his most asset-enhancing speedos under his shorts—and then, all going well, they’d catch a movie, have dinner and go back to Nick’s place. And all that pent-up energy would finally get its release.

  But the morning went as slowly as a tradie working on a public holiday. He checked himself out in the mirror for the hundredth time. He’d already changed shirts twice and refrained from a third, settling on a tight white V-neck. At quarter to twelve, he stationed himself in the lounge room where he could watch Nick’s car pull up. He’d told him not to come up to the door; his mum and dad were home. As soon as the car arrived, he’d bolt.

  As the minutes passed, his legs jittered more and more. Seeing Nick again had him twisted up like some tween at their first concert but he didn’t care. Here was an attractive man, self-assured, warm, friendly, loving, with his head screwed on and into him. As long as Nick didn’t become frustrated with his phobia. That’d have to be dealt with eventually but, like Nick said, it could be delayed.

  In the meantime he practised deep breathing and popped his knuckles every time Nick and flying shared the same thought for more than a couple of seconds. He came close to hyperventilating a few times. For the sake of his sanity, it was best he kept the family interaction to a minimum. The Turner clan could be full-on at the best of times, but the last thing he wanted was them to be frosty or uncomfortable around Nick just because he was a—

  Grace and Steve appeared in the front garden, armed with secateurs and hedge-trimmers. It was over thirty degrees outside with the sun beaming down and they were gardening?

  His mouth gaped, and he had to shake his head to get himself moving or else he’d be frozen until Nick arrived. He glanced at his watch, hopeful he’d been reading it wrong.

  Eleven fifty-six.

  Maybe Nick would be late. Weren’t planes always delayed?

  Dammit. Don’t think about it.

  He grabbed his bag and raced out of the house. ‘What the hell are you two doing?’

  Grace pursed her lips and put her gloved hands on her hips. With her large straw hat and glasses, she looked like an overgrown grumpy gnome. ‘What does it look like we’re doing?’

  ‘We’re gardening, Lyall,’ Steve said. ‘Nothing wrong with that, is there?’ His dad couldn’t keep the smile from his lips or the amusement from his eyes.

  ‘You’re not meeting him!’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Grace said.

  He slapped his hands over his face and dragged them down, his fingernails gouging into his cheeks. Lord, give him strength.

  ‘It’s thirty-five fucking degrees out here and you’ve chosen this exact moment to garden?’ He pointed a finger at her. ‘I know what you’re doing.’ Heat blazed through his body, the temperature within skyrocketing past that without.

  ‘At the moment I’m being very annoyed at you for using that language. You never used to swear so much. Is it this Nick person? I’d better have a word with him.’

  His dad snorted.

  ‘Mum, you’re not talking to him. Please, go away.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. The hedge is in a terrible state, and the weeds have taken over.’ She gestured with the secateurs before turning them towards him. ‘If you helped out a bit more, then we wouldn’t need to be doing this now, would we?’

  He blinked at her. He had no defence against Mum-logic. And then it was too late.

  Nick arrived in his metallic blue Mazda 5. He didn’t have a stunned look on his face, instead he smiled and waved, turned off the engine and hopped out. Totally not the plan.

  He sighed deeply as his mother and f
ather converged on Nick like hungry hyaenas on a limping gazelle. Lyall followed behind to give the introductions, but Nick was ahead of him.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Turner, Mr Turner. I’m Nick.’ He shook their hands.

  ‘Hello! Please, call me Grace.’

  ‘Steve.’

  ‘Do you boys have a fun afternoon planned?’

  She already knew what they were getting up to, including the fact he wouldn’t be home that night.

  ‘Yeah, a jam-packed Saturday without the jam.’

  Steve smiled at the dad joke. Brownie points there.

  ‘Lunch, the beach, a movie, dinner,’ Nick continued. ‘How about yourselves?’

  ‘Just house chores.’ Grace’s look was sharper than the secateurs. ‘You should come for dinner some night. You’ve already seen the house, so this time you can meet the rest of the family.’

  Lyall was going to have words with his sister. Not that he’d wanted to keep Nick’s visit a secret but some things didn’t need to be brought up.

  Nick kept his smile. No sideways look. No shame. ‘I’d love to, if it’s ok with Lyall.’

  ‘Of course it’s alright with Lyall,’ Grace said. ‘It’s not like he’ll be doing the cooking. I hope you’re comfortable in the kitchen because my son is not.’

  ‘That’s ok.’ Nick smiled. ‘He has other talents.’

  Aaaaaand it was time to go.

  ‘Bye, Mum. Bye, Dad.’ He kissed them before they could hold them there any longer. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘You won’t be home tonight?’

  ‘No, and you already knew that. Enjoy your chores.’ He opened the passenger side door and climbed into the two-seater.

  ‘Very nice to meet you, Grace. Steve.’ Nick gave them a smile, all class, no sass, and got in the car.

  His parents waved as they reversed and drove off.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he said once they were out of his parents’ sightlines.

  ‘Not going to lie, I’ve felt less scrutinised during customs inspections. Did I upset your mum?’

  ‘Nah. She’s very excited I’ve met you, she just … gets protective.’

  ‘I noticed. I wondered if she had a problem with me having been in the house, like I’d gone behind her back or something. You sure things are ok?’