by Claire Davis
He’d never had time on his hands before. Before it happened, he was always working, either at the café he owned, or doing whatever Jay asked of him, just to be around him, to be needed. Even looking after Alice was an extension of that. Jay had once called Cal an enabler. Then prison, with its rules and routines, left no time to think or panic.
He left the hostel and headed for the local park, wrapping his coat around him for warmth, trying not to think about Jay’s mum, Alice, or what he would say to her if he ever saw her again. He needed something to do, to use his hands, until the time came. He thought of Troy, and how he was always starving. Cal had an idea, and headed back to the hostel.
Tom, as always, was lurking behind the mesh window. “Hi Cal, what can I do for you?”
“I was wondering about the kitchen. Would I be able to use it? I’m a cook, you see, but a little out of practice. I have all my Health and Safety Certificates.”
Tom looked at him, in that kind but distant way he had. “Maybe. We’d have to talk about it. Come through.” Cal was ushered into one of the interview rooms. “Cal, we have a house suite free. It’s got a kitchen with it. I never thought of it before, but you could move in. It’s usually for people coming to the end of their probation, like Troy. Do you want to see it?”
“I’d love to. Is there a room for Troy too?”
“Yes, it’s built for two people, but they have to get on. You two seem to be fine together. We can have a look now.” Cal followed Tom out the front door and to the few flats next to the main building. “It’s much nicer than your current room, which is about to be repainted. Here it is.” Tom let them in, and led them through into the lounge area.
It was clean, and fairly new. Still institutional grim, but a million miles better than his dingy room. Cal said, with feeling, “It’s fantastic. I’d love to move in. We better ask Troy first though.”
Tom grinned. “Yeah, don’t want him flinging a diva fit.”
****
Chapter Six
The flat was perfect. Troy jumped on the new sofa, claimed the biggest bedroom, and managed to make a mess almost straight away. “It’s fucking brilliant, Cal. How did you persuade them to give us this?”
“I just asked if there was a kitchen we could use, and Tom said this was free. I’m going to teach you to cook.”
Troy grinned, his face lighting up. “This is awesome, Cal. No one’s ever done nothing for me like this before.” Warmth flooded Cal as he followed Troy around the flat, watching him try out all the doors and turn the shower on and off.
“Cook? What do you mean, cook?” Troy asked incredulously, looking at the ingredients in the kitchen. “I can’t be trusted to cook, Cal. I might poison us both.”
“Rubbish. Help me peel these onions.” Cal laughed, throwing him one.
Troy looked very suspiciously at the onions, and wrinkled his nose. “Yuk. I’m not eating that. Smells like feet.”
“Your feet, maybe.” Cal loved it, being able to look after someone again. He could teach Troy to cook, and look after himself. He could do that.
The cooking of the shepherd’s pie was not without incident. Cal got Troy to chop onions and carrots while he cleaned the kitchen thoroughly. It was warm, the radio was playing, and Cal could almost believe he was still alive. He was cheerfully humming, when Troy let out a shriek. “What? What is it?” Troy had cut a finger. It was only a tiny cut, but he was shaking and trembling. Cal bound it quickly with tape from the first aid kit Tom had insisted upon, talking quickly to calm Troy down. “It’s okay, calm down. Just a little cut, see? Troy?” But Troy was lost, his eyes glazed and dull.
“Come here, you big baby.” Cal didn’t think much, just wrapped Troy in a bear hug, and stroked his hair. Troy clutched at him, and words began to fall out in fits, and starts. Cal could not really make much sense of him. Eventually, he stopped, and Cal pulled back to look at him.
“Whatever is it?” he asked, hoping that Troy wasn’t trying to tell him he was haemophiliac. He offered tissues to Troy, who took them, and blew his nose noisily, and without grace.
“I-I just. Blood. I can’t do blood. Reminds me…” He shook his head, blinked hard, and then smiled weakly. “Cal, no one ever hugs me, only you.” He stopped, and looked away, embarrassed.
“Sorry. I’ll stop, if it makes you uncomfortable. I had a… brother, once. You remind me of him, a bit,” Cal said quietly.
Troy patted his leg. “No, it doesn’t make me uncomfortable. Don’t stop, if you like it. I mean, not all the time, obviously. Let’s do the cooking, you better chop though.” He pushed his wild hair behind his ears, blushing and flustered. Cal got the cooking ingredients ready, ignoring the confusing puddle of mixed waters that bubbled in his head.
The shepherd’s pie was a great success. Troy ate three times as much as Cal, shovelling it in with serious appreciation. Cal watched his mouth, then dragged his eyes away. “I think that’s the quietest I’ve ever seen you. So that’s what I have to do to shut you up, is it? Cook you proper meals?”
“I’m a growing lad. I need vitamins and things. Thanks, man. Who’d think I could cook that?”
Warm tingles went through Cal at the praise, far too much. He brushed it aside, quickly. “What did Tom mean? About you coming to the end of your order?”
Grey eyes slid away. “Oh. Yeah. I was on a Probation order, same as everyone here. I just… didn’t want you to know that’s why I lied. I lied, all right?”
“Why would it matter what I thought? You didn’t even know me back then,” Cal asked, bewildered.
Troy raised his eyebrows at him incredulously, sighed, and shook his head very slightly. “Dur. Never mind why. Anyway, yeah. My order’s gonna be over ’nother couple of months.”
“Will you have to move out?” It shouldn’t matter to Cal, but it did.
“Nah. I’m on the housing list, but ’cause I’m only twenty, I’m not likely to get anywhere soon, so I can stay here until then. You don’t get rid of me that easily.” Troy grinned, spreading light freckles across his face like splashes of paint. “You gonna ask me what I did, to get on probation?”
Cal imagined Troy had got into trouble with other people, maybe something to do with blood and knives. Jay had kept a knife since he was fifteen. Even though he was mostly kept away from the shady part of Jay’s life, there were several occasions when Jay had turned up in the middle of the night bloody, shaking and furious. Cal swallowed, shaking his head, vigorously. “No. Not my business. Come on, I’ll wash, you can dry.” He could feel Troy’s watchful eyes, but he said nothing else, helping him clear away the plates in silence.
It hung between them, Cal scrubbing the same cup for ages, swirling the scrubber round and round the same spot, aware Troy was staring at him. “Cal? I just asked you something twice. Come back, Cal, follow the light.”
“The light shining out your arse, you mean?” Cal scoffed, relieved he would not have to explain his past today, flicking washing bubbles at Troy’s hair.
“You’re going to pay for that, old man,” Troy shouted, grabbed the scrubber, and flinging it at Cal’s face in retaliation.
A chase began around the flat, ending in them both laughing in uncontrollable gasps, water everywhere. It was halted by Tom, who looked at them in amazement as they both giggled, embarrassed.
****
Troy went to work, and Cal cleaned up the flat, making every surface shine and smell of lemons, scrubbing away the grime and drabness before dozing on the sofa.
He woke up some time later, hearing scuffles and grunts from outside. It was either a fuck, or a fight. Remembering the last time, he cautiously peered out the side of a curtain. It was dark and unclear, but two men were certainly fucking. He didn’t mean to watch, he really didn’t, but the sounds went right through, stirring longings and memories.
Sex with Jay was all about Jay. The first time it happened, they were about fifteen, camping in a field. At first, Cal had thought Jay was messing about fight
ing, and he joined in enthusiastically, wrestling and pushing back. It was only when Jay pulled his shorts down and forced his cock into Cal’s hand that he realised what was happening.
He went along with it, said nothing. He had lain there with his eyes clenched shut, tears leaking out the sides with pain, listening to Jay grunting and moaning. After it was over, Jay kissed him on the lips, told him it was their secret, and it was all worth it. For that second, Cal was important to Jay.
After that, every time was the same. Cal bent over, and Jay had fun. They never once spoke about it, but the fucking carried on, just enough to own him, and keep him quiet. Very occasionally, Jay would hold him as they fucked, always from behind, and somehow this touch had sustained him.
Cal never came from these encounters, though he was often half-hard, more from the sounds of Jay’s arousal than the fucking. After Jay left, he would masturbate, pretending that the fucking was making love.
There had been no one else, ever.
He knew fucking wasn’t meant to be like that, of course, but whatever he could get from Jay was so much better than nothing at all. And sometimes, Jay was sweet afterwards, kissing him and patting his arse, winking as he left, making him know he mattered, much more than all the others.
Only, not enough to tell people, or even stay the whole night. Not enough to stop Jay from fucking the men and women he had ‘working’ for him, marking them like dogs… He stopped himself from going down an old, futile path, closing his eyes and counting to ten.
He pulled away from the curtain, guilty at spying on Troy, realising that he was hard. Something happened to Cal’s libido after Jay’s death. Once his heart was dead, his cock lost interest. He’d lie there in prison, listening to his cellmate jerking off, and felt nothing at all. He couldn’t remember the last time he touched himself. But now, he was hard and tingling, couldn’t stop himself from listening to Troy and the other guy as they neared orgasm. Troy was bloody loud, making wild noises that seemed a million miles away from the sex Cal had known. The urge to stroke was strong, but it seemed wrong, dishonest.
Cal went into the kitchen and started banging around. Years of not getting what he wanted had left him a master of control and denial. At least Troy hadn’t brought the guy into his bedroom.
Eventually, a door slammed, and Troy appeared, all windswept and breathless, a big toothy grin on his freckled face. “Evening, Cal. Put the kettle on, I’m just having a shower.”
Cal made the tea with tight lips, knowing he had no reason to feel jealous but wanting to throw cups at the walls. He fixed his gaze firmly at the TV as Troy launched himself at the sofa naked, a flurry of curves and tight muscle, landing in a leggy heap on his stomach, clumsy and beautiful. Troy being naked was not something Cal could ever get used to, but by now he had more or less trained himself not to stare.
“Evening, Troy. Had a good night at work?” Hot gaze roaming Troy’s back and buttocks, compact smooth arse that Cal could easily fit into one hand.
“Yeah, not bad for a boring old petrol station. Anything on telly?”
“I hope you used protection,” Cal spat bitterly, thinking of his own visits to the sex clinic because Jay refused to ever wear condoms.
Troy stared at him, aghast. “Oh. You heard.” He blushed vividly, and swung his head forward so his hair hung over his face. “Do you mind?”
“Mind?” Cal’s innards seized. Had Troy seen him watching?
“Yeah, you know, men. Not girls. Do you mind?”
Cal laughed, relieved. “No, of course I don’t mind. It’s not my business, just be safe, that’s all.”
Troy smirked. “I saw you looking, actually. Spurred me on.”
Now it was Cal’s turn to blush, suddenly and furiously. “I heard you, yes. I was just checking you weren’t being beaten up again.”
“Yeah, yeah. I don’t mind, Cal. Share the joy, that’s what I say. Dirty old man.”
“Fuck off.”
“Fair enough.” Troy slurped tea, spreading his long legs with abandon as Cal tried unsuccessfully not to ogle tight balls. “He was one loud fucker. Did you hear?”
Cal was intrigued. He had no idea how real relationships worked. “Yeah, I heard. Are you seeing him?”
Troy shrugged. “No, shouldn’t think so.”
“What’s he in here for?” A protective urge came over Cal, as he remembered that everyone in this hostel was here for a reason.
“Burglary, I think. Don’t care, he’s massive.” Troy shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, and Cal sniggered too, remembering what that felt like.
“Well, just be careful, yeah? Don’t take any chances, Troy.”
“Stop worrying. I can look after myself.”
Cal imagined kneeling between Troy’s legs, his hands stroking slowly up the spread thighs, smoothing, circling, until it was difficult to breathe. “I’m off for a shower,” he managed.
****
Chapter Seven
Mary was not going to let him off today. She had a timeline of the week before Jay died, just empty white paper and a line, but Cal’s heart was starting to beat and he was aware of the creeping horror in his limbs, and sweat on his face.
Mary noticed, as always, and got him some water. “I know it’s hard, and we don’t have to do it all in one go. How about if we look at one day at a time? Today we do the Monday before it happened. I know you’ll remember, because you always seem to have an excellent memory.”
It was true, he did. He never had any trouble remembering orders for work, or staff names and codes; Cal remembered it all. And that week before it happened was more than a memory, it was a walking presence next to him. It breathed and pointed at him with every mouthful of food he ate; it mocked him every time he tried to laugh or sleep.
If he could just go back in time, he would do everything different. He would… Mary was looking at him, expectantly, so he gripped the table, and unwillingly began.
The Monday Before It Happened…
It’s just a normal day. Cal visits the café to check everything, goes over the food orders, and chats with his newly appointed manager, Graham. The business has done so well over the last year that he has plans to expand. He heads off home early to look at his yearly projections, and Jay’s coat is on a chair in the kitchen. This isn’t unusual— he has a key, and often lets himself in if he wants. Jay has access to everything. Just lately, Jay has not been himself.
There are noises coming from upstairs— just muffled, indiscriminate sounds. He goes to the foot of the steps to hear more clearly. “Jay? You up there?”
There is a moment of electric silence, followed by Jay’s breathless voice. “Cal. Don’t come up. We’re on our way down. Five minutes.”
We?
But as usual, he does as Jay tells him, doesn’t even question it.
They both appear, shoving shirts in trousers, and doing up buttons. Jay and the other guy, Tony. It is another guy and he is smiling.
They never smile after Jay fucks them in the garage.
Jealousy shoots through him, white hot and painful, all consuming. There is no doubt what they’d been doing upstairs— in his own bed, with the walls he’d decorated with Jay. He turns away to hide his bitter hurt, unable to even look at the guy, Tony.
He takes what seems a long time messing about with the kettle, drying up some plates. He can hear Jay murmuring behind him, then. “Tony, meet me in the van.” A kiss, a bloody fucking kiss.
Cal cannot turn around. He knows Jay is standing right behind him, can hear his breathing as clearly as the bell at the end of school, or the alarm clock every morning. A grip turns him around by the elbow, and he is forced to look.
Jay’s expression is difficult to decipher from those icy blue eyes, but he looks the same as when he took money from Alice when they were teenagers— defiant, unrepentant and challenging. He is feral. But he has no idea what he’s done, what this will cause. He raises his hand slowly to drag a thumb over Cal’s jaw. “Just sex, Cal
. That’s all. You and me, we’re different. You know that.”
Jay pulls him closer by the neck, then kisses him, hard, bruising. Cal can taste the other guy, but still he doesn’t protest. Strong hands hold him by the head, one gripping his hair, pushing him back against the sink. Lips cover his, lapping, holding his head back, exposing his neck. This is ownership and Cal knows who is boss. His head stings where his hair’s been yanked, his mouth is bruised, but still he yearns for more. He hears a small, needy noise.
Jay leans back, grins, pats Cal’s cheek softly, and makes to leave. “See you later.”
He is gone, the door ringing with the bang, and Cal’s head hammering as his world begins to spin.
He sinks into a chair, fear, rage, and confusion boiling through him. He has no right to feel jealous. Jay always had others, for God’s sake, Cal knows that. Jay fucks every new gang member just to mark his territory. Cal has no rights. He never did.
But this.
He needs to see. He goes upstairs to the bedroom and inhales the bedding, then tortures himself with thoughts of Jay’s beautiful body pressed into the guy, fucking him here. But Cal is messed up, because he is hard thinking of it, aroused, sickened, and confused. He hates Tony, but he wishes he could have watched. Tears run down his face, but he unzips, and starts stroking his cock, thinking of Jay making love to Tony, slowly and with passion— in all the ways he never did to Cal, caressing, and kissing, stroking and smiling, uttering words of love.
Jay only ever fucks him on all fours, or bent over a chair, but he imagines him fucking Tony on his back, watching his face, getting off on Tony’s pleasure. Cal comes, but there is very little pleasure, only tears that hurt, and the taste of blood. He feels all those empty years of bending over without ever being held, and hurts.
The rest of that day, he feels the panic welling up, but he is helpless to deal with it.
