The Forest Savage

by Claire Davis

  ****

  Mary was looking right at him, because he had surely said far too much, that wasn’t what she wanted to know. Fucked up, he’d fucked up— had to break the eye contact, boiling heat and the walls closing in, surely there had to be a water container? A noise erupted like vomit, painful, raw and out of control. He had to get away. He had to get right away and run, run, run.

  She came to his aid quickly, getting him water and moving on to mundane things— signing his sheets, the diary, events he could handle. Cal’s heart rate slowed, until eventually he was able to answer her without gasping. She handed him the diary sheet. “Cal, I know that wasn’t easy, I could see it wasn’t. That’s a fantastic start, you did well, really well. All this is in the past now, remember that.” Her voice glided over him, calming him. She watched him, and asked, “You were frightened of him?”

  Was he? Cal didn’t know if it was fear or love, or if there was any difference. He shrugged, and concentrated on keeping his face all in one piece. “If you need to talk later, my number is on the card. What are you going to do now?” Mary asked.

  He thought. Blackness and desperation were out there waiting for him and always would be, but all he could smell was frying onions. “I’ll probably go home, cook something nice for tea,” he managed.

  She nodded at that approvingly. “You’re sharing the flatlet with Paul, aren’t you?”

  He shook his head. “Paul? No, Troy lives with me.”

  Mary smiled, laughing slightly. “That’s who I meant. Give him my regards; I haven’t seen him for a while.”

  They shook hands, and he wandered off down the street, feeling oddly exhausted, ashamed of what he had said, but also resigned. What did it matter now?

  ****

  When Cal got back, everything seemed old and shabby. He was suddenly aware of the peeling paint and the drab colours and thin carpet. His own house was fifty miles away, handled by his solicitors, and being rented out— sorting it out was another job he kept putting off.

  The smells of food calmed him, just like always. He started cooking as a boy, first at home, then college, and finally in his own café. It was the only thing he ever really owned that hadn’t felt like Jay’s. The routines of cooking almost always kept the violence and the fear at bay. Cooking was Cal’s home.

  The flat quickly warmed up as Cal sat down to wait for Troy. Where the hell was he? He’d been out more than usual lately and seemed quiet and withdrawn before he left this morning.

  But he didn’t appear all night, and Cal really started to worry at about three A.M. He tried to console himself with thoughts that Troy no longer had probation restrictions and could just be out with friends. It just didn’t seem like him.

  Eventually, the key in the lock woke him up at six A.M. He rushed out. “Troy? Are you okay?”

  He looked white, shattered, but smiled at Cal weakly. “Yeah, sorry about that, I had to… I got… carried away with some mates. I’m bloody knackered.”

  They made tea and chatted for a while before Troy slipped out again. Cal faced another long day alone, making lists and pacing the kitchen, unable to stop thinking about Jay and Tony.

  Later on, he got a visit from Tom. “Hello, Cal. I just popped by to see how you’re getting on. Is Troy around?” Cal shook his head, no. Tom sat down and scratched his head. “Cal, I’m worried about him. I keep seeing his brother, Ashley, hanging around again and some of the men have been talking. Has he told you anything?”

  “About what?” Cal asked, confused.

  “His offending?” Tom stopped and waited.

  Cal had no idea what he was talking about. “No. We don’t talk about stuff like that.” And even if they did, Cal wouldn’t reveal anything that Troy told him. Years of being around Jay had taught him never to speak. Jay always had packages and bags in his van, dangerous looking men following him around like puppies. Cal never asked, and Jay even left parcels in Cal’s house. One night someone had written ‘gangster scum’ on Jay’s van.

  What you didn’t know could certainly hurt you, but at the time it had seemed worth it. Tom was looking at him as if he didn’t believe he didn’t know anything. But Cal shook his head, determined to ask Troy himself, later.

  “Okay, well, ask him to come and have a chat with me when he gets back, will you?”

  “Sure.” Cal smiled, then frowned as he shut the door after Tom.

  Eventually, the door opened, and Troy stepped in. “Where the fuck have you been? I was worried sick,” Cal groaned, steadying him with one hand as he swayed. Troy clutched him back, and for a minute would not let go. He stank of sex and booze, staring with huge, hollow eyes— grey pits of infinite sadness.

  “Cal?” he whispered, collapsing into his arms.

  “Come on. I’ll make tea.” Cal half carried him to a chair, noting the wince as Troy sat. He turned the heating up, made tea and toast, and tried to draw Troy back from wherever he was. Troy drank the tea and ate the toast like he was starving, but still he said nothing. “What’s happened, mate?” Cal asked quietly. Troy’s face screwed up like a little kid, but there were no tears, just silent anguish. Troy shook his head, and covered his face with his hands.

  Cal took his hand and stroked it, softly, feeling something tear inside him. Troy had nice hands, long fingers and big palms. Sometimes they had arm wrestling matches, which Cal often let Troy win. “I tell you what. How about I pop you in the shower, ’cause you stink, then you get some sleep? When you come round, if you want, you can tell me. If not, it doesn’t matter, not to me,” Cal said, softly. Troy nodded.

  They struggled to the bathroom, Cal fumbling with buttons, and stopping at the jeans. “You can do that part. Don’t want you saying I was after your skinny butt.”

  Troy smiled at that, and croaked, “Oh go on, everyone else already had it today.”

  Cal flinched as he shut the bathroom door. Ten minutes later, Troy emerged clean and more awake. He pecked Cal on the cheek, before falling into bed and going to sleep, his mouth closed in a pout and the covers right up to his neck.

  He was in deep shit— that much was obvious. Cal’s guts twisted uncomfortably. He sat there for a while, fighting the urge to climb in bed and hold him, somehow bring some colour into both their lives.

  ****

  By the time Troy woke up, the flat had cushions, a throw, a fluffy rug, and new bedding for his room, all in bright, vivid, colours. He looked around at Cal’s new purchases blearily, rubbing his eyes and smiling. “Wow. Did you win the lottery? This looks great, Cal. And what’s that smell?”

  Cal hadn’t told him about the café, and his income, because what would be the point? He shrugged, embarrassed. “Oh, it’s nothing. I just got sick of seeing brown so I bought a few things. That smell, my fine young friend, is your dinner.”

  Troy groaned and rubbed his stomach. “Ooh, man, you’re too good to me. I’m starving.” He pulled up a chair, and they ate together, like normal people did every day all over the world.

  All those years, Cal hadn’t missed the ordinary things, because he was always thinking about the next time Jay would be round. Could you miss what you never had? He saw now, that maybe you could.

  Troy was chattering again, eating with his mouth full and waving his fork around. “Did you know, Cal, in the future every human being will have a robot to see to their every need?”

  Cal smirked and replied. “You’ve already got a servant— me.”

  Troy smiled and wrinkled his nose like Paddington Bear. “And I appreciate it. But—” He stopped here and dramatically raised his eyebrows and leaned forward. “—there are some… delicate tasks that you don’t perform for me.”

  “You don’t remember last night then? And yet at the time you said it was the best lay of your life,” Cal said with a completely serious face.

  “We didn’t? Who went on top?”

  “You did. You were shit, actually. You broke the under-five-seconds record.”

  “I was not!” They bic
kered amicably for a while before washing up together.

  Cal drew breath. “So, what trouble are you in?”

  Troy glanced at him sideways, then scrunched up his nose and washed the same cup twice. “Same old shit. Brother.”

  “Your brother? What about him?”

  Troy shrugged, then sighed deeply. “Oh, nothing. We got pudding? I’ve got room.”

  “You’ve always got room. But, yeah. Brownies.”

  “Brownies? Fucking yeah! You are the best, Cal. The friggin’ best.” He grabbed Cal and gave him a bony hug, and Cal felt crazily pleased. All those years of looking after Alice, driving Jay’s mates about, harbouring stolen goods, he’d made do with no acknowledgment except maybe a nod from Jay, and now here he was going red at thanks from a skinny kid.

  “It’s nothing, I was bored. No big deal.”

  Troy spoke so quietly he had to lean forward to listen. “It is a big deal. You, you’re so great. Buying me nice stuff, cooking.” He shrugged, then knelt, looking miserable. “Cal, I’ve fucked up. They’re gonna find out, and I’ll get another prison sentence, and…” He stopped with a sob, tears running down his lovely face, and Cal couldn’t stand it.

  He gathered Troy to him, wishing he could squeeze the hurt out of him and make him happy. “What did you do?” he whispered into his hair.

  “Stole a car. He stole a car, I just watched and let him do it, like I always do.”

  It was bad, then, enough to get him sent back to prison. Cal sighed, lifting Troy’s head so he was facing him. “Why, Troy? You have choices— you don’t have to go with him. I’ll tell him to fuck off, you don’t need him.”

  Troy shook his head wearily. “It’s complicated. I don’t have a choice, Cal. It was the last time, he said it was. No one saw us, I don’t think. Maybe it’ll be okay.”

  “But why steal a car? Where is it?”

  “Gone. Torched it.”

  Cal stared at him. “Jesus, Troy. You could have been killed. He’s a fucking bastard to make you do that. Does he hurt you? “

  Troy was fidgeting now, chewing his hair and crossing then uncrossing his arms. “Cal, you can’t tell anyone, they’ll send me back to prison. I can’t go back there, I can’t.”

  Cal’s mouth itched with ‘you should have thought of that before’, but then he thought of all the packages he had hidden for Jay, all those van journeys and dodgy mates, leaving him with palpitations and crippling anxiety. He wouldn’t tell. He would never tell. “Calm down. I won’t tell anyone, but next time? Say no. Tell him you’re being watched by the police. Okay?”

  Troy nodded fervently, his face worried, frowning. “Yeah, I will, Cal.”

  ****

  Chapter Eight

  But he didn’t say no the next time, or the time after that. Cal watched Troy leaving the site with Ashley, and scrubbed the flat until his hands burned. He itched to speak, but after all it wasn’t his business.

  It was Probation today, and after the fuss with Troy, he had almost forgotten about the timeline. But Mary hadn’t forgotten. She greeted him politely, “Cal. I know you won’t want to do this, because who would? But we have to. Last session you really surprised me, but in a good way. Take your time. We’re on to Tuesday, before it happened.” Cal nodded, saw stars, and began.

  The Tuesday Before It Happened…

  He can’t stop thinking about it, and it’s horrible, like snakes finding their creepy way into his brain and poking at him every minute of the day: Jay and Tony in his bed, Jay and Tony in his bed. He strips all the bedding, but still he thinks he can smell them, their sex, their passion, and his failures. He knows this is different from Jay fucking them in the garage, like he usually does, and something has shifted. There is a crack in the iceberg, a rift in Cal that splits him up and leaves him broken…

  He’s nothing to Jay.

  Jay doesn’t want him any more.

  Jay never wanted him.

  He can’t switch off, he tries, he really does. He goes running, he goes to the gym, he goes round the bend, but still it eats him up inside. He tries to reason with himself, that Jay has never been faithful to him, but never in his own bed with the sounds of passion from both men. Something has changed, and there is no place for him any longer. Up to now, he was the only one— the only man Jay fucked who didn’t belong to his gang.

  He goes to work as normal, because what else is he going to do? No one asks him what’s wrong, so he must look the same as ever. The world cannot see his hurt, even though it is big enough to spin planets.

  That night he goes to Alice’s, as usual, and waits for her to ask him what’s wrong. She always knows when something’s wrong. She offers him lukewarm tea, they watch the TV, and she calls him Jay. She doesn’t notice there is anything wrong.

  By the time he gets home, he fucking hates Tony. If Tony came round his house now, he’d smash his stupid bloody head in with a baseball bat.

  He hurts so badly, but there are no tears.

  He can’t face food, but he drinks two bottles of wine. He should never, ever drink. He goes online and looks Tony up on a social media site, and leaves him an abusive message, and then he rings Jay.

  Cal never rings Jay. He waits for Jay to contact him. It’s an unspoken agreement, but one which Cal has never broken before. Jay picks up immediately. “What’s up? Is it mum?”

  “No, Alice is fine. Do you love him?” He just comes right out and asks him that, because even drunk there is no way he can ask the real question about who Jay loves. Even though he is shitfaced drunk, he knows not to ask that, because he already knows the answer. It has been lodged there in his throat since he was twelve years old.

  Jay answers, but his voice is muffled and urgent. “Cal? What the fuck are you on? Anna is right in the next room. I’ll come and see you tomorrow. We’ll talk.” Then he hangs up, because Cal isn’t important enough for any more of his valuable time.

  He struggles, after that, wanting to see Jay so badly, even if it is to talk about Anna and the kids, he just needs to see him. But in the end, he drinks cough medicine to help him sleep, then falls into bed.

  ****

  There was a muscle above his lip that twitched, which he systematically rubbed and rubbed. He hoped to God that Mary would rescue him because he was utterly lost.

  She did. “So awful for you. All those years Jay didn’t give you what you needed, but you never gave up hoping.”

  He couldn’t answer; surely she couldn’t expect him to be able to speak after that? He concentrated on breathing, and silently repeated the date, because all this was nearly two years ago now. Mary looked at him sadly, and he managed a smile, because it wasn’t her fault and he didn’t want her to feel bad.

  “You loved him anyway, even though he manipulated and controlled you?”

  “No, he didn’t treat me badly, not really. He never promised me anything. I always knew the score.” She frowned at him in silence over the top of her glasses, and he shrugged, helplessly, thinking bizarrely of Troy and Ashley.

  “You knew the score, but until you saw him with Tony, you didn’t really understand?” He shrugged, because she was right. “Cal, what do you think about that now?”

  There was no hesitation in his answer. “That I was fucking stupid.”

  “To let it go on for so long?”

  “To stop it. I was stupid to stop it. I should have let it go on forever, because…” Because look what happened. If Cal had said nothing, Jay would still be alive and…

  Mary put her pen down carefully. “You never said any of this before your sentence. If you had, it might have prevented you going to prison.”

  He leaned forward on the desk, suddenly more tired than he could ever remember. “I know, and that’s why I didn’t.”

  “You thought you deserved to go to prison?” The muscle started twitching really badly, and he was aware of the heat in his face and neck, and the frightening pain of truth. If she asked anything else, he would just leave, and screw the c
onsequences. “Okay, we can stop for today. Cal, I can see you’re struggling. It’s okay. Breathe.” And he did, because he was always good at following orders.

  Mary just waited. But breathing did seem to work, and after a few minutes, the air lifted, and he was okay. He smiled at her. “Sorry. It’s so hot in here.” She nodded, kindly; of course she knew that the temperature had nothing to do with it.

  They arranged the next session, but as he left the building, he knew he could not stop this ball from rolling, gathering pace and knocking over the foundations of his memories and the lives of the people who were left.

  ****

  Chapter Nine

  When Cal got back, Troy was sitting glowering at the TV in the dark. He barely glanced up, but he wasn’t watching TV either. Cal turned it off, and still Troy sat there and stared at nothing. His silence broke Cal’s heart, but maybe he could fix it. He got both their coats, and switched on the lights. “Come on, I’m taking you out.” Troy blinked in the brightness, rubbing at his eyes like a tired kid.

  “Taking me out? Where? I don’t wanna go out, Cal.” But he put his coat on woodenly, as if he too was used to doing what he was told.

  Four hours later and they were both drunk, Troy telling him about his singing experiences, and then he did the karaoke. He had a nice voice, and everyone in the pub applauded him. He fell laughing back to his seat, where Cal clapped him on the back and handed him a tequila slammer. “You’re all right, Cal. I like you ’cause you’re a normal bloke, but—” He paused to down the tequila, coughed and gagged at the taste. “—But. You are also all right. Not everyone is, see.”

  They had a game of darts, then staggered off to buy fish and chips.

  Ashley was waiting for him at the flat. He nodded amicably at Cal. “Awright,” then inclined his head, and drew Troy away.

  Cal said nothing, clenching his fists and breathing through his nose controlling the urge to throw Ashley out. “Look after him, yeah. He’s had a bit to drink,” he fired at Ashley curtly.

  Ashley laughed, hugging Troy. “You don’t say? He’s plastered. Don’t worry; I’ll look out for him. Don’t wait up.”