A Note in the Margin (6 page)

Pulling one of the water-damaged pads from under the counter, John slammed it down hard in front of David. He was almost trembling with anger. David cautiously picked up the book and pushed the money forward.

Even the sight of the money twisted John’s gut. In that instant all he wanted to do was wrap his fingers around David’s collar and shake him, but instead he picked up the note, crushed it in his fist, and threw it back at David, watching as it bounced uselessly off his chest.

“I don’t want this fucking money,” John barked at him. “I saw how you earned it!”

The words had the impact of a physical punch and David stumbled back from the counter.

Hearing the shout, Jamie ran out of the back room to see what was going on. He looked from John to David trying to figure out what had happened between them, but neither returned his look. He took a few steps toward David and asked quietly, “What’s wrong?” David didn’t react to Jamie’s question and continued to look at John.

With a gentle hand on David’s arm, Jamie asked again, “Davey,
please
tell me, what’s wrong… what’s happened?”

This time David turned and looked at Jamie, and the pain in his eyes was evident.

When Jamie saw this he tightened his grip. “
Please,
Dave….”

David shook his head so slightly that Jamie wasn’t sure it happened before he wrenched his arm free and fled out the door.

John was standing looking at both the sketchbook and crumpled ball of money lying on the counter when Jamie rounded on him. “What the fuck happened, John? What did you say to him?”

John’s grip on his emotions was so tight that his voice came out flat and controlled. “I told him I didn’t want his money.”

Jamie eyed him warily. Something was really wrong. “Why not, John?”

“I saw him, Jamie, whoring himself out in a fucking public toilet.” John’s hold slipped as he managed to get the words out.

Jamie stared at him, allowing the words to sink in. He could feel his own anger taking hold. “Fucking up-market morality! Bloody hell, John. David doesn’t have a healthy bank account to dip into when he needs something… or even a fucking welfare check to cash. I can’t believe you did that to him! Do you think he
wants
to sell himself?” Tears of frustration and anger built behind Jamie’s eyes. “Can you even
imagine
what that must do to him every time he has to let someone…?” Jamie clenched and unclenched his hands as he fought for control. “I can’t believe you did that.”

Jamie turned his back to John and walked out of the store to look for David.

Sitting
in the old leather chair sharing his lunch with David had become something of a routine for Jamie. He enjoyed the quiet conversation, the fact that he could confide in David and know that he’d never be judged.

It had taken quite a while to get to that point. Jamie remembered David’s first reluctant venture into the store; once Maggie had convinced him to come in he spent his time moving around as if he were looking for something. He wandered from shelf to shelf lifting his hands to the books, but not letting his fingers make contact. Jamie wanted to go and speak to him and ask what book he wanted, but Maggie had held him back with the advice to give David time. He didn’t stay long the first day, but appeared at the door the next morning. Maggie smiled from behind the counter and clasped Jamie’s hand as a warning not to invade his space.

After he made his slow walk through the shelves, Maggie quietly approached David and calmly pointed out the secondhand book section with the invitation to stay and read. He wouldn’t make eye contact but looked in the direction she’d indicated and twitched his lips in what Maggie had decided was an attempt at a smile. She left him alone to explore and returned to the front desk, whispering to Jamie that it was going to be all right.

Jamie absently chewed on his sandwich; he’d spent a lot of years helping in his parents’ store before David appeared, but it still seemed wrong now without him. The second triangle of bread sat on the empty chair. Jamie couldn’t eat it.

Two
weeks had passed since David had left. Jamie had tried to find him after he ran out of the store but quickly learned that many people, either through conscious choice or apathy, didn’t see people like David. Jamie had given each homeless person he met ten dollars and his phone number with the request that they call him if they saw David. He knew some would spend it on drink, but he didn’t begrudge them that.

He’d spent most of his wages, even a large chunk of his rent money, but there’d been no phone call.

Initially Jamie had been furious with John, but now he could see that no matter how hard John tried to hide it he looked up hopefully every time the doorbell jingled. It became very obvious to Jamie that John missed David and was worried about him too, even though he would never admit it.

John walked to the back of the store and saw Jamie sitting quietly eating his half of the sandwich. He was shamed by the sight of the uneaten sandwich on the otherwise empty chair, but as had become habit over the past couple of weeks John resorted to anger and snapped, “Get rid of those fucking chairs, Jamie. I am fed up seeing them here taking up space.”

He turned and walked back to the counter, his hand fumbling with the strip of headache tablets in his pocket.

With
Marian back in town, John fell into their familiar routine of dinner at an up-market restaurant followed by drinks and sex at one of their apartments. They never spent the entire night together. Both John and Marian avoided lingering in the bedroom once their liaison was over; they usually dressed quickly and said their good nights. It wasn’t that they didn’t care about each other, but they couldn’t see the point in complicating a
useful
relationship. Tonight it was John’s place and, as usual, the dinner was expensive and the sex was passionless but had served its purpose.

“You know, you have to get out of this area, John,” Marian complained and shook her head at him as he closed the bathroom door behind him.

John rolled his eyes at her and grinned. “I know…. It’s too small, too depressing, and the parking is a bugger.”

“Well, all those things are true,” Marian continued. “But I’m more concerned with the fact you have vagrants turning up on your doorstep after midnight.”

John looked at her blankly but a vague sick feeling started to creep through him. “What do you mean?”

Marian picked up their empty glasses and started to walk to the kitchen. “While you were in the bathroom a filthy man turned up, bleeding on your doorstep.”

John quickly crossed the room and grabbed her arm to stop her. “What happened? Where is he?”

Marian gave John a curious look. “It’s all right, John. I told him to leave.”

“What did he say, Marian?” John asked through clenched teeth, fighting to remain calm.

“Not a thing actually. He just stared at me when I opened the door. I asked him if he needed help. I’m not
totally
heartless. But when he wouldn’t answer I told him to leave and I locked the door.”

John instantly let go of Marian’s arm and rushed out the door. His heart pounded heavily as he vaulted the steps two at a time, nearly tumbling over the figure sitting huddled at the bottom of the stairwell.

Quickly regaining his balance, John attempted to steady his breathing and crouched in front of the still figure. “David?”

When David didn’t respond, John could feel his panic build. He put his hand carefully on the downturned head, slid his fingers through the greasy hair, and whispered, “Dave,
please
?”

Slowly John cupped David’s chin with his other hand and carefully raised the bloodied face. David’s lip was split and blood flowed freely from a cut above his eye. Gently rubbing his thumb along David’s jawline, John watched and waited anxiously while David tried to focus on the face near his.

Relief washed through John when he saw recognition flicker into the gray eyes, but it was soon replaced with a mixture of guilt and pain when David mumbled, “I’m sorry, John.”

“Oh fuck, David, you have
nothing
to be sorry for. I was a fucking bastard,” John said just as quietly before he eased his hands away and stood up. “Come on, mate. Let’s get you inside.” John looked around for David’s pack but the only possession he could see was a single torn sketchbook held white-knuckled to David’s chest.

It was clear that David was exhausted after making it to the apartment so John leaned down, tentatively put his arm around David’s waist, and, with some effort, was able to get him to his feet. John tried to support him as carefully as he could when they started up the stairs. David grunted slightly at the pressure of John’s arm around his body, but still leaned appreciatively against him.

By the time they reached the door, David’s face was ashen and his sweat mingled with the blood on his pale skin. John eased him carefully through the door and onto the nearest chair, ignoring the disapproval on Marian’s face.

“Where are you hurt, David?” John asked as he pushed David’s hair off his face, relieved that the cut seemed superficial despite the blood flow. He needed to check if David was injured anywhere else, but hesitated. The physical contact of helping him up the stairs was different; he wanted David to let him know
this
was okay. “I need to see if you’re hurt, David. Can I take your jacket off?”

David didn’t answer; his concentration was centered on keeping his breathing steady rather than listening to John.

“David,
please.
I need to know if this is okay.”

Perhaps it was the tone of John’s voice that broke into David’s consciousness, but he started slightly and turned to look at him.

“Come on, Dave. I need to see where you’re hurt. I have to take your jacket off.”

David looked down at the hands clenched around the sketchbook and slowly loosened his grip, letting John take the pad and place it on the table. John carefully pulled the jacket off David’s shoulder and down his arm and then repeated the process on the other side. There was no sign of blood on the torn flannel shirt.

David flinched and glanced up when Marian walked over and said with some impatience, “Look, John, I don’t know why he came here, but you don’t need to be doing this. Stick him in a cab to the hospital. Let them deal with him.”

John turned his head and glared at Marian. His teeth ached from the tight grind of his clenched jaw.
How could she simply dismiss him like that?
He turned his attention back to David, but said to her in a deceptively calm voice, “Go home, Marian. This has nothing to do with you.”

She narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to reply, but quickly closed it again. With as much dignity as she could muster, Marian located her handbag and coat and walked out of the apartment. John listened to her leave, knowing he would have to apologize later, but right now David needed him. Marian didn’t.

He sighed and focused his attention on David’s shirt. Several of the buttons had been torn off, leaving only a couple for John to undo, exposing the remnants of a threadbare T-shirt. He glanced up at David’s face to gauge whether or not to continue; his expression was difficult to read, but the desperate fear had left his eyes. John lifted the hem of the T-shirt and swore at the mass of red and purple bruises covering David’s midriff. “Shit, David. I’m phoning a doctor. This needs to be looked at.”

David lifted his hand and put it on John’s, determined to push the worn fabric back down. “I’m okay,” he mumbled. “Just need… need to clean up… please.”

John looked at David’s hand covering his. “You really need a doctor, David.”

“Please, John,” David whispered, tightening his grip.

Although unconvinced, John nodded and David quickly withdrew his hand as if embarrassed by the contact. John rose silently and walked into the bathroom. He turned the taps on full and watched the steady rush of water as it began to cover the bottom of the bath. The room was already filling up with steam when John returned to crouch by David’s side. “The bath is running if you want to go through.”

David nodded and took a pained breath before standing. He gripped the back of the chair and closed his eyes. John slowly stood and placed a gentle palm on David’s back. “It’s okay. I’ll give you a hand.”

It surprised John when David gave another small nod, opened his eyes and began to walk to the bathroom.

The bathroom had nearly filled with steam, diffusing the harsh light above the mirror as John leaned over to check the temperature of the water. It was nearly ready. David began to fumble with the buttons on his shirt cuffs, but the constant tremor of his hand made the small black button slip out of his grasp. The more he tried the more distressed he became until John’s fingers closed softly over his hand. John didn’t say anything as he gently moved David’s hand away and slipped the button through the hole. He paused briefly at the tiny red heart tattooed in the creases of David’s wrist, wanting to ask about it, but knowing this was not the time or place. He undid the other cuff and slid the shirt off, laying it on a little wooden chair.

David let John remove his T-shirt, but dropped his head as the hot flush of shame crept over his face. He didn’t want John to see him like that; too thin, dirty, and blemished with bruises old and new. David swallowed repeatedly when John knelt on the floor and carefully removed first one boot and then the other. Although he was forced to grip John’s shoulder to keep his balance, David quickly let go as soon as the task was completed.
It was one thing for John to touch him….

“Um, you need to take off your trousers,” John said quietly before he straightened and turned to shut off the water flow. “Do you want me to leave?”

The thought of John seeing him naked horrified David, but he knew he’d need help getting into the bath. He attempted to slow his breathing and with gritted teeth set his fingers to work on his fly. The button was larger and he was able to unfasten it with relative ease; he slid the zipper down and lowered his pants, wobbling slightly as he stepped out of them.

Glancing over, John experienced a mix of anger and regret at the sight of David’s body.
It could have been so beautiful under different circumstances.
But he quickly looked away, seeing David’s embarrassment. “It’s okay, Dave. Come on.” John held out his hands and supported David while he tentatively stepped into the bath.

Once in the warmth of the water, David’s resolve left him. He pulled his knees up and turned his face to the wall.
I shouldn’t have come here…. I should have stayed in the park. It’s wrong for John to have to do this.

John stood and watched him for a moment at a loss of what to do. He knew he should give David some privacy but didn’t want to leave him. He hovered at the edge of the bathroom door before making a decision. “I’ll get you something to wear. Take your time.”

A barely perceptible nod of the head was the only indication that David had heard him.

John walked to his bedroom, where he gathered the same clothes he gave David to sleep in the last time and some bed linen to make up the couch.

While tucking in the blanket John kept playing one thing over and over in his head.
He came to me. After the way I treated him, he still came to me.
By the time the bed was made John almost itched to be back in the bathroom with David.

When John carried the clothes to the bathroom he saw that David had managed to lift himself out of the bath and was sitting on its edge wrapped in John’s favorite bath sheet. He was clean and the cut had finally stopped bleeding. He looked up at John, exhaustion clear in his eyes.

“They’re the same ones as last time,” John said for want of something better to say and left the track pants and T-shirt on the chair. He gave David an almost shy smile and left him to dress.