What Remains (14 page)

“Are you waiting for me?”

Rupert tore his gaze from the shiny waiting room floor. Jodi stood in front of him, sulky and tired, like a teenager who’d just been scolded by their headmaster. “Of course I am. Said I would, didn’t I?”

Jodi shrugged like he didn’t care, and it was likely he didn’t.

The psychiatric nurse who’d escorted Jodi to the waiting room peered around him, a kind, sympathetic gleam in her life-hardened eyes. “Come on now, Jodi. We talked about Rupert today, didn’t we? He’s taking care of you.”

“If you say so.” Jodi’s eyes drifted to the window. There was nothing there, save a car park and a few tired trees. Rupert wondered what was holding his attention for so long. “Can we go home now?”

Rupert sighed as the nurse spared him another professionally pitying smile. An ever-fading glimmer of hope had carried him through the long months that had passed since Jodi’s accident, but it was almost gone now. It had left, unbidden, the moment he’d realised Jodi had lost five years of his life.

“He’s missing five years,” Sophie whispered, her face streaked with tears. “He thinks we’re still together.”

Rupert sat down heavily, his breath leaving his lungs in a soft whoosh. His head had known this was coming—his short, fractured exchange with Jodi had told him so—but the stupid, naive idiot in him had held on to the hope that it was all a fucking bad dream.

But it wasn’t a dream. Jodi was missing five years—five years that held the entire life he and Rupert had built together. Their past and present. Their future. Rupert stared hard at the hospital floor, sure he could see the remnants of their broken dreams, ready to be ground into the linoleum by the heels of whoever passed by next. He closed his eyes and whispered the question he already knew the answer to: “Did you tell him who I am?”

Sophie’s voice cracked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how. I didn’t know what to say.”

Rupert had wanted to be angry with her, but he couldn’t. After all,
he
hadn’t told Jodi, and no one else had either. How could they, when Jodi had reacted so badly to the doctor’s first, failed attempts? Rupert remembered Jodi curled in a ball, sobbing in pain, and then later, when the drugs had kicked in and two days of silence had taken hold, and it had felt like they were back to square one.

Fuck that. Rupert couldn’t be the reason Jodi’s recovery faltered, and there seemed little chance Jodi would remember on his own. Save for a few minor details about random things—where the airing cupboard was, the name of next door’s cat—he hadn’t remembered anything, and he’d shown next to no interest in trying. No one knew the best way of persuading him either. Prompting him. The psychiatrist—one of a long list of outpatient appointments Rupert had brought Jodi to that week—had been his last hope, but his private consultation with Rupert hadn’t gone well.

“In cases like Jodi’s, it’s often best to allow the mind to heal in its own time. We can help him, of course, but pushing him to remember things he might not be equipped to cope with yet could be catastrophic.
”

Jodi’s neurologist, Dr. Nevis, had agreed.
“Try to be as honest as you can, but avoid planting ideas in his head. It’s better to use intact memories to stimulate acceptance of new information.”

Arguing that the “new information” was their whole bloody lives had been pointless, and he’d known the doctor was right. What the fuck had he expected? That they could sit Jodi down, hit him with every little detail of the lifetime he’d forgotten, and expect him to accept it all and just get on with it?

It wasn’t going to happen, but that crippling realisation had left Rupert lost. Jodi had walked into the accident as a man who’d often described himself as a loose bisexual, but he’d woken up looking for his girlfriend with no memory of being anything other than straight, like he’d lost his entire sexual identity. And that had left Rupert as not much more than a barely tolerated babysitter.

“Rupert?”

Rupert came back to the present with a surprised jolt. Up till now, Jodi hadn’t addressed him by name. Shame he didn’t sound too happy about it. “Yeah?”

“Are we going, or what?”

There was no “or what.” Rupert gave himself an internal shake. It was time to go home. He said good-bye to the hovering nurse, took Jodi’s arm, and led him out of the hospital. Jodi didn’t protest. He’d given up on that after Sophie had scolded him for being rude. Besides, Rupert wasn’t taking his weight and guiding him for fun. To the outside world, Jodi probably appeared to walk pretty well, save the slight drag of his left foot, but when he’d had a long day, his balance often deserted him, leading him to stumble and trip, something that could do him far more damage than discovering he liked a bit of cock.

They made it outside. Rupert’s stomach growled as the McDonald’s opposite the hospital caught his eye. Breakfast felt a long time ago, but he knew there was little point asking Jodi if he wanted to stop. Jodi seemed to exist on bread, cornflakes, and an occasional packet of crisps. Gone were the late-night fry-ups and random Wednesday roasts. And it didn’t help that Rupert and Sophie between them could barely fry an egg.

“You didn’t have to cook for me,” Rupert said. “Jesus, boyo. It’s 2 a.m.”

Jodi glanced over his shoulder, half an eye still on the mammoth pan of pasta he was adding bacon to. “Can’t have you going to bed on an empty stomach. Besides, gives me stuff to do when I’m pining for your pretty face.”

A bus ride later, they were at the Shoreditch pharmacy to pick up Jodi’s prescription refills. With that done, Rupert ushered Jodi out and steered him toward the Tube station.

“Where are we going?”

“Home. That okay? Or did you want to go somewhere else?”

“It’s fine.”

Jodi’s expression remained, as ever, blank and uninterested, but something made Rupert look again—a slight inflection in his dull tone, a nervous flicker in his dark gaze—
something
. “Are you sure? We can grab some food if you like?”

Whatever Rupert thought he’d seen evaporated as Jodi scowled. “You’ve asked me that three times today. I’m not fucking hungry.”

“I asked you at breakfast, lunch, and dinnertime, and I’ll probably ask you again before bed. You gotta eat, boyo.” Rupert kept his tone mild with considerable effort, though he could tell Jodi was baiting him, probably hoping Rupert would snap at him, and then feel guilty enough about it to leave him alone.

But he was out of luck today. Rupert didn’t fancy a silent journey home, even if it meant boring himself to tears with the sound of his own voice. He took Jodi’s answering glare with a shrug and retrieved their Oyster cards from his back pocket. “How did you get on with the occupational therapist yesterday? You never told me.”

Jodi didn’t answer, distracted by swiping his Oyster card at the ticket barrier, a simple process made more complex by the damage to his cognitive thinking. Even evaluating the task seemed to take several seconds longer than the queue forming behind them was prepared to tolerate. Not that anyone said anything—it wasn’t London’s style—and thankfully, Jodi was occupied enough to remain oblivious to the pointed frowns grumpy commuters sent his way.

The escalators came next. Rupert took Jodi’s arm and guided him on, something he’d done even before the accident, having seen too many gruesome incidents in Tube stations and shopping centres to trust anyone he loved to travel on them safely. In the past, the gesture had amused Jodi to no end. Not anymore. Now, he didn’t seem to notice Rupert’s deathlike grip on his good elbow and there was little life in him as they reached the crowded platform.

Staying true to another preaccident habit, Rupert stood between Jodi and the platform edge, shielding him from the backdraft of a couple of passing trains.

“So,” he tried again. “How was your appointment yesterday?”

“Don’t you already know? Thought the hospital had you and Sophie on speed dial.”

Rupert suppressed a sigh. Despite Jodi’s apparent disinterest, he often seemed irritated when he caught Rupert and Sophie talking about his recovery. “Why don’t you tell me how it was for you?”

“It was bullshit. They made me play poker and write a shopping list at the same time. Like a trip to Sainsbury’s will fix everything.”

“You might be right there,” Rupert said. “You never went shopping anyway. We got that shit delivered.”

“Yeah?” Jodi’s expression brightened for a fleeting moment. “Does that mean I don’t have to go to that stupid bloody occupational therapy bollocks?”

“’Fraid not. We can’t afford Ocado anymore.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Rupert’s reply was muffled by their train pulling into the station, and Jodi had blanked out by the time the noise faded. Relieved, Rupert gripped Jodi’s arm again and guided him on, positioning him with his back against the wall, Rupert between him and the other commuters. The train rumbled. Jodi jumped, clearly startled. Rupert welcomed it, though he felt bad for doing so. Any animation was better than none. “So, did you do much else in the session?”

“Hmm?”

“The OT,” Rupert repeated. “What else did you do?”

“Oh, er, nothing really.” Jodi’s gaze darted around as the train moved out of the station.

Rupert frowned. Jodi hadn’t had any seizures at home yet, but he’d fast learned in the hospital that a jittery gaze was one of the warning signs. He checked Jodi for flushed cheeks and a slackening jaw. Jodi did look warm, but if anything his awareness, rather than slipping under the wave of an oncoming seizure, seemed more heightened than Rupert had seen since the accident. He took in Jodi’s clenched fists and restless arms, the quickening rise and fall of his chest and the anxiety growing in his roaming gaze.

Against his better judgement, he touched Jodi’s face, barely grazing the dark beard that had replaced the trendy stubble he’d sported before. “Still with me?”

It was a loaded question that Jodi would probably never understand, but as his terrified eyes met Rupert’s, the weight of all they’d lost suddenly didn’t matter. Most days, it was hard to remember that Jodi’s glare didn’t necessarily reflect what was going on inside his head—
or his heart, please, God, his heart
—but the fear in his gaze now was unmistakable. Rupert knew a brewing panic attack when he saw one.

The train picked up speed. Jodi inhaled sharply and flattened himself against the wall. Rupert moved his hand to Jodi’s chest. Jodi’s racing heart battered his palm as Jodi squeezed his eyes shut.

“Jodi, look at me.”

Jodi shook his head.

Rupert took a chance and grabbed his hand. “Come on, boyo. It’s okay. I can help you.”

Jodi opened his eyes. For the first time in months, his gaze was as electric as Rupert remembered it when he lay awake at night, blocking out the present and drowning in the past—Jodi laughing hysterically at his own daft jokes, or bubbling with glee at a prank he’d played, or climbing all over Rupert and demanding to be fucked, loved, and owned from the inside out—but the fire in Jodi’s dark eyes now wasn’t love or laughter, or desire. It was pure terror, and Rupert had no idea why.

“Squeeze my hands,” he said quietly. “Focus on me and let go of the breath you’re holding.”

Jodi made a strangled noise, a classic sign of someone fighting the urge to suck in a lungful of air they didn’t need. A gasp they’d already taken and forgotten about as waves of crippling panic took hold.

Rupert found Jodi’s hands again. “Let it go. Come on. Let it go and I’ll show you how to breathe.”

Whether Jodi truly believed him, Rupert would never know, but after what felt like a lifetime, he blew out a shaky breath.

“That’s it,” Rupert said. “Now breathe in, nice and slow, not too much.”

It took a few attempts for Jodi to remaster the art of inhaling and exhaling at a pace that brought a little colour back to his cheeks. His shoulders relaxed, and his wide eyes drooped as exhaustion set in. Slowly but surely, his fingers tightened around Rupert’s.

Rupert’s heart leapt. He swallowed thickly and dampened it down. “There you go. Just keep breathing. Don’t think about anything else.”

Jodi opened his mouth. Shut it again. Took another breath. “Thank you. I—”

The train jolted, sending Jodi flying into Rupert’s chest. Rupert stumbled backward as the lights went off, cloaking them in darkness.

“Jesus!” Rupert fought for balance, petrified he would fall and take Jodi with him. Common sense reminded him the lights went out on the Tube all the time, but as Jodi wrenched free from Rupert’s grasp, backed against the wall and slid to the floor, covering his head, every ounce of his terror seeped into Rupert’s battered soul.

Jodi woke up on the couch with a crick in his neck. As had become his normal, it took a few moments to place himself. The ever-present pain came first, radiating through his skull and creeping into every slowly healing injury, then the obligatory groan, the low, animalistic grunt he was never quite sure actually came from him.

He sat up in stages, taking in the dimly lit living room—the low-hung lamp in the corner, the TV flickering on mute. It was late, that much he could tell, but that was about it. What the hell was he doing in the living room and not segregated in the dark haunting bedroom he’d come to think of as a prison cell?