What Remains (15 page)

No clarity came to him as he pushed himself upright at last.
Shocker . . . not
, but the sight of Rupert fast asleep on the floor beside him surprised him, until he remembered he was lying in what Rupert called his bed.

Jodi frowned, and an odd sensation crept over him. Guilt? Shame? He couldn’t name it. All he knew was Rupert sleeping on the hard wood floor felt wrong. In fact, everything felt wrong. His bones ached, and his mouth was dry, and the roiling in his belly made him want to puke. Where was Sophie? He needed her. She’d explain it to him.

A click in his brain reminded him that wasn’t right either.
She’s not your girlfriend, idiot. Remember?
For once he did remember. Sophie was at her own house and the only soul available to fill in the gaps was Rupert, but waking him and begging for reassurance was too much for Jodi to handle. The bloke already did far more than Jodi could ask for from a flatmate.

On cue, Rupert rolled over and opened his eyes. For a moment, he stared, then he sat up in a smooth, effortless movement that almost made Jodi weep with envy.

“What’s up?” Rupert said. “You okay?”

“Um . . .”

Rupert waited, like he always did when Jodi lost his words.

Jodi found them. “Why am I out here?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Obviously not.”

He hadn’t meant to snap quite so harshly, if at all, but after a flash of hurt that was gone so quickly Jodi was sure he’d imagined it, Rupert seemed unfazed. He pushed aside the balled up sweatshirt he’d been using as a pillow, and leaned forward, like he was checking Jodi for cracks.

Ha. Cracks. If only. Most days—nights—whatever—Jodi felt like a giant fissure had been mined in his soul.

“You had a bit of a turn on the Tube,” Rupert said. “And you might have had a slight seizure when we got back. I’m not sure.”

A seizure? Fucking brilliant. He’d been told about those, but had no memory of the ones he’d had in hospital. “What happened?”

“Er . . .” It was Rupert’s turn to stutter. “You didn’t seem to like the Tube. Have you been on it since you came home? I haven’t taken you on it. Has Sophie?”

Jodi thought hard. “No. She keeps taking me on the bus with all the old fogeys.”

Rupert smiled briefly. “Well, you didn’t like it. You had a panic attack, and then the lights went out and I couldn’t get you back. Pretty much carried you home, and you refused to go to bed. Then you collapsed in here. I put you on the sofa when you’d stopped shaking.”

Embarrassment made Jodi’s blood feel warm. Too warm. He kicked away the blanket Rupert must have draped over him. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s what I’m here for. I’ll always look after you, Jodi.”

“Why?” The question escaped Jodi before he could stop it. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Not really.”

Jodi let it go. He’d given up trying to figure people out. They all said he was the one with the problem, but didn’t they understand none of this shit made any fucking sense? What kind of flatmate stuck around when the geezer they lived with lost his bloody marbles and practically needed his arse wiped? Sophie . . . Yeah, he got that. He’d accepted that the love he thought he remembered had morphed into one of those friendships that meant the world, but Rupert? Nope. The bloke remained a mystery.

“How are you feeling?”

“Sick,” Jodi said absently. “Thanks for leaving the lights on, though. Probably woulda shat myself if I’d woken up in the dark again.”

Comprehension flashed in Rupert’s gaze. He studied Jodi a moment. “Perhaps that was it: the dark on the Underground, the noise, the heat. Sorry, mate. I should’ve thought about it more before I hustled you on it.”

Why the hell is he apologising?
It wasn’t his fault that Jodi had become a bloody fruit loop.

“It’s fine,” Jodi said. “I’m sorry I fucked up your day and stole your bed.”

“Boyo, that’s the least of my worries.”

“Okay, Jodi. Let’s go back to the last thing you remember before the accident.”

Jodi huffed out a sigh. This numb-nut psychiatrist was getting on his tits. “I already told you I don’t remember the accident, or the day it happened, or the day before that. Last thing I remember I was going for dinner with my girlfriend—who’s not my fucking girlfriend anymore.”

“Does that upset you?”

“What? That I don’t remember what I had for dinner that day? Or that I got dumped?”

The psychiatrist—Ken—tapped a pencil on his thigh. “What makes you think you got dumped? Do you remember Sophie ending your relationship?”

“No.”

“Then let’s stick to the facts, as you truly know them, for now. You’ve told me you remember going to meet Sophie for dinner. She told the police you were coming to meet her on the day of the accident. Do you think it’s possible that’s the occasion you remember?”

Jodi sighed. He’d been over this with Ken, and Sophie, more times than he cared to count. The only person who didn’t seem to want to talk about it was Rupert, which suited Jodi just fine. He hadn’t felt like leaving the flat much since his epic meltdown on the Tube, and Rupert’s quiet company was far easier to take than everyone else’s constant questions.

“Jodi?”

“
What
?”

Ken sat back in his wheeled chair and folded his hands on his desk. “All right. That’s enough for today. I can see you’re tired. I’m going to give you a little work to take home with you, though, if that’s okay?”

Jodi shrugged. He had a whole list of exercises—mental and physical—he halfheartedly practiced at home. One more wouldn’t make much difference.

Ken pushed a sheet of paper across the table. Jodi humoured him and cast a disinterested glance over it. It appeared to be a record keeper—a journal, maybe.

“What’s that for?”

Ken tapped his pen on the paper. “I’d like you to keep track of anything that makes you stop and think twice—things you might recognise, or think you’ve perhaps seen before but can’t remember where.”

“Like what?”

“Like anything,” Ken said. “People, places, sights, and smells. Even just a feeling . . . a sensation, an instinct.”

The only instinct Jodi had was a strong urge to roll his eyes, but insolence had no effect on old man Ken, save encouraging him to stare harder, studying Jodi with a watery gaze that set his teeth on edge. “How many things do I have to write down?”

“As many as you like. Your OT has helped you with your handwriting, hasn’t she?”

Jodi nodded. It was true, though Sophie had gleefully informed him his handwriting hadn’t been much cop to begin with.
“With your chicken scratch, Jojo, you should’ve been a doctor.”
Right. So he could sit across the table from miserable gits like him? Fuck that.

He left Ken to his humming and pencil tapping and found Sophie outside, smoking a long menthol cigarette.

“Shit.” She stubbed it out, looking guilty. “I thought you’d be ages yet. Sorry.”

Jodi eyed the cigarette butt. “You don’t smoke.”

“I started after we split up. I liked the smell.”

“Oh.” Jodi was a little nonplussed. Not for the first time, the distinct impression that he’d hurt Sophie in some way crept over him. “Can I have one?”

“No.”

Okay.
Jodi glanced up and down the busy street. His gaze fell on the Tube station. He shuddered and wondered if that was the kind of sensation Ken wanted him to note down. “Can we go home, then?”

“Of course.” Sophie shoved her bag on her shoulder and took Jodi’s arm, steering him to the bus stop. “How are you feeling? Do you want to do anything before we go back to the flat?”

Jodi shook his head. They’d only been out a few hours, but every part of him felt like lead, and he was cold too. He wanted his bed—no, the couch—and a three-hour nap. “I want to go home.”

Sophie pulled him closer, and her body heat seeped into his bones. Jodi absorbed it and tried to recall a time when feeling her pressed up against him had excited him. Tried to recapture the many intimate moments they’d shared. But . . . nope. The memories were there, but Jodi felt nothing but platonic affection, tinged with a touch of sadness, and maybe regret? Hmm. Perhaps that was one for the diary, though Jodi couldn’t imagine finding
anyone
attractive in this brave new world where his dick did nothing but burn like a bitch when he had a wazz.

Back at the flat, Jodi flopped onto the sofa, coat and shoes still on. Sophie tugged at his boots. “Help me a little?”

Jodi grumbled and sat up, fumbling with the laces. “Give it a rest. I wanna sleep.”

“And you can, just as soon as you take your grubby boots off. Don’t want dirt all over your couch, do you?”

Jodi didn’t much care. The flat was a mess, and he liked it that way. Made it easier to find all the shit Sophie and Rupert insisted he needed. “Where’s Rupert again?”

“Work,” Sophie said. “Why? Do you want him for something?”

“No. Just wondering. He’s been gone since yesterday.”

Sophie shot him an odd glance. “Do you miss him when he’s not around?”

“Why are you asking me that?”

“Just wondering.” Sophie shrugged with the barest hint of an impish grin. “You seem to prefer his company to mine.”

Do I?
“Maybe because he leaves me the hell alone and lets me sleep.”

Rupert asked his fair share of annoying questions, but he didn’t nag Jodi about stupid dirty boots. In fact, he didn’t nag at all, save his unnatural obsession with how much Jodi ate for dinner.

On cue, Sophie disappeared into the kitchen to fetch “a snack.” Jodi curled up on the couch, hoping he’d be asleep by the time she came back, or at least look enough like it for her to let him be.

“Eat.”

Or not. Jodi sat up
again
and stared down at the plate she’d placed in front of him; Nutella on toast. His brain clicked.
Nutella. Toast. Rupert.
No, that wasn’t a blast from the past. That had happened last week, hadn’t it?

“What’s the matter? Rupert said it’s all you’ll eat when you’re in a bad mood.”

“I’m not in a bad mood,” Jodi said absently, shifting over as Sophie sat next to him. “Have you made me this before?”

“Actually, no. The smell of that stuff makes me heave. Perhaps that’s why we turned out better as friends.”

“Eh?”

Sophie hesitated before her wry grin morphed into a reckless take on determination. “Nutella is your and Rupert’s thing. He doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but you always used to make him this when he came home from late nights at the club.”

“The club?”

“He used to moonlight on the doors at The Cube.”

“But he doesn’t anymore.” It wasn’t a question this time. Jodi had heard Rupert and Sophie talking about this a few days ago.

“That’s right.” Sophie seemed pleased. She put her arm around Jodi and coaxed him to lie down with his head in her lap. He went willingly. Sophie was soft and warm, and he found himself cuddling closer, absorbing her warmth until drowsiness swept over him and he fell asleep.

He awoke with a jump sometime later. Rupert was home. Jodi couldn’t see or hear him, but somehow he just knew, though it could’ve been simple logic. At some point Sophie had disappeared, taking her handbag from the coffee table, which led Jodi to conclude she’d gone home, leaving him in Rupert’s care.

’Cause you’re too much of a doughnut to be left on your own, remember?

As if he could forget. His lack of independence was the one constant.

On cue, Rupert came out of the kitchen, clutching a mug of tea like it was the only thing keeping him upright, and judging by the dark circles beneath his eyes, perhaps it was. “Morning.”

“Is it?” Jodi glanced at the TV, which was playing BBC News 24. The clock read 5 a.m. Damn. He’d been asleep for over twelve hours. That had to be a new record for afternoon naps. “When did you get in?”

“A while ago. Sophie’s got an early start, so I put her in your bed to get some sleep. That’s okay, right? Didn’t look like you’d be heading there anytime soon.”

It was more than okay. Fuck that bedroom. Fuck the dark. Fuck everything. “It’s fine. How was work? You’ve been gone for ages.”

“Long.” Rupert ventured a little closer. “How are you doing? Sophie said you were tired.”

“I’m always fucking tired.” Jodi hadn’t meant to snap, but the harsh inflection in his tone made him cringe—Rupert too, if his backward step was anything to go by. Jodi thought about apologising, but the violent shiver that swept over him reminded him why he’d curled up on Sophie’s lap in the first place. “It’s cold in here.”

“Is it? Do you want another blanket from the airing cupboard?”

Jodi thought about it and shook his head. He wanted—craved—warmth, but hiding under a pile of blankets seemed wrong.

Rupert took his headshake at face value and turned away to go back to whatever he’d been doing in the kitchen. A surge of panic drove Jodi to sit up and pretty much fall off the couch. “Wait.”

“What?” Rupert looked over his shoulder. “What do you need?”

For a long moment Jodi could do nothing more than hold out his hands, unable to articulate, or even comprehend what he was asking for. All he knew was the comfort Sophie had offered him wasn’t enough. That he needed that kindness from someone else. From Rupert. “I’m so cold. Will you sit with me for a while . . . please?”