Chapter 13
Thirteen
“Lie down in our wedding bed, let the flowers touch your skin and my hands show you how a garden can bloom.”
—“Helen,” The Wooden Horse, Act One
Dexter sipped at his bottle of water, lips wrapping around the rim, throat bobbing as he swallowed down the liquid. The sight
just so happened to be the first thing Jonah saw when he stepped into the rehearsal studio. He’d been waiting for Tuesday
the eleventh of June to come around, the date circled in his planner with red ink. Stage combat blocking with Dexter. Their
bodies would be close, movements intricately planned, and he half expected Dexter to challenge Peter, their fight captain,
with the choreography. Dexter at least dressed suitably for the occasion, no embroidered jumpers in sight, but he had on his
tight joggers from yoga and an equally tight white T-shirt clinging to his body. Somehow, he made Jonah feel underdressed
as he stood in the doorway, tote bag slung over his shoulder, baggy black T-shirt hanging from his torso and wearing the scruffiest
gray joggers in the universe.
“Oh, hi,” Dexter said when he saw him, placing his water bottle down on the little table beside the mirrored wall. “Peter
isn’t here yet.”
“I can see that,” Jonah replied, walking over to the table to dump his bag down on it. He pulled his phone out of his pocket
to see two missed calls from his mum and one from his aunt, then sighed. “Fuck,” he said under his breath. “I need to step
out and make a call. If Peter arrives, can you tell him I won’t be long?”
As Jonah turned to leave, Dexter reached for him, his touch gentle as his fingertips brushed against Jonah’s elbow. “Um,” he said, cheeks reddening. “Did I throw up on you Saturday night?”
“Oh. Yeah. You did.” Images of Dexter in the back of the car flooded Jonah’s mind. How vulnerable he seemed, how honest the
alcohol made him, and how, right now, Jonah didn’t feel the animosity he once felt for him. He couldn’t waste his life hating
someone who was clearly just as insecure as himself; where would it get him? Covered in vomit again, maybe, but at least he
could try not to wake with a bitter taste in the back of his mouth each morning.
“Shit. I’m so sorry.” He sounded genuinely remorseful. “I had this hazy image of doing it, but I wasn’t sure if it was a dream,
and I’m so embarrassed.”
Jonah could still feel Dexter’s fingers ghosting his skin. “It’s okay, it happens,” he said. The memory still haunted him
two days later, but no, he was letting it go. Positive vibes. “I threw up on someone once, so I guess it was finally time
for someone to do it to me.”
Dexter smiled and dropped his hand, the whisper of his touch still burning Jonah’s skin despite the retreat. “Well. Um. Okay,
thanks for not being a dick about it. Um, can I ask you something?”
“Sure?”
“Can we totally forget that ever happened? Can we just . . . move on and be civil? We need to work together, after all.” So,
Dexter maybe had the same idea as Jonah. A new beginning, a line drawn under the weird and frankly ridiculous start they gave
to each other.
“It’s fine. Forget it.” Jonah offered him a smile, but Dexter’s words in the back of the car Saturday night still played over
in his head. Achilles is mine. Forgiveness was all fine and good, but that sentiment wouldn’t leave him. Perhaps holding Dexter at arm’s length would be
the best course of action; though . . . he certainly wouldn’t mind if their legs pressed together in the back of a car again.
Jonah turned from him, and this time Dexter didn’t stop him as he left the studio.
Outside, the sun sat high in the sky, warming the city with its buoyant rays and yellow hues.
The studio sat nestled away in the heart of Covent Garden, the pavement mismatched and utterly charming.
It reminded Jonah of the winding streets back in St. Ives, the streets he used to know like the back of his hand as a child, streets that would no doubt welcome him with open arms if he were to return there.
Leave London. Perhaps one day when the theatre no longer sang to him, though he doubted that would ever happen.
His stomach tried to crawl up his throat as he thought of his mum back by the sea, so far away, and he quickly pressed her number on his phone and waited for her to reply. It barely took one ring.
“Jonah,” she said, breathless. God, why did she always sound so breathless these days? “I’m sorry to bother you.”
A sinking feeling made his stomach plummet from his throat right back to where it belonged. “Are you okay?”
“No.” Her voice cracked as tears made their way across the miles between them. “A fox got the chickens.”
Jonah felt slightly bad at the relief he had knowing her chickens were the reason for her tears rather than his dad. “Oh Mum,”
he said, tone soft, comforting. “I’m so sorry.” The sound of a bottle clinked in the background.
“It took them all. Even my lovely Beryl. I didn’t hear a peep last night, or I would have gone out to them.” Her sobs became
hysterical. “I tried to talk to your dad about it, but he said we didn’t have any chickens and that made me mad, so then I
shouted at him, and I don’t want to shout at him.” The words tumbled from her mouth. “And then he fell when he tried to get
out of the lounge chair without help and he broke my mother’s vase, the one with the rabbits on, and he cut his hands all
up, and I just can’t do this anymore, Jonah.”
“Right,” he said, deciding he needed to take control of the situation then or he never would. “It’s okay. Everything is going
to be okay. I’m going to make some calls today. I’ve got a work thing this morning, but as soon as I’m done, I’m going to
look into some homes for him, okay? Then I will call you tomorrow, and we can make a plan.”
“I’m not asking you to do that.”
“I know. I want to do it. Then, once we’ve made a plan, I will book some time off work and I will help you.”
“Your work is important to you.”
“Not as important as you.”
He heard her suck in a shaky breath, her tears having subsided. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you, sausage?”
Jonah laughed lightly and blinked back his own tears. “Um, is Dad okay? His hands? He didn’t hurt himself in the fall?”
“The nurse cleaned him up and bandaged them. Poor sod.”
“Give him a kiss from me, won’t you?”
“Always, love.”
“And, Mum?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry about the chickens.”
She sniffed. “Yes. Me too. Bloody fox. You’re lucky you don’t get them in London.”
“Mum, I’ve seen more foxes here than what I ever did in Cornwall. My neighbor had one with babies in their garden last year.”
“Really?” She sounded genuinely surprised. “Well, I never. Even London isn’t safe from the buggers.” She paused. “Oh, Jonah?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
Once he said goodbye to her, he sucked in a deep breath and clicked to return the call to his aunt. She never called him,
only texted now and then, stupid things about the ugly paintings she’d found in thrift shops and how many tomatoes were growing
in her garden. For her to call meant something big happened, but his mum seemed fine on the phone, and she said Dad was okay,
so he silently hoped it was nothing but a butt dial as it rang.
“Hello, Jonah, my love.” Her voice sounded warm, freshly baked scones with melting butter and raspberry jam.
“Aunt Penny.” He matched her tone, genuinely happy to hear her voice. “I had a missed call from you?”
“Yes, well, I wasn’t sure if I should call or not, but .
. . here I am.” A silence hung between them.
“I’m worried about your mum, love, she’s not been herself.
” Three years younger than his mum, Aunt Penny lived with a woman called Sally who she referred to as her roommate, but as Jonah got older he realized they lived in a one-bedroom apartment adorned with photos of the two of them looking remarkably loved up.
Even when Jonah came out, Penny never hinted at anything other than friendship with Sally.
But one time Jonah saw them kiss each other softly in the kitchen when they thought no one was looking, and he was happy to quietly back out and pretend he hadn’t seen anything while their backs were turned if that was how they wanted it.
“She just called me in hysterics about her chickens, but that’s okay, Pen.”
“I had that this morning too. It’s not just the chickens, Jonah. I went over there yesterday morning and she just sat there
trembling, not from cold, I don’t know what it was.” Penny sighed.
“She’s stressed about Dad,” Jonah said, not wanting it to be anything serious; he didn’t want to think of the alternative.
“I’m going to do some research this afternoon on more homes. Dad needs to be somewhere now. She can’t look after him.”
“I agree with you there,” she conceded. “We are all worried about your dad, but sometimes I think she gets forgotten in all
this.”
Jonah knew what she meant, though her statement felt like perhaps she was trying to say maybe he was forgetting her. “I will call her more often, check in on her. It’s hard being so far away.”
“Oh, I know, love,” Penny said softly. “We will keep an eye on her here for you. I just thought we should maybe talk more,
keep each other up-to-date on what’s going on so we can support her.”
“Of course.”
“Well, I will let you get on, you’re a big star now, aren’t you?” Penny laughed sweetly. “Keep safe, Jonah”
Dexter grimaced and slammed his hands on the floor. Jonah stood over him, panting as Peter meandered to the side, arms crossed
over his chest. It was the twelfth time in a row Dexter messed up the tiniest bit of combat choreography. Where he needed
to fall to Jonah’s right, his sword swiping out in an attempt to strike him, he pivoted his foot to the left, resulting in
him stumbling while waving his prop sword redundantly in the air.