Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
“I can still feel your hand in mine, just like the nights we danced beneath the stars, back when we were younger, when you
were only mine.”
—“The Melody of Achilles and Patroclus,” The Wooden Horse, Act One
As the taxi pulled up the long gravel driveway, Jonah held his breath, realizing this would be his first time back in his
old home now that his father had passed away. He and his mother stayed by his father’s bedside as he drifted back to sleep,
then, two hours later, he stopped breathing. Jonah kept hold of his hand, brushing his thumb over his dad’s knuckles, telling
him how much he loved him.
The hours since then passed in a blur; the day seemed to stretch on forever, and Jonah couldn’t say he knew the time if someone
asked him. But as they returned home, the sun still sat lazily in the autumn sky, orange and magnificent, bathing the ocean
in shades of gold. Outside the house Dexter’s car sat parked alongside Aunt Penny’s, and Jonah couldn’t quite believe he was
still there, in his childhood home, waiting for him. He helped his mum out of the car, looping his arm around her waist, her
body so small against his, and took her inside, where the heating had been put on and the smell of something aromatic wafted
from the kitchen.
“Oh, Nancy,” Penny said, greeting them in the cobblestoned hallway.
She wrapped her arms around her sister, taking her from Jonah, and the two of them burst into tears.
Jonah closed the front door and tried not to look at the family photo hanging on the wall beside it, his dad smiling at him, a reminder of happy days he could only hold onto now from within photographs.
He left his mum and aunt in the hallway, Aunt Penny wiping away his mother’s tears while she cried rivers of her own.
He heard movement inside the kitchen, pots and pans clanging together, and as he made his way to the hub of the house, he
stopped in the doorway to see Dexter hunched over the stove stirring something in one of his mum’s large cooking pans while
Sally sat at the dining table nursing what he assumed could only be a glass of whiskey from his dad’s liquor cabinet.
“Jonah,” Sally said when she saw him. She rushed to pull him into a bone-crushing hug. “Oh, love, I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” Jonah said, still not fully comprehending the gravity of what had happened. It didn’t feel real, his dad no longer
being there, but he also felt a strange sense of relief knowing now his mind would be at rest and that there would be no more
falls, no more confusion, no more pain.
“Jonah,” Dexter said, tucking a tea towel into the belt loop of his trousers as he made his way over to them. “I don’t know
what to say.”
“It’s okay,” Jonah said as Sally released him. “It’s, um, it’s okay.”
“I wasn’t sure if you and your mum would have eaten anything, or if you would even be hungry, but I made a curry . . . just
in case.” He gestured over to the pan on the oven, but immediately grimaced when he saw Jonah’s blank expression. “Sorry,
I shouldn’t have—”
“What?” Jonah asked, snapping back into focus. “No, don’t apologize, that’s really lovely of you, thank you. I’m not sure
mum will eat anything, but we can heat some up for her later if she wants to.”
“I’m going to go speak to her,” Sally said. She kissed Jonah’s cheek, then made her way out to the hallway to where his mum
and Aunt Penny still lingered.
“I’m surprised you’re still here,” Jonah said as he sat himself down at the dining table, his limbs suddenly heavy, the exhaustion
from the day finally catching up with him. “I thought you might have gone back for the show.”
“It didn’t feel right to leave,” Dexter said as he took the seat beside him. “But I can go. I realize this is a super-personal
situation, and I’m not trying to insert myself into it.”
“No, you’re not doing that at all.” Jonah didn’t want to say how comforting it felt to have him there, even after their fight, even after the Dexah ship had sunk to the ocean floor.
Jonah looked around the kitchen, his eyes settling on several bottles of wine lined up along the edge of the counter. Dexter
saw him looking and shook his head. “Apparently your mum and aunt rounded up all the wine in the house, and they’re donating
it to the local library for raffle prizes,” he explained.
“Right,” Jonah said, unsure, the bottles of wine almost threatening as they loomed in the room.
“Bastien and Sherrie both called me. I told them your phone was off. Omari then texted asking for your mum’s address so he
can send some flowers and herbal teas or something. I also spoke to Evie and told her what was happening and that you would
contact her when you’re able, but I told her not to expect to see you for a few days at the very least.”
“Thank you.”
“Bash asked if you could call him when you feel up to it too. He’s worried about you.”
Jonah nodded. “Sure.”
“Jonah.” Dexter went to reach for his hand then stopped himself. “I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can do, please just
say.”
“You’ve already done enough, Dex, seriously. You’ve done more than most people would do. Driving me here . . . I wouldn’t
have got here in time otherwise. Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me.”
Jonah wiped his eyes as he tried to stifle a yawn. “I need to go lie down. I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep but . . .
fuck, my body hurts.”
“I made the bed,” Dexter said quickly. “So, it’s all good for you up there . . . you don’t want to try and eat something first?”
“It smells amazing, but I don’t think I can stomach anything right now.”
Dexter gave an understanding nod. “Well. I’m going to head back first thing in the morning. I’ll sleep on the sofa tonight,
if that’s okay?”
“Oh, you can . . . you can share the bed with me, it’s fine, honestly I—”
“I’ll sleep on the sofa,” Dexter said with a sad smile. “If you’re still asleep by the time I have to leave I won’t bother you, but please message me when you get up? Just because we . . . I’m still here for you.”
Jonah nodded, then pushed out of the chair to stand. He felt wobbly on his feet, as if he’d been drinking for hours, but he
knew it came from the emotional fatigue he’d slumped into. “I’m still here for you too,” Jonah said as he left the room, looking
back at Dexter one last time before heading up to bed.
Colbie Paris didn’t possess a single compassionate bone in her body. She spoke to Jonah with nothing but contempt on the phone
as she expressed a deep frustration at him for taking time off work, even though his dad just died, and told him just how
difficult he was making things for her. After her last call he screamed into his pillow, covering his face with it entirely,
willing the feathers inside the case to absorb all the animosity he felt toward her. He’d only just got home, and she somehow
knew he’d arrived back in London and plagued his phone with calls and texts, asking if he would be on as Achilles the next
day. He knew Colbie was crossing professional lines; the way she was operating could not be ethical under any circumstances,
but she made him believe he had done something wrong, that his father’s death was nothing but a major inconvenience.
“I’ll sort it out,” Melanie said when she called him to check in on how he was doing. “It’s bloody unacceptable. If she has
an issue, she can talk to me from now on. Don’t answer any calls from her.”
“I just,” Jonah said between tears. “I thought I could take compassionate leave.”
“You can.”
“But she said—”
“I don’t give a flying fuck what she said. This is why you have me, to handle situations like this.” She sounded angry, but
luckily not with him. “How was the funeral? Did you get my flowers?”
“Yes, they were lovely, you didn’t have to do that.”
“It was the least I could do, Jonah.”
“And the funeral . . . well, it was a funeral, can you even say a funeral went well? It was nice, loads of people came, and
we listened to his Phil Collins records afterward.”
“I’m glad it went as well as it could. Look, I want you to take a few days and call me next week so we can discuss work, but until then don’t give it another thought.
I mean it, Jonah, turn your phone off if you have to, and if you’re not up to talking next week, just drop me a message and we can figure it out from there. ”
“Thanks, Melanie . . . You’re not mad I wasn’t around for the follow-up with the people from Crazy for You?”
“No,” she said with surety. “Family comes first. Other jobs will come along. Keep well. You’ve got this, okay?” Thank God
for Melanie Cowperthwaite and her no-nonsense attitude. He would crumble without her, and he made a mental note to send her
a thank-you card and a box of chocolates the next time he ventured out of the house.
He didn’t want to turn his phone off, though. He could screen his calls from Colbie, especially as he’d now set Melanie on
her, but he wanted to stay connected with everyone else; he’d never felt so lonely. He needed Bastien and Sherrie; he needed
Omari to tell him to stop eating ice cream and cheese because his body was practically made of mucus at this point. And he
needed Dexter, though he couldn’t reach out to him, not now that he’d fucked everything up. Not long ago, he had been trying
not to sing while walking down the street, a spring in his step as he danced through a rainstorm. Now there would be no singing
in the rain; he didn’t have anything left to sing about. His career was in a downward spiral, his family was broken, and his
love life had disintegrated right in front of his eyes.
As he lay on his bed, he thought about his first night in London all those years ago. He didn’t know anyone, he didn’t have
a job, an agent, a boyfriend, nothing to really call his own. But Castle Road took him in and he built his way up, and now
he would have to do the same thing all over again. At least this time he had friends, he had an agent, and his career would