Chapter Eighteen The Boy with the Thorn in His Side
Julian leaned heavily against Rahul as the latter helped him through the door.
Julian’s flat, which had felt so vibrant and full of possibilities just last night, seemed duller somehow, smaller.
The world felt a little duller, a little smaller.
Bleaker. A world where someone like Julian, sunshine and lightning Julian, could be so brutally attacked was one far darker and far more unforgiving than Rahul had realised.
Julian seemed smaller, too. Just as drained of colour as the flat around him.
He swayed on his feet and caught himself on the entrance table.
Rahul jerked forward involuntarily to help him but Julian held up a hand.
He managed a weak smile. “I’m all right.
Honestly, Rahul. You don’t have to be all like a new mother around me. I’m just tired, that’s all.”
Rahul pursed his lips and said nothing. He’d been short on words since the hospital.
“Think I’ll take a shower and get a bit of kip. Hate hospitals. Always make me feel dirty, like I’ve got diseases all over.”
Rahul swallowed down his worry at the thought of Julian sleeping.
The doctor had assured them that, unlike what was seen in movies and films, sleeping after a concussion was perfectly fine and in fact recommended.
Because he felt he should say something, before Julian disappeared into his bedroom, Rahul called out, “Don’t forget to take your medication. ”
It was only paracetamol and an antibiotic, but still.
“I won’t.” He waved it off without turning round.
He seemed fine, or as fine as could be expected. But Rahul knew that most of it was an act being put on for his benefit. Of course Julian didn’t want Rahul to worry, but the other part of it, Rahul was sure, was to dissuade him from going after Michael. Unfortunately for Julian, it wasn’t working.
Rahul had just picked up the phone in the living room when a shriek came from the bathroom. Rahul very nearly dropped the phone and bolted for Julian’s door, but the shriek was quickly followed up by a pitiful cry of “My hair!”
Rahul breathed a sigh of relief and ran a shaking hand over his face, trying to get his adrenaline back in check.
“They bloody well butchered it, didn’t they?” Julian went on, voice high-pitched and aghast. “A neo-punk shave is one thing, but I look like I’ve gone and escaped the asylum here. It’ll take me ages to grow this back. What am I supposed to do until then, eh?”
“Wear a hat!” Rahul shouted back.
“The derby has been making a comeback…” His voice drifted off as he began contemplating the fashion possibilities.
Rahul waited until he actually heard the shower running before he picked up the phone’s receiver again and dialled.
“‘Lo?” Came Mel’s breathless voice after an unconscionable number of rings.
“Oh, fucking finally,” Rahul snapped, a touch sharper than he’d meant to.
“Rahul? That you?”
“You bloody well believe it’s me.” Now that his anger had been stoked he was finding it harder to rein in. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to call you for hours.”
Somewhere in the background there was the low tenor of a male voice followed by an uncharacteristically girlish giggle from Mel. “I’ve been busy. What you want?”
Rahul had to throttle the phone receiver to keep from blowing a gasket. She’d been getting off with some bloke while her brother had nearly died, for Pete’s sake! When he felt slightly calmer, he returned the receiver to his ear. “I’ll have you know Julian’s been in hospital. If you care at all.”
“He’s been in hospital? What for?”
Rahul hesitated. Julian probably wouldn’t want her knowing the truth.
And telling her that Michael was responsible for Julian’s current state would probably jeopardise what Rahul was planning.
He decided that Mel didn’t need to know the cause, only the symptom.
For now, at least. “He’s had a concussion.
A severe one, the doctor says. He’s even had stitches in.
He was unconscious for hours. We’ve only just got back.
Doctor wanted to keep him overnight but Jules wouldn’t have it.
Do you know how many times I tried to ring you?
” That’s right. Turn it back around on her.
“You’re his only family. If something had happened and he hadn’t --”
“All right, all right. I’m sorry.” She did sound fairly contrite, though it probably had more to do with Rahul chastising her than actually regretting not being there for Julian. “How’s he doing now? Should I come over?”
“Don’t bother. He’s knackered. Needs sleep now. I’ll be staying with him, so you don’t have to worry about that either.”
“Jesus Christ, I said I was sorry, didn’t I? What more you want from me?”
To care, Rahul thought. But you can’t force someone to care, no matter how much you scold them.
Mel was always down on Julian for being vain, for being mercurial, for being naive.
She misinterpreted those traits as stupidity and immaturity, but worst of all she made Julian feel bad about himself because of it.
Rahul had never said anything because he felt it wasn’t his place to interfere.
They were family, after all. And he didn’t have real siblings of his own, so he would never truly understand the sort of complexity that comes with being a brother or sister.
But what he did understand was Julian. He knew when something hurt him even when he tried not to let on that it had.
And he knew that how Mel treated him did hurt him.
There was one thing Rahul couldn’t abide in this world, as bleak as it was, and it was people hurting Julian, no matter who they were.
“Whatever. Just come over tomorrow. He’ll want to see you when he’s feeling better. Anyway, he’s split with Michael --”
“You’re joking. Again?”
“It’s for good this time. Trust me. Thing is, I need to go round Michael’s and pick up a few things he left there.
Only I don’t have Michael’s address and Jules is fast asleep.
Given the, you know, massive head injury, I don’t want to bother him.
Do you happen to know Michael’s address by any chance?
Or know if Julian’s got it written down somewhere? ”
“Nah, sorry. I don’t -- Actually… I think he said he got a card or something from him. Maybe it’s got his address. If not, you can always wait until he wakes up, right?”
“I was hoping to knock it out before he woke up. So he won’t have anything to worry about, you know.”
“Yeah. ‘Course.” The male voice came again, preceding a muffled conversation and a rustling sound.
“Julian’s been hurt?”
Rahul was so surprised he momentarily didn’t recognize the voice.
“Yeah -- Kwambe? What the hell are you doing at Mel’s?” It was only after he’d said it aloud that he realised. Kwambe had gotten off with one of the girls from the club. Mel. And that’s why Rahul hadn’t been able to get a hold of her. She’d been “busy.” Busy.
“I, uh, I’ll tell you about it later. What’s going on? Is Julian okay?”
At least he sounded genuinely concerned. “Yeah, he’s all right now. Had a head injury. I’ll tell you about it later.”
“Fair do’s. Anything we can do?”
Oh, so they were a “we” now, were they? “No, I’ve got it under control. Thanks, though. Come over tomorrow with Mel. We can talk then.”
“Yeah, all right. Cheers, Rahul. Take care. Tell Julian I hope he feels better.”
“Will do.”
After hanging up, Rahul stood for a moment with his fingers buried in his hair, thinking.
A card. A business card probably. Where would Julian keep a business card?
But not just any business card. His (until recently) boyfriend’s business card.
Rahul’s mind was coming up blank. He couldn’t picture Julian having something as banal as a business card in his possession.
Willy Wonka’s Oompa Loompa flute? Sure. A fertility statue sculpted out of jam? Definitely. But a business card?
At that moment, the comforting white noise of the shower abruptly cut off. Rahul would have to leave his clandestine sleuthing for later.
He came into Julian’s room just as the latter was stepping out of the bathroom in a neon pink bathrobe and a cloud of steam.
He looked better, Rahul thought. Some of the colour was back in his cheeks and he’d parted his wet hair on the far side so that a sheet of it fell over the shaven portion, disguising it.
Rahul liked him with flat hair, though he was sure Julian wouldn’t approve.
When it was wet or he didn’t put any product in it, it fell in an ebony cascade down to his shoulders.
It was those moments when Rahul could see how truly long it was.
Julian twirled a damp strand around his finger self-consciously while Rahul watched him.
“Better?” Rahul asked.
“Much,” Julian sighed. Though his colour was back, the dark circles under his eyes remained. “I really needed that. Feel like a new man. A man called Stuart, who’s got a Karmann Ghia and gets to see his kids on weekends with court supervision.”
They both smiled weakly. Rahul didn’t attempt to keep the game going. He didn’t have the energy.
Julian went to his end table and extracted a bottle of paracetamol. He held it for a second, looking lost. “Hey, have you seen the medication the doctor prescribed? I don’t remember --”
“You mean this medication?” Rahul held up the small paper bag Julian had left on his vanity.
“Cheers, Rahul. You’re a diamond.”
After fetching him a glass of water, Julian dutifully took his pills. Sitting down on the edge of his bed, he fidgeted with the frayed hem of his robe.
“Ready for a rest?” Rahul asked him.
He nodded, damp fringe falling into his eyes.
“Something wrong, small fry?”
“Would you… would you stay with me? Until I fall asleep?”
Some of the tension that had been keeping Rahul’s body rigid bled away and fondness took its place. “‘Course I will. I was planning on staying…” He paused. “I was just planning on staying. Full stop.”
Julian nodded again, the hint of a smile at the edge of his upturned lips. “Good.”
Rahul kicked off his shoes and pulled his jumper over his head while Julian let his robe slide off.
Purplish bruises stood out starkly on his pale arms and back like burns on a custard.
Without thinking, Rahul reached forward to touch the hand-shaped imprint on his upper arm.
Julian flinched away before catching himself and stilling, bottom lip white under the sharp bite of his teeth.
“Jules,” Rahul began.
“Leave it, Rahul,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”
Rahul nodded and kept quiet as they slipped under the duvet together.
He wanted to wrap his arms around Julian and hold him close, but he was no longer sure what he was allowed.
He didn’t want to ask Julian and make him uncomfortable, or make him feel like he had to allow something he wasn’t comfortable with to make Rahul happy.
So he just lay on his back, practically vibrating with tension and nerves.
Julian lay on his side, facing away from him, duvet pulled up high enough to hide the marks on his skin, skin which had been unblemished save for Rahul’s love-bites until recently.
Skin Rahul longed to caress and kiss while whispering in Julian’s ear that everything was going to be all right, that he loved him and would protect him and fix everything.
He was going to fix it. He had to fix it.
He stared at the back of Julian’s head until his friend’s breath evened out and a light snoring began. Just to make sure, he whispered, “Jules, are you asleep?” When he received no reply, he added for good measure, “Depeche Mode is overrated.”
Nothing. He was well and truly asleep then.
Rahul crept out from under the covers as gingerly as he could manage, hyper-aware of Julian’s every breath, every twitch of movement.
As he’d lain there waiting for Julian to fall asleep, he’d come up with a few theories as to where Michael’s business card might be stashed.
He began by teasing open the drawer in the vanity -- the tabletop was a nonstarter as it was too cluttered with products to provide any sort of storage.
There was nothing in the drawer but more products and some sewing paraphernalia. Time for the next possible location.
He tiptoed to the end table, nerves vibrating the closer he got to Julian.
He was only a foot or so from his friend’s -- boyfriend’s?
-- sleeping face, even partially obscured as it was by duvet.
He opened the end table drawer slowly, painfully slowly, watching Julian’s face all the while for any sign of waking.
When it was finally open, he bit back his disappointment.
Just porn, condoms, Vaseline, and drugs (of both the legal and illegal variety).
That left one final place to search, as Julian kept neither an address book nor a rolodex.
He made his way slowly to the bathroom, but halfway there the floorboards gave a telltale groan.
It might otherwise be a sound so subtle as to go entirely unnoticed, but in the unnatural hush of Julian’s room, doing something untoward, it might as well be a screaming klaxon for all Rahul was concerned.
He froze in place and dared a look over his shoulder.
Julian’s brows furrowed and he rolled onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes.
Rahul waited.
No further movement.
He finally breathed. Then he crept the rest of the way into the bathroom.
He patted down the trousers Julian had left haphazardly on the floor and felt the hardness in one of the back pockets.
Wallet. He flipped it open and started scanning the card slots.
Julian didn’t have a credit card, so aside from his ID the slots were mostly taken up with tat -- coupons, old concert tickets, stickers with the backing still on.
But nestled among them was a smart, crimson rectangle.
Rahul swallowed down a bit of bile that had crept up into his throat before he slid it out.
Michael H. Chapel. Stoutwell Publishing LLC. Phone number. Address.
Gotcha.