What Remains (29 page)

Rupert, apparently—

Stop thinking about sex.

In an effort to distract himself, Jodi bypassed the couch and the nap he could’ve done with and went into the office. He sat in front of the iMac and tapped the keyboard to activate it. Like his laptop, the screen flashed to life with a photograph of Rupert, this time sitting on a wall in full fire gear, helmet and all, smeared in soot and grime, drinking from a grubby mug while he spoke with another firefighter whose face Jodi couldn’t see. It was obvious neither man had been aware of the photograph being taken, and Jodi wondered how the image had come to be on his computer. The logical answer, that he’d taken it himself, was equal parts embarrassing and amusing.

Looks like I really was the creepy one.

Jodi launched the web design software he’d been trying to reacquaint himself with, and Rupert and his mystery friend were swallowed up by toolbars and coding widgets. He studied the project he’d been working on—a contract Sophie had told him he’d lost when he’d dropped off the map after the accident. The brief, as far as Jodi could tell, had been to build an innovative site for the company’s new line of pop-up tents. The brand was aimed at children, and Jodi’s initial take on the project, started nearly a year ago, had been a minimalist black-and-white effort with few avenues for users to do more than add products to baskets and pay.

It hadn’t struck Jodi as very innovative, or imaginative. He didn’t know much about children, but he thought of Indie and his mind filled with colour, possibility, and light. Question was, how did he translate that into a functional website without giving himself a migraine?

He spent a few hours trying to find out, until he ran into a coding wall he couldn’t guess his way around. It happened from time to time, and he’d learned the only solution was to admit defeat and look it up.

Didn’t make it any less frustrating, though. He pushed his chair back from the computer and scanned the shelves behind him, searching for the book he’d apparently once told Rupert was his tech bible. It wasn’t where he thought he remembered putting it. He searched the shelf below and the one above, but came up blank. Then his gaze fell on a flowery book that was so drastically out of place with the tech magazines and software manuals lining the shelves, Jodi couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it before.

He plucked the book from the shelf and turned it over in his hands. It appeared to be a photo album. He flipped through a few pages. Images of Rupert and him stared back at him. Jodi sat, turning to the beginning. A child’s—Indie’s—scrawl covered the page.

Dear Daddy and Jodi,

Here is your anniversary present. Auntie Sophie helped me make it. Daddy, you need to smile bigger. Jodi is beating you. Lots of love and crunchy cuddles, Indie (and Auntie Sophie) xxx

“Crunchy cuddles”? Jodi was officially mystified, but that was quickly forgotten as a snap of him and Rupert, taken somewhere in the city—Hyde Park, according to Indie—caught his attention. The photo was dated June 2010, six months after he and Rupert had met, and given how they were stretched out on the grass with their arms around each other, it was clear they’d already been madly in love.

Jodi turned a page, and another, and another, and discovered a timeline of images that plainly showed the love and life he and Rupert had shared. His chest tightened, and he thought he would cry, but instead of tears came laughter, and a smile so wide he thought his face might split. He’d loved Rupert then, and he loved him still. The remnants of their broken dreams lay scattered all around, and were laid bare on the glossy pages of the photo album, but what remained was something beautiful, and for the first time he could remember, he felt proud of who they’d been then, and who they were now.

We really are going to be okay.

Jodi shut the album with a yawn that made his jaw pop. He checked the time. It was after midnight. Shit, how had that happened? He stood up. The room tilted a little, like it often did when he was overtired, and the warning throb of an impending headache buzzed down the side of his face.
Great.
Time for bed and a handful of codeine.

He took the drugs and went to the bedroom, scanning the shelves for any other errant photo albums he hadn’t yet noticed. There were none. He tried under the bed, remembering a large plastic box that, in his haste to hoover like a madman a few weeks ago, he’d forgotten to open. The box rattled as he pulled it toward him. Intrigued, he lifted the lid. A traffic cone–sized dildo, amongst other . . . things, greeted him.

Startled, Jodi dropped the lid and shoved the box under the bed. Jesus. Was that his? Rupert’s? And what the fuck was it for? Like he didn’t know. But the trouble was, he didn’t. In theory, Jodi knew who put what where, but as he pictured Rupert’s cock, and the giant dildo, he couldn’t imagine enjoying having either one crammed inside him.

But, for once, sex wasn’t what he wanted to think about. He pushed the box to the back of the “Rupert Files” and crawled into bed. His vision was too blurry to watch TV, so he turned off the lamp and closed his eyes, ignoring the strange falling sensation that made the bed feel like a magic carpet. He blocked out the album and tried to make peace with the bewilderment that accompanied the joy warming his veins. The album documented the entire five years he was missing—where they’d been, what they’d done, and how they felt. Undeniable love and laughter seeped out of every page, which left him with just one question: why the hell hadn’t anyone shown him the album before?

Rupert had never finished a night shift in such a good mood. He emerged from the station to a haze of dawn sunshine, and could hardly bear to head straight underground to the Tube.

Feeling reckless, he ditched it at Highbury and jogged the remaining five miles home. It took longer than a Tube ride, but running cleared his head of the long night’s work, and running home to Jodi’s arms seemed somehow fitting. If Jodi was awake, at least.

Rupert hoped he was. He’d grown indulgently used to finding Jodi waiting for him in the kitchen, greeting him with a sleepy smile and a cup of the terrible concoction Jodi called tea. All this time, he’d thought he’d known what he was missing, but now that he had some of it back, it was clear his own memories had done Jodi’s way of loving him no justice. Far from being a token gesture of their old life, this brave new world felt somehow more real.

He let himself into the flat. It was dark and still, with no sign of Jodi being up just yet. Rupert swallowed his disappointment and went to the kitchen, flipping the kettle on. A cuppa while curled up beside a sleeping Jodi sounded like heaven, then perhaps he’d get a few hours shut-eye too. They had all day in the world to fuck around, right?

Rupert brewed his tea with a smirk. Rebuilding their physical relationship was becoming less terrifying by the day, and he wondered if today would be the day fate gave them the green light to move on.

His mind still in the gutter, he took his tea into the bedroom. Jodi was hunched up under the covers, the duvet over his head. Rupert set his mug down. “Morning, boyo.”

The greeting was whispered, but it was usually enough to bring Jodi round.

Jodi didn’t move. Rupert leaned over the bed and gently drew the covers back. “Jodi?”

“Rupe?” Jodi moaned and hid his eyes.

Rupert grasped his shoulder. Despite the heavy duvet, Jodi’s skin was clammy and cold. “I’m here. What’s the matter? Can you look at me a sec?”

Jodi raised his head and gazed at Rupert with one eye, the other half-closed and drooping, pulling the left side of Jodi’s face with it.

Rupert’s stomach dropped through the floor.
Jesus. He’s had a fucking stroke.
“Jodi? I need you to tell me what’s happened, okay?”

“Head hurts,” Jodi slurred. “Can’t see you.”

“What about your arms and legs? Can you move them?”

Jodi clumsily shifted his right arm, covering his face with his hand, and mumbled something nonsensical, until he broke off with a groan so full of pain it was like a bullet to Rupert’s heart.

He covered Jodi with the duvet again and retrieved his phone from his pocket, dialling 999 with his thumb. The operator connected him to the ambulance control room. “He has a TBI,” Rupert explained after listing Jodi’s symptoms. “I’m a firefighter with Green Watch at Brixton, and I think he might’ve had a stroke.”

The operator dispatched help and stayed on the line. “Try not to panic. It might look worse than it is.”

“We ain’t that lucky.”

“Come on now. Check his breathing again.”

Rupert obeyed, following her instructions until he heard sirens outside. “They’re here.”

He dashed to the hall and buzzed the paramedics in. He bid the operator good-bye, then listed Jodi’s history and symptoms as they moved swiftly to the bedroom. The younger ambulance technician took one glance at Jodi and disappeared to fetch the stretcher, and the frown on the remaining paramedic did little to quell Rupert’s fears.

“Has anything like this happened before?” the paramedic asked.

“No.” Rupert eyed the ECG monitor, though he had no idea what he was looking for. “He’s had some seizures and headaches, some muscle spasms and dizziness, but nothing like this.”

“We’ll take him to King’s,” the paramedic said. “They’ve got his history and better TBI facilities. How long was he home alone for?”

“All night. He could’ve been like this all fucking night—” Rupert clapped a hand over his mouth.

The paramedic grasped his shoulder. “We don’t know that for sure. This could’ve happened ten minutes before you walked in. We’ll get him to King’s as fast as we can. If this is a stroke, there’s every chance they can reverse it.”

Easy for him to say, but as Jodi stared blankly at Rupert with his one working eye, Rupert knew the dash to King’s was his only chance. “Okay. Let’s go.”

The ambulance crew hooked Jodi up to an oxygen machine and loaded him onto a stretcher. Jodi reacted little until they got outside into the bright sunshine, then he cried out and lurched off the side of the stretcher. Rupert caught him. “Easy, boyo.”

“Hurts, Rupe . . . please.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry. They’ll give you something as soon as we get to the hospital. Please, Jodi. You need to let us get you there, okay?”

Rupert shielded Jodi from the sun as the crew loaded him into the ambulance. Inside, he knelt by the stretcher. Jodi curled into the foetal position and reached out his right hand. Rupert took it in his own shaking grasp, squeezed it tight, and brushed Jodi’s sweat-dampened hair out of his face. “I’ve got you. I promise.”

The paramedic touched Rupert’s shoulder. “You need to sit down and put a seat belt on.”

Rupert shook his head. “No. I’m staying here.”

“Sir—”

“No!”

The paramedic let it go. Rupert wondered briefly if he’d come across this crew before, but London was a big city with thousands of paramedics working the streets. Rupert had forgotten more of them than he actually knew. He squeezed Jodi’s hand again. “Just hold on, boyo. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Jodi curled tighter into a ball and pressed his head into Rupert’s chest. Rupert rubbed his neck and flinched. Though cold to the touch, the tension in Jodi’s body was terrifying. Was that a stroke symptom? Rupert had no idea, and the ingrained professional calm he’d called on to get this far abruptly evaporated, and blind panic set in. Was this it? Was everything they’d been through not enough? Had the past few weeks been nothing but a cruel trick? For a moment, nausea overwhelmed him, but as the ambulance rumbled to life and hit the road, burning around corners, sirens blaring, the task of keeping himself upright became all-consuming.

The ambulance made the twenty-five-minute drive in eighteen. A team of A & E doctors and nurses were ready, and Rupert was pushed aside. He backed into the wall, trying to keep out of the way until the paramedic took his arm and led him out into the corridor.

“They won’t let you stay in there. Here you go . . .” The paramedic opened a door to an empty waiting room. “Wait here. A doctor will come with news as soon as they can.”

He left. Rupert fell into a chair and put his head in his hands. He couldn’t do this, not again. He couldn’t sit in this damn fucking chair and wait to be told there was little left of the man who’d carried his heart from the moment they’d met.
Sophie. I need Sophie.
Rupert pulled his phone from his pocket, but it wasn’t his phone. In his panic as they’d left the flat, he’d grabbed Jodi’s instead. Rupert tapped in Jodi’s passcode, hoping Jodi hadn’t changed it since the accident. The phone lit up. Rupert found Sophie’s number and waited for her to answer. She didn’t, so Rupert killed the call. He couldn’t leave her a voice mail like this. Not again.

He shoved the phone back in his pocket and got up, drifting to the window. Outside, Camberwell was already alive—buzzing with the colourful chaos that was unique to South London. An Afro-Caribbean man crossed the road with an elderly dog. He stopped and shared a few words with a younger, Eastern European girl. They parted with a laugh and wave, and Rupert envied them so much his bones hurt. He’d forgotten what it was like to smile without a care in the world.