House of Windows (29 page)

‘It was pathetic really,’ he spat, voice low and vicious, before Tim or Bill could step forward. ‘It was all just an accident. She wasn’t hurt and the fish … they were just
fish
. But she kept screaming. She screamed and screamed and screamed until he managed to get some of her pills down her throat. Then he took her straight to the hospital and I … I cleared up the fish. I cleared up the fish and it never even occurred to me that that was it. That was the last thing between us. And I was so angry with her. So
angry
with her for only being upset when it affected
her
. I’d wished for there to be a row. A great big row so she’d have to do something. Have to see that I …’ He stopped on a gasp, trying to swallow down the sob in his voice.

Bill stepped forwards to curl his fingers gently about Nick’s arm, trying to turn him away from the wall. ‘Nick, when you said that Roger hated you—’

‘I didn’t
care
about that,’ Nick near-shouted, pushing Bill’s hand off his arm. ‘Why would I care about
that
? I hated him back. He wasn’t
anything
to me and I wasn’t anything to him. He wished I’d never been born and I wished she’d never met him. But I didn’t
care
. It didn’t
matter
that he hated me. It
mattered that my
mum
didn’t care that he did. It mattered that she didn’t care about me at all.’ His voice broke on the words.

He wrenched away from Bill’s hands when he reached out again.

‘No, don’t touch me!’ he shouted, raising an arm to ward him off. ‘You shouldn’t touch me,’ he gasped, voice hoarse with fury. ‘You don’t
understand
. I
wanted
them to fight. I
wanted
her to be upset. When he hit her, part of me was glad!’ The shout dissolved into an ugly gulp. ‘You see?
That’s
why Roger hated me. He knew what I was inside, what an awful person I was …’ He hissed out a breath, sobbed in another. ‘But at least he hated me for it.’

His eyes were liquid with tears when he looked up. ‘You know when they say that the opposite of love is indifference, not hate … well, they’re
right
. She didn’t even care enough to hate me. But I hate
her
. And you can’t grieve someone you hate, Bill. Even if you should,’ he whispered. ‘So I don’t need to talk. I don’t need to come to terms with it. I just need it to be different.’ He closed his eyes, letting the tears standing in them spill over. ‘And I know that’s stupid and pointless because no one can turn back time or change the past. I
know
it. But I can’t seem to
feel
it because I need it to be different. I need
her
to have been different.’

For a moment they stood silently in the darkness, then Bill sighed. ‘I know it sometimes doesn’t seem like it, Nick, but Mike
does
care about you. He just doesn’t know what to do.’

‘And you do? Tim does?’ Nick asked, gesturing roughly
at Tim, standing silent in the corner. ‘You still
try
. You still do
something
. You’re here, Bill. You’re
here
,’ he said softly, as much wonder as pain in his voice. ‘You don’t have to be, but you are and … I want that to be enough,’ his voice quavered on the word, ‘but I’m not sure what to
do
. I don’t know how being a family
works
.’

‘Ah, Nick.’ Bill drew him gently into his arms, smiled wanly over his head as Tim stepped forward to put a hand on Nick’s back.

‘What are you doing here?’ Ange asked, when Nick opened the front door. ‘And don’t say you live here. I thought today was your dad’s big day and you had that fancy do at his law firm in London to go to? Or is it tomorrow?’

‘No. It’s today.’ Nick turned away, leaving her to close the door. ‘I want him to see how it feels when I say I’ll be there but never turn up. Are you going to tell me to rise above?’

‘Hey,’ Ange said, reaching out to catch at his hand, ‘I’m on your side, Nickie. If it’s the right thing for you that’s all I care about.’

‘Oh.’

She smiled, patting his cheek, then cuddled into his side as she tugged him into the sitting room and through to the kitchen, where Tim was putting on the kettle. ‘Good boy,’ she said, leaning over to kiss Tim’s cheek. ‘Or maybe not so much.
I see you’ve made lots of lovely washing up for me to do,’ she added as she peered into the sink.

‘Have I ever asked you to do our washing up?’

‘Of
course
you haven’t asked! But you know I love you both, so
naturally
I’m going to find it impossible to leave you living in squalor.’ With a sigh she tossed her bag on to a chair and rolled up her sleeves. ‘How
old
is this sponge? It is un
utterably
disgusting. Do you
want
to give yourself botulism poisoning?’

‘I don’t think you get spontaneous botulism,’ Nick said, looking dubiously at the sponge.

‘This is not spontaneous,’ said Ange, brandishing it. ‘This is a work of many weeks of slovenly … slovenliness. You are both
revolting
. Now find me chocolate. Fetch! Think of it as tribute, laid at the feet of a superior being – no, not literally! Not on
this
floor!’ she wailed when Tim made to put a packet of chocolate fingers by her toes.

‘She is
never
to be allowed minions,’ Tim whispered to Nick.

‘And what, exactly, are you?’ Ange asked.

‘Friends?’

Ange opened her mouth, finger upraised, then stopped. ‘Oh. True. Can’t you be both? Sometimes you manage both.’

That’s mostly because you have a tendency to walk all over us
, Tim muttered.

‘You’re mumbling!’ shouted Nick above the roar of the kettle as he set out their favourite mugs.

‘It’s practically a rule in this household. I was fine until I met you.’

‘Oh, what an out-and-out fib,’ said Ange. ‘Now— Oh, Nickie, what is it?’ she asked, as Nick turned away from the kettle suddenly, looking pained.

‘I’ve got to go to London.’

Ange beamed and threw her arms around him. ‘Of course you do. Now where’s your wallet? Is your suit ready?’ She put a finger to his lips before he could speak. ‘Just smile and nod. Well, or shake your head if your shirt isn’t ironed and you need a hand because, trust me, this is a Once in a Lifetime ironing offer.’

Tim groaned. ‘Give me the shirt. You do
not
want to let her near an iron.’

‘Just because— OK, fair enough. Tim will iron your shirt and I will … Um, Tim can tie your tie and I can …’ She made a complex gesture in the air. The boys stared at her. ‘I’ll just be the cheering section, shall I?’

‘Just go and change, Nick,’ said Tim.

Ten minutes later, Ange was patting down Nick’s pockets, much to his mortification, as she checked to see that he had his phone and wallet and keys.

‘Stop fishing in his pockets like Gollum looking for the One Ring. Ange, he’s not big enough for you to climb on him like that,’ Tim said, tugging her back and wrapping his arms around her.

‘I’m helping!’ she squealed, bouncing on the spot.

Tim pressed his cheek to her hair. ‘You’re endearing in a
scary sort of way, but helping … not so much. Say “Happy Making Named Partner Day” to your dad from me,’ he told Nick. ‘I won’t let her go until you’re safely out the door.’

Nick lifted his hand to the latch, then let it drop again. ‘I’m such an idiot. I know it won’t really make that big a difference to him whether or not I go, but I’d rather have what I can get than nothing at all. Change the things you can, right? You probably think that’s stupid but—’

‘No, Nick. We don’t think that’s stupid at all,’ Tim said gently. ‘Go on now. The two of us will feel horribly abandoned, but what can you do when you’re in demand?’

Tim blew out a sigh when the door crunched shut. ‘At least he won’t spend the rest of the evening pacing. Or sighing. I swear, a hundred times this afternoon. God, I hope it was the right thing to do, to encourage him to go.’

Ange turned to frown up at him. ‘Why wouldn’t it be? It’s an important day for Michael. Of course he has to be there.’

Tim shook his head. ‘You don’t see it, Ange, but Nick gets so excited every time Michael comes home two nights in a row. He does this thing, you know, when we’ve been out and we’re coming home: just as we turn the corner into our road, his shoulders come up and he peers round the bend. At first I thought he was worried about finding the house had been burgled again. Took me ages to realise he was looking to see if the lights were on ’cos Michael’s home. It’s like he can’t stop himself from hoping, even though he knows better.’

‘Well maybe one time his dad
will
get it together and
it really will be the start of something better,’ Ange said, following Tim back to the kitchen.

‘Nick’s been living with Michael since he was eleven. If it hasn’t changed by now—’

‘You’re not jealous, are you?’

‘Why would I be jealous? I may not have parents any more, but at least mine wanted me— Forget I said that,’ Tim said, squeezing his eyes shut. ‘I never said that.’

‘I didn’t mean like
that
. I meant that if Michael were around a bit more, then Nick wouldn’t be.’

‘Oh, thanks, Ange. That’s really nice. Like I’d prefer Nick to be unhappy just so he’s available at my convenience. Thanks for the charming compliment.’ He lurched to his feet and stalked out of the room, drowning whatever she called after him in the noise of his footsteps on the stairs.

In the bathroom, he let the cold water run over his hands, splashed some on his cheeks, across his forehead. In the mirror, his face looked flushed and hurt and guilty.

Nick didn’t say anything when Tim put the vodka down on the patio. When he lifted the bottle for the first long, deep swallow, Nick turned to watch him, but by the time he lowered it again, Nick was looking up at the stars.

The bite and burn were a pain he could grasp: tangible, specific. Something to distract him from the other pain that just
was
. As if it were too huge for him to feel.

When he lowered the bottle for the fifth time, Nick held out his hand. Wiping his sleeve across his mouth, Tim passed it over, watching as Nick sipped, grimaced, then sipped again before handing it back.

‘It’s nicer with orange,’ Nick said.

‘I’m not drinking it for the taste.’ His voice came out sharp and unpleasant.

Nick shrugged. ‘Doesn’t mean it can’t taste nice too.’

Tim sighed, glared down at the bottle. ‘Maybe next year. Perhaps it’ll make me a nicer drunk.’ He took another swallow then set the bottle clumsily aside, letting his hands drop between his knees as he craned back to look up at the sky. ‘Stupid light pollution. Saw a picture of the stars above Lake Titicaca in Peru once. Like looking through a telescope and we’ve got …’ He made an uncoordinated gesture.

‘Yeah, but Cambridge isn’t about the sky, it’s about the ground. The buildings, the gardens … It’s as beautiful as anything man-made anywhere on
Earth
and we get to go pretty much wherever we want, whenever we want.’

‘Not in the mood to count my blessings,’ Tim growled. ‘I’ll feel lucky and privileged tomorrow.’

Nick flicked a glance over at him but didn’t comment. Tim watched him lean back on his hands, swinging his feet over the edge of the drop-off to the lower half of the garden. For once he looked perfectly at ease, as if he were quite happy to sit there and watch the dull grey and orange sky until morning.

Tim took a fast, burning pull from the bottle, hunching over to stare down at the grass below his bare feet.

‘My sister called,’ he said, though he hadn’t intended to voice the thought. ‘Made everything worse. She sounded so happy. I want to be happy for her. Just not today.’ He didn’t want to hear about how she was starting to build a new family so she could forget about the one she’d lost and left behind in England. ‘I knew when she went over there that she wasn’t coming back but at the wedding … The way she stood there
with her in-laws, glowing as she looked up at them … She only misses us now when she has to.’

He sighed, mumbling a curse when he heard his breath hitch. From a surly drunk to a weepy one: what a gamut of fun. A bark of laughter escaped, startling him. And his breath hitched again.

Nick had gone very still next to him.

Something touched his sleeve tentatively.

‘I know we’re both manly macho guys,’ a nervous intake of breath, ‘but I don’t mind, you know, if you need a hug once in a while.’

His own words, but in Nick’s voice, little more than a whisper, hesitant and shy.

He wanted to laugh, wanted to say, ‘My night on the rota?’ and carry it off as a joke, maybe accept the briefest of mutual back-slapping embraces, but the laugh came out wrong and the words didn’t come out at all.

He had turned before he knew it, hands clenched in the back of Nick’s T-shirt, pressing his face into Nick’s shoulder.

For just a second, Nick froze. Then he relaxed and his hands came up to grasp Tim’s shirt in return.

Nick must have felt the sob, even though Tim gritted his teeth over it, choked the sound back down his throat.

Nick’s fingers flexed ever so slightly against his back. Then, with a soft sigh he rested his head against Tim’s shoulder in return, tightened his grip.

The pain burned in his throat, behind his eyes, in his chest, for what could have been an hour or a handful of minutes.

When he finally pulled away, Nick matched him movement for movement until they were sitting side by side once more. For a span of heartbeats, Tim felt Nick tense on the verge of speaking, then he sat back and turned his attention to the sky once more.

A plane blinked mournfully from one horizon to the other.

An hour later, Nick stretched with a huge yawn. ‘How about some hot chocolate?’

Looking up into his face, Tim saw nothing but an easy smile: no comments, no questions.

He nodded.

In the morning, Tim made himself two extra cups of coffee. He didn’t thank Nick and Nick didn’t ask him if he was all right.