Chapter Seven Bah Humbug

Chapter seven

Bah Humbug

Rick watched Jayden go with a fresh sting of rejection.

He should have known. He should have realised that Jayden didn’t want him. Why would he? Young and stunning, he had his whole life ahead of him. He probably had a ton of offers from men who were worthy of him. Could well be running off to one now. Jayden had been humouring him. He’d needed Rick to keep his job and so had used Rick’s obvious attraction to him to coerce him into becoming a better Santa.

“Damn it,” he muttered, his words dissolving into the misty air.

Duped again.

Last Christmas…

His boots clicked over the wet pavement as he walked past the buzzing bars, becoming a staccato accompaniment to the cacophony of London’s theatre district. Every laugh bubbling up from couples passing by him felt like an affront. A personal attack. Every shared smile was a reminder of what he’d lost. Never had.

Companionship. Friendship. Love .

His strides grew longer, more aimless, and he sought solace among the throngs of theatre-goers. He didn’t want to go home. Not to an empty flat. An empty bed. This had once been his old stomping ground. Where he’d felt as if he was someone. Something . A success. Only for it to be ripped from him because he was too stupid. Too na?ve. Too wrapped up in someone who wouldn’t have ever felt the same.

Despite what he’d said.

As if the world was hellbent on mocking him, the Harold Pinter Theatre with its posters announcing ‘Derek Thompson as Ebenezer Scrooge’ came into view. His aimless walk had to have brought him here, of all places. Rick’s heart clenched, a cocktail of envy and old wounds curdling deep. Derek fucking Thompson. As the lead role in A Christmas Carol . How very apt. Although, unlike his title role, Derek had yet to undergo the profound experience that would provide him with redemption from his greed.

Ever the charmer with a smile that could sell seats, Derek’s fingerprints were all over Rick’s downfall. Not only his fingerprints, either. There were leftover remnants of Derek clinging to the sheets in Rick’s apartment that, no matter how many times he washed them, Rick swore he could smell his betrayal as if he could bottle it and sell it in Harvey Nichols. It was stamped all over his heart, too. Yet there he was, unscathed and basking in the limelight while Rick lurked in the shadows, rejected and redundant.

Was he always destined to be used?

The pull was inexplicable, though. Like a child to a candy cane. Or more, one damaged soul seeking another. Rick should turn away, leave the past buried beneath stage curtains and spilled wine. There was nothing good to come of him being here. But the lure of confrontation, of witnessing Derek’s artifice up close, was too potent to resist. Buried away for far too long without a word, without an olive branch, a hoist back onto the stage, or even a thank you, Rick needed closure.

Or perhaps he was just gluttonous to witness a poor performance.

As if.

Pulling up the collar on his trench coat, he stepped into the foyer, fully expecting no seats to be available and forcing an end to his absurdity. But as he approached the booth and asked for a ticket, the girl behind granted him a seat in the back row. He pushed on through the foyer, plush red carpets muffling his footsteps and the golden glow of ornate chandeliers dangling over him in rich mockery. As much as he wanted Derek to see him, to know what he’d done to him, the apprehension of seeing him again had him fighting for air. And he slipped into his seat, cloaked by the dimming house lights, for the curtain to rise and reveal a bleak Christmas Eve in Victorian London, the interior of Ebenezer Scrooge’s dreary office. Rick clenched his fists as waves of devastating anger replaced his debilitating pain.

Because there he was. Derek . Commanding. Gallant. Capturing every bit of the enthralling leading man he’d been all those years ago when Rick had met him for the first time. He took the stage with the same swagger that had once made Rick’s heart race with camaraderie, competition, and something that had turned visceral. Intense.

Passionate .

He screwed up his ticket in his hand, memories clawing their way to the surface despite his best efforts to suppress them. There was no whisky here. No cheeky elf to capture his attention away from the demise he’d suffered at the hands of that man on stage, with the lights dancing over him, casting deep shadows over his face to make him appear miserly and old, despite him being anything but. In real life, Derek was handsome. Charming. Generous with his affections. Too generous. And memories tumbled through Rick as if he were flipping through a picture book—the late night rehearsals, the shared dreams, the betrayal searing through him like a seamstress’s knife through a silken costume. Like the silk shackles that Rick had playfully wrapped around Derek’s wrists to tie him to his bedposts in the hope he could keep him there willingly.

He couldn’t.

Rick closed his eyes, the recollection too painful.

Derek delivered his lines with practiced ease, the audience hanging on every word, every gesture, and Rick had to once again look. He couldn’t deny Derek’s talent. It was cruel. Punishing. For the duration of the first act, Rick was in awe again, forgetting the serpent that crawled behind the merciless charm. And he leaned forward, admiring the skill as much as he now loathed the man who’d been in and out of his bed with as much competence and readiness as he roamed a stage.

Despite his protestations to the contrary.

The scene ended, applause thundering around the theatre, but Rick remained seated, motionless except for the slow tap of his finger on the armrest, a rhythm to ground him amidst his rage.

He should leave. At the interval, he should go home.

But he didn’t.

Ever a glutton for punishment and a stubborn slave to beautiful things, he stayed exactly where he was.

* * * *

Jayden pushed open the door to his room, the click of the latch bouncing off the empty hallway. He dumped the plastic bag of Pot Noodles he’d bought from the Londis on the corner onto his desk cluttered with scripts, textbooks and the notes he’d made for his final dissertation and yawned. Tired and weary, he filled his tiny kettle from the sink in the corner of his room and put it onto boil. What a way to spend a Saturday evening. Isolated within cell-like walls, eating cardboard noodles. An hour ago, he’d been sipping on fine wine with exceptional company.

He growled, scrubbing his hands over his face. He hoped Rick didn’t take his leaving as a brush off and saw it for what it was—prolonging the inevitable. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that.

At least he hoped so.

He hoped he’d left Rick hankering for more and eager to see him on Monday.

Kicking off his trainers, his stomach growled. The kettle reached its climax—lucky fucker. Jayden poured the boiled water into the chicken and mushroom pot, then sat on the end of his bed to eat, springs creaking under his arse in protest. Not even his bed wanted him here. He imagined Rick had a nice bed. Maybe a four poster. One with a memory foam mattress with the dips of past lovers still indented into it. He bet Rick was a passionate lover. Giving his all in bed as he did to whatever character he was playing.

Fuck, he was hard.

He blew into the pot and fished out his phone. Having exchanged numbers on the first day in case of any absences, he had Rick’s number. He could text him something flirty. Something dirty. Something punny. Like, does Santa land on the roof because he likes it on top? That could kill two birds with one stone. Find out which way Rick favoured before it could become a potential obstacle.

Jayden shovelled in some noodles with a wicked grin as he went into a text box.

His phone rang in his hand.

“Shit.” He thought about not answering it.

Sadly, it wasn’t Rick with the same idea. And there was never anything good that came from responding to a late night call from Aaron. The kid from his care home wasn’t his responsibility. Not anymore. Not that he ever had been. But having had that sentence used about him often enough, Jayden accepted the call on speaker to drop the phone beside him so he could still eat. “What’s up?” he asked, slurping up the noodles.

“Where you at?”

“My room. What do you want?”

“You coming out tonight?”

“No.”

“Which room do you have now? I’ll come by the uni.”

“No.”

There was a pause and Jayden could feel the thuds of a baseline and distant music. Aaron was already out. As he inevitably would be on a Saturday night in the city. The hairs on the nape of Jayden’s neck stood to attention, expecting the next request.

“I need to ask you something.”

“Ask me.”

“Can you come out?”

“No.”

“Jayden, fucking hell, I ain’t gonna jump ya. Just come out. It’s important.”

“You in trouble?”

“No.”

“Then no, I can’t.”

“I can get myself in trouble.”

“Aaron—is that still your name?”

“The one I’m using for now, yeah. First name in the alphabet. Easier, innit?”

“Aaron, if you want to ask me something, ask me over the phone.”

“Either you come out now, or I’ll track you down at the mall you’ve been working at. Heard you’re an elf,” Aaron barked a laugh. “Bet you look cute as fuck in that outfit.”

Jayden closed his eyes, finishing the dregs of his pot noodle. He couldn’t have Aaron come seek him out at the mall. Disaster followed him as if it turned him on. It probably did. And as another care kid, having been in the same children’s home in North Woolwich with him for a while, Jayden knew enough about his past to know it wasn’t his fault. He also felt a smidgen of responsibility. Jayden had been like the older brother to him and regretted the few times he and Aaron had hooked up. He shouldn’t have done it. But Aaron had a persuasion that could tempt even the most hardened of deniers. And a nonchalant attitude to sex, relationships, and any sort of attachment to anyone or anything.

Those things were part and parcel, though.

Because of all that and because he had zero else to do on a Saturday night other than stare at four walls and think about Rick, he said, “Where are you?”

“Inferno. See you in a few.” Aaron clicked off the call.

“Shit.” Fucking Inferno. The nightclub. He checked the time on his phone. If he ran, he could get in before they started charging.

He chucked the pot noodle in his bin, wriggled out of his hoodie and opened his wardrobe. He couldn’t go clubbing in a hoodie, no matter how cold it was. A short-sleeve shirt it was, and he threw it on, grabbed his keys and phone, then rushed out of his room and legged it onto the desolate campus. Fuck, it was cold. He hadn’t bothered with a coat, unable to afford the cloakroom fee and nine-thirty p.m. in December had it at frostbiting temperatures.

Three tube stops later, and he was almost back where his night had started. A few more loops and curls around Soho, and the entrance to Inferno came into view, a maw that swallowed him whole, thumping bass a heartbeat under his skin. He came here with Nita occasionally. With the members of the university’s LGBT society. And had with Aaron before he was legal. Aaron was as persuasive as he was damaged. And Inferno was the place for young queer kids to find their tribe.

And the men who preyed on them.

He bolted through the doors to meet the demand of the entrance fee. He hadn’t made it before the ten p.m. cut off. Reluctantly, he handed over the second tenner Nita had lent him, that had dwindled to twenty quid and three pot noodles to get him until next Friday’s payday. Trying not to think about how he’d survive on that, he wove through bodies slick with sweat, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and anticipation, as his eyes adjusted to the strobe lights. He knew where Aaron would be and he leaned on the fencing circling the dancefloor to search for him.

There he was. A vision amidst the chaos. The eighteen-year-old pale white beauty, his hair, once bottle-blond that had been almost peroxide, now dyed in favour of dusky pink and catching the light like a beacon, dancing among the throng. Surrounded by men. Not unusual.

But Aaron didn’t go there to dance with them. He danced on his own. To his own rhythm. His own beat. His own need. He had an invisible barrier around him. A repellent to keep everyone just out of reach. A ‘touch me and die’ vibe that allowed him to take centre stage, feel the music and gyrate with no one getting too close. To touch or to find out more. It was fascinating to watch. Men came close. They checked him out. Tried to catch his attention. But Aaron’s detachment threw them back as if stung by an electric fence.

Unless he wanted any of them, of course.

He rarely did.

After a while, Aaron’s gaze met Jayden’s.

“ What ?” Jayden mouthed to him, hands gripping the surrounding barrier.

Aaron beckoned him down, shaking his tush as if that would have Jayden like all the other blokes in here, tongues hanging out and leaping on him. It was a moment of consent for Jayden to come into his space and join him for a while. He didn’t. Instead, he pointed at the invisible watch on his wrist and Aaron peeled himself away from the bodies on the dancefloor to make his way over.

“Nice hair,” Jayden remarked over the thuds of the bass.

Aaron raked a hand through it, the sweat forming the pink strands into a quiff. “Got bored.”

Jayden nodded. The pink could have been mistaken for Aaron trying to draw attention to himself. Not that he needed it. All eyes drew to him without him even trying. But the pink, along with the sparkling diamond nose ring and the simple tattoo of the Mars symbol on his neck—he had another tattoo somewhere way more private that Jayden had no clue what it symbolised—was his way of making people look at anything other than his face. As though hiding in plain sight. No one knew Aaron . No one knew who he really was. Jayden was one of the few who knew he was a protected person. A name change. Whilst he didn’t know the ins and outs of why, nor did he know his real name, he’d been around enough children from heinous home lives to know Aaron was a byproduct of that.

Which is why he was here. Because Aaron had no one else. No matter how much he painted the picture of independence.

“Fancy a drink?” Aaron asked, angling his head to the bar. “I can get us them for free.”

“I know you can, but no. Thanks. Just tell me why I’m here.”

“I need money.”

Jayden’s chest rose with the force of his inhalation. “Don’t we all,” he said between gritted teeth.

“I know, but this is important.”

Jayden narrowed his eyes. “Tell me it ain’t drugs. County lines?”

“No.” Aaron’s expression was dead serious, a stark contrast to the faux mirth he usually had dancing in his eyes.

“Then what’s it for? Aren’t you still at Rainbow gaff?”

“Yeah. Until I finish school, then they’ll kick me to the curb.”

“So you don’t need food. Rent? What do you need it for?”

Aaron hesitated, his gaze darting away before returning with intensity, as though he had the real kid in front of him and not the persona given to him in his Child Protection Plan. “UCAS.”

Jayden widened his eyes. “You’re applying to uni ?”

“Yeah and the deadline is January, but I have to get it in earlier to get my tutor to write a recommendation.”

“You can get the fee waived. Ask your social worker.”

Aaron shook his head. “I don’t want them involved in this.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t.”

“If you declare you’re a careleaver on the form, you get the fee waived.”

“I don’t want them knowing my business.” Aaron squared his shoulders in defiance.

“It’s so you get the support you need. Like I did. A welcome pack. Rent-free accommodation three-six-five.”

Aaron glared away, then back again. “Can you lend me the thirty quid or not?”

“You can do this without the money.”

“It might be all right for you to let everyone know about your past shit, but I want to leave mine behind. I want to start fresh, without everyone looking at me with pity. Or anyone thinking I got boosted up onto the course because I’m a poor little care kid. I want to know I got in on merit. My merit.”

Jayden inhaled, the weight of his own insecurities about who he was and where he’d come from, a constant shadow tailing behind him. He understood Aaron’s reasoning. More than anyone else would. And it tugged on his resolve, urging him to be the saviour for someone who needed him.

“I could always steal it from one of these sleazy old men when blowing him?” Aaron gave a seductive wave to an older bloke at the bar who’d been checking Aaron out since he’d been on the dancefloor. He then blew him a kiss.

Jayden fished out his phone, went into his bank app and, having lent Aaron money before, he knew his details. A few clicks and Aaron was now the owner of the last of his borrowed cash. “It’s yours.”

Aaron ripped his flirtations from the old bloke back to Jayden. “Much appreciated. Do you…?” The vulnerability Jayden knew Aaron had beneath the guise slipped out unexpectedly. “Want me to blow you?”

“Not necessary. What you applying for?”

“Forensic Psychology.”

Jayden laughed. “Leaving your past behind, eh?”

Aaron shrugged. With nothing else to add, Jayden tucked his phone back in his pocket.

“Sure you don’t want a drink? Dance? Chat through old times?”

“Nah. I’m beat. Everything okay, though? Anything to update me on at Rainbow House?”

“Hazel now goes by Harry.”

Jayden widened his eyes. “Transitioned?”

“He/him pronouns. Looks good for it too. Proper emo, though, and still chasing that footballer.”

Jayden nodded then held out his fist for Aaron to tap it. “Good luck, A.”

“Luck? Don’t need luck.”

“Sure.” Jayden then turned and squirmed through the throng of bodies piling to the dancefloor.

“I’ll pay you back!” Aaron’s flimsy promise hit him on the back of the head.

It didn’t matter, though. Christmas was a time for giving. As he’d been doing all week at the mall. With Rick. For the children. Even those who had families, and the warmth and love of a home.

Shoving down the grief, he bundled out of the club onto the streets of Soho, the night air frosty and biting his skin. Snowflakes fell from the stars, flecks of white landing on the pavement and in his hair. Hauntingly deserted, most people had found sanctuary inside a bar, a club, or a lover’s embrace while Jayden wrapped his arms around himself, the thin short-sleeved shirt clinging to his frame, no barrier to the frost or his solitude.

Then a familiar figure on the other side of the road caught his attention. There, standing directly opposite him, was Rick . And his eyes found Jayden’s as a fleet of cars passed between them. Jayden’s breath hitched, a blend of hope and hesitation swirling in equal measures. Was it Rick? If it was, what was he doing there? Here ? At this time? It had to be serendipity. Fate. Destiny . Christmas magic? The cars flew by, leaving a gap for Jayden to peer around and smile, wave, and make the choice to rush over to him, but Rick’s soured expression and impenetrable gaze halted him in his tracks.

Jayden gulped. Shit . Did he think…?

Aaron launched out from the club, leaping on his back, clamping his legs around him, and nuzzled into his neck. “Thank you,” he said and licked his earlobe.

“Get off!” Jayden wriggled him off, pushing him away to receive a cackle of laughter, a flick back of his pink hair, and him returning to the club.

Jayden’s heart sank further when he peered back over the road to witness the back of Rick’s figure swallowed up into the night as he bolted away.