Chapter Seventeen Below the Apple Tree

Below the Apple Tree

Jesse switched his phone to flight mode, unable to respond to the message having dinged through. Shoving it in his satchel by his feet, he peered out the small window of the plane and dumped his chin in his hand. Plagued with guilt and consumed with misery, he watched the aircraft drift along the runway, then take off from Athens for London. He willed himself not to cry as the plane levelled out and the seatbelt light dinged off.

He was going home.

Away from Greek soil.

Away from where his mother lay at rest.

Away from Demetrios.

He’d done the right thing, hadn’t he? He and Demetrios not only had miles of land and sea between them, but a murky history and leftover bad blood. It was best to leave it all behind. Like his mother buried in her tomb, so was his and Demetrios’ relationship.

What was love, anyway?

Nothing more than a way for someone to control you and make you lose yourself.

At least there was hope for his dad. Maybe he could move on. Find someone else. Jesse could help him recover from the drink problem he’d developed since his mum had moved on from him.

“Thank God that’s all over,” Richard said from the middle seat beside him.

Jesse turned away from saying goodbye to the Aegean Sea to face his dad. He didn’t reply. He wasn’t sure who he had to thank. It certainly wasn’t him.

“Start fresh, now, eh?” Richard rummaged around in the bag by his feet, pulling out a Kindle. “No more fucking Greece.”

Jesse inhaled a sharp breath.

“It’s for the best. Turn your back on that Demetrios.” God, Jesse hated the way his dad said Demetrios’ name. As though he were someone to spit at. “They’re a persuasive lot. But you do know it meant nothing to him. So many get into his bed. You can’t trust him. Not with the way those Kallises are. Selfish. They don’t care about anyone else but themselves. It’s not like he came running to you, is it?” He turned on his Kindle, flicking through for the book he was reading. “You and me, now, son. Just you and me.” He tapped Jesse’s knee, then clicked his fingers to summon the cabin crew sauntering down the aisle.

She approached their row of seats, tiny hat askew, red lipstick and a professional smile plastered on. “Yes, sir?”

“Could I get a red wine, please?”

“Absolutely, sir.” She peered over his head at Jesse. “Anything for you?”

“Jesse?” His dad angled his head to him. “Drink to celebrate?”

“Uh, no, thanks.” Jesse smiled at the woman, but once she’d swayed her hips down the aisle to fetch the single bottle of wine for his alcoholic father, he glared at his dad.

“What?” Richard shrugged.

“You said you would quit for good this time.”

“It’s just one wine, Jesse.”

“One always leads to another. You know how this goes.” Jesse ducked closer, lowering his voice so those around them couldn’t hear. “Turning a corner, remember?”

The woman returned, twisting the cap on the bottle of wine, and she lowered his father’s tray table to place the bottle and a plastic glass in front of him. She then trotted off, and Richard stared at the drink. Jesse should take it from him. Hide it. The way he’d had to when living with him and desperate for him to stop. But he wanted to know if his dad was serious this time. If he could cope on his own. If he had the willpower to give it up for good.

“It’s fine, Jesse.” Richard poured the wine into the cup and lifted the drink to his lips. “It’s only one. Toasting to Freya’s memory and our new start.”

He knocked back the drink in one fell swoop, then pressed the button above his head to alert the cabin crew.

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Whether Jesse was here, there, wherever. His dad had made his choice by remaining in the past and playing the victim. Jesse couldn’t help him.

Sacrificing his happiness to pay for his mother’s guilt wasn’t working anymore.

It never had.

Jesse switched back to staring out of the window.

* * * *

He arrived home to Ealing late at night.

Yanking the key out of the lock, he dragged his cabin case into the hallway and his housemate’s voice tore a hole in his resolve.

“Hey, Jesse! That you?”

He dumped the luggage by the stairs, checked the table by the door for any post, then meandered into the front room, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. Jade snuggled on the sofa with her long-term boyfriend, who might as well move in with the time he spent at their house share.

“God, you look like shit.” Jade wriggled out from her boyfriend’s arms, interrupting the Netflix true crime documentary on the telly. “Come here. Now. Give us a hug.”

Jesse did, despite how Trent glared at him as if he’d encroached on the next stage of their Netflix and Chill. But Jade was in a fluffy Oodie decorated with leaping dogs and pulled on over fleece lined pyjamas. Whatever floated Trent’s boat, he supposed. So he stepped in to be the third wheel and dumped his arse on the armrest beside Jade. She hugged him, then tilted away and grimaced.

“You wore those glasses to Greece?”

“I broke the others the morning I left.”

“Oh. Shame. They suit you much better.” She ruffled back his hair and pouted. “How are you, hun? How was it?” She then nudged Trent with her knee. “Get him a drink, babe. What you fancy, Jess?”

His mouth threw out the word, “Ouzo?”

Jade furrowed her brow. “None of that shit here, mate. You can have my pink gin? Or you might have a bit of rosé leftover from that night you went out. Trent’s got beer.”

Trent waggled his bottle of Astrea.

“Or there’s vodka, but I doubt you want that, as it’s a Thursday. Not a club night.”

“Vodka.”

Jade widened her eyes, puffed out her bottom lip and Jesse didn’t need to see the exchange between her and Trent to know they would have the same look he’d had earlier when his dad had chugged four bottles of wine on the flight home. Luckily, Richard had caught the train back to Kent, or Jesse might have lost his shit instead of his concern.

“You heard the man.” Jade tapped Trent’s knee. He removed his solid bulk from the two seated sofa to allow Jesse to slide in next to Jade. “You okay, hun?” She stroked through his hair. “I mean, besides the obvious. Your mum dying and that.”

Jesse lifted his head from her shoulder. She smiled. Jesse snorted and lay back down on her shoulder. “No,” he said, as glum as he felt.

“I’m sorry, love.” Jade laid her head on his in solidarity. “Must be right shit to lose your mum.”

Jesse closed his eyes. It was. And he was upset about it. Somewhere amidst all the other stuff swimming around in his gut, making him nauseated and lethargic and smothered, he was sad about his mum. He regretted not resolving their issues. He hated she died thinking he didn’t love her when that was so far from the truth. And he couldn’t bear that he hadn’t been able to confide in her when he should have, and her giving him all that motherly advice she’d used to when growing up.

But above all that, swimming on the surface with a wicked grin was Demetrios.

“I saw him,” Jesse mumbled.

“Who? God?” Jade questioned with a confused lilt.

Jesse rose from her shoulder. “Demetrios.”

“Oh!” Jade nodded. “That makes more sense.”

Jesse rolled his eyes as Trent reemerged into the front room, clutching a bottle of beer and his vodka, which, he hoped, contained some mixer or that full tumbler was going to be hard to digest. Trent handed it to him, then squeezed the other side of Jade, them sitting side by side like the three wise monkeys.

“How was he?” Jade asked as the television ended their current episode of The Most Shocking Family Murders and clicked through to the next, the recap an ironic backdrop to their conversation.

Jesse sipped the vodka. Hissed. It was strong, but the elderflower tonic helped mask some of it and allowed him to go in for more. “Good. More than good. Drop dead gorgeous.”

“Bastard.” Jade tutted.

“I know right? Couldn’t have formed a hunch, or gone grey early.” He didn’t wish either on him at all, but he’d met Jade at uni when broken-hearted and their joking helped ease his suffering. Except it didn’t this time. “He was perfect.” He threw his head back in defeat. How would anyone match up to Demetrios now? Not even a fantasy crafted in his head by a bloke online could. Not this time, anyhow.

“Did you talk to him?”

Jesse winced. “More than talk.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Jesse raised his glass, then knocked some back. “And he was perfect at that, too.”

“Of course he was. How did you leave it?”

“Badly. Dad found us. Arguments galore. I left, telling him we should keep it in the past. I didn’t want to trigger Dad. But, after me thinking he might have turned a corner, Dad went straight for the drink on the plane, anyway.”

“I’m sorry, Jess.” Jade laid a hand on his knee. “Alcoholics are alcoholics because they’re addicted. It’s not your fault.”

They all paused, taking a sip of various drinks, the irony of their actions not lost on Jesse.

“I didn’t help,” Jesse mumbled.

“You have tried to help. So many times. You can’t lose yourself in it like he has. He has to help himself.”

Jesse gulped back his drink, unconvinced. If his dad hadn’t walked in on his and Demetrios’ shared kiss, he might not have reached for the wine. “I need to go out.”

“Now?”

“Yeah. Come on, come to West Five with me. Let’s get tanked up and remind me why I’m here. In London. Quickest way to get over someone is get under someone else.”

Someone. Else.

“Um…” Jade glanced at Trent engrossed in the documentary, then turned back to Jesse and chewed on her lip. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Don’t tell me West Five closed down in the four days I’ve been gone?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Jesse widened his eyes. “What? When? How?”

“Oh, well, I know you’re not familiar with the act between a man and a woman, but when we have sex,” she motioned between her and Trent, “if he doesn’t wrap it and I come off my pill, that spunk you men spurt out of your dicks swim up a woman’s vag and can fertilise an egg. That sort of forms into a child if you let it.”

Jesse grimaced. “But…was it…” he lowered his voice, glancing at Trent to see if he was listening, “planned?”

“Yes, hun. I came off my pill six months ago. Do you not remember me telling you?”

“I thought that was…I didn’t put two and two together.”

“Always your problem.” Jade flicked his forehead with her fingers. “So I’m off the drink and clubbing’s a thing of the past. It’s why I didn’t come with you the last time you went.”

After a moment, Jesse brought himself out of his trance and hugged her. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks, hun.”

“And to you, Trent.” Jesse held out his hand. Trent shook it, then Jesse felt him nudge Jade. “There’s something else?”

“Yeah, sorry, babes, I know this is a really shit time, but, well, Trent’s moved in.”

“Okay.” That was no shocker. The man practically lived here, anyway. It might be nice to have another person contributing to the bills. Someone to do all the DIY. He needed a new shelf in his room. But the way Jade kept looking at him, waiting for the penny to drop, had Jesse wondering what he’d missed. “What else?”

Jade winced. “We’re gonna need the other room. Your room.”

“Can’t Trent bunk in with you?”

Jade rolled her eyes. “For the baby.”

Jesse leaned back, realisation of what was going on hitting him right where it hurt. This was a two-bed terrace townhouse, and whilst he and Jade had moved in together, shared the rent, it made more sense for them to stay than for Jesse. He wouldn’t be able to afford the rent on his own.

“You want me to move out?”

Jade squeezed his knee. “Not right away. You take all the time you need.”

“But no longer than nine months?”

“Seven months. But if you ain’t found nowhere before the baby comes, we’ll stick it in with you and you can do the night feeds.” She grinned.

Jesse sank back. Now he was losing his home. And his best mate. How much loss could one man take?

“I’m sorry, Jess.” Jade leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’ll help you search.”

Jesse dropped his head on hers and they all watched the TV for a while and Jesse took little comfort in knowing there were far worse problems he could have. The blood, mayhem and chaos on screen were nothing compared to his current Greek tragedy.

Jesse stood. “I’m gonna…” He gestured to his suitcase, but it was apparent neither Jade nor Trent gave a monkey’s what he was going to do, so he took his case upstairs into the bedroom, unsure what the future held considering his dad was selling his childhood home, and he was being shoved out of here, too.

Talk about losing everything all at once.

He slumped down on the end of the bed, glancing around at everything he owned. He picked up his satchel and dragged out the pad he’d brought back from Greece. It was filled with the drawings of his mother, but tucked inside was the picture he’d painted years ago. The one his mum had framed and put on his wall at the Kallis Apartments. The one of Demetrios, so laid back and carefree, arms behind his head, pink T-shirt ruffling in the gentle sea breeze, tipping the wooden chair back on two legs, smile so beautiful it hurt.

Jesse stood, found a pin from the ones on his desk, and secured it in the centre of the pin board scattered with sketches of his book characters.

He stepped back.

Wanna dance with somebody?

Fuck it. He stripped, grabbed a towel, ran to the bathroom, showered, changed into jeans and a shirt, and ordered an Uber to be in West Five by eleven.

Thursday nights weren’t that busy, but there was enough of a crowd he had to wait at the bar. Elbows on the surface, he watched several staff pass him. Ignore him. Squashed in among everyone else trying the get served, lights and music loud as the venue went from casual to club, Jesse gave up, wondering what he was even doing here.

He was meant to be dancing.

With somebody.

He choked.

“Hello, you.” A man sidled up beside him. “Back from Greece already?”

The bloke he’d woken up next to a few days ago smiled at him. He couldn’t remember his name. It hadn’t been important. Not then. Not now. Not ever.

“Are you waiting to be served?” he asked, waving his bank card at the bartender, who immediately came over. “Three sambucas, two beers and a JD and coke.” He nudged Jesse. “You want in? Shot? Drink?”

Jesse thought about it. Shook his head.

The bartender rushed off, leaving Jesse with a stranger among strangers.

“How was Greece?” the man leaned into his ear to speak over the music.

“I fucked my stepbrother.”

The drinks order plonked down in front of him and the man paid with his card, arching an eyebrow at Jesse. “Lucky stepbrother.” The man smiled, a glint in his dark eyes.

Jesse breathed out a laugh, then had to ask, “That night…did we…?”

“No.” The man gathered the drinks. “You were all over me, then you just wanted to hug me.”

“Oh.” Jesse adjusted his glasses, then scrunched up his nose in embarrassment. “Sorry. That was probably a shit night for you.”

The man shrugged, then leaned in and kissed his cheek. “You’re cute. Come find me later.” He winked, then handed over some drinks to the men gathered behind him and off he went, sashaying onto the dance floor.

He danced like Demetrios too.

But he wasn’t Demetrios.

Wouldn’t ever be.

Jesse’s eyes welled, and he fished his phone out of his pocket to read the last text Demetrios had sent. He should have replied. He’d left his question unanswered, hanging in the air like their last conversation. Wanna dance with somebody? filled a white speech bubble, tormenting him. He began to type, unsure what to even say, when he noticed a different notification. Castor was online. And he’d sent a message.

Jesse opened it.

In London. Meet tomorrow? Dinner? X

Jesse screwed his eyes shut. Any other time, he’d have jumped at the chance. But everything felt tainted now. Even his online fantasy. And if it moved into reality, it would only disappoint him. Because Castor hadn’t responded to his calls in Greece. Hadn’t replied to any of the messages. He’d thrown out an invitation, having ignored Jesse when he’d needed him.

And, mostly, because, like the man beckoning him over to the dancefloor, he wasn’t Demetrios.

Sighing, he composed his message of decline, but another one popped through before he could send it.

Sorry no response from the above. It’s been a strange week. I’d like to tell you all about it. In person.

Jesse chewed on his lip. He couldn’t understand why, but something had him caving. Maybe the curiosity? His sorrow? Or maybe because he shouldn’t look back. History was history.

So because it was there, screaming at him, he couldn’t think of another single place in the entire capital city to offer as a place to meet, and he wrote:

The Real Greek. Southbank. 8pm?