Lullaby

Relief , my dad said. He’d also muttered something about how it had been nice while it lasted.

That was in between the times he was telling me what an absolute wanker I was and perhaps I should take a good look at my options and figure out what on earth I was going to do to fix the mess I’d made.

That was when he was talking to me at all. The rest of the time, he locked himself in his room and sulked.

Yes, I was my father’s son all right. But at least one thing was good. My life was back on track, exactly the way it had been before The Dieter wiggled his bloody hips into my life and made everything weird.

I’d tried to clean up my room again, only to discover that most of the clothes on the floor were his. I’d scooped them up in a rage and chucked them in the wash. No idea why I’d burst into tears hanging them up to dry afterwards. How messed up was that?

Dad being all pissy with me was also weird, like he was the one going through some kind of crisis.

I wasn’t gay. Yet I wanked like some oversexed teen at the thought of Gray. His chest. His arse. His dick.

His mouth on my dick.

I couldn’t get him out of my head—I’d even had to run to the loos at work and knock one out.

I’d lost the plot.

His clothes were neatly folded into a bag that I’d stuffed under my bed. I’d drop it off for him at some point. Or maybe donate it to charity. There was another of those collection bags on the doormat at home. Some good could come out of this pathetic disaster that was my life, after all.

Everything was back to normal, nice and calm. So I kept telling myself. In reality, the week went on in what seemed like never-ending chaos. I worked, pretended to sleep, tried to eat, but nothing tasted right. I couldn’t concentrate and kept forgetting what I was doing. My dad brought home a takeaway one night, and I almost burst into tears just seeing the bag. It was from the same place I’d bought takeaway for Gray.

I didn’t understand. Well, I did. I’d fallen for his bullshit, pure and simple. This was no fairy tale.

I went to bed but couldn’t sleep. Tossed and turned, then grabbed my phone and brought up his number, staring at the blank screen. No messages. He’d probably changed his phone again. Lost it. Had it stolen. Given it away. Whatever, there was nothing I could do. Except…

I knew where he lived.

No. I was not going to go find him. Absolutely not.

Which was why I found myself driving over to his house the next morning. That new wank-castle of a building with gates on the alleyway, meaning I had to do a three-point-turn in the middle of a narrow street. I swore loudly.

“You all right, mate?” Some kind of security guard knocked on the car window. I remembered him telling me now. These houses had their own concierge office.

“Ehhr. I have a bag of clothes belonging to the owner of number five. Any chance I can leave them with you? I can’t park here anyway.” I shrugged like it was no big deal. Sorted that little issue in one fell swoop. Professional problem-solver. That was me.

“Number five? Dunno who owns it. They’ve never been here. There’s a load of mail, and the house is empty.”

“Empty?” This guy was talking too much. I mean, I worked in high-end customer service. We never gave away information about our guests to strangers. Security protocol and all that. Customer confidentiality. GDPR. Hello? Potential break-ins?

“You want to leave the bag anyway?” he asked. “If you have a number for the new owner, can you let them know I’ll be returning all that mail to sender at the end of the month? And if they don’t pick up the bag, I’ll bin that too. I’m not a storage facility.”

Okay. Rude. I half wanted to teach him some manners. The other half wanted to shove the bag of clothes at him and get out of there.

Yet I didn’t.

“Never mind. I’ll keep the bag. You want me to take the mail? I’ll get it to him.”

And off he went, back to his office for the pile of mail, which he shoved through my car window. It was official-looking stuff, and it made me nauseous because I knew what a court summons looked like.

“Cheers, mate.” The concierge patted the roof of my car and left me to it.

Gobsmacked, I drove away. He didn’t even ask for my name yet still gave me all this private mail. Not good. And I’d be having words with Gray so he could speak to whoever managed this place. As the owner, he should…

Hang on.

Wasn’t I also an owner? Or maybe Gray had been kidding. Even if he hadn’t, he’d have taken my name off any contract, since I’d thrown him out. Wasn’t that how it worked? I grunted in frustration, banging my hands against the steering wheel.

“Sorry, car,” I muttered. She didn’t deserve my anger. And angry I was. I just wasn’t sure at what, but after I jumped a red light, I did the sensible thing and parked in a side street, wrote out a quick text.

I have your clothes and some mail. Let me know what to do with it. I went to the house, but apparently you’re not there.

I sent it. Blew out air. Grunted some more.

No response.

Let me know that you’re ok.

I shouldn’t have sent that last bit and stared at the phone, trying to remember how to unsend stuff. Poked at the text and swore under my breath.

I’m sorry, came back.

My heart wanted to melt. It didn’t. I wouldn’t let it.

Where are you?

He didn’t reply, which was probably for the best. I didn’t want to see him again.

I missed him. I missed having him around. Mostly, I missed…

“Argh!” More frustration shot through my body. I fired up the engine and drove back home, where I flopped down on the sofa and sat there, staring at the blank screen. A behaviour that had somehow become the norm. My life was back to being dull. Bland. Boring. Very much me.

The days did roll on, though, and I was once again grateful for work. The mundane hours where I wasn’t required to think. I just did what I needed to, took orders and fixed things. Solving small dilemmas and dealing with regular humans occasionally put a small smile on my face. Those smiles didn’t last, though and before long, I was back on that sofa.

I’d stopped sleeping in my room. I couldn’t even explain why, not that I needed to. My dad did little more than grunt at me and spent all his time in his room.

But then one morning, I was sitting nursing a cup of tea watching breakfast telly with the sound muted so I didn’t have to hear the over-cheery news anchors interviewing people they pretended to find interesting. People I usually had no interest in. Until…

I knew the guy on the sofa. The one with the polite smile. I lunged for the remote to get the sound up so I could hear what he was saying.

“Of course, it seemed like a dream life from the outside, but in reality, it was almost ten years of constant bullying,” he said. Lee. I was well pleased with myself. He was the one whose name I could never remember.

“So what went so horribly wrong?” the interviewer asked, her expression all sad and concerned. I leaned forward. What the hell was going on now?

“The management clearly favoured The Dieter, and everything was always about him. The rest of us barely mattered, as long as The Dieter was happy. There were six of us in that band, but only The Dieter was allowed to contribute to the writing process, even if there were other far superior songwriters. I mean, The Dieter can’t even play an instrument. I’ve got a degree in music and play several, yet I couldn’t be trusted to write a simple lyric.”

What the fuck?

I grabbed my phone and shot off a message to Gray before I could stop myself.

You watching this?

The little dots danced around on my screen almost immediately.

Yep.

Did you know?I typed while Lee continued hurling disturbing statements at the sympathetic interviewer, who shook her head in fake disbelief. I did it myself. Pretended to care deeply about someone’s lost baggage when I knew it would turn up on the next flight and get delivered straight to their door. No need for melodramatics.

“The Dieter destroyed this band, and The Dieter, alone, destroyed my career. If there had been any fairness within this whole project, we would have received an equal share. Instead, he took home huge royalties, while I struggled to look after my family. I’ve spent the last eighteen months constantly touring, with no support for my well-being, my mental health, and no stability or concern for the family I was forced to leave at home.”

That last part might’ve been correct. And I knew Gray. Yes, he liked to be the centre of attention and get his own way, and he was pushy. But the rest of it?

“So you put the blame on one band member, and that band member only, for your career having ground to a very abrupt halt?” That was the other news anchor, a bloke leaning over the table, his eyes shifting to the camera as he continued. “We understand there are several lawsuits pending, and we’ve tried to get an official statement from Blitz, but their management has declined to comment. We, of course, invited the rest of the Blitz band to come on the Breakfast Show this morning, but we had no response from any of your former band members, Lee. What is your take on that?”

Good question, I thought.

He’s full of shit, Gray sent.

Good. He was angry. At least he was still fighting. I wasn’t sure I would be with the accusations Lee was making. Media training was a thing, and he was acting like a child. Whinge, whinge, whinge.

What’s up with him?I texted, not really expecting a reply, but I got one anyway. A long one.

It’s all kind of true. I’ve always been a dick. I was always the big star, and Lee, especially, hated it. He’s a good singer, and yeah, he’s talented. Writes good songs. Was never allowed to, though, because we had a sound, and I could churn that shit out without thinking. Kind of the same song over and over again. Boring as anything, but it sold. People loved it.

Okay.

And he’s right. I was always selfish. And I kind of picked on Lee at times. He was always a little shit. I’m a horrible person, Reubs. But you know that.

You’re not a horrible person.I sent that and then I rang him. Because this was bloody ridiculous. Yeah, yeah, yeah, showbiz and all that. This was a human being, getting ripped to shreds in public, and that worried me more than I wanted to admit.

He picked up, I could hear him breathing, which was at least…a start.

“Hey,” I said.

“You talking to me now?”

“You’re talking to me?”

“No, I’m watching Lee trash us all on TV. Nobody knew about this little stunt, but—wait for it—he’s got a book coming out and has this whole promotional tour planned. The Whole Truth About Blitz, it’s called. There’s a fly-on-the-wall documentary as well, following him around. Won’t be pretty. All this was supposed to coincide with the release of our new album. So yeah, Lee is pissed off. He was finally taking centre stage, spilling all our secrets. Musa is bloody fuming.”

“Who’s Musa again?” I knew, but…well, I had to say something.

“Reubs?”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t have to talk to me.”

“Of course I do.” I almost finished that sentence with because you’re my boyfriend, which pissed me off no end. I wasn’t, and what the hell, brain?

“I’m…I…”

“How are you, Gray? Really?” The Gray I knew was funny and upbeat and kind of quirky. This Gray sounded wrong.

“I’m staying with my mum and dad. They got rid of my bed, so I’m kipping on the sofa. Bit of an upgrade from your single bed, but…” I could hear the rest of that sentence, loud and clear, yet the fact that he’d for once stopped himself and hadn’t done the usual guilt tripping and manipulation meant a lot.

“Gray, we need to…”

Why was it that I only needed to hear his voice and I was sucked straight back in? I had him speaking in my ear, but I could see his face clearly in front of me, every little bit of it. The way his nose curved. His sharp jaw. That tousled hair.

“I really miss you,” he said. “I know I fucked up. I fuck up everything. I mean, even my mum has asked when I’m going back to London. And I tried to help Dad with his car and he shouted at me.”

Hard to believe, sometimes, that he was older than me.

“I want to tell you so much. I really miss talking to you, but I know I messed up. It was all my fault. I need to learn how to not behave like that.”

“Like what?” I knew what he was saying, but I wanted to see if he could admit it.

“Like an entitled, spoilt child.” He let a little giggle slip. “Those are my mother’s words, by the way.”

“She’s not wrong, but don’t be so hard on yourself. I can be just as bad. We all make mistakes.”

“It’s just… Reubs, I’ve never met anyone like you. Anyone I liked as much as you. And when you meet people who are that special, you’re supposed to look after them. Treasure them. My mum’s words again, but I didn’t look after you, did I? I just bumbled along and did stupid things instead of listening to what you were saying.”

“True,” I agreed. “But I should have listened to you too. I heard what you were telling me, but I don’t think I actually took it all in. So…yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“I…think I should apologize. I’ve been…I mean, Gray? I’ve been so wound up just trying to cope with myself and dealing with the fact that I’m kind of…into blokes. Which isn’t a bad thing but it’s a lot to figure out when you’ve kind of lived your whole life comfortably in the straight bracket. I didn’t know. Never did. And then I took it all out on you. I…should have handled that better. Dealt with you better. Not just been a frustrated dick…with dick issues.”

“You should write song lyrics. And don’t apologize. We both suck at everything.”

Very him. I had to laugh.

“No, thanks. It’s bad enough having Lee bad-mouth you on TV. You don’t need me and my non-existent song-writing skills elbowing in on the action. I can’t believe he’s still going on.”

“What’s he saying now?”

“Nothing important.” I wasn’t paying any attention.

He sniffled. “I switched it off. I’m sure it will be all over the web tomorrow anyway.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “And next week, it will be some other drama. Someone else’s book being promoted.”

“Well, it won’t be mine,” he said gloomily. “I had meetings in London last week. I flunked on a lot of things and now everyone hates me. I should have been down there fighting, instead I fucked off. Musa had a right go at me.”

“Who’s Musa again?” I said it so he’d laugh. I liked hearing him laugh.

“You always— Oh, sorry, gotta go. Someone’s calling me. Can I call you back? Please, Reubs?”

“Yeah, ring me later.”

It was good to hear his voice. The soft hush of his laughter.

And I wondered if my dad had been right. Was I truly being a ginormous wanker?

I honestly didn’t know anymore.

At least I made it to work. Did what I did. Tried hard to make myself concentrate instead of standing at my desk staring at the wall.

I was tired. I was honestly so, so tired. Of my life. Of my stupidity. Of my brain refusing to cooperate with me and bloody calm down with all the thoughts. The worries. Anxious bats flapping around in my stomach whenever I thought of him.

I’d fucked up, hadn’t I? Let go of something that had actually been good for me. Because for weeks I’d been the happiest I’d ever been, and it wasn’t until now I’d realised that.

I crawled into bed just after midnight, exhausted, only for my phone to start buzzing in my hand as his name filled the screen.

“I knew you’d be in bed by now,” he said, staring back at me with a pillow under his head. Same as me.

“You okay?” I had to ask. I needed him to be, and that was another thing that made me antsy.

“I’m okay. I have to come back down south and have some meetings. Can’t put it off any longer. There’s only so much I can do over the phone, but coming home has been good for me. Made me see things a little clearer.”

“Coming home is always good. Puts things in their place, doesn’t it?”

Not that I’d know. I’d never been further north than Watford, and I’d never left the UK. Gray had been around the world, more than once. I couldn’t claim to know anything, lying here in my bed with Mr Snuggles.

“When I come back…can I please see you? Just for a little bit. I think I need to.”

“Yeah, all right.”

My willpower? Gone, apparently. I wanted to see him.

What had he done to me?

“When are you coming back?” I asked.

“Not sure. Need to, you know. Figure it out. Get a ride. All that.”

All that.I had to laugh. “Gray?”

“Yeah?”

“What else have you been up to?”

“Not much. Wrote some lyrics. Old habits die hard, as they say. Helped my dad in the garden. Cleared the garage. Tried to buy my dad a new car. You know what I’m like.”

“That why he shouted at you?”

He laughed. “Yeah. And I wrote a lullaby.”

“A lullaby?”

“Something stupid. A little…you know. Love song.”

“Cheesy.” I was teasing him.

“Wanna hear it?”

“Sure. Sing to me.”

“Hang on, just need to close the door. Don’t want my parents listening to me.”

I grinned, little butterflies lifting off in my stomach as he cleared his throat.

“I tell you that I love you, but when I do, I break your heart,” he sang softly. “When the darkness comes, I lie down with you, my hand entwined with yours. We heal up all our wounds in those quiet hours, a fragile plaster on our broken souls, ready to destroy what we have all over again. So let’s take on the night, because this is no ordinary lullaby.”

I wanted to reply, but his voice… Now I knew why millions of people swooned when he sang. That raspy silk, right there in my ear.

“A plaster on your soul? Seriously, G?”

He giggled softly. “It’s shite, isn’t it? But anyway. Shut up. I’m singing. You’re supposed to be in awe of my brilliance.”

“Go on. Woo me.”

“When I tell you all these words, you’re the keeper of my secrets, even when I’m far away, I’m right there next to you. My arms around you through the night, because that’s where we belong. So let’s take on the night…”

“Stop it.” I laughed.

“Too cheesy?”

“No, it’s perfect. Now, shut up and let me go to sleep.”

“You sure you don’t want me to sing to you? I’m very famous, you know. Millions of people buy my records. Pay a lot of money to see me live.”

“Do they now?”

“Well, they come to hear the prerecorded backing track while I wiggle my hips.”

“Idiot.”

“I know.” More smiles. “Can I ring you tomorrow?”

“You know you can. And Gray?”

“Yeah?”

“Drop me your location. Someone should know where you are. Keep an eye on you.”

“’M’kay,” he drawled. “And Reubs?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for not giving up on me.”

“I might still do,” I said and hung up.

I knew he got me.

He always did.