Wont leave you

He left in the early hours of the morning, and I had a vague recollection of hearing his voice alongside my dad’s, hushed laughter blending into my sleep as I turned over in bed.

I woke later on, when my dad came in and sat on the edge of my bed, gesturing for me to sit up so he could hand me a cup of tea. Which I did, because tea in bed was my kryptonite and Dad knew me too well.

“We’re both on the afternoon shift, so I assume you want to come in with me?”

I nodded, sipping my tea.

My room smelt of…normality. Not even a faint whiff of anything being off.

“He’s a nice boy,” Dad said with a smirk.

“Stop it.” I huffed into my tea. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, I know. He is a nice boy, though.”

“I’m not gay, Dad.”

It had to be said, as we’d had this convo before. There had never been any taboo subjects in this house. Reuben-the-kid had learned phrases and words no kids should have known, mostly from my mother, and then from school and other folks, but some from my dad as well. He was no saint. But that wasn’t important anymore. Where my mother had sometimes been an irresponsible parent, my dad had sat me down and explained the effects of illegal substances on our bodies and the danger of getting involved with dealers who were never going to be your friends. And we had even discussed…matters of the heart.

My dad had guts. Bigger balls than I’d ever had. And yet here we were. My balls felt smaller than peanuts.

“I know you’re not gay. But your boyfriend is.”

“Dad!” I shouted, spluttering my tea with laughter.

“Had to be said. He really likes you.”

“He’s been around for a day and you’re already marrying me off?”

“Well…he’s got money. Looks. A very profitable occupation.” My dad was joking, and it was kind of funny.

“Yeah, and predictably enough, I’m on minimum wage carrying bags for a living, problem solving rich people’s First World problems. I don’t see a glittering future.”

“Noted.” Dad smiled and got up. “Just protect that heart, yeah?”

“Oh, I don’t think there’s any heartbreak forthcoming here.” I threw back the covers, revealing my hairy legs, my big knobbly toes. I was no oil painting. No woman had ever fainted at the sight of me wriggling my hips. I told my dad that too, and he shook his head.

“Son. It’s not all about you.”

“That’s what I keep saying to him. He’s a spoilt dick. His world revolves around being The Great Dieter. He’s actually just a dude with issues. And it’s not all about him.”

“Good advice.” My dad was always smart. Smart enough not to argue about things, unless he was right, in which case, he would argue to the death. Gah. “I wasn’t talking about your heart, though. I may carry bags for a living too, kid, but I’m a wise, old man. You know? Silver in my beard. Cash in my pocket. Keys to my own flat. All that crap.”

“Wise words, Dad,” I muttered sarcastically.

“Maybe not, but these ones are.” He reached over and tipped my chin. “You might not be that way inclined, and that’s really not important here. We never truly have a say in who we fall in love with. Your heart chooses for you. But that boy has a thing for you, and it’s not you who’ll be crushed. It’s him. And I told him he was always welcome here, so you’re going to figure out how to let him down gently. Turn this into something that won’t end with him crying on your shoulder.”

“Oh, Dad. Fuck off.”

He did, with a wink and a small smile as he closed the door. Sometimes I hated my dad. Sometimes I was so bloody grateful for his gentle wisdom. Not that I believed a word of it because he was obviously bat-shit crazy.

I still rode with him to work and turned up on the desk in a clean shirt and pressed tie, my shoes polished to death. I took pride in my uniform at least, and my dad nodded approvingly as he went outside to tally up the taxis on the taxi stand and chat to the drivers, get his shift under control. My dad had everything under control.

“Reubs!”

I grinned at Amy skipping across from reception, a cheeky smile on her face. Amy. Receptionist extraordinaire. Also gossip queen, drama queen and all-round shit stirrer.

“I heard we had The Dieter here again. Eddie checked him in, apparently, but he said you did all the talking. What the fuck? Keep on your side of the desk, babes. But anyway, give me the lowdown. I mean, who was there with him? I read he’s dating that hot dancer who went on that what’s it called…Married at First Sight or something.”

“No,” I said, a little stumped by her outburst. I should have expected it because we all kept tabs. Everyone knew when we had celebs staying, and we gossiped like the best. Now I’d have to give her something or people would talk, and I wasn’t going to be anyone’s gossip fodder. “Nothing to tell. Seriously, Ames, he’s dull as anything. Asked for a takeaway and pissed off. Can’t help you there.”

“Housekeeping said it was like he hadn’t even been there. Bed wasn’t slept in and hardly any rubbish. Suspicious if you ask me.”

“No. Just someone who needed a place to crash. We’re a hotel, remember?”

She rolled her eyes at me, obviously disappointed by my lack of tea. I had nothing to spill. He’d appeared, we’d talked, shared a greasy meal and then he’d panicked and stayed the night with me and…and then what? Nothing. It was almost like remembering some kind of messed-up trip, except I wasn’t tripping. No drugs required.

“You okay, Son?” my dad asked, as I was still standing by the desk, deep in thought. A line of cars were unloading out front and my dad was shoving along a fully stacked trolley. He must’ve been wondering if I’d lost my marbles. I had.

No, I hadn’t. I was fine, absolutely fine.

“I’m absolutely fine,” I repeated to Dad almost three weeks later as he headed home for the evening, leaving me to the deal with the late shift from hell.

We hadn’t seen The big fabulous Great Dieter since. Gray. G. Whatever. He’d become a distant figment of my stupid imagination. A nice warm memory that kept me awake at night as I snuggled into Mr Snuggles and allowed my exhausted limbs to rest. The thoughts of him made me smile. And the days just passed in a blur.

Work was ridiculously busy. Several Far-Eastern tour groups with way too many huge, colourful cases and lists of requirements a mile long. Big conferences and excited tourists. People with too much self-importance requiring their pointless demands to be carried out within seconds. We had a classic car convention. At an inner-city hotel. Yes, even my dad had had a small meltdown when someone’s prized possession, which was double parked outside the entrance, endured a collision with a cyclist that had everyone in tears. Not least the poor cyclist who had been bleeding out on our red carpet. Had I not been on my lunch break, I would no doubt have been crying too.

I wasn’t crying, though. My one-night stand of friendship—I was laughing even thinking it—was in the past, one of those things I would tell my grandchildren about one day, a stupid anecdote to make everyone laugh over Grandad’s poor memory and delusions about having spent the night with a famous pop star.

I wasn’t heartbroken. I was just…a little pissed off. He could have texted, said thanks for letting me stay or something polite and cheery like that. Instead? Silence.

He’d have an excuse, I knew he would, should I ever lay eyes on him again. He might not even remember me. I snorted to myself stomping down the road, because it was almost one in the morning. I’d had to stay late dealing with a bar fight and the police and God knows what, and I once again had to park my car miles away.

Three weeks of nothing.

Not that I was counting the days. I wasn’t. Honestly.

Served me right, I guess, but I wasn’t impressed.

At least I’d managed to park the car under a streetlight and remembered to lock it, not that that was any deterrent to the kids around here, but my car wasn’t really that attractive. I left nothing in it, and the back offside wheel needed a new tyre.

I should get that sorted.

It was cold, despite being springtime. The news page on my phone screamed colourfully about bargain holidays for the summer. I didn’t need a bargain holiday. Dad and I would probably go to the coast for a few days, stay in some damp-ridden caravan as always, do the same things we did at home. Get takeaways. Play cards. Watch TV. Sleep.

I liked it. I liked the routine and predictability of my life. I didn’t like when things changed. I never had.

Which again brought me back to wondering again if I should get my own place, discover if I was really cut out for adulthood, maybe go back to school and take some night classes. The thought of doing any of that filled me with dread, but I knew that was the expectation. It was just…I liked my life as it was. I paid my way, and Dad and I shared the bills and…

I’m not ready! I wanted to scream out into the quiet nighttime air. I didn’t, though. I was a grown-up. Calm the fuck down, Reuben.

I stuck my key in the door and tiptoed in so I wouldn’t disturb my dad, who’d already be tucked up in bed. The lights were all off, and the darkness was a welcome relief. I toed off my shoes, padded down the hallway to the bathroom, got in the shower and washed the grime off my skin. Wrapping a towel around my shoulders to catch the drips from my hair, I stayed in darkness as I stepped into my room, gently closed the door behind me and flicked on the light, hoping my dad had slept through my antics, and turned around…and then I definitely woke my dad up. Because I bloody screamed.

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

“Shhhh,” he said, holding his hands up to protect himself. I had my hands up too, waving my fists around like I was going to fight him. We’d had break-ins before. I wasn’t some helpless damsel in distress, and I would beat the shit out of anyone—

“Reubs, calm down.”

Here he was. The Dieter. Well, Graham. Gray. The kid with the messy long hair and bright eyes, and he was wearing my T-shirt. While I was stark naked, having shrugged off my towel, which hadn’t covered anything anyway, in shock.

“Grab some gear, man. I didn’t come here to see your junk.”

“It’s very nice junk, thank you very much.”

I was…well. I didn’t care. Not really. Still, I grabbed a pair of shorts from the floor, struggled into them and rescued the towel for my top half.

“Look,” I said. “I read up about your stalker online. That guy who was caught sleeping in your bed. Licking your plates in your kitchen. Fucked up, I agree. There was a trial. It’s like a criminal offence.”

“Thanks for opening up that can of worms,” he grunted, but he was smiling like he was enjoying this. I was not enjoying this. I was rattled to the bone and my heart was beating too fast.

He must’ve realised, as his smile faded and he said, “Sorry. I know it’s a criminal offence, but I’m… I know what this looks like. I actually turned up here at dinner time, and I paid for your dad’s fish supper and he said I could stay. I’m not stalking you or shit. My phone got stolen. That was in the news too, some guy on a bike outside the studio. There was nothing on it. I’m mostly gutted about my Candy Crush score being wiped, but I hadn’t properly saved your number. You know. Lazy. I just replied to…you know.”

There it was. The small innocent bastard, hiding behind Mr Snuggles like the idiot he was.

“Your favourite question is up next,” I said, trying to sound serious, but I couldn’t help smiling. He did that to me.

“Oh, I know this one.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

“Gray, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Well, Reuben. I have a very well-thought-out answer for that.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you right back.”

We were laughing, and to be honest, I had no idea what was going on here.

“It’s been three weeks, Gray. Give or take.”

“And it’s been the most messed-up weeks of my life. Of this band’s life.”

“Well, that’s not good enough for me. You don’t get to piss me off like this.”

“You’re pissed off?” He looked proud, like that was some major achievement. “Look, Reubs, you have my number. You could have rung me.”

He was right about that. Something I didn’t want to really acknowledge. My balls were small. And he was…The Dieter.

“Well, I could have. Except someone stole your phone.”

“Management got me a replacement. Nice new shiny phone. Same number, though.”

“Whatever. Talk,” I said sternly, ripping Mr Snuggles from his grip and shoving him behind my back as I sat on the edge of the bed.

“Bash is leaving. His baby is due in few weeks, and he told Lauren to shove the contract up her arse. Best thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Okay.” I had no idea what he was on about.

“We haven’t seen Cork.”

“Was he the one in rehab? I thought you were all clean living and underage babysat spoilt brats.”

“Yes. And yes, we are babysat spoilt brats, but the rest is all bullshit. We have a very good press team with ample social media expertise to rein in any adverse stories.” He grimaced as he said it, then grimaced again when I yawned. I was so bloody tired.

“Sorry. Go on.” I lay down on my side, so I wouldn’t fall off the sliver of bed he’d left me with, and tugged the duvet up over myself.

“Of course they push any stories that make great headlines. It doesn’t matter who gets fucked over in the process.”

“Yet here you are, telling me all the juicy gossip. I could have a nice fat pay cheque from one of the tabloid sites…like tomorrow.” I wouldn’t. I was just being pissy with him and for no real reason because he was right. I could’ve rung him. I had no idea why I was even pissy in the first place. It wasn’t like we were…friends.

“But you wouldn’t do that,” he said softly, turning so his nose was almost touching mine. I remembered this. Such a flirt. And then I smiled. Just a little smile.

“No, because I am a decent human being.”

Now he smiled too. “Which is why I like you. And, you know, I—”

“Trust me,” I said as if it was a reflex.

“Shut up. I’m trying to grovel here. Tell you about my day. You know. All that shit?”

I was going to say something snarky back, but the words got stuck in my throat.

I wanted him here. Which was one of the most fucked-up things about all this. In a strange way…

Oh, fuck off, brain!!

“Okay, since you won’t tell me about your day, I’ll tell you about mine. So Bash and Cork are gone, which leaves Me, Lee, Josh and Musa. Musa spent the last month eating his mum’s home cooking and hiding from his personal trainer. He’s put on two stone, and Lauren was crying, and now his personal trainer has taken sick leave due to stress.”

“So? It’s his life. His body.”

“No. Our bodies belong to Blitz, and Musa couldn’t care less.”

“Okay. Sounds…normal.”

“Nothing is normal. Not anymore. So Josh and I were pushed into the studio whilst everyone else held emergency meetings. You’ve never heard so much screaming. Security were actually shitting themselves, and the producer ended up walking out with his team.”

“Blimey.”

“Yeah. Josh and I have written six songs and already laid down vocals for two. They’re not bad, but they sound nothing like Blitz. Lauren went ballistic.”

“Typical.” I took a breath on his behalf. Fuck, it was late. I needed sleep. Or a cup of tea.

“Which ended up with us being kicked out of the studio for the weekend, and I got my driver to bring me here, because I couldn’t bear it anymore. Unless we get a whole new team in with a whole different mindset ready to get cool with a bunch of things real quick, it’s never going to work.”

“Right.” What else could I say to that? I knew nothing about the recording industry. About music. Whatever he was up to, wherever he’d been.

“Also, I got an offer for my house. My stuff is going into storage next week, and then I can finally start looking for somewhere to live. Somewhere reasonable.”

“Reasonable?”

I had no idea where all these one-word responses were coming from, but he seemed to get me. Understand the weird one-sided convo we were having. He shuffled down and tucked the duvet under his chin. Smiled at me.

“I want somewhere small. An apartment with, like, a concierge downstairs. A gym in-house. And a pool. Then it’s easy to control who comes in and out. No stupid stalkers. Well, unless the neighbours are all nutcases, but yeah. Two bedrooms. A balcony. Big double bed.”

“Are you mocking my single bed? I tell you, this is a very comfortable bed. IKEA’s best. And it’s actually an extra-wide single, so fuck off with your mockery.”

“I’m not mocking your single bed,” he said and then fell silent, though he was still looking at me. He reached out, stroked his finger down my cheek as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “If it’s any help…in my defence? I missed you. But I was trying to broker some kind of peace with some other guys who are as pissed off as me and a bunch of management who can see their money flying out the window, and we’re all trying to rescue something that is already gone. I mean, look at me. Nobody will ever believe I’m twenty-two anymore, however much they cake me in make-up. I think it’s time for me to act my age. And, like…be a normal person.”

“You’ve got too much money to ever be a normal person.”

“I’m actually not that loaded. Most of my money is locked up and invested, and I haven’t got millions in the bank if that’s what you think. Selling the house is a big deal for me. A tidy profit. Enough to stick some in the bank and buy something smaller. Like I said, start to live. Like a normal person.”

“Lee?” I questioned. “I couldn’t think of his name before. Lee. That’s the last one, isn’t it? Little blonde guy? Does those high-pitched noises?”

“Lee.” He rubbed his nose against my shoulder. Snaked his arm around my stomach. I didn’t mind. I welcomed it. Needed it. Wanted to soak up as much of this as I could. Because he’d be gone again in the morning, and I’d be back to having that ball of anxiety in my stomach and being all messed up over someone I barely knew.

“Lee is just the guy who sits in the corner. Strong dancer but has no opinion on anything. Does what he’s told. He’s barely opened his mouth in the last weeks, just turns up and sits there on his phone. He had some lyrics ready, which were dark as hell. I kind of liked them. We’ll never be allowed to use them, though.”

“Shame.” I had no idea what I was saying. His arm was comfortingly heavy, his breath painting my skin with warmth, and when he looked at me, I could barely breathe.

And that? That was a proper fucking crying shame.