A Note in the Margin (26 page)

Nail-bitten
fingers touched the picture with a reverence usually reserved for a priceless treasure. They carefully turned the tattered-edged page to look at a montage of sketches; some finished, some roughly rendered, but all of John. Adam took in each sketch in turn, noting the fine detail in and around the eyes and the gentle curve of the lips. He looked up at John and asked the question that had been on his mind since the day at the gallery. “So you and my dad?” He left it hanging there and gave a single shrug, not knowing how to finish it.

John smiled and was able to say, “We’re together, Adam, if that’s what you’re asking.” He had discussed this with David, what to say and what to omit, but they’d both agreed they had to be up front with David’s son about their relationship.

Adam nodded and looked back at the page. “I thought so,” he said quietly. “That day at the gallery… you looked together.”

“Looked together, huh?” John couldn’t resist saying with a grin on his face.

“You know… comfortable with each other,” Adam said and rolled his eyes at John. “I watched you two for a little while because I wasn’t sure if it
was
my dad. His hair is a lot longer and he’s so skinny.”

John’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “Dave’s put so much weight on in the past few months.”

“Nah, he’s skinny,” Adam said with a surety that made John laugh. “Not what he was like when I was a kid. Not that he was fat or anything; just more, um, solid.”

“What
was
he like when you were young? Can you tell me that?” John asked, wanting to understand more about David before both depression and the street took hold of him.

“Dad? He was always a bit of a dag.” Adam grinned and leaned back in his seat. “When I was just a kid we used to make up really sick jokes. You know, gross stuff, and Mum used to tell us off all the time. Of course that just made us do it even more.”

John smiled and tried very hard to imagine David laughing and telling jokes; it saddened him that he couldn’t quite do it.

“But I dunno, he did stuff different from a lot of dads. I mean, he played football with me, but he’d do other things too.” Adam’s smile took on an almost wistful shape as he remembered one particular thing. “Like my elf books.”

Seeing the curious look, Adam quickly leaned forward as if he were telling John an important secret, but the light in his eyes told John it was a good memory. “Every now and then he’d say to me that the elves had visited us and then we’d hunt around the garden looking under bushes and even in the trees until we’d find a tiny little book. Really tiny; the size of a matchbook. It was full of drawings and a story about a boy named Adam.” He shook his head as if still in awe of their find. “The pictures were always so detailed and it took me ages to figure out Dad did them for me. I still have a couple of them.”

John smiled, watching the joy in Adam’s face, but he said nothing, not wanting to break into the precious memory. After a brief moment Adam shrugged and with a long sigh went back to looking at the sketchbook. Turning the page, he pointed at a picture of Jamie. “Who’s this guy?”

Tilting his head for a better look John grinned at the almost childlike mischief that hid Jamie’s gentle wisdom and explained. “That’s Jamie. It was his mum who took David into the store. Jamie shares his sandwich with him every day and he’s the one who convinced me to give your dad a chance.”

“He looks like a good person,” Adam mused, looking at the typically generous expression David had captured in Jamie’s eyes.

“He is,” John agreed. “He taught me a few things about human decency. I was all set to put profit before your dad’s well-being. To be honest, I didn’t even consider him as a person at the start.” Actually stating that out loud to David’s son shook John, but acceptance of his own flaws was something else he’d recently started to learn. He looked up at Adam and admitted, “Jamie made me think about how cold it got at night and how unsafe it was for people like your dad.”

“People like my dad,” Adam repeated quietly, trying to get it clear in his head that the father he’d known could be seen by society as a whole different category of human being.

John slowly reached over and ran his fingers along the twisted and broken spiral binding. “His sketchbooks were the only thing he had; his connection to you and us. He got beaten up pretty badly to stop them being taken from him. He lost everything else but saved this one. He asked me to bring it today to give it to you, Adam.”

Adam sat and didn’t lift his eyes from the book or make a move to answer, but John could see the tight clench of his jaw. It was something he’d seen in David far too many times. Resisting his long-held pattern of avoidance, John said softly, “It’s okay, lad. He just wanted you to know that he loves you… always has.”

Adam nodded and carefully slid the sketchbook into his school bag. John felt an unexpected twinge of anxiety when the book disappeared from his sight but assured himself that this was what David wanted and his son had a right to it.

Side
by side at the kitchen sink, one washing and the other drying, John filled David in on the final details of his conversation with Adam.

“He said you were a dag, you know.” John chuckled at the “Aussie-ism” and gave him a sideways glance, still trying to picture David in that role.

“He’s right.” David grinned but kept his eyes down on the tea towel moving rhythmically over the rim of the white dinner plate.

“Said you used to make up gross jokes.”

“I did,” David replied this time with a light giggle.

John shook his head, bumped him gently with his hip, and said softly, “Dag.”

This time David actually laughed and bumped him back. It was a small gesture, but enough to make John’s heart swell. He stood and grinned at David for a moment before dipping a couple of fingers into the dishwater and scooping a well-aimed soap bubble at David.

Looking down at the bubbles popping to spread a dark wet patch on his T-shirt, David raised his eyebrows, looked John straight in the eye, and flicked him with the towel.

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” John growled and rounded on David, who instantly took a step back, still chuckling. But rather than grabbing at the towel, John’s hand cupped the back of David’s head and he leaned in to snatch a kiss. Their teeth clashed a little as they smiled through the kiss, but neither minded.

David’s hands moved forward to rest lightly on John’s hips and this time
he
initiated the kiss. It was slow and tentative at first, but deepened when their tongues found each other. The damp towel dropped to the floor as David tightened his grip and pulled John closer, pressing hard against him. Their playful struggle changed into a sensual dance as their hips slowly slid together while they breathed each other’s air.

John’s hand slipped under the hem of David’s T-shirt, brushing over ribs now barely evident beneath the smooth flesh. He nipped lightly at David’s bottom lip while his fingers dropped lower to trace the outline of David’s budding erection through the worn fabric of his jeans. John slowly eased the zipper down and slid his hand between denim and heated skin to press his palm against the hardening flesh. When David turned his hip into the touch John curled his fingers to feel the weight of the needy cock.

David’s head tipped back; half-open eyes focused on John while he moaned and pushed his hips into each movement of John’s hand. Although the obvious desire in David’s eyes surprised John, he went with their need and slowly moved them the few steps back to the wall. Strong hands moved from the open jeans to grip slender hips. In a single near-urgent action John quickly turned David to the wall to lean hard against him while sliding lips and tongue over the light sweat on the back of David’s neck.

The faded wallpaper against his cheek shifted.
Rough concrete scraped an already fist-bloodied cheek and David tensed, waiting for the pain.

It was the sudden stillness that alerted John more than anything else. His breath was ragged when he whispered, “Dave?”

No response.

The realization of their position, of what it might mean to David, swept through John, leaving him filled with fear-driven nausea. His breathing hitched and faltered while he tried to calm himself against David’s back. Although his instant reaction was to haul David away from the wall and splutter out heartfelt apologies, John hesitated and listened to something more instinctual. Easing off just enough to release some of the pressure, John leaned gently against David, his hands soft as they brushed lightly over the unresponsive body.

The first few words made no sounds and perhaps no sense while John tried to settle himself. Gradually he found his voice.

“I don’t know where you are right now, David, but I’m here if you need me. Look for me, Davey. I’m here,” he finally managed to whisper. He repeated these and other words over and over, trying to keep his tone calm and level.

Clutching, grasping hurting fingers slowed… changed… gentle and soft, not pushing, not tearing… words of threat and filth found disappeared into an accent… they whispered and caressed forcing the other words into silence….

John.

The tension under his hands slowly began to subside and John rested his forehead lightly on David’s shoulder. “That’s it, Dave,” he murmured, giving in to his own relief. “You’re here with me and I’ll never hurt you.”

John slowly slid his arms around David’s waist and eased him away from the wall, keeping him close against his own body. David stood disoriented. Though his eyes were open he wasn’t yet seeing the room. He closed them and listened, listened to the northern accent made soft by the gentle tone. David continued to lean against the warm body that issued that low rumbling voice and began to understand that he’d found his way back to John. Consciously slowing his breathing as he’d been taught, David let go of the last threads of the other reality and whispered, “I’m sorry, John.”

“Oh, David, you have
nothing
to be sorry for,” John reassured him, his voice cracking just a little. He took a deep breath and raised his head. “Absolutely nothing.”

He carefully brushed David’s hair behind his ear and placed a chaste kiss on his neck. “Would you like to lie down for a while? I can put the kettle on and make us a drink.”

David listened, took a breath, and straightened. He glanced at John and nodded.

“Come on then…. You’ll feel better in your own bed. I’ll make us tea and be in in a minute,” John babbled as he walked with David to the door of the bedroom, his hand resting lightly on the small of his back until David gave him a tired smile and wandered into the dark room. It was only when he made it into the kitchen that John felt the shaking seize his body. He slumped against the kitchen bench, shoulders bent, and seemed to crumple. The sounds he made were small as they bounced around the otherwise silent room.

Slowly, very slowly, John became quiet and the shudders eased. He was tired to the very marrow of his bones and at that moment knew he needed to be near David.

He straightened and looked toward the bedroom, but he hesitated; part of him needed to make their tea first. He roughly scrubbed at his eyes with the palm of his hand and set the cups on the counter, each with its own saucer and teaspoon. Even though he knew it would still be sitting un-drunk and stone cold in the morning, he went through the entire process of properly preparing the beverage.

When the tea was ready John stood and looked at it. He shook his head and walked out of the kitchen, leaving the full cups where they sat.

The only light in the bedroom came from the waning moon in the corner of the window. John could just make out David’s body beneath the quilt. He slowly shed his clothes and snuggled in behind David, where he carefully put an arm around him. Many layers of anxiety dissolved when David leaned back against him with a quiet “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” he murmured and kissed the bare skin of David’s shoulder. “You okay?”

David turned his face enough to see John and gave him a small nod. “I’m okay.”

John heaved a long sigh and held David closer. “While I made the tea, I was thinking about the first time we made love. I was so scared for you… and me.”

David frowned, but John continued. “I was so scared I’d hurt you. We were like this, me behind you, and I wanted you so much.” His hand moved down to gently caress David’s hip bone, subconsciously mimicking his actions of that night.

David closed his eyes and let John’s voice and touch bring it all back to him. “I knew you wouldn’t hurt me, John,” he mumbled, understanding that it was one of the few things he did know at the time.

John’s fingers splayed out over the pale skin, reading the changes beneath them. The bones weren’t quite so angular and they didn’t need to hesitate over the purple and yellow blemishes of a recent beating. This time John’s fingers didn’t tremble and were sure of their touch; this was David, the man he loved and who loved him back.

You
learn fast on the street. David had wandered for days with no purpose or even an understanding of why he was there. He just knew he needed to walk.

But he learned quickly to keep his eyes down when around large groups of teenage boys partying their freedom on a Friday night. Communication with other humans was rare and generally to be avoided.

Give
nothing
away about yourself and you might remain safe.

David knew the times public toilets were locked after dark; then it was parks, alleys, and vacant lots. He watched old-timers stuff their clothes with discarded newspapers in bitter weather and followed suit. Anything to stay warm and survive another day where the sun may come out.

David knew he’d never lose what he’d learned. Even here with John snoring lightly against his back, it would stay with him despite their skin sharing warmth in the first gray of dawn.

“
I lay
in bed and watched him sleep last night,” John said softly with an embarrassed shrug, not even sure why it was relevant. But Barbara smiled, understanding that he’d get around to what he wanted to say when he was ready.

“Last night….” John stopped and gave a slightly frustrated glance at the ceiling. “Things have been going so well. Then last night I think I pushed him… David, too hard. We were um,
playing around
and we got carried away. I held him against the wall and he kind of disappeared. It was as if he went into himself. I
frightened
him, Barb, and it was only when I stopped and talked to him that he was able to come back.”

Barbara shook her head and reached over to touch his hand. “No, John. That’s not totally true. It wasn’t you that frightened him. There are places in David’s memories that I’m sure neither of us would want to be. They’re going to surface from time to time and, as scary as it might seem, that needs to happen.”

It was John’s turn to shake his head. “I don’t understand. How can what I saw him go through last night help?”

“Burying things doesn’t help. You two are very similar in that way. Far too similar in fact,” she said, as an almost cheeky smile crept into the corners of her mouth. “The main difference is that you were given some good advice and found your little store before it all became too much for you.”

She sat back and sipped her coffee to let John mull over the concept. Finally he nodded his acceptance and she continued. “He’s learning, John; learning how to cope with both his past and his present. I don’t think he’s ready to deal with thinking about his future yet. You know I can’t tell you what we discuss in our sessions, but he’s working so hard at it. And from what you just told me it’s helping…
you
are helping. Don’t look so surprised! What you did through instinct, talking to him, was what he needed to help him find a way home when he got lost.”

When he got lost….
John knew that was true because that’s exactly how it had felt. Looking down at his hands, John voiced the one fear that still ate at him. “What if I can’t always do that?”

“Then you can’t, John,” Barbara answered with total and somewhat unnerving honesty. “But I believe he’s not the same man who slept here clutching his sketchbooks. David won’t always hide now. He’ll look for
you,
John.”

“Fuck,” John cursed quietly and tightened his fingers around his mug.

But Barbara just gave him a small laugh and asked, “So how are
you
doing, John?”

“Me? I’m okay,” John replied as if to deny his white knuckles.

“Of course you are,” Barbara commented with a raised eyebrow, making John laugh.

Jamie
hunched over the counter flicking through a magazine, not really taking time over any of the articles, but doing that aimless browsing we adopt when avoiding onerous work tasks. A shadow passed over a picture of a celebrity who was trying to prove that they’d eaten at least once in their lifetime and Jamie looked up to give the elderly customer his best smile. “Adele, what can I do for you today?”

She gave him a slightly confused frown and placed a small parcel on the counter. Jamie looked at it and then back to the woman, wondering if he was supposed to know what this meant. “Is that for me?”

Adele shook her head and pointed to the front of the store. “A young man was sitting outside and gave it to me to bring in for his dad.
David,
I think he said. That’s the quiet man who stays near the old books, isn’t it? Didn’t look big enough to be dangerous, the package I mean, so I brought it in.”

Jamie immediately looked in the direction she’d indicated but saw no one through the window. “Um, can you do me a favor and look after the store for a minute?” Jamie asked, already heading toward the door.

“Look after the store,” Adele muttered and moved behind the counter with an air of authority. “I worked in retail for over forty years; I could
run
this store.”

Jamie rushed out onto the street, but could only see a group of mothers listening to schoolyard tales as they walked their children home. “Shit,” he cursed quietly but still received an admonishing glare from one of the women. Jamie muttered a quick sorry and gave her an apologetic smile. It was then he saw past the group to spot the back of a teenage boy disappearing up the street.

It was only a glimpse, yet it was enough to send Jamie jogging up the street until he was able to stretch out his arm and touch the boy’s shoulder. “Adam? It is Adam, isn’t it?” Jamie asked hopefully when the young man stopped and turned toward him.

Adam gave Jamie a long look before finally nodding. “Yeah. I, ah, I don’t want to cause any trouble. I know I’m not supposed to be here.”

“It’s okay,” Jamie said quickly, seeing how flustered Adam was at being approached. He nodded toward a nearby bench and starting walking, watching to make sure the teenager followed him. “I’m just surprised you knew how to find us.”

“It was pretty easy,” Adam started quietly. “I mean, I knew John’s name and that he had a bookstore so it didn’t take me long to run a few searches on the Net.” He glanced sideways at Jamie and shrugged.

“Fuck, I can barely do e-mail stuff.” Jamie giggled, even though he was actually quite proficient on a computer. “So you found your dad?”

“Yeah, but I know I need to give him time; John and I have talked about that.” Adam looked down at his hands and picked at a bit of dry skin next to his nail, threatening to make it bleed. Jamie nodded a little sadly. “Your dad is such a good person, Adam. He’s worth waiting for, and he’ll get there. So why the present?”

By this stage Adam had decided that he liked this Jamie guy and that his dad had got him just right in the sketch. He smiled and announced, “Today’s his birthday.”

Jamie stared for a second. “Yeah? Shit, he kept that pretty quiet. But knowing Dave I guess that shouldn’t surprise me.”

“I just wanted him to have something. To know I’m thinking about him,” Adam suggested, not sure if he was expressing how he really felt. “That’s okay, isn’t it? He’ll be okay with that?”

Jamie had no idea
how
David would react to the realization that his son knew where he was but chose to reassure the worried teenager. “I think it’ll mean a lot to him, Adam.”

Adam nodded and looked down the street to where he could just make out the front of the bookstore. “Is he in there now?”

Briefly following Adam’s line of sight, Jamie quietly confirmed, “Yeah. Dave’s in his favorite old leather chair with his nose buried in a book.”

It took several rapid blinks to clear the moisture that welled in Adam’s eyes at the scene he could so easily picture, and it hurt to know his dad was that close and he couldn’t talk to him. “I miss him.”

For an instant all Jamie wanted to do was to grab Adam’s hand and walk him through the door of Margins and sit him in the battered chair next to his father, but he knew he couldn’t do that to David. He’d come so far in the past year; each small step took courage and those steps had to be his own. “He misses you too, Adam,” Jamie sighed. “He wants to be part of your life, but give him a bit longer, yeah?”

Adam nodded and stood up. “I know, more time. I better get going. My mum will be expecting me home. Tell my dad I said happy birthday, okay?”

“I will…
and
give him a hard time for not telling us.” Jamie smiled and patted Adam on the back before turning toward Margins.

“The wanderer returns.” John grinned at Adele but made it very obvious the comment was directed at Jamie. Without even acknowledging the dig, Jamie bent forward to give Adele a quick kiss and said, “Thank you. I managed to talk to him and everything’s all right.”

“That’s good,” she whispered as if they shared a secret, and then said a little louder, “Keep me in mind if you ever need advice on retail; did it for years, you know.” She gave them a cheeky smile and walked very straight-backed out of the store.

“Now what was that all about?” John asked, standing with arms folded and a curious grin on his face.

“It was Adam,” Jamie whispered and shoved John toward their little kitchen. “He was here.”

The color visibly drained from John’s face. “Fuck. What happened? Is Dave all right?” He instantly made to move out the door but Jamie quickly held up his hands. “Dave doesn’t know. Adam didn’t come in.”

Dave doesn’t know.
“Okay… okay.” John rubbed his fingers over his mouth, taking a moment to process the situation. “Why was he here? What did Adam want?”

Digging the little parcel out of his pocket, Jamie showed it to John and said, “It’s David’s birthday.”

John looked from the parcel to Jamie and then out to the store. “He didn’t say anything.” John’s voice was quiet and held a tinge of hurt.

“Maybe he doesn’t know?” Jamie offered. “I mean, he doesn’t seem to follow a regular calendar. He only found out it was nearly Adam’s birthday by accident, remember, and he’d see that as more important than his own birthday.”

John nodded sadly; he remembered that only too well… and what David had resorted to to see his son. Finally he turned back to Jamie with a very determined look and said, “Dave has a present to open from his son.”

David was sitting buried in the second book of a trilogy, boots beside the chair and a leg curled beneath him. It was a familiar sight to John, but it still had the power to make his heart rise into his throat. “Do you know what day it is, Dave?” John said quietly and sat next to him. When David just nodded, John pushed the little package into his hand and admitted, “I didn’t know, but Adam did.”

The tension in David’s body was instant; he stared at the package as if it contained all the ills of the world.

“He brought it for you,” John explained carefully. “He didn’t come in, Dave…. Adam’s a good boy.”

When David didn’t move John began to gently rub his hand over the knotted muscles at the back of David’s neck. “You want me to leave it with you?”

The question took a while to register and David’s eyes drifted up to John’s before returning to his hands. Slowly his fingers began to peel off the tape; three pieces in all. Next the blue foil wrapping was folded back and David held in his hand a tiny book.

John leaned forward to get a better look. “It’s an elf book.” The comment was whispered but held the awe David remembered in little Adam’s voice. He looked up at John and smiled. “Yeah… it is.”

Together they sat in the leather chairs and read through the story of a teenage boy called Adam who had searched for a misplaced treasure only to find he hadn’t lost it at all.

The
insistent ring finally broke through the dreams of sleep. With a groan John threw back the covers and grumbled all the way to the living room, ready to give the caller a serve.

“Hello, may I speak to John McCann please?” The voice was that of an elderly woman trying hard to mask a prominent accent in a “proper telephone voice”.

“Speaking.” John frowned; the familiarity of the voice took away the last of his anger even though he couldn’t quite put a face to it.

“Hello, pet. It’s your Aunt Annie.”

John was quiet when he slid back into bed. David lay on his side and watched John settle without a word of who was on the phone. “You okay?” he whispered, hating how his voice echoed in the silence of the dark room.

At first there was no answer and the question seemed to hang between them, but finally John said in an oddly matter-of-fact voice, “My dad died.”

When nothing else was said, David shuffled the short distance between them and leaned into John’s back. His fingers gently threaded through fine blond hair that took on a bluish-silver hue in the moonlight of the open curtains. With lips inches from the pale curve of John’s ear, David murmured, “You need to go home, John.”

There was the barest shake of his head then said a soft, “I don’t know.”

John felt sick to the pit of his stomach, but concentrated on the gentle caress and gradually began to hear the soft hum of an unfamiliar tune. When the words started he didn’t recognize them but let them wash over him until the churning eased.