A Note in the Margin (7 page)

Once out the door, John didn’t venture far from the bathroom and leaned against the wall watching his hands rub nervously together until David emerged. David was slightly startled by John’s close proximity, but settled when he saw the bed made up for him; he needed to sleep.

John straightened up quickly, his hand raised as if to touch David’s arm before dropping equally fast to his side. He saw David looking at the makeshift bed and shook his head. “Oh um, that’s for me. You can have… ah, my bed tonight.” John blushed a little at the mention of his bed and mentally kicked himself for wording it that way. David looked at him curiously, making John feel even more flustered. He attempted a quick cover-up with the action of moving into the bedroom, hoping David would follow. “The bedroom is through here. It’s a warm bed, but the heater switch is there if you get cold.” John suddenly ran out of words, feeling very self-conscious standing so close to David in his bedroom. Sensing John’s discomfort, David misinterpreted its origin; he lowered his face and mumbled “Thank you.”

John nodded and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and grabbed a glass, which he promptly filled with scotch. He gulped a couple of mouthfuls before rubbing his fingers wearily over his eyes.
What the hell are you doing, McCann?

The
green glow of the DVD display was the only thing John could see when he sat up startled out of a troubled sleep. He didn’t know what had woken him so suddenly and found it difficult to orientate himself in the gloom of the windowless room. He sat on the edge of the couch waiting for the rush of his heartbeat to cease in his ears so he could listen to the sounds of the apartment…. Nothing. He stood up and moved nearer to his bedroom door. When he heard no obvious sounds John carefully opened the door. The stream of moonlight through the open curtains made the room seem bright in comparison to the living room; John could easily see David asleep in his bed. He stood quietly in the doorway watching the rise and fall of the quilt matching the steady wheeze of breathing. John grimaced at the tightening of his chest and the need to make an admission.
Fucking hell, I’m in trouble here.

Consciousness
slowly invaded David’s sleep and along with it came the steady thump of a headache. He lay still, taking the time to wake up fully before even attempting to open his eyes. Rather than preparing for the usual regret of waking, David allowed his body to relax in the warmth of the bed. The sheets smelled vaguely of John. Turning his face slightly into the pillow, David rested his nose against the pillowcase and breathed deeply. It was only then that he noticed the sound of light snoring. He must have heard it before but it hadn’t registered. He was used to the sound of snoring bodies nearby; frequently it was only exhaustion that enabled him to sleep among the noise of the men’s shelter. He frowned and instantly regretted the action when the dried cut in his hairline threatened to split.

David opened his eyes; the morning light sent a bolt of pain shooting into his already aching head. He groaned and squinted until his eyes acclimatized to the intrusion of daylight.

The other side of the bed was empty. Stretching his hand out under the covers, David slid it across the mattress. Seeing the movement of the quilt charting its progress he wondered vaguely which side of the bed John usually slept on… which was his pillow? David sighed. It was ridiculous that he was thinking such thoughts.

A snort suddenly interrupted the snoring before settling back into a steady and louder rhythm. David realized it was behind him. He carefully pulled his hand back and braced it against the mattress to turn over. Every joint and muscle complained at the movement; the pain of rolling over momentarily took his breath away. But now he was looking at John.

John was asleep in the wingback armchair in the corner of the room, the blanket from the couch draped over one shoulder and down across his knees. One leg was tucked under his body and his head tipped to one side, resting on his palm. David couldn’t help but smile at the sight of John open-mouthed and snoring at full bellow. Completely unguarded in his dreams.

David had lost track of how long he’d been watching John sleep when he was startled by the shrill buzz of the alarm clock. John woke with a grunt, almost tipping the chair as he jumped up, eyes darting unfocused around the room. It took him a few seconds to realize what had happened and then he walked over to the nightstand. He gave David a sheepish grin and shrugged. “Ah, sorry. I forgot to switch that off last night.”

A wave of self-consciousness flushed through David as he lay in John’s bed. He glanced away and mumbled a quick “It’s okay.”

John silently cursed himself for not waking sooner so he could creep back to the couch unnoticed; he moved away from David to look out the window. The morning was gray and the thin light had a harsh edge. He absently raised his arms above his head, a hand on each elbow, and stretched, twisting his head until he felt that satisfying pop of his joints. He ached from the night spent in the chair but played it down with a shrug. “I’m getting too old for that.” He smiled, tilting his head toward the wingback.

David frowned and looked at John, who now felt the need to explain. “Look. Last night I was worried. You didn’t seem too… um…
together,
and I kept thinking I should have called a doctor.” His explanation trailed off.

David thought about this for a moment, then looked at the chair and said quietly, “I’m okay now. I’ll get dressed and go.” He made to get out of the bed, but his clenched jaw gave away how the simple movement had sent pain rocketing through his rib cage. John instantly held out his hand in an action reminiscent of someone trying to soothe a frightened animal; his voice came out louder than intended. “No… what I mean is, this time you have to let me make you breakfast.”

Although momentarily stilled, David mumbled, “I don’t usually eat breakfast.”

“Well today you do. You missed out on a good fry-up last time,” John countered, not willing to give up.

David’s stomach rolled at the thought of eating, his head pounding sickly. He ran his fingers tentatively over his forehead and said, “Please, John… just coffee?”

John smiled, nodded, and headed into the kitchen.
Shit, stop overcompensating and give him some fucking breathing room.
He leaned palms-down against the bench in an attempt to gather his thoughts.
Okay, calm down. Make him a drink.
Maybe he could manage some toast and actually talk to the man!

With the coffee brewing, his tea in the pot, and bread in the toaster, John finally started to feel like he had some control over the situation. He set up a tray with two cups, napkins, a glass of water, and a strip of aspirin… not for himself for a change.

While spreading a generous layer of marmalade on the hot toast, John started to understand that David’s first meal of the day was probably the sandwich he shared with Jamie and that he’d never actually considered what David did when the store was closed on Sundays. In fact he knew
nothing
about David.

With the tray set up, John made his way back into the bedroom. When he came through the door David pushed himself upright in the bed, grimacing until he eased back against the headboard. John used the edge of the tray to move the clock and lamp back to make space on the nightstand for their breakfast. When it was safely situated he pulled the wingback chair closer to the bed. It was heavier and took more effort than John had anticipated, but he was determined not to let David see that he struggled with its weight. That done, John smiled briefly before sitting down and swallowing a large gulp of his tea.

Up until then David had been sitting quietly watching John organize their breakfast setting. He looked at the tray, feeling a little overwhelmed that John had gone to so much trouble for him. He reached for the aspirin, hesitated, and glanced up at John as if seeking permission before downing three tablets. He closed his eyes for a moment as a wave of nausea followed the pills. John saw David’s response to the medication and said in a very soft voice, “Try to eat something; it’ll help.”

David picked up a piece of toast and tentatively bit the hard crust, chewing slowly and carefully. “You know, maybe you should stay here today? Take it easy?” John suggested, staring at his fingers holding his cup a little too tightly. “Jamie is going to be an absolute nightmare when he finds out you’re back.”

Still chewing his first bite, David smiled at the thought of Jamie pestering John for details, and had to admit the offer sounded good. “Thank you, John. Please tell him I’m okay.”

John nodded but didn’t smile back as he asked, “What happened last night? Who did this to you?”

“Just kids. Drunk and looking for an easy target, I guess,” David answered with a dismissive shrug.

“Fucking hell, David,” John cursed. “How can you treat it like that?”

Keeping his eyes down, David lay the slice of toast back on the plate and picked up his coffee. “It happens.”

“To you? Has it happened to you before?” John asked, leaning forward in his chair. David just nodded and took a sip of coffee.

John couldn’t believe it; he felt physically sick that anyone could find entertainment in beating someone up. He replaced his cup on the tray and caught the time on the clock behind it. “Shite. I gotta go or Jamie will be up those stairs looking for me. I’ll see you later, okay?” He waited until David agreed then grabbed some clothes and dashed into the living room to change before heading down to the store and the barrage of questions he knew would be waiting for him once he admitted to David’s return.

John
was just unlocking the front door of the store when Jamie walked up behind him. “You’re running late this morning,” Jamie said, stamping his feet against the cold.

John braced himself for the onslaught and said without looking around, “David’s back.”

Jamie’s feet instantly stilled. “When? How do you know? Where is he?” He whirled around as if David would magically appear near him.

John rolled his eyes and said, “Inside first; it’s bloody cold.”

He couldn’t help but grin at Jamie, who virtually bounced through the door and past him to the counter. “Okay, we’re in. Tell me!”

“David turned up at my place last night,” John paused, unsure how to tell Jamie what had happened. “He’d gotten into a bit of trouble; been in a fight.”

“No way! David wouldn’t hit anyone,” Jamie stated adamantly.

John shook his head, sighed and explained, “
They
hit
him
but he’s okay. Just bruised and sore.”

“Fucking bastards. Where is he?” Jamie asked, pretty sure that John wouldn’t have sent him away, but needed to be certain.

“He stayed the night and is upstairs finishing his breakfast,” John said in a voice that managed to sound a lot calmer than he felt about it all.

Relieved, Jamie broke into a huge grin. “He came to
you,
John.”

A whole swarm of butterflies suddenly took flight in John’s stomach. He turned away, blushing furiously, and grumbled, “Get the register set up, Jamie, and keep your mind on the day’s business.”

Jamie cracked open a roll of coins and hummed happily, not even trying to hide his amusement at John’s embarrassment.

John
was on the phone with a supplier when he saw David enter the store. He was dressed in his old clothes, the torn shirt just visible under his jacket. Although steady on his feet, John noticed how pale David was, emphasizing the ugly bruise coming out around his left eye and cheek. He smiled and nodded “hello” at David, who returned the gesture.

As David started to make his way through the store, Jamie spotted him and with a shout of “Davey” dashed over. Mid-movement, Jamie stopped himself from launching into a hug and gently stroked his hand down David’s damaged face instead. He whispered sadly, “Shit, Dave…,” but was unable to finish the sentence, finding himself uncharacteristically lost for words.

David lifted his hand and placed it over Jamie’s. “I’m okay.”

Jamie knew to leave it at that and said, “I’ll make you some tea to have with lunch, yeah?” David nodded and smiled at Jamie before turning to find his bookmarked novel and sitting in his chair.

John had left David alone for most of the day, starting to understand his need for routine; however, when he went to the back of the store to retrieve an order he noticed that David had fallen asleep. John quietly crouched beside the chair, lifted the paperback, and carefully replaced the red bookmark. When David didn’t stir, John put his hand gently on David’s arm and said, “Come on, Dave. Here are my keys. Head upstairs.” He fished his keys out of his pocket and put them on David’s open palm. David blinked awake and looked blankly at the keys sitting in his hand, not quite comprehending what was happening. John curled David’s fingers over the keys and stood up with the instruction, “Upstairs, Dave. You need to rest. I’ll be up after we close.”

John was surprised that David didn’t even try to argue, but took the keys and slowly headed out the door.

John
tested the doorknob before he raised his hand to knock; it was unlocked and he was pleased Jamie wasn’t around to witness how nervous he was entering his own apartment. The fluttering in his stomach turned to anxiety when he saw both the living room and kitchen were empty.
Fuck!
He listened carefully to the silent apartment as his eyes traveled to his bedroom door.
Bloody idiot, McCann. You told him to rest
. John pushed the door open just a fraction and peeked around. When he saw that the curtains were drawn and David was asleep in the bed he smiled and quietly closed the door.

The torn sketchbook caught John’s eye. It was still sitting on the table where he’d left it the night before. He sat down on the couch and looked at the remnants of the book. The back cover was ripped in half, several of the pages were ragged and creased, and the spiral binding wire was mangled away from almost half the book.
David had fought hard to keep this,
John thought as he ran his fingers down its edge. He knew it was none of his business, an invasion of David’s privacy, but John needed to know. He sat in silent conflict for several long minutes before picking it up.

Opening it randomly, he saw a page filled with images of himself; studies of his eyes and hands. The next picture was of John reading. There was a tranquility to the rendering that John barely recognized. There was one of Jamie. He was smiling and the eyes looked directly at him. John briefly wondered if he’d posed for this and pushed down a fleeting pang of jealousy.

His frown deepened when he turned the page. The sketch was of a teenage boy laughing at some unknown joke; John didn’t recognize him. There were many more pictures of this boy throughout the book, some hurried outlines, others painstakingly detailed. John closed the book and put it back on the table, unsure what to make of its contents.

The sketchbook had him unsettled and John needed to get up and do something. He walked purposefully into the kitchen and pulled a large pot out of the cupboard all the while trying to remember the ingredients of Gran’s favorite vegetable and barley soup.
Soup therapy.
He grinned as he started to dice carrots and drop them into the simmering chicken stock.

Within an hour, John was ladling steaming soup into two bowls, pleased with his effort even if he did have to substitute rice for barley.