The Devil's Trill Sonata (8 page)

“Might be worth thinking about,” Darren snarled. He ducked his head over his chest and hissed.

“Amy, leg it dahn to the main office and get the first aid kit, we’ll ‘ave to strap ‘is arm to ‘is chest. Trev, you and me are going to get ‘im dahnstairs. Kelly, get my radio and point-to-point Jenny in the office, tell her we’ve got someone needs a run dahn to the A&E. Daz? You’ve gone right white, son, you gonna pass aht on me?”

“No,” Darren muttered, swallowing. “Think I’m gonna be sick, though.”

“Nah worries,” the instructor said and he was rudely hefted to his feet. His stomach rolled. “Ah don’t clean the floor.”

“Good,” Darren said and promptly threw up all over his own boots.

* * * *

“Dislocated,” the doctor said briskly and slapped an X-ray up onto the viewer. “Nice and neat. Back in nice and neat too, but I doubt you remember that.”

“Nope,” Darren said. He’d passed out when Jenny, the training centre receptionist, had gone over a speed bump. He didn’t even remember arriving. He’d just woken up in a ward off A&E with his arm in a stiff, rubbery type of sling and his hand strapped to his collarbone, and a shame-faced Trev Buxton sitting by the bed.

“Give it a couple of weeks, take it easy, no getting jerked about by the arm,” the doctor said, and Trev reddened. “It should stay back in. The damage from your previous injury makes the joint susceptible generally, mind, so I’d keep it in the sling for a few days.”

“Okay,” Darren said. That was fine. They had classroom lessons for the rest of the week until they broke for Christmas, he could do those in a sling.

“I’ll issue some mild codeine-based painkillers,” the doctor said, scribbling, “because you’ll turn on it in the night and wake up swearing. Who do we call?”

“Huh?”

“Family, girlfriend, missus?” the doctor prompted. “You’re going to be wrapped up like a Christmas turkey for a couple of weeks, minimum.”

Darren opened his mouth, then closed it. What would be the point in telling Jayden? He’d not be able to come down anyway, and he’d have a go over the phone about Darren’s job for the
nth
time, and it would be unpleasant, and…

“Housemate,” he said instead. “Rachel Yates. She’ll be at work until four, though…”

“Nobody else?” the doctor prompted, looking sceptical. “Siblings?”

“Dunno if you’ve noticed the accent, but I’m not a local,” Darren said dryly. “I’m not even from Hampshire. And I’m gay. I don’t have a ‘missus.’”

The doctor frowned, and Trev jumped in. “I’ll drive him home,” he offered.

“Trev…”

“Nah, mate, it’s fine,” he said. “Robertson said I had to come with until you were admitted or sent home anyway. We’ll be down to do the SD training some other time.”

“I have to do this
again
with you?” Darren asked disbelievingly, and Trev grinned.

“I’ll do the other arm, even you up a bit.”

“Is that settled, then?” the doctor asked, still frowning. “You will take Mr. Peace home?” His tone was suddenly more formal, and Trev frowned back.

“Yeah, sure, if you’re kicking him out now.”

“I’ll get this prescription filled. Once the nurse brings it to you, you’re free to go,” he said in a clipped of manner, and swept out, the curtain flapping when he pushed through it.

“I think he doesn’t like poufs,” Trev said genially.

“Mm.”

“You all right?”

“Yeah,” Darren said. “Hurts like hell, but I’ve had worse.”

“What’s up with it?” Trev asked bluntly. “I saw ’em take your shirt off to have a look. You got maps on there, mate.”

“I got stabbed,” Darren said, easing himself into a sitting position. Thankfully, he’d been wearing a stretchy T-shirt, so they hadn’t cut it off him, though it was a bit misshapen now. “When I was fifteen.”

“Jesus,” Trev said. “They get him?”

“Nope,” Darren said. “Mugging. Gone wrong, he didn’t get my phone he was after. Jammed a knife in the joint and fucked it up, hence you popped it out easily. Busted ligaments and tendons and shit.”

“
Ouch
,” Trev said.

“Er,” Darren said. “Hate to ask, but…can you help me with my boots?”

Trev sniggered. “Sure.”

“Tell people and die.”

“It’s cool, mate, I have a kid,” Trev said. “You really a pouf, then? Amy said you was, but we thought she was winding us up.”

“Bisexual,” Darren said.

“Yeah? So who’s fit in our group, then?”

“Amy,” Darren said promptly, and Trev guffawed, lacing his boots for him.

“Can’t argue with that,” he said. “Got a bloke, then? You said no missus.”

“Boyfriend,” Darren said. “He’s at university, though. Cambridge.”

“Bloody fuck.”

“Mm.”

“So no offence, mate, but if he’s some Oxbridge toff, what’s he doing with you?”

“Fuck knows,” Darren said, sliding down off the bed once his boots were laced. His shoulder ached, but the fuzzy edges of drugs were still blunting it. He wanted to be home when this wore off. “Let’s get these drugs and go. I’m going to pop the pills and go to fucking bed.”

“Good plan. You gonna make it in tomorrow?”

“Oh, fuck,” Darren grimaced. “I can’t drive.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Trev said. “I’ll pass your address round the group and sound out someone to pick you up. ‘Ow long does it take to get to the centre from yours?”

“Half an hour,” Darren said. “I owe you one.”

“I owe you, for busting your shoulder,” Trev said. “You gonna be all right home on your own?”

“Yeah, housemate’ll be back by half four at the latest, and it’s her turn to cook tonight anyway,” Darren said. He was suddenly struck by how
different
this would have been if he’d still been in school, and a little twinge opened up in his chest that was nothing to do with the injury.

“Good,” Trev said. “Suggestion? Cold water, your face. You look like I beat you up.”

Darren scowled. “How bad is it?”

“We-ell,” Trev said. “Given I thought I’d broke your cheekbone, it’s not half bad, actually.”

“Oh, my
God
, your
face
!” Rachel shrieked the minute she let herself in.

Trev had insisted on walking Darren up into his flat and leaving a message for Rachel on her mobile. “Just in case you doze off or whatever,” he’d insisted. He’d left after that, promising to text Darren with details of a pick-up. And Darren had been allowed an hour of relative peace to examine his bruised face in the bathroom mirror and take a couple of painkillers before there’d been boots on the stairs and Rachel had barrelled in.

“That looks
epic
,” she pronounced and grinned. “Did you not put your hand out?”

“Well, Trev had one hand, and I was a bit preoccupied with the searing pain,” Darren said.

“Bummer,” she said. “Still up for chilli con carne, though?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Good,” she said, settling herself on the sofa and flicking Darren’s small telly on. “What happened, then?”

Darren told her. He’d managed to gingerly shower after Trev had left, and replaced the sling equally carefully. He felt clean, tired, and ready to eat and sleep, preferably in that order. The flat was warm (the landlady had been cooking up a storm downstairs when they’d come home) and there was just something about sitting around in a dressing gown that made a man feel better.

“I want to hug you,” Rachel said once he was done.

“Don’t.”

“What if I hug your other arm?”

“No. I’m not moving, and you aren’t moving me, and…”

The phone rang, and Darren groaned, dropping his head back. “It’ll be work,” he predicted. “Leave it!” he added hastily as Rachel bounced up, but she answered it anyway.

“Rachel speaking!” she trilled. “Darren’s kind of tied up at the minute, can I—oh, hi Jayden!”

“Oh, you’re kidding me,” Darren muttered. Jayden hadn’t called in a week, and
now
he decided to? Awesome. “Rachel, give it here!
Rachel
!”

“Jesus, grumpy,” she muttered, putting it on speakerphone and dropping the handset in his lap. “Jayden, your boyfriend is a grumpy bitch!”

“What’s new?” Jayden asked. “Hi, Darren.”

“Hey. Rachel, get out. Scream when dinner explodes.”

“Gotcha,” she said, noisily kissed the top of his head, and slammed her way out.

“Sorry,” Darren said.

“S’okay,” Jayden replied, his voice low. It sounded very quiet. “Um, what’s going on?”

“What d’you mean?”

“You got tagged on Facebook.”

“Stalker. What’s it say?”

“Someone called Amy Chang? Um, ‘
training was
…’—I think she means wicked? ‘
Training was wicked, except for Trevor trying to rip Darren’s arm off. Oops
!’ What does she mean, Trevor tried to rip your arm off?”

“We were doing takedowns and Trev got a bit enthusiastic with the whole smack-my-face-into-the-floor thing,” Darren said.

“…But you’re okay, right?”

“Yeah,” Darren lied promptly. There was no point in telling Jayden about this, not really. He couldn’t come down anyway, and it was just a dislocated shoulder. It wasn’t like Trev had
actually
torn his arm off. “Bruised my face a bit, mind. I’m not pretty.”

“You weren’t pretty to start with,” Jayden retorted tartly, then softened. “I got worried.”

Darren curled his toes where he had his feet propped up on the coffee table. “Don’t,” he said simply.

“Couldn’t help it,” Jayden said. “Why couldn’t you have picked a nice desk job? Or a degree, you know, where people don’t try and throw you around?”

Darren rolled his eyes. “Boring.”

“Mm,” Jayden said, and there was a rustling sound. “You’re sure you’re okay, though? Your, um, your colleagues seem to find it quite entertaining.”

“Well, yeah. He nearly broke my nose. That’s pretty funny if it doesn’t happen to you.”

“He didn’t, though?”

“Nah. My gorgeous face is just the same,” Darren said. Or at least it would be by the time he got to Cambridge for Christmas next Thursday.

“Good,” Jayden said, and his voice dropped even further. “I’m going to attack you and your face when you get here, you know. I miss you.”

“Sounds more like your di-”

“Darren!”

Darren sniggered. Some things didn’t change, and Jayden’s blushing virgin routine was one of them. He’d never
quite
stopped being flustered by innuendo, even if he was a lot more direct about actually
doing
anything than he had been at sixteen. “It’s too easy,” he protested mildly.

“Oh, shut up,” Jayden muttered. “God, I don’t know
why
I miss you. You’re clumsy and nearly break your face and you ruin a nice moment with dirty thoughts, and…”

“Those are exactly the reasons you miss me.”

“Darren. I said shut up, and I mean shut up, because I’m not done with my list.”

“Shut up yourself,” Darren said. “And do my ears deceive me? You’re actually talking time out of your busy schedule to
call
me?”

“I
know
, I know I’ve been busy…”

“It sounds
quiet
, dear Lord.”

“It is,” Jayden said softly. “I locked myself in my room and I’m in bed and it’s warm. I might go to sleep for a bit later, but I still have work to do this evening, and it
needs
doing this evening, but when I saw you’d been tagged…”

“Yeah, yeah. Fusspot.”

“You sound like my mother.”

“Someone has to.”

“Shut
up
,” Jayden repeated in a whine, and the rustling sounded again. Darren surmised it was his bedsheets. “It’s only a week until you’re here and you’re teasing me.”

“No, teasing you would be telling you that I’m not wearing any boxers.”

“Darren!”

“What? I’m not.”

“You don’t have to tell me that.”

“Why not? I’m not wearing a shirt either. Just pyjama bottoms and my dressing gown.” And a load of NHS-branded rubber and foam, but he decided to leave that part out. “You only have to wait a week before you can see the real deal.”

“You’re a bastard. I’m dating a bastard, and I hate you, and you’re going to hell.”

“Yeah, the shagging blokes thing does that to you.”

“Oh, piss off,” Jayden murmured and sighed. “I should go and do my essay. But I’m glad I got to talk to you, I know we haven’t much lately, it’s just…”

“You’re busy,” Darren said quietly. “I get it. Go…be busy. Get degrees. All that nice stuff.”

There was a long pause, in which the aching wasn’t coming from Darren’s shoulder but his chest.

“I love you,” Jayden whispered.

Darren swallowed hard. “I love you too,” he said and tried to make it not sound like a goodbye.

* * * *

“Have a good time!” Rachel had called from the car when she’d dropped Darren off at the station, but he’d already had his concerns by then.

He hadn’t been able to get hold of Jayden again since that night, and had had to settle for texting the change in plans. Scott had finally gotten settled in his new flat in Northampton and had insisted Darren come to see him first. “Just us for a day, before we have to go to the ‘rents,” he’d bargained, and it had sounded okay, something to do, so Darren had agreed. He was on medical leave anyway. His arm was next to useless, and apparently the centre’s health and safety inspector had thrown a fit and refused to have him back on site until he was cleared by occupational health. For a popped shoulder.
Some
people didn’t deserve jobs, but to hell with it. He’d be fine by New Year.

Scott had taken a position as an area manager, and moved to Northampton around the same time Darren had moved to Southampton. (That had been an endless source of amusement to Scott, but then, Scott was a simple-minded twerp at the best of times.) Northampton was familiar stomping ground to Scott, being where he was born and where he’d always liked to go for properly organised piss-ups, but Darren didn’t remember it. They’d left when he was three, and he’d never had any interest in going back. Scott had always intended to, though, and so Darren hadn’t been wholly surprised when he’d finally fled the nest only to end up there.