Page 66 of Crying in the Rain
Kris shrugged. “Only you can make those decisions. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. But I will say this. You are the most incredible, strong man I’ve ever met. I’m excited for the day you can see that for yourself, even if you also decide you’re too good for me, which you are.”
Ade drew breath again, but Kris shook his head and turned, sitting cross-legged, so he was fully facing Ade, albeit with Casperbetween them. He reached across and brushed his fingers down Ade’s arm. “I’ll promise to be patient if you will. There’s a lot of stuff in my head that I need to tell you about, but let’s deal with one thing at a time. Is that OK?”
“Yes,” Ade agreed. Casper groaned like an old man and rolled onto his back, legs sticking straight up in the air, like a flipped furry occasional table. It instantly lightened the mood.
After that, they finished their lukewarm tea and took turns to visit the shower, Kris first, a kiss passing between them like a relay baton as Ade went to take his turn. Typically, Ade’s phone started ringing the second he closed the bathroom door. Kris checked the screen: it was a local number, which meant it was the garage calling about his car. It stopped and then rang a second time. Kris answered it.
“Ade Simmons’ phone. He can’t speak right now, but I can take a message for him.”
“Good morning. It’s McCoy’s garage. The recovery service brought Mr. Simmons’ car in to us last night. We need to have a chat with him about how he wants to proceed, as it’s not an easy fix, I’m afraid. Can you ask him to give us a call?”
“Will do.”
Kris ended the call. “Damn.” The dog flipped the right way up and belly-crawled down the bed, nudging Kris’s hand for fuss. Kris sighed. “He’ll be devastated, Caspy.”
***
Ade
“Been racing alongthe beach?” the mechanic asked from under the bonnet of the car he was working on—notthe MG.
“You’ve got to be kidding!” Ade said. There was no way he’d take it anywhere off-road.
“In that case, someone’s tampered with your oil. There’s sand in it, and it’s worked its way through your engine. It’s probably a write-off, mate. Sorry.” The mechanic put down his wrench andrubbed his hands on an oily rag. “The boss said he could give the MG specialist a call, see if he can get hold of a re-con. There’s not many about, but it’s worth a try…”
Ade was no longer listening. He was furious. As if Fergus hadn’t done enough damage already, now he’d destroyed his most treasured possession. Not flash—an out-of-date heap of scrap, as he’d told Ade often enough—but a trusty friend and an irreplaceable memento. Fergus was nothing short of a murderer. However, Ade was still here. He would live to fight another day, and he wouldn’t be wasting any more time or energy on defending or justifying his shit of an ex-boyfriend.
Fergus’s latest attack might not have been a physical strike, but it was no less brutal, and it made Ade more determined than ever that it ended here, curtain down, no encore. Fergus Campbell was history.
23: Mum Knows Best
Ade
Julia’s house was, like most family homes, a bipolar residence. The evenings were vibrant and loud, with Ade’s nephew and niece yelling and squealing and running up and down the stairs, two low-carriage basset hounds yapping and attempting hot pursuit, while Julia and Russ hollered at the four of them to ‘pack it in’ or ‘pipe down’ or ‘get in your bed,now!’ and tried to catch a little R-and-R in front of the TV before turning in for some much-needed rejuvenation…only to do it all over again tomorrow. Then there were the daytimes, when everyone was out and the warm glow of family turned to a foggy, off-white blankness, leaving Ade with too much time to dwell and ruminate and generally do his mental well-being no favours.
On the plus side, Fergus hadn’t tried to call. In fact, nobody had called. Kris and Pip had both said they’d wait for Ade to call them so he had a chance to rest, and he’d pretty much crashed out for the first forty-eight hours. Truthfully, it had been years since he’d felt safe enough to properly sleep, but acknowledging how long he’d allowed Fergus to hurt and control him reminded him how pathetic he was…no, how pathetiche had been, so he was trying not to consciously think about it.
His subconscious, however, had different ideas—panic attacks, nightmares, flashbacks…he felt like some kind of nut job, sitting up half the night, reading trashy novels to fill the hours, and then napping half the day away in front of the TV. He couldn’t face going out, but being alone was turning him morose. He was missing his job, missing Pip, missing Kris, and much to his shame, he was missing Fergus. He kept reminding himself: breaking the habit was the hard part, and he mustn’t give in to the craving. What he needed was a new routine, or any routine at all, so he could get back to normal ASAP and stop malingering like some kind of unemployed lodger.
Come the following Saturday, Julia had clearly had enough and took charge, insisting Ade accompanied her for the weekly grocery shop. He went along with it purely out of guilt for being such an atrocious house guest, and he was glad he did, as they spent the entire day cruising the Trafford Centre, buying clothes and eating lunch and doing very little in the way of grocery shopping, just like they’d always done beforeItstole his fun.
The next morning, feeling a little less the worse for wear than he had, Ade joined Julia’s brood for their usual Sunday ritual of a family walk and a full English breakfast. It was the first meal Ade had felt like eating, but Julia killed his appetite in one fell swoop when she informed him he was going to church with them, and it wasn’t optional.
He tried not to freak out, telling himselfit’s only communion. Julia wasn’t to know Fergus had forced him to go too, which had to have been some kind of self-flagellation, given the reason Ade had stopped going in his teens was that he’d realised his sexual ‘preferences’ went against the Church’s teaching. Or maybe Ferg thought an hour or two of praying for forgiveness gave him a free pass for the rest of the week.
For the sake of peace, and because he didn’t want to be alone with Ferg squatting in his head, Ade went to church, and it turned out to be OK. Maybe more than OK, as the vicar had a rainbow pinned to her sweater—no stuffy robes—and made a point of letting Ade know he was always welcome in her church.
“I swear I didn’t tell her anything about you,” Julia assured him frantically as soon as they were outside.
Ade hooked his arm through hers. “Gaydar strikes again,” he said, and they laughed and reminisced his coming out to their parents, which began when a Year 9 boy approached Adein his first week of high school to invite him to the pupil LGBTQ group, led to Ade panicking that he would be accidentally outed at parents’ evening and concluded with him bravely deciding to get in there first. He could still recall every single second of that Wednesday night, standing in the kitchen, Julia sniggering because every time Ade began speaking, their mum interrupted to tell him it didn’t matter if he wasn’t doing well in maths or science or English orevery other subject on the curriculumuntil Ade just blurted, “I’m gay!” That had shut them both up, leaving Ade waiting for the other shoe to drop, but then his mum said, “I thought you might be,” and hugged him and that was that. His dad took a little longer to accept it, perhaps because he wasn’t around day-to-day, but it made no difference to their relationship or their shared love of classic cars.
Julia had been right, though, he had to concede. Going to church had been good for him, but it also underscored how much the world had moved on while he hadn’t been looking. It wasn’t that he was totally out of touch with reality—working in radio guaranteed he’d be up to date on current affairs—but all the small, important things, like his sister’s career change for instance, had passed him by. He needed to do better. But first, he needed to get better.
The rest of Sunday was of the typical working-family variety—roast dinner, ironing, homework, preparing for the week ahead. And then it was Monday, and Ade was on his own again. He had a lie-in, took the dogs for a walk, checked his email, ignored the phone…
Mum kept calling, and he couldn’t avoid her forever. In the evenings, Julia fielded for him, reassuring their mum that he was fine and in the bath or on the loo or already in bed. When she called during the day, Ade let it go to voicemail, listening back to the increasingly weary request that he call when he could and then sending a message to say he was OK but busy. All lies.
By Wednesday, despite his best efforts, he’d slipped right back to where he’d been a week ago. He needed a shower and a shave,but it hardly seemed worth the effort. Still, he decided that when his mum called today, he would answer. Except she didn’t call. She turned up in a taxi and let herself in, and the first he knew about it was when she said his name. He leapt from the sofa, palm to his chest.
