Page 32 of Revive
“I’m sorry, that was blunt. Look, I get it. I’ve been mates with Spook for a fucking long time and I’ve lost times of the occasions he’s been there for me. It’s been a right kicker realising that he doesn’t trust me, at least not in the way that he trusts Xane. He doesn’t trust anybody in the way he trusts Xane. Doesn’t mean he likes you any less, but more importantly, from what you’ve said, he’s having a bad day. If you or I go over there, we’ll achieve nothing and we’ll all end up having a bad day. Maybe several of them. Weeks of them. He’s not going to want to see you or talk to you when he’s like this.”
“You haven’t even seen him.”
“We’ve been here since December. I’ve seen him. I don’t know what Xane’s superpower is, but it’s expedient and it works. Best thing you can do is leave them to it.”
“Leave them to it for how long?”
Ash shrugged. “Hours. Days. Who the fuck knows? But trust me on this,” —he gave her arm a squeeze— “if you love him, let Xane do his thing.”
“And in the meantime, I’m supposed to do what?”
“Drink cuppas, eat chocolate, ice-cream, and cake and whatever else’ll occupy you. I’d suggest booze, but it’s a little early in the day for that, though if you feel otherwise, give me a shout and I’ll hook you up with the poison of your choice.”
“I just want to go back to him.”
“Brew first,” he insisted. “Non-negotiable, or I’m going to drag you back into the studio and make sure we’re still in there at midnight tonight, and if you even think of protesting, I’ll call Graham Callahan and have the biggest fucking whinge about you you’ve ever heard.”
-11-
Xane
Xane had a fair idea of what he’d find. Any surprise would come in finding something other than a familiar figure forming a hump beneath the patchwork quilt. Sure enough, Spook had the duvet tugged up to mid-cheek level. He was lying on his side, almost foetal, with his upper arm curled over his eyes.
He didn’t turn over or look to see who’d come in.
As usual, the upper room in the Pepperpot was intolerably bright. What Xane always found incomprehensible was the fact no one ever did anything about it. While there weren’t any curtains, there were shutters. He closed them up, instantly transforming the space into a soothing, if dingy cocoon. Much better.
He shed his boots, then crawled into the bed, making the old frame creak, and cosied up against Spook’s back. His arm threaded beneath Spook’s neck with minimal effort, and the other wrapped around his waist. Spook remained utterly still throughout this, but Xane could feel the push and pull of his lungs working and the sing of blood through his veins. Fingers splayed across the centre of Spook’s chest, he offered up three words, the only three that mattered. “I’ve got you.”
***
Xane realised he’d dozed off when he woke to the sensation of cool air on his skin. Spook had stirred enough to shove the covers aside. “Sorry, am I making you too hot?”
“You’re always like a fucking inferno,” Spook bitched. The fact he was speaking buoyed up Xane’s own mood considerably. It meant he wasn’t sunk too low, just wallowing in the shallower cesspools of his thoughts.
“Not feeling it today?” he asked.
“Like that isn’t evident.”
Sarcasm, another good sign.
For all that Spook had grumbled about being cooked, he didn’t pull away, and Xane didn’t ease his hold. They lay largely silent, focused on the whispers of one another’s breaths. He’d learned through much trial and error that companionship was key, and space… space to get bored, space to let Spook feel whatever it was he needed to feel, and for him to voice what was eating him up, if and only if, he wanted to express it. Sometimes he did, and sometimes existing was difficult enough without having to qualify or quantify it.
He did link their fingers when he noticed Spook scratching at the scabs on his forearms. Most of the cuts had healed over, nothing left of them but some faint pink lines. The deeper ones were still russet and scaly. “Do I need to get you scratch mitts? Stop picking at them. You’re like a kid with a scraped knee. Bet your grandma didn’t let you pick your scabs off.”
“Bet you wish someone had given enough of a shit to stop you picking at yours.”
Ouch!
“You’re not wrong,” Xane replied. “Wish I’d got to meet your gran. She sounded fab, exactly the sort of older woman I always fancied having around.”
“Mostly,” Spook agreed, a thread of disenchantment buried in his obvious love for the woman who’d largely raised him and his four siblings.
Xane didn’t need to pry. He’d worked out what the issue was back when they were still in that bothy. The woman had doubted her grandson, the same as everyone else, and Spook, so desperately afraid and misrepresented, couldn’t see that as anything other than a betrayal.
“Alle send you?” he asked.
“No. I’ve not seen her today, but you know how things get around. Paul said she was pretty freaked.”
