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“Yeah, thanks, Maeve. I’ll keep you updated.”
She leaves. Ben is still looking up as if he can see through the ceiling. “Jethro, who’s that?”
“That, my love, is Roddy. A friend from Edinburgh. I found him on my doorstep this morning.” That’ll have to do for now. I’ll fill Ben in on the rest as soon as I’ve checked on Roddy. “Let me go and see if he’s okay, and I’ll tell you the rest.”
I take the stairs two at a time. Roddy is sitting up in bed, one arm around his ribs as he tries to control his coughing. “Hey, steady, mate.”
He stares at me with unfocused eyes. He’s sweating and pale-faced, even after his coughing fit. Damn, he must have got a temperature. I’m no human doctor, but I can still recognise an ill person when I see him. Roddy needs a doctor, and I don’t care what he says. I’m calling my GP. Fear crosses his face, and he turns his head violently from left to right as if he doesn’t know where he is. “It’s okay. You’re with me. Jet. Stay still. I’ll get you some water.”
After he’s taken a few sips, he relaxes a little, and I can get him settled again. I prop him up with more pillows so his chest is elevated. “Sleep. I’ll be back soon.”
When I’m downstairs, Ben is giving me a ‘what the fuck’ look, but any explanation can wait. I grab my phone from the counter and search for the doctor’s number. It’s his home number, and he answers on the second ring.
“Hi, George, I know this is a huge ask, but a friend of mine turned up, and he’s very ill. A chest infection for sure, but I’m worried about pneumonia. He’s been homeless for many years, and time takes its toll. Can you come and check him out, please?” I look at Ben. His frustration has turned into worry, and he gives me a small smile.
“That’s wonderful, thank you. I’ll see you shortly.”
Jethro and George have been upstairs with a man I’ve never heard of for over ten minutes now. Jethro told me a bit of the backstory while we waited for the doctor to arrive. I’ve got to admit it’s a horror story. The poor kid got from Edinburgh to here with no money, no transport, and no idea where Jethro lived. At least we now know who asked at the gallery, although why Melanie left out the terrible state of the poor kid, I’ll never know.
I have no idea what will happen next because I doubt he’ll agree to go to the hospital if he needs to, and Jethro isn’t going to let him leave here until he’s healthy. Footsteps approach the stairs, and I glance up. Jethro is coming down.
“How is he?” I ask, even though the drained look on my lover’s face speaks volumes.
He sighs heavily. “It’s not pneumonia, not yet anyway. But he’s got some damage to his ribs, cracked rather than broken, but still bad enough to hurt like hell. George gave him some antibiotics and painkillers. There’s something Roddy’s holding back from me. I’ve left him to talk to George. It may be easier to talk to a stranger than me. The beating came after his last ride here. The driver wanted a different payment for getting him down to Exeter. He’s never done that kind of thing, always preferring to go hungry than selling himself.”
“The poor kid. Do you think he could reach out to his parents?” I guess this is a stupid question, considering how young he is and how long he’s been living rough. But people can change, especially at the thought of losing a child forever. Although that would never have been possible for Jethro. His father would have walked past him if he’d seen him living on the streets.
The doctor comes down the stairs, a grim expression on his face. He too sighs in the same sad manner as Jethro. “Is it bad?” Jethro asks, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, probably to stop himself from wringing them together.
“How long have you known him?” George asks.
Jethro frowns. “A bit more than a couple of years, I suppose. Why?”
“Do you know how old he is?”
I don’t like where he is going with this. Jethro frowns even harder. “He was eighteen last year. I remember we had a pizza to celebrate. Why, how old is he?”
“Sixteen.” George shakes his head. “The poor lad got thrown out at thirteen.”
“No. No way. He can’t be. I know the difference between a sixteen-year-old boy and an eighteen-year-old one.”
“Not when they look the way the homeless do. The dirty clothes, the tired exhaustion that rolls off them can age someone so much people don’t ask too many questions. He’s frightened you’re going to hand him over to the authorities.”
“That’s not going to happen. I told him he can stay here as long as he needs to. Which has to be at least two years.” He steps away from me, pacing the room. “I don’t believe it. Fuck! How did I not see? He’d come to my place, get a shower, and I’d wash his clothes. I still never thought he was younger than he said.”
George shrugs. “You see what you want to see. Anyway, I’ve given him an antibiotic injection that will last until you can get the prescription. Call me if he gets any worse.”
It’s a long afternoon, and the more I hear about Roddy, the more I want to help him. I get why Jethro is so attached to him, so desperate to help him. He sees himself. It could have happened to him if he’d been thrown out, left homeless and alone.
“What’s the plan of action? Because in case you’ve forgotten, you only have one bedroom,” I ask after Jethro comes back downstairs from checking on Roddy again. The painkillers have knocked him out, and the coughing bouts have lessened and not woken him.
“I’ll take the sofa. We can work out the rest when he’s well enough to move.”
I’ve got an idea but no clue if he’ll agree. “You could move to my place. I’ve got a spare room already set up as a guest room.”
Jethro gapes at me as if I asked him to dance naked in the town square. Is it because we haven’t talked about living together, or is he surprised I want to be a part of this? “I…I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it. You really okay with it? We haven’t talked about anything like this.”
“I know, but it would make sense. It doesn't have to be permanent, but you can’t deny it would make life easier.” I want to add how much I’d love to have him in my home—and my bed—forever. That I would marry him in a heartbeat, but we’ve only been together a few months, and while I believe we want the same things, we haven’t laid our plans on the table. But Jethro doesn’t say anything, and doubt is creeping in. I want to withdraw the offer, tell him it doesn’t matter, that Roddy hasn’t even met me and may not want to. Then Jethro smiles, and it’s one of his thousand-megawatt, light-up-the-whole-world kind of smiles, and I can’t help but smile back.