Page 38 of Maybe (Mis-shapes #1)

Sinking into the sofa, I stared up at the water stains, like an old man’s liver spots, dotted around the ceiling, seeing them through Isaac’s critical lens. A minute later, as I knew it would, the seat cushion sunk down next to me, and his solid hand slipped into mine. He tipped his head back too.

“That one’s shaped like the Big Dipper.” With his free hand, he pointed to a constellation of seven mustardy-yellow patches. I’d always thought they resembled splattered egg yolks. He shuddered slightly.

“They’re not catching, you know,” I said, needling him. “And thanks for the medical advice but you can return to your cosy mansion flat now.”

Isaac sighed. “I knew you’d be like this, Ez.”

“Like what?”

“Stubborn.” He huffed a laugh. “Those three are Orion’s Belt. And that looks like the rest of him, over there. Who the hell was that Orion geezer anyhow?”

“The brightest star in your darkest sky,” I quoted, though I couldn’t remember what from. Too much fucking else filling my head.

Bringing our joined hands up to his mouth, Isaac brushed his lips against my knuckles. “Nah. You hold that spot, Ez.”

“Yeah?” I swallowed uselessly against the lump in my throat. “Even when I’m being a dick?”

“Yeah. Especially then. It’s part of what makes you you.” He kept my hand there as he carried on studying the ceiling. “This is why you turned up at the will reading, isn’t it?”

When I didn’t answer, he carried on. “I know you don’t care about money, Ez, and you made your views on Dad’s tainted foreign lucre pretty clear. But you wanted to get Jonty out, didn’t you? Somewhere decent that wouldn’t damage his lungs.”

My silence confirmed he’d guessed right. I closed my eyes, my eyelids a flimsy barrier against the prickling flush of wetness growing behind them.

“I used to pretend to Jonty that we had Dalmatian patterned wallpaper.” I clamped my lips shut before my voice cracked.

“Yeah?” Isaac kissed my knuckles, one by one.

“Yeah. He used to love that film. He doesn’t believe it anymore, though he still pretends.

” I blew out a deep breath. “Sitting in that solicitor’s office, hearing that nice man coming to the end, with no mention of me, it felt like being eighteen again.

” Don’t think you can turn up here, cap in hand, to me, Ezra, and expect me to make your problems vanish.

You made your bed with that girl. It’s time to lie in it .

“The landlord had put the rent up here by another fifty quid a month. Pin money to a lot of people, but… I thought about letting Jonty go back to live with Carly. Dave, her bloke, is a solid guy. Jonty would be fine there. But I don’t want some other fucking man bringing up my kid.”

I pushed the heel of my hand into my eyes. “I thought… I told myself not to get my hopes up—but… fucking hell. That bastard’s done it to me twice now. He must have had something against hard-up home renters.”

My attempt at a joke landed flat. To be fair, it was hard to pull off with tears running down my cheeks. “Sorry. Self-pity isn’t usually my style. Just… knackered... from the hospital, worrying about Jonty and everything.”

Bless him, Isaac didn’t say anything, only waited until I pulled myself together. Which happened surprisingly quickly, as Jonty was coughing and shuffling about next door, fetching himself a glass of water from the kitchen. Seeing me upset would scare the living daylights out of him.

Isaac gave my shoulder a nudge. “Do you remember when you once informed our father he was ‘the syphilitic aborted remains of a medieval gangbang’?” He laughed softly. “That was an interesting end to one of their supper parties.”

“Yeah.” I smiled at the memory. A house full of guests had never departed so quick.

“My aesthetic at the time was philosophical pessimism. In the same argument, I believe I also bemoaned my deep disillusionment with education models that devalue knowledge unless it can be used to generate profit, and a longing for a space free to learn unencumbered by aneoliberal agenda. Pretentious attention hare .”

“Perhaps, but I never bothered trying to win an argument with you, Ezra. I still wouldn’t. I’m not man enough to be on the receiving end of one of your clever, spiteful put-downs.”

Jonty coughed some more. I checked the time. His next round of nebs was due. Perhaps I should open all the windows, air the place out a bit, despite the rain. “What’s your point?”

“My point is Jonty’s only recently recovering. He’s still short of breath and at risk of a relapse.”

“The GP said he’d probably improve quite quickly if he completes the course of steroids and uses his spacer four times a day.”

“She hasn’t seen that mould. Nor the age of the gas boiler.

” For someone not keen on debating with me, Isaac was producing some snappy, robust arguments.

“As I said,” he continued, “I’m not going to quarrel with you, Ez.

But I am asking you nicely. As a concerned brother, boyfriend, and a doctor.

Leave with me now. Stay at mine until we’ve ironed out something better. ”

“No.” A rare, precious warmth suffused me, despite the fact I was hellbent on being an obstinate prick and desperately annoyed with him. Boyfriend.

“Please,” my boyfriend persisted. “For Jonty. Not for me and not for you. I have a clean, dry, warm flat. And a fridge full of food.”

“No.”

Carly once informed me, in one of our less convivial moments, that I was so stubborn my heart argued with my head every time it drummed a beat. I strongly disputed it, which entirely proved her point.

“Please, Ez. Just until he’s better and we can talk about something more permanent.”

“We?” I bristled. There was no ‘we’ where Jonty was concerned.

A little voice piped up from the kitchen. “You said Isaac’s flat was really cool, Daddy. And that his telly is much bigger than ours.”

“For fuck’s sake,” I muttered, turning my head in the direction of the kitchen. “This is a grown-up’s conversation, buddy.”

Isaac smirked. “So my flat’s really cool, is it? And my telly–”

“Is massive, Daddy says,” Jonty shouted breathlessly. “And you’ve got the Disney channel.”

Fucker. “Yes,” I yelled back, “but it’s nowhere near your school.”

“Good job it’s half term next week, then, isn’t it?” Isaac butted in.

I twisted to give him a long stare. “How the f—how the flip do you know that?”

“Jonty told me. At the hospital, whilst you were out getting some fresh air .” He did quotation marks with his fingers.

“Jonty needs reminding which side his bread’s buttered.” I scowled. “And FYI, I don’t need fresh air anymore. I’ve bought some nicotine patches.”

Isaac nodded. “Good. Well done. Jonty and I had another lovely chat in the car whilst you were collecting his meds at the hospital pharmacy.” He dropped his voice. “Now might be a good time to warn you that if Carly’s new baby is another girl, he’s going to be really, really cross.”

Footsteps pattered across the kitchen lino. A second later, a wriggly, wheezy body landed in my lap. “It will be like we’re on holiday, Daddy.”

“Huh. It’s only Chiswick, buddy, not Cancun.”

“And when I’m better, Isaac could take us to the nice park over the road that you told me about. With all the dogs but no dog poo.”

“The woman in the apartment next to mine has a Labrador puppy,” Isaac offered. The fucker. “He’s so small I don’t think she’s even picked a name for him yet.”

Naturally, Jonty chose that moment to start a coughing fit which left him wheezing like an accordion. And I swear one of the mildew patches on the wall above the skirting board grew an inch.

“Wow,” Jonty breathed, after he recovered. A pair of big brown eyes—so like my mother’s and with eyelashes you could ski jump off—pleaded with mine. Another set of sincere, loving blue ones joined in.

“All right,” I huffed. "Just for a few days until your chest settles down. I’ll phone Mummy and let her know.”

Once we’d arranged all of Jonty’s things into his temporary bedroom, the three of us snoozed the afternoon away on Isaac’s big beige sofa in front of The Lion King , which my son had watched so many times he could recite Simba’s lines word for word.

“When Jonty asked if he could bring his cuddly toys, I hadn’t quite appreciated that would include Pandora,” Isaac had puffed on his second trip up from the car.

Pandora was a three-metre-long, green-and-black stuffed snake, fatter than a man’s thigh.

Jonty liked to curl her around himself in bed.

Having taken up more than her fair share of the mid-range electric car, she currently occupied more than the lion’s share of the sofa.

I’d suggested Jonty left her behind, seeing as he might want me to share his bed for a few nights, what with being ill and all.

Can’t lie, that he chose Pandora’s synthetic fur and three of Isaac’s expensive plump pillows over cuddles from his bony Dad was a sucker punch to my gut.

After bath, teeth, and bed, I left him alone, weary from his illness but excited to have such an adventure.

What with two guitars, clothes, schoolwork, favourite bedtime story books, all Jonty’s other stuffed bedfellows, the PlayStation, a fabulously crafted Viking helmet and Jonty’s favourite cushion, Isaac’s flat already looked a lot more like a home.

“He’s nearly asleep.” Back in the sitting room, I shuffled myself closer to Isaac.

“I brought the baby monitor Carly used to use for Freya when they both came over to my place. It still works fine. I’ll check on him in an hour or so.

He’ll call me if he needs me, anyway, but I’ll set my phone alarm for the middle of the night, too, and check on him again. ”

“Cool,” said Isaac. “His chest sounded fine when he went to bed. My cleaning lady vacuumed and dusted that guest room this week. And it’s warm as toast.”

“Amazing what dodgy money gets you, isn’t it?” I patted his knee to show I was only teasing and left my hand there.

“You mean the ability for your son to breathe in and out, unencumbered?”