All the Small Things (part 4)
Thursday evening
Danny ambled into the living room and burped. Doug was sitting alone at one end of the leather 3-seater, staring open-mouthed at the silent TV.
“Fish and chips out there for you, you know,” Danny said, took a swig from his bottle and burped again. He flopped onto the other end of the sofa and looked to see what was keeping the lad so entranced. “Freeze framin S Club?”
The TV was dark, except for a tiny red light next to the power switch.
“Doug?”
“Huh? Oh…”
He pawed the remote. The TV clicked, and a picture faded up on the screen. Ding-di-din-dinga-ding.
“Crap. Bloody frog, again.” He threw the remote at the other sofa. It bounced a few times, then settled in the crack between the cushion and the arm.
Danny sighted along his finger. “Da frog, he-a gonna swim with-a da fishes,” he wheezed, and pumped three bullets into the TV. He blew the smoke from the end of his finger and grinned, waiting for his trusty partner to finish the job.
Nothing. He bounced round in his seat to have a look. His trusty partner was slumped in the chair, eyes squeezed shut, knuckles tight against his eyebrows.
Doug took in a breath and let it out in a long sigh.
Danny tilted his head. Poor little bugger. Rehearsal, the TV studio, now this.
He set his bottle on the side table.
“You look rough, mate.”
On the box, an advert for ring tones gave way to a frantic competition. Answer the question, win Robbie Williams, or something.
“Headache. Sorry.” Doug pushed his hands through his hair until his fingers linked behind his head. “Tired. I, not slept much.”
“How long?”
“Don't know, few days…” His lips worked silently. “Pop-UK. Before Pop-UK.”
“Mate, that was…” Danny's eyes opened wide. “Three weeks ago.”
Doug unlocked his hands and hunched forwards, as if the missing days might have fallen through a hole in his pocket. He started picking at a thumbnail.
“Bloody hell.” Danny slid closer, put his hand on Doug's shoulder. He flinched, and Danny pulled away quickly. “Sorry.”
Doug lowered his head and glanced at him.
Danny smiled another apology. “Get an early night,” he said, and lowered his hand again, gently, onto Doug's back.
Doug shook his head. “Tried. Just lie awake. I've tried every… Ooh. Oh.” He shut his eyes and leaned against Danny's fingers.
“Got an idea.” Danny reached behind him, pulled out the spare seat cushion and dropped it on the floor between his legs. “Set yourself down here.”
Doug's forehead wrinkled.
“Come on.” Danny gestured with one hand and nudged with the other. Doug slid forward with a grunt, then down and sideways onto the cushion.
Danny rested his hands on Doug's shoulders. Covered them, more like, with plenty of room to spare. Never really noticed before how small the lad is. So tense. And shaking, like he's about to snap.
“Relax,” he said. “I'll try not to break you.” He started slow, finger-sized orbits, moving outwards and down from his neck. Wax on, wax off…
Shouldn't have watched that film again. Must focus, Daniel-san. Hai!
The knots in Doug's muscles were hard as conkers. Danny started to knead, pressing on them, squeezing out the tension. Doug groaned.
Another ad break. Who the hell needs that many ring tones? At last, some music. When the day is long and the night, the night is yours alone… Classic song. Knots are starting to loosen. How many cars did they use? Must be hundreds.
“Doug?”
Everybody hurts. Sometimes… That little tap on the block. Nice touch.
“Dougie…”
“Mm?”
“You OK, mate?”
“Mmm.”
Danny slid his hands down onto Doug's back, thumbs tracing the furrows and feeling the bones either side of his spine. More fat on a chip, Nan would say.
Eminem, DJ Sammy, more adverts, more ring tones, a manic dance act. Danny frowned. It's all wrong, music ought to be slow. Should put on a CD.
Tom appeared at the door, did a double-take and stopped, only to stumble forward when Harry walked into him.
“Tom, you muppet. What's the-”
Danny shushed Harry with a look. He kept kneading, caught Tom's eye and frowned at the telly. Tom found the remote, and the boy band dance routine gave way to a soft pulsing riff.
I've been down and I'm wondering why… Perfect. Kelly's got a fantastic voice. Jones… D'you think we're cousins? That would be wicked! Danny hummed, his hands slowing to coax the last knots from Doug's muscles.
The song began to fade. So maybe tomorrow I'll find my wa-a-ay home… That acoustic bit at the end. Gorgeous. Too bad it isn't on the album.
“How are you doing, mate?” He leaned back a little, resting his hands and letting their heat flow into the narrow shoulders. “Any better?”
Doug's head lolled against Danny's forearm, eyes closed, mouth hanging open.
“Doug?”
“He's well out of it,” whispered Tom.
“I only wanted to help him relax.” Danny frowned. Three weeks. “Listen, I don't want to wake him. 'Splain later. Can we get him up to his bed?”
Harry nodded, and knelt down beside Doug. “Come on, I'll help you carry him. Tom, can you get the lights?”
They reached the bottom of the stairs. Harry said, “This is going to be tricky.”
“It's all right, I've got him.”
“Sure?”
Danny nodded. “He's lighter than I thought.” He started up the stairs, doing his best to smooth out the bumps. Harry followed close behind, then detoured into the toilet while Danny manoeuvred the bundle in his arms into the bedroom opposite.
The bedside light was on, casting a half circle of light over the pillows and reflecting up onto Doug's Blink-182 shrine, a solid mass of posters that filled the wall above the double bed and between the room's two windows, and spilled out in either direction. Tom had folded back the duvet and now crouched by the glass case, locked in a staring match with the resident lizard.
“OK, mate, nearly there.” Danny nodded at Tom, and then at Doug's legs.
Tom stood, wrinkled his nose, but peeled off the socks and chucked them at the hamper, unbuckled Doug's belt and slid the three-quarters down his legs.
“Just as well he hasn't got an arse. Hairy little git, isn't he?”
“Ssh.”
Tom sniggered, and turned back to the vivarium. Danny set Doug on the bed, propped him with one arm and undid buttons with the other. The shirt fell open.
Danny blinked. Doesn't look right. He slid the shirt off Doug's arms, lowered his head and shoulders onto the pillow, into the pool of light from the bedside lamp.
Oh Jesus.
“Tom? Harry?”
“Yeah?” Harry appeared at the door. “Fucking hell!” He slumped against the frame and stared.
Tom twisted round and stood. His jaw dropped, his eyes opened wide. “Oh my God…” He moved alongside the bed without taking his eyes away, stopped, then slowly looked up at Danny, then at Harry, and back down. He said the words over and over, silently.
Danny pulled the duvet over Doug's legs and boxers, then held it like a tent and lowered it an inch at a time.
He inhaled sharply. “Downstairs.”
Harry and Tom crept out. As Danny felt for the light switch, his hand knocked and rattled the headboard. Doug stirred, grumbled, nestled into the bedding.
“Ssh. It's all right, mate. It's all right. You're safe now, I promise.” Danny turned off the light and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
“I won't let you down again.”
He wiped his eyes with the other hand, and stumbled from the room.
⇐ Part 3 - Part 5 ⇒