All the Small Things (part 20)
Sunday morning
Doug sat alone in the kitchen, dressed only in his boxers and an inside-out T-shirt, turning a slice of toast over and over in his hands.
He stopped, ran his finger over the tooth-marks in the corner, then folded it in half and let it drop from his fingers. The toast landed upright on the table, unfolded itself and fell over. He picked up the carton of orange juice and brought it to his mouth.
Tom flap-flap-flapped through the doorway, wearing what Harry called his granddad slippers and a plaid dressing gown. He nodded at Doug, then tutted.
“Do you have to do that? Use a glass or something. You aren't the only one who drinks out of that.”
Doug lowered his head. He put the juice on the table and started to get up.
“It's too late now. You might as well finish it.” Tom opened cupboards, took out a box of chocolate hoops, a bowl and a glass and set them on the counter. He filled the bowl and carried his breakfast to the table, turned to the fridge and pulled out the milk and a fresh carton of juice.
He poured a glass of milk, then struggled for a time with the juice before the seal came away from the spout. He tilted the carton over the bowl.
“Tom…”
“Do you think those-“
“Tom! Stop!”
He looked down, abruptly turned the carton upright.
“Oh for fuck's sake. Why didn't-” Tom let the carton slip to the table, then picked up the glass and the bowl. He went to the bin, stamped on the pedal and dumped the cereal, crossed to the sink and poured the milk down the drain. He rinsed the dishes, shook off the water, and thumped them down on the counter.
“I don't have time for this.” He tore open the cereal box and refilled the bowl, picked up the dishes and turned. “Those songs we did last night, do you-“
The glass slipped from his hand. Tom lunged after it. The cereal flew high and wide, the dishes hit the tiled floor with a double pop and covered it with a galaxy of sparkling fragments and chocolate frosting. The heavy base of the glass wobbled to a stop under the refrigerator.
Doug surveyed the kitchen floor. “Third time lucky?”
Tom stared at the floor, motionless.
“Tom?”
He sagged, dropped to his knees. Something crunched.
“No, don't-“
Tom's legs folded sideways. Things snapped and crackled underneath him.
“Tom, what's…” Doug turned towards the door. “Danny! Harry!”
He gritted his teeth, lowered his bare feet to the floor, swept a couple of tiles clear and stood. He slid one foot at a time towards Tom, reached in vain for his arm, then grabbed the nearest chair and shoved it at him. Tom cradled his head and slumped forward onto the seat. The chair squeaked as its legs took the load.
“Stay there. Don't move.” Doug looked down, slid his feet backwards along their tracks and turned again toward the door. “Danny!” He listened. “Harry! Any chance of some help?”
He turned back to Tom, looked out to the hallway, then at the floor. “Oh, fuck it. Stay there, OK?” He picked a route, then placed one foot after the other, skirting round and flicking away the splinters he could see on the tiles.
Tom sobbed.
Doug's head turned at the sound. He lost his balance and put out a foot. It slipped, and scraped across the floor.
“Ow! Crap.”
He pushed off with his other foot, landed on the hallway carpet. He half ran, half hopped up the stairs and along the corridor, burst through Danny's door, stumbled to the bed.
“Danny, wake up. Danny!”
“Wa?”
“It's Tom. Danny, come on…”
Danny sat up, fell over, shook his head, blinked at him.
“In the kitchen. He's… Shoes. Need shoes” Doug gripped Danny's arm and pulled him halfway off the bed, then darted across to the wall behind the door and threw a pair of trainers at the bed. “Danny, come on!”
He ran-hopped into the corridor and pounded on Harry's door, then threw it open. Harry was already on his feet, staggering towards him.
“Tom… Something's wrong. Glass, you need shoes, there's glass, and…”
Even with the windows closed, the blackbird's warble seemed to fill the living room. Tom slumped in half of the two-seater sofa, staring out the window, while Danny knelt beside him and rummaged in a box of plasters.
“You are lucky.” Danny found the one he wanted, peeled it open and pressed it onto Tom's leg. “Thought it were Dougie wanted to do stunts, not you.”
He lifted himself from his knees onto the edge of the sofa and perched there for a moment, watching his sullen friend and listening to the broom swish and clunk in the kitchen.
“Come on.” Danny leaned forward and lifted Tom's elbow, then stood and took a step towards the door. “Upstairs where it's quiet, have a chat.”
Tom held back, then rose and followed Danny into the hallway and up the stairs. When they reached the bottom of the narrow flight up to Tom's room, Danny stopped, and pointed upwards.
“I'll get dressed. Be there in a sec.”
“How's it going?” Harry chased the last few specks into the dustpan, then tapped it against the edge of the bin.
Doug sat on the table, the first aid box beside him, his left foot upturned on his knee. He squinted at the business end of the tweezers and brought them close to the wound. His hand shook, the tweezers sprang free onto the table.
“Fukkit.” He picked them up, twisted them in his fingers and tried again.
“Do you want me-”
Doug shook his head, grunted softly, and brought a blood-coated splinter of glass up to his nose. He turned it back and forth, then tapped it onto the table and moved the tweezers towards the next hole in his foot.
Danny pulled on his jeans and a T-shirt, headed back along the corridor and up the stairs. As he turned the corner at the top, he saw Tom at the door to the balcony, looking out.
“I can't do it.” Tom turned slowly. “I can't.”
“It's all right” Danny moved forward.
“Any of it.”
“You're doing brilliant.” He put a hand on Tom's shoulder.
Tom twisted away. “Everything I touch goes wrong.”
Danny looked at the ceiling for a moment, then shook his head.
“Your computer is broken. We'll get it fixed. And the chocky-pops don't want you to eat them today…” He chuckled. “Well. Apart from that, I don't see-”
Tom flared round. “Then you're a fucking moron. We're a total mess. There's all the songs to finish, a ton of other stuff the label and Richard and Fletch want me to do. I broke my computer, I can't even pour a stupid bowl of cereal without breaking things. And Dougie. God, Danny, look at him. I promised, I'll take care of him, and I… Now Harry hates my guts, and you, papers can't wait to get their claws in… All I'm doing is, hurting everyone. Everything's…”
Danny drew closer.
Tom bent forward, hid his face in his hands. “I've fucked up everything, I've got to fix it, but I don't know how…”
Danny wrapped his arms around him.
“Don't.” Tom tried to pull away. “Get off.”
Danny held on.
“I said get the fuck off me!” Tom threw a punch, landed it in the middle of Danny's stomach, shoved, twisted, and broke Danny's grip. As he spun away, his flailing arm caught Danny square on the side of his head.
Danny, gasping from the punch, staggered sideways, trod on one foot with the other, and went over. He hit the floor and the whole room shook.
⇐ Part 19 - Part 21 ⇒