The Marriage Act(59)
‘And their reaction?’
‘He cursed a little and described therapy as pointless and biased.’
Jeffrey smiled to himself. By using the singular, he knew without asking that this was Noah’s complaint, not Luca’s. Luca wouldn’t go behind his back like that. They had a connection.
With the conversation at an end, Jeffrey opened the door to his clients’ home and breathed in the silence. Both men’s cars were parked outside so it was likely they were here somewhere, but – he hoped – apart. If so, it suggested Luca and Noah were abiding by his Positive Disengagement suggestion, keeping their personal communication to a bare minimum, and saving the majority of their discourse for counselling.
He took a moment and stood in the centre of the lounge to take in his surroundings. Being here felt so . . . normal. He felt normal. After spending so long between clients as a transient soul living out of his car, he could be happy here, long-term. He’d change the wallpaper on the feature wall and perhaps replace the electric fire with a wood burner to make it cosier on cold winter nights. But that would be about it. Goosebumps skittered across his shoulders when he imagined curling up with Luca on the sofa under a warm woollen blanket.
But as Jeffrey momentarily let down his guard, a ghost of his former self appeared that he had not meant to summon. Suddenly he was back in his mid-teens and living in the dilapidated council-owned ground-floor flat he’d shared with his father and older brother. A lifetime of untreated mental health issues had left Bobby Snr self-medicating with booze and high-potency cannabis. Jeffrey’s mother had long abandoned ship, leaving them to fend for themselves.
Seventeen-year-old Bobby Jnr was two years Jeffrey’s senior and he’d thought nothing of using his handsome looks and confident swagger to invite girls into their shared bedroom. He hadn’t cared about the presence of his curious sibling, watching and listening to everything through the darkness.
Joining the procession of female faces had come Rosie Morrison, a petite girl with strawberry-blonde ringlets who’d smelled of liquorice. She was the only one Bobby had invited back multiple times. Rosie had differed from his other conquests because she’d acknowledged Jeffrey. She’d addressed him with the wave of a hand, a casual smile or sometimes an ‘alright?’ as they’d passed on the landing. She’d even bought him a cupcake the day after learning of his birthday.
Jeffrey had realized he was falling in love with the girl his brother had admitted meant little more to him than a ‘regular screw’. And as the weeks had progressed, he’d sensed that his feelings might be mutual. There had been moments when car headlights had beamed through curtainless windows when he and Rosie had locked eyes while she and Bobby were in unison. The first time it had happened, Jeffrey had thought he’d imagined it and quickly rolled over. But when it had occurred twice more, he’d known she was telling him that she’d rather be having sex with him than his brother.
In the mornings, and if he awoke before them, he’d stare at their unconscious, semi-naked bodies entwined. He’d imagined the touch of Rosie’s skin and her breath in his mouth. She’d once caught him with his hands moving rhythmically under his duvet and she’d reciprocated by pulling back her sheets to reveal herself entirely. He’d crossed the finishing line almost immediately.
The morning that had altered the rest of Jeffrey’s life had begun with an absent Bobby. Jeffrey had been awake but Rosie was deep in slumber, lying on her side, an empty bottle of vodka on the floor. It was the opportunity he had been waiting for. Quietly, he’d padded barefoot towards her, hesitated, and with trembling fingertips, he’d touched the underside of her thigh. It was warmer and smoother than he’d imagined. He’d known that he should stop and return to his bed but he couldn’t bring himself to. Slowly, his fingers had travelled upwards.
Without warning and with her eyes still closed, Rosie had stretched out her hand and begun to massage the front of his boxer shorts. Then she’d pulled back the rest of her sheets and moved over to make room for him. It couldn’t be clearer, he’d thought; she wanted him and not his brother. Jeffrey’s underwear had fallen to his ankles and he’d joined her in the bed. He’d watched Bobby on enough occasions to know where Rosie enjoyed being touched, so he’d replicated his brother’s movements until, eventually, she’d allowed him inside her.
‘You’re wearing a condom?’ she’d mumbled. Jeffrey had been about to reply when she’d spoken again. ‘And don’t lie to me, Bobby. You’re not getting me pregnant.’
His brother’s name had rung in his ears and he’d frozen. But when his paralysis had continued for too long, Rosie must have instinctively realized something was awry because she’d turned her head to face him.
‘Get off me!’ she’d yelled and squirmed until she’d expelled him from her body. ‘You’re a rapist!’
‘No, no, I’m not . . .’ Jeffrey had said, horrified she could think such a thing.
Jeffrey had wanted Rosie to know that he was only there because he’d thought he’d been invited and that he loved her more than his brother ever could. But Rosie hadn’t been listening. And when she’d screamed ‘Bobby!’ at the top of her lungs, he’d had to act fast.
He’d clamped his hand over her mouth to silence her. Then as she’d tried to wriggle free, he’d mounted her, pinning her arms and legs down with his own. She’d continued floundering and yelling for Bobby so Jeffrey had grabbed a pillow and held it over her face to muffle her cries.