All the Small Things (part 25)
Harry pressed the button and lifted his phone to his ear.
“Hi, it's me…” He sat on the bed.
“Not great, well, you know. You? … Any news?”
He listened, nodding and uh-huh-ing at intervals.
“Mum and Dad?” He lay back, stared at the ceiling. He blinked once, then twice more before wiping the back of his hand across his eyes.
“Yeah… I called, but… That's what I thought. Where are they now? … When?”
He switched phone hands, rolled on his side and looked out the window.
“No, you're right. It doesn't make sense.” He craned his neck, looked up at a passing jumbo, rolled back and stuffed his free hand into his pocket.
“I don't know… Sorry, what? … No, I haven't told them… Really busy. Crazy, actually. We're supposed to finish recording this week… Just under half… Tell me about it. Tom - Tom Fletcher, I mean - is mega stressed. Dougie is so tired… You know, actually, once you get to know him… Yeah, he is… No, Danny's fine. Totally laid back. He's about the only thing keeping us sane.”
He chuckled. “I'll tell him you said that.” He pulled the hand out of his pocket, sat up and crossed his legs.
“Yeah, well… Look, you shouldn't be on your own, I'll come home… No, but… I could work something out. Commute. The guys will understand…”
Harry cocked his head. “The Harris's? They will? … They are such good people… Sure? … OK, but if you change your mind, if you need anything… Promise?”
He stood up, started pacing up and down the room.
“Well, if anyone can… Call me if anything… Yeah. Love you too. Bye.”
He snapped the phone shut, dropped it in his pocket, carried on pacing. He stopped at the window and looked up as another plane passed overhead.
“You don't want to say those things, don't say em.”
“But I've tried. Every ti-“
“That's bollocks, and you know it.” Danny's voice was barely above a whisper, but every word ricocheted off the walls. His face was dark as a winter storm; lightning-white hands strangled the duvet. “'I tried' means fuck all. Had a gut-load of it with my folks.”
Tom edged his chair backwards towards his desk. Danny looked to one side, took a deep breath, let it out, took another. After three or four, he let go of the bedding, and turned his gaze to the floor beside his feet.
“You ever hit him?”
“No!”
“Looked close the other day. How long before you do?”
“Danny!”
“You hit me.”
Tom's jaw dropped. His face and ears flushed red, and he sank in his chair.
“All right, you couldn't help it. You say you can't help saying that shit. What's the difference?”
Tom's face began to crumple. “I couldn't hit him.”
“Why not?”
“Danny…”
“If you can stop one, you can stop t'other. If you can't, well…”
“But I've-”
“No. Do something, don't give me 'I tried'. Count to fucking ten before you say anything, a hundred, a thousand if that's what it takes. Every word is a kick in his nuts, tell yourself that, look at his face if you don't believe it.”
Tom jumped up. “Don't you think I fucking know that? I said I'd take care of him, and I thought everything was OK, and then I yelled at him and then the bruises and how tired and thin he is, and he's like that because I fucked up. And I tried, yeah I tried to fix it but I fucked that up too, and now… You saw him. He's scared of me. And I'm scared, and I can't think, and I'm fucking angry because I want to protect him but I can't because I'm what he's scared of.”
He fell back in the chair, shoulders heaving. “How fucked is that?” He turned, put his elbows on the desktop and slumped over them.
“And with all that, he goes and…” He waved at the laptop. “And I…”
Danny watched in silence, then put the guitar down, knelt beside the chair and rested one hand an inch from Tom's elbow.
“Don't.” Tom shut his eyes.
“I know,” Danny said. “I'm just putting it here.”
“Speaking in Westminster today, Prime Minister Tony Blair" click “killed my sheep, and I'm going" click “up the left side to Owen, across to" click “the people of Iraq, who" click “said their cats prefer" click “sweat off the onions" click “and severe trauma to" click “Uranus, surrounded by" click “Ding-di-din-dinga-ding" click “powered locomotives" click “Chandler! Hahahahaha!” click “best when you say nothing at all.”
Doug hit the mute button, dropped the remote control onto the cushion next to him, slid further down and stretched out his legs onto the coffee table. His eyes closed halfway, twitching slightly at each flicker of the screen.
Tom released Danny's hand, nodded, got up and stood by the balcony door and wiped his eyes. Danny knelt a little longer, then moved back to the bed and replaced Tom's acoustic on his lap. His fingers started playing, slow and soft and blue.
“There is summat else. Weren't sure I should tell you, but…”
The chords were gentle, unhurried.
“You know my uncle… Andy?”
Tom nodded.
“When I started, I couldn't even play…” Danny plucked the first few notes of Jingle Bells. “Can you believe it? Messed up, every time. Keep going, Andy'd tell me, you'll get it. My mum and dad, my guitar teacher, they all said the same thing, but it were always different coming from him. I believed it, cos it were him.”
He shifted, and Jingle Bells turned into something reflective and melancholy. Danny spotted Tom's puzzled expression, and played a few more bars. Tom shook his head.
Danny shrugged. “River. Joni Mitchell.”
Tom nodded.
“My first gig, at the end Andy were stood at back like this,” Danny smiled ear to ear and held up his thumb. “Best moment of my life.”
He held the guitar still, then lowered it. “I reckon everyone's got someone like that. They say well done, you could fly to the moon and back. Let them down…”
“It tears your heart out.” Tom moved away from the door, sat in his chair, scratched at the plaster on his leg and smoothed it flat with his hand. “My dad.”
“Your dad. My Uncle Andy. Harry… dunno, do you? But Doug…”
Danny put his hands on the guitar again, lowered his head as if trying to remember a complicated fingering, then looked straight at Tom.
“What?”
He nodded once.
“Oh no.”
He nodded a second time, and started River again. “Is it that hard to say summat good?”
“There's something I need to tell you.” Harry walked from the door to the sofa and looked down.
Doug breathed quietly: in, out, a long pause. His eyes seemed to be moving, but after a moment Harry saw it was just shadows from the TV.
He studied the sleeping face, moved to the window and watched the trees feint and jab in the glow of the street light, looked up as another plane carried its load towards Heathrow, looked back down at Doug.
He stood a while longer, then pulled the curtains shut, stepped over Doug's legs and eased down in the middle seat, staring but not really watching as the acts went silently through their routines.
“I just want to stop him getting hurt, not make mistakes, but how can I if he won't do what I… I just end up… you know.”
“He's got a mum.” Danny smiled. “A good one. He doesn't need another. And you know he doesn't want another dad.”
“So what am I supposed to do?”
“Told you before. He's a skater. Let go. Watch him. Take the piss when he lands on his arse. Be there to catch him…” Danny frowned. “When he falls hard. Tell him, try this, you can do it, that's great.”
Tom swung his chair back and forth. “But that's what really gets me, I never know what he's doing. Or thinking. He tells you stuff.”
“Listen to him, give-”
“I do, but whenever I ask him something, he just shuts up.”
Danny stared at him. “No, I mean-”
“Seriously. Like the other day, talking to him about why he isn't eating. I tried all sorts of ideas, is it an allergy, is someone bullying him, things like that, but he didn't say a word, just got in a huff.”
Danny scratched his head, looked around the room.
“Come on Danny, I really don't know what-”
“A-ha!” Danny leapt up, dived into Tom's pile of stuffed toys, emerged with a look of triumph and a Mutant Ninja Turtle. “You ever have one of these?”
“There's six of them in there.”
“No, a real one, a pet.”
Tom shook his head.
“We did. Shelly.”
“You had a turtle called Shelly. Danny, I can't tell you how grateful I am, but if we're done I have a lot-”
“Shh. He were a tortoise.” He shrugged. “Near enough. Shelly and me got on great. Had some real laughs together. He followed me round garden, used to eat from my hand.”
“That's nice, but-”
“Shh. Vicky, my sister… She'd call him, knock on his shell, stick her finger in, poke him with grass. But Shelly wouldn't do owt for her. Well, except one time she shook him and he weed on her. She went nuts, thought I'd trained him to do it or summat. Wish I had, it were dead funny.”
Danny grinned and stood up. Tom stared open-mouthed, spread his arms.
“Need a wee myself.” As he reached the en-suite, Danny turned and threw the stuffed toy at Tom. “Here, hold Donatello. Heh. Doug-a-tello…”
“What if they don't find him?” The words echoed in the otherwise silent room.
Harry sat up and froze. He bit his lip, held his breath, watched from the corner of his eye.
Doug grunted, stretched his arms and pushed himself upright. He yawned, looked sideways at Harry. “Sorry. What?”
Harry exhaled, sat back and tilted his head towards the screen. “Just can't believe some of the crap they put on there.”
Doug squinted at the screen, closed his eyes and leaned against Harry's arm. “Wake me up when we're on.”
“I don't get it.” Tom shook the plush turtle in front of him. “What the hell is he going on about? Maybe you hit him too hard…”
“Careful. He'll wee on you.” Danny emerged from the en-suite buttoning up his flies. “You always talk when you're thinking.”
“I do not.” Tom swung the chair around. “Did I hurt, is your head all right?”
“Even when you're reading, or using computer, you talk to yourself. Vicky does that, too.”
Danny crossed the room and reclaimed his spot on the bed. He held out his hands, and Tom threw him the turtle.
“This guy here, too much noise, he goes in his shell.” He pushed the toy's head into its body and laughed at the result. “Quiet, comes out. There we go. Noise, oop! Starts over. And he's slow. Not dumb-slow like me. Careful-slow. Doesn't like to get it wrong. Takes ages, sometimes.”
Tom narrowed his eyes. “You just could have said, give him time to answer.”
“You cut me off. Yes you did. Anyway, my teachers always said you learn more when you work out answers for yourself.”
He frowned, shook his head, then shrugged and turned towards the stairs. “Don't know about you, but I could use a drink.”
⇐ Part 24 - Part 26 ⇒