Lavender & Gold - 11. The Morning that Followed

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Morning that Followed

After spending half the night fretting about Mark, Ben decided that he should try for some semblance of sleep. He woke up only a couple of hours later, in the small hours of the morning, from his phone ringing. He answered it with a grunt.

‘It’s Rose.’

Ben sat bolt upright, clutching the phone to his ear. ‘Did you hear from Mark? Is he all right?’

‘I’m . . . I’m at the hospital. They found him a couple of hours ago . . .’ She trailed off. Her voice sounded strained.

Ben swallowed, hard. ‘He’s not—’

‘He’s alive. Broken leg, fractured ribs, head trauma . . .’ She uttered a desperate sob. ‘He’s still unconscious . . .’

Ben was already out of his bed, pulling on a pair of jeans. ‘I’m leaving now. I’ll be there soon.’ He paused, realising that Mark was not actually his family. Except that he was. Mark was his world. ‘If . . . if that’s all right with you.’

‘Of course,’ she said at once. ‘Absolutely. Thank you.’

‘Which hospital?’

‘University College.’

‘I’ll be right there!’

He hung up, pulled a t-shirt over his head and searched for clean socks. A few minutes later he was out the door. It was five in the morning on a Sunday; there were taxis about in abundance. He hailed the first one he saw.

Rose Harrison was waiting for him outside the entrance to A&E, smoking a cigarette. Without ever having met her before, he instantly knew her. She was a petite woman in her forties, a bit shorter than her son, with blonde hair. She had Mark’s nose, his curved eyebrows and his curious eyes. Ben supposed she probably shared her son’s hair colour as well, when his wasn’t dyed in some outlandish shade.

Without a word, she dropped her cigarette and hugged him. Her cheeks were red and tearstained.

‘Any change?’ Ben asked softly.

She smiled weakly. ‘It could be so much worse. He woke up for a few minutes a while ago. Probably no lasting damage to his head, they say, so they gave him a sedative. He was in a lot of pain.’

‘Can I see him?’

Rose nodded, but her eyes were tearing up. ‘He’s—’ She cleared her throat. ‘They made a real mess of his face. His nose is broken. They beat him badly.’

Ben took a deep breath, clenching his fist, trying not to let his anger get the better of him. He gave a curt nod and followed her inside.

Mark lay in a hospital bed. His eyes were closed, his nose clearly broken. The skin around his eyes and cheeks was bruised in shades of burgundy and his forehead was bandaged. Ben stood by his bed, hands shaking, feeling everything at once. Uncontrollable rage towards the bastards who had done this, relief that Mark was no worse off than he was, indescribable happiness that he was alive. At least his arms and fingers were still intact. He could still play guitar. He’d have a lot to write songs about now. Ben smiled grimly at the thought.

‘I’m going to go get a cup of what passes for tea from the machine down the hall,’ came Rose’s voice from the doorway. ‘Do you want anything?’

Ben tore his gaze away from Mark to look at her. ‘Some almost-tea might be nice,’ he said after a moment. ‘Thank you. It’s been a short night.’ He tried to smile, but he thought it probably came out more like a grimace. Rose nodded, returning his not-quite-smile with a matching expression of her own, and left him alone.

He sat down in a chair next to the bed, taking Mark’s hand. ‘Hey,’ he said softly. ‘I was really worried about you, love . . .’ He trailed off and swallowed back his tears. ‘They really did a number on you, didn’t they . . . You get better, okay? I want you back in my bed soon. We have things to do. I’ve got a lot of kisses to give you, so . . . I need you to heal.’ He kissed the back of Mark’s hand. ‘Please? I love you.’

Rose returned a couple of minutes later with two paper cups filled with weak, milky tea. She gave one to Ben before pulling up another chair and sitting down next to him.

‘They stole his wallet and his mobile,’ she told him after a few moments’ silence. ‘So he had no ID or anything. That’s why it took them a while to call me. Luckily, one of the doctors recognised him from his pictures, so they knew who he was. So really, if it hadn’t been for that article, it would have taken a lot longer before we found out what had happened.’

‘If it weren’t for that article he might never have been hurt in the first place.’

Rose shook her head. ‘Police think this was just a mugging.’

‘We’ll find out when he wakes up, won’t we?’

She glanced at him. ‘I suppose we will.’

‘Thank you for calling me.’

‘Well, of course. You’re his boyfriend. You love him. He loves you.’

Ben turned to her, studying her face, so like Mark’s. ‘When did you know he was gay?’

Rose shrugged. ‘It’s such a cliché to say, “I’ve always known,” but . . . Either way, he told me as soon as he knew for himself. I think he must have been about eleven when he asked me what being gay meant. I’ve always been up-front with him about things, so I told him that men who like other men and women who like other women are called gay. He told me to “define like”.’ She smiled. ‘He was a special kid. I said, “Like as in wanting to kiss someone and be with them more than with anyone else.” And he told me, without a moment’s hesitation, “Then I’m gay.”’

Ben smiled as well. ‘Mature for an eleven-year-old.’

‘Indeed. Anyway, it wasn’t exactly a shock when he started bringing home boyfriends.’

‘It never bothered you?’

‘I worried that he’d be bullied, hurt, that other kids wouldn’t accept him . . . But no, it never bothered me. Why should it? He’s just as much my son no matter who he wants to shag. And this way at least he would never leave some poor girl pregnant, like I was.’

‘His father left you?’

She shrugged again. ‘We were eighteen. Cliff didn’t even stick around long enough to see his son born. Last I heard, he was married and living in Lancashire. Kids on the way and everything. I had a couple of boyfriends once Mark grew up a bit, but none of them lasted. I went to uni when he was little. Studying for exams with a toddler in the house is not recommendable. Thank God for my parents.’

‘Are they still—’ Ben cut himself off, realising the impertinence of the question, but Rose smiled.

‘They’re alive and well. They moved to Spain a couple of years ago. We spent last Christmas there. Interesting experience.’

Ben sat back in his chair and sighed, his eyes wandering back to Mark. He knew Mark’s favourite foods, the music that made him close his eyes and just smile, exactly which points on his body would elicit specific reactions . . . But there were so many things about Mark’s life, his history, his family, that Ben did not know. It didn’t make him feel sad, or angry, like Mark had been holding back on him and keeping things to himself. It made him feel . . . hopeful. They had so much left to learn about one another, and there was so much to look forward to.

* * *

Something was poking Ben’s cheek. Poke, poke, poke. He groaned. His neck felt stiff and painful. Slowly, he opened his eyes, pulling himself upright.

He had been slumped forward over Mark’s hospital bed. The something that had been poking his face was, he realised quickly, Mark’s finger. His boyfriend’s eyes were open, and he was looking up at him with an amused expression.

‘Morning.’

Ben did not immediately reply. Instead he took Mark’s hand, squeezing it perhaps a bit harder than necessary, and leaned down to kiss his lips.

‘Thank God you’re okay,’ he whispered.

Mark laughed, his expression turning into a grimace a moment later as he clutched his chest with his free hand.

‘Fractured ribs,’ Ben informed him and Mark nodded.

‘Yeah. Bloody bastards . . .’ He drew a couple of shallow breaths before relaxing again. ‘When did you get here?’

Ben glanced at his watch. It had just gone nine in the morning. ‘A few hours ago. Your mum rang me. Nice lady.’

‘Yeah, she’s all right.’

‘What happened to you last night?’

Mark rubbed his eyes and yawned. ‘Give a bloke a chance to wake up, won’t you?’ He tried to pull himself up into a sitting position, but didn’t quite seem to have the strength, so Ben helped him. Mark winced and groaned with pain. ‘Ow, fuck! Cheers.’ He smiled weakly. ‘Let’s see . . . Well, I went to the pub with Rob, to discuss recording times and fees. Stayed until maybe ten-ish. I meant to leave earlier, but I was having a nice time. I was gonna text you to let you know, but my battery had gone flat, so I decided to just head over to your place. I took a short cut through an alley to get to the tube and they jumped me.’

‘Standard mugging?’

‘Doubt it. There were two of them. Skinheads. Neo-nazis, probably. I vaguely recognised one of them, even. They called me a fucking commie-queer, and I told them they were only half right. I’m pretty sure they were after me, specifically. My stuff was a bonus. I was lucky, really . . . Homophobes trying to suppress their latent homosexuality. They could have done far worse things to me than a few broken bones and a concussion.’

‘Well, that would have been melodramatic.’ Ben smiled wryly. ‘Frankly piss-poor writing, very overdone.’

‘Speaking of concussion . . . Hand me that bedpan, will you? I think I’m gonna puke.’ Mark said it so matter-of-factly that Ben thought at first that he was joking, but then he swallowed, and looked a bit pale, so Ben reached for the bedpan and got it to him just in time.

Mark’s body convulsed, and he heaved and spat into the bedpan, but there wasn’t much. He clutched at his chest, the heaving causing obvious pail to his ribs. He grimaced. ‘Stomach acid,’ he muttered. ‘I need a toothbrush or something . . . And something to eat and drink, probably, but I don’t want anything.’ He sighed, leaning back into his pillows. ‘I fucking hate hospitals.’

Ben took the bedpan away and pressed the button to call for a nurse. Then he stroked Mark over the hair.

‘Uncultured twats,’ Mark murmured. ‘I should have told them that commie-queer is an oxymoron, that proper Marxist-Leninists believe homosexuality to be a Western decadence. Fuckers should pick up a book every once in a while . . . Bet they don’t even know who Marx was.’

Ben smiled. ‘Next time you’ll set them straight. I’m sure quoting passages from Das Kapital will make them realise the error of their ways.’

‘Damn skippy. And if that doesn’t work I’ll read to them from Mao’s Little Red Book until they fall asleep.’

* * *

‘Is everything all right? Is Mark okay?’ Alice’s voice sounded slightly frantic, and Ben smiled.

‘Yes, he’s all right. He’s concussed, fractured ribs, a broken leg . . . But he’s alive and awake. Police came by earlier to take his statement.’

‘That’s good.’ She sounded relieved. ‘Hope he’ll heal soon.’

‘He better had. I’m not leaving here until he’s better.’

There was a brief silence. ‘Ben—’

‘I’m taking a few days off, I want to be here to look after Mark.’

‘There are nurses there to look after Mark,’ said Alice kindly. ‘You start filming tomorrow, remember?’

‘They can do scenes I’m not in.’

‘That’s not a lot of scenes, you’re the title character.’

‘Family emergency!’ Ben would not budge. Mark needed him. Mark was hurt, and it was because of him, because of the stupid article. He could not just abandon him.

‘I know you feel responsible, but—’

‘There’s no but,’ Ben interrupted. ‘I am responsible. I love him, and I’m going to keep him company. It’s the least I can do. They’ll understand.’

Alice sighed on the other end. ‘I’ll try to make them understand. They won’t be happy, though. Neither will Liam and neither will Harry.’

‘Fuck ‘em,’ said Ben simply, and Alice giggled nervously.

‘I won’t tell them you said that.’

Ben bid his PA goodbye and hung up. Then he returned to Mark’s room.

‘Alice sends her regards,’ he said as he sat down next to the bed.

‘You talked about me?’ Mark asked sleepily. They had given him a sizeable dose of morphine and he was slightly loopy. ‘What’d she say? She think I’m pretty?’

Ben chuckled, squeezing his hand. ‘She hopes you get better soon. She wasn’t all that happy when I told her I was taking some time off, though.’

‘Why would you do that?’ Mark frowned. ‘That’s a silly thing to do. You have, like, stuff. To film. Right?’

‘Yes, but I want to be here and look after you.’

Mark laughed. ‘Nononono. No. You don’t have to do that! I’m fine! There’s nurses and doctors and those . . . those cleaning ladies and hospital clowns and shit. And mum! Not to forget mum, she’ll be here in the afternoons and stuff. You can come see me when you have time off, like normal people, mister.’

‘But—’

‘No buts! Heh, butts . . . But yeah, no buts. No my butt for you until you get back to work and I’m all better again anyway, so . . . I’ll be fine.’

‘That’s the meds talking.’

‘No, the butts is the meds talking, this is the me talking, and you’re not gonna sit here by my bed like some fucking Florence Whatsherface when you’re supposed to be Detective Inspector Hathaway and solving crimes and shit. Tonight you’re gonna go home and you’re gonna . . . sleep . . . and . . .’ Mark blinked a few times. ‘And you’re gonna go to work tomorrow. Mkay?’

Ben smiled. ‘All right. You win. I’ll text Alice and let her know.’

‘You do that . . .’ Mark mumbled, and then the lids slid down over his glassy eyes and he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

When Ben was in the cab on his way home from the hospital that evening, he pulled out his phone to check Twitter. He was not entirely surprised when he discovered tweets like, Heard a rumour that @Hark_Marrison90 is in hospital after being assaulted. Hope the poor kid is okay. And, Poor @Connor_Benji must be devastated that his lover’s been injured on account of him. Hope they catch the ones who did it!

How these people knew was beyond Ben. The Internet moved fast. He had best try to keep up. He began to type.

On my way home to get some sleep. So relieved that @Hark_Marrison90 is alive and not seriously injured. Get well soon, my love!

He hesitated for a moment, with his finger hovering above the ‘send’ button. If he did this, it was as good as a public announcement. But they were already public, weren’t they?

He sent his tweet.

‘Begging your pardon,’ said the cab driver when he pulled up to the kerb outside Ben’s flat, ‘but you’re Benjamin Connor, ain’t ya?’ Ben only nodded, and the man continued, ‘Is your boyfriend all right, then? Cause I ’eard something on the old grapevine, see . . .’

Ben smiled as he took out his wallet to pay. ‘Yeah, he’s all right. Not great, but . . . He’ll be just fine. Thanks for you concern.’

‘Nah, no problem, mate. And it’s no charge, I switched my metre off. My wife’s in hospital too. Complications with ’er pregnancy. ’S not fun, that. You make sure you visit ’im and look after ’im, yeah?’

‘I . . . Yeah, of course. Thank you.’ Ben hesitated. ‘Can I ask how you heard?’

The cabbie smiled at him. ‘You ’ear a lot, driving a cab. Folks talking. But the way I understand it, it’s on one of The Guardian’s blogs.’

‘Thank you.’

‘No worries. You take care now!’

‘You too.’

Ben stepped out and the cab rolled away. Only a few seconds later, as he was pulling his key from his pocket, his phone rang.

‘Hello, Harry.’

‘I wish you’d run things by me before you post them on the Internet, Ben.’

‘Sorry.’ Ben unlocked the front door and headed up the stairs. ‘Was it a bad move?’

‘A bad move? It was a fucking excellent move, people love you now!’

Ben laughed.

‘No, seriously, though. You properly announcing your relationship, there couldn’t be a better time for it. Wish I could say it was my idea.’

Ben unlocked the door to his flat. ‘About the Internet, though. I heard something about The Guardian?’ He tossed his keys on the table and headed for the kitchen.

‘Yeah. One of their journalists’ blogs. Kate Archer, I think. She’s got sources at the hospital, apparently. Now she’s condemning the Mail for their blatant disregard for privacy, blaming them for Mark’s attack. A lot of people are very sympathetic.’

‘Yes, I saw some of the Tweets.’

‘You’ve scored a lot of points today.’ Harry sounded almost proud.

Ben sighed, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of Innis & Gunn. ‘I really don’t want to score points on the fact that my boyfriend was assaulted and injured and that it may or may not have been on account of The Daily Mail.’

‘I know. And it’s a tragedy, it really is. But he’s okay, and you’re both smelling like roses. And just think how this will help his career, too. He’s already doubled his followers on Twitter since yesterday. By next week, who knows? That can be some small comfort, can’t it?’

‘I’m having a hard time seeing it that way, but I think Mark might.’ Ben held his phone to his ear with his shoulder while he opened the bottle.

‘He’s got a good head on his shoulders, that one. Can’t wait to meet him in person.’

‘You’re just hoping he’ll want to hire you,’ Ben teased, walking into the sitting room. ‘No chance of that. I think Mark will want to run his own show.’

‘That may be, but when I’m old and feeble I’ll be able to tell my grandkids that I shook the hand of the great rock star Mark Harrison before he was properly famous.’

‘And what about me? Won’t you tell them about me?’

‘You’ll be a footnote in history, Benny-boy. Music lives forever.’

‘Well, thanks ever so!’ Ben kicked off his shoes and collapsed in the sofa. ‘Look, I only slept about an hour last night, so I’m gonna kip in a minute. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’

‘Course. Good night!’

‘Night, Harry.’

Ben sat staring into space and sipping his beer. It had been a long and hard day, but he felt hopeful. If he and Mark could get through two months of absence, media scandal after media scandal, and attacks that ended in hospitalisation, they could get through anything. At that moment Ben knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that everything would be okay.