Moments - 1. Moments

Marcus looks up from his book as Jacob shuts the door to Meg’s bedroom.

‘She asleep?’ he asks.

Jacob nods. ‘Yeah, like a drunk.’ He plops down next to Marcus on the sofa, running his fingers through his hair. Marcus leans into the touch.

‘She likes you,’ he remarks, closing his book and placing it on the coffee table.

‘All kids like me. Fuck knows why!’

‘It’s cause you’re like a kid yourself. Refusing to grow up. Fucking Peter Pan, you are.’

‘Piss off, you twat,’ says Jacob softly. Marcus smiles and gets up, heading towards the kitchen. ‘She said I tell better bedtime stories than you do,’ Jacob calls after him.

‘Peter Pan!’ Marcus repeats over his shoulder before vanishing into the kitchen. He reappears a moment later with a bottle. ‘Wine?’

Jacob cocks his head to one side, eyeing him skeptically. ‘Are you sure you should be drinking?’

Marcus rolls his eyes. ‘Remember how I stopped telling you to quit smoking after a couple of weeks?’

‘Fine, fine,’ says Jacob, hands raised in surrender.

Marcus fetches two wine glasses from a cabinet and sets them down on the coffee table before pouring them each a generous helping. ‘Anyway, this is just wine,’ he says while he pours. ‘I may drink whisky to get pissed. I drink wine for pleasure. This is a good one, too.’

‘Yeah, yeah. Don’t start waxing fucking poetic about the wine. You know I couldn’t give two shits. It’s wine. It tastes like fermented grape juice, because it is fermented grape juice. Cheers.’ Jacob raises his glass and clinks it against Marcus’s.

‘We should drink to something,’ says Marcus.

‘Yeah? To what?’

Marcus seems to consider for a moment. ‘To fucking things up and starting over?’

‘Or just to fucking.’ Jacob leers at him and Marcus rolls his eyes again. They drink.

Marcus glances at his watch. ‘We should try to get to bed soon. Meg’ll be up again before seven.’

Jacob quirks an eyebrow at him. ‘It’s only half eight,’ he says incredulously.

‘I said bed,’ Marcus tells him calmly. ‘I didn’t say sleep.’

A slow smile spreads over Jacob’s features. ‘Yeah?’

‘And we’ll have to go slow,’ Marcus continues. ‘We’ve got to keep quiet so we don’t wake up the little one.’

* * *

Jacob picks up the phone at once when it rings. ’So? What did she say?’

Marcus laughs. ‘Well, hello to you too, twat.’

‘Yes, hello, I love you, now tell me what she said!’

His casual use of the words seems to have taken Marcus aback, because it takes a moment before he speaks again. They don’t say them often. When they do, it’s either during the tender, post-coital moments when they allow themselves to be sentimental, or it’s said sarcastically. Jacob admits he isn’t quite certain which category this falls under.

‘She asked if you were my boyfriend,’ Marcus says at last.

‘What did you tell her?’ Jacob can feel his pulse racing. This wasn’t quite the conversation he’d expected to be having right now, but suddenly it feels like a lot hangs on Marcus’s answer.

‘I said I supposed that you were.’

There is a brief silence. Jacob swallows. Then he says, ‘All right. I can live with that.’

‘She also said that she’s fine with it and that you can live with us.’

Jacob grins in spite of himself. ‘Oh, good!’ he says quickly. ‘This place is getting cramped.’

It wasn’t easy to find somewhere that would let him rent for just a few months. The place he ended up in is hardly more than a bedsit and can barely fit his books, let alone much else. He quit his job and moved up here, shortly after they started discussing the idea of him moving in. He’s been using his savings to pay rent while working on his novel and spending as much time with Marcus has he possibly can. For the past nine weeks, he’s pretty much been living at Marcus’s place anyway, but Marcus wanted to have this conversation with Meg without him there.

‘So, you want to come over?’

Jacob is still grinning. ‘Yeah, I’ll be there in ten.’

* * *

Marcus shuts the front door behind his ex-wife and daughter and turns to Jacob.

‘I’m sorry you had to deal with all that,’ he says emphatically. ‘It’s my family and my mess.’

‘Thought I was part of your family.’ Jacob’s tone is mild and non-accusatory.

‘You are, of course you are. I just meant that Meg is my responsibility. Fucking hell . . .’ He runs a hand through his curls and sighs heavily. ‘How was she?’

‘When I picked her up or now?’

‘Both?’

‘She seemed fine when I got there, and then she just kind of burst into tears. She was really sorry. Now, while you were fighting . . . She hated it. She was trying not to cry, but . . .’ Jacob shrugs, and Marcus finds himself hating his ex.

‘Fucking Jen!’ he growls. ‘She is such a fucking bitch!’

Jacob shakes his head. ‘Yeah, but she can’t help it. I honestly don’t blame her. It’s hard to adjust, you know? I don’t bear her any ill will.’

‘She bears you loads.’

‘I know.’ Jacob smiles, and takes a step closer. Tentatively, he puts his arms around Marcus and draws him close. ‘I don’t give a fuck. Any and all fucks I do give are reserved for you and Meg. That’s it.’ He pauses. ‘And possibly this fucking prison rape of a novel I’m trying to write,’ he adds as an afterthought.

Marcus wraps his arms around Jacob in turn and makes himself as small as he can. When he’s like this he likes feeling like Jacob envelops him, is bigger than him, even though Marcus is so much taller. ‘You’re good with her,’ he mumbles. ‘She absolutely adores you.’

‘And I love her to fucking bits. So, I don’t want to hear you say that she’s your responsibility or any shit like that. As far as I’m concerned, she’s our kid. Right?’

Marcus nods. ‘Yeah.’ Then he kisses Jacob for a long time, and lets everything be all right.

* * *

Jacob looks down at the volume in his hands. The glossy cover has his name on it, Jacob Woodhouse, in large, elegant, gold, all capital fucking letters. It’s taken him until his mid thirties, and he’s used every contact he’s ever made in publishing to get it done, but he’s holding a copy of his own novel in his hands, and it’s probably the best feeling he’s ever felt. With the possible exception of sex with Marcus, and boy is he going to get some tonight.

It arrived in the post this morning, after Marcus had gone to work. Jacob has spent most of the day just looking at it, trying and failing to believe his eyes. He’s also taken the time to clean the kitchen, empty the bins, clean most of the bathroom, run several rounds of laundry and change all the sheets, but now he’s back here, sitting on the sofa, with the book in his hands, just staring at it.

There’s a key in the lock, and Jacob stands automatically, face turned towards the entrance. Marcus comes inside, throwing his key in the bowl on the end table under the mirror, and stops dead, meeting Jacob’s eyes.

‘Is something wrong?’ he asks at once.

Jacob only shakes his head, swallows, and holds up the book. Marcus blinks. Then his face splits into a grin so wide that Jacob never though he’d see an expression like that on his face. He doesn’t even bother removing his coat, reaching Jacob in five long strides and throwing his arms around him.

He kisses Jacob several times and says, ‘I am so fucking proud of you! Jesus Christ, this is amazing! I love you.’

Marcus takes the book from Jacob’s trembling hands and runs his fingers over the cover. He’s wearing an expression of wonder and delight, and now Jacob can’t help but smile as well.

‘I never—’ Jacob’s voice is unsteady as fuck and he clears his throat. ‘I never really thought this day would come, I think,’ he says after a moment. ‘Not really. Fuck, I’ve never really succeeded at anything before . . . Not when it mattered, anyway. All the times I just wanted to fucking give up . . . Marcus, thank you.’

Marcus laughs. ‘What for?’

‘For believing in me.’ Jacob takes the book back and opens it to the dedication, showing it to his lover.

For Marcus.

Marcus stares at the page for a moment. Then he looks at Jacob’s face and smiles. ‘You’re such a sentimental cunt,’ he tells him fondly. ‘Come here.’

They sink down into the sofa, wrapped in each other’s arms and attached at the lips, and Jacob thinks that this is the most perfect moment of his entire existence.

* * *

It’s brought up in conversation increasingly more often, always very hypothetical and usually heavy with irony. This is why Marcus is so surprised when Jacob one day, at dinner, snaps, ‘So, do you want to fucking marry me or not?’

Marcus stares at him for what must be almost a full minute. ‘I . . . What?’

‘Cause you’re the one who keeps bringing it up. Never without a certain degree of sarcasm, but you keep fucking mentioning it, and we’ve been living together for six years, so what is it you want? Really?’

Marcus’s fight or flight instinct surfaces now, and he has the urge to deflect the whole conversation with an indifferent shrug, but Marcus is of above average intelligence and it doesn’t take a member of fucking MENSA to realise the thin ice he’s currently on.

Is he really the one who keeps bringing up the question of marriage? He knows that Jacob has joked about it a few times as well, but he supposes it must be true, on average.

‘Just because two people can marry doesn’t mean they have to,’ he says weakly.

‘Of course not,’ says Jacob. ‘That’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking, do you want to?’ His brown-eyed gaze is intense. ‘Do you love me?’

‘Of course I fucking love you!’ Marcus can hear the irritation in his own voice. ‘Think I’d agonise over you for ten fucking years and live with you for six if I didn’t love you?’

‘So?’ Jacob’s tone is sharp and he crosses his arms over his chest.

‘So, what?’

‘Do you want to marry me?’

‘I . . . Well, do you?’

They stare each other down, each waiting for the other to crack, to answer the question hanging heavily in the air between them. Neither is one for romantic bullshit. Neither is one to back down. But they are, perhaps, softer now than they were sixteen-odd years ago and finally, at almost exactly the same moment, they both grudgingly look away.

Jacob mumbles, ‘Yes.’

And Marcus mutters, ‘Of course I do.’

Then their eyes meet again. Jacob uncrosses his arms, making a face. Marcus shakes his head, and smiles.

‘I love you, you cunt,’ says Marcus.

‘I know,’ says Jacob. ‘I love you too.’

* * *

Jenny opens the door, and almost closes it again immediately.

‘Hi,’ says Jacob with a smile.

Jenny purses her lips. ‘Hello,’ she says stiffly. ‘I thought . . . I’m sorry. I thought Marcus was fetching Meg today.’

‘Yeah, slight change of plans. He’s in court tomorrow, so he’s got a lot of work to finish.’

They stand like that, facing each other, for a long moment, before Jacob speaks again.

‘Can I come in?’

Jenny steps aside. ‘I’m afraid Meg’s still at the park with her siblings. They should be back soon.’

‘No worries. I’ll wait.’

She invites him into the kitchen, where she is preparing dinner, and politely, if stiffly, offers him a cup of tea. Jacob declines, just as politely but far less stiffly, and asks for a glass of water instead.

They sit at the kitchen table. She gets up every once in a while to check on the roast. He sips his water.

She breaks the long silence by commenting on the weather. He agrees that it’s very nice out for October, and he isn’t the least bit surprised that Meg is at the park.

After another silence, he says, ‘Look, Jenny . . . I know you don’t really like me.’

She stiffens. Gets up again, checks on the roast, looks out the window.

He smiles. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ he continues. ‘And I don’t blame you one bit. I know you don’t . . . approve of Marcus and me. I wouldn’t really expect you to. But I want you to know that I’ve never had anything against you.’

She turns to face him again, frowning.

‘I’m as surprised as you are,’ he admits. ‘The old me . . . Well, lets just say I’ve had some anger management issues in my time. But for all that, I’ve never really been one to hold a grudge, and I felt like you should know that I don’t hate you. At all. Not trying to guilt you into not hating me or anything, you’re welcome to do that as much as you like.’

Jenny runs her fingers through her fringe. Opens her mouth. Closes it again. Takes a deep breath and says, ‘I don’t hate you, Jacob. I admit you . . . make me uncomfortable. I can’t quite look at you without . . .’ Here she blushes. ‘You’re right that I don’t approve. I don’t see your marriage as valid and it makes me a little bit sick to think of what you . . .’ She looks away. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t help it.’

‘I know,’ Jacob tells her softly. ‘I get it, even. Long as we’re being honest, the thought of Marcus fucking you makes me kind of sick, too, even if it is ancient history.’

She splutters indignantly, not used to having such language in her house.

‘But know this,’ Jacob continues. ‘I love Marcus. I’ve never loved anyone else in my whole miserable life. Except for Meg. I couldn’t love her more if she were mine. She will always be safe with me. I will always be there when she needs me. Even if Marcus and I were to . . . Even if it ended, I would still love her and care for her. And I’ve never tried to take your place. I never could. Meg loves you. You’re her mum. No one can ever take that away.’

Jenny, against her better judgement, finds herself smiling.

Just at that moment the kitchen door bursts open, and in tumble four children and an old mastiff, dragging mud and old leaves behind them. Meg and her siblings are all bright-eyed and red-cheeked from the cool October weather. The dog barks loudly, a deep rumble in its massive chest.

‘Boots off!’ their mother shouts at once. ‘And leave Peaches outside, she needs her paws wiped before coming in here. Where’s your father?’

‘Greg’s just round the corner,’ Meg tells her. ‘We ran the last bit home and—’ She cuts off upon seeing Jacob, and kicking off her boots she runs into his arms. ‘Pa!’

‘Hey there, Half-pint!’ Jacob ruffles her hair.

‘Jacob’s here to get you, darling,’ her mother tells her. ‘Go get your things.’

Meg runs upstairs, and Jenny helps her youngest get their boots off. Jacob watches them, smiling.

When the bustle has died down some and Meg’s younger siblings have been sent into the hall to get their coats off, Jenny turns to Jacob again.

‘You should let me know the next time you’re coming by,’ she says. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

‘Yeah?’ Jacob grins. ‘I’d like that.’