Much Smaller Things, page 14
“Hey,” said Tom as he pulled away just enough to meet Alfie’s eye. “Would you come with me for a minute? There’s something I’d like to show you.”
18
Tom
Being alone in his room with Alfie had been earth shattering, the tension so palpable it had done something to his inhibitions. He had confessed. Why the hell had he done that? What if it got awkward between them now? What if Alfie felt like he had to leave because of it?
But that didn’t seem to have happened. Not yet, at least.
Alfie may not have confirmed whether he liked Tom back, but… that kiss. Tom’s cheek was still tingling. If that was what it felt like to be kissed by Alfie so chastely on the cheek, what would it be like if they were to kiss properly?
All things considered, Tom was a tiny bit glad for the breather. He needed to take stock of his many swirling emotions.
He led Alfie by the hand down the hall, thrilled by how much they had opened up to each other. Tom had never told anyone all of that before. Not even his mum knew the full extent of it. But now it was like a weight had lifted from his shoulders. He had been worried Alfie, or anyone who knew the truth, might think him weak for being so affected by everything. But Alfie didn’t seem to think that. He seemed to think everything Tom had been feeling was entirely valid. What a concept.
“Have you always lived here?” asked Alfie, halfway down the hall.
“Yep,” said Tom. “My parents moved here when my mum was pregnant with me. Before that, they weren’t very well off. My dad was only a trainee officer then, and my mum was still finishing uni.”
“It’s a really nice house.”
“Thanks, but it’s not mine, really.”
“Still, I like it.”
“It’s fine, I guess.” Tom shrugged. He glanced at the sideboard he had passed a thousand times, noticing the photo frames that had long-blurred with familiarity. “Lots of people have way nicer ones. You should see Jason’s. He has a swimming pool.”
“What?” Alfie laughed. “Isn’t that a bit pointless like, ninety percent of the time? We live in England.”
“Exactly,” said Tom. “It’s good for maybe two weeks of the year, if you’re lucky. And all his mum does is whinge about how expensive it is to clean and stuff. Rich people problems, I guess.”
At the end of the hall, Tom opened the door to the spare room and led the way inside. He went straight to the built-in cupboard in the corner. It had always been full of junk, and so he had to dig around a bit before he found what he was looking for.
“Here.” He turned around and held out the case for Alfie to take.
Alfie stood in the doorway, as if unsure whether he was allowed to enter the room further. His gaze fell on the item in Tom’s hands and widened. Tom ushered Alfie to sit beside him on the bed and lay the case on the blankets between them. Tom clicked open the latches.
Inside, shiny and gleaming, was a violin.
“It’s beautiful,” Alfie breathed.
“I thought, since you lost your other one, maybe you’d like to have this one?”
“What? No, I—”
“I know what you’re gonna say. That you can’t take this because you don’t deserve nice things, but Alfie, that’s not true. You deserve all the things that make you happy.”
Alfie hovered his fingers over the neck, the strings, the bow, his voice low, reverent. “This was probably so expensive, though. Why would you—?”
“Because I want to. And it’s Christmas. And some arseholes broke your other one, and I always want to help you, but I never know how, and this, for once, is something I can actually do.”
“You’ve done so much for me already.”
“Nobody has touched this violin in maybe ten years. My mum bought it for Olivia when she was like nine, but you can imagine how interested she was in keeping up with her lessons. And I’m practically tone deaf, so…”
“Tom, I can’t.”
“Doesn’t it seem a bit sad? Something so beautiful shouldn’t be shut up in a junk cupboard. It should be played.”
“It is very beautiful, but I couldn’t take something so—”
“If you’re worried about the cost, then how about you pay me back?”
“I can’t afford—”
“I don’t mean with money. I mean…” Tom swallowed. “You could play for me?”
Alfie shook his head. “That’s not a fair trade.”
“It would be for me,” said Tom. “I’d like to hear you play.”
Alfie hadn’t taken his eyes off the violin since the case was opened. Tom could almost hear the raging battle taking place beneath that mess of caramel waves—and then Alfie reached with a delicate hand and lifted the instrument out.
“I’ll play for you if you want, but I’m not keeping this.”
Before Tom could come to terms with what was about to happen, Alfie got to his feet. Tom shuffled to the edge of the bed and watched as he positioned the violin under his chin. It really did suit him very well. The action forced him to lift his chin a little higher, giving him a confidence, a surety he so often lacked.
Olivia had been atrocious whenever she had played, but Alfie was smooth, fluid—as close to perfection as Tom could imagine. Not that he knew anything about classical music. Perhaps he was biassed. Boys found in garden sheds rarely turned out to be musical prodigies, but Alfie was no longer wearing ripped jeans and socks with holes in them. He was wearing a suit in a concert hall, and Tom was in the front row. And out of the hundreds of people filling the room, Alfie looked only at him as he played.
The song finished with a flourish, and Alfie lifted the bow, cheeks pink.
Tom didn’t know what his own face looked like, however he expected he might be just a little gormless. Definitely smitten beyond belief.
“Wow,” said Alfie. “This is way better than my other one.”
“How did you do that?”
Tom must have looked pretty stunned because Alfie laughed. “What? What do you mean, how did I do that?”
“I mean, who taught you to play like that?”
Alfie’s chin dropped back down into its normal position. “I used to have a tutor.”
Interesting.
“That was amazing,” he said. “Incredible. You’re incredible.”
“You really liked it?” Alfie slotted the violin back into its case.
“Of course I did.” Tom got to his feet. “I mean, I don’t understand how—I mean, that was so beautiful, how could—? I mean, of course you’d be able to make something so beautiful like that but—”
In his excitement, Tom grabbed Alfie’s hands—and Alfie stiffened. Realising how intense and strange he was being, Tom retracted his touch and glanced instead at his feet. “Sorry,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. “I’m rambling again. Too enthusiastic. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologise,” said Alfie. “Your enthusiasm is… nice. Really nice.”
Tom looked up as Alfie stepped forward to thread his fingers carefully, deliberately, through Tom’s once again. And then he pulled him back over to the bed and sat down so that Tom was standing over him.
Teeth at his lip, an intense gleam in those blue eyes, Alfie parted his legs to let Tom in closer still.
In such proximity, Tom could see every detail of Alfie’s features, every fleck of blue in his eyes, every long, dark eyelash, every inch Tom had adored from afar.
Alfie traced his hands almost absent-mindedly up Tom’s arms, over his shoulders. A shiver ran through Tom at being touched like that—and by Alfie. His cool, slender hands came to rest on Tom’s chest. Alfie tugged at the fabric of his hoodie, a question in his eyes.
Tom’s mouth went dry—he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. His heart was about to burst from his chest. Their lips were millimetres apart, so close Alfie’s breath brushed his skin, and his intoxicating scent blocked out every other sense.
A distant, urgent knocking.
Loud and insistent.
Alfie let go. “Who is that? I thought your parents were in the Lake District.”
“There’s no way it’s them.”
Tom wrenched himself away from the bed and to the window. He looked down into the front garden. Someone was standing on the front step, knocking to come in.
19
Alfie
Who is it?” Alfie’s voice came out small and pathetic, but he was too terrified to care.
He and Tom were there alone, no parents. The fact had been a blessing, but now it might be a curse. Rooted to the spot, Alfie watched Tom draw the curtain back and look down into the front garden.
What if it was him? Could he have found him? Had he been following Alfie all this time, waiting for Tom’s parents to leave? Waiting for his police officer dad to be gone long enough to be sure there would be no one there to protect either of them?
Tom turned and headed for the door.
Alfie grabbed onto his arm. “Tom?”
“What’s wrong?” Tom seemed startled at the extent of Alfie’s fear. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s just Blair.”
Alfie let out a breath. “What?”
“It’s Blair, Alfie. Just Blair.”
Relief flooded him, heavily tainted with stupidity. Of course. Of course it wouldn’t be Liam—he had no way of knowing where Alfie was. Of course not.
“What does she want?”
“I dunno. I’d better go and let her in.”
“Do you want me to hide?”
“What? No. Not unless you want to, I suppose.”
“I’ll just stay here.”
Tom nodded, though his brows were still furrowed as he left the room.
Alone, however, Alfie realised that even though he may not have felt up to meeting this girl in person, he did want to get a glimpse of her if he could. He crept out into the hall, then hovered in the shadows at the top of the stairs. He peered around the corner just as Tom opened the front door.
A girl burst inside. Blair’s blonde hair was coming loose from her ponytail.
Alfie caught a second of the scowl on her face before she crashed herself into Tom’s arms, her shoulders shaking.
“Blair, what’s wrong?”
It was a little hard to watch. Alfie wanted Tom to hold him like that, to comfort him. But Blair had years of friendship that Alfie simply didn’t.
“It’s Jason…” Blair sniffled. “He broke up with me. For good this time.” She lifted her head, cheeks red and blotchy. “I—I couldn’t lie to him anymore. He kept accusing me, and I had to tell him the—the truth.”
“What did you tell him?”
“About us, Tom, and he fucking dumped me.” She stepped back to scrub at her face in frustration. “He said he didn’t want your—your sloppy seconds. I should never have kissed you. He thinks I’m cheating on him with you, and now he wants nothing to do with me.”
Alfie’s heart plummeted. He wished he could see Tom’s face.
“But that’s not true,” said Tom. “You’d never cheat.”
“I know that!”
“It was a stupid, drunk mistake,” said Tom. “And it happened way before Jason ever showed any interest in you. Jason’s a twat, I keep telling you. You deserve better.”
Blair grew still then. She fiddled with the strap of her shoulder bag. “He’s not really… a twat. You don’t get it, Tom. I think I’m in love with him.”
Alfie didn’t need to see Tom’s face to tell he had not been expecting Blair to say such a thing.
“Blair…”
She shook her head, wiped at her eyes again, and took another step back. “Forget it. Look, we can’t be friends anymore, okay? We can’t hang out.”
“What? Why not?”
“As long as I’m friends with you, Jason won’t ever look at me. Just stay away from me, Tom. Please? I’m sorry.” She couldn’t even seem to look him in the eye before she turned and fled the house, slamming the door behind her.
Tom stood there in the dimly lit hall, devastation in every line of his shoulders.
Alfie hadn’t realised he’d stepped out of the shadows until Tom turned to look up at him.
“Are you alright?” Alfie asked.
Tom’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I’m assuming you heard all of that?”
Alfie grimaced. He wanted to rage and swear about how much of a dick move that was on Blair’s part, but something about Tom’s disposition made him hold back. “Yeah,” he said. “That was… something. I’m sorry she did that to you.”
Tom shrugged. “Want to watch a film?” And before Alfie could reply, he breezed toward the living room.
Alfie hurried down the stairs after him. “Wait, Tom—”
He darted around the living room door to find Tom searching for the TV remote.
“Let’s watch a film,” he said. “What do you fancy?” Tom turned on the telly and began scrolling through Netflix with apparent rapt attention.
“Tom, you know you can talk to me. If you want. We should talk about—”
“No!” Tom flopped himself onto the sofa, grabbed a blanket, and pulled it over himself.
His tone had been colder, sharper than he’d ever used in front of him, and Alfie couldn’t stop himself from flinching.
Tom saw and softened. He patted the sofa beside him, and Alfie sat down. Silently, Tom folded the other side of the blanket over Alfie’s lap and pressed play on a random film.
Alfie couldn’t care less what the film was. Tom was clutching the remote, his jaw set, his eyes glassy.
“Tom?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Tom wouldn’t look at him. “I’m fine.” He curled up against the arm of the sofa, turning even further away.
And suddenly, Alfie felt like he was invading Tom’s space. Of course Tom didn’t really want him there.
Alfie knew it was a selfish thought, but it made him want to cry.
He gave himself a mental shake. Maybe a part of being there for each other was just being there, even if they weren’t talking. If Tom didn’t want to talk, that was fine. Alfie wouldn’t go anywhere unless he told him to.
The evening crawled by as they watched the film in silence, Basil snoozing between them. The film turned out to be Paddington. Alfie hated every second of it. The clock on the mantelpiece told them it was ten o’clock before the credits rolled.
Tom switched off the telly and got to his feet. The room had fallen even further into darkness, the only light filtering in from the moon and the streetlights outside. Tom’s eyes were tired, a little red, still a little glassy. They were so brown and soft and pretty.
Alfie stood up, too.
He opened his arms and cautiously, inexpertly, pulled Tom into a hug.
For a millisecond, Tom froze. But then his entire body seemed to deflate as the tension flooded out of him. Alfie felt all of it. Tom buried his head in his shoulder, hands fisted in Alfie’s shirt.
This was good, Alfie thought. Maybe he didn’t just want to be held and comforted, maybe he also wanted to hold and to comfort.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” Tom murmured.
“It’s okay. I understand why you did. That was… a lot to process.”
“Yeah, well…” Tom lifted his head but didn’t let go. “It was about time those two broke up for good. I just wish she could have done it because she wanted to and not because of me.”
Alfie chewed at the inside of his cheek. He hated the idea of Tom and that girl. “It’s not your fault. She shouldn’t have done that. Anyone who considers themselves your friend would never have said that to you. Not like that.”
“I’m starting to think maybe I don’t know what friends should or shouldn’t do,” said Tom. “Like maybe I’ve never really had one. Not a good one, anyway.”
“I think you do know what a good friend does, though. A good friend listens and is sympathetic and wants to help even if they can’t.” Alfie raised his eyebrows. “A good friend doesn’t call the police when they find the other one trying to steal from them.”
Tom grinned. “A good friend sits in awkward silence for two whole hours while the other is a moody bum and doesn’t even complain about it.”
“You said it, not me.”
Neither of them had made any attempt to remove their arms from around each other.
Tom stifled a yawn against Alfie’s shoulder. “I’m tired,” he said. “We should probably go to bed.”
“Oh.” Alfie blinked. “Okay.”
Tom finally stepped away from their embrace and strode to the door, Basil at his heels. Alfie sank back down onto the sofa and was reaching to rearrange the cushions when Tom turned back.
“What are you doing?”
“Going to sleep? Goodnight.”
“Alfie,” Tom sighed. “You don’t have to sleep on the sofa. There’s the spare room or…” He swallowed. “You could sleep in my room? I do have a double bed.”
Alfie looked around in alarm.
Tom had fallen quietly flustered, gaze focused on the dog at his feet.
“Are you sure?”
Tom seemed to steel himself. “Of course. If you want.”
Once Basil had settled himself in his basket and the downstairs lights had been switched off, Alfie followed Tom back up the stairs. With each step he ascended, Alfie’s heart rate climbed too.
Inside his bedroom, Tom shut the door.
It was so quiet, the road outside not a busy one.
“Did you bring pyjamas?” Tom glanced at Alfie’s backpack by the desk.
“I have some joggers.”
“Want to borrow anything?”
“Maybe a t-shirt?”
Alfie hated even having to ask, but Tom went to his drawers without a fuss. As Tom rummaged, Alfie caught sight of himself in the mirror on the wardrobe door. His hair was a mess. And he was so… scrawny. Scruffy. He couldn’t help but think about Blair and how pretty she had been, even despite her frazzled state.
“Did you bring all your stuff?” asked Tom. “Or is that backpack…?”
“All I own? Pretty much. Yep.” He turned away from his reflection. He had seen enough. “I have a few things at Fin’s but…”
