Facing the Sun, page 18
Nineteen minutes later entering the foyer, his phone rings. By the time it’s in his hand, Olaf, standing to greet him, growls, “If you answer that, I’m out of here.” He stares at the name, shaking his head, and presses the reject button.
Shoving it back in his pocket, he pulls out a chair. “Just someone from work.”
“What, on the weekend?”
“Nah. A mate. We usually catch up when I’m in town. Not today, hey?” He grins. “What a dick I’ve been. Sorry man. Most of these,” he taps his top pocket where the phone is spoiling the line of his jumper “are family. They’re non-negotiable.” This last is said with an air of defiance. “We’re very close.”
“I’ll get you a coffee. These guys have offered to cook us breakfast, and I accepted. Is that okay, if we stay here?” Jack nods. “How do you take it?”
Yesterday had been one of the longest days of Jack’s life. Returning Thursday night around three in the morning, he had sulked and then tried cracking it with Olaf which had only resulted in him going home to sleep and Jack waking every hour until his alarm dragged him up again. The sulk lasted throughout the day, partly as a result of the hangover and partly because he didn’t even have Olaf’s phone number. He had crawled into the lift shutting out all invitations to party Friday night and ignoring every other phone call, until Reception rang him at eight o’clock asking if it was alright for them to send up an Olaf Sanderson. Still in his work clothes and feeling sweaty and dirty from air-conditioning and distress, he’d collapsed onto the bed in relief, rising to open the door and refusing any touch until he’d showered. The perfect gentleman, Olaf bided his time until the shower was over watching him dress with interest; a process which Jack enjoyed, leaving his shirt off for a long as possible until Olaf came up behind him and nuzzled into his neck. They had hit the town then, eating and drinking and talking until Jack must have taken Olaf home with him, but had not the slightest memory of it. Clearly the other half of the bed had been slept in!
Finding himself alone, Jack scans the long line of messages. Marra’s stand out. Five missed calls in a row, interrupted by two or three, then another, and another. Something must be up with Mum, and, against his wishes, he dials 101. The call goes through just as Olaf returns to hear him say, “Oh fuuuck! Noooo.”
“What?”
“It’s my nephew.” Appealing for help makes no difference at all. He just can’t take it in. Adam. No wonder he’s been off lately. Why didn’t we think of that?
Olaf moves a chair closer to drape his arm around the bent shoulders. “What is it?”
“He’s got brain tumours. I have to ring my sister.” Before thinking about it, the phone number’s ringing. “Sorry mate.” It rings out. Frustrated, he throws it down on the table. Then picking it up again, he reads his messages. “They’re bringing him here today. He’s going into the Children’s. The plane’s supposed to be landing around one, or a bit after.” He stares up at Olaf. “It’s eleven now.”
“Breakfast’s on its way. We’ve got time to eat and get there to meet it, if that’s what you want? We’ll grab a tram and pick up my car. It’s just in South Melbourne – on the way.”
“It’s not your problem. I can grab a taxi.”
“Well. If that’s what you want. But I’d like to see you there. We’d have a car. Could be useful.” The food arrives, and Olaf encourages him to eat even though he says he’s lost his appetite. “You’ll feel a hundred percent better if you’ve got something on your stomach. Be more use.”
Despite everything, Jack manages to wrap himself around his bacon and eggs while Olaf orders another couple of coffees and, to Jack’s disgust, pays, despite his insistence that it go on his bill. “I claim all this as expenses.”
On the tram, he fills Olaf in on his family describing how he feels and how attached to these kids, who were born in his early thirties, he is. “It’s a lot to take on, my family,” he offers with a rueful smile. “There’s always something.”
“I’m keen to meet them,” is the surprising answer. “No, really,” he insists. “One of the breaking points for all my past relationships has been being fuckin’ sick of broken families and families who can’t take gays. It just makes it so much harder.”
The car turns out to be a beaten up old Peugeot with flaking paint and patches. The passenger seat is loaded with paperwork which is ceremoniously dumped on the back seat. “What’s all that?” Jack asks.
“Work.”
“So tell me where you write for.”
“That mess there is notes for five columns, two articles and some odds and ends of research for my book. I carry it around all the time in case I want to add to anything, or check something. Which won’t happen today, I promise. But it’s not unusual for me to stop the car anywhere and jot down something in case the thought gets lost. It can get interesting in traffic.” Sensing he’s lost his audience, he falls silent for the remainder of the trip until Jack speaks as they approach the parking lanes at Tullamarine.
“I’m not sure how this is going to go having you here, mate. I can’t imagine introducing my new boyfriend in the middle of all this.”
“Look. I don’t mind if I just drop you and disappear. But, I’d sort of like to hang around in the background just in case I can help. Drive you somewhere, or just be a friend? How about you introduce me as a friend who drove you to the airport?”
Jack shoots him a grateful look. “I don’t really want you to take off. It’d be good to just have you around, if you don’t get offended at the lack of attention. Ordinarily, my family’s very friendly, but today, anything could happen.
“Which airline are they using?”
Checking his messages, he discovers that no-one has thought to offer that information. “We’ll just park in the middle and when we reach the road we’ll try ringing again.” This turns out to be a good plan. The plane has landed, and Sandro has switched on his phone. “We’re picking up our luggage from Qantas now and heading to Virgin to catch up with Bridey and Josh. Explain later.” Just as they step into the Airport, he texts. Wait in the middle on Arrivals somewhere and we’ll collect you on our way through.
Molly barrels into Jack first, having spied him from a few metres away and rushed forward. She wraps her arms around his waist and clings to him. He smiles, untangling her arms and turns to introduce her to Olaf. “Meet my niece, Molly. She’s fourteen.” Frowning at him, she says to Olaf, “Fifteen actually. Not that anyone’s noticed!” Her uncle frowns back trying to make sense of this. Just as the others reach them, she adds mournfully, “It was my birthday yesterday.”
“Oh Molly. I’m so sorry.” Her mother distractedly attempts to do something about this, but Molly bravely dismisses it.
“It’s okay,” she says. “You have had a lot going on with Adam.” Molly’s uncle gives her a look which clearly says, goodness you’ve grown up a lot since turning fifteen. Unbelievable. Her response is to look smug.
“Marra, this is my friend Olaf. He drove me to the Airport. We were having breakfast when I picked up my messages.” She gives him a slight smile and shakes hands, but her mind is elsewhere. “Sohrab, this is Olaf. Adam, my nephew.” He holds out his arms to Adam who allows a bear hug before withdrawing. “Must be scary,” he says. Just as he’s wondering what on earth to do with Olaf, Sohrab interrupts with an urgent desire to move on to meet up with Bridey and Josh. “We can then use your car and one taxi.”
The whole group moves through the crowded airport until the Virgin Baggage Claim area comes into view. Spying Josh standing by himself watching the carousel with keen attention, Sohrab goes up to him. “Where is Bridey?” Josh points to the rear of the crowd standing around the carousel. His eyes on Bridey, Sohrab is standing beside Gabriella in a moment and not recognising her. She, on the other hand, has frozen in shock. Before she can react, Sandro has seized her by the waist with two hands and spun her around, to the dismay of the crowd. He whispers in her ear. “I’m sorry Mum. I didn’t get this together in my head. We can just disappear if you like.” Her face is white, while her heartbeat has shot up to a hundred. Before she can respond, Sohrab turns towards her with interest. Anything to do with this new son is a matter of curiosity.
Olaf observes. He watches Jack collecting baggage which they then share on their journey through the terminal. He notices Molly attempting to get his attention. Adam is standing in a daze. He watches the group of adults around Jack’s sister noting with interest the tension in the group, and he thinks to himself: This is family. This is what I want. To belong to a family like this. He brings his gaze to rest on Jack noting the adoration of his niece and nephew and feeling a strong surge of hope coupled with intense desire for Jack’s attention on himself.
Sohrab and Gabriella face each other.
* * *
Flagran is bored.
With all these people around, he can’t appear, and anyhow, there’s nothing to do. His mind is on playing with fire and he experiences an intense urge to light one. The visualisation is growing together with his excitement, in an idle, distracted manner becoming a conflagration which would take place in the Airport Terminal if he chose to set fire to various objects around him, when he is summoned by the Source. Guiltily, he obeys.
“I wasn’t intending to do it, you know.”
“Flagran. I made you. I know.”
The smoke from the ground at their feet stirs lazily, wending its way around, through and over them, all the time rising to connect with thick, grey clouds overhead and tracing their edges with light grey steam. The Source raises kus eyes, and immediately bright light illuminates the sky around the clouds, sending shafts of brilliant gold through the spaces.
“How beautiful you are!” The words escape his lips, before Flagran himself notices he is thinking this. Glancing at the glorious sight once more, he begins to fidget.
“Thank you. And, how restless you are!” The Source smiles the smile which is just for Flagran, watching as he struggles to contain himself.
A moment later, he is caught into the right arm of Love which sweeps his being into an embrace from which he emerges, minutes later, filled with intense energy which will not release him. He begins to hop from one foot to the other, in the manner of a child needing a toilet. Groans of agitation escape him as, once again, he is swept up, tossed into the air and captured as he falls through the atmosphere around them, then released to the ground only to be caught and held in an iron embrace until he collapses into it with complete abandon. His captor continues to hold him against one shoulder pressing a cheek down onto the red head now filled with flaming curls. “Time for some activation of your essential self, my dear.” Curious, Flagran raises his head to look around. The volcano at their feet shoots up a burst of flying embers in invitation, the Source responding by locking an arm around his waist and stepping off solid ground to plunge with him into the bowels at its source. “Do not let go! This is my command. You will stay very close to my side!” The command is unequivocal, heard above the roar of the fire, pouring into his self in a way which brooks no defiance. As the words clear in his head, so the desire to lose himself into the flames grows, until refusing the call of the fire becomes unbearable. It feels as though he is being pulled between two demanding forces where the only possible result could be his destruction: not making a choice will result in him splitting into two. This begins to stretch towards the flames, joining them, and becoming consumed by them, totally. It is, and has always been, his constant desire, forever obstructed by the insistence of the Source that he remain an individual spirit and not allow himself to be obliterated by his very nature.
The length of time spent within this battle feels interminable, until he can no longer remember why he is here, or what he is supposed to be doing. All of him desires release, and when it becomes clear that the Source will not allow it, a huge wall of rage sweeps into him travelling through his core and flying out again through the red locks now resembling massive, rusty hoses thrashing and constantly yanking his head in multiple directions. The battle overcomes him, and he collapses, unconscious, falling forwards into the fire.
* * *
I am furious. How my son could neglect me to such an extent that he would leave me open to the humiliation I’ve just experienced, is impossible to fathom? Feeling like a complete fool, but unable to express it to Bridey and Josh, lunch proceeded as planned, but only because I insisted. The one thing which hasn’t changed in the slightest is that Sohrab is determined to be in control. But Bridey, and Josh, surprisingly, had backed me up, and Sandro had walked with us to my car, morose and guilty, not knowing what to do to fix things. I accused him of betraying me. Told him he was disloyal to me, now he’s found a new family. I said some terrible things. Things which never should have been said, and Bridey cried. Over lunch, Bridey attempts to take the blame herself, but she genuinely hadn’t known we were likely to meet. No one had thought of my feelings. No-one at all. I’m hardly speaking because I’m revisiting, over and over, the scene in my head, Sohrab staring at me in disbelief; not recognising me because I’ve aged so much; his wife distracted and embarrassed; the children clearly curious but not saying much. The only thing I had been able to think about was how to exit immediately. This lunch will go down in history as the most uncomfortable meal I have ever orchestrated. The more silent my guests, the more awkward and embarrassed I feel. I feel terrible I’d spoken so to Sandro in front of them. I had behaved worse than Elaine, Bridey’s mother. Reaching the little blue house in Clifton Hill at last, I deposit all the supplies on the kitchen table, feeling embarrassed at having overdone everything, and leave. When Bridey attempts to hug me, I shake her off to avoid breaking down. Disgusted with myself, and terribly wounded by the whole affair, I have no idea what to do with myself. I text Jarrod to announce I’m picking him up from the Airport. He texts back to say his car is in the Long Term Car Park.
I don’t hear a word from Sandro. Typical, I tell myself bitterly.
* * *
Olaf drove Sandro and Adam back to the Town House in Fitzroy after following the taxi to their Motel in Royal Park. The plan was for Sohrab and Marra to spend the remainder of the afternoon doing something with Molly to make up for forgetting her birthday. She had chosen the Zoo, because they could walk from their Motel, and she was happy to be doing something alone with her parents. It might be some time in the future before they could give her this attention again. Adam was better off to be distracted by Sandro than to be dwelling on hospital admission tomorrow.
This family all pull together. It’s surprising how much he desires to be a part of the comings and goings and how much he wants to get to know them. It never occurs to him that they might not want him. (Everyone likes him.) Pulling into the nearest Car Park to Jack’s Hotel as though it’s home, he looks across at Jack who makes no objection, pleased he wants to come in after enduring all that chaos. It takes him by surprise, though, when Olaf begins removing his shoes and socks and pulling his jumper over his head. “Hang on a minute,” he says. “What do we have here?”
“Sorry!” Olaf is taken aback. “It’s something I do. Just relaxing. About to throw myself onto the bed. Come and give me a cuddle.” He stares at Jack across the room. “Unless you’d like to be alone? I forgot to ask.”
“No. I don’t want you to leave.” Pacing uneasily towards the window, he stares out across the city. “I might need some sleep, I think.”
Olaf lays back against rearranged pillows regarding him intently. “I like your family, Jack,” he says softly. “I don’t have family. Just Dad really. Mum doesn’t count.”
“Well, that’s a relief. I mean, from my point of view there seems to be a lot of them, and it’s difficult to assess the impact that has on new people in my life. They can be a bit overwhelming.” The city below is filled with slow moving traffic, trams and pedestrians competing with each other for space. Weekend delivery trucks squeezing into tiny parking spaces. Ribbons of cars making their way to somewhere. Suddenly, the desert calls. Wide open spaces. Spaces in which you can think. Places to hide. What sort of a mess is this he’s walking into? Last night, he’d been desperate for some intimacy, and today he’s measuring the time this stranger might take up; time he could be wandering alone. He shakes himself. Don’t be more of a jerk than you can help, Jack. This man won’t wait while you go off doing things that won’t make sense to him. A wave of sadness rolls over him as he leans his face against the cool window. Is he ready to go through the pain? How can you avoid the pain and just start at the bit where you know each other all the way through and don’t have to do all the awkward parts? From the bed, Olaf watches him.
“Come and sleep with me,” he says suddenly.
Jack stares. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I was thinking, if you’re tired, you could sleep. Over here. With me.”
For a while he stands, staring across the room, not thinking, just working on taking the risk. He slips off his shoes feeling his bare toes dig into the carpet searching for some purchase, something solid. Like Tim. A tear rolls down one cheek. Ignoring it, he makes the journey across to the bed and removes his clothes, all of them. Staring down at the man he’s about to join, he thinks about how awful it feels to go to bed with strangers, and how much he longs for comfort.
“Very beautiful!” Olaf’s arms are open, and Jack moves into them, closing his eyes against the firm, hairy chest and dropping off into sleep.
It’s an hour later when he wakes to gentle fingers running softly over his smooth back and on around his belly. Opening his eyes, he watches the white against the dark thinking how odd, yet how familiar. He recalls Tim touching him while he slept and thinks, now that was white! This is more like milk coffee. He senses Olaf begin to pull away and clings to him, drawing him back. “I thought I heard you ask for coffee?” He shakes his head, thinking coffee might be good, and then suddenly groans pressing back into the body, thigh, chest, stomach, clinging with his arms like a drowning rat to a life raft, as Olaf’s body responds in an intense burst of heat. This is not a one night stand, is it?
