Bleach & Vinegar.
A/N. Hi, I have another sneaky trilogy for y'all. I went delving into Jonny's head & found some darkness. I'm not sure what we already know about Jonny, if anything, so I'm playing the artistic license card if there are any little inaccuracies! I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! Part 3 of The Other Side will be up in a couple of days x Sarah
Part 1.
22nd May, 2013.
Be my friend, hold me. Wrap me up, unfold me.
Wind me up, and breathe me.
The wee hours creep into the not so wee ones. The inky black fades to grey, to blue, to warm fawny yellow and his silence is punctured by the merry chirp of a sunny day. He knows this drill, he could picture it with his eyes closed if he could only bloody close them.
She. She. She. The meaning of my life is she. He's lyrical because it's easier to think like that. A default. You have less control over the words that way. Less naming, blaming. Fuck.
Every muscle is unstable. He's prone on his back, staring at the ceiling. Not really seeing it, not seeing anything else. Nothing isn't shaking, but he isn't crying either. When did the tears dry up? 2010 maybe? They just ran out one day, maybe when he couldn't see her face anymore.
Again. Again again again. It's groundhog day in his head. The longest 5 seconds of his life; The shortest minute and a half. Again. And again.
Fuck! He's not sure he's said that since. Not until today. Yesterday. Standing in the toilets looking at that little white stick.
His alarm goes off. He closes his eyes, because that'll make it go away.
ooooo
It's 1999. He listens to the Verve, and Texas, and he's more likely to be found with a strong pint of stout in one of the dive pubs just off Dalkeith, near the Uni, than chasing girls in heels as they trip over cobbles on Cowgate. Tonight, however, is his 20th birthday, which means he gets to do what everybody else wants to do, and that means Cowgate.
"The Hive?" He moans in protest, grateful at least for the balmy weather as they stand in the queue. The girl behind his squeals, drunk, and spills the contents of her contraband water bottle down his shirt. "The bloody Hive." He's cut off as they're ferried inside, squeezed into the already cramped, smoky and sweaty underground club. The stone walls are slimy and thick with decades of cigarette tar, and he pushes through the crowd with his mates until they reach the relative release of the Trance room. There are hands everywhere, and he moves with the crowd, trying to force himself into the right frame of mind for this. He hardly notices he's dancing with one girl in particular until she leans over to scream in his ear, shocking pink lipstick catching his eye.
"Smoke?"
"What?"
"Shall we go for a smoke?" He pats down his pockets and shrugs. She rolls her eyes.
"Outside!"
"What?"
"Come on!" She grabs him by the wrist, dragging him back through the hoards and out into the suddenly fresh, cool night air. He gets a head rush, and she pulls him around the corner where they both sit down and lean against the brickwork. "Here." He takes the cigarette she passes him, toys with it in his hands for a moment and then draws it to his lips with mock confidence. "You don't really like it in there, do you?" He smiles, she has a thick west coast accent that suits her forceful nature.
"Not really no."
"Me either." He looks up at her then, seeing all her features for the first time. He could swear blind that his heart actually hops a little as he looks into her eyes. She's dressed for the night; Tufts of bottle blonde hair twisted and pinned so it sticks out in a thousand directions, adorned in glitter and a tight fitting psychedelic green dress. She misconstrues his stare and looks at her shoes. "Actually, I love it." She laughs, and it's his new favourite sound in the world. "I DJ there every Tuesday; Student Night. I don't know why I lied." He smiles at her.
"Well, I don't smoke."
"No kidding!" She exclaims, noting how he's taken one drag and is now watching the thing smoulder away between his fingertips. He can't think of what to say to her next, whether or not there's anything else he needs to say, but she silences his inner dialogue by placing both her hands on his face and drawing him in for a kiss. Jonny's body responds in every way it should, raw and passionate, and he's pleased to feel her muscles contract beneath him in response. "I'm Josie." She utters breathlessly as they pull apart.
"Jonny." He replies with a grin.
ooooo
"Where's Maconie?" Jac snaps the words in the general direction of the Nurses' station, met mostly with shrugs, apart from Mo who turns to face her boss.
"Oh, he's not in today."
"Yes he is, I've seen the rota."
"He's called in sick." She answers too quickly, and Jac puts her hands on her hips.
"Not that Elliot or I are aware of."
"Well he hasn't actually phoned in, but he just is. He won't be in today."
"You're saying he's called in sick telepathically?" She arches an eyebrow at the Registrar, her cagey demeanour leaving Jac reluctant to let this go, particularly after yesterday's events.
"Just, trust me Jac, leave it."
"No!"
ooooo
It's a warm July evening in 2003, and Jonny walks south down Dalkeith Road in his shirtsleeves, making the most of the late summer sunset. He's just finished a double shift but he feels upbeat and alive, smiling as he hears the music pumping from the open window of the first floor flat he shares with Josie. She's looking out for him, and she leans out of the window with a grin when he approaches. She has Mark Ronson on maximum volume, and he's shocked the neighbours haven't sabotaged her personal party by this hour, they usually do.
"Hey! Loser!" She hollers at him above the music, "Did you buy a No Doubt album?!" She's holding a stack of CD's, waving one at him in disgust.
"Shut yer noise, eh lass!" Jonny does a gruff impression of their least favourite neighbour, and she dissolves into a fit of giggles. He's been practising that one, and it's spot on. "And yeah I did." He makes a note to never tell her he thinks she's the spit of Gwen Stefani. "What are you doing up there you loopy mare?" He hears a crash and a curse as she steps away from the window, and he makes his way up to join her.
"You're late!" She chastises him playfully as he joins her in the living room, noting she's halfway through a bottle of Muscadet and that most of their belongings are covering the carpet in various piles.
"So, you went nuclear crazy?!" He gestures towards the mess around them and tips the bottle of wine to get a look at the label. "Hey, this is expensive!"
"Oh I'm sorry," She kisses him on the cheek as she walks past to grab him a glass, "I just couldn't wait any longer, this is the best day!" She's grinning like an idiot and he has to join her, imagining her bouncing off the walls with whatever news she has for him whilst he took a tranquil walk home instead of the bus.
"Well, go on then!" He exclaims, taken in by her excitement as she presses the wine into his hands.
"Okay. Argh, what first?"
"What do you mean?"
"Which do you want to hear first? Best news or even better news?"
"Christ sake Josie!"
"I got the job! We got the flat!" He closes his eyes for a second and gives his head a little shake, trying to process both bits of news at once. She screams, obviously content with his speechlessness, and throws her arms around his neck, spilling the drink. "I love you Jonathan Maconie!" He tries to return the sentiment but she puts her palm flat against his mouth, her favourite way of shutting him up when she can't wait to speak. "I know, I know. You too. Okay so, they accepted our offer straight off, we can move next week! We are Josephine Colley and Jonathan Maconie of Barony Street, New Town. Homeowners! North of the bridge!" She puts on a faux posh Edinburgh accent for the last bit. "And two weeks on Monday I will start my first full time post on Mr Taylor's firm. No more stupid ED and Fracture Clinic and Orthopod rotations, I'm on a Paediatric Surgical Firm at the Edinburgh Infirmary! We'll work in the same building!" She squeals again and drags him back into a hug.
"I love you, I love you, I love you." Her temperament is infectious, it always has been, and he spins her around in circles as her feet leave the floor. "You sexy, intelligent, sexy, feisty, woman. Who needs to dye her roots." She slaps him playfully as he adds the last bit, putting her down and holding her at arms length. "So we can move next week?" She nods, aware that her overexcited attack on the living room might have been a bit premature. "I'm going out to get boxes from Tesco!" He grabs his jacket and vanishes, leaving her to dance around the living room and sing into her hairbrush.
ooooo
"Jac, why are you pushing this?" Mo sighs, exasperated with her boss who is currently detaining the registrar in her office.
"I don't know what planet you're living on but incase it's escaped your notice senior nurses can't just not show up for work."
"It's just one shift! I told you, put it down as a sick day."
"He hasn't called in sick."
"But I told you he's sick, so what difference does it make? Why can't you just.."
"Maureen, if you tell me to leave it or trust you one more time I swear to god I will swing for you!"
"Well, what do you want me to say? It's not because of you, okay? You're all still.. fine. With each other." She gestures towards Jac's stomach. The Consultant places her hands on her desk and leans forward, narrowing her eyes which are trained on Mo.
"Tell me what you know. Now." Mo sighs and sits, knowing when she's beat.
"I don't know much about it, but, Jonny has a dark day."
"What does that men?" Jac scoffs, scornful of the idea, and Mo shrugs honestly.
"It means that on the 22nd May every year he goes all.. incommunicado. He won't come in, he won't answer the phone, and he won't surface again until tomorrow. Then he'll pretend that everything's fine and nothing happened. Even to me. I cover for him, and play along."
"Why?" To Jac, it's all completely implausible.
"He's my mate. I don't need to know anything else." Jac huffs, ever infuriated by her colleague.
"You've, what, never asked?!"
"Well, I tried once. The first time. When he first came to work with me, I mean."
"Which was?"
"Er, June-ish. 2005. When he came down to London from Edinburgh."
"Eight years!" Jac is incredulous. "You've let him do this for eight years?"
"There's no harm in.."
"Are you kidding me? It's ridiculous!"
"But.."
"Just, go, fine. I believe your crazy story and I'm not going to HR about it."
"You'll leave it?" Jac purses her lips, and Mo has to settle for silence in reply as her boss turns her attention to her computer screen sulkily. She escapes the office whilst she can, biting back a snark about turning the place into a padded cell.