Life in Bylow continued for three months, and gradually two people's lives fell to pieces.
Ennis Del Mar was, surprisingly, not one of them. He was as happy as he'd ever been - thanks to access to his daughters, good business, a new car and an amazing... friend called Jack Twist. He was so content he kept forgetting to go and ask that weird woman across the road if she could stop spying on him, or to at least be more subtle about it.
He had never been this happy before, and this was maybe why he didn't notice Jack's increasing problems. Jack was stuck with a... friend by the name of Ennis Del Mar who was ashamed of their relationship, an ex-wife who was becoming increasingly involved with her liquor cabinet, a son who was too smart not to notice his mother's alcohol issues, a dying pick-up truck, a best friend (and this one really was only a friend) who had become so distant he was practically on another planet and Randall Malone. Before long a combination of all those things and too much whisky late at night reduced Jack to a wreck. It was all he could do to force himself to go to work, where he would slump at his desk for about seven hours and then trek back home again.
The only time he really came to life was when he visited Ennis, but even that had its bad points. Apart from the rather obvious having to leave at some point, there was also seeing Helena's sister peering through her curtains and remembering how he'd broken his promise to Ennis. What would happen when the mechanic found out? - it was clearly a case of 'when' and not 'if'; it always was with Jack. Would Ennis kick his lover out, or give up with his charade?
Even if it was a 50/50 chance of a non-secret and fulfilling relationship, Jack didn't really want to take the risk. Losing Ennis on top of all the other shit that was happening to him would be too much.
What he needed was to have someone to talk to about it, but Christian was somewhere else entirely. He'd taken two weeks off work, registered Meggie at the high school, spent many a night talking with social workers and lawyers, and come back to the Reporter still the same cool, calm and collected person to everyone else but a bundle of twitchy nerves to Jack.
Or he would have seemed like a bundle of twitchy nerves to Jack, but everyone was so wrapped up in their own problems they didn't have time for anyone else and that was designed to cause trouble.
Jack drove into the carpark late, as usual. He was half way across the road when he stopped and turned back to look at the parking space beside his own. It was Christian's, and that was where the Mercedes should have been, but instead there was a silver Cadillac instead. Jack couldn't remember ever seeing that car before; although he couldn't recall seeing the Merc for a while either. Deeply confused he continued on his way.
Christian was at his desk, fingers tapping laptop keys lightly, when Jack took his hat off and sat down.
"You get a new car?" Jack had not spoken to Christian in four days, and the man jumped as though
he'd been shocked.
"What?"
"The Cadillac? You sell your Mercedes?"
"Oh, no. I gave it away." A brief look of pain passed across Christian's face, but Jack didn't notice.
"Gave it away? Why?"
"Just needed a fresh start. Anyway, that was three months back."
"Jack frowned. "Really?"
"Yes." Christian looked down at the computer screen and sighed. "Fuck. I'm getting nowhere with this."
"Well, neither am I," muttered Jack sharply, shuffling through some of the discarded papers on his desk.
"I was talking about my life in general, not my column," growled Christian bad-temperedly.
"So was I." Jack glared at the Bostonian, as though daring him to make a comment. "D'you think I'm happy with my lot? Do I look bloody happy to you?"
Christian said nothing. But a voice behind Jack oozed, "I think you look absolutely radiant."
"Whatever, Randall." And in that second all the fight left the rodeo cowboy. Why was he bothering? What fucking difference would it make?
"Don't worry," said the reporter cheerfully, "We've got a few games we need to talk about. And I've got to head to the Bandits' game in Derton on Monday. You can come with if you want."
"Oh. Thanks..."
"I thought I'd warn you now, so you'd have the weekend to, you know, pretty yourself up." Randall patted Jack's head. "Thought you'd appreciate it." And with that he bustled off to accost the editor.
Jack dropped his head to the desk, his forehead bouncing off the thick layer of papers. Across the table Christian leant back in his chair and stared blankly at the ceiling.
"Jesus..." he muttered eventually. "Jack..." He dropped his gaze to his friend. "I'm sorry about this. I wish I could've persuaded Aguirre to stick him with some other poor bastard."
Jack mumbled something unintelligible and raised his head enough to peer cautiously at the Bostonian. "You tried. That's enough. I can cope anyway. Randall's not really all that bad."
"Mmhmm?" A quirk of an eyebrow told Jack how believable his lie was.
"Can't you even pretend to believe me?"
"Think up a better lie and I'll think about trying."
A faint smile ghosted Jack's lips as he sat up properly. "You really change your car three months ago?"
Christian tilted his head in confusion. "Yes, I thought we'd gone over this. Why?"
"Means I haven't been payin' enough attention."
"I don't think anyone's been paying enough attention," said the Bostonian, "We've all been a bit wrapped up in our own issues lately, I think." He stood up. "I suggest we go for a walk to clear our heads and catch up a bit."
"Maybe you can help me figure out how I can avoid goin' to Derton with Randall too," laughed Jack, grabbing his hat and following Christian.
"I already have five ways."
"How many of them involve shootin' out his tyres?"
"None until now. That makes it six. And I was planning on using implements of a sharp and dangerous nature."
"What, like an ice-pick or somethin'?"
"No, but it's an idea. So, seven ways now."
A walk in the morning sun with his best friend and a conversation that vaguely acknowledged the real issues but avoided dealing with them was not exactly what Jack needed right then, but it was as close as he was ever going to get.
Three months had been more than enough time for Ennis to clear his garage out and store the Mercedes inside it. He didn't know why he didn't want Jack finding out about the car. Probably because he'd have to admit what kind of a state Christian had been in when he gave the damn thing to him; and Ennis wasn't sure if the Bostonian would appreciate Jack knowing. They obviously knew each other, after all Christian had recommended Ennis as a mechanic.
"Next time I see him, I'll have to shake his hand," muttered Ennis to himself. He was lying on the sofa, limbs tangled up with Jack's as the columnist slept on his chest.
"Wha'?" Jack peered up at his lover. "You say somethin'?"
"Just thinkin' aloud." Ennis extracted an arm to rub at his face. and then wrapped it around Jack's shoulders. "Just go back to sleep, rodeo."
Jack shifted around a bit and then sighed. "No. I need to talk to you 'bout somethin'." He sat up carefully. Ennis narrowed his eyes in suspicion but said nothing.
"Look, I was talkin' to one of my friends today at work. Bout the last three months, and how... how things weren't goin' the best for alla us."
Ennis frowned. "Whadya mean? Not goin' the best? Don't you like bein' with me?"
"I do! I do, En." Jack leaned across and planted a gentle kiss on Ennis's cheek, trying to reassure him. "But... There's a point there, y'know. I got problems with that Randall guy I was tellin' you about, and my ex-wife's gettin' a bit screwed up and that friend I was talkin' to? Well, I had barely spoke to him in a week. Times past when the longest I'd go without speaking to him was 'bout half an hour."
"Well, there ain't nothin' I can really do to help you there, bud." The mechanic sat up too, still glaring at Jack. "What else you talk 'bout with this friend of yours?"
The look of guilt on Jack's face was enough of an answer. Ennis sprang to his feet.
"Goddamn it, Jack!! What did I tell you?! Can't tell no one bout us! And then you go and pull this crap!"
"I'd already told him..."
"What...?!"
"When this first started. I told him." Jack sighed. "I didn't mean to. It just kinda happened. Anyway, he woulda found out. Christian's like that."
"Christian?" His rage subsiding to a gentle bubbling of anger in his chest.
"Yeah." Jack looked up. "Please, Ennis. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, really. Christian wouldn't tell a soul anyway; I asked him not to."
"That it? You done now?" spat Ennis coldly. Jack's apology had twanged some heart strings, but the worry of being found out was too great. "Is this all you have to tell me? The reason you've been so miserable?"
"Not all of it," mumbled Jack. "This secret thing, En? It's not gonna work. I can't live like this. I don't do secrets well."
"Yeah, I kinda guessed that bit," growled the mechanic, "Well, tough. This is how it's gonna be, or it ain't gonna be at all. Sometimes you just have to ride it out."
Jack lowered his head again. "But I can't. Please, darlin'."
"No."
"But -"
"Either learn to deal with it, or leave."
"En -"
"You know I ain't changin' my mind." Ennis crossed his arms.
"Neither am I," sighed Jack. He stood up, moving awkwardly, as though he was in pain. "I'll just..."
He snagged his coat from where he had dumped it on the floor. He reached the door, and turned back. Ennis was watching once more.
"You ain't gonna stop me?" Jack whispered.
"Can't risk it, rodeo," said Ennis. "My daughters, my job... I don't want to lose you, but I can't lose them."
And with that Jack left.