DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH 2/4
- 'Cause I can tell you know what it's like
- The long farewell of a hunger strike
- But can you save me? Come on and save me, if you could save me
- From the ranks of the freaks who suspect they could never love anyone
- -Aimee Mann "Save Me"
November was the rainier that year than I had ever remembered it. There was the occasional snowfall, but it mostly melted off when it hit the ground and became slush, joining its brother the rain in the gutters on the streets.
Rain was a sound I had always been accustomed to. Rain, and the thick fog and mist that drifted in off the Thames and flooded the city.
After Suzy, the rain was one of the only familiar sounds I had. That and the drone of traffic, the repetitive thump of flesh on flesh during the fights, the tedious resonance of the telly late at night.
Now Tommy was here, with all new, unfamiliar sounds. I usually woke around noon, before Tommy came into my life, and wandered to the lot to watch Gorgeous or The Gun, or downstairs to the arcade or the office. Sometimes I would wander to the locations of perspective or traditional betters and make some plans. Occasionally, I'd have to make some deal with Brick Top. I tried to avoid those.
Tommy had his first classes at ten, and usually I had to make sure he even got there. Then I'd spend the day watching the guys spar, and making deals. Tommy got home sometime in the afternoon usually before I did, and when I came home he'd be struggling with his schoolwork. I'd try to help him, and then one of us would make dinner. I had to make sure he ate more than he would if I weren't there to bother him, and in turn I was eating better, too. He refused to drink any milk, though, and still had the habit of thanking all our 'victims'.
It was weird having someone always there all the time now. The kid tried to help out at home, he was always in the background doing things I never knew needed to be done before. Mostly he got in the way.
There were a surprising number of fights I had to attend most nights. I wouldn't have let Tommy run the arcade- which he chose to name "Jesters" on weekdays, with his school and all. He'd plead with me to let him come to the fights, and I'd say no and tell him to go to bed, and he'd mumble 'yes sir,' and I'd leave.
And then I would return, in the wee hours of the morning, and find him sitting up on the couch, wrapped in his blankets. And I'd say that I thought I told him to go to bed and he'd say that he couldn't sleep, he was worried. I would tell him that there was no need for him to be worried, because he knew what I did, and he said that in that case I should let him come with me. I'd say he has school, tell him to go to bed.
On the weekends, though, he'd do his job at the arcade behind the counter, with the bat I had put there for protection, more for him than me. And later he'd sneak out to the fights with me and I'd get angry at him and he'd furrow his brow and look up at me and then I couldn't do anything about it.
Then he'd beg me to take him out drinking or clubbing or something. He was eighteen now, so I suppose it was okay, but I had never liked clubbing anyway. Suzy had loved it. It was how we met. I was there on a dare.
One day after I came home from staring at the lot wall while Gorgeous and the Gun sparred, carrying some leftover sausages Charlie had given me to take home to Tommy, I found him sitting up on his dumpster-mattress in the corner, a wrapped parcel neatly tucked by his head, grinning down at a bunch of books and papers.
"I got my marks today," He grinned up at me when he noticed me there.
The group home obviously didn't run proper classes like other licensed schools, but in the end he'd get some semblance of a diploma to show for something. He wouldn't write GCSEs, but nobody was planning on sending him to college anyway.
The last few months Tommy had been struggling with the classes he was taking, English mostly. Poor kid was dyslexic and never learned to overcome it. I had to coax him to do his English work and he usually got discouraged easily. Now he was starting new courses for the next few months, but unless none of them involved reading, I didn't think our troubles were over.
I tossed Charlie's offering in the fridge were it would rot until one of us got hungry in the middle of the night. I pulled out a chair from the table as Tommy held out the piece of paper to me.
He was a good kid, he tried hard, he did. I bit back one of my characteristically caustic remarks when I saw his grades. That our biggest domestic problem. Tommy wanted nothing more than to please me, and my bitingly sarcastic nature (at least I'm told it's bitingly sarcastic) didn't help his fledgling self-esteem. Usually he'd just stand there and took what I gave him, avoiding my eyes, and that would just make me feel worse. I tried to encourage him to stand up for himself. It rarely worked. When it did, it usually exploded in a tantrum or string of annoying questions and then I'd break off on another string of insults. Then he'd get this sort of glazed over look in those dark eyes and his jaw would set and that would make me feel worst of all. The way I'd felt when Suzy and I would fight, and I'd say something I didn't mean, and her mouth would sort of pop open and she'd glance away. I would get this feeling just below my chest, above my stomach, and it made me sick. With Suzy, I'd usually get out and go for a walk before it got to that point. I'd started doing the same with Tommy.
It was odd thinking of Tommy in almost the same capacity that I used to think of Suzy. That I was now sharing the flat that I had once shared with her with him.
I knew it was hard of him to pass everything, and I was proud of him. I murmured it, truthfully, but I don't know if he heard. I always used to tell Suzy how proud I was of her. She had always accomplished more through her art than I did through anything, really.
"Fashion Studies?" I asked when I got the bottom of the page. "What's that?"
"It's my trade," Tommy said proudly. "It's sewing and designing and such."
"Why'd you take that? Why didn't you take…metal works or…something?" I tactfully left out 'something masculine'.
Tommy shrugged. "I'm good at it. Besides, the girls in fashion are really nice, and all the boys who take metal and construction design are all…they don't like me very much." Before I could respond, he flashed a quick smile and reached around his mattress. "Besides, I can make us clothes and save us money."
Looking back now, I had become accustomed to the idea of Tommy living with me for a long time now and didn't find anything odd about his assumptions. He held out the wrapped parcel that had been sitting beside his mattress to me.
"It's my project. I made it for you," He said shyly, avoiding my eyes.
"…Thank you," I said softly, bewildered, and gingerly took the package from him.
I unwrapped it carefully, still feeling somewhat overwhelmed at the idea of Tommy giving me a gift, and allowed myself a smirk when I pulled out the meticulously handmade beige trench coat.
"Ms. Meyer said it would last years and years. Forever." He still wouldn't look at me. "I wasn't sure of the size. One of the boys kind of has your build but you're taller so I just worked from that. With winter here and all…I hope it's thick enough."
He remembered. He remembered my complaining about the piss-poor black windbreaker I had been stuck with. I couldn't even remember his birthday and he remembered that.
"It's perfect, Tommy." I gave him some semblance of a smile, at least I hope so. "Thank you. I…" I glanced away for a moment. "I didn't give you anything for your birthday, Tommy, I'm sorry."
Tommy looked up at me sharply, and shook his head. "No, no, Turkish. That's not true. You…you gave me a home." He stood up and came over to me, hugging me, awkwardly, seeing as I was sitting. "You saved my life, Turkish. Thank you."
I didn't return the hug. I didn't feel right. I was never a huggish person to begin with, Suzy complained about it all the time. "Tommy?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you still taking the trade course?"
"Uh huh." He went to the fridge and pulled out one of the juice boxes I had taken to buying him. "Trade is all year."
"Will you make yourself a coat, too?" I looked down to the perfectly made coat on my lap. "You need something. This is probably better made than anything I can get you."
"Sure," He wandered over to the couch and flipped on the television, still drinking his juice. I stayed where I was, bewildered.
"We should get a dog." He said absently after a moment.
"What?"
"We should get a dog."
"Why?"
Tommy shrugged. "I don't know. I just always wanted one."
"No. I hate dogs." I got up, hanging the trench coat on the nearby rack, and started banging around in the kitchen- really just to do something. It ambiguously crossed my mind that I'd have to make something for Tommy to eat before I went to the fight. One for Brick Top. Hoorah. And another next weekend.
At least I had Tommy home now to brighten things up.
Now that was an odd thought.
"So did my dad. Never let me have one." Tommy stared at the telly in absentia. "He didn't let me do a lot of things."
I looked up at that, as it was the first time Tommy had ever really told me anything about his family, in all the months he had been living with me. I stood there, waiting for him to elaborate, but no answer was forthcoming.
Later that night I stood in my usual spot in the lot, in the corner, on garbage cans, watching the fight. Blowing snow snaked it's way into the lot, like tiny whirlwinds, and the spectators didn't notice, most of them drunk on drink or drugs or hate or anger or whatever other reason they were here watching two degenerates beat the brains out of each other instead of home with their children or wives or husbands or whoever. I shivered, though, and I pulled the thick trench coat closer. It was much better than my old black windbreaker, and I loved the way it felt against the bare skin of my arms.
And after the fight, well after midnight, sitting in the caravan with Gorgeous, I actually had to take the thing off to avoid getting blood on it, like I had ever cared about that before.
George had lost.
"Ahh! Fucking hell!" He cried when I roughly twisted his nose back into place.
"Better than having to go to hospital," I told him.
"Jay-sus," he cradled his bleeding face. "That's th' last time I fights a gypsy. Christ!" He slathered a sponge of water over his reddened face, already puffy and bruising up. "Surprised I'm not dead,"
"The Gun warned you," I reprimanded him, not even passionate to his condition. "I warned you. Told you not to accept fights I didn't arrange for you,"
"Well Sweet Joseph, Turkish, you're not me bloody mother." He scowled at the surprising amount of blood that ended up on his towel. "How was I ta know he was a friggin' gypsy boxing champion?"
"Well. Don't let it happen again."
"I won't. Believe me."
I didn't, of course. Gorgeous was too self-glorified to turn down a good fight when offered. Even when he didn't stand a chance. Or his pride was threatened or some other bullshit excuse like that.
"Get that healed up by this weekend. Big fight."
"Wit' who?"
I shrugged. "Tough tattooed mother from the West End. You could take him, but don't." I winced, slightly. "Brick Top was very clear on that. You're going down in the third. No questions asked."
"Well bullocks to that!" Gorgeous spat out another tooth. "If I can takes 'im, I'm takin' 'im."
"No, you listen to me!" I gave him that sneering 'Turkish is displeased' look that Charlie tells me works sometimes. I don't want to cross Brick Top. Not now, not ever. Especially not now. If you don't do what I tell you, then I'm dead and who knows what might happen to-" I stopped.
Gorgeous grinned up at me, gap-toothed. "Oh I see. This is about Tommy, then."
I glared at him. "Of course it's about Tommy, dimwit. If I'm dead, he's dead. And he's got a chance to make something of his life. He doesn't have to end up like us." I sneered again. "Look at you. Put some ice on it. I'm going home."
One home, after I had hung up the coat and changed, I stopped by Tommy's spot in the corner and checked on him. Least that's what I told myself.
He had been asleep, for once, when I had come home. He usually would wait up for me and then I'd get home and yell at him and he'd mope and it would be the same thing the next night.
I looked at him now. Actually stopped and looked. I had never done that before. I guess I never wanted to stop and actually see what I was doing, what was happening. Like my life. I just let stuff happen. The fights, the deals. I didn't do anything to stop it. It didn't even care anymore.
Then Tommy came, and it was the same thing. Sure, there was something there, but I wasn't about to let it grow into any real emotion. That's the mistake I had made with Suzy. Then she was taken away.
Not that it mattered, really. Nothing lasts. Least of all life. Love. I had learned that before, when my best friend died of leukemia when I was a kid, then my pop split when I was fifteen. Nothing really mattered.
I tried to tell that to myself about Tommy, that it didn't matter, that eventually he'd leave too, and it wouldn't have made a difference. I could go on drinking my milk and my tea, listening to the sound of flesh on flesh, watching Monty Python reruns, feeling my life dissipate and leave me, until it was completely gone.
There was always something, though, that disputed that. Some paternal instinct, or brotherly instinct, or whatever else kind of instinct, that told me differently. That it did matter. That he mattered. That now made me pull his sheets up a little closer, pick Antwerp up from wear he had fallen on the floor and nestle him back into his place in the crook of Tommy's arm.
I don't know how long I stayed there like that, just looking at him. So young, at peace, his jaw working in that determined set in the midst of some dream that I would never know. I just sat there, looking at him, and for once since Suzy had been pulled away from me, I was afraid of death.
The next day, Friday, when I came home in the afternoon, expecting to see Tommy at the table or in front of the telly, the room was empty.
I hung up my coat and thought about it. He probably went to see his friends in the warehouse; he did that occasionally, though it worried me sick. Sometimes he and his mates in the group home would do something together after class, and I liked that a little more, but he always insisted that the other kids didn't like him.
But this was Friday. Firstly, he'd have to open arcade in about an hour. And second, it was a huge fight night. He was usually pumped up and excited for fights.
I let my eyes travel across the length of the room, scanning, and noticed the door was open. The door that I hadn't opened in as long as I can remember.
I slowly wandered into the old bedroom. Sure enough, there was Tommy, kneeling in the center of all of a dead woman's possession, staring at a framed black and white photograph.
"What are you doing in here?" I asked after a moment.
He looked up, sharply, scared. "Turkish!"
"What are you doing in here?" I stepped forward. He flinched and leaned back.
"I'm sorry Turkish, I was just curious. That's all."
"I keep this door locked."
"It was old. It came right open." He attempted to justify it. "You…you never told me I couldn't, Turkish."
He had me there. Tommy and I stared at each other for a moment. There was a deep, viscous silence that was weighted with dying curiosity, and bitter regret.
"Who…who is she?" Quiet. Tentative. So unlike Tommy.
I reached out a hand. "Give me that." Tommy complied, silently, a little scared. Staring at the floor. "Get out of here,"
Tommy scrambled to his feet and left the room, head bowed, leaving a sad 'yes sir' in the air.
I sighed and sat on the floor where Tommy had been, cradling the picture in my hand. It was one of her favourite ones. Us on our wedding day. Why waste money on professional photographers when one of you was one?
We were wed on the Isle of Skye. The photo, black and white, featured us on the rocky cliffs, the sun setting in the background. I was jumping for some reason- I know that doesn't sound just right, but I can't explain it in words. In the photo it was so much different, more powerful, than any words could portray. There I was, in my tux, mid-air, blurred, so full of joy and love the film couldn't even capture it all. Which was exactly how I felt at the time. And she was there, a little ways behind, in her beautiful white gown, holding her flowers, laughing. Her face, in the photo, just as beautiful as I remember.
I surreptitiously wiped a tear from my face. I had never cried since the funeral. Never allowed myself to. This was the first time I had seen anything of Suzy's, let alone been in this room, since her death. It was too much. She was so beautiful, so pure, so good, and she actually loved me, she actually found it somewhere in her heart to feel the most mythical of legendary emotions for someone as worthless as me…and I had screwed it up. I killed her. I had no illusions of that.
And no one blamed me. That was the worst part. Not her parents, her friends, our friends. I even knew she was up there in heaven, happy and glowing and shining, and she forgave me.
But I couldn't forgive myself.
I'm not sure how long I was there, just sobbing my pathetic little heart out, before Tommy came in. Slowly. Quietly. I didn't even know he was there until he was kneeling on the floor close enough so I could feel his body heat.
Eventually I felt him press something small and fuzzy into my arms.
I looked down a the small worn teddy bear in my grasp.
"He always helps me when I feel sad," Tommy whispered by way of explanation.
I smiled, tearfully. "Thank you."
Tommy nodded as I held Antwerp, gingerly, the way I did when Suzy was in my arms. Finally he crept in there too, wrapping his arms around me and leaning into my chest.
I let out a long breath, like you do after a long cry, or at least other people do. It had been a long time since I had been this close to someone for this long. It felt right.
"She's pretty," Tommy muttered after a while.
"Yeah. She was." I whispered.
We stayed like that, a little longer, to make the hurt go away a little more.
"I like this," Tommy said.
"Yeah. So do I."
"What's your name, sweetheart?"
It was late. I wasn't in the mood for this. I had had a bad day, on top of everything else, and the attitude, that loud obnoxious 'smell me' attitude that rich people carried around with them, made it worse. Especially the attitude that rich people whom got there through crime carried around with them. Like Brick Top. And his goonies.
Gorgeous George had attracted quite a turn-out, almost a rival to his back-alley fights. A bunch of foreigners were there too, some Americans and a lot of Japanese. People who had the kind of money they could even afford to commit felonies abroad.
Gorgeous, for his part, was angry. Still seething from loosing to a Pykie in the lot, saying that he didn't like gypsies so much anymore, he was also starting to dislike wealthy people a lot. Welcome to the world of unlicensed boxing, I told him. Welcome to the real world in general. The worst of it was that he knew they were all there to bet against him, even when he could win. That he was going to fake, and he knew he was a fake, and they knew he was a fake. And no one cared. It didn't matter.
Nothing much matters.
Nothing much.
I had to go affirm things with Brick Top, hoorah. I didn't leave Tommy with Gorgeous, like he wanted. I wasn't about to leave him alone in a place like that.
And that's how this whole thing had started.
They noticed right away that I had a shadow now. Brick Top for his past, simply looked Tommy over and then away in the manner that he treated all the other creatures on God's green earth. Anything smaller or prettier than himself than himself was immediately not worth a mention except for a quick bout of fun before throwing them away. He was one of those lecherous old men that was certainly going to hell, and he knew it and didn't have a problem with it. In fact, I imagine he was looking forward to the heat.
While Brick Top, if he truly hated something, would simply go in for the kill, his goons, who were not nearly as sophisticated or as intelligent as himself, liked to tease.
The really smug and sinister looking one, Harry or Larry or Barry or whatever his name was, targeted Tommy as victim right away.
"What's your name, sweetheart?" Four words that could so easily lead to a lifelong, committed relationship, turned sour and insulting and downright humiliating with a right degree of sarcasm and smug superiority.
I surreptitiously cast a glance towards Tommy, who's eyes were already glazed over and his jaw already working in the manner that it always did when he was confronted with something.
At least this was happening now, that he was strong enough to even do the jaw thing. If this were three months ago, he would have fallen apart.
"This is Tommy," I told Brick Top and his goons in my sort of 'I would have thought that was obvious' voice that I usually reserved for times of crisis. "My partner."
Larry/Harry/Barry beamed. "I thought his name was whatever I wanted it to be. Remember, sweetheart?"
Tommy wasn't even looking at him now, staring at a point somewhere by my feet. Uh oh. This was phase two. Next came flinching. Then he would start to tear up, and that would definitely spell trouble.
"Glad he finally found a home. We know it won't last long." His friend, on Brick Top's left, was joining in now. "We all remember my dentist Dr. Anderson, don't we sweetheart?"
I was definitely confused now. Tommy moved a little more towards me, lilting a little to the side, his characteristic cry for help.
"Tell you what, sweetheart," Larry/Barry/Harry, or maybe it was his friend, kept going. "Why don't you meet us after the fight, and we'll-"
"Enough," Brick Top, who had thus far seemed to be enjoying the play-by-play, interrupted with all his terrifying anger. "We have actual business to conduct here tonight, boys, and your childish interests can wait."
He then went on to confirm the deal with myself, punctuating it with several horrific threats that I didn't really hear, since I was too busy taking in the smug snickers and looks that the goons shot to Tommy.
Afterwards, I directed Tommy back to the ring, by the elbow. He was blinded with tears by now, refusing to let them fall.
"I'm sorry Turkish," He said quietly in the muted roar of the crowd.
"It's alright, Tommy," I sat him down outside Gorgeous' corner, away from Brick Top and his thugs, away from prying eyes. "You stay there, okay?"
He nodded, staring at his shoes. I went to tend to Gorgeous.
Tommy didn't even watch the fight.
We got home late, Tommy trudging behind me, head bent low. We got in and after he kicked off his shoes, he went right to his makeshift corner, not even bothering to take off his heavy sweater. He sank into his mattress and picked up Antwerp, holding his close, half-heartedly stroking the little bear's head, and stared at his schoolbooks.
I sighed and, after hanging up my coat, I went to the bridge and took out two bottles of beer. I didn't often drink with Tommy, but he looked like he needed it.
I sat on the floor by his mattress, watching him slowly pick up a book and clumsily dump it into his little red duffel.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
He glanced up at me, flinchy and teary-eyed. Jesus. Months of progress undone in a matter of minutes. "Aren't you going to send me away?"
"Tommy, God, no. Why would you think that? Here." I handed him a bottle.
"Thank you," he shakily told me. "I was just…scared. I was afraid that after you found out, you wouldn't want me anymore."
"Aw, now that'll never happen." I told him truthfully. "I'm too fond of you." I came over and sat next to him on the mattress.
"I'm sorry I liked to you, Turkish."
"When did you ever lie to me?"
Tommy stared down at Antwerp. "I've never dealt drugs. I've seen people do drugs before, but I've never taken them, and I definitely never dealt them." He glanced up at me. "I'm sorry. I was hoping you wouldn't find out."
I put an arm around him, looked like he could use it. "Never hope I'd find out what? Never did believe you'd deal drugs."
He didn't respond at first. When he did, he was sobbing. "What they said…you…you're not…don't you hate me now?"
"What? No! Tommy!" I looked down at him, crying in earnest. "What's so bad about this?"
"I…I can't say it, Turkish. I'm so ashamed of it."
I sighed and leaned him against me. He sighed too, and rested his head on my shoulder, taking the occasional tentative swig of his beer.
"I think I understand. I think I picked up enough to understand."
"…and?" Frightened.
"I'm not quite sure if I should say it, in case it's wrong, and I offend you." I told him.
"If you were about to say 'whore', then it's okay."
I started and stared down at him. "Tommy…I wasn't going to say that. I would never say that. And you shouldn't say that about yourself, it's not the right word."
"It's what I was," He wiped tears away.
"Not anymore, okay? You're safe now. You're not going to have to do anything like that again."
He sighed, still crying. "Thank you Turkish," He mumbled, burying his face in my chest and sobbing in earnest.
We stayed like that for a while, me drinking in the silence while he cried out his fear. When he was done, or had at least calmed down a bit, and had drunk a bit more of his bottle, I asked it. "Who's Dr. Anderson?"
Tommy's breath caught and I regretted asking. He remained silent for a long while, draining the last of his bottle.
"I never lived with him. He...he got me a flat." Tommy set his bottle on the floor. "He was nice to me. He treated me like an actual lover not a…whore."
I sighed and Tommy a little closer. Knew how hard it was for him. "You're not a whore," I mumbled.
"But he'd…he'd parade me around at these fancy parties…showed me off." Tommy let out a long, shaky breath. "That's how those guys knew me. I…I never slept with them. I don't think they liked boys." He threw his arms around my neck and cried, harder. "I'm sorry Turkish!"
"Shh. It's okay. You don't have anything to be sorry for."
"Are…are you sure you don't hate me? I would hate me if I found out-"
"Shh. That just doesn't make any sense. Nothing's changed, Tommy. It' s okay. It's over. Things are different now. Okay?"
Tommy nodded, sobbing. He slowly drew his hands away from my neck and looked up at me. "Thank you, Turkish," he mumbled. He stared at me a little longer and then leaned in, slowly, and pressed his lips against mine in the barest whisper of a kiss.
He stopped, waited, and tried again. Deeper this time. I got lost in it and joined in, comforting him, confirming it. Confirming the fears I had been carrying around since that night I held him and told him not to be scared.
I pulled away. "No, Tommy….this is…this is wrong."
Tommy flinched again, and my heart contracted. "I'm sorry Turkish…I won't do that again."
"No, Tommy…I…I just…this isn't the right time. I think it means something different to you…not that…" I sighed. "I do love you, Tommy, but not like that-"
"What has this got to do with love?" Tommy asked, innocently enough. "I mean…I love you Turkish, at least I think I do, but…I never would have thought that you'd love me…but what does that have to do with it anyway?"
I could almost hear my heart breaking when he said that. I held him close and stroked his back and sighed. "I don't know…we'll figure something out." I kissed him on the top of the head, chastely, innocently enough not to be mistaken for anything else.
"Okay…" he whispered, dejected, just like when I first found him.
"Let's go to sleep."
We changed and prepared for bed in silence, uncomfortable silence. A few minutes in the darkness, in that uncomfortable silence, and it was broken by a tentative voice.
"Turkish?"
"Mmm?"
"Can I sleep with you tonight?"
I rolled over and looked at him.
"Not…not sleep with you," He clarified. "Can I just sleep next to you? I've never just slept next to someone before."
I nodded. Tommy smiled and carefully climbed into bed next to me, hugging Antwerp close to him.
A few more minutes of this, and he looked at me again.
"Turkish?" I looked at him. "Will you…hold me?"
We stared at each other for a while and then I smiled, and pulled him close. He sighed and set his head on my chest.
It felt right, this. Me holding him and him holding Antwerp. Felt right the same way it felt right when I held Suzy.
I sighed and allowed myself to feel just a little bit happy.
And then I was really, really terrified of death.
To be continued in Diamond in the Rough ¾