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It’s been ten years since Dan last saw Jones, but the man is instantly recognisable - an odd assortment of colourful clothes, colourful hair, colourful bags beneath his eyes from a lack of sleep - and Dan feels a tugging in his heart that is entirely unwanted. Ten years ago Jones had been there for the announcement that Dan was going in to an in-patient mental health program, and following that a rehabilitation centre. Jones had looked distressed beyond anything Dan had ever seen before, his ridiculous blue eyes swimming with so many tears they looked like rock pools. He hadn’t said anything; Jones was a weirdo of few words as Dan well knew. They’d parted in silence, an odd ending to a friendship based almost entirely on music and noise, but Dan has no idea how he could have said goodbye otherwise. It wasn’t like they could hug it out. Dan doesn’t hug, not then and especially not these days. His wheels just get in the way.
It takes a moment for Dan to realise that seeing Jones here is strange to say the least, and another long moment to realise that Jones is pushing a pint-sized wheelchair through the lobby. The kid in the chair is ridiculously cute, and Dan has to smile, at least internally, at the idea of Jones volunteering as a carer; he was always trying to help people and offer support, even when he was coked up to the eyeballs and barely able to look after himself. It brings a warmth to Dan’s chest to think that Jones is helping out a family with a disabled child. The warm feeling is completely unwelcome of course. Dan does his best to squash it and to force a scowl on to his face. He’s gone soft over the years, since Claire picked him up after his two month stint in the closed ward and whisked him off to Yorkshire for rehab, far far away from London and the crippling anxiety it induced.
It’s been ten years since then and Dan has come to terms with the consequences of jumping out of Nathan ‘Sack-of-Dicks’ Barley’s window and the crushed nerves in his spine. He’s come to terms with his wheelchair and the nurse who comes to help him in the evenings, and with his strange career as a writer of brooding novels featuring a wheelchair using protagonist. But it has been a lot to come to terms with, and coming back to London to have a stall at the Disabilities Expo has been a source of real anxiety. He really didn’t think he’d run in to anyone from his old life, it seemed too far removed from the life he lives now, but Dan still has the most rotten luck.
Claire is in the main hall, setting things up, and Dan only rolled out in to the lobby to sort out a typo in the sign supplied by the expo. He still isn’t keen on these kinds of interactions and knows he’s going to struggle with all of the talking and book signing he’s going to be forced to do but Claire has promised to stay by him and keep an eye out for signs that Dan might be headed for a panic attack or meltdown. He thought they’d planned for all possible eventualities but despite all of the positive changes in his life Dan knows he has the worst luck, and he still believes in Murphy’s Laws, that anything which can go wrong will go wrong and, particularly, that if all possible disasters have been planned for then a new disaster will suddenly present itself and ruin everything.
And there is his disaster, the secret love of his life, Jones, strolling through the lobby in his direction, chattering and smiling with the tiny, brightly dressed girl in the rainbow coloured wheelchair. Dan tries to focus on balancing the replacement sign on his lap and on navigating the lobby which is fast filling up with people arriving for the expo. There are more wheelchairs, crutches, walkers, white canes, hearing aids, and prosthetics than Dan has ever seen before, and the unique, lively, fascinating people make Dan’s fingers itch for his notebook and pen. There are folks with tattoos and coloured hair and fashion that screams ‘Fuck You!’ to the world, and Dan feels that strange, warm, slightly unpleasant feeling return to his chest. These are his people. And, not surprisingly, Jones fits in perfectly.
Dan speeds up his progress as he realises that Jones is heading for the same entrance that he is. Whilst it is wonderful to see that Jones seems to have found a calling and a purpose - and a proper job - Dan isn’t sure that he can deal with any sort of reunion. His job today is to sign books and to try to smile and not snap at anyone. He can’t deal with the higher tugging of his heart or the the warm soapy water sloshing about in his rib cage. He needs to focus on being a decent approximation of a human being and his reward will be an evening spent with his notebook and a non-alcoholic beverage.
***
It is the law of Dan’s life that he can’t catch a break. He’s been sitting behind his table for two hours, selling books and talking to people who seem to actually like his work (which admittedly is a real buzz and makes him sit taller in his wheelchair) when a tiny girl dressed in odd socks, a multitude of bracelets and beads, and a dress which seems to be made from an old Oasis t-shirt, drives up to him in a powered wheelchair which is obviously second-hand and a little worse for wear.
“Hello!” she announces brightly, smiling at him in a sugary, buck-toothed way. Beside him Dan can feel Claire literally melt in to a puddle of maternal, soft hearted goo. The little girl blinks in response to Claire’s enthusiastic “Hi!” and Dan looks closely at her big blue eyes, made even more striking by her thick glasses. “My daddy loves your books,” she continues, unfazed by the fact that she’s speaking with two complete strangers. “He has all of them. He always brings them to read when he takes me to therapy.”
Her head flops to the side and Dan can’t tell whether she’s trying to look at him from a different angle or whether she’s actually having trouble holding her head up. Claire seems to be thinking the same thing because she immediately stands and walks around to crouch by the small wheelchair, smiling that indulgent ‘Insufferably helpful’ smile of hers.
“Can I help you with your head, sweetie?”
The little girl’s eyes slide between Claire and Dan, and Dan’s skin prickles at how sharp her gaze seems to be.
“Yes,” she says bluntly. “Thank you.” And then, as Claire helps her rest her head back against the contoured headrest, she fixes her eyes back on Dan. “Thank you for making my daddy feel his feelings. Your books give him happy and sad and blushing feelings and it’s good. My art therapist says it’s good.”
Dan blinks.
“It’s my pleasure,” he tells her stiffly. And then curiosity gets the better of him. “I’m, um, glad that he likes them. Is your daddy here with you today or are you with a carer?”
He’s hoping desperately that she’ll say carer, because he can see the similarities between this small child and his former best friend, and he doesn’t want to. It’s taken him years to realise that he harboured feelings for Jones, and that the denial of his crush and his sexuality were integral to his misery whilst he’d been living in London.
He’s thought about Jones over the years, but in a timeless bubble, as if the man hadn’t moved on with his life, as if he hadn’t aged. It’s been ten years. Jones hasn’t stayed static in his little illegal squat, waiting on Dan. That’s only Dan’s fantasy. The reality is sitting opposite him with the sort of sharp grin that suggests intelligence and trouble.
“I’m here with Daddy,” the girl tells him, then looks up at Claire with an angelic expression Dan has definitely seen Jones pull on people in the past when he wanted to butter them up and get something for free. “Are you Claire-Bear?” she asks. “Daddy’s talked about you. And Dan-Dan. He says you used to go on adventures with him. He tells me them at bedtime.”
Claire’s mouth is gaping and Dan isn’t much better and then, because things weren’t strange and awkward enough, Jones appears, bobbing through the crowd, and eventually slipping in to place beside the small, paediatric wheelchair, out of breath and tenderly admonishing the child who is his doppelgänger in so many ways. He grins nervously, first at Claire, and then, eventually, at Dan. He’s twirling a lock of dyed purple hair, chewing on his lip, and even though Dan has been trying to remind himself that a whole decade has passed since they last saw each other, he can’t help but feel that Jones hasn’t aged a day.
“Jones.” He knows his voice is stupidly breathy. The little girl in front of him is grinning wide, her head slipping to the side again, and Jones adjusts it for her automatically, his cheeks flaming pink to match the vest he’s wearing over a black, sequinned tunic and neon yellow t-shirt. “You haven’t aged a day, how dare you!”
And just like that they’re laughing. Dan’s not sure how they slip in to conversation so easily but they do and suddenly an hour has passed and Claire is doing a lap of the expo with Jones’ daughter whilst the man Dan has been dreaming of for a decade and putting in to his books, in so many incarnations, is sat beside him, nibbling on a blueberry muffin, drinking a quad shot espresso, and rambling about his life.
“… her mum just couldn’t cope with it all, see,” he said with a shrug, eyes down and focused on the treads of Dan’s wheels. “She tried to kill herself. Tried to end it a couple of times actually. And she tried to kill…” he hiccups and takes a long slurp of his hellish beverage. “So she’s gone now. And it’s just me and Miffy now, you know? But that’s cool. She’s a cool kid. I love her to bits! And I got a job doing maintenance and shit at a retirement home, and fixing wheelchairs and scooters and stuff. There aren’t many places that fix disability equipment, especially the electrical type, and the places that do are well expensive so,” he shrugs, “I just do what I can to help out.”
Dan nods. He’s not sure what to say in response to all he’s heard. Surely it’s too overwhelming. If he put it in a book people would say it was too much and unrealistic.
“Myfanwy Jones,” he whispers softly, letting the name trip off his tongue. “It’s a nice name. And she seems like an awesome kid.” He clears his throat carefully. “ I’m sorry about the, uh…”
“It’s Spinal Muscular Atrophy,” Jones reminds him bluntly. “Apparently I carry the gene for it and so did her mum. I had no idea. I was in foster care for thirteen years, I’ve got no idea about my family medical history. But even so, she is a brilliant kid. Even with all the pneumonia’s and all the breathing issues, and her muscles just not doing nothing and fading away and the contractures in her joints and the pain… These last six years have been… something else.”
Dan takes in the tired slope of Jones’ shoulders and spine, the unnatural boniness of his elbows, the shadows around his eyes. Dan knows how hard it has been on Claire, and how close to breaking she got when Dan had first come home, to their parents’ old house. He had been angry and depressed and frustrated as he learned to manoeuvre in his chair. Washing and dressing and cooking were all suddenly huge and difficult obstacles and Claire had been forced to deal with his moods and his non-functioning legs. Hiring nursing support had been hard on Dan’s pride but it had helped them a lot. By the looks of things Jones is struggling on his own.
“Do you think Miffy would like to come and visit Yorkshire sometime soon?”
“Um…”
The question surprises both of them and Dan’s brain rushes to get his tongue working in order to explain himself more fully. The last thing he wants is for Jones to think he’s kidnapping his beloved daughter.
“Both of you, I mean. If you would both like to come and visit? The house is wheelchair friendly and there’s plenty of room. Claire has chickens and two very annoying cats and most kids like animals and it could be a nice break for the two of you, just to get away and have a few extra hands to help out with her and…” he looks up at Jones’ impish grin. The warm feeling in his chest is becoming too much, is heating him too completely and at any second he knows steam is going to start pouring out of his ears and nose and mouth. “… and I’m rambling and I can’t stop but it would be really great to spend time with you again and to get to know Miffy ‘cos she does seem like a great kid and I’m working on a new novel and it would be good to get your thoughts on it since the femme fatale is based on you, they’re always based on you, please say something and stop me from talking because I can’t seem to stop myself and it’s making me very anxious and-“
Jones leans forward and kisses him, softly yet decisively, and Dan feels himself melt. The heat in his chest mellows, turning him in to warm caramel, and he feels a tug of disappointment when Jones pulls away after only a second.
“That sounds peachy, Dan,” he says gently. “And I’ve read all your books. I knows which of your characters is me in each one. You ain’t that subtle Dan. You never were. Half the reason we came here today was ‘cos Miff wanted to meet you and thank you for making me laugh and cry and shit when I read your dumb novels. She’ll be well chuffed to go on a holiday and meet chickens and cats. Thanks, Dan.”
Dan is still reeling from the kiss, but is also aware that Jones has said more to him in this last hour than in the last year of their time living in the notorious ‘House of Jones’. He might look the same but he has changed and matured and learned to communicate, just as Dan has done. Which is terrifying really. They’re fully fledged adults. Jones is a dad! Dan has a bank account with actual money in it. But inside he feels giddier than a teenager and he wants to jump up and hug Jones like he should have done so many years ago, before his own stupid decisions, and fate and physics, made jumping up impossible.
He settles for kissing Jones, keeping it as light and short as Jones’ own kiss moments ago, and fights the urge to smile too wide in case he looks creepy. And when Claire and Miffy return plans are made for dinner and for the well earned break for the two Joneses. Dan has never seen Claire treat Jones with such friendliness before but they’re talking now and smiling now, they’re no longer housemates at odds with each other, living opposing but equally as destructive lives. They’re carers who know what bone weary exhaustion feels like now. They’re adults with responsibilities and bills now. And Dan is adult now, an adult with a chest full of warm bubbles and an ache in his heart that he doesn’t want to be rid of. And on top of it all Myfanwy Jones has offered to customise his spokes and he can’t think of anything he’d like better in that moment, surrounded by his people, staring at his own personal, wonderful, disaster. His Jones.