Work Text:
You sit in your garden, eating Swedish mango sorbet, thinking about a man in Thailand. Your lips are cold, your head hurts, your heart aches. You’ve already done most anything to distract yourself: You’ve travelled, you’ve re-decorated your living rooms, you’ve bought a new car. Nothing seems to work.
The neighbour kids are playing football. They yell and scream and laugh and have no worries. Once again you wonder when exactly things became complicated. Does distance emerge suddenly or is it always there and only becomes wider?
You’ve googled it. It would take you seven days and twelve hours to get there if you just stopped thinking, got into your new car and set off. Belgium, Germany, Austria, Slovenia, Croatia, Serbia, Bulgaria, Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan, India, Myanmar, Malaysia. And then you would have to take a ferry, because of course he’s chosen to be on an island. Is there a ferry from Malaysia to Koh Samui? You’ll have to google that later. The question how to get safely through the latter half of these countries remains unanswered. For now.
First the mango sorbet. She had looked a bit puzzled when she’d found it in the freezer. “Swedish mango sorbet?” You hadn’t told her who had recommended it to you. “No milk, almost no fat. Only natural ingredients, and it’s really tasty. A lot of white sugar, though.” – “But sugar makes you happy, Jay”, you had answered. What a ridiculously silly thing to say.
She’ll want a baby, soon, you guess. Taking the birds to the Ivors probably wasn’t such a very good idea. You’d noticed the look she gave Emma’s and Dawn’s bumps. It’s only a matter of time now. You’ve discussed it, you’ve told her why not and she said she understood and that it was okay. You both knew it was a bit of a lie. She knows you well enough by now to know that you won’t change your mind. Another heart broken.
A helicopter flies by the house. You take another spoon full of the too-much-white-sugar and wonder if Gary’s in that heli. He’s very important these days. And judging from the tightness of his shirts hasn’t indulged on anything with lots of white sugar in it lately. He’s still happy, you reckon. Being very busy can replace sugar highs for a while.
You’re not bitter that Gary’s not called in a while. You understand why. Gary’s not used to you not taking his side, no matter what. “Rob doesn’t mind whether it’s Take That or him solo, so he’s in anyway. So? Are we doing it? Singing for Her Majesty?”
You really didn’t mind. At first.
Of course Mark was in, if Rob’s in – Mark’s in. Obvious, that.
Then you had seen Jay’s face. He hadn’t been pouting like you thought he would, there hadn’t even been this pissed off look of passive aggressiveness he can drive everyone up the wall with. All there had been was well-covered acquiescence. Obviously well rehearsed before, because you know this man’s face so fucking well and you sure hadn’t ever seen this expression before. You had almost heard the mantra he surely was humming to himself in that peculiar head of his… Practice what you preach, this is a group-thing, a democracy, it’s how you always wanted it to be, and you can’t just decline something because you don’t like or want to do it for reasons only you understand and everyone else thinks are silly, especially when you can’t come up with something better. This isn’t about power, it’s got nothing to do with you and your issues, this is about ideas, and who has them wins, and that’s only fair and nowt wrong with that. Mark it as not important, smile, or look complacent at least. Don’t be a dickhead, for once.
You hadn’t known why then and you still don’t know why now, but you just knew his train of thought. You could feel it. Right there and then, on a rainy Wednesday morning in Gary’s studio, something had snapped in your head. A flush of feelings, a sudden understanding of his quirkiness, his foibles, his petulance. A warm explosion of compassion in your heart for the shitloads of energy all that anxiety and worry sucks up. The urgent and unrestrainable need to stand up for him. Him, who stood up for you so many times, and never asked for anything in return.
The pleading, yet still slightly smug smile on Gary’s face.
The question who needs this more, who’s fighting harder, and what for?
And then the realization that you weren’t really weighing the means, that you knew the answer already.
A seemingly light-hearted “a year off’s a year off, right?”
Jason had nearly spat his tea all over the table.
Mark had just shrugged his shoulders. Soccer Aid had just been confirmed, quality time with Rob included. And, honestly, Mark didn’t really feel he’d miss something if he didn’t get to sing “you, you’re such a big star to me” into the Queen’s face. No offence, Your Majesty, but really you’re not everything Mark wants to be.
Gary had looked as puzzled as a certain girl who’d recently found a box of organic Swedish fat-free mango sorbet in her freezer. “Oh, c’mon, Dougie, you must be kidding? It’s only ONE day, two songs, not more…”
Jason had been looking at you intently, to find out whether you were joking, and if so why, or whether you were serious, and if so why. All of this, in one look. It gave you goosebumps.
“…we won’t even have to rehearse much, and you still have the rest of the year off,…” Oh, you thought, now you get the pep speech he’s prepared for Jay.
There had still been room to back-pedal then, theoretically. But you had known better. You’d seen the look in Jason’s eyes. You’ve broken hearts before, you know the signs.
And then Gary had made a mistake.
“A year off’s a year off? You start sounding like Jay!”
The studio fell so silent you could’ve heard a fly on the wall breathing.
“Oh, yes, Gaz, and how is that a bad thing?”
“It’s not a bad thing, I wasn’t…I didn’t mean that…!”
“Well, what did you mean then?”
Mark had been shifting on the sofa uncomfortably, Jason completely shell-shocked by his side. Watching you and Gaz like a train wreck.
“Nothing, mate, just….”
“Just?”
“You can’t be serious?”
“Oh, can’t I, no?”
“Oh, c’mon, How…it’s ONE day. Christ, it’s the fucking QUEEN! One day, maybe one for rehearsals, two days, you’re not so busy you can’t spare two days, are you?”
From the corner of your eye you had seen Jason awaking from his agony, putting the tea mug down, ready to take action and interfere. But that sight had been clouded by the little red and white dots dancing in front of your eyes. You hadn’t been this angry since…1996. You hadn’t even needed to get loud, the anger seeping into your voice. Your words, cutting through the air, razor-sharp, dark, shining.
“Well, in fact I am. I’ve got a DJ gig that weekend.” A blunt lie. You hadn’t even blushed. You had known you’d have to find a venue for a gig next thing once you got home. Shouldn’t be a problem.
Gary had known better than to ask whether you could cancel it. Fortunately.
You had got up from the sofa and given Mark a c’mon-sign, heading out for a smoke, and halfway to the door you had turned around and said “It’s not the Queen but it’s still important to me.” And with that and Mark in tow you had left a stunned Gary and a confused Jason behind.
Into the silence Jason had said “I’m on holidays on the jubilee weekend, by the way.” But no one had paid attention. “In Thailand.” His vote vacant, really, because this hadn’t been a democratic process. He had been overruled, once more, but this time by you, and you alone.
That was the end of the Crown Jubilee discussion and Gary hasn’t called you since. And he had been a bit tight-lipped at the Ivors.
You don’t really worry, though, you know he’ll get over it. He’s faced worse things than that.
The neighbour’s kids have kicked the ball over the hedge. You go and kick it back to them. And then you watch them for a while, over the hedge, and you find yourself wishing you could be that carefree again. That open, non-calculating, non-manipulative. Because then you wouldn’t be so disappointed when someone doesn’t understand you were fighting their battles for him. Not feel so ridiculous when you get off your horse with aching bones to find the lady hasn’t even noticed you have won the jousting. There’s no doubt about it: the age of chivalry is dead.
With a sigh, you figure you should go and pack your bag. Take an aspirin, because your head still hurts and it’s a long drive up to Manchester. You’d love to have more of the sorbet, but you feel you should leave something for the girl you share your freezer with. That’s the least you can do.
You’re on your way to the kitchen when you hear the phone. Again you don’t know why, but you just know whose voice you can expect to hear on the other end of the line. You decide to cover your joy with some of your best grouchiness.
“Haven’t you got nowt better to do than check if I’m on time?”
The following pause scares you a bit, maybe you were wrong, maybe this isn’t Jason after all, but then you hear his oh-so-familiar chuckle and him hitting back. “Nowt nicer than to call me grumpy best mate, no. That’s what holidays are for, right?”
“Yeah, rub it in, bastard!”
“Well, are you on time, sunshine? Packed clean underwear?”
“None of your business!”
“Some might say, but I choose to disagree…”
“Oh, now that’s new, this…”
“Watch it, old man! I’m only calling to see if you’re well prepared for your important gig.”
“I’m always well-prepared.”
“I sure hope so, you better be well-prepared for the occasion that stopped us from singing for Her Majesty.”
“Did I tell you to fuck off already?”
“Umm, no, I don’t think so, cupcake. But you know, no need to feel bad about it – Markie for example was really worried he’d have to sing Shine for our Lizzie. ‘I know that you can change, so clear your head and come round’. He thought it was a bit condescending…”
You snort.
“And I said to him, Markie, I said, that’s not as bad as ‘if you stay with me, girl, we can rule the world’. Now that would be really condescending, don’t you think? I mean she managed quite fine without us so far…”
You giggle.
“And then he said to me, and he was giggling like a girl, I mean, you know Mark, well, he said just imagine poor Howard, singing, ‘someday soon this will all be someone else’s dream’!”
You laugh out loud.
“And I said to him, maybe that’s why he didn’t wanna do it.”
You fall silent. There’s a pause and you can hear him taking a deep breath.
“But I’ve been thinking about it, and I think now I know that wasn’t it.”
You can’t speak.
“That wasn’t it, was it?”
You have to clear your throat before you can answer “no.”
“I’m a daft bugger sometimes, am I not?”
“Mmmh.”
“A bit slow for someone who’s supposed to be the clever one in the band, no?”
“Oh…c’mon…”
“I’m so sorry, I really am.”
“What for?”
“The…fuss.”
“It’s nothing…”
“You shouldn’t have done…”
It’s slipped out of your mouth before you even know it. “Did you know there are fourteen countries between us right now?”
“Uhm, no…fourteen…that many?”
“I’ve googled it.” A hundred times, but you don’t say that. You’re busy choking.
There’s another pause, but you’re not really worried, you just know he will say the exact right thing now, because yeah, he may be quirky, and moody, and stubborn, and oh-so-slightly OCD, and a little out of reach, but he’s precious and loyal and caring and lovely all the same.
He speaks very slowly. “I miss you too.”
For a moment your heart doesn’t ache as much as it did just a couple of minutes ago.
You’re somewhat caught in that happy feeling, a bit breathless even. You swallow before you can carry on the conversation. “Come home soon?” It’s more a plea than a question and it takes him a little while to answer.
“As soon as I can.”
That’s a promise, and you know it’s a big one, and you appreciate it.
“Great.”
Now he’s the one who’s got to clear his throat first. “Have fun tonight.”
“Thanks. You too.”
You hang up. You’re head still hurts, and your heart will start aching again soon enough. The mango sorbet, still in your hand, has almost melted. Seven time-zones, 99 longitudes, 8400 miles, and 14 countries between him and you and there’s a reason for that.
You put what’s left of the sorbet back in the freezer.