He ducked under the spray and sighed, letting the warm water be its own kind of comfort. A few minutes later, a light knock sounded from the doorframe. He wasn’t yet allowed a door between the bathroom and the bedroom.

  “Stan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You okay?”

  “I’m just taking a shower,” he said, trying not to be annoyed. The nurse was only doing her job.

  “You should have called for me. I’ll just wait in here.”

  “Fine.” And he definitely snapped that word out.

  He still took his time, lathering the shampoo through his hair and washing all the suds out before doing it again, then slicking it through with conditioner. Washing his body was harder, but Kirsty had bought him one of those fuzzy shower-sponge things so Stan didn’t have to feel all of his protruding bones, a constant reminder of how deathly skinny he was. It helped. A little.

  When he was done he wrapped his hair in a towel turban and pulled a dressing gown around his shoulders.

  “Okay?” the nurse asked when he stepped back into his room.

  He nodded.

  “Good. Breakfast will be in the canteen in half an hour. You think you can be ready for that?”

  He nodded again.

  She smiled and left.

  Being able to pick out his own clothes and put on make-up in the morning had made more of a difference than anything else. This too was monitored, and Stan was often asked to explain the choices he’d made. Why that shirt? Why lip gloss today, when he hadn’t the day before? Why this hairstyle?

  When Leslie knocked on the door and let herself into the room, Stan had just finished tying his hair up into a loose knot at the base of his neck.

  “Can I come in?” she asked. She always asked. None of the other nurses did.

  “Of course. Good morning,” Stan said, straightening up on the bed.

  “Morning. You’re up early.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Sleep well?”

  Stan nodded. “Not as well as if I were at home.” It wasn’t meant to be rude, just a simple statement. He’d never sleep as well here as he did with Ben. He gestured to the bed, and Leslie came and sat down on the end.

  Technically, she wasn’t his nurse anymore. She worked on the intensive care ward, but she still came in to see Stan when she was working, usually before her shift started, or just after she’d finished.

  “I was talking to Dr Caldwell,” she said. “He thinks we should be able to get you home in the next few days. You didn’t hear that from me, though.”

  “Really?” he asked, trying, and failing, to not get his hopes up.

  Leslie smiled and nodded. “Yep. I’m so pleased you decided to stay here, Stan. I’m not sure if you see the difference, but I certainly do.”

  She spoke like this, about Stan’s “choices,” like he’d been the one to make decisions about himself since he’d been admitted. He hadn’t. Things had been done to him—like the feeding tube—decisions made for him.

  He reached for her hand and squeezed. Stan thought they both probably knew he wouldn’t keep in contact when he left, not with the nurses or the therapists, or anyone else from the hospital.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I have to be at breakfast in a minute.”

  “I’m going that way. Let me walk with you.” She brushed her hand over Stan’s shoulder, silently admiring the cut of his shirt. “Your hair looks nice today.”

  “Thanks,” he said, and smiled.

  Tone set the pint down with far more force than was necessary, and Ben nodded his thanks without looking up. Then he set down two shot glasses of clear liquid.

  “Oh, fucking hell, Tone,” Ben grumbled. “I’m not in the mood for getting hammered.”

  “Too late,” Tone said. “Drink up.”

  Ben did the shot—tequila—and shuddered, chasing it with his beer, which made his stomach turn.

  “Good boy,” Tone took his own shot neatly, then pushed the two glasses to the edge of the table. They leaned back in the comfy booth, the surroundings of the pub familiar, even though so much had changed over the course of one short summer.

  “I’m really not in the mood for this,” Ben said.

  “I know, mate. I know.”

  “Why does he talk to you and not me?” Ben heard the petulant tone to his voice, did nothing to hide it.

  “Uh, rude,” Tone drawled. He sipped his pint and grinned. “Dunno. Me and Stan… in a parallel universe, we’d make beautiful babies.”

  Ben laughed once, hard, the sound unfamiliar in his ears. “That’s so fucking weird,” he said on another laugh.

  They were quiet for a few moments, not an uncomfortable silence; they knew each other too well, and had done for too long, for this to matter.

  “Tell me what’s going through your head,” Tone said simply.

  “I don’t even know myself. Stan is so… he’s… he needs me. And that’s so fucking weird, because I don’t think anyone has ever needed me before.”

  “What about me?”

  Ben laughed softly. “Yeah, alright. You need me to haul your fat arse home after a night out. But with Stan—I’m starting to realise we mean more to each other than I thought we did. And before we left on tour, I put a fucking ring on his finger.”

  “Stan’s stronger than you give him credit for.”

  “Is he?”

  Tone nodded sagely. “He’s got this inner steel, you know? He’ll keep fighting.”

  “I don’t know how I can stay in the band,” Ben said. He expected some kind of lightness to follow this confession, for it to suddenly feel like the weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and Tone would be able to help him fix it all. Instead, he got an angry, incredulous stare.

  “You are shitting me, right?” Tone demanded.

  “No. Stan needs me, you said it yourself. He’ll keep fighting if he has me, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to keep going and touring and all that shit if it means he gets left at home. He’s out of chances now, Tone. You know that. There is no more relapse. Once more means he could die, and I can’t let that happen. I can’t.”

  “Why does it have to be one or the other?” Tone demanded. “Can’t you have both?”

  “Do you know what the life of a touring musician is like?” Ben said, struggling to get his point across. “We’re going to be working our asses off now, especially because we don’t have a record deal and representation to do all the other crap for us. The band can survive without me. Stan can’t.”

  “It sounds like you’ve made your decision already. So, what? You’re just going to walk?” Tone chugged half of his pint, then pushed the glass away. “Fuck that, Ben. You’re what makes us.”

  “Dude. That sounds so gay.”

  Tone snorted with laughter but turned away so Ben couldn’t see the amusement on his face.

  “Ares won’t make it without you, Ben,” Tone said. When he turned back, his expression was neutral. “We won’t.”

  “The EP is already recorded. You can release it, and—”

  “And what? Suddenly our lead guitarist walks away? How are we supposed to handle that?”

  “Replace me.” The thought burned in Ben’s chest. The very last thing he wanted was to see some other twat up on stage playing with his friends.

  “No,” Tone said simply.

  “Tone.”

  “I’m not fucking around,” Tone said. “We’ll work something out. You can’t walk away from Stan, and you can’t walk away from the band. So we’ll figure it out.”

  “I don’t know what the answer is,” Ben said. “All I know is that I have to give Stan my full attention now. I can’t half-arse my way through this relationship.”

  Tone shook his head. “Do you hear yourself?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Stan is good, Ben. He’s good. He needs help, he needs support, but he is a strong guy. The hardest thing for you to do now is not to be there for him, but to let him be strong for himself. That’s what he needs to build his confidence back up—not someone doing that shit for him, but someone standing right next to him cheering him on. Let him do it himself; just be there while he’s doing it.”

  “Huh.”

  “I’m fucking serious,” Tone continued. “Cut all this ‘Stan needs me’ crap. You are not the fucking centre of his universe. Get over yourself.”

  “For a simple West Country bastard, you do sometimes talk sense,” Ben said. “Yeah. Alright. I’ll try.”

  “What’s he like in bed?” Tone asked.

  “What?” Ben laughed at the sudden change in direction. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. Is he good?”

  “You’re such a pervert.” Ben drained the last of his pint. “Yeah. The sex is incredible.”

  “He thinks so too,” Tone said wisely.

  “We really need to get you laid. The thought of you wanking to fantasies of me and Stan doing the nasty is… nasty.”

  “Hey, when your boyfriend is that hot, you have to accept people are going to wonder what he looks like naked.”

  “Right now, even I don’t know what he looks like naked. Hey… why are you taking him chocolate?” It had been bugging Ben ever since he saw the “care package” Tone had put together.

  Tone shrugged. “Thought he might fancy some.”

  “Tone. He’s in hospital for an eating disorder.”

  “Doesn’t mean he doesn’t like chocolate. Look, Ben. I love you. You know that. But you’re missing the point with Stan. It’s not about food, or being a picky eater. It’s about being in control when you feel like everything else in your life is falling apart around you. You know after Kat died I turned into a total alcoholic. That wasn’t because I liked the taste of booze. It was because I had no idea how to cope. This is how Stan is dealing with not knowing how to cope. The food isn’t the issue, same as the booze wasn’t the issue for me. The issue is control.”

  “Sorry,” Ben mumbled. “I should give you more credit.” He ran his hands over his face, exasperated and dejected in equal measures.

  “You don’t need to be Stan’s saviour, Ben. He doesn’t need one. What he needs is his boyfriend. Giving him something to get up for in the morning. The food issue… well, I can’t speak for him, but for me, sorting my life out made the drinking problem go away.”

  “What sorted your life out, then?” Ben rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a tension headache starting there.

  Tone grinned. “You fuckers. The band.”

  Shit.

  “Look, mate, I’m sorry. ”

  Suddenly Ben felt very selfish. The division of loyalties between Stan and Ares was so much more complicated than he’d realised. It wasn’t a question of Stan’s health and a group of people who would survive without him, it was one person he loved or another group of people he loved. How the fuck could he make that decision?

  “It’s okay,” Tone said. “I’m in a better place now. But we have something, Ben. Hardly anyone makes it in this fucking industry, and we have a real shot. We’re going to have to work our butts off, but there’s a chance. We have to take it, to ride it and see what happens. Not to would be an insult to the good name of rock and roll.”

  Ben laughed again and nodded to Tone’s empty glass. “Pint?”

  Tone shook his head. “Nah. I told Sherrie I’d watch Emily for a few hours.”

  “Since when did you turn into the Babysitter’s Club?”

  Tone flipped him the bird. “Since I lived with them for weeks, you wanker. Emily loves me. Sherrie has a new man friend who wants to take her out. I don’t feel like I can say no to her.”

  “Fair enough,” Ben said. “I’ll probably go back and see Stan again.”

  “Remember,” Tone said, sliding out of the booth. “Support him as he builds himself up. Don’t do it for him. And if he wants to give me that Kirsty’s phone number, I’d take real good care of it, I promise.”

  Ben got out of his seat and, on impulse, wrapped his arms around Tone in a massive bear hug. Tone squeezed back so hard Ben felt his spine pop.

  “Thank you,” Ben said. “Seriously. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Be an even more massive prick than you already are,” Tone said with absolute gravity. “I love you, man.”

  “Love you too.”

  “This is all a bit gay for me,” Tone said, not letting go of Ben, or even loosening his grip.

  “Don’t worry,” Ben whispered. “It’s not catching.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sherrie looked around the table, taking stock of each of them in turn. Ben couldn’t help but think something was seriously wrong. For one, he and the rest of the band looked ridiculously out of place in Sherrie’s dining room. It was a huge, high-ceilinged, very white space, with a glossy, black table and bright pink, printed wallpaper along one wall. Incredibly smart, and shiny, and clean, in direct contrast to the scruffy, messy, or downright dirty group of people who sat at the table. Ben had put his hands down on the table top and left smudges—now his hands were tucked safely under his thighs.

  “Um,” Sherrie started, then looked down at her lap. “Okay, this is weird.”

  “Want me to lower the tone for you, Sher?” Tone asked, giving her a wink. “Cos your tits look amazing in that top.”

  “Tone. That’s my mum,” Geordie said with a groan.

  Ben snorted, and at least some of the tension broke.

  “I just wanted to talk to you about where you’re all living,” Sherrie said, sounding self-conscious. She still hadn’t looked up. “I mean, Tone’s still here, and Ben’s with Stan. But he’s going to lose the flat, right, Ben?”

  Ben nodded and waited for Sherrie to look up before he spoke. “If he leaves his job, and I think he’s going to, then yeah. We’ll have to move out. The flat is owned by the magazine. We’re just renting it.”

  “What are you gonna do?”

  “I don’t know yet. We’ll figure something out.”

  “Just tell them, Mum,” Geordie said softly. He sat next to Sherrie and reached out to squeeze her hand.

  “I’ve spoken to a financial advisor, and I want to buy another house. As an investment thing, like.”

  “Okay,” Ben said slowly.

  “I thought I could find somewhere up around Camden where you all work, and you could live there.”

  “What, all of us?” Tone asked.

  Sherrie nodded. “Yeah. I’d work it out so all you lot needed to do was cover the bills. The rent should be pretty cheap.”

  “Sherrie,” Jez said. He’d been sitting quietly at the head of the table. “That’s a lot, you know.” He shook his head.

  “It would be an investment piece, like I said. When you’re all grown up and want to move out, I can sell it on. Or my girls can live there. I’ll find somewhere with enough bedrooms so you’ve all got your own room. If you’re all serious about making the band work….”

  “We are,” Jez said.

  “Well, then, living together has to be a good thing. We can find somewhere that has rehearsal space too.”

  “Mum,” Geordie said, and she grinned at him.

  “Yes, darling?”

  Tone snorted. “Darling,” he repeated, mocking.

  “This is pretty amazing.”

  “Not really. If I was that amazing, I would have bought you your own house, instead of sticking the money in a trust fund until you turn thirty.”

  “Yeah, I’m not sure I’ve forgiven you for that yet. Can I help pick the house?”

  “Of course you can.”

  “Don’t make it too nice,” Tone said. “I wouldn’t feel right living somewhere proper posh.”

  “Yeah,” Summer agreed. “It needs to have….What do they call it? Character.”

  “Preferably somewhere a bit dank and miserable,” Ben said, teasing now, but Tone was nodding.

  “Great,” Sherrie said. “I need to find a seven bedroom house in bloody Hampstead Heath and drop five mil on the place, but make sure it’s got some asbestos to make you all feel at home.”

  “You got it, Sher,” Tone said, rocking his chair back onto its two rear legs. At Sherrie’s disapproving cluck, he dropped it back to all fours.

  “Geordie’s right, Sherrie,” Summer said, leaning to grab Sherrie’s hand. “You don’t know what this means to us. It might mean we actually make something of the band.”

  Sherrie shook her head. “All I’ve ever wanted was to see my kids happy,” she said. “Money ain’t got much to do with it really, but sometimes it helps.” Her grin turned a little watery. “Not sure when I adopted all you lot, but somehow you turned into my kids as well. I want this fucking band to work just as much as the rest of you.”

  That seemed to decide it.

  Ben had to admit, getting them all under the same roof would probably do wonders for the band. They were scattered all over London at the moment, and even though they still congregated at Sherrie’s house to rehearse, it was getting harder and harder to coordinate time for everyone to get together. There was no way could they finish an album the way they were going.

  As the others ducked out of the dining room, heading to the kitchen and the promise of snacks, Ben hung back until he was alone with Sherrie.

  “You alright, Ben love? How’s Stan?”

  “He’s okay,” Ben said. “Doing a lot better actually. He should be coming home soon.”

  “Maybe he can move straight into the new house.”

  Ben rolled his shoulders, feeling suddenly nervous. Sherrie was already doing such a nice thing for them; it seemed incredibly selfish to ask her for more.

  “That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, then remembered it was white and he probably shouldn’t. “Stan is….I mean, he’s amazing, but he’s got a lot of hang-ups about being tidy and clean and what he eats. I’m pretty sure he’d be up for living with everyone in theory, but in practice?” He shook his head. “I don’t want to sound like the most ungrateful prick on the planet.”