Changing Lives by Mabel Marsters

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Chapter 16

It was the day of their departure. Neither had been able to bear the thought of clearing the house out so Rupert had organised with the solicitor that the house would be locked up and alarmed, and that someone would check it regularly. He would come back in the first vacation time he had and clear out the belongings to ready for it to be rented out; the decision whether to sell it or keep it would rest with James when he was twenty-five. He’d been visibly upset when Rupert had taken him into the solicitor’s to sign the required legal documents, and had shut himself away in his room when they got back, music blaring; not that you could blame the boy.

William had packed two suitcases. He left his old boring shirts behind and took some of James’ t-shirts and such instead. Rupert had told him to bring the laptop for ease of transport. The last thing William packed was the copy of Pride and Prejudice.

He looked round the bedroom one last time before he went downstairs.

“Good bye, James,” he whispered.

They took a taxi to the airport, leaving the car Rupert had been driving that had been Julia’s in the driveway of the house. After what seemed like an age they boarded the flight and settled back for their journey. Although William had tried hard for Rupert’s sake, the thought of returning to Sunnydale still filled him with dread and he just sat there in silence.

“Oh, I nearly forgot, Richard gave me this the other day but made me promise not to give it to you until we were on the plane.”

Puzzled, William took the envelope and opened it. He pulled out a sheet of paper and could hear Rich’s voice as he started to read it.

( All right, mate? Bet you’re wondering why I’m writing you a letter aren’t you? Well, the thing is I didn’t know how to say it to your face. )

William glanced at Rupert to make sure he couldn’t see the letter then carried on reading.

( It’s hard enough writing it, but here goes. Look, I know you’re Spike, okay? )

William’s heart missed a beat. He got up muttering that he was going to the toilet and hurried down the aisle of the plane. Once inside the toilet he locked the door and sat on its lid. Hands trembling, he looked at the letter once more.

( I had some suspicions when you were in the hospital; but it was only after you got home and you got your memories back that I knew for sure that you weren’t James. There was stuff you should have known that you didn’t. At first I just thought it was because it all hadn’t come back properly but two things clinched it: 1) You ate anchovies on a pizza and James hated anchovies and 2) I heard you singing along to your iPod one day and trust me - James wasn’t exaggerating when he said he couldn’t sing; he was bleeding terrible!

He was my best friend, THE best friend I could’ve had. But I don’t blame you for not telling when you got your memories back. Mr. Giles had already told me, before you got out of hospital, that you were going to California and would have to go to ‘William’s’ old school. James told me a lot of what you went through at that school and I don’t blame you not wanting to go back as William, so I understand it, mate.

I reckon William died that day too, didn’t he? Anyway, Spike, I just wanted you to know that when I said I wanted to keep in touch I meant it. I’m your friend and you can tell me anything. You don’t have to go through this alone. James wouldn’t mind, in fact he’d probably think it was a right bloody laugh.

So take care, good luck and email me as soon as you can.

Rich

PS. Maybe I can come and visit you? They say California girls are pretty hot! )

William smiled at the last sentence, typical Rich. It was a relief to know that he didn’t have to lie to Rich any more; that had bothered him more than anything. He carefully folded the letter and put it into the back pocket of his jeans.

Ooooooo

As William and Rupert queued to get off the plane, William’s stomach was tying itself in knots. He felt ill.

“I’m back, oh Christ, I’m back,” he thought, then corrected himself, “No, Spike’s arriving.” He stood up straight, trying to think how he’d been when he was on stage the night that Spike was ‘born’. “Okay, so not pissed up but I can still do this, I have to.”

It was almost midnight when they got to Rupert’s, well their, new apartment. It had a heavy ornate carved wooden door and opened into a large room - dining table at one end, arm chairs and couch at the other. They dumped their bags just inside the door.

Rupert walked into the kitchen and put the kettle on - typically English he needed a cup of tea. When he’d contacted the school to tell them of the date of his arrival, the secretary had told him she’d get a few essential items of groceries taken to the apartment for him. He desperately hoped it included tea bags, which it did, but also some milk, bread, eggs, butter and some cookies.

Spike glanced around the apartment. To the side of the living area was a flight of stairs they were covered with brightly decorated tiles. He looked up - they turned half way up and led to a bedroom which ‘hung’ over the living space below. It had rails, not a wall, so if you were in the bedroom you could look down over them into the sitting room.

“Huh,” thought Spike, “One bedroom, so where am I going?”

“Scrambled eggs on toast sound okay?” asked Rupert.

“Yeah, fine, thanks,” said Spike, taking the offered cup of tea gratefully.

“It’s not very big,” said Rupert apologetically.

“’S okay, didn’t reckon on ‘avin’ a lodger, did yer.”

“You’re not a lodger, James…er…Spike.” Corrected Rupert as he was glared at, “but at least you do have your own room, or will have as soon as we get it sorted out.”

“Oh? I thought it was the couch for me,” said Spike.

“No, it was going to be my study but I think it’ll be okay, it’s the only room apart from the bathroom that’s got a bloody door. I don’t really like this open plan layout,” said Rupert, leading the way to a door underneath the staircase. He pushed it open. “So what do you think? We can get everything you need tomorrow.” He looked anxiously at Spike, hoping he’d like it.

Spike looked around the room - it was about twelve feet square, had a row of small windows high up on the back wall, and it was empty save for a table. He turned and smiled at his uncle.

“It’s great, thanks.”

Rupert tried not to sag with relief. To say he’d been worried about it was an understatement and when James had announced on the flight that he wanted Rupert to call him Spike from now on, he hadn’t known what to think.

“Why Spike?” he’d asked

“’Cause that’s what…he…er…William…always called me, okay?” he’d replied.

“Okay then.” Rupert had agreed reluctantly.

Rupert fixed them their eggs and a short time afterwards they went to bed - Rupert to his mezzanine bedroom and Spike, for one night only, to the couch.

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