Читать книгу: «It's Not You It's Me», страница 2

And I was still doing it. The staring thing. Especially if I could hear the piano.

It wasn’t just that, either. There was the weekend thing too. The thing where I’d wake up at five-thirty or so every Saturday and Sunday morning like clockwork and lie there, wondering if there was a girl in Jas’s room. Praying that there wouldn’t be and being overjoyed when it was true.

I kept on like this for months.

And by the end of the year, just a few weeks before we were due to move out, I was so far behind on my work I realised I was never going to catch up in time to hold my exhibition. Not that I even wanted to any more. Because I’d been slowly realising that there was something wrong with it all. Something not quite right.

I couldn’t relate to what I was doing, where I was going with my sculpture—couldn’t get involved. Up at the apartment I’d hear Jas working away, completely absorbed in his songwriting, frustrating me with every note he played on the piano. I would have given anything, anything to be able to block out the world around me like Jas and my mother seemed to be able to do for hours at a time.

Things had only got worse on the uni front as well. I’d received a conceded pass on my assignment, and was now trying to convince myself that the saying ‘third time lucky’ might just be true, because it certainly didn’t seem as if I was going to pass on this, my second, attempt. It was the worst of times. And then, as if all of the above wasn’t enough to be getting on with, I worked something out.

I’d been sitting there in the boat shed, doing little or nothing as per usual—unless you could call kicking around the bits of scrap metal on the floor doing something—when it came to me. I could hear Jas playing and singing. A new piece I hadn’t heard before, or couldn’t remember. It was perfect, whatever it was, and I knew he must have written it himself. It suited his voice, which I noticed instantly, because a lot of things other people wrote didn’t. He had a strange voice, low and raspy. Very distinctive.

Halfway through his song I became startled and coughed. I’d forgotten something. To breathe, in fact. And I needed to desperately. I felt something strange and brought one hand up to my chest. My heart was going thumpa-thumpa-thump. That’s when it came to me.

I was completely, desperately, totally, devotedly, idiotically in love with Jasper Ash.

I was in love with Jas.

Why I hadn’t realised it before was beyond me. It was so obvious.

The feelings I’d found so hard to control when he’d had girl after girl over for the night. The waking up early every weekend morning. The sitting and listening when I should have been working. The…oh, everything.

It was cringeworthy.

So that’s what I did. I sat for a bit longer. But this time, instead of staring at the walls, staring at the floor, staring at the ceiling, I cringed. Long and hard. And when I was done I wondered just what I was going to do about this. This…love thing. The L thing. It didn’t take me long to realise there wasn’t much I could do.

It was pointless.

In two weeks’ time, Jas and I would be packing our belongings into boxes. In three weeks’ time we’d be moving out. Jas to Sydney and me to my mother’s place in Byron Bay. And there wasn’t any way I could change that. Not my plans anyway, because my mother needed me. She was sick. And I was going to go and look after her.

There wasn’t any way Jas could change his plans to move to Sydney either, because he’d made this great contact. Some guy in the music industry who might be able to get him started in the business. So that was that. To say anything now would be pointless.

Futile.

Basically, an all-round waste of time.

Chapter Three

So, I shut up about it. I hid my feelings.

Oh, probably not very well. I have to say that much. I was probably as transparent as the thinnest of thin rice paper. I probably mooned around the apartment like a lovesick cow. But Jas didn’t seem to notice, or if he did he didn’t say anything, and things continued as usual.

Until our third last day together.

We’d been fairly busy up until then. Of course everyone in the building had to leave, so we’d spent the last few weeks running around and helping out with the odd spot of packing. Wrapping up endless china cups and knickknacks for the arthritic Miss Tenningtons—why old ladies always seem to own about a hundred china cups and saucers in rose patterns that never match is beyond me—and waving people off as their families came and transported them to, usually, nursing homes.

By our third last day together, our third last day in the apartment, just about everyone we were close to had gone. There was only a handful of people left in the entire building. It was quiet. Too quiet. Even the building seemed to know it was coming to the end of its days, because the day before the lift had stuck between floors—thankfully, there was no one in it—and had refused to budge for twelve hours. It had taken five workmen to get it started again.

It was almost midnight when I got home on that third last day. I’d just finished my last shift at my crappy waitressing job, and though I should have been ecstatic I wasn’t. The day before I’d been notified that I had officially failed my Modern History subject. Again. I had a million boxes to pack. I had to move. My mother was sick. All my friends from my days at Magnolia Lodge were being packed off to nursing homes around the country that they didn’t want to go to. My sculpture had died a slow and painful death. Life wasn’t exactly great.

When I got up to the apartment and opened the door I was surprised to find it was dark inside, even though Jas had said he’d definitely be up late packing. Just as I was about to turn the light on there was a noise—a chair scraping against the balcony tiles. I dropped my hand from the light switch and looked out to see Jas stand up.

‘Hey,’ I called out, wary, a part of me already sensing something was wrong.

‘Come and take a seat,’ Jas said.

I crossed the floor, dropping my bag and keys on the dining table on the way.

‘What’s up?’ I tried to read Jas’s expression as I sat down in the iron chair he’d pulled out for me. Before he could answer, something distracted me. I sniffed. Sniffed again. Spotted the small plastic bag on the balcony ledge, then the papers and the lighter. ‘Is that…?’

Jas made a face. ‘Was. Sorry.’

My eyebrows lifted. I hadn’t seen Jas smoke before. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Don’t know how to tell you this, Charlie…’

‘What? What is it?’ I started to get scared. ‘Is it Mum?’

‘No. No, nothing like that. It’s Mr Nelson.’

‘Mr Nelson? What’s wrong with him?’

Jas paused. ‘He died this afternoon, Charlie.’

The information didn’t really register at first. I’d waved at Mr Nelson that morning as he stood on his balcony, and only a few days ago I’d run over to his apartment to give him an old toiletries bag I didn’t need any more. He’d mentioned he needed one. And Jas—Jas had been over there all the time. He and Mr Nelson got on like a house on fire—they were always up to something. Usually no good. Their favourite pastime was swapping dirty jokes. Preferably dirty jokes about blondes. What was it with blondes?

‘It was a stroke.’

I didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything to say. No protests to make. I simply stared up at him blankly, then back down again at the balcony floor.

Jas kneeled down in front of me and put his hands on my knees. ‘Can I get you something? A drink? Water?’

I tried to say no, but nothing came out.

‘Charlie?’

I shook my head, unable to meet his eyes.

Jas stood up and pulled out another of the chairs to sit beside me.

And then we sat.

We sat there for ages on that balcony. Just sat. Saying nothing. Watching the shadows move around on the lawn and the ferries travel up and down the river.

At about twelve-thirty a.m. I got up. ‘I’m going to have a shower,’ I said.

I showered until I’d used all the hot water up. Then I stood there for a bit longer as the water got colder and colder, until it was freezing, almost punishing myself. I don’t know why. Now, I think maybe the sensation of the too-cold water made me feel something other than the numbness I’d felt since I’d walked through the door and heard the news.

When I finally emerged from the bathroom, Jas wasn’t on the balcony any more. I walked into the kitchen to see if he was there, which he wasn’t, then went back to the bathroom, still drying off my hair. ‘Jas?’

‘In here.’ The voice came from his bedroom.

I hung my towel over the bathroom door before going over and pushing his door open slightly. He was lying on the bed. Face up. ‘You OK?’

‘Yeah. Just tired.’

I went in and lay down beside him on my stomach, my chin resting on my hands.

It was then that we talked about Mr Nelson. I can’t remember exactly what we spoke about, but I remember we talked for hours. In the end, not just about him, about…everything.

And I must have fallen asleep right where I was, because I remember waking up halfway through the night and looking for my bedside clock to check the time. This confused me because, of course, not being in my bedroom, it wasn’t there. I must have woken Jas up then, because he rolled over and his arm landed on top of me. Now we were both on our sides.

Kind of close.

Actually, from my point of view, more like kind of achingly close.

I stayed as still as I could. I didn’t move in case he moved. I didn’t dare.

Then, slowly, it dawned on me that I wasn’t going to be able to control myself. Or my arm, anyway. Because my arm, independent of my sanity, started to snake up and under his arm and over his back. And with a little levering we were closer still. Close enough to…

…kiss.

Which is what I started to do to him. Very softly at first, so soft that he didn’t even wake up. But that didn’t last very long. Because, like I said before, I couldn’t control myself. I couldn’t help it. It just…happened.

As I leaned in even closer, my heart was thumpa-thumping again, like it had done in the boat shed all those weeks ago, and I remember this strange feeling washing over me. Half of me was petrified of what Jas would do when he woke up, the other half was so excited I didn’t think I would be able to wait until he did. It was excruciating.

And then he woke up.

His eyes flicked partly open and his body jerked, startled. I knew then that this was it. Whatever happened next was how it was. How he really felt. There was a sickening moment as Jas started to pull away…

But then he leaned in. Even closer. And he started to kiss me back.

It was—well, even now I can’t explain it. I’ve never been kissed like that before, or again. I don’t think I ever wanted anything that badly, so for it to actually happen—I wasn’t even sure I was really awake. The one thing I could tell, though, was that he wanted it to happen too. Because the moment he’d opened his eyes and realised what was going on he’d seemed relieved for a split second. As if he’d been waiting. Biding his time the same as I had.

We kissed for what seemed like for ever. Until I decided it wasn’t enough.

Still painfully nervous, I inched my way on top of him. And I mean inched. I was so scared. Scared that this bliss would stop at any moment. But we kept kissing. And I kept inching. Finally I was there. At the summit. I had climbed Mount Everest. If I’d had a flag, I would’ve stuck it in.

Charlie was here.

I became gamer then, spurred on by my victory. I ran my hands underneath his T-shirt and then, in one swift movement, pulled it over his head. His chest was just beautiful. And, yes, I know everything I’m saying is so cliché and next I’ll probably be using awful words like ‘glistening love cavern’, ‘glowing milky-white orbs’ and ‘throbbing, pulsating manhood’, but that’s how it was. I mean, after all the lusting I’d been doing over the past month or so, Jas could have had a full third nipple and I would have waxed lyrical about its lickability or something.

And, oh God, as if things weren’t good enough already, he then ran his hands up over my thighs and onto my hips, pushing my white cotton nightie up in the process.

I thought I would die.

But not before I’d remembered my manners and thanked my fairy godmother for giving me the foresight to shave my legs that morning and not to wear my rotten old men’s pyjamas with the easy-access fly panel that was, well, a bit rude at times.

He rested his hands on my hips then, on top of my undies, and I prayed, prayed, prayed as hard as I could, to the goddess Hussy, that he would just rip them off. But he didn’t. His hands slid down again onto my thighs.

I started to get impatient then. Why don’t men ever know there’s a time for foreplay and a time to get straight down to business? I’ll never understand it. I didn’t want to get bossy, though, so I decided to get even gamer instead. I wiggled my hips down, down his body, until…

Eureka!

I found what I wanted. What I needed. And, my, it was glorious. Truly glorious—there are, after all, benefits to a guy being six-foot-four. It was everything I’d been dreaming of in that boat shed and more. So, Charlie, I told myself. This is it. Really it. Not that silly flag stuff on Mount Everest, but country-conquering territory.

Slowly, slowly, I snuck my hand into his boxers. I wanted so badly just to grab it, but I didn’t. I like to think I’m a lady! Instead, I prolonged the agony. I ran my hand over his hip and down onto his leg. Over his stomach and…oh, everywhere. Everywhere but. And when I couldn’t wait any longer I went for it. But then something went wrong.

I stopped, confused. It was, um, shrinking. And, frankly, that wasn’t something on my agenda. It wasn’t something that was supposed to happen.

Oh, fuck.

‘Charlie—don’t.’ Jas had frozen. ‘Just get off me,’ he added, scrambling up, pulling my hand out of his boxers.

I moved just as fast off the top of him and onto the other side of the bed.

And inside my head I swore and swore and swore.

The one thing I was grateful for was that it was dark in the bedroom, like the balcony had been before. This was a good thing, because for that awful, quiet moment before anything was said I knew that I just never wanted to see Jas again. I wanted the bed to engulf me. For me to sink right in, where no one would ever find me. To never have to hear what he was about to say.

I waited, all the time just dying inside. Withering away. And those words kept repeating and repeating themselves in my head. Charlie—don’t. Get off me. Charlie—don’t. Get off me.

At first, sitting on the other side of the bed, Jas didn’t say anything. Then he sort of groaned, and that was it. But it was a telling groan. Or at least I thought it was. A ‘how embarrassing, my flatmate’s just jumped me’ kind of groan. Charlie—don’t. Get off me. Charlie—don’t. Get off me.

And then it started. ‘Charlie, I…’

Charlie—don’t. Get off me. Charlie—don’t. Get off me. I couldn’t bear it any longer. ‘Just say it. And quickly.’

He stopped. Ran both his hands through his hair. ‘Don’t know what to say…’

‘How about “you’re repulsive, Charlie”? Oh, too late. You already covered that. No words required.’

He reached over somewhere beside the bed then. I watched his hand.

Oh, no. No!

The light turned on.

As if it wasn’t bad enough just to hear what he was going to say, I had to hear it in the light. Where every expression could be read. Where he’d be able to see each word stab right through my heart. And it was so bright, that light. Worse even than the lights in dressing rooms when you’re trying on swimsuits after a sucking-coffee-through-double-choc-coated-Tim-Tams/triple-helping-of-sticky-date-pudding Winter.

‘How can you say that? That you’re repulsive?’ He looked at me as if I was crazy.

‘You obviously think so.’

He stretched his hand out to touch me on the arm.

‘Don’t.’ I pulled away.

‘You know that’s not what I meant. It’s not you. Not you at all. It’s me.’

I laughed then. Really laughed. ‘That’s original. It’s not you, it’s me. I’ve never heard that one before.’

He swung his legs over the side of the bed so that his back was to me. ‘No, I mean it. It is me.’ There was a lengthy pause. ‘I just can’t.’

‘Yeah. Right. With me, you mean. What you mean is, it’s me. Not you. Me. Me!’ The fact that he couldn’t just admit the truth drove me past crazy.

‘I…’ He ran his hands through his hair again. Hard. I flinched, wondering how much hair he’d just pulled out. ‘Just can’t. Not now. Not with you.’

I sat there, winded by those final three words. Final in every sense. Not with you. So it was me. And there it was, out in the open. Strangely enough, it didn’t make me feel any better. ‘But all those girls…’ I thought to myself, then realised the words had actually come out of my mouth. I shut it tight, but couldn’t shut out my remembering their oh-so-similar morning smiles. Their different faces. Names. Amanda. Rachel. Kirsty. Sophie. Rebecca. Theresa. What was so different about them? I became acutely aware of the bed beneath me. The bed in which, not so long ago, they’d all…

Ugh.

Something inside me started to bubble after this. I sat there for a bit longer as it churned away in my stomach. And then I worked out what it was. It was anger. It was easier to be angry than to feel embarrassed—less painful. Soon enough, it worked its way out. ‘Well, I’m sorry I’m not good enough,’ I spat, hitting the mattress with one hand.

He turned again. ‘Charlie, don’t be stupid.’

‘Stupid? What’s so stupid about it? One minute you’re sleeping with every girl in sight and the next minute you’re throwing me off. What am I supposed to think?’

Jas stood up. ‘Wish I could explain it to you, but I can’t.’

‘What’s there to explain?’ I was acting like an idiot and I knew it, but I felt that if I stopped fighting, even for a moment, I’d just break down and cry—and I couldn’t, wouldn’t, do that. Not here, anyway.

I got up off the bed and snorted inelegantly. ‘I guess I’m just not blonde enough for you.’ Jas had started to say something, but I held my hand out to stop him. ‘Don’t say it. Just don’t talk to me. I don’t want to hear it.’ My voice was getting louder and louder by the minute. I turned and left the room, slamming the door behind me.

Chapter Four

I don’t think I slept at all that night.

It didn’t seem to matter what I tried to think about, that one moment in time kept running itself through my head again and again. The awful moment when I knew it had all gone wrong. The moment when the, um…tower crumbled and fell, for want of a better way of putting it.

What I didn’t understand, though, was that I’d been sure he was interested. At the start, that is. After all, he was the one who’d pulled in—he’d kept kissing me. So why pull away later instead of as soon as he’d got a chance? It just didn’t make any sense. And the more I thought about it, the more convoluted the whole thing got. So convoluted that it gave me a headache, and at five a.m. I had to get up and take some paracetamol. Which must have worked, because the headache was gone when I woke up again at eleven-thirty.

I lay there for fifteen minutes or so, just listening, to see if I could hear Jas in the apartment, hoping that he wouldn’t be around so I could get up and go down the hall safely to the bathroom. I didn’t hear anything. And when my bladder couldn’t stand the stress one minute longer I got up. As I went down the hallway I had a quick scan around. He wasn’t there.

But things had changed.

After my trip to the bathroom I took a closer look. Most of Jas’s stuff that had been packed away earlier in the week was gone. I went down the hallway to his bedroom and opened the door. All that was left was his bed and some clothes. I closed the door smartly—the last thing in the world I wanted to see right now was that bed—and made my way to the living room.

There was a note beside the phone.

Charlie

As you’ve probably already noticed, I’ve moved most of my stuff out. I’ll come back and pick the rest up around one. Not sure if you’ll be there or not, but you know you can always get me on my mobile if you want to talk. Either way, I’ll give you a call at your mum’s in the next few weeks. I don’t want this to be the end of us.

J.

I don’t want this to be the end of us. I re-read it, holding the note in my right hand.

Ha! Us!

What ‘us’? There was no ‘us’. There was only me, lusting after Jas, and Jas who wasn’t returning the favour. Unrequited love. There’s nothing quite so embarrassing. I did the cringing thing again, thinking about it.

And what made me feel even worse was that I’d seen a friend go through it once. Unrequited love, that is. I’d watched her make a fool of herself for months on end over some guy. Seeing everyone else watch the proceedings like a spectator sport had been equally as bad as the point when the guy had finally turned her down and she was heartbroken.

Exactly how Jas must have been feeling about me. Utterly embarrassed for me. Udderly, I thought, as I remembered the lovesick cow once more.

I checked the clock on the wall. Just past midday. I had to get out of the apartment. And fast.

I had the quickest shower of my life, dressed in anything I could find and ran to the bus stop. I didn’t care where I went, didn’t care what I did, just so long as I wasn’t there when Jas came back. I didn’t want to be around to see that embarrassment of his when he came through the front door.

I went to the movies and saw something. I can’t remember what it was, just that it was bad and something I never would have seen if I’d had any real choice about it—which I didn’t. The fact was, it was on, it was a two-hour time-filler, and that was all I cared about. After that I bought a shirt I didn’t like nor want, and definitely couldn’t afford, then picked up some groceries that I didn’t need. At five p.m. the shops closed, and as I couldn’t bear to see another film I wasn’t remotely interested in I caught the bus home.

Jas wasn’t there, and everything—every last possession that was his—was gone.

I went into his room and just stood there. I couldn’t even smell him. It was as if he’d never been there at all. As if he’d never existed. I walked around the room slowly, running one hand against the wall, taking everything in. I stopped when I came to something rough.

Oh, nice.

The bed-head. Jas’s metal bed-head had made a mark on the wall. No prizes for guessing how that had happened. And who it hadn’t been with.

I turned and left the room, wondering why I’d gone in there in the first place. It had been a stupid thing to allow myself to do. I had to keep busy, to try and forget about what had happened.

I made my way to the kitchen, stopping by the phone on the way to turn the answering machine off. And then, when I had, I thought better of it and switched it back on again to screen any calls.

In the kitchen, I was surprised to find another note from Jas. Well, not another note. The same note as before, with a sentence or two scribbled onto the bottom. He’d added:

Hoped you’d be here so we could talk. Will call.

J.

He did call. Several times, in fact. But I didn’t call back. And funnily enough it wasn’t me, but my aunt Kath who saw him next, three months later. We were both staying at my mum’s, looking after her while she was unwell. Watching a rare spot of TV one evening, she suddenly hollered, ‘Charlie—Charlie, come here, quick.’

I rushed into the living room. ‘What?’

She just pointed at the TV ‘Isn’t that, um, what’s-his-face? Your flatmate? The guy you were living with?’

After a good few minutes of wide-eyed staring at the TV my brain kicked back in. I was surprised she’d even spotted him. Because it was Jas, all right. But at the same time it wasn’t Jas. It was someone called…Zamiel. Apparently named after one of the original fallen angels—not to be confused with the original Charlie’s Angels, of course.

He was wearing a full black leather bodysuit held together with what looked like safety pins, along with thigh-high boots and a whip. He’d been made-up with a whitened face, lots of kohl eyeliner and blood-red lipstick. His hair, black as black, was doing things that hair simply can’t do by itself, and it was so hideously razored I just knew some celebrity hairdresser had been paid a very large wad of money to get the desired effect.

I flinched seeing it. Him. The closest I can come to describing it would be Edward Scissorhands meets Liz Hurley’s famous Versace dress on acid.

I sank slowly down onto the floor and watched the rest of the programme. It was one of those half-hour current affairs shows that like to expose mechanics who are ripping the general public off, banks who are ripping the general public off and, every so often, run another story as well. Naturally, they’d gone to town on this baby.

It seemed that Jas—sorry, Zamiel—was the lead singer in some band called Spawn. The presenter seemed to be under the impression that everyone knew about Spawn, so I presumed they’d been in the media for a while now and, being so busy looking after Mum, I just hadn’t heard about them. Apparently the group was promoting some less than desirable things, like devil worship. There was lots of lovely information specifically about Zamiel too. Like Playboy, they’d arranged these things into two categories—his likes and dislikes.

Likes: eating live animals, sleeping in his custom-designed coffin, seducing young boys.

Dislikes: organised religion, old people, vegetarians, Britney Spears.

But then they got to the biggie. Zamiel as the new homosexual pin-up boy. And his new boyfriend. A very, very famous actor.

Cue footage of very, very famous actor sticking his tongue down Zamiel’s throat.

Cue presenter saying how disgusting it all was and that society was obviously falling apart at the seams.

End of story.

‘Oh,’ Kath said, and I jumped a bit. I’d been so engrossed in watching the TV I’d forgotten she was even there. ‘Oh,’ she said again. ‘And I thought he was such a nice boy. I guess I’d better go check on your mother.’

And then she left me by myself. But I was never really alone, was I? Not when I had my acute embarrassment to keep me company. It was back again now, in full force. Jas was gay. He was gay. He was gay.

And then, inch by inch, the redness crept its way up my neck and took over my face as I realised what it was I’d done. He was gay. And I, Charlie, had jumped him and then screamed a million things at him to cover up my embarrassment at being rejected. When really what he had been trying to do was tell me something.

He was gay.

Oh, God.

I put my head in my hands then and stared blankly at the TV. There was a sitcom on and I suddenly wished that all my problems could be solved in the final five minutes of every half-hour too. A tall blonde had chosen that precise moment to walk into the kitchen on the show and I was suddenly reminded of something. Those girls. Over that month. In the Magnolia Lodge kitchen. The ones with the smiles. What about them? That was the one piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit.

I sat and thought about it for ages. I tried to work back through the whole thing. Tried to see it from an impartial point of view, rather than that of the lovesick cow.

Moo.

First there were no girls. There weren’t even any friends. Then, for a short period of time, there were lots of friends and lots of girls. Then there were no friends and no girls again. So most of the time there were no friends and no girls. It just didn’t make sense. But maybe…

Maybe that was the whole point? That it didn’t make sense. Perhaps that was where I was going wrong in trying to sort this all out. After all, he was at uni, he dressed nicely and he’d bought us both tickets to The Sound of Music. Oh, no. That was it. No wonder it didn’t make sense to me. It hadn’t even made sense to him. Because that was what he’d been doing—he’d been working it all out, the sexuality thing. Like you’re supposed to do at uni. And now he’d worked it out. He was gay.

Charlie, my girl, you’re a genius.

Just three months and a very embarrassing incident in Jas’s bedroom too late.

I really couldn’t call Jas back after that, and when he phoned again, around a month later, it was at a bad time. Mum had been really sick for a few days and had finally let Kath and I take her to the hospital. She hated the hospital, so we tried to stay with her for as many hours of the day as the staff would let us. To make matters worse, it was hard for me, being at Mum’s—seeing her sculpture and realising I was getting nothing done. Going nowhere fast. Then there was skipping around the subject of uni every time someone asked when my results were coming out.

I was preoccupied.

And by the time Mum was home again I’d conveniently lost Jas’s number. So I didn’t call him back that time either. Yes, I know it’s a poor excuse, but I had other things on my mind. Mum, taking care of the house, catching up on sleep…plenty of things that seemed far more important at the time.

Life went on without Jas, until eventually it was time for me to move back out of my mum’s and get on with my life. It felt like an eternity since the days of Magnolia Lodge, but in reality it had only been six months. Six months since I’d seen Jas. Well, that’s not entirely true, because since the night that Kath and I had seen him on TV, Zamiel was suddenly everywhere. The media had gone Spawn mad, and I couldn’t turn on the TV or buy a newspaper or magazine without some piece of scandal in it about him.