Afire: Entire Blinded Series (10 page)

Night comes swiftly, bringing with it a smattering of stars that seem to twinkle and a heavy-looking moon the colour of magnolias. The cold, still air ruffles the hair about my ears, and I shiver, looking down from this hill at the village of Biddingford. The moon casts enough illumination over the cottages and houses so that I can make out the colour they're painted, albeit a duller hue in the darkness. Yellow lights shine from windows, and the glow from the lampposts, few and far between, look like the stars above, only peach not white. Complete darkness hasn't arrived yet, but it won't be long before it does, and I'll go inside after a long day at work and ease the aches away.

Though the aches in my heart will remain without Ryan.

In some ways it's been difficult being here without him. I can't just text and ask to meet. We live miles from one another, and at first I found it hard to adjust. You know, being self-sufficient and all that. Even not having Mum around was weird. Don't get me wrong, I hated the way she abused me, treating me like shit on her shoe, but when you've had that all your life, despite wanting to be free of it, when you are it's alien. Conditioned as I was to tolerating whatever she dished out—because, damn it, she was my mum—I expected her to find out where I'd gone and seek me out, arriving on my doorstep complete with a stored up, gob full of vitriol and a leather belt in her hand. But she hasn't, and I suppose I ought to be grateful for that. At the same time, though, it makes me wonder: Did I ever mean anything to her?
Really
mean anything?

Of course, Ryan knows where I am, but he'd never tell her. She made no bones about disliking ‘his kind', and the night she caught us in my room, well, it cemented her view of him. She'd always made a point of letting me know how she felt about him being gay. Reckoned it wasn't right, wasn't normal, but shit, it's normal to me and Ryan. Anyway, I left that night, packed my damn bag and said goodbye to Ryan, and nearly didn't make it to the bus station in time for the last coach. This jerk I knew from school, Trevor his name is, stopped me, pointed his gun in my face, and basically told me to leave town and not come back.

Like I'd ever fucking want to. Not with him around. Ryan's always been able to handle Trevor and his sort. Kind of shrugged their comments off as unimportant. I wish I could be the same, but those taunts stung—still do if I think about them—and that's one more reason for me being here. I need to get to grips with who I am and what I want without negativity surrounding me.

Quite amazing, really, that the night I arrived in this middle-of-nowhere place, the first door I knocked on housed a family who didn't hesitate to take me in. I could have been anyone, a young man bent on robbing them, especially since it was late at night. The guy who opened the door, Josh, a husband and father of two, told me later he'd spotted my fear, my loneliness, and knew I wasn't someone out to do them harm. Funny how we can get it so right at times, yet others we trust only to find ourselves deep in shit or hurt.

Josh led me into the living room, explaining to his wife, Sue, that I'd just got off the coach and needed somewhere to stay. Far from being shocked, she'd stood from where she'd been laying on the sofa, adjusted the belt on her bright pink dressing gown, and smiled. She disappeared through a door at the back of the room, and Josh urged me to sit and take off my coat, make myself at home. I couldn't get over it—couldn't get to grips with how different it was here. That's not to say I haven't encountered people who don't appreciate who I am and accept me as a nice guy regardless of who I'm shagging, but hey, you can't have everything.

"My name's Lee,” I said, draping my coat over the sofa arm and sitting on the edge. “I..."

I'd hesitated in telling the truth, letting Josh know I'm gay, but seeing as I had no one to hide it from I blurted the whole sorry story out, expecting Josh to ask me to leave. He didn't. Instead, he lowered himself into a chair and listened, the smell of baked beans and fried eggs filtering into the room. My stomach growled, but I ploughed on, gaze fixed to the carpet when it came to explaining Mum and how she was.

"She...she doesn't understand. Treated me like shit once Dad left, see, and I've been trying to get away for a long time, only I didn't have the guts."

Josh nodded, scrubbing his stubbly chin, and I went on to reveal my love for Ryan, how we'd been best friends since childhood. It all came spilling out. Seems I just needed someone to listen to me, to keep their opinions to themselves while I let the words flow. As I recall, mentioning Ryan had brought tears to my eyes, and I dashed them away, angry at myself for the lack of self-control.

"Cry,” Josh said. “Sometimes it's the only way to go."

And I had. Cried like some young kid, and it felt good, you know? Like a massive weight had been lifted and I'd been released from incarceration. Yeah, that sounds dramatic, but it's the truth all the same.

"Dad dropped me off that night, the last night I'd seen him, and when he was halfway home he crashed the car.” I sniffed. “Shit, my old dear—she got the call he'd gone—just told me bluntly he was dead. Didn't tell me when the funeral was. I never did get to say goodbye."

"That's harsh.” Josh frowned.

"That's Mum."

Sue came in with a plate of beans and eggs on toast, placing the tray on my knees. “Would you like a drink? Tea all right?"

I looked up at her. Seemed to me she'd been crying, had maybe heard everything I'd said, and emotion grabbed hold of me that strangers could be so fucking kind. After my nod, she left the room again, and I ate the meal, so damn grateful for their generosity. I've been friends with them since, and I have to admit that a small part of me believes in fate, that I was meant to come here.

Later, all talked out, I slept on the sofa, Sue bringing a quilt and pillow and a spare set of Josh's shorts. There was never any mention of their kids, of the fact that I might go up there when the house was silent and hurt them all or steal their things. Might sound odd to some, but it was like I'd known them a lot longer, that I was a friend of theirs coming to stay. And the kids accepted me the next morning, clambering onto me as I woke, asking me where I came from and what it was like living there. Those kids, God, they reminded me of my childhood, what with their innocence and trusting eyes. I let them tumble all over me and had to shove the dark thoughts away. That they didn't have a clue what life was like when you grew up. Didn't have a clue how hard it could be. I remember thinking—must have been about eleven or twelve—that when I got older everything would be fine. Easier, a piece of piss. I got a rude awakening there, all right.

After breakfast that first morning in Biddingford, Josh gave me the lifeline I'd wanted in so long. I wondered if my needing somewhere to stay had been on his mind, whether he and Sue had discussed it until the early hours, working out how they could help me. He explained his grandfather had recently passed, leaving behind a cabin on top of the hill I stand on now. He offered it to me for fifty quid a week—a bloody bargain I wasn't about to turn down—and I paid him a month in advance so I had time to look for a job. Turned out he worked in the next town over at a candle factory, and he got me a job there too. I have so much to thank him and Sue for, but each time I try and show them my gratitude, they wave their hands as though they did nothing at all to warrant my thanks.

It's been a while since I left home, and I speak to Ryan via phone and emails, sometimes instant messenger late into the night. Keeping in touch this way gives me the contact I need but also the space to grow comfortable with myself. Sounds crazy, but I had so much shit going on, so much I needed to sift through, that being with Ryan wasn't an option. I'd have ignored what needed cleaning out of the old attic inside my head and focused on him instead, and later the crap might have spilled out at the wrong time and place. It would have festered for so long, and who knows, it may have done more damage than good. Sometimes being alone is for the best. Seeing new faces, easing into a new life. Besides, I wanted to be sure what I felt for Ryan was genuine and not my first crush.

And shit it's genuine. My love for him burns. It hurts to be without him if I'm honest, but I wanted him to have the chance to live a little without me around. He may well have found someone else with me out of the picture, and it'd be less messy if he had while I wasn't there to witness it or influence him. As it happens, two years have passed and we both still feel the same, so I reckon I'm safe to say he's the one for me.

Still, I reckon I need to open up more. Tell him about Josh and Sue instead of leaving the minute details out of my emails and conversations. It's like when I speak to him I don't want to tell him anything about this place unless he presses me to. It's because, well, I want to listen to
him
. To hear his voice not my own. To know what he's doing and how things are going for him back home. And then I feel selfish, because he'd maybe want the same from me. Shit, I still have so much to learn, so much to understand when it comes to relationships. Those chat shows, they'd tell me I had childhood issues that prevented me from moving on or knowing how to behave with other people, and they might be right. Still, Ryan doesn't push. He knows me, knows I'll just go into my shell. It's just the way I am, how I deal with things.

I smile now and turn toward the cabin, letting myself inside. In the living room, I switch on the electric fire and stand before it, hands out to receive the warmth. I've done well to get this place how I have it. When I first moved in, Josh's grandfather's stuff was still here. Old-fashioned furniture that had definitely seen better days and dusty carpets in need of a bloody good clean. I'd dumped them, spending weekends sprucing up the bare floorboards beneath, shoulders aching for my trouble. It was worth it, though, and now I have a nice place, somewhere I'm proud of. Somewhere I'd be glad to bring Ryan. He hasn't mentioned coming to see me, doing what I'd silently hoped and leaving me be while I work through the shit in my head. He's good like that—in tune with my feelings without me having to say anything. It's like he picks up on my mood, a vibe I must give off, and he's just
there
for me.

After hanging my coat up, I go into the kitchen and sling a frozen cottage pie in the oven to cook. A tin of carrots and peas in a pan on the hob and the kettle boiling for a cuppa will set me up for an evening on the sofa with a full belly. Leaving the room, I take the stairs at a weary plod, muscles aching. Friday always sees me like this. Too worn out to want to do anything much. A bath will help, warming the kinks in my body and washing away a week that saw us scrabbling to pack candles quicker than usual, what with Christmas just around the corner.

Ryan will ring later, probably around eight, and we'll pass the time talking about everything and nothing until one of us goes quiet, eyes closing, sleep carrying us away. I close my eyes on our evening calls and imagine he's here, that his voice isn't filtering down a phone line but coming from across the room or beside me. It's about time we met up again, but I don't want to be the one to instigate it. He might not want to come. Oh, I know he says he does, but people do that, don't they? Say one thing and mean another because they don't want to cause offence.

I run a bath and leave it to cool a little, returning downstairs to eat. The food is bland, boring, but it fills a hole. Josh asked if I'd like to eat with them—and I do that quite often—but I don't like to impose. Not tonight, when he'd mentioned wanting to get the kids to bed early and spend some quality time with Sue. I feel like I'm always in their faces, always taking up their time. They don't do anything that suggests that's how they see things, but...shit, maybe I'm always going to worry that I'm a burden to everyone in my life.

Bathed and dressed in joggers and a T-shirt, I settle on the sofa and boot up my laptop. Ryan's probably written, as he does every day before he goes to work, and my stomach bunches in anticipation of reading his words. They always lighten me, and I hear his voice in my head, see the way his hands would move had he been speaking to me in person. I log in to my email account, excitement building, and smile as my gaze lands on his name and the title of his email: Missing You.

From: [email protected]

Sent: Friday 12 November, 18:47

To: [email protected]

All right? Shit, I had a case of Missing You Syndrome today. Been thinking about the old days, what a laugh we used to have, and it hit me really bad that you're not five minutes away anymore. Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Don't want to put pressure on you, but if I don't tell you how I feel you might think I don't give a shit then find someone else. There I go again. Pressure. Fuck.

Work was the pits today. Some prick got right on my nerves. That guy I told you about, the one who always has his nose in everyone's business—he got in
my
business. Started telling me how to do my job, like he's my boss or something. Christ, he's just the same as me. So I lost my temper, told him he ought to piss right off and get on with his own work. He stared at me for ages, like he wanted to punch my lights out, then stormed off. Saw him later, clenching his fists, and I thought about asking him if he wanted to land them on me. I've got to get out of here. Out of town. Go somewhere different. Sound a bit like you, don't I? And there was me saying I couldn't leave here, would miss Mum and Dad, but that was back when I didn't know better. Now, well, I miss you like fuck and just wish I had the balls to up and leave like you did. Then again, knowing me, tomorrow I'll wake up feeling differently. I get on my own nerves the way I chop and change my mind. But now Mum and Dad are getting divorced, it's like the family unit has broken down, so what does it matter whether I stay here or not? I still can't get over those two splitting up. Thought they'd be together for life.

So, got anything interesting to tell me? If you have time before I give you a ring, write back. I'm sitting here bored shitless. Oh yeah, forgot to tell you. Trevor got arrested. It's in the paper and on the local news. He only went and fucking shot someone with that bloody gun of his. Too many witnesses to get out of it this time, and I hope he gets put away and they lose the damn key. I never did ask you, and you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I heard them bragging just after you left that Trevor pulled his gun on you. That right? If it is, why the hell didn't you tell me? Don't answer that. I know why, and you'd be right. I would have gone and seen him, gun or not, and...yeah, you know what I'd have done. He's one bloke I wouldn't mind doing time for, know what I mean?