Hard Tail (24 page)

“Just once—Gran and Grandad took me for a day trip.” I frowned. “I think Jay was in hospital then too—broken collarbone; I can’t remember how he did it. Anyway, all I can really remember is being disappointed you couldn’t walk all round it in half an hour. It didn’t seem like a proper island.”

“Yeah, it’s about seventy miles around the outside.” He must have caught my look of surprise that he knew it that exactly. “There’s a round-the-island cycle race every September. Jay and me and some of the lads go down most years. You should try it—might want to get a bit of training in, first, though.”

“Just a bit,” I agreed. “If I tried it right now, I think my legs would fall off.”

“Actually, there’s worse things you’ve got to worry about on the long-distance routes. Phil had a bit of trouble last year—things got a bit, um, twisted.”

I winced as I realised just what
things
Matt was referring to. “Ouch.”

“Yeah. His wife was well miffed about it and all.” Matt grinned. “Race you to the concrete bits!” He set off along the beach, hurdling the low wooden breakwater, and I scrambled after him, my feet slipping and crunching in the shingle. He was faster than he looked, and it took me almost until the “concrete bits” he’d mentioned before I overtook him with my longer legs.

“Hah! Beat you!” I gasped, bending over to rest my hands on my legs while I got my breath back. “What are these things, anyway?” I asked, looking around at the low concrete blocks that lined the shore. “Did there use to be something here?”

“It’s to do with the D-Day landings,” Matt confirmed, his face flushed from the run. “They built these huge concrete boxes here and towed them out to France… It’s all on a board over there. And you see the big bars of chocolate?” Startled, I followed his pointing finger with my gaze and saw a sort of concrete flooring laid on the beach that did, indeed, resemble giant bars of chocolate. “They were so the tanks wouldn’t sink in the sand when they drove them onto the ships.”

We wandered over to the board, which told us Matt’s “huge concrete boxes” had been
caissons
—or basically, huge concrete boxes—which were constructed here on the beach and towed across to Normandy for D-Day. They’d formed part of a floating harbour the size of Dover, needed to handle supplies for the 160,000 Allied invasion forces who’d landed in France. It must have been a staggering undertaking—I could hardly believe the six-thousand-ton behemoths would have even floated.

I stood and stared out to sea, shading my eyes from the sun with one hand. What must it have been like for those men, I wondered, leaving English shores and not knowing if they’d ever return? “If we’d been born sixty years earlier, that could have been us going off to fight,” I mused. “Sort of puts your own troubles into perspective, doesn’t it?” I suddenly remembered who I was talking to. “Shit. Sorry—didn’t mean to—”

“No—No, you’re right.” Matt said. He bit his lip. “I really was daft to stay with him so long, wasn’t I?”

I hesitated, then put a hand on his shoulder to reassure him. I tried to ignore the effect the physical contact was having on me as I spoke. “When you’re right in the middle of a situation, it’s often hard to keep your perspective.” I looked at my watch. “We should probably head back now.”

We walked back along the shingle, me with my hands shoved firmly in my pockets because I wasn’t sure I could trust them not to stray back over to Matt if I didn’t keep an eye on them. Matt did the same, but I didn’t flatter myself it was for the same reason.

“You know, it’s weird,” I said, struggling to formulate my thoughts even as I spoke. “All this time, I’ve been thinking that this—me being down here, I mean—was just a sort of interruption. Normal service will be resumed shortly, that sort of thing. But now I’m not so sure.” I took a deep breath, the smell of the sea filling my lungs. “Now—coming back to this place—I think maybe this is my normal life. Or should have been. It was living in London that was the aberration.” As we reached the car park, Matt fumbled in his pocket for his keys, his gaze not leaving my face for a second. “Maybe…maybe I had to go away to learn to appreciate it—but I stayed too long, and I forgot it instead. But now, it’s all coming back.” I frowned. “Does that make sense?”

Matt nodded. “You know what? You couldn’t pay me to live in London. All those people crammed in together, all breathing the same air.”

“It’s not as bad as you think,” I said, wondering if I really believed it myself. I sighed. “But it’s not like this.”

We got back into the car, and I batted fondly at the furry dice hanging from the rearview mirror. When they settled back into position, both sixes were facing me. It felt like an omen, and I smiled.

“You’re not going to karate tonight, are you?” Matt asked as we washed up after dinner that evening. We’d picked up a few ingredients for veggie pasta when we’d been shopping earlier, which Matt had cooked up with my dubiously helpful assistance. It had all seemed so simple, I’d wondered what on earth I’d been making a fuss about all these years.

“Why?” I asked. I’d been looking forward to going to karate, as it happened.

“It’s just—if Steve sees you, he’ll ask where I am.”

“You think I’d tell him?” I was hurt he’d even consider it.

“No—course not. It’s just… Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but I think he’ll be able to tell if you’re lying.” Matt gave me a nervous look, apparently worried he’d offended me.

In fact, I was grateful for the timely warning—my Judas face would have given me away in the next thirty seconds. I turned to the sink and pretended to scrub the coffee stains out of a mug. “Actually, I, er, I thought I ought to go and see Jay tonight. See how that leg’s getting on.” I mentally crossed my fingers Matt wouldn’t invite himself along. “But I don’t like leaving you here on your own. How about I call Adam?”

Matt gave a weak smile. “What, to babysit?”

“Yep. I’ll tell him he’s to tuck you in bed nice and tight and read you a bedtime story.” I frowned. “And not a dirty one, either.”

“Spoil all my fun, you do.”

“Maybe I’ll—” I coughed. Now was not a good time to blurt out how much I’d like to tell him some dirty stories of my own. “I’ll give Adam a call,” I finished.

As I grabbed the phone, it occurred to me that Adam did, after all, have a life and might not actually be sitting at home waiting for my call. Luckily for me, it seemed Wednesdays were his life’s night off. He picked up his phone with an “Uh-huh?” and declared himself willing to come over and Matt-sit with his usual economy of syllables.

When I opened the door to him half an hour later, I felt an odd pang in my chest. It was almost like regret—no, scratch that; it
was
regret. I might be doing the right thing here, but, well, for a moment I almost wished things had been different. That I’d been able to feel for Adam what I felt for Matt.

Hearts. Who’d have one? “Come in, Adam,” I said, half expecting to be grabbed and forcibly snogged, and perversely disappointed when no predatory lips came my way.

“All right?” he said, holding up a six-pack of lager. “’S for Matt.”

“I hope you’re not planning to get him drunk and have your wicked way with him,” I said, and immediately wished I’d engaged brain before opening mouth. The last thing I wanted to do was put ideas like that into Adam’s head. Particularly as I was about to split up with him.

Fortunately, Adam laughed. “What, me’n’Matt? Nah. We’re just mates.”

The hallway only seemed half so big with Adam taking up space in it, and when Matt appeared to say hello to his friend, there was barely room to swing a cat.

Of course, any attempt to swing Wolverine was likely to prove fatal to the person doing the swinging, so that was probably just as well.

“Adam, can I have a quick word? Sorry, Matt,” I added, feeling awkward.

I led Adam into the kitchen and shut the door. He looked around a little nervously, for Adam. “Where’s y’r cat?”

“Wolverine? Oh, he’s out at the moment. Don’t worry—if you keep the kitchen door shut after I’ve gone, even if he comes in he won’t be able to bother you.” Or, as it might be, rend poor Adam limb from limb.

Adam looked relieved that blood transfusions weren’t, after all, in his immediate future. I breathed a silent prayer that Wolverine wouldn’t take it into his furry head to come back in the house in the next five minutes. “Look,” I began awkwardly. “I…I don’t know how to say this, but…”

Adam’s freckled face creased into a smile. “’S all right.”

“You don’t know what I’m going to say.”

Adam shrugged, still smiling. “I seen the way you look at Matt. ’S all right. Seen th’ way he looks at you, ’n’ all.” He loped over and hugged me with those ape-like arms. “Good luck.”

“I… Thanks,” I said, stunned—and if I was brutally honest with myself, just a tiny bit hurt.
Obviously
, I hadn’t wanted Adam to be devastated, but he seemed to have found it remarkably easy, breaking up with me. I shook my head.
Get over yourself, Knight.

Adam was standing there, looking at me with a shrewd eye. I gave a rueful smile, and hugged him back with genuine affection. “You’re a great guy, Adam. Thanks for everything. And I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

“No, y’re not,” he contradicted me good-naturedly. “G’won. Get on out of ’ere.”

I’d had it all rationalised; how it’d be good for me to go and train. Get the aggression out of my system.

I’d been lying to myself. The real reason I’d gone, I realised as I bowed my way into the dojo, was so I could find an excuse to beat the crap out of Steve Bloody Prick-tard. He was there as usual, just chatting away with the other brown belts as if nothing had happened, as if Matt didn’t even now still bear the marks of his violence. Time seemed to slow. It’d be so easy to just stride over there, grab him by the front of his gi and punch that vicious, cowardly face into a bloody pulp.

My hands were curling into fists, and I actually took a step forward—then Sensei came toward me with a friendly smile, breaking the spell. I forced myself to calm down and return his greeting.

Training didn’t work its usual magic, though. Even after the warmup, after basics, I was still tense. All the time I was watching the guy out front demonstrating the moves, at least half my attention was on Prick-tard, three men down the line from me. And God, he knew it. Every time my eyes flicked his way, he was glaring at me. When we went on to sparring, I couldn’t tell you who made the first move, but we marched straight up to one another.

“You’ve got a fucking nerve, turning up here tonight,” he snarled, the menace in his face matched by his belligerent tone.

“I could say the same about you,” I countered, fighting to keep my own voice level. God, I was ready for this. I could picture myself, standing victorious over his battered body, every bruise a revenge for what he’d done to Matt. Payback for every downcast look, every hurt he’d ever suffered.

But then I heard Sensei’s voice behind me. “All right there, Mr. Knight?”

It was enough to bring me to my senses. God, what the hell had I been thinking of? I hadn’t become a black belt so I could solve all my problems with my fists. Hell, wouldn’t that make me just as bad as Pritchard? Yes, I hated that bastard, but I hated the way he made me behave, made me think, even more.

“Fine,” I managed to Sensei, and he moved on to another pair, giving us an assessing glance as he went.

I turned to Pritchard and spoke in a low, intense voice, for his ears only. “I’m not going to fight you, you bastard. I don’t want to have to look at you that long, and I certainly don’t want to have to touch you.” I turned away, but he grabbed my arm. Furious, I twisted out of his grasp. “Just leave me the fuck alone—and if I ever,
ever
see you within a hundred feet of Matt, I’ll bloody kill you, understood?” I hissed.

Pritchard’s face twisted. “Yeah? You and whose army? I could take you with one hand behind my back, you little ponce.”

I barked an incredulous laugh. It was loud enough that the pair sparring nearest to us turned to look. “Enough with the gay insults, all right? We both know how bloody hypocritical you’re being.”

“You shut your fucking mouth,” he spat. “Or I’ll shut it for you. Permanently.” A vein was standing out on his forehead; I spitefully hoped it would burst.

“Worried someone’s going to find out your dirty little secret?” I couldn’t resist taunting him.

“Like you’re not just the same,” he sneered.

Enough was enough. I was damned if I was going to let him say that about me. “As it happens, no, I’m not. Not anymore. I’m gay,” I said in a louder voice. “And if anyone’s got a problem with that, well, it’s their problem.”

Pritchard stood there, stunned. “You stupid fucking—”

“Just leave me and Matt alone, all right?” I said tiredly and walked away. It was a breach of etiquette, leaving the dojo without Sensei’s permission, but I hoped he’d forgive me. Or be glad to see the back of the floor show, more likely.

I walked down the stairs and out of the sports centre, waving good-bye to the receptionist as I went, then made my way through the car park. As I got out my car keys, I was still, to be honest, a bit light-headed from having just announced my homosexuality to the world—or at least, the two or three people in the dojo who’d actually been near enough to hear me.