by J P Sayle
Greg gave a disgruntled sigh, realising he was standing in the toilet and that his cock was attempting to play peekaboo with his low-slung trousers. He blew his fringe out of his eyes and hiked up his trousers. He checked all the bathroom stalls before dialing Brad’s number.
Their plan was to meet today at tea time, at Just Pasta & Pizza. Greg had organised it when they’d roped him into their secret “fight club.” Brad was really getting on board with the whole “what happens in fight club, stays in fight club” mode. So for some privacy to talk all things party, Greg had booked a table for five thirty, knowing he’d be free then. As the others could all pretty much come and go as they pleased, no one was too fussed about the time or place.
He tapped his foot, waiting for Brad to answer, not sure why he’d received an SOS text from him. They were meeting in a few hours and could hash out any problems then, surely?
His stomach jittered at having to face Brad again and keep shtum. He really was going to kill Max if he chose Christina.
“Greg. Greg, I can hear you breathing. Answer me.” Brad’s low voice could barely be heard through the speaker.
“Speak up. I can hardly hear you, Brad.” Greg’s eyes shot to the door as it squeaked open, revealing Martin. Not sure if he’d heard him speaking to Brad, Greg felt his panic rise, choking him.
His tongue glued itself to the roof of his mouth, feeling two sizes bigger than normal. He felt it swell almost as if he was having an allergic reaction to something. Greg felt a growing heat surge up his neck, morphing into an inferno as Martin raised his dark brows before pointing to the phone.
“Are you talking to Brad?”
Greg attempted to give a nonchalant shrug at the non-threatening question. His mouth moved, but no words came out. Choking back the ball of panic, he felt his pulse was trying to push out of his pounding ears. He willed himself to calm down.
He squeaked “yes.”
Brad’s shrill shout echoing off the tiled walls to say nothing came too late. Martin was already snatching the phone out of Greg’s sweaty hand.
“Err, I… well… the… thing is… we’re meeting for tea. Emm… yeah, I was just confirming it.” Greg sputtered loudly, hoping Brad could hear him. Martin’s brows rose, and he cast a look of disbelief at Greg. His face heated faster than a boiling kettle. The urge to run and hide in one of the stalls had Greg’s hands clench in an attempt to keep himself still.
“Hello, baby, now why is Greg hiding out in the toilet speaking to you on the phone? Oh, and why are you telling him not to say it’s you?” Martin’s question, though spoken quietly, had an edge to it that had Greg wanting to confess.
Sucking his lips into his mouth, Greg gripped them between his teeth. He strained to hear what Brad was saying. The quiet mumbled response was undecipherable.
Greg felt the urge to huff in frustration. Instead, he tugged at his styled hair, tapping his foot, waiting for Brad to stop talking. After several minutes, he witnessed Martin’s normally calm blue eyes turn thunderous. A storm brewed in their depths as he handed back the phone. Not uttering one word, he stormed out of the bathroom. The loud crash had him cringe.
“Okay, that cannot be good.” Greg muttered to himself, staring at the reverberating door.
“Greg, for God’s sake answer me.” Brad’s loud bellow had him lift the phone back to his ear.
“What have you done? No, I take that back. What on earth did you say to him? If looks could kill, I’d be ten feet under right now.” Greg trembled, giving the door a worried glance.
“Let me worry about Martin. I just told him to butt out. And that if he wanted me to sort a party, then he should back the fuck off and leave you alone.” The calm way in which Brad spoke about pissing Martin off had Greg’s mouth drop open.
“Oh, you gotta be shitting me.” Greg screeched. “You didn’t see his face. I’m in so much trouble right now.” Greg moaned into the phone.
“Stop it, Greg. He’s not pissed at you. It’s me he’s angry with. It’s his own fault, sexting me into this situation. So if he doesn’t like it, tough.” Brad carried on explaining why he’d texted and what he needed Greg to collect for him.
Greg found his earlier anxiety recede when Brad confirmed their plans for later and enlightened him as to why he needed Greg to hide Martin’s Christmas gift at his house. “Cool, I’ll nip out after and collect your parcel. Let’s hope I live long enough to keep it safe for you.” Brad’s roaring laughter was the last thing he heard as he ended the call.
Greg braced himself returning to the office. Martin’s closed office door had him releasing his breath. He scuttled to his desk and dove back into his work, keeping his head firmly down to avoid any more interruptions.
Greg stepped out into the dark evening, which was only broken by the gleam of Christmas street lights and the passing traffic. Greg hugged his puffer jacket closer to his body, regretting that he’d left his leather gloves in the car as he rushed down the side steps by Lloyds bank. The icy air frosted his exposed skin, and his breath turned white.
He avoided walking down Victoria Street, knowing he had more chance of bumping into Vic at this time of night. And with the way his luck was going, he wasn’t up for a smackdown. Skirting the back of M&S, he rushed down the dark side lane to the restaurant.
The wide glass windows beckoned. The slow slide of condensation that glittered against the decorated glass had Greg speed up. Warmth surrounded him as he stepped inside. The aroma of pizza dough baking and rich tomato sauces assailed Greg’s nose, making his mouth water as he searched for his friends.
Not seeing them, Greg stepped up to the wooden pedestal decorated with tinsel, situated just inside the restaurant. The open floor plan and vibrant, noisy restaurant, he felt, was perfect for what they planned to discuss. “Hi. I booked a table for four under the name Greg.”
The waiter never looked up from the list he’d been looking at. “Yes, your friends have already arrived. Please follow me.” The waiter grabbed a menu and led Greg to the back of the busy restaurant, to a table tucked behind a wall in the corner. The dimmed lighting did nothing to expel the bright cheeriness he was greeted with by his three new friends.
Greg thanked the waiter and took the menu. He sat next to Brad on the one remaining empty chair at the table. “Hey, sorry I’m a little late, but my bosses were in a bit of a mood after a certain cretin decided to piss off Martin.” Greg let the humour dance in his eyes when Brad hunched into his chair.
“It’s not my fault he doesn’t like me keeping secrets. I just reminded him why I was in this predicament in the first place. That’s all.” Brad beamed at the table. But Greg felt his mind latch on to the word secret. The guilt of his own secret had him ordering a large gin and tonic.
It is going to be a long night, and I could always go to my home in a taxi.
The little clutch in his belly at the thought of not sleeping in the same bed as Aaden had his brow scrunch. He ignored the conversation flowing around him and focused on his drink. He ordered another one along with his food, hoping it would ease his stomach and his conscience.
As they ate their food, Greg tried to pay attention to his part in the plan and what he needed to do to help Brad. As the evening wore on, Greg could feel the alcohol taking effect. A nice buzz spread through him, making his limbs feel a little heavier.
He relaxed back on his chair while listening to Joe rib Brad for getting drunk yesterday and for buying six bottles of Malibu.
Greg interrupted, not quite believing what he heard. “Who on earth would buy six bottles of Malibu? Are we having a throwback party to the 80s that I don’t know about?”
Laughter erupted around the table when Brad went bright red. He ignored them all smiling at the waiter as he delivered another round of drinks. Greg watched the guy get flustered under the power of Brad’s dimples. The guy, though he didn’t give off a gay vibe, still seemed quite taken with Brad’s grin and was smiling back in earnest as he cleared the empty gla
sses.
Greg mock-whispered to the table as the guy left. “It looks like Brad has an admirer. Wait till I tell Martin.” Greg could hardly choke back the giggles when Brad’s sea-green eyes turned into saucers.
“You wouldn’t, would you?” Brad’s hesitant question had another round of ribbing break out as Greg shook his head. “No of course not. Remember ‘fight club’.”
The hilarity continued, with alcohol flowing freely. Not sure how the others were getting home with them all heading in the same direction, Greg asked. “How are you lot getting back to Kirky?”
Joe answered, shrugging as he spoke. “We all came with Nick. But as none of us is fit to drive, I’m thinking taxi.”
“Or you could come and stay at mine. I have a couple of double beds if you don’t mind sharing.” Greg warmed to the idea of not going home alone when Nick nodded and Brad looked a little undecided.
“I’ve never had a sleepover with friends before.” Brad’s sad response had Greg moving, hugging him into his chest. The scent of cherries had Greg thinking about dessert as he let Brad rest his blond curls on his shoulder.
“You can have a sleepover any night you want. You’ve got friends now.” Greg’s gaze took in Joe and Nick, who nodded as he spoke. “See, we are your boys, your fight club. We’re all in this together. It’s us against the world, right.”
“Could I bring Princess and Max along too, for a sleepover?” Brad’s question had Greg still. The alcohol drowned out the warning bells as he spoke without thinking.
“Why would you want Max to come? That little fucker will probably pick miss witchy poo instead of Princess, and then we’ll all be fucked, won’t we?” As the last word slipped past his lips, Greg smacked his free hand to his mouth, and his eyes grew wide in distress. He realised far too late he’d let the cat out of the bag, or was that the witch?
His mind scrambled to come up with something, anything to explain what he’d just said, as an alternative to the truth. He felt every eye at the table bore into him as Brad pulled away and turned to face him fully. He struggled to look any of them in the eye as he shrank back into the chair, his hands fidgeting in his lap.
“What the fuck do you mean, pick miss witchy poo over Princess. What the hell am I missing here?” The loud wail had several heads turn towards their table.
“Shush, please. The last thing we want is to be arrested for being drunk and disorderly.” Greg hissed at Brad, whose face screwed up into a mutinous scowl. Seeing this was going to end in disaster if he didn’t speak and fast, Greg quickly gave the short version of what happened Friday night and Saturday morning.
He noticed that Nick said nothing. His face was blank, nothing like the incredulous expression on Joe and Brad’s faces. Greg wanted to take back the last five minutes and pretend nothing had happened.
“Shitting hell, Greg, are you saying that Max talks to you and Aaden, like, telepathically?” Joe’s excited question stopped Greg in his tracks.
He nodded, feeling a sense of relief that he could talk about it. “Yes. It was pretty weird to start with, but I’ve kind of grown used to it over the last couple of weeks. Initially it was Aaden talking to Max I could hear in my head, and only when we were together. Then I started to hear Aaden talking to me too, and well, after Friday, I can hear them even when we are not in the same room. It’s not all the time, I can block it, but I’m not sure how I’m even doing that.”
Joe’s inquisitiveness seemed to grow as he peppered Greg with more questions, encouraging Greg to continue. He tried to explain it all, pouring out everything that had happened.
Again, he noted that Nick never said a word. All he did was trace patterns on the paper menu that the restaurant used as place mats. He glanced back at Brad, worrying his lip. “I’m sorry I never said anything before, but I didn’t know what was for the best. I mean, you’d either think I was barking mad or that maybe I’d taken some hallucinogenic drugs.” Greg gave Brad an apologetic smile.
“It’s not your fault. And this whole other soul thing, Max being the king of his kind and having a witch guide that was taken from him? Well, that kind of trumps me being pissed off. Because where would you start with all of that?” Brad gave a small shrug before continuing. “I don’t have that kind of connection with Princess. Though when I was trying to escape my dad and get back to Martin, she was able to project pictures of me into Martin’s mind. The problem was they then experienced my pain, right along with me.”
Joe interrupted. “Don’t you think it’s odd that we’re all connected through each other and the cats? Never mind the witch.”
“Don’t discount her. You don’t want to underestimate how far she will go to get what she wants,” Nick butted in, breaking his silence.
Greg flicked his gaze from Joe to Nick. He didn’t like the hint of fear he saw displayed on Nick’s face before he could hide it.
Brad spoke before Greg could ask what he meant.
“Nick, what do you know about the witch?”
Greg caught the frustrated growl Nick let out before he blew the hair out of his eyes and rubbed his forehead.
“Listen, I’d rather not get into it in a public place where people might overhear what we’re talking about. This whole evening is like an episode of the X-Files.”
Nick’s smile faltered when no one spoke.
Greg noted his grimace when he continued talking.
“Let’s leave it for now? We can talk about it some more tomorrow. We can share a taxi back to Greg’s or Kirk Michael, but whatever it is, let’s head now. I’m knackered, and I still have a lot of work to get done for Aaden.”
His weary expression and voice had them all shutting up. The evening deflated faster than Aaden’s air bed.
Greg trudged behind them, feeling a little happier that they had decided to head back to Kirk Michael with him in tow.
As he sat in the taxi, he tried to shake off the feeling he’d inadvertently opened up a can of whoop arse on them all. He sent out a silent prayer that this didn’t come back to bite them all on the backside.
Max seethed as he prowled to the cat flap, squeezing through. He was starting to hate Aaden and his “come home now; we have a situation” shouts. How many bloody times was he going to keep doing this to him? His heart had nearly stopped at the level of the shout. He was sure Princess suspected something, with the way she eyed him as he’d slinked away.
He barged through the cat flap into the messy, partly finished kitchen. He paused when he saw Greg’s tear-stained cheeks and hollow eyes. Dread filled his already laden heart. He focused his attention on Greg, ignoring Aaden and Nick. He gave a passing thought as to where Brody was, but not concerning himself, he spoke.
“What the hell has happened now?” Max plonked his arse down on the dusty floor as Greg poured out what had happened. Max felt his ears twitch. His hackles were not faring much better as he realised Brad could at this very moment be telling Princess about Christina.
“How could you?” Max let his accusation hang between them all. With one exception: Nick, who couldn’t hear his side of the conversation. He gave him his consideration for a second. Or could he? Nothing would surprise me anymore.
Greg continued talking out loud, “I didn’t mean to, but I was drinking, and we were talking about a sleepover. And well, when Brad mentioned bringing you and Princess as well, I kinda got angry. Thinking about how you might be planning on murdering poor Princess and…”
Max’s hard glare had him shutting up, and for that, he was grateful because he felt he was about to spit feathers. His anger had him struggling to think past Greg’s utter misery. His slumped shoulders and pitiful sky-blue watery eyes did little to quell the urge to box his ears.
“I made Brad promise not to say anything. Though he was a little angry about it all…”
Max watched Nick raise his brow at Greg, rubbing his forearm as if correcting Greg’s understatement.
“Okay, maybe he was furious, but he promised. And I know
Brad is a man of his word. He said he’d wait until you’ve made up your mind, Max.”
Max felt the accusation as Greg spoke. He pinned him in place with the anger and sadness he was projecting.
“Years I lived a quiet life, no real drama. Just minding my own business, hoping that each soul I encountered might be the last. Now I get to the end of my bloody journey, and I’m left with you bunch of cretins trying at every turn to make my life a living hell.” He got up during his rant and went to the door. Sliding through the cat flap, he strode out, ignoring the angry shouts.
Running as fast as his short legs could go, he shouted for Christina.
On the third day of Christmas my true friends gave to me:
The witch hunt and the unwanted trip down memory lane
15th of December
Nick crept down the stairs, avoiding all the creaky floorboards as best as he could remember. He sent out a silent thank you when he made it to the front door undetected. Unlocking it, he slipped out into the crisp dark morning. The cold slapped harshly at his fitted denim jacket as he sprinted to his van. Releasing the locks, he hopped inside and started the engine. He fired the heater up before reversing into the drive across from Aaden’s. He hoped the sound of his engine didn’t disturb the neighbours.
Nick drove out onto the dark, deserted main road. His mind flicked through the directions he’d memorised to get to Slieu Whallian.
Last night had been the final straw. He’d sat listening to a tearful Greg explain to Aaden and Max what he’d done when Brody had gone to bed. He’d kept his mouth shut, letting Greg get it all off his chest.
The one fact Greg had missed out was how they’d had to physically restrain Brad. As soon as the taxi had pulled into the cul-de-sac, Brad had lost it, threatening to throttle Max. Nick absently rubbed at his arm where Brad had managed to get in a sneaky punch before he could restrain him. He may be small, but by Christ, he was strong when he was angry.