The Beginning (Starting Over)

by Matthew J. Metzger

  Then a voice said, “Chris? Chris Wheeler?”

  He jumped a mile, lurching back from the paper like it had shot him. A blonde woman with a buggy had stopped by his table, beaming over a large takeaway cup at him.

  “It is, isn’t it?” she said.

  “Er,” Chris said. “Yeah. Do—do I know you?”

  Sweat prickled uncomfortably under his arms. He racked his brain but came up empty. He didn’t know her. He was sure he didn’t know her.

  “We’ve never met,” she said, to his enormous relief. “I’m Suze. Aled’s sister.”

  “Oh. Oh.”

  “I recognise you from Gabriel’s Instagram,” she said with a laugh. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s nice to finally meet you face-to-face.”

  “You too,” he said weakly.

  “What are you doing here? Aled didn’t mention a visit…”

  “Aled’s not here,” he said. “Just me. Figured I’d get a head start on finding a new job.”

  “Oh! You’re looking for work too?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Mind if I join you?” she asked, gesturing to the empty seat.

  “Er, no, go ahead…”

  He did, actually. Making small talk with a stranger wasn’t on his to-do list. He’d briefly met her husband, Tom, but Suze had just had a baby or had been expecting a baby or—there’d been something to do with a baby that meant she’d not been able to visit while Gabriel had been in hospital. By the time she had, Chris had gone back to Nailsea.

  “What kind of work are you looking for?” she asked, settling herself with her huge coffee. The baby in the buggy was dead to the world, and Chris hoped it stayed that way.

  “Anything, really. I’ve been CV-dropping.”

  “What have you done before?”

  Chris shrugged. “I work at a garage at the minute. Booking appointments, invoices, that kind of thing. Done catering, house painting, worked in a bike shop…I can do whatever, really. Ex-army, so I’m a bit of a jack of all trades.”

  And master of none, but he didn’t add that part.

  “And what do you want to do?” she pressed.

  Chris rolled his eyes. She really was Aled’s sister.

  “Cover my bills and keep a roof over my head,” he said dryly. “I’m looking for a job, not a career.”

  She laughed. “You sound like my brother-in-law.”

  “Eh. I work to live.”

  “Now you really sound like him.” She chuckled. “Okay, but—what’s hell to you? What job would you instantly be looking elsewhere?”

  “Customer service, I guess. I prefer the back-room type stuff.”

  “Can I have one of your CVs?”

  “I guess.”

  He had a spare for manual labour, and slid it across the table to her. Her pragmatic manner was putting him at ease a little.

  “This is pretty good,” she said. “Would you be up for outdoors work?”

  “Yeah.”

  “A lot of the farms like having help during the late summer when the crops come in.”

  “Yeah, I’m looking at them now.”

  “But that’ll only be for a month or two.”

  “Better than no months.”

  “True.” She drummed her fingers on the table, then snapped them. “Eddie.”

  “Er—”

  “Sorry. One of my brothers-in-law. Not the one you sound like,” she added. “He runs an adventure park in Hayle. He can always do with more people to help groundskeeping and with the maintenance.”

  “Where the hell’s Hayle?”

  “Just a bit farther down the coast. You could ride it. You’re into cycling, right? That’s how you met Gabriel?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll show this to Eddie and talk you up, if you like.”

  “Um. That—thanks. Er.”

  She giggled. “Don’t look so terrified!”

  “I just—sorry, not really sure why you’re helping me.”

  “You’ll have to get used to that,” she said briskly. “You’re one of Gabriel’s. And Gabriel is Aled’s. And Aled’s my brother, which makes us family. And we look out for family around here.”

  “Erm—”

  “Or you can call it selfish,” she continued. “If you can’t find work, you might not come. And if you won’t come, Gabriel won’t either. And if Gabriel won’t, Aled definitely won’t and then I don’t get my best friend living round the corner again like he should be. So call it selfish, if it makes you feel better.”

  Weirdly, it did. He could cope with that more easily than a total stranger deciding he was family and trying to find him a job.

  “I’m looking for Gabriel, too,” she said. “He’s more the customer service type, though. And my husband owns a hotel chain, so that’s not too difficult, really!”

  “Do your hotels have kitchens?”

  “Most of them. Why?”

  Chris shrugged. “I can do kitchen work, too. I like cooking. I was training as a chef before I went into the army.”

  “Really,” she said, and grinned. “Well then, I might be able to find something closer to home for you too. Give me a week. Your phone number’s on here, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  He mentally crossed his fingers. He’d only been a teenager, but the kitchen had been the best job he’d ever had. The wait staff had to deal with the actual customers, and angry chefs and cooking staff were nothing compared to knobhead squaddies. And his army-induced cool would serve well in a hot, busy environment like a restaurant or hotel kitchen.

  “It wouldn’t pay well,” she warned. “Eddie pays his grounds staff better than we pay our kitchen skivvies.”

  Chris shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. We’re buying outright, me and Aled. And there’ll be three of us working. We’ll be okay.”

  “And no kids like this little monster,” she said, shaking the buggy lightly. The baby stirred but didn’t wake up. “He’s gorgeous, though. Are you going to have any children?”

  “Don’t think so,” he said, but his nose wrinkled of its own accord and she laughed.

  “No wonder you and Aled get along.”

  As far as Chris knew, Aled physically couldn’t have kids. And Gabriel had been making noises about having his ovaries out. So maybe soon it would only be Chris left who could.

  But the idea didn’t appeal, and he said as much.

  “It’s definitely a big commitment,” Suze said. “But I’ve always wanted them. A baby brother or sister for Euan, and then I’m done.”

  “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

  “If you’ve heard it from Aled, you can tell him to shut his mouth,” she returned.

  The baby finally stirred and began to grumble, and Suze sighed heavily, draining her coffee and abandoning the empty cardboard cup on the table.

  “I’ll have to go,” she said. “He’s been constipated lately so I don’t want that shit-splosion happening here.”

  Chris gagged.

  “I’ll give you a call sometime next week,” she said. “Good luck with the hunting! Let me know how it goes.”

  “Uh, tha—”

  But she was already gone. Chris blinked, then reached for his phone.

  Me: Your sister best friend whatever just accosted me in a cafe in St Ives.

  Aled’s reply was immediate.

  Aled: Should have been more careful then, shouldn’t you?

  Aled: What did she want anyway?

  Me: To help me find a job.

  Aled: Oh she’ll do it then. Nothing gets in her way.

  Me: She says I’m family now.

  Aled: Well you are.

  Me: I’ve never met her before!

  Aled: You have now. Enjoy it. It’s weird.

  Chris rolled his eyes.

  Aled: Also Gabriel says hi.

  He was sent a picture of Gabriel covered in mud in their front garden, waving between planting new borders. Chris grinned, sent a hello back and closed the paper.
All out of CVs, a copy of the local paper to peruse on the way home and make some calls about once he got back to Nailsea, and Suze on the case to find him a job.

  He drained his cup and headed out.

  The town was bustling with people now, and Chris made a mental note to avoid it on Saturday afternoons. The tide was high and the boats in the bay were clattering noisily, but it disappeared under the sounds of an old-fashioned train pulling into the little station with a shriek of brakes just as he arrived. Waiting for it to empty out and change drivers, Chris flicked through the jobs section one last time, just in case Suze wasn’t as good as Aled gave her credit for.

  And something caught his eye.

  There was one final ad that he’d missed, tucked into the corner of the jobs section. The word ‘volunteer’ leapt out to push him away, yet another word reeled him back in.

  “Constables?”

  He’d never heard of special constables. Volunteer coppers. He didn’t know such a thing existed. But the ad…

  “Commit to only sixteen hours per month as a uniformed police officer with full powers,” he murmured. “Develop new skills, gain valuable experience and discover what you’re really made of.”

  It sounded like the army ads. They’d dragged Tim in, who’d in turn dragged Chris. And the army had never been what it was cracked up to be…but the ads hadn’t been wrong, either. Despite how it had ended, and despite the fact that he’d never fitted in like the army promised, he’d still enjoyed it. He’d never regretted doing it.

  And this was just a volunteer thing. He could walk away whenever he wanted if he didn’t like it, right?

  He took a picture with his phone and sent it to Gabriel with a simple, Should I try it? as the train revved up to begin its return journey. The reply arrived as he boarded—a supremely unhelpful I do like a man in uniform!—and Chris was left to stare at the picture of the ad and stew on it.

  It wouldn’t pay any bills. And he knew enough about policing to know that sixteen hours a month wasn’t going to be neatly packaged into start and end times like a regular volunteer position. It would be time away from creating his vegetable garden, and cycling trips with Gabriel. And he’d probably be shitting himself in terror the whole time. No way he had the confidence to be a copper.

  Did he?

  Something about it called to him, and he typed the weblink into his phone browser as St Ives disappeared over the hilly horizon.

  After all, he’d have to settle in and get to know the area. And there were worse ways to do it than behind the wheel of a police car.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Aled hung up and punched the air.

  It didn’t matter that he was on one of the very few coffee breaks he was going to get this week. It didn’t matter that he was having to drive over to Manchester every day for this fucking conference. It didn’t matter that he’d failed to argue his way out of it on the grounds of his impending resignation.

  None of it mattered anymore because—

  “Got an offer on the house,” he told Imogen, and grinned.

  “Oh! Congratulations! A good one?”

  “Only a grand below asking price.”

  “Not bad at all.”

  “Give me a minute,” he said when the doors opened and people began to flock back in to hear the next speaker. “Just going to text my partner and then I’ll be with you. Save me a seat.”

  “Will do!”

  Me: Accepted an offer on the house. Moving is a go!

  He only had four weeks left at work, but Gabriel hadn’t formally resigned yet. But now they had an offer, balls could start rolling—so to speak. It lifted his spirits plenty for the next dull diatribe, and he marched in and took his seat next to Imogen with actual, honest-to-God enthusiasm for the first time in years.

  His brain whirred, though. He didn’t listen to the case study comparison of multi-sector marketing in Singapore versus Sydney. He sure as hell wasn’t taking notes on it, but doing the sums for getting a moving date together.

  At the end of his four weeks, Aled was going to take a month off for the move, settling into Cornwall and finding his way around his new life. Gabriel was hoping to jump straight from one job to the next, but Aled wanted some time to himself. So if he kept the pressure up—and as the buyer had no chain of their own, he could—they could be shot of the house in Newmillardam in six weeks. With a bit of luck.

  If they had a gap between the houses in Newmillardam and St Ives, they’d already decided to go south and set up in one of Tom’s hotels for a few weeks in the interim. Chris had been surprisingly relaxed about the idea, and Gabriel had practically lived in hotels before anyway. That wasn’t a problem.

  Still, he’d rather not. He emailed the estate agent in St Ives and his solicitor with the details and some urging to get things going on their end. The surveys had been done already. The new mortgage in principle was agreed with the bank. The—

  A text flashed up.

  Gabriel: Yay! Good timing, too ;) I was in the mood for a celebration.

  Aled fought to keep the smirk off his face.

  Gabriel: Boss/secretary?

  All right, he wasn’t having that kind of conversation in the middle of a conference with Imogen and Steve two feet away. Aled was going to take the out. He got up and started to make his way past equally bored peers to the exit.

  “Excuse me,” he whispered. “Sorry, I’ve got to deal with this. Sorry. Sorry. Thank you. Sorry.”

  The lobby was empty. The receptionist threw him a sympathetic look.

  “Lucky escape?”

  “You have no idea,” he chuckled, sinking into a chair and opening the message thread.

  Me: Where did that come from?

  Gabriel: In the mood ;) So yes?

  Me: What kind of boss/secretary?

  It wasn’t one of their regular games. Gabriel usually wasn’t remotely interested in Aled’s suits, and Aled didn’t really have a thing for office play.

  Gabriel: Rough ;) FORCE ME. And then maybe some power play after for round two?

  Me: An overnighter, then?

  Gabriel: Sure if you like x

  Me: Will this mood hold until Friday night? I’ll be knackered out by the drive and no way I’m playing an overnighter with you and then coming back here for the final day.

  Gabriel: No. Doesn’t need to. See?

  Aled’s jaw sagged.

  Not because the photo was plainly sent from a hotel room. Not because Gabriel was using the hotel’s room service menu to hide a sensitive area, and the branding was the exact same branding as on all the conference papers. Not even because of the hint of a black lace bra glowing through Gabriel’s lily-white top.

  Because the top was a blouse.

  A blouse atop a tiny skirt atop two long, lean legs clad in beige tights. High heels. Cleavage. Was that eyeshadow?

  Me: Are you sure?

  Aled could count on one hand the number of times Gabriel had done drag for him—zero. It was so off the table, Aled never asked. Gabriel had killer legs and could probably have Aled coming like a horny teenager if he paraded around the house in heels, but he didn’t even own any. He didn’t do women’s clothing. Ever.

  Me: You need to be absolutely sure Gabe

  Gabriel: GABRIEL

  Gabriel: And I’m sure

  Gabriel: Promise. Green all the way.

  Gabriel: So we good to go?

  Me: I will not be able to look out for your dysphoria, you know that? Especially not looking like that!

  He couldn’t at the best of times. Aled was as cis as cis came. Years with Gabriel and he still didn’t really understand it all. What would set him off and what wouldn’t. He just obeyed the rules he’d been given—pronouns, no woman talk in sex, no asking for skirts—and trusted Gabriel to look after himself in that regard. And it had worked a charm. He’d never set off an attack that he knew of.

  But danger was staring him in the face, even as lust was telling him to fucking go for it.


  Gabriel: I know :) Trust me.

  Trust him.

  Gabriel: Room 415.

  Gabriel: Colour?

  Me: Green.

  He headed for the lifts.

  The room was on the fourth floor and the door was slightly ajar. Aled paused to adjust himself and drag a cool, almost cold persona around himself. His hottest fantasies were all based on violent force, but he had to distance himself a little first, lest they feel too real. A few deep breaths later, he knocked and opened the door.

  Gabriel was sitting pretty at the desk, typing away on Aled’s laptop from home. Aled locked the door and leaned up against it, staring. Good God, he’d figured Gabriel probably looked nice in a skirt with those cyclist’s legs, but he’d been wrong. Gabriel looked fan-fucking-tastic.

  Fucking being the operative word.

  “Something wrong, Mr Evans?”

  “No,” he said. “Just a long presentation.” He began to work off his tie. “How’s that report coming along?”

  “Almost done.”

  “Time for a break, I think. Put the kettle on, won’t you?”

  “Of course!”

  As Gabriel sashayed over to the kettle—shockingly natural in the heels—Aled sidled over to the laptop and closed the lid, dragging the chair back and sitting in it himself. When Gabriel came back with two cups of tea and blinked at the chair, Aled simply gestured at the desk.

  “Pull up a pew. Let’s chat.”

  “Okay.”

  He eyed those long legs once more as Gabriel perched on the edge of the desk.

  “How long have you been working with me now?”

  “Five years,” Gabriel said.