by Lily Morton
He gives a lopsided grin. “Yep.”
I shake my head. “I’ve got only one thing to say to you Bram O’Connell.”
He looks nervous. “What?”
“Nobody puts Baby on the corner.”
“In the corner,” he corrects me automatically. “She wasn’t a hooker.”
“Okay,” I sigh, stroking his hair. “I’ll say this,” I offer. “You Beggar’s Choice boys sure know how to throw a party.”
Chapter Seven
Alys
Hours later Bram’s sense of humour has deserted him making way for his new persona of a crotchety seven year old. We’re sitting in the waiting room of The Royal Free Hospital in Hampstead waiting for him to go for an x-ray. He had been put in a cubicle at first but it’s so busy that Bram had insisted that he would be okay out in the waiting room in order to free the cubicle up for them.
Since then he’s occupied himself by asking me increasingly wild questions about the nursing profession and guessing how low cut my scrubs are. The boys have been largely left alone mainly because it’s Saturday night and so it’s full of drunk people shuffling around. One woman passes us at that moment wearing a skirt that’s so short it should really be a belt, and moving in that slow, sleepwalking stagger that only someone that’s really drunk can manage.
Seth stares. “It’s like ‘The Walking Dead’ in here,” he mutters.
“Wish it was,” I sigh, stretching my neck where it’s got stiff from too long spent sitting. “At least if someone was trying to eat me it might alleviate the boredom.”
Bram who has been fiddling fretfully with the sling that they’d given him perks up and gives me a lascivious grin. “Sweetheart did I just hear you express a preference for getting eaten when bored? If it’s boredom that does it I’m hereby volunteering to sit and watch ‘Antiques Roadshow’ with you every week.”
I flip him off and he laughs out loud but flinches when the movement jerks his arm which the doctor splinted when we got here. I look at him sympathetically. “Are the painkillers wearing off?”
He nods pathetically and Matt shakes his head. “It’s your own stupid fault Bram.”
“Alright mother,” Bram says indignantly. “What about Charlie? He’s the fucker that dropped me. Why aren’t you lecturing him?”
“Because he isn’t here,” Matt says patiently.
“What? Why not? Where is he?”
Seth smirks. “He fucked off when someone called Noa rang him. Can’t say I blame him. I mean a night spent with a supermodel, or in Casualty with a twat on a Saturday night.”
Bram gives him a chastising look. “Matt’s not that bad Seth, don’t be cruel.”
Seth laughs and Matt pulls a magazine over his face. “Wake me up when it’s done,” he says plaintively.
I look at Bram. “Do you want me to get you something babe?”
He sighs and then shakes his head. “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” he says bravely.
Seth snorts. “Suck it up Pip. You’re a big boy now.”
I’m nonplussed because for a second I think that my hearing aid has malfunctioned. “What did you call him?” I ask cautiously and Bram groans.
“Please don’t,” he says plaintively but Seth laughs.
“Pip. It’s what everyone called him when he was a kid.”
I look at Bram. “Why?”
He sighs. “Because I was a pip.” I look at him querying and he elaborates. “A pip – it’s slang for a real character.”
Matt laughs. “Or a pain in the ass, but no it was actually because he was small when he was a kid so we called him Pip like pipsqueak, and also Pippin or Bramley like the apples.”
“Which again isn’t my name,” Bram says patiently as I laugh.
“Pip, I like it.”
He creases his face up. “I might let you do it but no one else.” ‘Hey’ Matt says indignantly but Bram shakes his head firmly and then winces again. “Can I put my head in your lap Alys?”
Seth snorts. “I don’t think Casualty is the place for that even for a rock star stud like you.”
Bram moves slowly and carefully, wincing as he lies full length on the settee until his head is in my lap. “I think my studly reputation is ruined beyond repair by having to tell that nurse how I broke my arm.”
I laugh. “I’ve never seen anyone able to telegraph ‘you are a twat’ so clearly without saying a word.”
“I’m sure that’s not the correct bedside manner that I was expecting,” Bram says primly, pulling my hand over his head to make me start stroking his hair and sighing with pleasure when I do.
Matt removes the magazine. “Bram your only starting point of knowledge of the nursing profession comes from watching porn.”
Bram sighs earnestly. “I do feel that it’s given me unrealistic expectations of the NHS. So far there have been absolutely no blow jobs or anal fisting at all, just lots of waiting around.”
“Never mind,” Seth says comfortably. “When they do your enema they might get to the fisting.”
Bram’s eyes fly open. “Oh my God,” he says, his voice a shrill whisper. “Will I have to get an enema?”
Seth and Matt start laughing really loudly attracting a great deal of attention from the other patients.
Finally when they stop laughing silence dawns until Bram stirs. “I think I proved my point anyway,” he says happily. “It’s impossible to do that move unless your partner has the weight capacity of a piece of toast. ‘Dirty Dancing’ is unrealistic.”
“It’s crap anyway,” I interject whereupon all three men stare at me.
“How is that possible?” Matt marvels. “All women like ‘Dirty Dancing’.”
“Hmm, like all men like vaginas?” I query and he snorts.
“Point taken.”
Bram turns his head in my lap to examine me closely. “How can you not like the film?”
I shrug. “It’s just rubbish. I particularly hate that bit at the end when he comes up to her and says ‘nobody puts Baby in the corner’ and then proceeds to embarrass the fuck out of her by making her do some shitty dance routine.”
Bram stares. “And that’s not romantic?” he asks in a hesitant voice.
“Pip if you think that’s romantic I can see why you’re still single.” Matt lets out a snort of laughter and I warm to my theme. “If he’d come up to me I’d have had to say, ‘No, actually I quite like the corner. Please leave me alone and ask my sister to dance since she is patently more suited to this sort of thing.’ Plus that bit where they’re dancing together on the log?” I look around and the men nod solemnly. “Well it’s highly likely that if that hadn’t been in the film she would have slipped and knocked herself out on the rocks and the hotel would have been facing a lawsuit. Plus, don’t get me started on ‘Pretty Woman’.”
Bram stares at me nonplussed. “You don’t like ‘Pretty Woman’ either?”
“Nope. It’s bloody awful. It makes me cringe when he drives down the road in a big limo serenading her with opera. They’d never have lasted in a million years.”
“Why?” Seth asks, his voice trembling slightly.
“Come off it she was a prostitute and he was miles older than her. The whole relationship would have descended into acrimony and recriminations over her past, and broken dreams when she realised that she was just arm candy for an old man who was quite frankly fucking creepy.”
Seth looks at me wonderingly. “I feel like we’ve found a unicorn or some mythical creature that no one believes exists. How can you not like chick flicks?”
I shrug. “I just bloody hate them. Life is not like that. I prefer a good thriller or even a horror.”
Bram smirks. “Alys do you think that you’re a bit of a bloke at times?”
I smile. “You mean hard hearted and unimpressed by overblown gestures?”
He stares at me his eyes looking dark green in this light. “You’re definitely different,” he muses but before I can ask what he means a doctor and nur
se arrive to take him to x-ray.
The sky is already lightening when we pull up at the flat later and it’s deserted. I get out of the taxi and stretch happily while Bram pays the driver. I wander nearer to the water’s edge hearing the hungry cries of some gulls overhead and feeling a bracing, briny breeze hit my face blowing my hair back.
I don’t hear Bram come up behind me but suddenly he’s there beside me looking out at the water. The wind tangles his brown gold waves and he stands companionably silent enjoying the early morning quiet. He turns and catches me looking but I don’t feel the usual embarrassment at being caught gawking but only an easy friendship. “It’s nice isn’t it?” he finally says looking around. “Like we’re the only two people on earth.”
“I know. London’s so rarely like it. I love that feeling and I haven’t really had it since I left Ireland.” He sucks thoughtfully on his lip ring and I turn impulsively to him. “Do you miss Ireland?”
He stares into space and a long second passes leaving me convinced that he’s going to ignore the personal question, but then he stirs. “I’m not sure. I mean I loved living there and I will always, no matter where I live or what I do, be Irish. That’s my identity, but I haven’t lived there since I was a teenager and I sometimes think that I miss something that never was.”
I look at him sympathetically. “Maybe not babe. Ireland’s always the same and so are the people. I don’t think you’ve lost it, just misplaced it for a while.”
He smiles blindingly. “Do you really think that?” I nod and then with one of his lightening changes of subject he smirks at me. “You do realise Alys that if we were the only two people on earth then you’d be obliged to fuck …”
“No,” I laugh holding my hands up. “Just no.”
I walk off and he comes to my side laughing. “No really Alys, it would be your duty to mankind to do it.”
“I’d have a headache.”
He smiles smugly. “Afterwards. Not before and definitely not during. You’d have a headache because of the sheer bliss of the event and from banging your head on the headboard.”
“Would there be headboards in the event of an apocalypse?” I wonder idly and then snort. “Bliss! Okay I’ll take your word for it.”
He rests his good hand over his chest. “Don’t take my word for it. I’ll gladly give you some testimonials, or you can just take a test drive from the Sex King of the Docklands.”
“It’s hard to take the Sex King of the Docklands seriously when he’s wearing a bright pink cast on his arm.”
He snorts and then sobers when we come to the lift after waving hello to the night guard who’s on the phone. “What are you doing? You don’t like the lift. Aren’t we using the stairs?” The doors open and I wave him in but he stops, making the doors do that ‘shall I, shan’t I’ closing dance. “Alys let’s use the stairs babe.”
I consider pushing him in but abandon it in favour of walking into the lift. I turn to look at him. “Bram you’re tired and in a lot of pain. The last thing that you need is to run up numerous stairs. I’ll be okay so get in.”
He hesitates. “Are you sure?”
“I am, come on.”
He finally ambles into the lift and enters the code for the penthouse looking at me from the corner of his eye. The doors close and even though I know that we’re only going to be in here for less than a minute I still feel a wave of panic but I fight it down, looking fixedly at the wall and trying to make my mind concentrate on the patterns in the expensive paper that decorates the lift.
I’m instantly distracted when a warm hand pulls me round and before I can say anything he draws me to him, tightening his arms and lowering his head over mine so that I feel like I’m encased in the warmest, safest suit of armour that I’ve ever felt. I murmur and try to move away from pressing on his broken arm, but he hushes me so that I feel the rumbling of his voice in his chest. Finally I lift my head when the panic goes and smile at him. He smiles back. “I wanted to do that when we were on the tube that time,” he says softly.
“Really?”
“Yes. You were being so brave and looked so alone I just wanted to scoop you up and hold you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
The silence lengthens and for a second I think that he’s going to go with one of his usual flippant comments. I can actually see one forming in his eyes, but then it dies away and he runs his hand down my hair staring at the strands like he’s Rumpelstiltskin and they’re gold that he’s spun from straw. “I couldn’t,” he finally says. “You weren’t my friend then.”
“Am I now?” I ask softly.
“Yes.” He lowers his head to rub his face against me like a lion marking his territory. I think I hear him say ‘the best one I’ll ever have’ but I’m not sure and the lift doors open before I can say anything more.
We walk into the flat and he stretches and sighs. “Fuck, I feel like I’ve been away for years don’t you?” I laugh and nod and he runs his good hand down his face and I hear the scratch of his stubble. “I need a fucking shower,” he finally says. “I smell like patio stones and hospitals.”
I scoff. “You rock stars and your wild lives.” Then I hesitate, looking at him until he stirs.
“What?” he asks panicked. “What did I do?”
“How are you going to manage showering and dressing and everything Bram? You’re right handed aren’t you?”
He looks flabbergasted. “Bloody hell I didn’t think of that.”
“We should have brought Matt with us. He could have helped us.”
He shudders. “I love Matt but it’s been a long while since he showered me, and trust me the memory of the time that he did means he won’t ever do it again.” I look at him questioningly and he shakes his head. “That’s a secret that we’ll take to our graves. Oh well I’m sure I’ll manage.”
I sigh heavily. “I’ll help you,” I say finally and reluctantly. It might sound mad but the thought of having to put my hands on all those hard muscles covered in golden brown skin is a problem because I’m finding it harder and harder to hide how attracted to him I am.
He only has to be in the same room and I’ll smell his sweet, spicy scent or hear his rough voice and I’m wet and ready. If he knew that, there would be only two outcomes. He would either reject me and the friendship would suffer, or he’d fuck me and the friendship would end. I know this as assuredly as I know my own name. Bram is not built for anything but transient relationships and I am. We’re so mutually incompatible that we should be on opposite poles.
The trouble is that despite these crucial differences I know that we’d be good together – bed destroying good. With some people you just know and unfortunately I’m sure that Bram knows this too. The amount of experience he has means that he must do, and more and more lately I catch his eyes on my breasts or I’ll turn suddenly and his eyes will be on my bum, his pupils dark and blown. Each time he makes a joke or distracts me with a question, but this attraction doesn’t go away. It doesn’t seem to need tending as it’s always there, a slow burn waiting for the spark that sets it aflame.
I’m brought back from my thoughts to find Bram looking at me strangely. “What?” I ask defensively.
He shrugs awkwardly. “Why would you help me? There’s no need. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“Erm because you’re hurt.”
He smiles. “Alys I’ve had far worse than this and coped. Jesus, I broke my collarbone badly when I was fifteen. That hurt like a motherfucker.”
“What do you mean you coped? Didn’t any of the adults help?”
He looks bewildered. “In what way?”
“Well making you your favourite food and drink. When I was little my mum used to always make me a poorly bed up on the settee with the special poorly blanket, which was really just an eiderdown with bluebells on it.” I warm to my subject. “Then I could watch what I wanted on TV, and she’d always buy me a new book and a bottle of Lucozade. Jesus tha
t stuff was like crack for kids with its sugar content.”
He looks wistful. “That sounds nice. I’d have liked that I think.”
“What did your aunt and uncle do for you then?” I ask tentatively.
“Well not much,” he murmurs looking uncomfortable. “My uncle was a bit of a hard case and he didn’t believe in babying boys. He thought they had to learn how to be men so he wouldn’t let my aunt spoil me. I still had to do my chores.” He laughs suddenly. “He just had to give me a bit more time to complete them. Washing windows takes a bit of time when you’ve had a plate and screws put in. I think he misunderstood the doctor when he told me to move my elbow, hand and fingers as much as I could.”
I’m absolutely horrified and privately I think that his uncle sounds like a complete bastard. He must catch my expression because he smiles slightly. “He wasn’t that bad babe. He was a man of his time and I was a naughty, cocky little shit with a predilection for getting into trouble.”
“Well I know that you’re a grown adult now but everybody needs a bit of looking after sometimes,” I say lightly. “I’ll help you with putting a bag over your arm and I’ll stick around in case you need help, and then how about you let me spoil you a bit?”
He looks like he’s equally yearning for this while remaining ignorant of why anyone would want to cosset him, like a big dog that’s been mistreated but still hovers close wanting attention but not knowing what that means. My throat gets tight and he instantly grasps my thoughts and looks slightly panicked, like he’s anticipating me crying over him. Instantly that cocky expression slides over his face, obliterating the nervous expression so that I actually doubt whether I really saw it.
“So Alys, you’re going to help me undress?” I gulp but nod bravely. “And you’re going to wait while I have a shower, the water streaming over my naked body, and then you’re going to run the towel over me slowly?”
“Okay,” I say in a loud, bright voice ignoring his smirk. “Let’s get you showered.” He follows me and I just know that he’s silently laughing.