by Lisa Worrall
Micah ran his shaking fingers through his hair and cursed his weakness. He felt as though he were stuck in a scene from Casablanca—“all the villages in all the world and he walks into mine”—Get a grip, Lewis, for fuck’s sake get a grip, he admonished, but his stomach rolled. He took the stairs two at a time, skidded to a stop on the tiled bathroom floor and dropped to his knees. Hugging the toilet Micah didn’t stop heaving until he had nothing left. He stood and flushed the toilet before squeezing toothpaste on his brush and scrubbing away the taste of bile. He rinsed his mouth and spat into the sink, deliberately avoiding his reflection in the mirror above it. He didn’t want to see his flushed cheeks and wild eyes, didn’t want to see the effect Harry had had on him.
Sighing heavily, he padded down the short hall to his room and sank onto the mattress. A dull ache had started in his temples and he rubbed at it with his fingertips, willing it away. He yanked open the drawer of his bedside table and pulled out a pack of Ibruprofen, swallowed two with what remained in the bottle of water he’d brought home last night, and sank back onto the pillows, closing his eyes.
Memories nudged at him and he desperately tried to ignore them, but they wouldn’t be silenced. Rolling over onto his stomach, Micah buried his face in the soft cotton of the pillowcase and let his mind take him back to the first time he’d laid eyes on Harry Bloody Boyd.
Three weeks into his midwifery course at Nottingham University, Micah’s roommate, Steve, came bounding into their room and announced there was a karaoke night at Mooch, the student union’s bar in the Portland building. Of course, Micah had treated Steve’s exuberance with the maturity it deserved—he laughed in his face. Until, that is, Steve informed him they were going to said karaoke night, or Steve would be making sure a certain rumour about Micah’s struggle with herpes would spread like wildfire around campus. He had indignantly pointed out he didn’t have herpes, to which Steve had replied, “I know that and you know that, but everyone else….”
Micah had spent the next few minutes questioning Steve’s heritage and threatening him with violence, but he knew the battle was already lost and he’d be spending his evening in Mooch making an idiot out of himself—what fun. If he’d know then that when he walked into the bar he’d meet the love of his life, he’d probably have been more enthusiastic.
Steve had propelled Micah across the bar towards a table occupied by three other young men, and pushed him into one of the two remaining vacant chairs. “Hey guys, this is Pete, Angus, and I don’t know who that is, and this is my boring as hell roommate, Micah.”
“Hey, Micah,” from the boy Steve had indicated was Angus. “Nice to finally meet you. What did Stevie have to do to get you out of the dorm? This is Harry. Be gentle with him, he only arrived today.”
Micah had taken one look at those big blue eyes surrounded by long thick lashes, behind black-rimmed Michael Caine-esque glasses, straight, slightly flared at the tip nose, soft full lips and mop of chestnut brown hair, and he was gone. By the end of an evening, of beer and horrendous singing, which had included Micah and Harry’s drunken rendition of I Got You Babe, they were joined at the hip for the next three years.
Loving Harry had been easy. He had a gentleness about him that drew you in and wrapped around you like a huge comfort blanket. Micah felt as though his heart had been without a piece he’d not even known was missing—until Harry filled it and made him complete. Sure, it sounds like a cheesy romance novel, but that’s how it was. Harry was his haven, the rock he clung to, the man he gave every part of himself to and he couldn’t imagine life without him. Well, not until after graduation.
They’d had very few arguments in the three years they were together, but one issue kept coming up—family. Micah had come out to his family when he was fourteen. Harry was still firmly in the closet. He’d said his father would never understand; that he’d stop paying for Harry’s education if he found out; and he couldn’t risk everything he’d worked for. At first Micah had understood, Harry was all that mattered and as long as they were together, he could overlook this one tiny thing. Over time that one tiny thing had become the elephant in the room, but they ignored it—until graduation.
The ceremony had gone off without a hitch, albeit lengthy and boring as most graduation ceremonies were. Micah had glanced at the assembled audience as he collected his diploma, smiling at his mother in her best bib and tucker as she clapped and yelled herself hoarse, tears streaming down her face. Afterwards, out in the gardens, she’d snapped away with her camera until his cheeks had ached from smiling. He’d never seen her so proud.
Of course, he’d looked for Harry in the crowd but hadn’t been able to find him, and by the time the relatives and graduates had started to disperse, he was worried. He’d made his excuses to his mother and made his way to Harry’s room at a run. When he got there, Harry was just closing his suitcase.
“What are you doing?” Micah stared at Harry in confusion. “We’re supposed to be meeting Steve and Pete down at Mooch for one last drink before we head out.” They’d decided last week that Harry would spend a week in Little Mowbury with Micah and his mother, before he visited his parents in London. To say that Micah had been ecstatic Harry had finally agreed to come home with him would have been an understatement. So why had Harry avoided him all day and why was he packing when they weren’t leaving until tomorrow?
“I can’t.” Harry picked up his suitcase and put it on the floor, then grabbed his jacket and pulled it on.
“Can’t go for a drink?”
“Can’t do any of it. I’m sorry, Micah.” Harry headed for the door and Micah grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks.
“What are you talking about? Sorry for what?” Micah’s head was spinning. Was he missing something? Had Steve and Angus set up one last practical joke and roped Harry in to pull it off?
“It’s over, Micah. I can’t lie anymore. I can’t love you the way you want me to.” Harry’s voice was flat and expressionless, his gaze cold.
“Lie? What lie? I don’t understand.” The room was closing in on Micah and he couldn’t stop shaking. He flinched as Harry pulled his arm from Micah’s grasp and shoved him out of the way, sending Micah onto the bed.
“It’s easy to understand, Micah,” Harry said, his expression one of disgust as he turned the handle and opened the door. “I mean, everyone experiments in college don’t they? You served your purpose and now the experiment is over. Goodbye, Micah.”
Micah had wanted to run after Harry when he’d closed the door behind him, but he hadn’t been able to move, frozen in disbelief. That’s where Steve and Angus found him when Jenny had asked them to look for him an hour later, his knees brought up to his chest and his arms clasped around them. Having got the gist of the situation out of him, Steve and Angus had packed his things into Jenny’s car at her request. Steve promised to drive Fiona to Little Mowbury the following day on his way home to Cardiff, and Jenny did the only thing she could, she took Micah home.
The opening strains of Justin Bieber’s, Baby, pushed its way into Micah’s subconscious. He groaned into his pillow and reached out a hand to snatch his mobile off the bedside table and silence the alarm. Rolling onto his back he stared up at the ceiling, cursing Sarah for mucking about with his phone again. He’d fallen asleep and lost himself in the past, a past he’d sworn he’d never visit again. Damn Harry Boyd. Damn him for ruining the one place he’d felt safe, for making him… feel.
Micah rubbed his fists into his eyes, ridding himself of the last remnants of sleep, then picked up his phone again, squinting at the time. Fuck! He was going to be late if he didn’t get his arse up now. For a split second he considered calling in sick, but Sarah would never forgive him if he wasn’t there to discharge her. Scrambling off the bed, Micah opened his wardrobe and took out a fresh uniform, black trousers and red tunic, emblazoned with the Cherry Tree Birthing Centre emblem on the breast pocket. He quickly dressed, and left his jeans and T-shirt where they fell before
shoving his feet into his loafers and trotting down the stairs.
Purposely not looking at the pretty lilac adorned cottage across the street, he jumped into Fiona and slammed the door behind him, patting the dashboard soothingly as he turned the key. Thankfully, she must have sensed the urgency of his mood, because she sprang into life on the first turn of the engine and coughed familiar black smoke from her exhaust. “Thanks, baby,” Micah mumbled. He shoved her into first gear and screeched noisily away from the kerb, leaving Lilac Cottage and Harry Boyd in his rear view mirror.
The journey into work was uneventful and Micah pulled into his regular space with a sigh of relief. He glanced at his reflection, ran his hands through his unruly brown hair and attempted to coax the strands into some semblance of order, without much success. He looked as though he’d gone ten rounds with Lennox Lewis, and his brown eyes seemed haunted. Great, Sarah’s not going to notice a thing. One problem with having a best friend who knew you inside out, you couldn’t keep anything from them, even if you wanted to.
He opened the door and climbed out, locking Fiona before walking around the front of the building to the entrance and pushing his way through the double doors. “Hey, Myrna,” he said cheerily to the receptionist. She was a force of nature, kept them all in check, and the entire clinic organised with the last ‘i’ dotted and ‘t’ crossed. Without her, they’d fall apart, and she knew it.
“You’re late. Fiona giving you trouble again?” Myrna asked, her hazel gaze teasing. “You need to retire that old girl, she’s done her bit. She needs a rest.”
“What, like you?” Micah quipped.
“Pish,” Myrna shot back. “As if. You’d be lost without me.”
“And I’d be lost without Fee, so show some respect,” Micah laughed and headed for the staff room. He opened his locker and stowed his bag before thanking his lucky stars someone had switched on the coffee machine. He grabbed a mug from the cupboard and filled it with the steaming liquid, in desperate need of a heavy caffeine shot. The pills he’d taken earlier hadn’t killed his headache completely, and it lingered behind his eyes. Hopefully the caffeine would wake him up and shoo the niggling pain away, but he doubted it.
“You’re here.” Micah looked up from watching the contents of his mug swirl one way and then the other at the statement. His colleague, Tom, stood in the open doorway of the staff room.
“Your powers of observation astound me,” Micah muttered in return.
“Wow, who took the jam out of your doughnut?” Tom had spent last weekend on a Guy Richie kick and he’d been quoting from Snatch and Lock ‘n Stock ever since. Funny at first, it was now wearing thin.
“No one, my doughnut is overflowing.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Not now, Tom. Wanna catch me up to speed?”
Tom gazed at him pointedly for a few moments then motioned to the board on the wall. “Angela Robertson is in room 2. She’s been in since eight this morning and is still at four centimetres. She’s on gas and air at the moment, hanging out for the epidural. Tabitha Mason is in room 4, only just been admitted but the paperwork is all done. I examined her and she’s six centimetres and the cervix is thinning out nicely, don’t think it’s going to be long until we have a baby. Sarah is waiting for you to discharge her from room 3, and Algie has been eating up a storm, he’s obviously got Gary’s appetite. Lara will be here in ten minutes, and that’s me done. I’m going home.”
“Cool. See you at three in the am and don’t forget Carla’s back tomorrow. It’s my day off, we swapped this week, so she’s off on Friday.”
“I didn’t forget, my mind is like a steel trap,” Tom replied mock-affronted. He opened his locker and shrugged into his jacket before tossing a granola bar at Micah. “Eat something, you look like shit.”
“I love you, too,” Micah scoffed, opening the bar and taking a bite as Tom crossed his arms and stared him down. “Happy?” he mumbled around a mouthful of apple-tasting mush. Tom saluted him and turned on his heel, whistling an irritating off-key tune as he closed the door behind him.
Micah tossed the rest of the bar into the bin and washed down what was left in his mouth with coffee. The last thing he felt like was food. He tipped the remainder of his drink away, and ran his fingers through his hair. Hiding out in the staff room was not an option, and he’d be damned if he was going to give Harry Boyd one more moment’s thought. Not while he was here at Cherry Tree. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly and set to work.
Having introduced himself to the two other patients and advised the newly arrived Lara of their status, Micah let himself into room 3 and smiled at the Kodak moment awaiting him. Sarah sat in the armchair by the window, her red hair like fire in the sunshine flowing through the glass. She held a sleeping Algie in her arms with a serene look on her face as she gazed down at him that only new mothers have mastered.
“How’s my godson doing?” Micah said softly, sanitising his hands with the antibacterial hand gel attached to the wall inside the door. He crossed the room and leaned down to drop a kiss on Sarah’s head.
“He’s a hungry little bugger,” Sarah replied, smiling up at him. “He’s had—” she paused and Micah bit back a groan as she frowned. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing,” he replied, stroking Algie’s smooth forehead. “Now let’s get you two out of here, yeah?” Micah picked up her notes from the end of the bed and began to fill out the discharge paperwork.
“Nothing my arse,” Sarah said derisively. “Start talking.”
“There is nothing to talk about, now shh, I’m concentrating. You don’t want me to spell his name wrong, do you?” Micah checked the time, date and signed the sheet, then closed the file. He knew she was waiting for him to answer her, could feel her gaze heavy on his bent head. Well, did you honestly think you’d fool her? Micah ignored the mumblings of his subconscious. You haven’t been able to fool her since David Smith stole your lunch in year one. Reluctantly he looked up and met her gaze. Her head was tilted slightly, waiting for him to speak. “You’re all ready to go. Where’s Gary?”
“Never mind him. I’m not going anywhere until you spill. Don’t make me beat it out of you, I’ve just had a baby.”
Micah sighed and sank down in the armchair opposite hers. Clasping his hands between his knees, he sighed heavily. “The new people moved into the old Nelson place yesterday.”
“And?”
“It’s a couple, the woman’s about eight months pregnant.”
“And?”
“The man is Harry Boyd.”
“Holy shit.” Sarah’s gaze widened in astonishment. “Oh, Micah, holy shit.”
“Yep.” Micah huffed out a laugh.
“What the fuck is he doing in Little Mowbury of all places? Surely he must have known you’d be here?”
“You’re asking the wrong person, Sare,” Micah replied, running his hands through his hair again. “I know even less about what’s going on in that man's head now than I did six years ago.” He leaned back in the chair and banged his balled fist on the arm. “I thought I was okay, you know? Thought I’d come out the other side. It took me a long time to put myself back together. I don't know if I can do it again.”
“Lewis, I’m so sorry,” Sarah said, reaching out and clasping the hand he put into hers. “Do you want me to kill him? Cut him up and feed him to the fishes? I could stick him in Doris Abernathay’s compost bin, no one would ever find him. Which one do you like the sound of?”
"All of 'em.”
Chapter 3
"You want another?"
Micah looked up at Maggie as she leaned her not un-ample bosom on the bar. He nodded and she popped the lid on another bottle of Corona, putting it in front of him. "Thanks."
"Weekend off?" Maggie queried, taking out the cloth she perpetually had tucked into her belt and wiping up some spillages. At his nod she smiled and reached out to pinch his cheek, as she'd done since he was a little boy. "Good. You work too hard, Micah,
you need to find yourself a nice boy and settle down."
Micah grinned and took a slug of his beer. "Maggie, you've been saying the same thing since I turned seventeen. You just want an excuse to buy a new hat."
"Very true," Maggie chuckled and moved down the bar to serve another customer.
Shaking his head with a smile, Micah picked up his beer and wandered over to an empty table by the fire. Not that the fire was lit as it was nigh on twenty-five degrees today, but he liked to sit in the corner and people watch. For instance, Maggie herself, the Peggy Mitchell of Little Mowbury, although given her taste in outrageous costume jewellery she was more Pat Butcher. Maggie had arrived in the village thirty-five years ago with her husband Colin and there were still some older residents who considered her an outsider. You had to be born, raised and buried in Little Mowbury before you were truly considered a member of the elite. Of course, you weren't considered such until you were dead, and by then you really didn't give a shit if Doris Abernathay and her cronies had given you their seal of approval.
Eating today's special in the snug was Deano Wells, who owned Briar Farm just outside the village. He raised dairy cows and every day at twelve-thirty sharp, he walked into the Thatcher's Arms and ordered the special, as had been his ritual for the last twenty years. Micah had long since begun to suspect that each day's special was engineered with Deano in mind, especially Thursday's option of liver and kidney.
"Is this seat taken?"
Micah had been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn't even noticed Harry come in. Now the man was standing beside the table with a pint of Guinness in one hand and a packet of cheese and onion crisps in the other. "Yes," he snapped, annoyed with himself for not being more vigilant. It'd been two weeks since his visit to Lilac Cottage and he'd managed to avoid Harry nicely since then, although he'd bumped into Selena at the village shop yesterday. Having briefly stopped to get some snacks for the team, Micah had only had time to pass pleasantries with her and confirm that if she were free, he could give her a tour round Cherry Tree on Monday. She'd happily agreed and they'd parted company.