Separation

by Louise Lyons

  “Shit.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Let me know where you’re staying. Thank you for the phone.”

  Before I could reply, he turned and rapidly strode back the way we’d come. I watched until he disappeared, my heart aching for so many lost years. At least now we had the opportunity to make up for it.

  Leaving my car behind, I walked into the small town and hunted down a phone shop. Within twenty minutes I’d replaced my year-old iPhone with the latest model. It had enough charge in the battery for me to send a few messages, and I sent a text to Tremaine so he’d have my number. I called my mother, not really wanting to talk at that moment, but guessing she’d be incessantly calling my old phone if she didn’t hear from me. I reached her voicemail and with some relief, left a message.

  I had enough time before the shops closed to grab a few emergency supplies, and I bought toiletries and a couple of changes of clothes. It took me rather longer to find a hotel. None of the B&Bs I tried had vacancies and in the end I was forced to take a room in a luxurious hotel by the harbor. I’d have preferred something cheaper that wouldn’t look as if I was flashing my wealth around, but it couldn’t be helped. I parked the Volvo in the underground garage and went up to my room.

  I spent the evening pacing around, nibbling snacks from the minibar, and fiddling with my new phone. When the phone rang, I expected it to be my mother calling, but it was Dad's cellphone number on the screen. I thought I’d get a lecture for tearing off in my new car without a “by your leave,” but he didn't mention it.

  “You found him, then. Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. I think so. I'm staying a few days so we can spend some time together.”

  “We thought you might, even before you left the message for your mother. Have you got enough money?”

  “Yes, I've got some cash and my credit card.”

  “How did it go when you met him?” Dad's voice was gentler than I ever remembered hearing him address me.

  “It was awkward at first. We didn't know what to say to each other. He's been through some tough times since his dad died. He doesn't have much money. I gave him my phone. That's why I have a new number.”

  “Look, I don't know if you've thought about it, but when you come back, Tremaine will be welcome. For a visit, or to stay for a while. Whatever. Your mother and I have been talking about it.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I, um…” I gulped, surprised they'd already considered this, and that he was the one to tell me. Most of my life he'd been somewhat distant emotionally. “I'll let you know when I've decided what I'm doing.”

  “All right, son. If you need anything, just call one of us.”

  “I will. Thanks.” I ended the call and flopped back onto the bed. My imagination ran away with me, and I conjured up images of driving back to St. Albans with Tremaine, all his stuff in the back of the car. He'd move into the guest room next to mine and we'd go out to my favorite club in London, picking up guys together.

  I didn't think I'd sleep well that night, but after I'd showered and watched TV for a while, I could barely keep my eyes open. I groped for the remote control to turn off the movie I hadn't been paying attention to, and crawled under the bed covers. It was past midnight and Tremaine would no doubt be on his way home from the bar. Tomorrow, we'd have the whole day together. After sending him a quick text about meeting up, I slipped away with a smile on my face.

  Chapter Four

  Tremaine

  “I'm fine!” Struggling against the male nurse restraining me, I glared up at him. “Let me up. I just want to go home.”

  “Mr. Wheal, you've lost a lot of blood. Please stay still. We need to keep an eye on you for at least a few hours.” Cautiously releasing me, he checked the cannula in my left arm that led to a saline drip suspended above the bed. I sat up, and immediately dizziness made my vision blur. I sank back against the pillows. “Is there someone we can call for you?” the nurse asked.

  Matt's face popped into my head, but the last thing I wanted was for him to get a call from the hospital in the middle of the night, telling him what happened to me. We'd only just met. I didn't want to dump any of my shit on him. “No.” I shook my head to emphasize the response.

  “No parents? Siblings? A friend, maybe?”

  “No!”

  “Very well. But you need to rest quietly until this bag is empty.” The nurse indicated the drip. “Then we'll check your blood pressure again. Someone will bring you something to eat soon.”

  “I'm not hungry.” I closed my eyes, hoping he'd leave me alone. I'd been tempted to wait until I wasn't being watched and make my escape, but my head spun from my efforts to sit up. It was a wonder I hadn't puked.

  I lay still, listening to the nurse bustling around, and the noises coming from the other cubicles around me. I wasn't deemed serious enough to get a bed in a ward. I was expected to leave by morning, and there were many more needy cases than a gashed arm.

  Somehow, I must have dozed off, and the next thing I knew, a different nurse had removed the cannula and was covering the tiny wound with an Elastoplast. I risked lifting my head, and the room didn't spin around me. “What time is it?”

  “Almost six. You've had a good sleep. How are you feeling?”

  “Okay. Can I get up?”

  “Sit up slowly. I need to check your blood pressure, and you should eat something before you leave. One of the catering staff will bring you some toast and a drink.”

  I nodded and pushed myself up, wincing at the sharp pain in my left arm. I cradled the bandaged limb against my chest, and put my weight on my right arm instead. Other than the discomfort, I felt fine. My blood pressure was normal, and when the tea and toast arrived I swallowed every bite, even though the toast was soggy and I hated tea. A doctor appeared to sign me off, and requested I see my GP in ten days to have the stitches removed. The dressing should be changed daily until the wound had started to heal. I took a quick trip to the bathroom before leaving the hospital, then found a bus to take me back to Salcombe. The town was too small to have its own hospital. The journey took three times as long as it would have in a taxi, but wasting money on a quicker more comfortable ride was unthinkable.

  When I reached my room, I swallowed some of the painkillers I'd been prescribed, and pulled out my new phone. I'd had to turn it off in the hospital, and the minute the screen lit up, a text from Matt arrived, suggesting we meet up “tomorrow” at the beach. He'd sent it the previous evening. I hesitated before tapping out a response. I didn't want to have to explain the bandage, but I supposed I could wear something with long sleeves. If he only planned to stay a few days, we needed to make the most of the short time and catch up on the lost years.

  Be there at ten, I responded.

  I stripped off and washed myself at the small sink in the corner of my room. Searching through my limited pile of clean clothes, I found a long-sleeved T-shirt and cargo pants. My mini-fridge boasted only milk, cheese, and bread, but at least I could make coffee and a sandwich. I hadn't eaten anything since the slice of coffee and walnut cake. I didn't count the horrible hospital toast as food, and my stomach rumbled in protest. As I ate, the weight of the phone in my pants pocket reminded me of the surprising events of the previous afternoon. After waiting three years, trying not to think about the twin who wouldn't learn of my existence until we turned twenty-one, I'd woken the previous morning unable to stop myself hoping. Would he want to know me? Would his adoptive parents even tell him? They might have decided not to. I'd told myself I'd give him a week to make contact and if he didn't, I'd contact the agency again and try to find out something… anything.

  But here he was, and already we'd discovered we had a bunch of random things in common: the same favorite cake, being left-handed, having idiot boyfriends with the same name. I wanted to know everything, but the sudden meeting had rendered me almost speechless and awkward. His designer clothes, perfect haircut, and new car, and the fact that he gave me a nearly new smartphone without a second
thought embarrassed me. I was the poor relation, while he'd grown up in a rich home, getting everything he wanted without having to work for it. I wasn't envious, but I feared he'd think I was lacking because of my living conditions and troubled past.

  As I stared at myself in the cracked mirror above the sink, I considered stripping out the blue and green streaks in my hair, but talked myself out of it. Trying to change myself after one brief meeting was stupid. Nevertheless, when nine forty-five came and I set off to meet Matt, my palms sweated with nervousness. What if he didn't like the person I was? I was desperate for him to like me.

  “Hey!” He was early, standing on the promenade waiting for me not far from where we sat the day before. He beamed from ear to ear, the gleaming white grin splitting his face, and his eyes sparkling. Physically, our eyes and maybe our noses were all we had in common.

  I smiled back, hoping I didn't look as anxious as I felt. “Hi.”

  Matt's smile slipped. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, fine. Did you have much trouble finding somewhere to stay? The guest houses are usually rammed from now until the end of September.”

  “Uh, well, I had to go somewhere a bit fancier than I'd have liked.” His cheeks colored. “So, where do you work, anyway?”

  “Just a bar in town. It's nothing special.” I grimaced at the memory of the previous evening. The idea of going back there worried me, but I didn't have a lot of choice. Jobs didn't grow on trees.

  “At least you work. You must think I'm a lazy twat.” Matt grinned self-deprecatingly as we walked side by side. “That's going to change when I get home. I talked to my dad last night, by the way. If you want to come back with me, or come some other time, it's cool for you to stay. He and Mum would like to meet you.”

  “Oh, that's, um, thanks.” I doubted his parents would like the look of me. But maybe it wouldn't matter to them. Oddly enough, Matt seemed embarrassed by his wealth and lack of employment, while my situation made me feel the same. “What do you think you'll do?”

  “Maybe something with art. I don't have any qualifications after school, but I might do a course or something. I could try and sell some stuff online in the meantime. I haven't thought about it much yet. Whoa!” He grabbed my arm and pulled me to the side, out of the path of a speeding kid on a skateboard. As he squeezed my injured forearm, unbearable pain made me cry out and stumble. I pulled my arm free and clutched it to my chest with the other hand, tears of agony burning my eyes.

  “Shit!”

  “What?” Matt looked at me with concern. “Tremaine, are you okay?”

  “Tam,” I hissed through clenched teeth.

  “What?”

  “My name. Tremaine's a stupid mouthful. My grandparents were Cornish.”

  “Okay. What's wrong with your arm?”

  “Nothing, it's fine.” I lowered my arm to my side, stubbornly determined as usual. I hated asking for help. Where had it got me before, when I was with Chris? No one had wanted to know. Even Stef had deserted me, although I couldn't blame him.

  “Bullshit. Let me see.” Matt carefully grasped my wrist and pushed up my sleeve to reveal the bandage that ran from wrist to elbow. “What the fuck? This happened last night?”

  “Yeah, there was a fight in the bar. I tried to break it up and ended up being the one injured.”

  “What did this?” Matt's eyes widened in horror as he released my arm and rested his hand on my shoulder instead.

  “Broken bottle.”

  “Oh, my God. Did you report the guy?”

  “Not yet. I was too busy getting carted off to the hospital. I've got seventeen stitches.” Suddenly I wanted to tell him everything. This was my only relative, someone I'd longed for and hoped one day I'd find. The concern on his face told me it wouldn't matter what I said; he'd be on my side. The gentle squeeze of his hand on my shoulder encouraged me and I blinked away the welling tears. “I know him. He used to be friends with Chris. He got us both into some, um, trouble. Chris took drugs. I smoked a little, but that's all. He, um, his name's Jason. He was in the bar with a couple of friends and someone they had an issue with came in. They kept out of each other's way for a while, but it all kicked off at closing time. A couple of tables got broken, and the manager told me and another barman to get the guys outside before anything else got wrecked. I was just unlucky.”

  “It was this Jason who hurt you?”

  “It was an accident. I mean, it wasn't me he was going for. I was just in the way.” I leaned into Matt as he slid his hand from my shoulder around my back. “Fucking hurts, though.”

  “You are going to report him, aren't you?”

  “Yeah. Today. Will you go with me?” I cringed as I waited for him to say yes, which I knew instinctively he would. To my own ears, I sounded pathetic and weak. I'd been alone too long, and struggled too much, to give in over something like this, but I couldn't help it. The tears fell and I covered my face with one hand.

  “Of course I will.” Matt pulled me closer, folding both arms around me. “It'll be okay.” At that moment, I was envious of his life, so far away from the shit that was mine. Perhaps I should take him up on the offer to visit. Even a few days away would be better than nothing, and after I was injured, my boss had told me to take my next couple of shifts in a few days' time as sick leave. Being part time, I didn't generally get sick pay, but in the circumstances, he'd offered to pay me my usual money. The only problem was, I didn't feel like I could ask to go back with Matt, even though he'd already offered.

  I pulled free of his arms and wiped my face on my sleeve. “I'm okay. Sorry about that.”

  “Don't be daft. Where's the police station? We'll go now.”

  I sighed and nodded. “It's in Kingsbridge, where the hospital is.”

  “Presumably we need a car, then. Come on.” Matt led the way to the harbor and I accompanied him, faintly shocked that we were heading for the most expensive hotels in the area, although I shouldn't have been surprised. He led me into the underground garage of one of them, and I gazed around at the array of BMWs, Mercedes, and other expensive cars, before he led me to the gleaming brand new Volvo he'd mentioned the day before. Minutes later we were on the road, with me giving directions to Kingsbridge in between peering at everything in the car. The glovebox and console were empty except for the car's manual and service book.

  “No CDs?”

  “I left in a rush yesterday. Had to make do with the radio. What music do you like?”

  “All sorts. Rock, new and old, some chart stuff, dance music.” I glanced at him as he grinned again. “You?”

  “Same. And some classical. That's my dad's fault. I was brought up on Mozart.”

  “That we don't have in common. I doubt my dad knew who Mozart was.” I chuckled at the memory of my rough and ready father, with a penchant for Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin, and the Rolling Stones.

  “What about TV? I wonder if we have films in common.”

  “I don't have a TV.” I shrugged, trying to make out it didn't matter that I had virtually nothing. “But when I lived at home I watched sport—football and rugby mostly.”

  “Ugh,” Matt put in, wrinkling his nose. “Not my thing. Unless it's motorsport. I watch the Formula 1 and rally races.”

  “There's no excitement in Formula 1 anymore. It's all electronic and not driver skill.”

  “And you think it's exciting watching a bunch of blokes chasing a ball around, and crying if they get tripped up?” Matt teased. We both laughed.

  “Well, it would be weird if we had everything in common. Turn left at the end of the road,” I instructed.

  Matt switched on the car indicator and slowed down. “I like horror movies, and stuff like Fast and Furious.”

  “You would if you're into cars.” I made a face, realizing I wrinkled my nose the same way he did. “I like thrillers, spy movies, stuff like The Bourne Trilogy.”

  “I don't mind them. Matt Damon's not difficult to watch for a few hours.” Matt grinned
and flushed.

  “Is that your type? Tough guys?” I asked.

  “No, not at all. But he's hot. What about you?”

  I shrugged. “Chris liked to think he was a tough guy, but he was the only one I've been in a relationship with. What was your Chris like?”

  “High maintenance. Bitchy. Spent an hour getting ready to go to the cinema and three hours for a night club. Nothing was ever good enough for him.” There was that nose wrinkle again. “My parents couldn't stand him, but they never voiced it until after he dumped me.”

  “Take the next right turn. How did they react to your coming out?”

  “I told my mum first, when I was fifteen. She said she'd guessed, because I didn't show much interest in girls. I had posters of Valentino Rossi in my room.” He flushed again. “He's a motorbike racer.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Mum offered to tell my dad,” Matt went on. “But I did it a few weeks later. He didn't say much, but he's always been distant. I couldn't tell if he didn't care, or he wasn't pleased. It's never been a problem. Not with my friends either.”

  “You're lucky. I only ever had my dad, and I was too worried to tell him for years. He didn't make a secret of being anti-gay if there was anything on the news or whatever. I eventually told him a few months before he told me he had cancer. He looked disgusted and told me I'd grow out of it. Then he pretended I'd never said anything, so I didn't mention it again. I didn't really do anything other than a bit of fooling around anyway, until after he died.”