Drawn In

by Nigel Bird

  “I couldn’t let you disappear. I’ve only just found you.” If there were ever a perfect way to phrase a sentence, I reckon that was it. “You must love him very much.”

  Why does he have to mention Rory? I don’t ever want to think of him again. “I suppose I did once.” I shift Arturo’s hair so that I can clean the back of his neck. “But it wasn’t love that made me try and see him again.” Now I’ve finally seen him, everything has become clear. “It was guilt that drove me on. And he did his best to make sure I didn’t forget him.” I wipe Arturo’s neck. Reach out with my free hand and watch my shaking fingers come to rest upon his shoulders. Wait to hear Rory’s reprimand shatter the silence, but the tranquillity remains unbroken.

  Arturo turns slowly, not breaking our connection. He looks down into my eyes. My fingertips trace the edges of his ribs.

  He takes my chin and lifts my face. His lips brush mine and my insides dance like a stage-shy ballerina. I kiss him back. Soak up the tenderness and let it nourish my body and my soul.

  *

  The bed’s too small for two. I cuddle into Arturo and we manage. I want to burst into laughter and song, but keep the joy locked inside. Ripples of pleasure pulse through my soul. I lay my head on my lover’s chest and draw lazy circles on his hip with my thumb.

  Arturo stares at the ceiling. Blows smoke through his nostrils. Pulls me close. “You decided what to do about Ravenna’s proposal?”

  I’ve not thought about anything outside of this room for the past hour. “I’m not sure I’m ready to make a decision like that.”

  “It’s a big one. There’s no doubt about that.” He draws upon his cigarette. Puffs out more clouds. “But you still need to make it.”

  “I guess.” Only I don’t want to think about it just now. It’s not that I’m hiding my head in the sand. It’s more that I want to savour every moment of this experience.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.” I’d normally talk to Dee about something like this. Let her guide me through the pros and cons. This time, I figure there’s no way I can explain the ins and outs without forcing her to conclude that I’m barking mad. “All I really have to do is work out whether to follow my head or my heart.”

  “Tell me what your head says.”

  “It’s telling me to sign on the dotted line.” Eternal youth and the chance of sharing the secret with the man next to me! Being on Ravenna’s team would definitely have its advantages.

  “And your heart?”

  “That’s easy. It’s screaming at me to get as far away from her as possible.”

  Arturo pushes himself up. Holds me close as he rolls onto his side and stubs his cigarette into the ashtray. He turns back and points to the middle of my chest. “That’s what matters. The answers you get from there.”

  “I usually follow my instincts, but...” Look where that got me. I almost followed Rory into his grave.

  “But nothing. If it’s telling you to leave, that’s what we should do.”

  “We?”

  He kisses my neck. Sends pulses of pleasure through to my fingers and toes.

  “You’d come with me?”

  “Like I said, I’m not letting you getting away just yet.”

  “And you wouldn’t mind coming to England?” I imagine Mum’s face when I introduce her to our new lodger. Her jaw dropping. Her eyes practically popping out of her head.

  “It would be a dream come true.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do.” If only it were that simple.

  “Cool.”

  “It would be if it Barabbas wasn’t on my trail.”

  Arturo doesn’t seem to be listening. He traces my collar bone with his tongue.

  “Unless...” I remember I have the card that Red and Green gave me. Their ‘if we can do anything’ promise when they handed it over.

  Arturo’s hand slips under the sheet. Strokes my knee and sends jolts of pleasure into my core. He brushes his lips against my neck and works his way to my ear. The tickles are insane.

  I slide down the mattress. Pull him close. The call to Red and Green can wait till later.

  *

  Arturo and I step through the passport control towards the departure lounge. I turn back and wave at the two detectives who got us here. They stand shoulder to shoulder as if blocking our return.

  “You ever think of coming back to Italy,” Red shouts, “try Rome.”

  “Or Venice.” Green.

  “I hear Sicily’s nice,” I call back and take Arturo’s arm. “Thanks for everything.” They’ve been brilliant. Collected us and drove us here. Even arranged a temporary passport for Arturo so he could come along.

  Now their eyes stare like they’ve been glued into their sockets. I give up trying to be nice and skip to keep up with my friend.

  The departure board tells me there are twenty minutes until take off. I’m glad Red and Green arranged it like this, though I wish they’d escorted us all the way. I miss their size and strength and the feeling of security their presence brings.

  As we walk along the corridor I’m on full alert. My eyes scan the hall for people under four feet tall. No one fits the bill.

  We approach the escalators up to the shopping mall. I could do with buying a bottle of water and I’d love a little something stronger to settle my nerves, but there’s no time.

  Arturo stops at the bottom. “Drink?”

  I stretch and kiss him on the lips, a thank you for him reading my mind. “Maybe when we’re in the air. Come on.”

  I try to set off, but Arturo holds me back.

  “I meant for me.” His voice is thin and shaky. “I’ve never flown before.” His hands tremble and his chin drops at the admission.

  “Don’t be silly. There’s nothing to it.” I hold him close. Put my mouth to his ear and speak softly. “All we have to do is sit there and let the pilot do all the work. Not to mention that I’ll be there to look after you.”

  He rubs his temple. “But how can such a heavy object manage to stay in the air?”

  “You don’t have to understand how something works to know that it does. And it’s a lot safer than whizzing through the city on a scooter.” I immediately think of Valentino. Picture him hanging garrotted on a wire.

  “Oh.” Arturo’s shoulders slump. I know I’ve reminded him of his friend and need to change the subject.

  “There’s more chance of being hurt in a car crash than in the air.” It sounds good. “So there really isn’t anything to fear.”

  I put my arm around his waist. Usher him forward. He takes small steps and we hit our stride.

  It’s not a big airport and we’re at the gate in no time. The boarding queue is already formed. We join the tail and shuffle forwards as the people in front wander through. I watch for the little guys. Still nothing. I cross my fingers tight.

  The lady in the cheap-looking uniform takes our tickets. Studies them. Looks puzzled for a moment, but lets us by without saying a word. We follow the crowd out onto into the open air. The group splits into two as we approach the plane. We join those heading for the tail end. I rub my arms as we go. Try to warm them up. The overhead cloud is thick. The sky looks ready to burst. I can’t believe that the weather’s been so bad. If I’d wanted a holiday of rainstorms, it would have been a lot cheaper to just hang around in Preston.

  The world closes in as we step into the plane. We shuffle down the aisle and I check the seat numbers. Peek at the passengers to make sure none of them is an ugly dwarf.

  We get to our place. An old gentleman in a sleeveless white shirt, cream slacks and a Panama hat stands up to let us in. We squeeze past. I put my handbag on the floor and sit down. I lean my elbow on the window and watch the last of the cases being loaded into the hold.

  “Thanks,” I tell the old man who let us in. He lifts his hat, acknowledging me like a rusty cowboy.

  Arturo puts on his seat belt. Checks the buckle on mine. “What use will these be if
we fall out of the sky?” He’s trying to make a joke out of it, but the look of concern still inhabits his face.

  A young air steward reaches our row. His hair is gelled into tiny spikes that are dyed blond at the tips. He has dark rings under his eyes and the blue waistcoat does him no favours. He checks the lockers overhead. Closes ours. While he works, he eyes Arturo up and down. A pang of jealousy stabs at my stomach. Arturo’s doesn’t notice a thing. Just sits clutching the arm rest and tapping his feet.

  A muffled announcement from the pilot welcomes us and tells us the weather in London is hotter than here. We’ll be heading for take-off and we should ask any of the cabin crew if we need anything.

  The doors slam shut. The steps are taken away and we set off for the runway. I throw Arturo a little smile and settle down to watch the aircraft safety routine.

  Arturo watches intently. He mouths the words of the attendant. Checks every detail on the laminated sheet. Nods as they take us through the life jacket demonstration. Looks terrified at the prospect of having to brace. Pulls his safety belt that little bit tighter. Goes through it all again when it’s over and returns the information sheet to the pocket.

  “Better?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer. Just pushes himself back into his seat.

  I make to pull the blind over the window. “Would this help?”

  “No.” He puts his hand on my lap to get me to stop. “I want to see what’s going on.”

  The man in the hat gives me a look of sympathy that tells me he understands. “My wife used to be exactly the same.” His accent is old-fashioned BBC, all plummy and kind. “She used to get special medicine from our doctor. You might like to try it the next time you fly.”

  “Thanks,” I tell him, but that’s as far as I’m going. No point encouraging him or we’ll have to listen to his life story for the next two hours. I pick up one of the in-flight magazine and pretend to be interested. Check out the offers on watches and headphones and flick through the pages to the confectionary section. There’s not a bargain in sight.

  Arturo grabs my arm. Points to something outside. “Look.” I follow the line of his finger, but can’t see anything. “Over by the fire engine.”

  Next to the truck in the distance, there’s a small man hunched so that it looks like he’s curled into a ball. On the ground beneath him, I can just make out the colours of his artwork.

  “It’s them.” Arturo squeezes my arm hard.

  I focus in. See the busy hand of the artist as he draws on the runway. My heart jumps off a cliff. Sinks into my belly and bounces back. Thoughts spiral around my head, winding tight into a kaleidoscope of questions.

  The plane turns sharply. Comes to a halt. Brings into view a whole army of tiny artists spread across the landscape of the airport. Each scratches away at the ground like a hungry beast. “What’s going on?”

  I don’t have to wait long for an answer. Barabbas appears some twenty metres from the plane. He’s flexing his arms like a body builder and laughing so hard it looks like his head might roll off. “They’re here for us, Arturo.” Us and every other passenger on board. I can see the headlines now. MINISTER’S DAUGHTER AMONG DEAD. I think I’m going to be sick.

  Arturo wriggles and tries to stand. The belt holds him in place. “Help me. We need to stop the plane.” His words come quickly and practically stumble over themselves as they pour from his mouth. “We’re going to crash. You’re going to die.”

  The man next to us looks suddenly scared. Not of the imps who have come to take his soul, but of Arturo’s insanity.

  “Let me off.” He’s screaming now. “I need to get away.” He tries to stand. The buckle holds him in place. Our steward leaps up and minces towards us like his limbs are made or rubber. He leans over the old man and grabs Arturo’s wrists. Tells him to calm down. To breathe deep and slow.

  I can’t bear to watch. I look out of the window instead. Barabbas blows me a kiss and waves.

  A rumble of thunder clatters above. A flash of lightning slashes the canvas of the sky. Around Barabbas, dark patches form on the tarmac. They spread like thousands of coins thrown from above. He holds out his palms. Looks upwards, his mouth open in disbelief. The heavens open and pour salvation onto the earth. Rain pelts the ground so hard it bounces up to Barabbas’s knees. His black shirt sticks to his body as the weather drenches him. He stamps his feet. Dances madly on the spot like Rumplestitlskin.

  The imp by the fire engine stands. His picture has disappeared, swamped like the rest of the world in a wash of purity. Everything is going to be just fine.

  Something hard hits my ear. Reminds me of the battle at my side.

  “It’s all right Arturo.” I reach out and stroke his face. “Look outside. The pictures have gone.”

  Arturo stops struggling. He blinks like he’s coming out of a trance. The chaos is over.

  The steward slackens his grip. Places Arturo’s arms into his lap. “Can I get you a glass of water, sir?” Our host is as calm as you like.

  “Or a gin, perhaps?” the old man chips in.

  “Water’s fine. I’m so sorry about freaking out like that.”

  “This your first time, darling?” The attendant flutters his eyelashes like a cabaret star and straightens out Arturo’s shirt. “I shouldn’t worry about it. I’ve seen much worse, believe me.” He bounces off towards the cabin and puts a little extra swing into his hips.

  When he returns, he unscrews the top from a plastic bottle and hands it over. “Little sips only.” He smiles at Arturo. Scrunches his face up at me.

  A beep announces a message from the captain. Saves us from any further embarrassment. “Cabin crew, prepare for take-off.”

  “Ooh, that’ll be me. If you need anything, honey, just whistle.”

  Off he goes again, giving a wave over his shoulders on the way.

  “Looks like you got lucky,” the old man chuckles. He doesn’t know the half of it.

  The plane turns. Picks up speed. Arturo’s face drains of colour. I take his hand and kiss his cheek. We accelerate hard. I surrender to the force and rest my head against the cushion. As we rise into the air, I look down upon Florence. The gloom casts itself over the city, but can’t cover all the glitter. The big dome of my recent home stands out like a perfectly cut jewel. The river winds endlessly through the landscape. We soar into the clouds and the whole world disappears from view.

  I turn to Arturo. “You okay?” I ask.

  “Never better,” he says. His grin is large and warm. Brightens my life like the rays of the sun.

  I kiss him softly as I can. Rest my head on his shoulder. Close my eyes and let my mind drift towards home.

  About The Author

  Nigel Bird was born in Liverpool in the sixties, grew up in Preston, Lancashire and migrated south to study in London. During that time, he enjoyed many of the cultural benefits of the city and qualified as a primary school teacher. Among other things, he lived for several years on a narrow boat on the Regent's canal.

  He moved to Scotland at the end of 1999 in the hope that he could begin the new century with a clean slate. He currently lives in Dunbar, on Scotland's east coast, with his wife and three children.

  Nigel has been writing for many years. He co-edited the Rue Bella magazine between 1998 and 2003 with his brother, Geoff. He has won a number of small prizes for his poetry and short fiction and hopes that his longer work will be equally well-received one day.

  He is the author of a number of short-story collections, novellas and novels including Southsiders, Mr Suit, Smoke and Dirty Old Town.

  As well as writing, he continues to teach and is currently a Support for Learning teacher in Tranent near Edinburgh.

  If you would like to hear more about Nigel’s work in the future, please just sign up to his email subscriber list here for occasional information about new titles and free downloads.

  Acknowledgements

  I’d like to thank all my friends in the writing community for t
heir continued support and all the readers who buy my stories. Particular thanks, as always, to Allan Guthrie for all his hard work on this particular project – one day I’ll pay you back Al, I’m just not sure how.

  a Sea Minor Publication

  © 2016