by J P Sayle
The habit now so ingrained it had affected his whole life. He’d struggled to remember who he was outside of the job. Fear of being found out, losing his job and financial security had made it impossible to act naturally. His poor excuse for relationships had been laughable. Unable to go out publicly, acknowledge he was even in a relationship, had caused them all to wilt and die. Even when he’d left the job, Stuart still struggled to escape the walls he’d built around himself to protect his privacy.
His heavy thoughts had him releasing a loud sigh, Stuart rubbed the bridge of his nose, hoping to stop the headache that was brewing. His mind taking him to memories of eyes that resembled melted chocolate puddles, like it had done many times over the past ten years. Stuart was honest enough, even if it was only with himself, to say his relationships hadn’t stood much of a chance over the memories of those eyes, that instant connection that sparked inside him.
Stuart stopped pacing. The packing forgotten as chocolate brown eyes enticed, a moment embedded forever in his soul, took over. It had been the measuring stick for something he couldn’t even define in the middle of the night as he’d laid awake rehashing those few minutes. Stuart cringed at how many one-night stands or relationships he’d started because they’d had similar eyes. It had been the last straw when his sisters started calling him a man whore due to his use of Tinder trying to burn those eyes out of his mind. What a mess.
That was if he didn’t considered, finding himself living on the Isle of Man, with a new job, his boss’s boyfriend turning out to be his ex-bosses son. The same ex-boss who tried to kill his son, who now lay in the hospital attached to God knows how many machines, attempting to keep him alive. It couldn’t get any more fucked up, he was sure. Well, that was if he chose to overlook that he was now going to house sit their ruddy cat—to which he was highly allergic—all because of his past with Brad. The past that, it would seem, had ways of coming back to bite you in the arse when you least expected it.
Stuart wondered if it would have made a difference if he had told Brad and Martin that when he left the company, he’d visited Malcolm’s home knowing he wouldn’t be there. He had wanted an opportunity to apologise, only to be told Brad no longer lived there, his mother not forthcoming with where he’d gone. Fate, it would seem, worked its magic, allowing him to readdress the balance. His allergy to cats seemed such a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things, well he hoped so. Shrugging off his negative thoughts, he needed to do this, and honour the forgiveness Brad gave him so willingly.
Struggling to swallow past the ball of emotion that had lodged in his throat, he threw himself on the bed landing harder than he anticipated. The loud creaking causing him to swear, praying that no one else complained about the noise.
He tried to stop his whirling thoughts as they merged into a heap in his mind. The ball of emotion released a flood of tears, falling unheeded, unleashing the pain that had never been far away after Brad’s recent confession. He had unwittingly contributed to Brad’s pain and suffering for months before he’d stopped visiting the house. For him it was unforgivable, yet, Brad had shown him sympathy. Stuart prayed Brad would survive, so he could honour his forgiveness. He wouldn’t consider any other outcome. He bounced off the bed, needing to move, wiping at his wet face. He deliberated on the need to focus on a positive outcome for all of them.
Stuart registered the state of his room his eyes growing large. Panicking, he checked the time. “For crying out loud! How the hell did I get so behind?” Sarah would be there to pick him up in no less than five friggin’ minutes.
Stuart grabbed the nearest things to him, stuffing them haphazardly into the bags. Paying no mind, he crushed his expensive handmade tailored suits, going through the list of things he needed to sort.
Continuing to push things into his bags, he recalled his colleagues shocked expressions; that staid, boring Stuart was doing something so off the wall. Hell, they’d laugh their asses off if they knew he was cat sitting, knowing his aversion to anything furry.
He was again reminded how small the world was. A colleague in England had recommended Sarah’s firm when he had told them he was leaving. Stuart had found himself instantly liking the little firecracker. Her youthful appearance deceptive, making him initially question her experience in recruitment. She’d laughed it off, taking it as a compliment.
Sarah, it just so happened, was the sister of Martin who, it turned out, was Brad’s boyfriend. Martin was now his new boss. How had that happened? His mind boggled at the circles within circles. That fate, she was a right trickster that was for sure.
Shaking of the niggle at the back of his mind his thoughts created, he considered his to do list. Hating to be reliant on others, a car was going to be a priority. He chewed his lip remembering Sarah had said he could use Brad’s for the time being. The mischievous glint in her eyes told him she was up to something, but what, he couldn’t fathom.
For whatever reason everything was slotting together, a jigsaw puzzle that seemed to be fitting seamlessly. Stuart found his lips curving, letting a chuckle escape. All he needed now was for a pair of hot chocolate eyes to show up. As if.
Stuart felt his heart jump in his chest at the loud knock on the door. Turning too quick his arm caught the bag nearest to him, knocking it to the floor and spraying clothes everywhere. Stuart snarled, “For Christ sake,” his teeth snapping in temper. Striding to the door, he plastered his best fake smile to his face before opening it, pretending everything was fine. Hunching in defeat at Sarah’s raucous laughter when she caught sight of the state of his room. His lip poked out before he could stop it.
“Oh look, we’re having a clothes fight, and it appears the clothes are winning. Tell me, Stuart, when you started this fight, did you consider the outcome? Oh, no maybe it’s a jumble sale.” Sarah’s snarky comments and sparkling mirth had him biting his tongue to stop his angry retort.
He turned surveying the mess, struggling not to let the sigh escape when Sarah stepped around him, her laughter echoing out into the empty corridor. He shut the door, reminding himself he wasn’t a child. He let her humour melt some of his tension when she offered to help.
“Come on, I’ll help. I’m double parked, and I don’t need another ticket, as I haven’t paid for the last one.” Her sheepish grin said she wasn’t lying.
They made short work of packing, and Stuart was pleased when they headed out ten minutes later. This quickly evaporating as Stuart locked his eyes on the road as tyres screeched, gripping the grab bar for dear life, his knuckles shone white. Screwing his eyes shut, he shrank back, hoping it would make the car smaller. At six foot four, he was already crammed like a sardine into her Mercedes-Benz SLC sports car.
“I didn’t even ask where it is that Martin or Brad live.” Stuart implored it wasn’t far. Why had no one warned him she drove like a lunatic? He recoiled back in his seat. Fuck, was there even a hair’s breadth between her car and the oncoming traffic? He didn’t hear her response, his brain shut down when Sarah overtook indiscriminately, making his eyes wheel in panic. He begged to whatever God there was that he would make it in one piece. The temptation to grab the handbrake had him sitting on his hands.
“Oh, stop being so dramatic. You’re worse than my brother, he doesn’t normally sit on his hands. Anyway, what was I saying? Yes, they live in a small village called Kirk Michael. It’s on the east coast of the island. You will love it, but you will need a car. There is about a twenty-minute drive to Martin’s office, and as you will be starting straight away, and I have no clue on bus timetables, a car will be essential. But, I have that covered. As I said, I’m sure Brad won’t mind you using his car.” Again he could hear the hint of mischief at the mention of Brad’s car.
Stuart inhaled sharply, wishing she wouldn’t keep looking at him and concentrate on the road.
“Anyway, where was I? Martin’s house is pretty stocked with everything you should need. I will bring Princess over so you can meet her. She is a real sw
eetie. You’ll love her. I’ve been taking care of her the last few days.” Stuart watched mixed emotions cross her face, her brow raising, then anger won out over the sadness he had seen.
“Brad is showing signs of waking up. They’ve taken him off the ventilator, so that’s good.” Her gruff voice and expectant look had him trying to reassure.
“I’m sure it’s a good sign. You have to remember he is in the best place. They’ll take good care of him. I’m positive everything will be fine. He can’t forgive me then not stick around to rub my face in it, now can he?” Patting her arm, he realised his mistake a second too late. The car juddered as she flew around the next bend. Pulling back quickly, he chastised himself, bad Stuart! Stop distracting the driver. Otherwise I’ll be joining Brad in the hospital, if I’m not careful.
Jaw clenching, he looked out the window at the flashing scenery. Unable to see it clearly as it whizzed past him, Stuart attempted to focus on breathing through the panic that built with every corner she took. “You do have a licence, don’t you?”
Her ‘are you serious’ smirk wasn’t reassuring either, but the laughter that followed lightened the atmosphere, even if he hadn’t been completely joking when he’d asked. He didn’t let go of the door when she careered around the next bend. Unsure how much more his stomach could take before his breakfast made a decision to reappear. Maybe this is revenge for hurting Brad, he side-eyed her, no, surely she wouldn’t be that cruel, would she?
Stuart had figured out pretty quickly how loyal she was to Brad. He hid his spreading smile at the memory of the picture Martin had showed him of her post cocktailgate. After Martin had stormed into the room catching Stuart hugging Brad in gratitude for his forgiveness, Martin’s green-eyed monster had sucked the air right out of the room. Positive at any minute Martin would rip his arms off for touching Brad, Brad had subsequently taken off with Sarah after their initial meeting at her office. Having left him with a fuming Martin, and him at a loss as to how things had shifted for the better between Brad and him, Brad had taken Sarah to the Bath and Bottle where they had enjoyed one too many of their fabulous cocktails, resulting in cocktailgate when Brad wouldn’t tell Martin where he was.
His thoughts were interrupted when they suddenly stopped. Stuart felt relief he was still alive, jumping swiftly out of the car before she had a chance to change her mind. Stuart shuddered at the thought of getting back in the car with her. There was not a cat in hell’s chance was that happening, he’d walk before that would happen.
“Here we are,” Sarah pointed out the two houses. “That’s Brad’s over there and this here is Martin’s.”
Stuart followed Sarah’s small fingers to where she pointed. He was pleasantly surprised by how welcoming Martin’s home was.
“The stalker bitch lived in that one.” The last part was hissed through clenched teeth. Stuart dodged her fist as she punched the air next to his head, trying to annihilate it. “It’s a good job she moved out quickly, otherwise I would have kicked her bony arse all the way to Timbuktu and back, horrible cow that she is.”
Stuart believed her if the temper sparking in her eyes was anything to go by. He was just glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of her anger. Her feisty hips swayed as she stalked away, raven black hair flowed down her back, swirling in the wind. She tossed it carelessly around her shoulders, framing her petite shoulders making the flaming red dress stand out. The dress extenuated her curvaceousness, reminding him of the fifties pin up idols—all boobs and bottoms with their small waists. He figured his hands would be able to measure how small her waist was it so tiny. If he’d ever consider swapping sides, it would be for someone like her.
“What you gawping at? Come on, I haven’t got all day, and you need to follow me back after you’ve met Princess, so I can introduce you to your new work colleagues. Martin wants you to get stuck in, find your feet.” Sarah prattled on, “there is a lot to catch you up on if Martin doesn’t want to lose any business while he is camped up at the hospital. He is very fortunate he has Ann, she’s a godsend, as you’ll soon find out.”
Stuart dumped his bags in the hall, half listening to her fading words as she walked away. What hit him straight away was the homely feel. Well that, and as he inhaled deeply, hot holidays sprung to mind. The rich scent of fresh herbs jogged his memory of a recent trip to Greece. On leaving the airport, heat had mixed with the vegetation filling the air with a unique herby smell he’d fallen in love with.
Stuart popped his head into the first room he passed. The masculine lounge had dark navy furniture. The sofa had massive cushions that called for Stuart to sit and relax. It looked brand new with hardly a dent in the cushions. Dark cream walls appeared yellow as the sun moved across them through large windows. Dust motes caught the light making the air appear alive.
There was an underlying feel of disuse, which was proven when he trailed his fingers over the phone table leaving dust tracks. Stuart wondered when it had last been cleaned. Sarah popped her head round the door, answering his unspoken question.
“It’s been several days since he was home. It’s been a week since the attack, and he won’t leave his side.” Embarrassed heat rose up Stuart’s neck at being caught, he rubbed the dust off his fingers.
Sarah’s glistening eyes and rapid blinking turned his embarrassment to mortification. He was a total sucker for tears, his eyes implored her not to cry.
“I promised myself no more tears, so come on let’s go meet Princess and get this show on the road.” Her voice quivered but she kept the tears at bay.
Stuart felt like a first grade prick, when relief left him giddy she hadn’t let go of the tears. Feeling inadequate, unsure what to do to help he followed her. He would get time to explore later when he settled in. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation of living in a house again after living in flats for more years than he could remember. Oddly he was feeling optimistic about his future for the first time in months, maybe even years. Stuart felt his smile stretch wide as he hit Brad’s path, it was going to all be fine, he was positive.
Joe
Tiny hairs rose alarmingly fast all over his body, but Joel was on him before he could defend himself. Cursing his delayed instincts when he’d entered the hotel room. Sneaky fucking bastard. Joe felt pissed Joel had once again got the drop on him. Giving Joel a hard stare, he felt the waves of Joel’s rage wash over him. What the hell did I ever see in this idiot, I’ll never know.
Joe jerked back clutching his stomach, feeling the pain radiate through his thin frame. The ringing in his ears from earlier blows not subsiding, make it difficult to focus. How had he caught up with me so fast? Why the hell didn’t I set up the room better to protect myself? Joe internally cursed himself, self-recriminations a bit late now.
He barely dodged the next blow, feeling it whistle past his chin. Joel’s powerful shoulders rolled as he prepared to use his large ham-fists to attack, again. Joe attempted to blink the sting out of his eyes when his blood mixed with sweat swept into his eyes. Joe counter manoeuvred, circling Joel. Never more grateful for his army training, he kicked out towards Joel’s shins.
Dodging again, his insides trembled. Joe searched for an escape route. The white-hot pain threatened to take the legs out from under him as Joel landed a solid blow to his upper abdomen. Joe fought past the clouds of pain making it hard to think, shaking his head, come on, think.
Joe pivoted away from the oncoming attack, the blow skimming his shoulder. Joel lumbered forward. Built like a forklift truck, power exuded from his every pore. Joe shrank back, knowing his body couldn’t take many more hits. His lungs screamed for oxygen as he managed to duck and weave to the door, hands scrabbling for the door handle. If he could get into the corridor, the fire escape was right next to his room.
Joe was small at five foot five with a lean body, bordering on skinny. People had a habit of believing he was even smaller or weaker than he was. He’d lost count of the amount of times he’d moaned, no one ever took him s
eriously because of it. So he’d trained hard and right at that moment he’d never been more grateful for it. The training had not only given him strength, but agility, because right at that moment, he needed both if he was going to survive.
Joe blocked the next attack using his small stature to weave around Joel. He slipped past the giant, feeling like Jack and the beanstalk, he ran like the hounds of hell were chasing him. He ignored the soreness in his body, sprinting down the stairs. Not looking back when he heard the thundering of boots hitting the stairs behind him. Joel’s booming bellows following his every step, his own loud laboured breathing made words difficult to decipher, but he got the gist. He was dead meat if Joel got a hold of him.
Spurred on, when the commotion brought attention from some of the other guests in the hotel, knowing Joel wouldn’t want that. Doors opened as he clambered down the fire escape, making as much noise as possible. He felt the reassuring weight of the backpack on his shoulders. His only saving grace having not taken it off immediately as he’d entered the hotel room. At least Joel wouldn’t have access to any of his personal stuff and he still had all his essentials, which was a massive bonus.
Joe felt the lactate build in his legs, making them heavy from the sheer number of stairs. Groaning in relief, his feet clattered down the last few stairs. He hit the fire door with force, pushing out into the side street, the light blinding for an instant. His eyes watering he rubbed at them to clear his vision, running blindly into the street he’d luckily scouted out for that very reason.
Ignoring the tightness in his chest, he legged it as fast as he could. Calculating how far away he’d parked his bike in the secured garage. It was too far to run, feeling his leg muscles seize under the strain. He’d need a taxi to get there, an idea formed as he dodged the oncoming traffic, hailing the first taxi he spotted.
“Please stop, please stop, please.” Joe all but sobbed in gratitude when he yanked open the door, before flying into the back seat. Joe spluttered, trying to catch his breath and waved his arm encouraging the man to move. “Drive,” the whispered rasp barely recognisable as him.