Love Is Usually Where You Left It

by Gary Locke

  It was also pointless him trying to advance any further towards the flag, with them dug in like they were he would be a sitting duck trying to get any closer; it would be suicide. He had begun to get a little excited about the thought of maybe raising that flag but that last paint blow to the lower stomach had eased any crazy thoughts of trying anything too recklessly heroic. No, this current state of play meant that his earlier plan of waiting until twenty minutes were remaining and then charging the flag, while Gayle escaped the game arena unharmed, should work quite well. Until then he just had to relax and wait things out, keeping an eye on the storage box, making sure that neither of the remaining two enemy did anything unexpected.

  Gayle carefully looked out of the open shack window but, just like the others times she had tried, saw absolutely nothing at all. Well, nothing apart from the rain that had now been bouncing down for close to ten minutes. (“No rain predicted for today” my arse!) It had been too long since she had seen or heard anything that related to Clive. At least no blasts of the fog horn meant that he was still alive but, by the same thinking, no blasts of the fog horn meant he had not managed to kill either of the last two of the enemy. She tried to tell herself that, as per the well known saying, “no news is good news”; but she’d actually never believed that crap. In reality “no new is - no news”. All that she had heard was the bouncing rain and the three announcements that had indicated thirty-five, thirty and then twenty-five minutes of game time remaining, and now she knew that Clive’s plan was going to be happening any second now. She had been hoping that Clive may have finished things off so that she could have walked out of the arena in a leisurely, Sunday-ly, manner; but that didn’t look likely now, so she grabbed her gun and got ready to make her move.

  Clive continued to gaze at the wooden storage box as the rain crashed down around him. Fortunately he was mostly sheltered from it by Tree-ie’s umbrella like branches, but he realised that he would have to run out into it any second now. He couldn’t help but become the character in the song camouflage again and, as such, couldn’t turn off the voice of Stan Ridgeway echoing around his head. “Whoa Camouflage, things are never quite the way they seem, Whoa Camouflage, this was an awfully strange marine.”

  Clive wasn’t sure if this musical accompaniment was going to be a help or a hindrance, but he did know that he’d had been staring at the same thing for the best part of twenty minutes now and his Benny Hill eyes were feeling tired. He wasn’t even sure that anyone was actually over there anymore; he might have been gawping at nothing.

  “Twenty minutes game time remaining”

  The Scottish voice again escaped through the PA system and entered the game arena. This time there was a real hint of disinterest about the announcement, maybe everyone outside the arena were completely bored by the lack of action for the last twenty minutes.

  This is it, thought Gayle, standing up and walking to the shack door. She took a deep breath, hoped like hell that Clive knew what he was doing and began running towards where she remembered the green arena exit to be.

  This is it, thought Clive. Blaze of Glory time. He grabbed his gun tight, gave Tree-ie a little “thank you” pecked kiss (that felt like he may have sustained a splinter injury to the lip – bloody tree) and began running into no man’s land. A loud shout of “FOR GAYLE” rang around his head as he pierced the falling rain and headed for the flag pole. He wasn’t sure whether he was imagining himself running in movie-like slow motion, with the puddles artily splashing as he crashed each new step into the sodden ground on the way towards his inevitable death, or whether he was so bloody knackered that he was actually just running like a geriatric sloth.

  As he got about half way to the flag pole, his heart beating through his chest, Clive finally saw some movement from behind the wooden storage box. Two men, in perfect synchronicity, slowly stood up and pointed their guns at him. Clive raised his own gun and pointed it towards the man on the left side of the box while, in his mind, congratulating himself that he had been right all along about the enemies tactics; they had been hiding all that time – too afraid to face him. Clive pulled his trigger and two paint balls meekly fell out down by his feet. Bloody typical – he did have a broken gun after all. He tried to squeeze the trigger again, but nothing happened. He was out of ammo. He had already shot his load. It was over; his time had come.

  BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG

  The sound of paint pellets being shot his way overwhelmed Clive again. And this time it was in stereo as the two men behind the box fired in unison. The pain arrived immediately and, this time, wasn’t restricted to any one part of his body. He felt blows all over him, including at least one that, unlike his earlier lucky escape, struck him full on middle wicket. If this was a test match then the instant tears in his eyes would let everyone know where he’d been struck – there would be no need for a Hawkeye review on this occasion.

  Clive collapsed to the floor in agony, spatters of green paint colliding with the falling rain as he hit the wet ground. He lay for a few seconds, battered and broken, thankful that the sound of guns being fired had stopped and happy that he’d occupied the last two guys for a while, as planned. Gayle will have made it out safe and sound. He slowly stood up; pain throbbing all over his body and green paint spattered across his goggles, and looked around. He wiped his goggles and saw the yellow gate about twenty metres away and began a slow, struggled walk towards it. There was no sign of his executioners anywhere.

  Gayle continued to run through the rain, towards where she thought the green exit gate was, her goggles were wet and steamed up, making seeing much very difficult. She squinted as she looked towards the fence at the back of the large opening she had just entered, and there it was: the green gate.

  She was nearly there.

  As she moved though, she noticed a huge muddy puddle directly in between her and her escape route to freedom. She would have to go around, she didn’t want to ruin her boots anymore than they already were and, besides, she wasn’t Peppa Pig. She began to run around, the surprising lack of needing to do any running during the morning activity was certainly being made up for now. As she ran, she heard that tell-tale crackle through the PA speakers.

  PAARRRRRRP

  Clive had done it again! Amazing! And if he’d got one he would probably get the other, and there’d be no need for any more running at all.

  PAARRRRRRP

  Oh no!

  That was a second blast.

  For a split second Gayle hoped that it meant that Clive had actually killed the remaining two enemies, but she quickly accepted what it really meant. There hadn’t been two single blasts of the horn; there had been two blasts of the horn.

  She stopped dead in her tracks.

  Clive had failed.

  He hadn’t killed the last two.

  They had killed him.

  Clive was dead.

  She felt an uncontrollable sense of sadness and loneliness. It had only been twenty minutes or so since she had last seen him but she knew that Clive had been out there, fighting for her, but now she knew that she wouldn’t see him again. Her eyes welled up as the realisation that she would never see him again struck her.

  Wait a minute!

  Clive wasn’t really dead. They were just paintballing! And this was part of his plan so that she could escape unharmed, and she was standing here, completely still, while there were two gun-wielding psycho’s still out there. She looked again towards the green gate; it wasn’t far at all. Sod it, she thought, she was going to run through the muddy puddle. Maybe she was Peppa Pig after all!

  She started running again and made four or five fast strikes across the mud, splattering it high and wide, before she heard a loud “squelch” noise and felt her left leg exiting her boot. She stopped, walked back and stooped, grabbed and heaved her boot, like some weird, expensive footwear tug-o-war, until it was released from its muddy captor. She squeezed it back on and began running once ag
ain.

  Now she was out in the open she could properly feel the wind that was really quite wild. It blew the heavy, cold rain right into her and it stabbed away like icy little needles. Not far now, got to keep going, she said to herself, as mud splashed all around her and she fought against the cruel elements. Suddenly she noticed two figures approaching quickly from her left.

  Oh no, they had caught up with her.

  She raised her gun and blindly pulled the trigger hoping beyond hope that her random aiming in their direction may actually hit them. They both dropped to the floor, not hit but rather taking evasive action, until all of Gayle’s pellets had been used. Her shots had gone nowhere near them and now she was out of ammunition. She dropped her gun into the mud and started to run again. Two massive squelches straight away told her that her little pause in the mud had been enough to get both of her boots stuck. She felt both feet slip out of the boots but didn’t care; she would leave them there, she didn’t have far to go – only about ten more steps.

  She only made three more though, before being struck by a paint pellet on her upper left arm. She was spun around and fell into the mud. As dirty liquid splashed up and over her she grabbed for her arm and screamed out. This one felt even more painful than the first one had somehow. It was like having her BCG injection from school all over again – only, this time, like the doctor had administered it through a spear. She rolled around in further pain as a second pellet struck her on the back.

  “Arrrrrrrggggghhhhh!”

  Clive stopped just in front of the yellow gate as he heard a loud scream fight against the howling wind to echo around the game arena. His heart sank. It was Gayle. They had got to her. She hadn’t made it; they hadn’t made it. He heard her scream again as he, dejectedly, reached for the handle of the door, ready to leave the arena.

  “Arrrrrrrggggghhhhh!”

  Gayle tried her best to screw up into a ball to try and protect herself from the pellets that continued to be fired her way. Both men had now walked in front of her and were shooting at her from no more than about five metres away. What was wrong with them? She’d had at least double the five shots that had been needed to kill her. And where was that double fog horn blast? It should be over. She just wanted to go home. She closed her eyes tight and tried to cancel out the wind and the rain and her throbbing head from her tight helmet.

  And the pain of the pellets; so much pain.

  Instead she tried to focus on somewhere else that she wanted to be. It was home. Home in front of the fire. Or, better still, home in a nice, hot bubble bath. Home in a nice, hot bubble bath drinking champagne. (Ok, Cava. Who was she kidding?) She may even put a strawberry in it, like you see people doing on TV. She’d never had a strawberry in fizzy wine. She didn’t know if she would like it, she didn’t even know why people did it, but she felt like she wanted to try it. As she smiled slightly about her bath and Cava vision, tears continued to stream from her eyes as the shooting continued. She could hear each individual shot, followed by the burst of pain.

  Pain after pain after pain after pain.

  This was now, without doubt, one of the worst moments of her life.

  Why wouldn’t it end?

  She even noticed one of the guys re-loading his gun as his partner continued to fire. It wasn’t fair; she and Clive hadn’t been given any “back-up ammunition”. She closed her eyes again and re-connected with the rhythm of shot then pain, then shot, then pain, then shot, then pain…

  Although it was only paintballing and the shots being fired were only paint pellets, Gayle couldn’t help but feel like this is what it must be like for some people “at the end”. It felt like, very soon, she would be having visions of her life flashing before her eyes.

  And then something strange happened. The rhythm was broken. The shots continued, but there was no pain. Was she so sore that she couldn’t feel anything anymore? She opened her eyes slightly but everything seemed darker than before. It took a couple of seconds to focus but then she realised why.

  It was Clive.

  He was lying next to her. The pain had stopped because he was shielding her from the shots. Through her tears she could see each grimace on his face that followed the continuing sound of the guns firing.

  “It’s ok now.” Clive whispered.

  And it was.

  Everything was ok.

  Gayle closed her eyes and she did start to get visions flashing before her eyes. But they weren’t visions of her life, chronicling what may be the end for her, they were visions of the last few days: the events at the baby group, the school disco room, the picture of “their” house on the tree in the school field – which she now realised is her and Clive’s dream place to live. The briefest version of Dumb and Dumber and, now, even visions of this paintballing afternoon – her and Clive vs. The World. These were visions that were announcing a brand new start, opening a brand new, blank page for the future for her.

  For her and Clive.

  She opened her eyes again and stared at Clive.

  He stared back.

  They no longer looked like Eddie the Eagle and Benny Hill but just themselves; only with magnified eyes. Eyes, finally, big enough to climb into once more.

  Gayle grabbed hold of Clive and squeezed him as tight as she could. The PA system crackle sounded but this time there wasn’t an announcement in a bored Scottish accent or the farting sound of a fog horn but rather the tinniest, crackliest version of Space: Me and You vs. The World that had ever been played anywhere in the world. It was so tinny that you could hardly even hear the trademark “crunch…..crunch, crunch…..crunch…..crunch, crunch” drum sound of the chorus.

  It was certainly the worst version of the song that Clive and Gayle had ever heard and yet, somehow, it was the best. It was their song, playing at exactly their moment. And Gayle knew, all over again, that Clive would gladly die for her and that she would gladly die for him; because Love is Love reflected.

  Clive smiled contently, even more so when the shooting stopped because what had seemed like a never ending supply of ammunition appeared to have come to an end. He was completely covered in green paint and was sore all over. He knew that he would be battered and bruised from head to toe, and his eyes, perhaps from having to squint from behind his face mask all afternoon, were stinging more than they had in his whole life; but he was happy.

  His line of sight followed the two “victorious” paintballer’s as they headed out of the green gate, mumbling something about wishing they had more paintballs. He was so thankful that they didn’t. As they exited the game arena, Clive noticed that Jeremy was standing beside the green gate, staring at him and Gayle and smiling. In fact smiling didn’t cover it, he was positively beaming. Maybe because he realised that he wouldn’t have to give Clive his money back or, more likely, because he had succeeded in what he had set out to do. He had been able to help them re-find their love. He was a clever, clever man; a stark-raving, certifiable, outrageous lunatic, but a clever, clever man.

  In fact, had the whole weekend been a master plan working up to this moment? Were all the interruptions on purpose, so they would get a little taste of everything that Jeremy thought they needed? Was their “first kiss” gate crashed by the foul-mouthed rugby guy planned so they would run off to their “special place” on the field? Was their “cinema date” even interrupted by design so that he and Gayle would go home and talk about the “loan shark” episode that had subconsciously cast a shadow over them for all these years? Were Zoe from the baby group, Hayley and the rugby thug from the youth club, the debt collectors from this morning and, even, all these paintballer’s all in on it? Was everything set up flawlessly so that the weekend would climax in this most perfect of endings?

  Maybe.

  Or maybe not.

  Perhaps fate, luck and circumstance had leant a helping hand as well?

  Clive supposed that he’d never really know for sure. What he did know is that he would forever be thankful that he saw Jeremy, st
anding in the rain with his sandwich board, on one fateful Friday morning.

  Jeremy slowly nodded his head as he saw Clive looking his way and then winked at him. Clive nodded back before having to blink his sore, stinging eyes a few times. When he was able to re-focus on the green gate, Jeremy was gone. Clive sniggered to himself as he recalled another line from Camouflage in his head: “.....he just winked at me from the jungle and then was gone…..”

  Wow, Jeremy was their “Camouflage”.

  He had been sent to rescue him and Gayle from their own hopeless situation and now his job was done. Clive looked back at Gayle to tell her but her eyes were closed and she had a contented smile on her face. It was probably best he didn’t tell her anyway. She, inexplicably, never really liked the song and, well the more Clive thought about it, the more ridiculous it sounded.

  Or did it?

  If they were to go back to that old One Quid Bakery shop, hidden down that obscure alley way in the precinct, would the Love Is... “office” actually still be there? Was it ever there? Maybe it had always just been an establishment where you could purchase reasonably priced savoury snacks off the beaten track? Clive thought he should try and remember that for next time he was at the shopping centre.

  Clive cleared his mind and, instead, closed his own eyes and held Gayle even tighter. He was lying in the cold mud, freezing, sore, wet and humiliated and yet he never wanted this moment to end. This was his and Gayle’s happily after ever moment, and it had made everything feel perfect again, just like Jeremy (or Camouflage) had predicated when he had first met him.

  Chapter Forty Nine: Love on a Rooftop.

  Gayle moved her body slightly as she was getting uncomfortable after not moving for quite some time. It was only a couple of inches but it did the trick, and she also managed to stay comfortably in Clive’s arms, wrapped up together under the tartan blanket on the sofa, where they had been for the last hour or so. Her eyes were closed and resting, yet thoughts were still uncontrollably spinning around her head. But they weren’t manic, unsettling and unwelcome thoughts. They were pleasant thoughts that fluctuated from repeating events from the last couple of days, and replaying bits of the conversation that she and Clive had just had, to offering optimistic and bright visions of the future.