He
stood with his back to the wall, trying to regain control of his breathing. The
rain was beating down hard now and as he waited, the thin white t-shirt he wore
stuck to his body. His jeans, which had already been caked with mud, were dark
with rain and clinging to his legs. His mind raced trying to sort out what to do
next. Why the hell had he ran out of the house without his jacket? More to the
point though, how had they found him so quickly, no, if they had come here to
get him, they would have come out the house by now. He shouldn't have stayed in
there so long, though he knew they would have come at some point. It was just
luck that they hadn't put a man at the back of the house or else he wouldn't
have been able to climb out the window and drop down into the garden. He
couldn't afford to rely on luck and he knew it.
He
shifted the gun, which was tucked into the waistband of his jeans, slightly to
the left. The dark grey casing of the Smith and Wesson was clearly visible under
the rain-sodden top, but its weight felt re-assuring to him. He had come to
trust it more than he would a person. He had learnt to use it with absolute
precision and thanks to this it had given him a small feeling of security -
something he hadn't felt for a while. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it, not
here, so close to his parent's house. He had just spent the past hour warning
them that the men would come. He knew exactly what they would say, what pressure
they would apply to his parents. He didn't worry so much about his father. It
was his mother that he was concerned with. She always believed the worst about
her youngest offspring. Their persuasive words would only strengthen her fears.
No, he couldn't use the gun here, adding another body to his rising count would
only confirm her fears.
He
knew he had to think quickly, they'd been in the house for twenty minutes now
and it wouldn't be long before they came out. He was standing at the side of a
neighbour's garage and when the men came out of the house they would have to
walk past him to get to their car. How was he going to get past the goons at the
top of the lane? He couldn't stay where he was but he needed time to think. He
suddenly realised he was cold, bitterly cold. The rain pelting his body felt
like it was driving the cold straight into his bones. His clothes were now
weighted down with water and it was beginning to seep through his heavy CAT
boots. Then he saw it. A chance to get by the men at the top of the lane. They
were standing by their cars, a dark blue Mondeo and a black Peugeot. Because of
the rain they were huddled together and not paying attention to the garden
behind them. He moved forward carefully, over the low fence into another
neighbour's garden. Using their garage, on his right and the trees, in front of
him as cover, he moved to the wall separating it from the road. The difficult
part would be getting over the wall and onto the other side of the road. Once
there, he could use parked cars to cover his escape. He moved slowly, partly to
prevent catching the attention of the goons at the cars but more than that was
the pain he was feeling. His bones ached and all he wanted to do was lie down
and sleep. He thought about it but he knew in his soul that if he did, he
wouldn’t wake up. Quietly, he pulled himself onto the top of the wall and
waited a moment before sliding down the other side. If any of the three of them
turned round he would be dead. He was wide open now to a clear shot and he knew
they weren't going to bother bringing him in alive. Their orders would be to
take him out at all costs. Fortunately, the rain was making their performance
sloppy and they hardly looked up, never mind back in his direction. The heavy
rain, which was a hindrance to him, was also a blessing. The men, even in their
heavy coats were not happy at having to stand in the rain. He slowly crept
towards the first parked car on this side and moved behind it. Then, just as
slowly, he made his way across to the other side of the road. For a moment he
thought about getting into one of the cars and waiting until they had gone, but
he couldn't risk being seen by a vigilant neighbour. If they gave his presence
away that would be it. Witnesses were no protection for him. There were about
four cars parked on this side of the road and two on their side, all he had to
do was make it past them, to get to the corner.
He
thanked God for the men's negligence, he would never have been that careless, no
matter what the weather was like. His progress past them was slow going but it
was necessary, another hundred yards and he would reach the corner and then he
would be out of sight.
Finally,
after what seemed like twenty minutes had past, he made it to the fence at the
corner and he could stand up. He picked up the pace and started into a slow jog.
Each step seemed to make his bones jolt so hard he thought they would break. His
wet clothes felt like weights around his body and the t-shirt was so soaked that
it was now out of shape. Every so often, he glanced back, just to be sure. Now
he had to decide what to do next. He had his wallet in the back pocket of his
jeans. First stop had to be dry clothes, and food. He would liked to have slept
but that wasn't possible yet, until he had found a safe place, if there were
one.
After
a couple of minutes he knew where he was going. He didn't want to do it but he
realised that at that moment in time he had no option but to call him. No, he
couldn't call, but if he just appeared at the door, how would he react. He'd
find out soon enough as his house was only a half-hours walk from his parents.
Did
he just stumble?
He
forced his mind to concentrate, ignoring the wet and cold but focusing on his
steps instead.
After
what seemed like hours to him, he turned into the street that the house was on.
Slowing down, he checked the cars parked on the road, making sure the house was
not being watched. He was hoping they wouldn't think he would come to here. It
was a big risk to take but he knew he had limited options. It had been two years
since they had split up and he wasn't sure what kind of reception he would
receive. Checking his watch, it was just after seven pm, would his replacement
be in? No time to care, he couldn't last much longer outside. The cold, he
couldn't control the shivering now. He walked up to the front door and managed
to push the bell before slumping against the sidewall.
When
the door opened and he saw that face he felt his heart thump in his chest. He
had agreed to the separation, only to spare his lover. They had been a part of
each other's lives for so long and he had loved him more than he had realised,
but his boyfriend had been too gentle to cope with his life. He had not been
able to handle the weeks when he had been away, not knowing if he was alive or
dead. Not knowing what state he would come back to him in. He had spared his
fears by letting him go, even though it killed him.
"Oh
my God, Michael, what happened?" He came out the doorway and straight to
him.
"Craig,
I'm sorry." He managed to whisper, as he was half carried into the house.
Craig
steered him into the living room and over toward the couch where he sat down.
"What
happened to you, tell me?" Craig's voice held all the fear he had been
trying to spare him from.
"It's
a long story." He looked into those eyes again and was lost for a moment.
On seeing him again the pain of the separation overtook the pain of the cold.
"No,
you can tell me later, first get those clothes off, they're absolutely
soaking."
Before
he could protest Craig was pulling his t-shirt off, pausing briefly to look from
the gun to Michael, before putting the gun on the table. In seconds Michael was
standing in front of his ex-lover, naked.
"Go
upstairs and have a hot shower, while I get some of Richard's clothes for you to
put on." Craig said as he busied himself gathering up the wet clothes.
Michael turned to head up the stairs but stopped when he heard Craig gasp from
behind him.
"What
happened to your back?" Craig asked.
It
took a moment before Michael realised what Craig had seen. The cold rain had
masked the pain of his wounds. He knew they must look bad but they were just
flesh wounds.
"I
scraped my back jumping from a car." He tried to make it sound light.
Craig
looked at him for a moment; there was such sadness in his eyes that Michael
turned away, feelings of guilt welling up inside him.
"When
you've had your shower I'll put some ointment on your back."
"It's
alright, the shower will clean them."
"Stop
being so damn macho, they'll need to be cleaned properly."
Michael
was taken aback by Craig's sharp tone, but when he looked closely he saw Craig's
eyes had filled.
"Sorry,
I didn't mean to snap." He said moving away.
"I'm
sorry for coming here like this but you’re the only person I can trust."
"I
don't want to know what's happening now, I don't think I can go through all that
again Michael, but I will help you." Craig smiled at him, forcing a tear to
run down his cheek. Michael's heart lurched again in his chest.
They
both moved now to go upstairs, Michael to the bathroom and Craig to the bedroom.
The
shower was heaven, Michael stood for a long time letting the water run over his
body, warming his blood, clearing away the dirt that had been coating his skin.
The steam opened his pores and he felt his body could breath again. When he
looked down, he saw the mix of dirt and blood swirl around at his feet before it
streamed away.
After
towelling himself dry, Michael went looking for Craig. He was still in the
bedroom.
"I
went downstairs and there is some soup warming on the cooker for you. I've also
dug these out, they're Richards, he's not as broad as you but they should fit
enough." He said as he turned from the wardrobe and came to him with the
bundle of clothes.
Michael
could not believe that he was standing, near naked with only a towel around his
waist, in front of the only man he had loved, and it was in the bedroom he
shared with another man. His chest grew tight and he swallowed hard in an
attempt to keep control of his emotions. As Craig came closer and held out the
clothes Michael almost went straight for them, but his hand moved instead to
Craig's hair, which was caramel coloured and lay flat and straight against his
head. It was always kept neat and trim, short at the back and sides and slightly
longer on the top. Michael gently stroked Craig's cheek. At six foot he felt he
towered over Craig at five-six. He was so soft and gentle, so warm and tender.
Craig's body was smooth and relatively hairless compared to Michael's, who had
thick dark hair covering his chest, arms and legs. When they had first met,
Michael had been scared he would crush Craig whenever they made love, his
feelings for him had been so strong. He was bulky muscle compared to Craig's
slim toned frame and he would hold him so tight he thought he would drive the
air from his lungs. Whenever he was away working, he had no emotions, no
feelings and no conscience. He had his job to do and there was no room for
sentimentality, but when he came home to Craig, they would lie in bed and hold
each other for hours. When Michael thought of that last night in Craig's flat,
when he had felt Craig's tears on his chest and heard his quiet sobs, he hated
himself for what he had made him endure. Craig hadn't even raised his head from
Michael's chest when he asked for the separation. He kept it there when he
explained that he could not go on waiting for the day when Michael didn't come
home. The constant knot in the pit of his stomach that ached when Michael was
away. Or how he jumped when the phone rang or the doorbell went. He had told him
that he loved him more than he could bear and then sobbed uncontrollably against
his body. Michael had held his lover tight, for a long time after that, until
the sobbing subsided to a gentle tremor and then Michael had rose from the bed,
dressed and left the flat. The last thing he remembered was saying 'I'm sorry'
as he turned and went out the bedroom door, listening to Craig crying as he went
down the stairs.
That
had been over two years ago and he had left his lover alone, in the hope Craig
would be able to find happiness. Now, here he was, just when his lover seemed to
have found a stable life, imposing his presence on him. Shattering the calm of
his new life.
"I
miss you so much." He said, his hand still touching Craig's face.
"Please,
Michael, don't. I…" Suddenly the tears sprang back into Craig's eyes and
he turned away.
In
an instant, Michael took Craig in his arms. Wrapping him up, wanting so much for
them to be somewhere else, away from here, away from this life. He wanted to be
able to protect him, to keep him safe, but he knew he could not protect Craig
from his own fears.
"Please,
Michael, I have Richard to think of now. He's my partner now."
"I
know, but I haven't stopped loving you and I can't help that." With his
hand under his chin, he gently lifted Craig's face up so he could look into
those deep, brown eyes.
"You
mean so much to me, I can't stop myself."
He
bent his head down and kissed Craig tenderly on the lips. At first Craig did not
respond but then Michael heard, or rather felt, him say 'I love you too', then
the tenderness intensified as their passion took over. The clothes Craig had
been holding fell to the floor. They kissed for minutes then Michael carefully
lifted him up and carried him onto the bed. He felt Craig's body under his own
and he knew he would have to struggle to control himself. He wanted to make love
all night. He wanted to rediscover every inch of Craig's body all over again. He
wanted to overload his every sense with Craig; the taste, smell, touch, sight
and sound. Michael wanted to experience it all again.
Fumbling,
like a nervous virgin, he struggled to undress Craig, he wanted him so much he
had to hold back from tearing Craig's clothes from his body. With Craig's
patient guidance, Michael managed to steady his hands enough to remove Craig's
clothes and his own towel, so that he could feel Craig's soft skin next to his
own. He had always been fascinated by Craig's skin, which was so smooth and
soft. Even where Craig had hair, like his chest, it was delicate to Michael's
touch.
The
lay together for some time after they had finished making love. Craig rested his
head against Michael's chest. This time though, there was no tears.
"Tell
me what's going on." Craig said as he idly stroked the hair on Michael's
chest.
"It's
better you don't know. There's a situation which I need to deal with, that's
all."
"It's
when I don't know that I worry and you don't appear at my door after two years,
ready to drop from exhaustion, because of a situation. Don't patronise me
Michael, please."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to. It's just," Michael paused, what did he tell
him? That they were after him and they wanted him dead at all costs. "I
stumbled onto something a couple of weeks ago, when I was in Manchester. Now,
the boss wants me out of the picture. To help them get the job done they've
created a story that I killed Alex, stole some profit, and spread it around.
Half the underworld wants to be the one to bring me in." Michael stopped
abruptly, for fear that the tone of his voice would break. Craig had raised his
head and was watching him closely now.
"Michael,
where is Alex?" Craig asked whilst saying a silent prayer into himself.
"He's
dead." Michael's voice finally went.
"Oh
God, how did it happen?" Craig wanted to do or say something for him. He
knew how much they had meant to each other. They had been like brothers,
possibly even closer. They had met when Michael had been inside, at one of Her
Majesty's Prisons and they bonded straight away. Michael had always been like
those stereotypical men in those cheap romantic novels, that always hides their
emotions. He always kept his feelings to himself, Alex was very similar and
because of this, they had grown very close. It helped that they worked well
together, they even seemed to communicate without speaking to each other.
Although Michael had always shielded Craig from his work as much as possible he
had brought Alex to the house often and Craig had taken to the big, mean looking
bear of a guy right from their first meeting.
"We
were sent to make a meet in Leeds, it felt all wrong straight from the start,
but we went anyway. The house we went into was totally empty and we were going
through the place when a couple of guys appeared in the doorway. They shot Alex
through the head. One bullet, that was all. I watched him drop to the floor and
I could do nothing." He stopped, squeezed his eyes shut to try and block
out the picture in his mind. "They were going to shoot me but I managed to
jump through a window and out into the street. They didn't even bother to chase
me. They just watched me run away. Anyway, later that night when I went to meet
one of our contacts, he pulled a knife on me and told me the story the boss had
put out."
Craig
moved up the bed and pressed Michael's head to his chest.
"How
can anyone think you would kill Alex?" He asked.
"Why
not? It's happened before when someone gets greedy or starts to lose their grip
on reality."
"What
did you find out that is worrying them so much?"
"It's
better if you don't know, please trust me, I've probably said too much
already."
"Okay,
but what will they do if they catch you?"
Michael
pulled away from Craig for a moment and sat up fully in the bed. He looked
straight ahead, not wanting to look Craig in the eye.
"Michael,
what will they do?" Craig's voice took on an edge. Even though he knew what
the answer would be.
"I
don't know?" Michael tried to lie.
"You're
lying, please, don't lie to me Michael. What will they do? I have a right to
know."
"I'll
probably just be shot."
"Then
turn yourself in first, before they catch you." Craig pleaded.
Michael
turned to look at Craig and studied his face closely. He traced the jaw line
with his hand. He then tried to smile, in an attempt to ease Craig's worry, but
it failed.
Sighing,
he said, "Whatever I do, I will be killed." He said it in such a tone
as to make it clear to Craig that there was no other outcome.
"No,"
Craig was horrified, "They can't do that!"
"They
can and they will. They know I could bring them all down with me if I go to
jail"
"There
must be something you can do? Somebody you can go to? My God, I still can't
understand how you ever got involved with them in the first place."
"I
haven't worked out yet what I'm going to do. I need help and I don't know who I
can trust, and I've told you how I got involved."
Michael
had told Craig the story not long after they had been together. It wasn't
difficult for Craig to tell Michael didn't have a nine-to-five job. Especially
since Michael always seemed to have a stash of money on him but never worked
regular hours.
He
had grown up in a cosy suburb on the south side of Glasgow, in a respectable
family environment, the youngest of three kids. An average school life had given
him decent qualifications. His report cards had always said he was 'easily
distracted' but that was normal of most people. It wasn't until he had gone to
High School that he started mixing with the wrong crowd. At first it was the
usual, smoking and drinking. His parents had tried to bring in some discipline
but it had failed. It led on from there to soft drugs, theft and the occasional
auto-theft. The latter was to become one of Michael's real talents and it was
this that took him into the role of getaway driver. At first, it was like a
made-for-television movie. At the age of eighteen, Michael had driven on three
armed robberies and had never been caught. He enjoyed the feeling of excitement
and thrill it gave him. He gained a reputation as being the best and word of his
talent spread round Scotland and the North of England. The crowd he hung around
with slowly changed and he became involved with an organised gang of criminals
that took him further into the crime world. It was so slow an initiation that he
never noticed how deep he was becoming involved. He never got caught and began
to think he never would. It wasn't until he was twenty-one that, after an
anonymous tip-off which led the Glasgow C.I.D. to surround a building society on
Duke Street in Glasgow's East End, that he finally was. The gang had been coming
out of the bank when the police had shown themselves. Two of the group had made
it to the car and Michael had floored the gas pedal so hard the screech from the
protesting tyres could be heard miles down the road. He drove up and onto the
pavement, taking out the side of an unmarked police car, and made a break for
it. At first, only two cars had gave chase but, after the twenty minutes it took
to get out of the Glasgow streets and onto the motorway, two more marked cars
had joined the pursuit. Michael's intention was to get out of the city, dump the
car in the countryside and make a run for it. He realised too late that when he
started heading east on the motorway, the Edinburgh police came across country
to assist their West Coast colleagues. Coupled with that was the Police
Helicopter, which was dispatched when one of the gang opened fire on the lead
police car with a semi-automatic. He had driven for forty minutes, when he took
the slip road off the motorway and looked for the best place to dump the car.
After a further ten minutes, he saw a farm sitting just off the road. It had a
small forest of trees to the side of its outbuildings and Michael drove into the
courtyard and they all jumped out. Michael made it to the trees and was gaining
some distance when he heard the rotor blades of the helicopter above. It shook
the trees so forcibly that he was bombarded with twigs and branches from the
down blast. The only other sound he heard was the unmistakable thunder crack of
a shotgun. One of the gang members had tried to break from the shelter of the
trees and
run across the field. He had covered a distance of ten feet before the Armed
Response Unit had opened fire. Then the voice on the loudhailer cut through the
helicopter's noise. Michael hadn't even listened to it all before he started
walking forward, hands above his head, to the edge of the trees. All he could
remember thinking was that he didn't want to be shot down and dragged away in a
body bag.
The
court case had lasted only two weeks, and Michael was sentenced to four years in
Barlinnie, Glasgow's maximum-security prison, ironically in the East End. He
served just over three years before being paroled. It had been three years of
what he imagined Hell would be like. He survived the brutality of the life there
only because of the contacts he knew on the outside and also because he learnt
to fight back. Neither of those helped though when your daily routine started at
seven in the morning, from when you were let out of your 'eight-by-ten' stinking
cell to form an orderly line outside. You were then walked down to the wash
areas with sixty other of the inmates in your wing for a cold shower before
breakfast. After that, it was back to your cells for three hours to read, study
or whatever else you chose to do. The options were limited when the
'eight-by-ten' had an iron bed, a table and chair and a steel toilet taking up
space. You were let out at eleven-thirty to start your duties, whatever you were
assigned to. Michael was put in the laundry. It was hot, sweaty and backbreaking
work but the guys he worked with were a good bunch, so the time passed fairly
quickly. This was where he had met Alex. They had shared the workload and even
managed to make jokes to pass the time. Alex had been two years into a five-year
sentence for 'assault with intent' after a pub fight got out of hand.
Lunch
was served at two and then you were free till four. It was the only time you
were allowed out into the yard for fresh air and you took it, even when the cold
was biting into your skin. There was another three hours of work then dinner.
Everyone was back in his cell by ten-thirty and lights-out was at eleven. Very
rarely did the routine change.
The
only thing worse was Visiting Day. His family made it often to see him, but what
did he have to talk about? He couldn’t tell them of the fights in the wings,
as the men tried to assert their rank in the prison order. They had once visited
him when he had had his arm in plaster and his eye had been so swollen, he
hadn't been able to see out of it. There was a few times when he had been
involved in the battles. He had won a few and lost a few. To anyone else of
course, he had fallen down the stairs. He couldn't tell his family of the drug
abuse that went on in the prison, or the raping of men in the showers that was a
regular occurrence here. Even the beatings from the Prison Guards couldn't be
discussed. This had only happened to him once, not long after he had arrived, it
was their way of stamping their authority on the fresh meat.
Conversation
then was limited and strained on visiting days, and seeing his parent's shame
cut into Michael's chest.
On
his day of release, Michael had moved back into his parent's house. He vowed to
them he would stay clear of trouble but no matter how much effort he put into
it, nobody would offer him a job. Somehow, they managed to find out he had
served time. Even when he lied about it, they found out. It was one Saturday
night when he and Alex were out celebrating Alex's release that he they met some
old acquaintances of Alex's and he was offered work. He knew it was dodgy, he
also knew he wouldn't find any other way to earn the money he needed to start
life over again. After a few pints, he had convinced himself that he would do a
couple of jobs, get enough money together and he could then take time to sort
out his life and go straight. Alex had laughed at that, knowing Michael was gay.
They both agreed to do the work and that was it.
Driving
was only a part of the grand scheme for Michael though. He and Alex became
involved in other work after a time. They were used as hired muscle on a few
occasions, collecting bad debts. They minded the prostitutes and rent-boys when
they were on the streets and even worked at passing counterfeit notes out into
circulation. However, it was when they started doing the drug-runs that the
situation spiralled out of control. The money that was being made from the
business meant people guarded their patches fiercely, and anyone caught
infringing a turf suffered. Retribution for acts of violence happened weekly as
various gangs fought for areas of business. Glasgow and Edinburgh's growing drug
problem brought a large profit to a ruthless few. It was then that Michael and
Alex armed themselves. They knew the risks, but they knew they had no choice. To
the world, Alex and Michael worked as doormen at local clubs. Only a few knew
the truth.
Michael
suddenly realised Craig was speaking to him.
"What
can I do?" Craig was determined to help his lover and friend.
"You've
already done it, by letting me in tonight you probably saved my life."
Michael looked deeply into those warm, brown eyes, "I know you've saved my
soul."
"There
must be something else?"
"No,
I don't want you involved anymore than you already are."
"I'm
not going to lose you, I swear that."
Michael
was taken aback by the edge in Craig's voice.
"What
do you mean?"
"Do
you think I'm going to let you go out that door knowing I might never see you
again? No, not again."
"You
have a new life here. It's a good life. You're safe here."
"Maybe
I don't want to be safe."
"Are
you telling me you want to go back to feeling like you did all those years
ago?"
"All
I know is, I don't want to lose you again. I realise now what I have been
missing these past two years and I'll deal with my fears, if it means I'll be
with you again."
His
words gave Michael a tremendous shot of hope. If Craig meant it, Michael now he
had something to fight for. At thirty-one, he had a chance to start again with
Craig. Even his overwhelming desire to protect him and keep him away from this
was overshadowed by his need to have Craig by his side.
"I
can't change your mind?" He asked.
"No."
Craig said as he put his lips delicately onto Michael's.
They
made love again, slowly, deliberately and with all the delight that they had
felt the first time they had been together.
They
had met when Michael had rented a flat in Cathcart, on the south side of the
city. Craig had the ground floor flat below him and, one morning as Michael was
coming in from working, he saw Craig trying to start his car, a beat up old
Nissan, without success. He offered to help and after a couple of minutes under
the bonnet he managed to get the engine running. He would never forget the
beautiful smile he was rewarded with from Craig and after a few minutes of
chatting, he was pleased to be asked to dinner by Craig, as a means of saying
thank you to him.
That
night was the start of their relationship. During the initial awkwardness of
wondering what the other might say, or do, should he find out the other was gay.
Craig had opened up first, wanting Michael not to feel threatened or
uncomfortable about the dinner invitation. Michael had only smiled. They had sat
down to the meal Craig had cooked and the conversation had got round to
relationships. They both had skirted the subject at first, talking about working
too hard, and life in Glasgow, when Michael finally told Craig that he was gay
as well. It was then Craig's turn
to have a smile on his face. From then on, their conversation had flowed easily,
covering a wide variety of topics and it was with a great effort, that Michael
managed to leave the flat that night without making love to Craig there and
then. In fact, it was about a month into their relationship that they finally
made love. After a night at the cinema, when Craig was about to go into his flat
and Michael, up the stairs to his, did they stop at the door to kiss goodnight
that Michael finally told Craig that he wanted to make love to him? That night
was forever etched, deep, in both their memories. Four years later, there would
be another night that would be etched in their memories.
They
dozed for a short while and it was the sound of the birds outside that woke
Michael first. He gently roused Craig, kissing him on the lips.
"We
have to go, they might come here looking for me."
"We'll
pack some clothes and I have some money here but we'll also need to go to the
bank when we are on our way. We can use my car for a while can't we? I mean,
they won't be looking for you in it will they? What are you smiling at?"
"When
did you become so organised for making a getaway?"
"What,
you don't think being a traffic clerk prepares a person for events like these?
That reminds me, I'll have to call in sick."
Michael
looked deep into Craig's eyes. They were silent for a moment, little realising
they were thinking the same thought, how much love they felt for the other.
They
worked quickly together, packing only the minimum. Writing a letter to Richard
took the longest time. Craig found it so difficult to explain his actions
without it sounding foolish. How do you explain that you love someone so much,
you would follow him or her to your death? Eventually, he had something that
went part of the way to describing how he felt. It would never be enough though,
what would, when you were walking out on someone who loved you?
Michael
went out first, to check the road again, and then they packed Craig's little
blue Renault with their cases. The weather had cleared slightly, the rain had at
least stopped, but the roads were wet and there was still a biting chill in the
air.
"Scottish
weather will never change will it?" Michael said as they were getting in.
"Did
you think it would? Where have you been living since… that night?"
"I
took a flat in Edinburgh, but I've been working here and Manchester so, mostly,
I've been living in cheap hotels and dirty bedsits.
Craig
looked around at the house one last time, before he locked the front door.
"Where
is Richard by the way?"
"He's
on a course this week, won't be back until tomorrow night."
Michael
just nodded, not wanting to think too much about the man who'd lived with his
lover for the past two years. He watched as Craig put the keys back through the
letterbox. He must have had a look on his face, because when Craig turned round,
he smiled.
"Now
you're back in my life, I'm not going to let you go. I won't be coming back
here, whatever happens."
Michael leant forward and cupped Craig's chin in his hand and kissed him on the lips.
