Red Sky by Morning

by Black, Fabian

He made sure to let the front door bang behind him, launching immediately into a brisk sprint rather than a slow jog.

  Red Sky by Morning

  Three

  The slam of the front door coincided with the toaster giving up its contents in its usual flamboyant manner. Catching the toast before it hit the floor David dropped it onto a plate before hurrying down the hall, but it was too late. The narrow cobbled street outside Sandstones was empty. It was pointless going after him. By the time he got his shoes on Lin, obstinate man, would be well away. Shutting the front door he went back to the kitchen, wearing a look on his face the locals would term ‘proper narked.’

  Buttering the toast he put it on a tray along with a pot of tea carrying it down the hall towards the snug, their private sitting room.

  The letterbox clattered, heralding the arrival of the morning papers, just as he set the tray down on the coffee table. "Excellent timing." He spoke the words aloud and went to collect the papers, frowning as he saw a renegade red top tabloid, The Daily Starr, had somehow found its way into the pile of more sedate newspapers.

  There was no doubt in his mind as to who was responsible for the publication being there, Aiden Crooks, local paperboy and all round pest. He'd probably slipped it into the delivery on purpose to wind up Lin. His way of getting revenge for the punishment his father had imposed on him after the live crab incident. He'd been made to make a personal apology to Lin, no easy task in itself, and also had his personal leisure time curtailed for a month.

  David's face darkened with angry distaste at the snide side heading on the front page: 'Disgraced Chef and Rich Toy Boy Lover in Storm Drama.' Turning to the page containing the full story he began to read, his disgust deepening.

  The main focus of the story was not on storms, not present ones anyway. It was a lurid rehash of the New Year's Eve when Lin's celebrity star had imploded, all but killing his career. He had cracked up on live television, giving way to the nervous breakdown that had been stalking him for years.

  It had been a shocking event, made more so by the media furore that followed. The tabloids had a field day. They had crucified Lin with their printed lies and rumours. None of them had sympathy for a sick man or respect for his privacy as he struggled to cope with illness.

  David's eyes brightened with tears at the memory of Lin's emotional fragility, his unhappy confusion and fear in the aftermath of it all. The worst of it was he hadn't been scheduled to do the show in the first place. He was approached at the eleventh hour when the original presenter had to pull out after a car accident.

  He had been furious when Lin accepted the job without discussing it with him first. He was unwell to begin with and David was worried about him. He'd worked exhaustive hours over the Christmas period, including Christmas Day, dashing from one restaurant and venue to another, barely having time to draw breath, serving everyone's interests but his own. Gaunt and jittery he desperately needed a rest.

  They were supposed to be going away for New Year. It was to be an opportunity to relax and discuss their relationship. David wanted them both to prune back on work and spend more time together, to fully consolidate as a unit. He was sick of them passing like ships in the night.

  There were days when he didn't see Lin at all. After working until some ungodly hour in the swish and fashionable restaurant where he was head chef he would often crash out in the sparse flat above the premises, rising a couple of hours later to begin another absurdly long shift.

  Lin argued they could still go away. He would do the live shoot and that would be it, he'd take a holiday if only to stop David nagging.

  Lin had a compulsion to work, his way of proving his worth. He feared saying no to extra shifts or turning down jobs would lead to disapproval and him being sidelined as a consequence. The restaurant trade was a tough one in all respects but especially so in the kitchen where cooks creative egos vied for attention. Rivalry was rife with someone always waiting to take your place and claim recognition.

  David understood. He also understood that Lin needed to let go a little or he would break, as indeed he did. He would forever regret not laying down the law and forbidding him to do the New Year's Eve shoot.

  Of course the gutter press had no interest in the story behind Lin's collapse. It wouldn't sell papers to the baying mob that revelled in seeing someone with a public persona brought down and torn apart, especially an edgy persona like Lin's with its complex mix of vinegar and sugar. They didn't want to know about the people who had exploited and manipulated him for years, tapping his talents, playing his weaknesses, tying him into work contracts he couldn't escape from, driving him to the point of meltdown.

  Kenny Steen contributed to the process. He had never been a true friend to Lin, though he had pretended for a while. He took Lin's advice, learned aspects of his craft from him, used his influence and contacts and then set out to usurp him. They ended up hosting rival cooking shows. Another stress entered Lin's life in the form of ratings and whose show was getting the most viewers.

  Kenny was co-host of the fateful New Year's Eve show and David would never forget or forgive his unconcealed delight as a tired and unprepared Lin fumbled and floundered. He wasn't used to live television. His shows were usually pre-recorded, with all the bumpy bits edited out. It was obvious he'd had a drink to steady his nerves and, as David later discovered, he'd mixed the drink with amphetamines. He'd been using them secretly for weeks in an effort to keep his exhausted mind and body functioning.

  Kenny milked the situation at Lin's expense, playing to the cameras and the studio audience. Lin finally twigged the cameras were swinging more to Kenny than to him. The realisation he was being mocked was the catalyst. He erupted, knocking Kenny out cold with a powerful rage-fuelled punch to his face, breaking his nose in the process. He lashed out at a cameraman and wrecked the studio kitchen hurling abuse and cooking paraphernalia at the shocked audience and floor crew before running sobbing off set.

  David had not been in the audience or on set. He was at home packing cases in preparation for the holiday he was determined Lin would have. He planned to pick him up from the studio and drive straight to the airport. It didn't happen.

  He got a panicked call from the studio floor manager to say Lin had barricaded himself in his dressing room and was refusing to respond. David got there as fast as he could, but not fast enough to prevent a distraught Lin from overdosing on the pills he'd been using. He ended up in an ambulance instead of an aeroplane.

  Kenny showed no mercy towards his stricken rival. He pressed assault charges, putting Lin through the misery and humiliation of arrest and a public court case, winning substantial compensation, as well as invaluable publicity, which escalated his fame. The cameraman also demanded his pound of flesh and even some members of the studio audience jumped on the bandwagon. They sued Lin and the show's producers, claiming compensation for things such as food damage to clothes and 'emotional trauma.'

  Bloody parasites! David curled his lip. At the time he had owned the television company who had a hand in producing the show and had settled the claims out of court.

  The nightmare persisted. People whom Lin had thought were friends or at least loyal colleagues waded in with unsavoury and exaggerated 'revelations' about his explosive temper tantrums, drinking and drug taking. The tabloids were only too happy to pay out for such stories regardless of their basis in reality.

  The conglomerate who owned the restaurant Lin worked in decided to 'let him go' in the wake of negative publicity. David's lip again curled contempt. He had worked his fucking balls off for them, creating a phenomenal restaurant with an award-winning menu. People booked tables months in advance. They had used his talents, used his fame and public face to their own advantage and then discarded him in his hour of need.

  Bastards, all of them! Crushing the paper into a ball David took it into the kitchen and shoved it to the bottom of the waste bin like the trash it was. He tied up the liner and took it outside, throwing it int
o the main bin. No way did he want Lin reading it. He'd be having a few words with master Crooks about delivering the paper. Washing his hands he wished he could rid his mind of the ugly words as easily as he could rid his skin of the ink used to print them.

  Settling back down on the sofa in the snug he flicked through the Financial Times as he breakfasted, keeping an ear tuned for Lin returning from his run.

  He soon gave up pretence of absorbing the news printed on the sheets spread around him. Squeezing the last of the tea from the teapot into his cup he put his feet up on the coffee table and leaned back against the sofa cushions, sorting through a mixed bag of thoughts.

  Was he being too heavy handed with Lin, perhaps even mean? He tapped the thin rim of the china cup against his bottom teeth. Should he allow the bistro to open for Saturday morning business? The doubt vanished quicker than it had come. Drinking off the tea he put the cup down with a decisive clink. Today was not the right day to reopen, not in the circumstances. It would be a tinderbox situation and he wasn't prepared to risk it.

  Stanes got busy enough in the summer months, especially when the sun shone with such rare constancy. Given the press exposure it would be busier still. If The Venus opened you could bet your boots it would be packed to the doors with the curious who had come hoping to catch a glimpse of the infamous Linval Larkin.

  They'd be run off their feet trying to fulfil orders. Lin would refuse to take a break and refuse to let Lucy or him help in any way that mattered. He'd gallop between kitchen and bistro trying to keep abreast of things, hoping someone would ask for his autograph. A broad grin broke out on David's face. Lin so loved being asked for his autograph, it appealed to his vanity and his need to feel important.

  The smile disappeared and David pushed a hand through his short dark hair. Someone was bound to be rude enough to make reference to events best forgotten. The shit would hit the fan and he'd have to step in and stop Lin punching them or them punching Lin and before you knew it there'd be police involved and another round of legal battles. Nope. The door of The Venus was staying firmly bolted.

  Gathering his breakfast pots together he took them to the kitchen to wash, while mentally cursing whatever forces had sent the damn storm and its irksome consequences their way.

  In itself the storm wouldn't have mattered. It would have remained as a snippet of soon forgotten news on local radio and regional morning telly. However, fate decreed that a reporter from the local rag got scent of the human drama played out on the sand below Stanes' great cliffs. Such stories made good fillers and helped sell hard copy. He sought affirmation of events.

  David had taken his phone call and knowing all too well how the media wheel turned had issued a simple account of events. He then politely declined to comment further or to be photographed and interviewed in person.

  Others in the village were less reticent. News travelled fast in a small community and plenty knew about the happenings on the beach on Wednesday evening. The story appeared in the Thursday teatime edition of the local paper.

  By Friday morning the embellished tale of 'the Yorkshire tsunami, near death and brave actions' had caught the interest of national tabloid hacks, mainly because of Lin's involvement. Notoriety was not easily shaken off and his name was well remembered. Media people came flocking to Stanes like seagulls to a sewage spill.

  Lin had been wildly excited when the phone started ringing with demands for statements and interviews. Eyes sparkling he had all but danced with joy. His mind bubbled with possibilities. They flowed from his mouth in a surge as overwhelming as the wave that had almost swept him away.

  It would be fabulous promotion for The Transit of Venus and for him too. It was the road back to fame. It was his chance to redeem himself in the eyes of the public. People loved heroes, even gay ones. It would lead to the offer of a television show again, perhaps shot from the kitchen of The Venus, which of course would have to be redecorated, along with the miniature restaurant itself.

  The thought of revenge made his fetching hazel eyes gleam still brighter. He’d make the nasty fish bar that Kenny Steen broadcast from look like the tasteless slum it was.

  Best of all it would give any prospective rival second thoughts about competing with him on his home turf. They wouldn’t stand a chance, not once he got his face back on the small screen. They'd withdraw their offer to buy the chapel and it would go back on the market for them to buy and develop into another restaurant. He'd even named it. It was to be called 'Cook's Endeavour,' to mark Stane's association with the great explorer. It had a wonderful ring about it and a kind of double meaning.

  David sighed as he remembered the events of the day before. He had taken Lin's face between his hands and gently told him there would be no contact with the press whatsoever. Because as sure as flies liked shit they'd pay lip service to the storm and turn their attentions to raking over the coals of the past, and not with the intention of making any better of it either.

  The newspaper report he'd just read proved the point and confirmed he'd taken the right course of action.

  They'd torture Lin all over again and David wasn't having it. He had a duty of care towards him, which included making decisions for him when he wasn't thinking clearly enough to make wise choices on his own behalf. He'd failed him once, but never again.

  Lin had of course argued and then pleaded, claiming he was more than able to field questions unrelated to the storm, but David stood firm. He would not give the press a chance to reawaken old hurts or poke and probe into their private life. They were going to maintain a low profile and a dignified silence.

  There was nothing dignified about Lin's response. He made known his disenchantment in consonants and vowels of less than complimentary construction. The verbal tantrum took a physical turn when his frustration manifested in a childish attempt to pull David's hair. It was bad behaviour and it didn't go unpunished.

  Taking the basin containing the washing up water out into the garden David shared it between a potted pink azalea and a large tub of aromatic garden mint, both were flagging under the heat of the sun.

  He went upstairs to shower and dress while trying to think of pleasant, distracting things he and Lin could do together over the weekend. If Lin refused to be pleasantly distracted and insisted on acting like a recalcitrant brat then he'd pack him off to bed to sulk the day away between the sheets.

  Red Sky by Morning

  Four

  Running at a hard pace Lin barely noticed the physical landscape around him as he pounded on by. He was too busy with the thoughts tumbling around in his head.

  He hadn’t minded the restaurant being closed the day after the storm. They had needed the time to be quiet together and recover from their frightening experience. Besides, Lin couldn't have cooked even if he'd wanted too. He was as shaky as a heroin addict in need of a fix. He could barely hold a cup, let alone a filleting knife. Damn his stupid bloody nerves.

  David had called Lucy and told her not to come into work. He did intend to tell her why, but she saved him the bother. She already knew courtesy of village drums. The story of yon queer fellas battle with the elements was travelling fast. They had then spent much of the day in bed, cuddling, kissing, making love, reading and talking over the events of the day before.

  Lin had woken up on Friday morning feeling much better and with the expectation of everything being back to normal. It wasn’t. The Venus was to remain closed for a third day. He hadn’t expected David to continue to be so severe and was shocked. The closure was made even harder to bear because of certain developments.

  Lin scowled at the memory of good opportunity thrown away. Stanes had been crawling with sightseers, reporters and television crews. He could have had The Venus open all day and night and his face on news programmes across the country. It was publicity that couldn’t be bought or stage-managed, and it would have been one in the eye for stinking fish-face Kenny Steen.

  Despite reasoned arguments, followed by shameless plead
ing, David remained loyal to the decision he had made. They were not going to feed the media animal because it was a savage and uncontrollable beast and it would turn on them.

  Reasoned arguing and shameless pleading had given way to a burst of infantile fury. His face heated as he recalled lunging for David's hair. Of course he regretted it. His jeans and briefs were yanked down in a heartbeat. David had thrust him over the back of the sofa in the snug and walloped a stinging injunction onto his bare arse. If he couldn't speak in a pleasant and civil manner then he was to be silent and speak only when spoken to.

  Lin reckoned he had deserved the spanking, but he still thought he didn't deserve what happened next.

  He was packed into the car and driven away from Stanes for the day. They’d ended up in Harrogate, the most boring fucking town on the planet. The place where the ultra conservative, tweed-suited, twin set and pearl people went to die. It was full of exquisite antique shops and genteel tearooms. It had quaint gift shops and elegant old houses. Even the municipal gardens were beautifully laid out with impeccable grassed areas and immaculate colour coordinated flowerbeds.

  The entire town reeked of unfriendly aloofness and was tagged with notes of snooty prohibition: do not touch the antiques, do not disturb other patrons by speaking too loudly, breakages must be paid for, do not walk on the grass, do not pick the flowers.

  It made Lin long to daub finger marks all over the polished furniture in the antique shops, speak loudly and in detail about gay erotica in a tea shop, break things in a gift shop and refuse to pay for them, and as a grand finale trample all over the lawns and flower beds hurling dahlias and pansies hither and thither. He said as much to David who reminded him he hadn’t been spoken to and therefore he was to be quiet.

  By the time they had returned home late last evening, media interest had been sated and the press had moved on in search of fresh titbits and newer juicier scandals. Lin's chance to reclaim fame had passed. He had wept. David had comforted him, pulling him into his arms and cuddling him, sorry for his sadness but in no way regretful of the choices he had made on his behalf.