by Morgan Rouge
Looking over to her as she worked methodically, talking quietly to Gerry as she planted flowers and seedlings and organised their flowers in the correct arrangement, he definitely felt as though he needed to go over and speak to her straight away.
Closing his eyes, he imagined kissing her lips, feeling her body and undressing her slowly, somewhere more secluded like his room or hers. Bodies becoming one, they would talk, kiss, embrace, stroke, undress... he opened his eyes. It was so difficult to not think about sex whilst she was in his life. If he didn’t keep it under wraps, very soon it would become more than obvious to just himself.
With that, he threw himself down in the ground and dug as hard as he could with his trowel. His sexual fantasies involving Bryony would have to be kept under wraps, otherwise he was going to go mental over the next two weeks. Therefore, the place he was going to try and be was going to be difficult. He would have to keep his hormones, his testosterone, his masculine desires under wraps. He would have to try and subtly keep Steve away from Bryony and he would have to chat to her to get to know her. He wanted to know about her god dammit, but that was going to be extremely hard without compromising his work. He was going to have to keep a safe distance from her: he did not want people finding out about his interest in Bryony, he did not consider it to be terribly professional or appropriate. So he would keep that to himself and he would have to continue to motivate everyone without breaking their soul altogether. Of course, he needed to know what Bryony did and why she did it.
He had a challenging couple of weeks ahead of him and he almost felt like holding Bryony responsible.
Chapter Three
“Honestly, Gerry, they are so irritating, hateful and completely unconcerned with the effect that their anti-social antics has on me. And their fifteen year old son: I feel so sorry for him! I can see the effect it has on him: he is essentially a good boy, but Declan often gets involved in acts which are perhaps not the most .... legal”.
It was early afternoon and Gerry and Bryony working together over the flower beds had allowed them to get chatting. Although they came from completely different backgrounds: Bryony from a university degree from Glasgow and subsequent translating jobs and Gerry from a life of crime, they had hit it off. Initially, they had worked in silence for a while, as they both were naturally quiet and thoughtful people and so they had not felt the instant need to fill the silence. However, quickly they had begun to ask questions about each other and soon they found they had a lot in common. Bryony felt she needed a friend on this lonely stretch of motorway and Gerry was interested to find out how such an obviously different woman from the rest of them had come to be working on community service. He sensed it was not something she was going to be naturally open about - she had hardly said two words over the past few days and instead had glared at Hamish at every opportunity she got - so he had begun to ask about her in general.
They had both begun about discussing Glasgow and the different places they enjoyed going. Bryony loved the student-filled and fun atmosphere of the West End with large bay windowed flats and endless coffee shops. Gerry meanwhile loved only two places in Glasgow (and indeed the whole world): his homelands where he had lived all his life and where he knew everyone and what they were about and, unusually Milngavie. Bryony considered Milngavie to be an unusual choice for someone who loved cities as it was a leafy and quiet suburb with direct walking routes to the north of Scotland. However, when Gerry said he just liked to get away from it all once in a while, this seemed to make sense. This had brought them onto where Bryony had moved to three years ago.
“Ibrox is a bit different to the West End and Woodlands, isn’t it?” Gerry had asked, a little confused. And indeed it was. Right next to Ibrox Stadium, which housed the local football team Rangers, on game nights it was always rowdy in the local area. And even when there wasn’t a game night, there was always something happening, something going on and inevitably an invite to the police from a worried or angry local. However, Bryony loved it: it had a kind of excitement and interest she had not experienced anywhere else and she enjoyed the vibrancy of the area.
And also her life was manageable and largely carefree. There was the Co-op where she was able to get her messages and the Post Office which had every type of envelope which you could wish for. And most of her other neighbours would say hello in the morning and would chat to you about the weather that day and how you felt it was going to be the rest of that week. That almost never happened in the West End, where the transient population of students and yuppies wouldn’t be able to say hello to you at normal times because they weren’t awake. Or sober.
“I guess it is different, Gerry, but it is a good different. From my desk by the window, there is always a lot going on and people are friendly and interested in what you have to say and do. Our neighbours (except for the ones next door) are friendly and understanding and funny. And, of course, it is much cheaper”
“Well, no one except you actually wants to live in Ibrox”. He was so easy to talk to and seemed to understand everything she said. Moreover, he understood her point of view with the neighbours. Their conversation had naturally meandered to Bryony’s awful, antisocial and probably dodgy next-door neighbours.
“They are up all hours, they do not care about anyone else in the street, they regularly shout at and abuse old ladies walking past and their dog Kaiser, well he is horrendous. He is large, solid and, as far as I can tell, bloodthirsty”.
“Aye, I see that must be a problem”.
“Working from home and with my bedroom window overlooking the side of their house, well I see everything that is going on. I see people - unusual looking people - coming round to the house day and night. I see Declan bunking off school and getting involved in the wrong crowd. I can see him buying drugs for himself, at the moment it is just cannabis, but later who knows? With his parents’ influence.... I don’t think they actually really care, Gerry. I wish there is something I could do for him and stop his parents playing such ridiculously loud music just to irritate me and Pony. And I don’t know what his parents do, but it is something shady”.
“Well, you know there is probably not much you can do. There is a lot of that in my area, too. Kids from bad areas, growing up with parents who don’t really care, or don’t have the time to care. It is a problem”
“If there was just something I could do to make his life just that little bit happier, that little bit better”. She looked at him and then went into a quiet and thoughtful mood. What could she do? How could she help Declan onto a better path? There wasn’t really a lot that she could do, what influence could she have on her neighbours? They would probably just start trying to victimise her. Or worse.
Meanwhile, Gerry was looking at this quiet and beautiful young woman. If he had been young, free and single, he wouldn’t have even of thought twice: he would have asked her out, straight away. The only other man who he felt was worth her was Hamish. But that felt like a no hope. Glancing at Hamish, he saw him looking at Bryony again, mouth slightly open and a face of longing, and Gerry admitted to himself, lust. This man just had no game! He was so obvious in his longing for Bryony and yet, he held back, never spoke to her and just watched her from afar. Gerry realised that Hamish spoke to awkward and silent Steve more than he spoke to Bryony. Why would that be? If he likes her, why doesn’t he just speak to her? Gerry had heard many good stories about Hamish and his secret programme, but being a lady killer was not one of them. Was he going to have to provide some kind of stepping stone for him?
His thoughts returned to Bryony. She was hard-working and caring about this teenager: had she somehow got caught up in the life of this family and this boy somehow? He found that worrying. A beautiful and lovely young woman should never get involved in the lives of drug dealers, never try to have an impact on anything: it was almost certainly pointless! He wondered if there was something he could do? He decided to change the subject, but would think about what he could do. He was, afteral
l, known around Ibrox, perhaps he could put a bit of weight about?
“Well, you know Bryony that is exactly how I got involved in all the crime that I became to be known for”.
“Really?”
“Yeh, my father was a local drug dealer and general criminal and local ‘hard man’. If you needed something, or indeed someone, doing, well he was the person to call. My mum somewhat looked up to this raging alcoholic wife-beater who was always promising her the world and then selling her short. She didn’t care, she loved him.
But he died when I was sixteen and with my mother and two sisters I was suddenly the man of the house. The easiest work I knew about, the work I had most experience of, was his. And so I went into it without even thinking about it”.
“So you followed in your father’s footsteps? You didn’t know any different?”
“Well, I knew the difference between right and wrong Bryony, but I chose to ignore it. I also chose to ignore the pain and harm I did to others, the havoc me and the others caused in our neighbourhood and probably the damage we caused others for years to come”.
She looked at Gerry, solid Gerry with a shaved head and arms covered in fading tattoos with a large head and fine eyebrows. He was the kind of man she would try to avoid in Ibrox and yet his personality was entirely different to how she had imagined. She was beginning to see what a kind heart he had and how, probably his whole life, he had been misunderstood, mostly by himself.
“But all of that is behind me, I don’t need any of that anymore. You know my sister, who’s now married to an accomplice of mine (well, back in the day anyway) said to me she doesn’t think I can do anything else except my life of crime”.
“What do you want to do?”
He paused, obviously worried that her reaction might be disbelief or just laughter. But Bryony seemed trustworthy and serious, someone you could talk to without having repercussions. He signed and said, much quieter,
“Write a book on my experiences, of my childhood, growing up in the East End of Glasgow when it was a rougher, more segmented and divided. You know, we were brought up Catholic and the difference of our experiences to protestants were different. But that has all changed now. Children of this generation don’t feel the same things which we do”.
“You know, Gerry that sounds so interesting. If you wanted, I would be able to help you write that book? If you wanted, of course. I don’t mind if you say no”.
“Really?”
“Yeh, sure, part of my degree was English. I wouldn’t mind how you wanted to do it. You could write it and I could edit your first draft? What do you think or you could give me the bare bones and I could write it up in flowery and grammar-perfect English?”
“That would be great! Perhaps I could send you the chapters I have already written for you to have a little read over?” They began to discuss exactly how they would write this book, every little detail and how it would come about.
Meanwhile, from a far, Hamish tried to subtly look over to Bryony and Gerry who were in a deep and thoughtful conversation. Why could Gerry speak to Bryony so easily? Why wasn’t he embarrassed? How did he not feel embarrassed being around such beauty?
Moving in conspiratorially closer and a small smile on Bryony’s face, she said to Gerry
“Why is Hamish always so angry and unfriendly?”
“Bryony, Hamish is a good guy. He has helped lots of my friends through problems, he puts them on the straight and narrow. If you get through your community service, you can go on to his programme to help you through your life, over the obstacles which have gotten in the way of your life. He changes lives around, Bryony, and part of his act is to be unfriendly and angry. I think it must spur people on to improve their lives somehow. Steve has done community service a couple of times, but he made a specific request to get on this programme so that we could get on to the course. Actually, that is why I am here, too. I want to change my life around. With Hamish, I feel that it is possible”.
Bryony went silent. So he wasn’t actually as mean as he made out. And indeed, over the past few days, he had been really mean. She had felt that he had taken a personal dislike to her in particular, as if she specifically had irritated him beyond redemption and belief.
He rarely spoke to her, rarely even looked in her direction. The only contact he made with her was to shout at her, tell her that she wasn’t doing a good job and that she was lazy. She felt like a teenager at a juvenile prison.
“Hey Bryony, let’s swap numbers by the end of today. I have a feeling I know how to sort out your neighbors, maybe they won’t be causing you any more problems”.
“Gerry, you aren’t going to do anything illegal, are you?”
“Of course not!”
At lunch, Bryony opened her sandwiches again to find a little pink note in the shape of a heart from Pony.
Hope you are having a nice one Bry, and that horrible Hamish isn’t being too mean!
She smiled. She was so happy and lucky to have such a good friend in Pony. She was the only one whom she had told about the truth of her situation.
She looked over as the others were all wandering off to Tescos. She specifically rested her eyes on Hamish. She felt that her opinion of Hamish had changed slightly. Perhaps he wasn’t so awful after all? He had a programme which helped people to leave their life of crime behind. Bryony got the impression that behind his angry facade, he was just trying to help them. He perhaps shouted at them out of kindness.
But, she did feel that he was especially harsh on her. Was it because she was a woman? But then, he was nice to Star, he encouraged her, smiled at her even! But to herself Bryony, he was harder on her than any of the men!
Watching him wandering off in that purposeless walk that he seemed to have, she began to admit to herself how attractive and gorgeous he was. Today, he was in longer trousers which were lightly coloured grey and a dark blue polo neck. The polo neck he wore was tight on his upper body, emphasising his muscular physique. From his grey and loose-fitting trousers, she could tell that he had strong and muscular legs. Earlier she had glanced at his feet which were in sandals (in March!) and saw well-groomed toenails and tanned feet with dark hair. She allowed her mind to wander further to his face and the angry stare which he often had on her. So much anger! If only she could channel that anger somewhere else, into something else...
She smiled, slightly sadly. She had a criminal past: for someone who worked to try and help criminals, it probably wasn’t the best start to have. And she couldn’t even protest her innocence (it was true) because people probably wouldn’t believe her and second of all, the person she was protecting might get found out. She grimaced. She was just going to have to keep it a secret, for the rest of her life.
Luckily, it did not affect her job. She smiled at the thought of Richard, one of her major employers thinking she was on holiday for two weeks. Richard, who lived in America regularly gave her work, translating Spanish and German, the two languages she translated into and from.
She had found Richard six years before on an online ad looking for translators. She loved written work as it was so varied and interesting. She had translated manuals for electric toys and radios. She had also translated for a number of romance novels: she particularly enjoyed translating the selection of sex-related words into and out of English: who knew there were so many!
And she loved her work. First of all, she could work from anywhere in the world, so long as it had a reliable internet connection and second of all, she simply loved translating. It helped her to further improve her language skills and develop the ways in which she was able to use the language. Just her and her iMac: perfect.
That was another aspect she loved about her job, she had to have a reliable and easy-to-use computer that allowed her to surf the internet without picking up viruses. And with her iMac, she had all of that. Her and Pony had gone to the large and exciting Mac shop in Glasgow and had perused all the types of computers which were available to her. She
loved them all, but had managed to whittle it down to three. After trying out the different options for typing, she had found that the iBook had been the one for her.
She smiled over her email to Richard, which she had written over the weekend. She felt terrible lying to him, but it seemed the easiest thing to do.
Dear Richard,
I apologise for the last minute message, but a friend of mine has surprised me with a trip to Italy for two weeks. I think it is about me becoming thirty next year. Anyway, I won’t be able to work for two weeks because from what I can tell she has booked me an action packed fortnight.
Hope this is ok! Hope you and your family are well!
Bry
Richard had replied almost instantly with
No problem, Bry, just give me a text when you’re back in the UK. Sue’s fine, but starting to get morning sickness! She has been demanding muffins a lot, just as well we live right next to Starbucks! Rich
