Living On Air

by Susan Mac Nicol

  The overwhelming relief I felt at knowing Littlejohn was gone was overridden by my concern for Leo. “He’s been groomed by Littlejohn since he was a child,” I said. “As was I. The trouble with him is he’s had his conditioning ingrained for so long, he believes what was done to him is love. He destroyed Littlejohn so no one else could have him. Especially me. There was a rivalry between us for Littlejohn’s attention even when we were choir boys.” I shuddered. “I would have happily given up the fucking privilege of being his favourite, but that wasn’t on the cards back then.”

  Mayhew stared at me. “That sounds like you have some insight into this mental dilemma.”

  I shrugged. “I’ve been reading psychology books since I was a kid, trying to find out how the mind works and what makes people tick. You pick up some stuff along the way. Plus, we had a mutual friend who loved it.”

  The memory of Cameron Laird made us both smile. Rhys nudged me. “And you have all those books on your shelf. You’re quite the brainiac, aren’t you?”

  I smiled at his teasing tone. “It fascinates me.”

  “Plus, you were trying to find out what made Father Price do what he did, I bet,” Rhys murmured.

  I nodded acquiescence. He seemed to know me so well, surprising me with his insight into all things Cary. Sometimes I thought he understood me better than I did myself.

  Rhys yawned, a jaw-cracking gesture that made both Mayhew and me smile.

  “It’s time to go home,” he got out in between another yawn. “I for one could do with a soft bed and a warm duvet.” He scowled at Mayhew. “You detained me out in those damn woods in the cold for longer than I thought.”

  Mayhew grinned now. “You rushed in all gung-ho ready to save the day and I had to stop you. Sorry Constable Dennis scared you when she grabbed your arm. It’s just as well she put her hand over your mouth or the resulting shriek would no doubt have driven the dead from their graves.”

  “I was not about to shriek,” Rhys replied indignantly. “And you try having a dark, scary figure pull you into a bush behind a tree in the pitch black.”

  Despite the humour in the room, I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave the jail cell. To go back to Trazellas where everyone would want to know what happened. How could I face Greta, who would no doubt learn everything about my past? Would I need to talk about my cutting and tell her every dark thing? After this incident, she’d be a tiger stalking her prey in her quest for truth. It might be better to spill my guts up front.

  And what about Rhys? As much as I cared for him in my own, twisted way, I didn’t know whether I could live with myself and what I’d done, taint him with my lack of self-worth. People told me I was a victim; yet it didn’t feel as black and white.

  I hated myself even more after seeing Leo and hearing Littlejohn’s boasts about the many children he’d abused. That could never bode well for any future relationship with the man who stood beside me now, eyes glowing with warmth every time he looked at me.

  Surely any hope of a relationship was doomed now.

  I had a question for Mayhew before we left. “Would I be able to talk to Leo? Perhaps I can get through to him.”

  Mayhew hummed and hawed. “I’m not sure. I’ll see what the shrinks say tomorrow and then we’ll see.”

  I nodded. “I appreciate that.”

  Rhys took my arm. “Come on, let’s go home. Mm, I told no one I was coming so I don’t think I have anywhere to stay tonight. Can I bunk down with you?”

  Part of me relished the idea, the other screamed that I needed to be careful. Instead, I smiled, and told everyone what they wanted to hear. “Sure. We’ll sort things out in the morning, get you back to your own accommodation.”

  A flash of disappointment crossed his face, and I knew he’d expected more from me. Like to stay in my camper while he remained at Trazellas.

  It will not be that easy, Rhys. Don’t you know me by now?

  “Oh, yeah, we can do that.” He picked up his jacket and shrugged his broad shoulders into it. Then he stopped. “Oh shit. How the hell are we going to get home? We both came in the police car.”

  Mayhew sighed. “I suppose I can get one of the lads to give you a lift home. Come on, let’s get going.”

  He walked out of the cell, and I followed, Rhys close behind. The drive home was quiet, both of us busy with our own thoughts. I didn’t think Rhys would like mine. When we got back to my camper, the campsite was still, dark. I was thankful for that. I unlocked the door, and we fell inside with sighs of relief.

  “You want me to sleep on the bunk?” Rhys’s eyes were watchful. “So you can get a good night’s sleep?”

  I nodded. “Would you mind? I could do with being alone to digest everything.”

  “Sure.”

  I hated the sadness in his eyes, but I couldn’t worry about that now. He pulled out the extra blanket and laid it on the bunk. I went into the bathroom to wash up. I’d have a shower in the morning.

  When I came out, he huddled under the blanket, only the top of his head showing. His jeans and shirt lay in an untidy pile on the floor beside him.

  “Night, Rhys,” I murmured. “Thanks for coming to find me, and staying with me. I appreciate it.”

  The blanket shifted. “That’s okay. We’ll talk in the morning, yeah?”

  My throat closed up, and all I could manage, selfish arsehole that I was, was, “Sure. Sleep well.”

  I owe you more than this, Rhys. I don’t think I can give it to you.

  Sleep that night was a long time coming.

  *****

  Rhys

  I was losing him. Fuck, Cary was drawing away from me, from all of us, day by day and I could do nothing to change it.

  The morning after the standoff in the woods, Greta and Julien had been the first down to the camper to find out what had happened. The circus family stayed away, threatened no doubt by Greta to give Cary some space.

  When we’d awoken, he’d been up already, grim-faced, showered, and dressed as if ready for the emotional onslaught of a new day.

  “Say nothing to anyone about my self-harming,” he’d warned me as I stumbled out of bed and into the shower. “I’ll tell Greta when I’m ready.”

  The conversation that had taken place in Cary’s camper after that had been emotional (on Greta’s side), volatile (on Julien’s side), and matter-of-fact from Cary.

  He’d told them everything that had happened the previous night while Greta cried and hugged him, and while Julien sat with tears rolling down his cheeks, watching us both with spaniel eyes.

  Once they’d left, Cary had shut down. It was pure deja vu, back to the first time we’d met, and he’d been an arrogant, aloof bastard. I’d moved into my caravan later that day and hardly talked to him since.

  He was still cutting too. I’d seen the evidence in the trash behind his camper. I’d never thought he’d stop, there was no miracle in the world for that. Our old agreement for him to call me when he felt the need was as dead as Littlejohn.

  I’d confronted him a week later in the Big Top as he sailed a couple of feet above the ground on reams of silk in one of his practice sessions.

  I stood about three feet away, outside the ring, hands in pockets as I watched the lithe body of the man I loved settle on firm ground. I waited until he was stable, then spoke up.

  “We need to talk, babe.”

  He started and turned to look at me. “Can it wait until I finish up here?” He stroked the silk through his fingers and I wished it was my body being touched with such reverence. We hadn’t even kissed each other since the night Littlejohn died.

  I was giving him space, trying to help him heal, but I didn’t think it was working.

  “No, it can’t. Because next thing will be, can we wait until I shower, then get dressed, then have something to eat, and before I know it, it will be morning again and I’ll be doing the same old dance just like my personal Groundhog Day.”

  He quirked a sarcastic eyebrow at me. “Oh-k
ay. Can I at least have a drink of water before we ‘talk’?”

  I sighed in frustration. “Sure. Knock yourself out.”

  He found his water bottle, tipped it to his mouth, and I watched, mesmerised, as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. It had been a long time since I’d gotten laid and I was feeling it. And wasn’t that me being a pervert when my man had been through hell. Still, my right hand worked so I could still take care of the sexual frustrations.

  He finished drinking and turned to look at me. “What do you want to talk about?” His guarded tone got my back up. I was a patient man, but Cary was something else.

  “What do you think? You. How you’re doing, have you made any plans for your future? Why did the bloody chicken cross the road?”

  And when the hell can I kiss you again and have you in my bed? When can we talk about you leaving here and coming home with me?

  He frowned and wiped a bead of sweat from his face with his hand towel. His muscles moved under his tank top and I tried to push the thought of running my tongue over his skin from my mind.

  “Rhys, I told you I’m doing fine. I’m not a child you have to keep tabs on.” He flicked his towel onto the ground and took another sip of water.

  I moved closer to him. “I understand you asked to speak to Leo again, and the psychologist refused.”

  His face darkened. “Yeah. Something about it wasn’t good for Leo to meet the object of his mentor’s obsession. She thought it might unhinge him further.”

  “Did Mayhew say how he was doing? Are they still trying to get him a more lenient sentence using his damaged mental state and history of abuse?”

  Cary nodded. “His lawyers are trying. I’m not sure how it will play out.” He flicked a glance at me. “Is that all you wanted to talk about?”

  I stared at him in exasperation. “No, Cary, it isn’t. You haven’t answered my question about how we move forward with this—thing we have between us. I can’t stay here at Trazellas forever, and I suppose I’m asking whether you see yourself staying here or going…somewhere else.”

  Like home with me to Edinburgh. Or I could move down here, with you and we could take it from there. Just give me some encouragement, you bastard.

  I forged ahead. “I mean, you told me once you couldn’t do this forever, and you’d need to do something else. I wondered if you’d given any thought to that—situation.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up. “No, I haven’t,” he answered. “It’s not something on my mind right now. I’m taking each day as it comes.”

  My chest tightened at the easy dismissal of anything to do with the future and our ‘relationship,’ such as it was. “What about the cutting? You haven’t called me for a while, does that mean the urge is less?”

  He gave me a pitying look. “No, Rhys. It means I haven’t called you.”

  Temper flared like the spark of a match. “For fuck’s sake, Cary, what the hell? I thought we agreed you’d let me know when you felt the urge. We’re supposed to be partners—friends at least, and you know I want to be there for you.”

  He shrugged, and that one uncaring gesture brought my whole house of cards built on hope tumbling down. I stared at him in disbelief. “A shrug? That’s all I get?”

  His eyes shadowed, and he looked away. “I never promised miracles, Rhys. I am who I am, and the cutting makes me feel better.”

  “And I don’t?” The pain in my chest grew worse. Torment was reflected on his face too.

  He looked away. “Sometimes you’re the only thing that keeps me going. Other times—you’re the reason I do it.” He turned away after dropping that bombshell and all I could do was stare after him as he walked away.

  I’m the source of his pain? What the hell am I supposed to do with that?

  I didn’t speak to him for the rest of the day, my thoughts in turmoil.

  *****

  We sat in Greta’s caravan, a week after that disturbing conversation, after having dinner with her and Julien. She’d insisted upon it. Demoralised, I didn't fight against it, even knowing the uncomfortable tableau it would create. Cary had been okay with it.

  Wineglasses were refilled, and half-empty dessert plates scattered the table. Cary’s jaw set in a mutinous expression I knew so well. Julien and I glanced at each other as the conversation grew heated.

  “Cary, mi amor, all I am saying is that perhaps you should go back to counselling. You have been through a traumatic experience, dealing with many demons from your past, and perhaps talking to someone would help. You remember your sessions with Cameron? They were of great help to you.”

  “Cameron is dead,” Cary said tersely. “And I need no help. I’m getting along fine on my own.”

  We all knew that wasn’t true. Greta was the first to voice it in her own, inimitable way.

  “That is a lie and you know it.” She slapped the table with one pudgy hand. “You have gone back to the old, dead Cary, and poor Rhys is here to support you and what do you do? Pah, you ignore him like a piece of dog dirt on your shoe. It is enough now. You need to get help.”

  Julien nodded. “Oui, mon ami. Perhaps talking with someone would help.”

  Cary stilled. “I do not need help,” he seethed, giving Greta a dirty look. “And my relationship with Rhys is nothing to do with you."

  I couldn’t help it. “What relationship?” I toyed with my dessert spoon. “The one where you don’t talk, and growl at me every time I suggest we do like you’re doing now? I think I need to look up the definition because it sure as hell isn’t my idea of a relationship.” So help me, I shouldn’t have said anything in front of everyone but I was fed up. My tone no doubt harboured the frustration and pain I felt at being locked out of Cary’s life.

  Cary glared at me. “I’m sorry if it doesn’t fit your perception of the word then,” he snarked. “If the relationship is so bad, then what are you still doing in it? Don’t stay on my account. It’s never going anywhere.”

  All the air in the room disappeared as I struggled to take my next breath. The words, cruelly stated, brought home to me how far down the path what we had been for a brief moment in time had deteriorated.

  Greta and Julien stared at Cary in horror, while I put down the spoon and stood up, my napkin dropping to the floor, a metaphor of my heart being broken and falling into an abyss. “Christ, Cary, way to break up with a guy.” I laughed harshly, my throat aching. “I can’t do this anymore, I’m sorry. I thought things might be different, that you might be ready to move on. With me. God forbid I drag you down like a weight in the water. You’re already wallowing in so much self-loathing and disgust I’m surprised you’re still afloat.”

  My hands trembled. For fucks sake, I’d been in war zones, and yet nothing had ever felt as raw and gut-churning as this moment. I needed some space of my own. I needed to stop fantasizing about something that didn’t seem likely anymore.

  Cary’s face was bleak, and once or twice it looked as if he wanted to say something. But nothing came forth.

  I went over to Greta, who sat wide-eyed, looking none too happy with the turn of events. “Greta, I’m going home. I won’t be travelling with you anymore.” I kissed her perfumed hair. “Thank you for everything. You’ve been a wonderful hostess, but I think I might have overstayed my welcome.”

  Cary remained seated as his hands shredded a paper napkin into strips in jerky movements.

  “Rhys, ignore our bad-tempered Saluki.” Greta pleaded. “Cary does not mean it, he is being an asshole." She glowered at him. "He's had plenty of practice.”

  I shook my head, willing the tears away. “No, that’s not bad temper. Cary’s decided his path, and it’s time to make mine. I need to move on with my life, not sit here in a circus waiting for something to happen.”

  Julien uttered a cry of protest and I ignored him. In this moment, the only two people were Cary and me. I turned to him. “Look at me, damn you. Look at me!”

  His blue eyes rose to meet mine,
and in them I saw sadness, guilt, and resolve.

  “You win. I’m done with this. I thought once you’d confronted your past, you’d be able to look forward and see the future. Instead, all it’s done is made you even more bitter and jaded, and Cary…” I let out a breath. “You keep blaming yourself for all the bad things that happened to other people. To Leo. To other nameless children. For not bringing Littlejohn to justice sooner. For the fact you saved yourself when your family died. All the things you aren’t responsible for because for fuck’s sakes, you were a child. You weren’t supposed to solve the troubles of the world. You were supposed to live in it, embrace it.”

  Cary’s eyes flickered but he didn’t look away. “He took that away from you. Littlejohn was the monster here, and God help me, if you can’t see that, then I can’t convince you any longer. It’s something you have to recognise for yourself.”

  My voice cracked. “And I thought the fact I loved you could change things. I wasn’t naïve enough to imagine it would be the catalyst that changed you, but I at least hoped we could work on it. Together. But you don’t want to. You want to hide away and bathe in your pain. Pain you say I’m causing you, which is hurting me. And I can’t watch you do it anymore. I don’t deserve this. I’ve been in war zones that hurt less.”

  I gathered up my jacket, slung it over my arm, and gripped Julien’s shoulder. “Thank you for everything, both of you. It’s been an experience, but now I need to get back to the real world.”

  Greta drew me close, her eyes sparkling with tears. As she hugged me, she whispered, “Pobrecito, I am so sorry. Do not worry. We will look after him. I promise, just as we did before.”

  I nodded and whispered back, “If he lets you, Mami. If he lets you.”

  When she released me, I walked over to Cary, who still sat there, face blank. The only gesture that showed he was alive was the shredding of yet another napkin. His hands trembled.

  I kissed the top of his head, which smelt of his familiar coconut shampoo. I wanted to drag him to his feet, kiss the ever-loving shit out of him, and ask him to please love me.