He was floating off toward a blissful slumber when Lyle spoke suddenly. "Before you came, I think, deep down, I actually longed to die."
That snapped Ben fully awake again. "Don't say that. I can't stand it when you talk about dying so much. Why would you ever want that?"
"Why wouldn't I, stuck here alone? I'm sick beyond death of this place, and I ache for the ocean. Even the pool no longer brings me much joy, and I hadn't had a lover or even a passing acquaintance in years. Few people would ever stop and talk to me—everyone thought I was a freak. I half hoped tearing down that gargoyle would stir the magic of Welwyn's curse and destroy me."
"So you did do that! You lied to me, Lyle."
Lyle looked up from where he nestled his head on Ben's shoulder, wide-eyed. "I didn't have much choice at the time—either with you, or in the first instant. Some man dragged a girl here. She was much younger than him, and much smaller. He was groping her beneath the tower, and frankly, she wasn't enjoying it. She was begging him to stop. The falling gargoyle scared the living daylights out them both, but broke things up enough for her to run away."
Ben took a sharp inhale of the woodsmoke. He felt terrible for chastising Lyle. "That was very heroic of you. And in the case of the lie, you're forgiven. We'd only just met."
"Thank you." Lyle fluttered his lashes closed. "Tearing down the dragon didn't feel heroic at the time. It was all I could think of to do. I was pretty close to despair and so, so lonely. But I'm not lonely anymore, and I want to live again. Thank you, Benjamin."
"It's, um, my pleasure."
"I hope you don't mind me calling you Benjamin? It's a beautiful name."
"Er, no. Not at all."
Lyle squeezed his eyes tighter and bit his bottom lip; Ben discerned the tell-tale tremors in Lyle's body as Lyle fought back tears. Were they tears of happiness, sadness… or what? Ben didn't like to ask. A lump formed in his throat, too, as the magnitude of the situation hit him with full force.
He didn't simply have to find a way to help Lyle anymore. He was falling in love with Lyle, the crafty side of him, the adept and playful lover, and the cloying needy parts too. Lyle needed Ben. He'd never been needed like this before. And he, God save him, needed Lyle. He never wanted to let Lyle go.
Rain started to patter on the canvas above them, setting the dying embers of the fire hissing and crackling. Ben hugged Lyle tighter and distracted himself from his troubles by praying the warmer weather came early this spring. He'd a notion he'd be spending plenty of nights out here under canvas with Lyle.
*~*~*
Ben visited Lyle every evening that coming week, sleeping with him in the tent, cosied together. And then, because Kristof made slow progress with his plans for the woodland regeneration scheme, Lyle remained undisturbed by any external forces. Ben continued visiting the following week, and the next. The trees budded and pink and white blossoms appeared in the woodlands near the tower. Trailing catkins sprouted from the willows, and dawn broke earlier. Ben awoke with his toes less numb with cold than in the first few nights, and to a chorus of songbirds mingled with Lyle's gentle snores.
After popping to his parents most mornings for a quick shower and brush up, Ben worked tirelessly on his proposal for Oakey Dell—which moved slowly and involved a lot of meetings with the Residents Association, who initially opposed Ben's plans because they still hated Tessa and anybody linked with her. Charming them proved hard work, although Ben succeeded eventually by presenting them with one of his dad's best Victoria sponges.
Ben's evenings and weekends passed in homemaking with Lyle and in discovering their skills complemented each other well. Ben was naturally cautious, continually assessing for risks, not least in his decision to erect decking at the dangerous end of Lyle's pool, to prevent any future accidents.
"It'll look ridiculous!" scoffed Lyle, although he soon came around to Ben's way of thinking when he realized it was a perfect opportunity to show off his skill with woodworking. Indeed, when Ben had informed his mum that Lyle was an artist, it hadn't been far from the truth after all. Using tools borrowed from Ben's dad, Lyle cut curving boards that skirted the edges of the pool beneath the willows, so artistically wrought, Ben could picture a 1920s flapper dancing across them. Once Lyle had finished, he whittled a series of little wooden birds, animals, and dragons—his favourite creature—which he arranged along the ledge.
"Long ago, I would give toys like these to the children who visited the woods to play," he explained to Ben. "These days, they either run away, or they don't want them. They like those shiny tablet things you all fiddle with, I suppose."
Ben supposed so too. "It's probably best you don't approach kids at all," he warned Lyle. Indeed, Ben plied much thought to the matter of keeping their campsite hidden from prying eyes, wandering lovers, and dog walkers, not least so Lyle wouldn't have to tax himself with concealment magic too often. Fortunately, the explosion of spring leaves and flowers blocked all views of the tower from the nearest footpath. Ben always picked a different route through the foliage when he came home to Lyle, so as not to leave a well-worn track. Even so, scrambling to hide the camp when they heard people approach remained a regular chore.
Nevertheless, the hardest part of any day was leaving Lyle for work. During their third week together, and after a particularly dramatic morning performance of sulking and pouting, Ben gently confronted Lyle on his return that night.
"You don't have to do that every time I go, love," said Ben as he stirred a pot of mulled wine that dangled, simmering, over the fire. "I will keep coming back. I'm not Adam, but I do believe I know why he never returned to you."
"How can you say that?" snapped Lyle, jumping to his feet. "Am I so awful? You are going to desert me!"
"You know I'm not." Ben rose and reached for Lyle's hands. Lyle glared, but let Ben take them all the same. "I did a bit of research today, and I found out what happened to Adam. You see, when he returned to human society, he told his family about you and they believed he'd gone mad." Ben's research had revealed that the boy who'd disappeared into the forest and reappeared to tell tales of what the press had called a "fairy prince" had been named Adam Bannister. It couldn't be a coincidence. "They locked him up, Lyle. That's why he didn't come back to you."
Ben ran his thumb along the back of Lyle's rigid hands, soothing away the tension, and fixed deep in Lyle's troubled eyes. "Soon after that, Adam went away to fight in the Second World War. I'm afraid he was killed in a faraway land."
"Oh," said Lyle softly. He bowed his head and sniffed. Ben waited, patient. "I… I suppose I knew he was dead, anyway," said Lyle, after a while. "But… it makes me sad. I'm sorry your people were so horrid to him. I suppose it was my fault."
"It really wasn't." Ben tugged Lyle closer. "Adam should've been more careful, although he was very young." Adam had only been twenty-four when he'd been killed, in a British campaign in North Africa, and even younger when he'd been locked away. Lyle allowed himself to be pulled into Ben's arms; their foreheads touched. "I won't get myself arrested, I promise. I'm too careful for that. But we do need to think about our future, Lyle. There must be a way to get you out of here. We need to talk about the cur—"
"Not tonight," murmured Lyle. "Tonight, I just want to be with you. Adam was… well, he was very different from you, Benjamin, more like me. We didn't really, I don't know… fit together so well. We argued a lot. And after he was gone, I was so angry and upset, I never mourned him properly."
A couple of tears dripped down Lyle's nose. "It's alright, love," whispered Ben, fingertips dabbing the wetness. "I don't mind. We can think about those other things later."
He drew Lyle back to the fire, glad of the hot, spicy wine, which warmed their insides even if it didn't quite lift Lyle's spirits, or Ben's. The future was a real worry. On the other hand, life drifted on okay for now.
After their next breakfast, Lyle waved Ben goodbye with an only mildly begrudging smile, which felt like progress. By the following
week, indeed, they'd fallen into a happy and secure-feeling routine. After work, Ben would drive back to the woods around six p.m. He'd park his car up a little-used lane which he figured was safer than the carpark—where one night his windscreen had been smashed—and then he'd trudge his way to the tower. Lyle would be waiting, calm and content.
They'd cook dinner on a camping stove, utilizing whatever Ben had found on discount at the Co-op store that evening, sometimes spicing up a stew or salad with some nettles or herbs Lyle had gathered in his little corner of the woods. Lyle regularly offered to conjure up food, but Ben always declined. Not only did the effort take its toll on Lyle. Ben wasn't convinced magic food had much nutritional value—after making Ben feel initially full, he seemed to get hungry again far sooner than with non-magic food.
Then they'd chat about their days. Lyle was always fascinated by Ben's work in the office, however dull it seemed to Ben.
Lyle was especially thrilled to hear about how Kristof had been thwarted: Shanty Wood, so it turned out, was home to a significant population of rare nocturnal birds called nightjars. The notion that the nightjars' nesting grounds could be disturbed by building works, even for a so-called woodland regeneration project, had put an army of local twitchers on the warpath.
"What are twitchers?" queried Lyle, sitting up by the stove on the night Ben had found out the details of Kristof's woes and broken the news. Lyle took a sip of the sparkling wine that Ben had bought to celebrate.
"Committed birdwatchers," explained Ben, savouring the taste of the prosecco nearly as much as he always enjoyed the sight of Lyle after a wearisome day in the office. For cheap plonk drunk out of a plastic tumbler, the wine didn't taste bad at all. Lyle loved the stuff, and was looking particularly sexy to boot, kitted out in a warm polar neck sweater, waterproof trainers, and figure-hugging skinny jeans that Ben had purchased for him. Lyle had cut holes at the shoulders and thighs, to accommodate his fins, and this afforded the ensemble an additional je ne sais quois.
"With any luck," continued Ben, "the whole affair will go to the dogs now, just like Kristof's plans for Warrencroft. Apart from this time he's been scuppered by rare birds, not rare flowers."
"I could've told them about the nightjars," scoffed Lyle. "Although, ironically, I wouldn't mind if those beasties shut up a bit. They make a terrible racket, clicking and screeching, when I'm trying to get to sleep."
"Yeah, I think I heard them a while back," said Ben. "But I've had no trouble getting to sleep out here the last week or so, even if the dawn chorus wakes me. Those energetic workouts before bed have put me out like a light." He drained his glass and raised an eyebrow suggestively.
Lyle unleashed his most ravishing smile. "These've been the best nights I've passed in the last one-hundred-and-seventy-five years. And they can only get better now, right? Now we're safe?"
"Yes, we're safe. I promise. I'm going to submit my final plans for Oakey Dell next week. All we need is Tessa's signoff on my work, and then the whole threat to Shanty Wood will be history."
Ben trusted his words as hard as he dared, and Lyle twisted to claim a kiss, which he eagerly reciprocated. They rose onto their knees, Lyle arched his body close, and Ben slid his hands up Lyle's sweater and into the small of his back. Lyle's fins slid under Ben's own jacket, sending sensations akin to fiery shivers racing up and down his spine. He worked the kiss energetically, and Lyle's touch remained as urgent and exploratory as the first time, which seemed so long ago now.
"Oh Ben," moaned Lyle. Ben nibbled along Lyle's jawline, pausing to suck his earlobe. "I'm so happy. I never thought I could be this happy. Spring is here and you've turned my hell into heaven."
Ben drew away to catch his breath and gather his nerves. Lyle's happiness was an awesome responsibility. Deep down, he knew this status quo couldn't last forever, whether Kristof's plans were no longer a threat, or not. Sooner or later, somebody would discover they were camping out here. Ben couldn't hide as easily as Lyle, and if Lyle had shown no signs of weakening lately, it was probably because he'd not tried any magic either, at least not to Ben's knowledge.
But, hey, so far so good, and… Nnnng! He buried his face in Lyle's neck as Lyle plunged his hands, for a change, down Ben's jeans and grasped him. Friction built as they rubbed together, sticky palms and rutting bodies devoted to each other's pleasures. All Ben's worries—and indeed any rational thought—disintegrated into a lust-pummelled mush.
Chapter Ten
Roughly twelve hours later, Kristof galloped across the office and shattered Ben's tentative dreams of ongoing happiness with Lyle.
"I've struck a deal with the twitchers!" Kristof threw his bag onto his desk with a triumphant flourish and flashed his teeth in a megawatt smile. "We've promised not to disturb any of those nightjars nesting sites, and—you'll love this, Ben, it clinched the bargain—we're going to turn that old tower into a bird-hide. Genius, huh?"
Ben swivelled slowly around in his chair, his gut cramping as if he'd been kicked there. "Uh, what? You, uh, you can't."
"Why can't he?" Tessa strode up behind Kristof and clapped him on the shoulder. "Well done, Kristof, I'm proud of you. It's going to be fabulous." She slid her hawk-like focus to Ben. "What's the problem, Ben?"
"Um, nothing." God, he hadn't been prepared for this, and he bloody well should've been. He scrambled for something—anything—to say. "It's just… well, that tower is quite old, and the heritage buffs might kick up a fuss if we make alterations."
"It's not a listed building," said Kristof. "I thought you knew that."
"I've double checked everything with English Heritage," chipped in Andrea, peeping over from her desk on the far side of Kristof's. "They don't even know who built it, and there's no title deeds stored anywhere."
"There you go," said Kristof. "We can demolish or convert it, whatever we like—and I say convert. It'll be perfect. Have you sorted out that deadly pool yet, Ben?"
"Er, yes," said Ben. "I've shored up the banks with wooden decking." Oh, how he'd grown to love that decking. Lyle had lately extended it beyond the willows so he could use it as a diving board. Last Sunday afternoon, he'd sprawled like a cat along it with his fins splayed, taking in the sunbeams.
"Good temporary solution," said Tessa, "but not enough, now we'll have more kids around there. I'll give the enforcement team a kick up the arse and get them to fill it in properly. They'll be there tomorrow."
Tomorrow! Ben jumped up. "That's not necessary. Don't nightjars like water, anyway?"
"Nightjars are nocturnal, not aquatic." Kristof, who'd settled at his desk, looked pissed off.
"But I've seen other rare birds there that do like water." Ben struggled to think of an elusive waterfowl. "I swear, when I was putting up the decking, I disturbed a bittern. And I've definitely seen a kingfisher once or twice." The latter fact was even true.
"Don't tell the twitchers, then," said Tessa, articulating the words in slow clipped tones as if addressing an idiot. She folded he arms. "Look, Ben, I know you've been beavering away on your Oakey Dell proposal, but quite frankly, Kristof has won the race. I'm going to start investing in Shanty Wood right now, today, and I will be exceedingly unhappy if we have yet another setback." Still fixated on Ben, she added, "Indeed, any more failures for this department and there will be job cuts. So it's time to buck up your act. And one more thing—have you looked in the mirror lately? You've been turning up to this office looking like a tramp."
"I'm sorry. I know I've dropped the ball. I'll do better." Ben slumped back down at his desk and rubbed his hands over his stubbly cheeks. He wished that this, of all mornings, he hadn't skipped visiting his parents to have a shower and a shave. He'd overslept after his night with Lyle had become even more energetic and passion-filled than usual.
He'd an ominous impression that tonight would turn out grimmer.
*~*~*
Ben pushed his unappetizing-looking noodles around his plastic bowl with his fork. "Lyle," he said. "We need to tal
k about the curse."
"Why?" asked Lyle, wiping the noodle juice from his chin with a flip of a fin. He shovelled in another mouthful, eyes narrowing to slits and clearly not keen on the topic.
Ben stared into the campfire. "I'm sorry. It's all gone horribly wrong. Kristof has managed to appease the twitchers, and to cut a long story short, there's some men coming here tomorrow. To fill in the pool."
"Tomorrow!" Lyle dropped his bowl, noodles splashing across the groundsheet. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? But it's okay. I'll conceal it. Yes, it'll be fine, if it's just for one day. I've been strong lately. It'll be a full moon again the night after tomorrow, and you've made me strong."
Ben cringed, placing down his dinner. No way could he feel hungry tonight, even if a bluebottle fly hadn't just drowned in his grub. "It's no good, love, they'll keep coming. Men will keep coming day after day. Kristof is going to go through with his plans, build new paths, bring more and more people here, and… they're going to turn the tower into a bird-hide."
"A what?" Lyle's voice sounded pathetically small, though he flexed his fists furiously in his lap.
"A bird-hide is a place to spot birds from. I'm sorry, Lyle, but this is why we have to talk about breaking this curse and getting you away from here. I can't protect you forever."
Lyle jumped up, reflected firelight intensifying the fury that danced in his eyes. "It seems you can't protect me at all. You promised!"
"I said I'd try—"
"You promised!" screamed Lyle, his anguish lancing to Ben's core. Because Ben had promised, he knew he had. Right now he wished he bloody hadn't. "I know what's happening. You're trying to get rid of me. You want to leave. You're no better than Adam."
Ben puffed out his cheeks; one of them had to stay calm. "We've discussed this, Lyle. When poor Adam told his family he'd been with you, they had him committed. Then he was killed in the war. I'm sure he would've come back to you if he'd had the chance."
The Lonely Merman Page 7
