by J P Sayle
Greg found his earlier anxiety recede when Brad confirmed their plans for later and enlightened him as to why he needed Greg to hide Martin’s Christmas gift at his house. “Cool, I’ll nip out after and collect your parcel. Let’s hope I live long enough to keep it safe for you.” Brad’s roaring laughter was the last thing he heard as he ended the call.
Greg braced himself returning to the office. Martin’s closed office door had him releasing his breath. He scuttled to his desk and dove back into his work, keeping his head firmly down to avoid any more interruptions.
Greg stepped out into the dark evening, which was only broken by the gleam of Christmas street lights and the passing traffic. Greg hugged his puffer jacket closer to his body, regretting that he’d left his leather gloves in the car as he rushed down the side steps by Lloyds bank. The icy air frosted his exposed skin, and his breath turned white.
He avoided walking down Victoria Street, knowing he had more chance of bumping into Vic at this time of night. And with the way his luck was going, he wasn’t up for a smackdown. Skirting the back of M&S, he rushed down the dark side lane to the restaurant.
The wide glass windows beckoned. The slow slide of condensation that glittered against the decorated glass had Greg speed up. Warmth surrounded him as he stepped inside. The aroma of pizza dough baking and rich tomato sauces assailed Greg’s nose, making his mouth water as he searched for his friends.
Not seeing them, Greg stepped up to the wooden pedestal decorated with tinsel, situated just inside the restaurant. The open floor plan and vibrant, noisy restaurant, he felt, was perfect for what they planned to discuss. “Hi. I booked a table for four under the name Greg.”
The waiter never looked up from the list he’d been looking at. “Yes, your friends have already arrived. Please follow me.” The waiter grabbed a menu and led Greg to the back of the busy restaurant, to a table tucked behind a wall in the corner. The dimmed lighting did nothing to expel the bright cheeriness he was greeted with by his three new friends.
Greg thanked the waiter and took the menu. He sat next to Brad on the one remaining empty chair at the table. “Hey, sorry I’m a little late, but my bosses were in a bit of a mood after a certain cretin decided to piss off Martin.” Greg let the humour dance in his eyes when Brad hunched into his chair.
“It’s not my fault he doesn’t like me keeping secrets. I just reminded him why I was in this predicament in the first place. That’s all.” Brad beamed at the table. But Greg felt his mind latch on to the word secret. The guilt of his own secret had him ordering a large gin and tonic.
It is going to be a long night, and I could always go to my home in a taxi.
The little clutch in his belly at the thought of not sleeping in the same bed as Aaden had his brow scrunch. He ignored the conversation flowing around him and focused on his drink. He ordered another one along with his food, hoping it would ease his stomach and his conscience.
As they ate their food, Greg tried to pay attention to his part in the plan and what he needed to do to help Brad. As the evening wore on, Greg could feel the alcohol taking effect. A nice buzz spread through him, making his limbs feel a little heavier.
He relaxed back on his chair while listening to Joe rib Brad for getting drunk yesterday and for buying six bottles of Malibu.
Greg interrupted, not quite believing what he heard. “Who on earth would buy six bottles of Malibu? Are we having a throwback party to the 80s that I don’t know about?”
Laughter erupted around the table when Brad went bright red. He ignored them all smiling at the waiter as he delivered another round of drinks. Greg watched the guy get flustered under the power of Brad’s dimples. The guy, though he didn’t give off a gay vibe, still seemed quite taken with Brad’s grin and was smiling back in earnest as he cleared the empty glasses.
Greg mock-whispered to the table as the guy left. “It looks like Brad has an admirer. Wait till I tell Martin.” Greg could hardly choke back the giggles when Brad’s sea-green eyes turned into saucers.
“You wouldn’t, would you?” Brad’s hesitant question had another round of ribbing break out as Greg shook his head. “No of course not. Remember ‘fight club’.”
The hilarity continued, with alcohol flowing freely. Not sure how the others were getting home with them all heading in the same direction, Greg asked. “How are you lot getting back to Kirky?”
Joe answered, shrugging as he spoke. “We all came with Nick. But as none of us is fit to drive, I’m thinking taxi.”
“Or you could come and stay at mine. I have a couple of double beds if you don’t mind sharing.” Greg warmed to the idea of not going home alone when Nick nodded and Brad looked a little undecided.
“I’ve never had a sleepover with friends before.” Brad’s sad response had Greg moving, hugging him into his chest. The scent of cherries had Greg thinking about dessert as he let Brad rest his blond curls on his shoulder.
“You can have a sleepover any night you want. You’ve got friends now.” Greg’s gaze took in Joe and Nick, who nodded as he spoke. “See, we are your boys, your fight club. We’re all in this together. It’s us against the world, right.”
“Could I bring Princess and Max along too, for a sleepover?” Brad’s question had Greg still. The alcohol drowned out the warning bells as he spoke without thinking.
“Why would you want Max to come? That little fucker will probably pick miss witchy poo instead of Princess, and then we’ll all be fucked, won’t we?” As the last word slipped past his lips, Greg smacked his free hand to his mouth, and his eyes grew wide in distress. He realised far too late he’d let the cat out of the bag, or was that the witch?
His mind scrambled to come up with something, anything to explain what he’d just said, as an alternative to the truth. He felt every eye at the table bore into him as Brad pulled away and turned to face him fully. He struggled to look any of them in the eye as he shrank back into the chair, his hands fidgeting in his lap.
“What the fuck do you mean, pick miss witchy poo over Princess. What the hell am I missing here?” The loud wail had several heads turn towards their table.
“Shush, please. The last thing we want is to be arrested for being drunk and disorderly.” Greg hissed at Brad, whose face screwed up into a mutinous scowl. Seeing this was going to end in disaster if he didn’t speak and fast, Greg quickly gave the short version of what happened Friday night and Saturday morning.
He noticed that Nick said nothing. His face was blank, nothing like the incredulous expression on Joe and Brad’s faces. Greg wanted to take back the last five minutes and pretend nothing had happened.
“Shitting hell, Greg, are you saying that Max talks to you and Aaden, like, telepathically?” Joe’s excited question stopped Greg in his tracks.
He nodded, feeling a sense of relief that he could talk about it. “Yes. It was pretty weird to start with, but I’ve kind of grown used to it over the last couple of weeks. Initially it was Aaden talking to Max I could hear in my head, and only when we were together. Then I started to hear Aaden talking to me too, and well, after Friday, I can hear them even when we are not in the same room. It’s not all the time, I can block it, but I’m not sure how I’m even doing that.”
Joe’s inquisitiveness seemed to grow as he peppered Greg with more questions, encouraging Greg to continue. He tried to explain it all, pouring out everything that had happened.
Again, he noted that Nick never said a word. All he did was trace patterns on the paper menu that the restaurant used as place mats. He glanced back at Brad, worrying his lip. “I’m sorry I never said anything before, but I didn’t know what was for the best. I mean, you’d either think I was barking mad or that maybe I’d taken some hallucinogenic drugs.” Greg gave Brad an apologetic smile.
“It’s not your fault. And this whole other soul thing, Max being the king of his kind and having a witch guide that was taken from him? Well, that kind of trumps me being pissed off. Because where would
you start with all of that?” Brad gave a small shrug before continuing. “I don’t have that kind of connection with Princess. Though when I was trying to escape my dad and get back to Martin, she was able to project pictures of me into Martin’s mind. The problem was they then experienced my pain, right along with me.”
Joe interrupted. “Don’t you think it’s odd that we’re all connected through each other and the cats? Never mind the witch.”
“Don’t discount her. You don’t want to underestimate how far she will go to get what she wants,” Nick butted in, breaking his silence.
Greg flicked his gaze from Joe to Nick. He didn’t like the hint of fear he saw displayed on Nick’s face before he could hide it.
Brad spoke before Greg could ask what he meant.
“Nick, what do you know about the witch?”
Greg caught the frustrated growl Nick let out before he blew the hair out of his eyes and rubbed his forehead.
“Listen, I’d rather not get into it in a public place where people might overhear what we’re talking about. This whole evening is like an episode of the X-Files.”
Nick’s smile faltered when no one spoke.
Greg noted his grimace when he continued talking.
“Let’s leave it for now? We can talk about it some more tomorrow. We can share a taxi back to Greg’s or Kirk Michael, but whatever it is, let’s head now. I’m knackered, and I still have a lot of work to get done for Aaden.”
His weary expression and voice had them all shutting up. The evening deflated faster than Aaden’s air bed.
Greg trudged behind them, feeling a little happier that they had decided to head back to Kirk Michael with him in tow.
As he sat in the taxi, he tried to shake off the feeling he’d inadvertently opened up a can of whoop arse on them all. He sent out a silent prayer that this didn’t come back to bite them all on the backside.
Max
Max seethed as he prowled to the cat flap, squeezing through. He was starting to hate Aaden and his “come home now; we have a situation” shouts. How many bloody times was he going to keep doing this to him? His heart had nearly stopped at the level of the shout. He was sure Princess suspected something, with the way she eyed him as he’d slinked away.
He barged through the cat flap into the messy, partly finished kitchen. He paused when he saw Greg’s tear-stained cheeks and hollow eyes. Dread filled his already laden heart. He focused his attention on Greg, ignoring Aaden and Nick. He gave a passing thought as to where Brody was, but not concerning himself, he spoke.
“What the hell has happened now?” Max plonked his arse down on the dusty floor as Greg poured out what had happened. Max felt his ears twitch. His hackles were not faring much better as he realised Brad could at this very moment be telling Princess about Christina.
“How could you?” Max let his accusation hang between them all. With one exception: Nick, who couldn’t hear his side of the conversation. He gave him his consideration for a second. Or could he? Nothing would surprise me anymore.
Greg continued talking out loud, “I didn’t mean to, but I was drinking, and we were talking about a sleepover. And well, when Brad mentioned bringing you and Princess as well, I kinda got angry. Thinking about how you might be planning on murdering poor Princess and…”
Max’s hard glare had him shutting up, and for that, he was grateful because he felt he was about to spit feathers. His anger had him struggling to think past Greg’s utter misery. His slumped shoulders and pitiful sky-blue watery eyes did little to quell the urge to box his ears.
“I made Brad promise not to say anything. Though he was a little angry about it all…”
Max watched Nick raise his brow at Greg, rubbing his forearm as if correcting Greg’s understatement.
“Okay, maybe he was furious, but he promised. And I know Brad is a man of his word. He said he’d wait until you’ve made up your mind, Max.”
Max felt the accusation as Greg spoke. He pinned him in place with the anger and sadness he was projecting.
“Years I lived a quiet life, no real drama. Just minding my own business, hoping that each soul I encountered might be the last. Now I get to the end of my bloody journey, and I’m left with you bunch of cretins trying at every turn to make my life a living hell.” He got up during his rant and went to the door. Sliding through the cat flap, he strode out, ignoring the angry shouts.
Running as fast as his short legs could go, he shouted for Christina.
On the third day of Christmas my true friends gave to me:
The witch hunt and the unwanted trip down memory lane
Nick
15th of December
Nick crept down the stairs, avoiding all the creaky floorboards as best as he could remember. He sent out a silent thank you when he made it to the front door undetected. Unlocking it, he slipped out into the crisp dark morning. The cold slapped harshly at his fitted denim jacket as he sprinted to his van. Releasing the locks, he hopped inside and started the engine. He fired the heater up before reversing into the drive across from Aaden’s. He hoped the sound of his engine didn’t disturb the neighbours.
Nick drove out onto the dark, deserted main road. His mind flicked through the directions he’d memorised to get to Slieu Whallian.
Last night had been the final straw. He’d sat listening to a tearful Greg explain to Aaden and Max what he’d done when Brody had gone to bed. He’d kept his mouth shut, letting Greg get it all off his chest.
The one fact Greg had missed out was how they’d had to physically restrain Brad. As soon as the taxi had pulled into the cul-de-sac, Brad had lost it, threatening to throttle Max. Nick absently rubbed at his arm where Brad had managed to get in a sneaky punch before he could restrain him. He may be small, but by Christ, he was strong when he was angry.
Not that Nick could blame him. He was feeling pretty angry himself. It had been years since he’d thought about Christina and their encounters. Those turbulent times held painful memories he didn’t like to think too hard about. In fact, he tended to avoid all thoughts of her and that confusing time in his life.
Christina’s appearance had just forced the issue out into the open. Since Saturday, or if he was honest, since Brody had rocked up on Friday, it was all he could do not to think about it. Brody’s proximity was making it nigh on impossible to ignore all the messy, sticky thoughts he was used to hiding not only from himself but also from Brody and Aaden.
He was a complete hot mess, and he didn’t have a clue how to fix it, other than run back to the UK and leave Aaden in the lurch.
And oh, how that idea appealed.
Nick blew his hair out of his eyes. He swiped at the long, blond strands hanging around his face, tucking them behind his ears, and shook off the memories that wanted to drag him into his past miseries.
He diverted his attention to the information he’d read while doing an internet search about witches and their connection to the island. Most of his encounters with Christina had been in the woods by his home. He recalled asking her why she liked to spend time in the forest. And if he’d got it right, it had something to do with some of her past lives.
The hill known as the Witches Barrel was where he was headed. It was too much of a coincidence that Christina had lived not many miles from that hill and near Max in the twelfth century. Or that the story he had found about a witch that had been put in a spiked barrel and rolled down Slieu Whallian was a story she had told him about one of her past lives.
A story he was sure at the time she’d told him to create a shed load of guilt and sympathy for her. It had mixed with his confusion when she had started to pressure him about his own gender identity crisis.
“No, no, no, stop it.” Nick growled into the silent van.
His mind in overdrive, Nick attempted to get his thoughts back on track. He did not need the guilt or the sympathy clouding his judgements when he was going witch-hunting.
No, I fucking don’t.
The da
rkness broke as the moon slid from behind the black clouds, casting its long, silver shadow over the water on his right. The glittering darkness caught his eye as it spread. The driving winds whipped at the flat expanse, making white waves thrash towards the land. Nick slowed down, indicating and pulling his van into the curb.
After the crap night’s sleep of tossing and turning, he needed something to buoy his flagging mood. The rough beauty in front of him was far too tempting to resist. He let the thrashing waves and sounds of the wind blowing around the vehicle soothe his raw nerves. He rested his head back, watching nature’s beauty battle with her elements. The water and air seemed to want to play nicely together for a time before they went back to fighting for supremacy.
Was that like me and Aaden?
Only Nick hadn’t wanted to fight for supremacy, not really. All he’d wanted was Brody. Fuck, he was all he’d ever wanted from the moment he’d laid eyes on him at eleven years old. The problem was, his eleven-year-old self didn’t understand what he was feeling. Add in his love of all things feminine and his secret stash of his mother’s silky underwear he loved to wear when no one was around to catch him. It had made his young mind a place ripe for misperceptions and misunderstandings about who and what he was.
Nick could look back now and understand why he’d been easily lured by the witch. He was ripe for the picking. Not sure if he was a boy or a girl inside his head or his body.
“For fuck’s sake.”
Nick continued to curse and rant as he started the engine and carried on to his destination. The view no longer held his attention as his mind seemed to be adamant on revisiting his past, whether he wanted to or not. He tried to remember what the counsellor had taught him about how he could control his thoughts.
He took several deep breaths. The mixed odour of wood shavings and his Joe Malone aftershave took the edge off his urge to turn the van around and drive back to Aaden’s. He reminded himself he was a grown-up now and not a confused child who didn’t know better.
