by M. C. Adams
‘It’s a French film — all sorts of public nudity and psycho-drama.’
‘Sounds all kinds of naughty.’ Hunter playfully bites my neck.
‘Maybe I’ll make you watch it while I go down on you,’ I say.
We walk through the gate, and I kiss Hunter on the lips as I put my key in the door. We’re acting like randy teenagers, but I don’t care. I’ve waited so long to feel this way with someone, to barely be able to keep my hands off them. I never thought it would be with a man, and I never thought it would be with Hunter, but suddenly, it all makes perfect sense.
I push open the door, looking down at the small pile of post that’s accumulated on the doormat since we were away. Work stuff, mostly, which I’ll take up to my office later on…
But there’s something odd about one of the envelopes on top of the pile.
There’s a huge, dirty boot print on it.
Instantly, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
‘What is it?’ Hunter asks. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘Maybe he has,’ says a deep, throaty voice from the kitchen.
Hunter immediately grabs my hand, giving it a quick squeeze, and then pushes in front of me — to protect me. I love how that’s always his first instinct.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ he asks, striding into the kitchen.
‘Let’s just say I’m a concerned citizen.’
‘I’ll give you something to get concerned about, you prick,’ yells Hunter, then he turns to face me. ‘Is this clown a friend of yours?’
That’s when I finally get to see the man who’s just broken into my house. It’s not anyone I know — but I already knew that, because I didn’t recognise his voice. This man is a complete stranger.
He’s in his mid-thirties, I’d say, and is wearing a brown tracksuit — utterly nasty-looking but possibly quite expensive — along with a gold medallion and sparkling rings on his fingers. He’s sitting at the kitchen table - my kitchen table, with an open bottle of whisky and a glass in front of him. That whisky was left behind here by Charlotte, so this guy is welcome to it… but that’s not the point.
The point is: a very strange, very scary man, has invaded my home.
I reach into my pocket, trying to surreptitiously call 999, but the guy shifts back in his chair and smiles at me.
He’s got a thick, dark brown beard, and his eyes are so dark they’re almost black. Even though his mouth is smiling at me, his eyes aren’t.
‘There’s no point calling for help, pal,’ he says, in a breathy way that makes my skin crawl. ‘Not when we could all just sit down and have a polite conversation.’
‘How did you get in here?’ Hunter asks.
He grins. ‘I have my ways.’
‘Not good enough. How?’
‘London’s not quite as big as you think, my friend. I know a lot of people. A lot of locksmiths…’
‘You know the guy who changed these locks?’ I ask, outraged.
‘Why don’t you sit down and we can talk about it like civilised adults?’
Hunter shakes his head. ‘We’re not sitting down… Kay, why don’t you wait outside, while I speak to this fella?’
Hunter has never called me Kay before. I get the feeling that he’s maybe doing it to help protect my identity, just in case this guy for some reason doesn’t already know who I am.
The man laughs. It’s a wheezy laugh, which tells me that he’s probably a smoker. When I look more closely at his hands, I can see that the second and third fingers on his right hand are tinged with yellow. Charlotte’s are like that too. It’s something I always despised.
‘I wouldn’t wait outside if I were you, brother,’ says the guy. ‘All kinds of folk out there.’ He pours himself another generous helping of whisky and then says: ‘Oh. How rude of me. Forgot to introduce myself. I’m Grant. And you must be Klein and Hunter. Congratulations, by the way. On your recent wedding. I hear the Lake District is lovely this time of year.’
‘Who are you? How do you know all this about us?’ I ask.
‘I have my connections,’ he replies, scratching his beard.
‘Why are you here?’ cuts in Hunter.
‘Now, now, no need to take that tone with me, young man,’ says Grant. ‘I’m here to help you, as it happens.’
‘And why do we need help?’ he asks, crossing his arms.
Grant looks at me. ‘There’s a little neighbourhood in East London. Very nice place. Lived there a long time, you know how it is.’ He takes a sip of whisky, and then smacks his lips together. ‘Trouble is, the area’s been suffering from what’s known as gentrification in recent years. Hipster coffee shops, delis, micropubs, all that kind of shit.’ He looks down at his gold medallion, and twists it around in his fingers a few times. ‘Problem is, this gentrifying lark has not only filled the area with absolute tossers, it’s also cost me a load of fucking wonga. I’m talking a load. The way I see it, I’m owed some sort of compensation…. because that was my patch, see. And some entitled motherfucker has come along and done a bit of refurb on the place, and all of a sudden it’s ripped out the fucking heart of the place, you know? The original fucking fixtures and fittings. I was one of those fixtures. So, as you can see, I’m in quite a predicament. And I deserve compensation.’
‘I understand that gentrification can be a complex issue,’ I say. ‘Improving the aesthetics of a place — sometimes at a cost to those who were there first. But… what’s this got to do with me?’
‘Well,’ Grant says, getting to his feet. He towers over us. Must be six foot four, at least. ‘Turns out you’re the motherfucker that ripped my heart out.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘It was you,’ Grant says, looking down at me. I notice how he’s so close to me how grey his teeth are. Those dark teeth and those wild eyes mean only one thing to me: drugs. ‘You designed those fuckin’ low-carbon eco houses that brought all the fucking hippies to my patch. And now business is fucked because no-one who wants my product lives within a ten-mile effin’ radius. And that’s that patch I’ve worked so hard to cultivate as my own all my life. I can’t just go and work on some other guy’s patch, now, can I? Because that’d be against the fuckin’ code. You get me? You went against the code. You invaded my territory.’ He looks around the house. ‘And now I’ve invaded yours.’
‘What is it you want?’ hisses Hunter. ‘And what makes you think we’ll strike a deal with you?’
‘Oh, so it’s “we” now is it, Mister MacArthur? Hang on, which one do I address as Mister MacArthur? Or do I say, “Mister MacArthur One and Mister MacArthur Two?”’
‘Fuck off,’ says Hunter, under his breath.
I know we’re in what could be a life or death situation right now, but I can’t help stifling a tiny smile when Hunter says that. Even when he’s so clearly in danger, he’s still got his rebellious spirit. He’s authentically ‘Hunter’, no matter what.
‘How about you hear my offer, and then you can think about it, yeah? The offer is: ten million pounds, and I won’t stab his eye out —’ He points at me. ‘And I won’t cut his tooth out with a carving knife.’ He pauses and laughs. ‘Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth… geddit? I was only gonna mess Klein’s pretty little face up, but since you’re so intent on being a team, then you may as well share the collateral damage, eh?’
‘It’s hardly collateral if you’re doing it intentionally,’ says Hunter, spitting at my porcelain tiles. I thought he might have moved on from that nasty habit by now, but never mind. Right now, spitting seems oddly appropriate.
‘You’ll be glad to know, I’m gonna give you some time to decide,’ sneers Grant. ‘Gonna let you stew over it for a while. So much more interestin’ when you have time to stew, don’t you think?’ He rubs his palms together. ‘Besides, I imagine you’ll need a bit of time to get that kind of cash together. So… I’ll be back on Saturday night. And whatever it is that you’ve decided… we’ll have a party to cele
brate, eh?’
‘Fine,’ says Hunter. ‘Looks like you’ve backed us into a corner. But… ’ He squares up to Grant now, his chin pointed upwards, defiantly. ‘Just for the record, there are nicer ways to ask people for help. If you’re struggling with your accounts because your business model wasn’t flexible enough to deal with the inevitable onward march of progress… there are better ways to get a pair of intelligent blokes to give you a hand. We’re business savvy, him and me, and I’m sure we could’ve looked into your methods of operating and really streamlined your business for you, giving you high levels of profit for years to come, but…’ He holds his palms up. ‘Seems like you want a quick fix. And that’s your prerogative.’
My jaw almost drops to the floor. I’ve never heard Hunter talk like this, using business jargon, let alone in such a high-stress situation involving a violent gangster.
Unfortunately, the gangster doesn’t bite. ‘Ten million is a bit more than a quick fix, you idiotic scrote,’ he sneers. ‘Ten million will set me up for life.’
Hunter shrugs. ‘Okay. Your loss.’
Grant rubs his temples, and then narrows his eyes at him for a long time.
Eventually, he says, ‘Fuck it.’
He swings his huge, hairy hand back and punches Hunter clean on the jaw.
He falls to the ground, his head banging on the tiles. I cry out in anguish, as if his fist has just hurt me too, and then I begin shaking, from my head down to my toes.
‘Please…’ I say. ‘We’ll get you the money. Just don’t hurt him any more. We’ll see you in three days. I’ll have to shift my accounts around a little, but —’
‘You think I fuckin’ care how you get it?’ asks Grant, through clenched teeth. He steps over Hunter, who is out cold on the floor, and walks to the kitchen door. ‘See you soon, Mrs. MacArthur. Oh, and, uh… after that backchat from your boyfriend… the price has gone up. It’s fifteen now. Have a good night.’
Before I have the chance to say anything else, he leaves the house, and I rush over to Hunter, kneeling down on the tiles and stroking his hair.
‘Hunter, Hunter, are you okay? Hunter? Wake up!’ Already blooming on his jaw is a fresh, red bruise. His eyes are shut, but he’s still breathing.
Oh, Hunter, you hot-headed thing. Thank you for trying to stick up for me yet again. Please, please be okay…
I roll him onto his side, putting him in the recovery position. I’m not sure how this’ll help, but it’s all I can think of to do right now. Should I call an ambulance?
‘Sorry,’ Hunter whispers, and then he begins to laugh.
I laugh too, though I’m not sure why.
Our laughter becomes more manic now, until we’re both in a fit of helpless giggles, and there are tears streaming from my eyes.
‘Why are we laughing?’ I ask.
‘I don’t know,’ says Hunter. ‘I really fucked up, didn’t I?’
‘No,’ I say, more seriously now. ‘Not at all. Not one bit. You tried to stand up for me. Again. That’s all.’
‘Well, that’s what you’re paying me for… Did he leave? Did he hurt you?’
‘He’s gone. I’m fine. But what about you? Did you hit your head?’
Hunter sits up. ‘I don’t think so. Feels like my hip took most of the fall. And my jaw hurts where he hit me. I don’t think he’s broken anything.’
‘Not even your spirit, by the looks of things,’ I say, sitting on the tiles beside him, putting my arms around him, holding him close.
‘Sometimes, when things get too crazy, I just laugh,’ says Hunter.
‘Sometimes, when I’m happy, I cry,’ I say.
‘Sometimes you can be happy and sad at the same time.’
I nod. ‘I’m just glad you’re okay, Hunter. I was so worried for a minute there. I thought he might have…’
Hunter shakes his head. ‘It’ll take more than a chav in a brown tracksuit to kill me.’
I look into his eyes, at his pained smile. It obviously hurts him to grin right now, because of his jaw.
‘You know,’ I say softly, ‘there was a moment back there, where Grant referred to you as my boyfriend. I know it’s complicated, because you’re already my husband, and you work for me, and maybe you’re concussed right now… And I know we swerved the issue while we were in Paris, but… would you like to be? My boyfriend?’
Hunter’s green eyes blink at me. His lip begins to tremble.
‘Hang on,’ I say. ‘Are you about to cry because you’re happy now?’
Hunter shakes his head. ‘Actually, I’m not going to cry at all. I’m going to kiss you.’
He leans in towards me and gives me a long, soft, tender kiss. His lips speak to me, telling me they’re sorry, they’re hopeful, they’re protective… they’re mine.
12
HUNTER
* * *
‘Fuck. Those fucking arseholes.’
I pace up and down the kitchen, while Klein makes us yet another cup of tea. ‘It’s for the shock,’ he told me, as he put the first cup down in front of me. ‘Nice and sugary. It’ll do you good.’
Well, the first cup didn’t help, so I’m not sure how the second one will.
‘I can’t believe the cops are so fucking useless. I mean, they arrested me once without a second fucking thought, and yet —’
‘You were arrested?’ Klein asks, putting down the kettle.
I sigh. ‘Promise you’ll still want to be my boyfriend after this? I’ve got a criminal record. Okay? That’s one of the reasons I’ve found it so hard to get a good job.’
Klein tries to smile, but I can tell he’s got alarm bells ringing in his head. ‘What was it for?’
‘It was stupid,’ I say. ‘Really dumb. It happened years ago. I was only eighteen. And… I learnt from it. And, actually spending some time on the inside kinda helped, weirdly. I learnt to stand up to dangerous criminals for one thing… not that that is always the wisest thing to do, as we’ve just seen. Met some interesting people, too. Some good people. But also, there was a college in the prison. I spent some time studying for a business qualification. Just a basic certificate, you know, studying for a few hours a week, but it was interesting. I’d never had an opportunity to do anything like that before. I got really into it. But then I got let out early — after six weeks. I was meant to be in for three months.’
I can see that Klein’s impatient to know what I did, and I’m waffling, because I can hardly bring myself to tell him.
‘Look,’ I say. ‘I wouldn’t do this now. Okay? It was… vandalism.’
‘Vandalism?’
‘I was on a protest march.’ I scratch my nose. ‘There was this couple who ran a cake-making business. They refused to make a cake supporting gay marriage, because it went against their beliefs. Well, there was this big fuss about it in the LGBT community, as you can imagine, and then an even bigger fuss after the Supreme Court ruled that the bakers hadn’t done anything wrong. So, a huge crowd of us stood outside the bakery all day, waving our placards and chanting, ‘We’re here, we’re queer’… all that kind of stuff. And then I got a bit carried away. A bunch of younger, more stupid attendees at the rally got over-excited when the police tried to move us away. A couple of them threw stones at the police. I didn’t do that, but I did lob a stone at the bakery window, and I cracked it.’
‘I see.’
‘It was a moment of craziness. You know? I just saw red, and in that one moment, I lost it. I regretted it immediately.’
Klein nods. ‘You didn’t actually hurt anyone, did you?’
I shake my head. ‘Only person I ever physically hurt in my life was the guy that beat me up on the street that time. It’s just… after the stuff with my dad, and that guy who beat me up, I guess I kinda had problems managing my anger. I’m better at it these days, now I’ve had the chance to grow up a bit.’
Klein pours hot water from the kettle into two cups and then stirs in some sugar. ‘Thank you for telling me,’ he says. ‘
You’re right, it was a foolish thing to do. But I understand why you did it. Learning how to manage your anger is the project of a lifetime. God knows I don’t always get it right.’
‘Thing is, I’ve always had a lot of respect for the police since the arrest. But the way they were after that guy broke into your house? And the way they were on the phone just now, it’s fucking ridiculous.’
Klein brings the teas over and sits down. ‘Run it past me one more time. What did they say exactly?’
I sigh. ‘They said they know the guy we’re talking about, and it’s best we just comply with his demands. They said their hands are tied, and there’s nothing they can do “in this instance”.’
‘I’ve never heard anything so stupid in all my life. I mean… they’re the police. Of course there’s something they can do.’
‘Well, you heard me ranting at them. They finally said they’d provide one guy to sit in a car outside the house, but any more than that and it’d look “too suspicious”. I mean, what the hell? It sounded like they were seriously scared of this jerk.’
‘Seems like he wasn’t joking when he said he had connections. He must be threatening the police too, or he’s infiltrated them somehow. I thought that kind of stuff only happened in movies.’
‘It’s fucked up. Wish I’d knocked the guy’s lights out.’
‘That’s the kind of talk that gets you into trouble, Hunter. We need to use our brains, not our brawn.’
‘I know, I know. I’m trying to,’ I say. ‘It’s just… it’s just… Ooh, wait a minute. I think I’ve figured something out.’
‘You have?’
‘Yeah. I think I’ve got a plan forming. Where do you keep your safe, by the way? Presuming you have one...’
‘In my office. Upstairs. Why?’
‘Right. I’m gonna go check out your office for a minute, and then you and I are going out.’
‘Out? Where?’
‘You’ll see.’
* * *
‘Seriously, Hunter? We’re going clubbing?’
I flash Klein a mischievous grin as we stand opposite the nightclub.
