2025-09-11, 05:29 PM
Chapter 1
It had begun with war and ended in carnage. The dead were scattered across the land. Blood poured through the streets. Armoured soldiers with breathing apparatus wandered through the desolate streets of dead cities. Nothing but pockets of humanity remained, clinging desperately to some semblance of life.
I woke up screaming again. My body soaked in sweat. Mum was sat at the edge of my bed, a hand resting reassuringly upon my knee. "It's OK, calm down" She repeated. I looked at her wild eyed as I processed the horror of my nightmare.
"It's coming Mum, I know it is, it's coming" I mumble eventually as the panic vanished. Then I vomited. This had become a near nightly occurrence since I had fallen ill three months prior. I had just returned home after visiting some friends in Newcastle, when something took me. It started with headaches, then came the fever, aching joints, and vomiting. I couldn't eat and barely slept. The doctors were baffled. They tried all the usual drugs, done all the tests. They said to me one day, "There's something there Alex, but what that is and how we deal with it, we don't know yet!".
I wasn't the only one, across Britain some twelve others suffered the same symptoms. The only difference between them and myself, were the dreams, and I hadn't died yet. The governments newly formed, Terrorist Response Unit (TRU) had questioned us all, but there was no tangible link. We had all been in different areas of the country, doing different things when we had contracted the virus. The situation was helpless, but I was still alive, and that's a good thing.
Mum wiped my face as I collapsed onto my pillow again. Thankfully she had been prepared tonight. She took the bucket of my vomit away, and returned with a glass of water. Her face racked with worry. "I'll call the doctor first thing" She says watching me drink the water.
"Mum I'm fine" I state, clearly lying.
"Your not! I'm ringing the doctor and that's that. This has been going on to long, someone must know something by now!" she declared. Her worry blended with fury over the hopelessness of the situation. I sighed deeply.
"I just need... more time... I feel like shit but I'm not dying" My Mum shook her head at my warped optimism. I don't like worrying people, most of all myself. I force a smile as another brain wrenching headache took me in its vice like grip. Mum watching over me like a sentinel, her only weapons the sheer determination of motherhood.
The next day the doctor visited. More out of routine than request. He checked all my vitals, cross referenced them with my data and smiled at my Mum. "Well the good news is, he's stabilising. Temperatures dropped, his heart rate is stronger, blood pressure good, I think your on the road to recovery Alex" He says. I raise a thumbs up to my Mum.
"How long?" She demanded.
"That I can't say" The doctor answered, his earlier enthusiasm abating. My mother sighed with frustration and walked out the room. The doctor patted me on the shoulder, "You'll be fine Alex"
"I know! You try telling her that" I joke, a huge grin plastered across my face, "now if you'll excuse me, I need to pee" I state struggling to my feet. The doctor helped me to the bathroom and left me to do my business. I returned moments to my bed for another action packed day of fitful sleep, strange dreams and maybe, if I'm lucky, some vomiting.
A week later I was fine. As quickly as it came it left. I went to the hospital for tests, and I got the all clear. Mum proclaimed it a miracle. The doctors ecstatic that they finally got something right, and I was generally OK with the fact I was still breathing. Now to get back to the things I missed, the sex, the drugs, the rock and roll. No not really, that had been a few years ago. Now I live with my mum back in North Wales, after five years of working, drunken debauchery, failed relationships and a small mental breakdown. I tried to fling myself off a bridge. A true victim of the our modern time. At twenty four I am a damaged individual slowly rebuilding his life, waiting for that something special to fill my world. So far I've discovered I quite like gardening.
Mum and I eventually get home from the hospital. It's late summer and the garden is looking a little wild. My veg patch riddled with weeds, and some of my Purple Sprouting Broccoli had gone to seed weeks ago. This was a disaster. I was stood upon the raised patio surveying my (well my mums) land like a disgruntled king, cup of tea in hand.
"Sorry, it all got a little abandoned, what with everything" Mum stated as I patrolled the garden.
"It's no bother Mum, give me something to do" I remark, pulling a weed here and there randomly, "must have been all that rain we had a few weeks ago. Look the runner beans are doing well, need picking though"
And so began six hours of weeding, picking, sowing and planting. I reorganize the shed, check my compost heap, and tell a rather determined blackbird off for stealing my worms. All in all it had been a productive day. Now was time to have a glass of wine, a bite to eat, and see if anyone's up to anything. Afondiwedd, (pronounced Afon dew eth or there about) is a moderately small town, with a couple of shops, a squat little church and two pubs, and suited me to the ground. I had grown up in a similar village not to far away, I had gone to a primary school down the road, and as a result knew a smattering of local people around my age.
As Mum served up home made spaghetti bolognese I poured the wine and checked my mobile phone. The bane of my life. I hate the thing, it grates my every bone. Its constant chirping demanding my attention all the time. This strong distaste for a piece of technology that has probably had just as much impact on society as the wheel and the toaster, is a by product of my small mental breakdown. When I worked up in Newcastle I was a manager for a large pub company, and due to the ineptitude of my fellow managers I was in constant demand. I was always on the end of my phone, even when I was on holiday, or in the hospital watching my grandmother die. Questions like where are the spoons, or do you know this password, how does the printer work? They had no respect for me, and in the end I had non for them. I walked out one night whilst on shift, a member of staff had just asked me what was in a gin and tonic and it pushed me to far. I left walked through the city and stood upon the High Level Bridge looking down into the murky depths of the Tyne and thought about jumping. Then my mobile phone rang. Looking at it it was the pub, no doubt my colleague trying to find out where I was. I threw it into the water. Then life goes a bit blurry, but eventually I was found a few days later, by a really nice homeless man who gets the police and I end up in hospital.
That was when Carol my best friend fired up her clapped out bright yellow Fiat Sencento, otherwise known as Tino, and drove me the two hundred and forty eight miles to my mums house. That was a year ago, and I'm still here. But now I have a new phone and its every ability to make noise, vibrate or any other means of trying to grab my attention has been disabled. I have two text messages. Ones from my dad, he wants to meet up for a drink, and the other is from my old school friend James, he also wants to have a drink. Life is exciting when your not dying.
I respond to my dad first, agreeing to meet in about an hour in the Cross Keys the pub furthest from my mums house, then I text message James asking him to meet in two hours at the White Lion, about six doors up from my house. Sorted. I pocket my mobile. Dinner was lovely, and together mum and I polished off the bottle of wine. Soon it was time to meet my dad, so I tell mum I'm off to meet the guys for a few drinks. She tells me to take it easy and not drink to much, just as she refills her seventh glass of Chardonnay and sparks up a cigarette, like mother, like son. No sooner am I out the door I too light a cigarette and off I trot to the Cross Keys to paint this one horse town red.
Afondiwedd has an interesting collection of habitants. Some are young families renting houses in and about the town, but most were retired home owners waiting out the rest of their lives in the same town they were born in. As a result a certain level of bigotry is inherent in the older populace. When the local corner shop had been bought by a Pakistani family the people were up in arms, well zimmer-frames, but now after a few years, a couple of broken windows and a restraining order, they're pretty much accepted. But if the oldies found there was a gay in their midst, I think it would be burning torches and pitchfork time again. However the people around my age and little older are relatively normal and have few qualms. Still I'm pleased I'm not camp at all really, and I don't dress like a scene queen, so my secret is pretty much safe. I am out as it were. My family knows, and all my friends, and I am proud of who I am, I'm just not stupid either.
So here I am walking towards the Cross Keys garbed in a crisp black shirt with embroidered cuffs and a darted chest, black jeans, and my favourite black and white skater trainers, all topped off by a pair of sunglasses pinning my dark brown hair back. My skin is clear and fresh and I feel great. First time out loose in months and I'm not dying!
Walking into the Cross Keys I'm greeted by the usual old man pub smell. Since the Smoking Ban, BO and stale ale were now the air fresheners of such an establishment. However it's smell I've grown accustomed to after my years working behind a bar. There sat at the bar is my father. Otherwise known as Dad, or Harry to those not of his linage. He's sat cradling a real ale. A local one I assume. He smiles as he sees me approach. His hair now completely grey but once was raven black. His brown eyes gentle and reassuring. He has the distinct air of a man quite content in the world.
"Hello son!" He declares getting off the bar stool to give me a hug, "You had us all worried"
"I had myself worried" I reply with a cheeky grin, "But I'm all good now!" My dad then fixes me with a stare. A worried cautious stare, one he seems to reserve just for me, "seriously was at the hospital today and they sat I was clear! Fit as a fiddle actually, probably better than before! Lost a bit of weight!" I say holding my diminished belly. It was true I had lost three stone since falling ill, and I felt quite chipper.
"Heard from your brother?" He asked, sitting back down and pulling out a stool for me. I take it and swivel in front of the bar. Now, the elusive brother. My father and I have this conversation every time we see each other. Charlie, my older brother by ten years, has always been a bit aloof ever since our parents divorce, and we weren't particularly close, mainly because as I was coming out of nappies he was running off with his friends. The only conversations we had in the early years were usually arguments, and so when I was eleven and went off to boarding school and he was away at university we never really spent any time together. However now, after my small breakdown he had proclaimed he was my protector. How he intends to act on that title is beyond me, be way down south in London.
"Not heard from him, but Mum spoke to him earlier today, she says he's coming up to visit soon but well we'll see"
"And how is your mother?"
"Well the usual" My mum is a very protective, but also very difficult woman at times. She is always right even when she is blatantly wrong, and has a bit of a drink problem. It's the belief of most of the family now that she has some deep seated medical condition, something like Personality Disorder Cluster B, but getting her to a doctors... its easy to draw blood from a stone, "Fighting anyone and anything, the doctors mainly over the last few weeks, I think the neighbours are in for some soon though. She's been harping on about the fence again"
My dad shakes his head slightly, his face set in a frown, then he perks up, "Wendy wants to see you", Wendy is my dads wife. She's an interesting woman, she worked for years in the mental health sector and is now a social work supervisor. For the past year she's been angling for me to go into social work, believing quite adamantly I would be perfect for the job. She had obviously just heard about my application to the local college to see about an access course in Health and Social Care, the vital stepping stone for me to get into university.
"I thought she might," I say with a smile. The conversation continued following the line of my decision to go into social work, am I sure its the right move, and so on. Then we discuss my step brothers, both eager to see me. They are another ten years younger than me, and since they lost their biological older brother I seem to have stepped into that role without knowing it. Dad says there's a number of questions they have for me, which they don't want to ask my dad or their mum. So its about girls no doubt. Eventually the hour for me to move on draws. We say our good byes and Dad sets off home.
I only had one drink with my dad, this is because I don't like to drink much around him after a very embarrassing incident when I was fifteen and ended up in hospital with Alcohol Poisoning, all because I accidentally drank a bottle of rum. Now your probably thinking I spend quite a considerable amount of time in hospital. This is essentially true, I am a bit clumsy, and have quite bad luck. To emphasise this, I trip on a curb just by the White Lion, and I can see James and his usual posse in the window laughing at me. I do a bow and walk into the pub. The White Lion is distinctly different from the Cross Keys. It's patrons usually the younger citizens of Afondiwedd. There's clichéd rock music playing on the jukebox. Flatscreen TV's tiling the walls portraying the sports events of the day. Something I have little to no interest. The bar maid was considerably much younger than the aged crone that could barely pull a pint in the Cross Keys.
James and his gang had occupied their usual window table. They were all there, Rachel, Becky, Brian and Stuart, and of course James. His rugged blonde face still dusty from his masonry work. But there was also someone else. I recognised him but couldn't put a name to him. Who ever he was he was quite handsome. He was leaning on the wall behind one of the girls, I forget which because they all look the same round here. James immediately clocks me and throws his arms up into the air crying out my name. I smile as a round of cheers comes from the table. It's their cheesy traditional welcome, but its nice. I order my drink, a cold pint of cider, and I walk over to the table careful not to spill. I realise there's no more seats so rather than turning round and getting one I opt to stand. Thankfully my shorter welsh stature means I'm not to much higher than those sitting down.
Usual conversation unfolds, how am I, what did I have, where was I, how did I get it, and what was it like dying, were the dominant questions. I reassure everyone I wasn't dying at any point just really quite ill. I then spend twenty minutes convincing them I'm not contagious in anyway, something some of them are reluctantly believe. I then notice the handsome stranger had remained silent the entire time, he spent the time just staring at me. Not in a freakish way but still staring. I look at him and smile. He smiles back. This is getting interesting.
"Oh yeah Alex, you remember Lee. We used to go to primary together, you were the year below us weren't you Lee?" James states. I nod recognition, as Lee confirms this. Of course I knew him, I knew him pretty damn well, I slept with him a couple of times I seemed to recall. We had been quite close in Primary, but then when I was away at school we rarely saw each other and then one day when I was fifteen and he fourteen, we, well we fucked. It was a mad moment in my life, I was just coming to terms with my sexuality and somehow it happened. I was camping with a couple of friends from school who were staying with me for the Easter Holidays and Lee was there. We got a bit drunk then we had each other in the woods. Very romantic. He fucked me first, and then I him. It was a potent memory, and it came flooding back. I blush involuntarily.
"Yeah the lucky dogs banging Rachel here" James states quite braskly. Rachel instantly chastises him and Lee laughs. Ah... not so interesting then after all. A bit disheartened I decide to go for a smoke. I get the usual frowns from the gang but Lee offers to join me, I agree and we walk to the back of the pub to the smoking area. Night had quickly come and the typically pale skies of mid summer were turning purple-blue, the occasional star blooming.
"So... Lee..." I began as I took a seat at the picnic table under the awning, a lone light bulb flickering above. I take out my pack of cigarettes and offer one to Lee who is leaning against the wall of the pub. He declines the cigarette. "How are you?"
"Good, yeah really good. You"
"Never felt better!" I scoff as I spark up, relishing the burn of the smoke as I inhale, "What you been up to?" I study his face, he had turned out very handsome in deed. He had green eyes that sparkled in the strange light and dirty blonde hair I remember fondly. He had a nice brush of stubble about his jaw and chin. I suddenly remembered the touch of his soft smooth olive skin and I start to get hard. I try and hide it by crossing my legs.
"Uni mostly, got back about a few months ago, set up my own business. I design and make bespoke furniture. Yourself?"
I laugh to myself a moment, "That's a complicated story!" and so I regale him with a brief explanation of my adventures up north. He responds appropriately and sincerely. That's just like him I thought, recalling his friendly and polite nature. The bastard I thought, your going to be stalking my dreams for a while now.
"I'm glad your well again, I've been hoping to catch up with you" he said a soft and curious smile crossing his lips.
"Yeah, its a nice surprise. So Rachel?" I ask unsure if I want to hear the answer.
"Yep... Rachel" He doesn't sound totally happy, I tilt my head slightly cigarette dangling between my lips. Then he leans forward. He's very close, so close in fact its a little invasive. I have a thing about personal space, just another one of my many wonderful and strange intricacies. He carefully plucks the cigarette from my lips and took a drag before handing it back. I realise my face had been mere inches from his crotch. I blush again. He leans back on the wall. "She's great and all, but well it was more my parents idea. She works for my mum, and well you remember my dad".
This is true, I did. Lee's dad was hot, well he was when he was younger. He had been a boxer in the army in his youth but when I met him he had turned his attention to martial arts. He had a toned body, with the right amount of muscle and a gorgeous smile and piercing green eyes. But he was a typical army man in many ways, and expected his son to be very much a man.
I finish my cigarette quickly, not truly interested in the politics of Lee's family, as I go to step past him, he raises his hand ever so slightly and it touches against my stomach. I stop instantly, his mouth close to my ear.
"I remember" he whispered. I look at him. His flashes his white teeth in a cheeky grin. When I think back I find it strange how I reacted here. I gulped. Quite loudly. His hand moved down slowly and groped me. I gulped again unsure of what to do. Suddenly the door to the pub swung open and I instantly jumped back onto the picnic bench landing awkwardly and nearly fall off the bench. Rachel looks at me curiously, one of my legs in the air.
"Erm... OK... we're putting some songs on the jukebox either of you two fancy anything?"
"Do you want the truth or something beautiful by Paloma Faith please hun" Lee asks. I have to battle against my will to laugh at the irony of the choice, but I don't disapprove. The song in my opinion was an instant classic.
"You always pick that" She said with a cute chuckle. She was very pretty.
"What can I say. I like the song. We'll be in shortly Alex is just sorting himself out!" Lee turned to help me up, I had remained frozen in position, unsure if Rachel suspected anything. He offered me his hand and I took it. With a great heave I was upright, and a bit flustered. He pulled my shirt straight and smiled his sickeningly handsome smile. "Sort yourself out" he teased. His hands lingering on my sides, his thigh brushing against my crotch. He could clearly feel my hard on. I blush instantly and try to arrange myself, which isn't as easy as I would like in my jeans.
Still a bit blustered I follow Lee into the pub, I check his ass out in his skinny jeans. Its a nice ass. I realise have to stop thinking like this, or I'll get myself into trouble. The cards are out when we get back to the table. I am awful at cards so I sit the game out. Poker is to much like hard work for me. For an hour or so we all chat and have a good time, and then I decide to check my mobile. Sure enough there's another text message and a missed call. When will people learn not to bother calling me. Its from Mum.
A. can you get me a bottle of wine and some cigarettes? Xxx
It had begun with war and ended in carnage. The dead were scattered across the land. Blood poured through the streets. Armoured soldiers with breathing apparatus wandered through the desolate streets of dead cities. Nothing but pockets of humanity remained, clinging desperately to some semblance of life.
I woke up screaming again. My body soaked in sweat. Mum was sat at the edge of my bed, a hand resting reassuringly upon my knee. "It's OK, calm down" She repeated. I looked at her wild eyed as I processed the horror of my nightmare.
"It's coming Mum, I know it is, it's coming" I mumble eventually as the panic vanished. Then I vomited. This had become a near nightly occurrence since I had fallen ill three months prior. I had just returned home after visiting some friends in Newcastle, when something took me. It started with headaches, then came the fever, aching joints, and vomiting. I couldn't eat and barely slept. The doctors were baffled. They tried all the usual drugs, done all the tests. They said to me one day, "There's something there Alex, but what that is and how we deal with it, we don't know yet!".
I wasn't the only one, across Britain some twelve others suffered the same symptoms. The only difference between them and myself, were the dreams, and I hadn't died yet. The governments newly formed, Terrorist Response Unit (TRU) had questioned us all, but there was no tangible link. We had all been in different areas of the country, doing different things when we had contracted the virus. The situation was helpless, but I was still alive, and that's a good thing.
Mum wiped my face as I collapsed onto my pillow again. Thankfully she had been prepared tonight. She took the bucket of my vomit away, and returned with a glass of water. Her face racked with worry. "I'll call the doctor first thing" She says watching me drink the water.
"Mum I'm fine" I state, clearly lying.
"Your not! I'm ringing the doctor and that's that. This has been going on to long, someone must know something by now!" she declared. Her worry blended with fury over the hopelessness of the situation. I sighed deeply.
"I just need... more time... I feel like shit but I'm not dying" My Mum shook her head at my warped optimism. I don't like worrying people, most of all myself. I force a smile as another brain wrenching headache took me in its vice like grip. Mum watching over me like a sentinel, her only weapons the sheer determination of motherhood.
The next day the doctor visited. More out of routine than request. He checked all my vitals, cross referenced them with my data and smiled at my Mum. "Well the good news is, he's stabilising. Temperatures dropped, his heart rate is stronger, blood pressure good, I think your on the road to recovery Alex" He says. I raise a thumbs up to my Mum.
"How long?" She demanded.
"That I can't say" The doctor answered, his earlier enthusiasm abating. My mother sighed with frustration and walked out the room. The doctor patted me on the shoulder, "You'll be fine Alex"
"I know! You try telling her that" I joke, a huge grin plastered across my face, "now if you'll excuse me, I need to pee" I state struggling to my feet. The doctor helped me to the bathroom and left me to do my business. I returned moments to my bed for another action packed day of fitful sleep, strange dreams and maybe, if I'm lucky, some vomiting.
A week later I was fine. As quickly as it came it left. I went to the hospital for tests, and I got the all clear. Mum proclaimed it a miracle. The doctors ecstatic that they finally got something right, and I was generally OK with the fact I was still breathing. Now to get back to the things I missed, the sex, the drugs, the rock and roll. No not really, that had been a few years ago. Now I live with my mum back in North Wales, after five years of working, drunken debauchery, failed relationships and a small mental breakdown. I tried to fling myself off a bridge. A true victim of the our modern time. At twenty four I am a damaged individual slowly rebuilding his life, waiting for that something special to fill my world. So far I've discovered I quite like gardening.
Mum and I eventually get home from the hospital. It's late summer and the garden is looking a little wild. My veg patch riddled with weeds, and some of my Purple Sprouting Broccoli had gone to seed weeks ago. This was a disaster. I was stood upon the raised patio surveying my (well my mums) land like a disgruntled king, cup of tea in hand.
"Sorry, it all got a little abandoned, what with everything" Mum stated as I patrolled the garden.
"It's no bother Mum, give me something to do" I remark, pulling a weed here and there randomly, "must have been all that rain we had a few weeks ago. Look the runner beans are doing well, need picking though"
And so began six hours of weeding, picking, sowing and planting. I reorganize the shed, check my compost heap, and tell a rather determined blackbird off for stealing my worms. All in all it had been a productive day. Now was time to have a glass of wine, a bite to eat, and see if anyone's up to anything. Afondiwedd, (pronounced Afon dew eth or there about) is a moderately small town, with a couple of shops, a squat little church and two pubs, and suited me to the ground. I had grown up in a similar village not to far away, I had gone to a primary school down the road, and as a result knew a smattering of local people around my age.
As Mum served up home made spaghetti bolognese I poured the wine and checked my mobile phone. The bane of my life. I hate the thing, it grates my every bone. Its constant chirping demanding my attention all the time. This strong distaste for a piece of technology that has probably had just as much impact on society as the wheel and the toaster, is a by product of my small mental breakdown. When I worked up in Newcastle I was a manager for a large pub company, and due to the ineptitude of my fellow managers I was in constant demand. I was always on the end of my phone, even when I was on holiday, or in the hospital watching my grandmother die. Questions like where are the spoons, or do you know this password, how does the printer work? They had no respect for me, and in the end I had non for them. I walked out one night whilst on shift, a member of staff had just asked me what was in a gin and tonic and it pushed me to far. I left walked through the city and stood upon the High Level Bridge looking down into the murky depths of the Tyne and thought about jumping. Then my mobile phone rang. Looking at it it was the pub, no doubt my colleague trying to find out where I was. I threw it into the water. Then life goes a bit blurry, but eventually I was found a few days later, by a really nice homeless man who gets the police and I end up in hospital.
That was when Carol my best friend fired up her clapped out bright yellow Fiat Sencento, otherwise known as Tino, and drove me the two hundred and forty eight miles to my mums house. That was a year ago, and I'm still here. But now I have a new phone and its every ability to make noise, vibrate or any other means of trying to grab my attention has been disabled. I have two text messages. Ones from my dad, he wants to meet up for a drink, and the other is from my old school friend James, he also wants to have a drink. Life is exciting when your not dying.
I respond to my dad first, agreeing to meet in about an hour in the Cross Keys the pub furthest from my mums house, then I text message James asking him to meet in two hours at the White Lion, about six doors up from my house. Sorted. I pocket my mobile. Dinner was lovely, and together mum and I polished off the bottle of wine. Soon it was time to meet my dad, so I tell mum I'm off to meet the guys for a few drinks. She tells me to take it easy and not drink to much, just as she refills her seventh glass of Chardonnay and sparks up a cigarette, like mother, like son. No sooner am I out the door I too light a cigarette and off I trot to the Cross Keys to paint this one horse town red.
Afondiwedd has an interesting collection of habitants. Some are young families renting houses in and about the town, but most were retired home owners waiting out the rest of their lives in the same town they were born in. As a result a certain level of bigotry is inherent in the older populace. When the local corner shop had been bought by a Pakistani family the people were up in arms, well zimmer-frames, but now after a few years, a couple of broken windows and a restraining order, they're pretty much accepted. But if the oldies found there was a gay in their midst, I think it would be burning torches and pitchfork time again. However the people around my age and little older are relatively normal and have few qualms. Still I'm pleased I'm not camp at all really, and I don't dress like a scene queen, so my secret is pretty much safe. I am out as it were. My family knows, and all my friends, and I am proud of who I am, I'm just not stupid either.
So here I am walking towards the Cross Keys garbed in a crisp black shirt with embroidered cuffs and a darted chest, black jeans, and my favourite black and white skater trainers, all topped off by a pair of sunglasses pinning my dark brown hair back. My skin is clear and fresh and I feel great. First time out loose in months and I'm not dying!
Walking into the Cross Keys I'm greeted by the usual old man pub smell. Since the Smoking Ban, BO and stale ale were now the air fresheners of such an establishment. However it's smell I've grown accustomed to after my years working behind a bar. There sat at the bar is my father. Otherwise known as Dad, or Harry to those not of his linage. He's sat cradling a real ale. A local one I assume. He smiles as he sees me approach. His hair now completely grey but once was raven black. His brown eyes gentle and reassuring. He has the distinct air of a man quite content in the world.
"Hello son!" He declares getting off the bar stool to give me a hug, "You had us all worried"
"I had myself worried" I reply with a cheeky grin, "But I'm all good now!" My dad then fixes me with a stare. A worried cautious stare, one he seems to reserve just for me, "seriously was at the hospital today and they sat I was clear! Fit as a fiddle actually, probably better than before! Lost a bit of weight!" I say holding my diminished belly. It was true I had lost three stone since falling ill, and I felt quite chipper.
"Heard from your brother?" He asked, sitting back down and pulling out a stool for me. I take it and swivel in front of the bar. Now, the elusive brother. My father and I have this conversation every time we see each other. Charlie, my older brother by ten years, has always been a bit aloof ever since our parents divorce, and we weren't particularly close, mainly because as I was coming out of nappies he was running off with his friends. The only conversations we had in the early years were usually arguments, and so when I was eleven and went off to boarding school and he was away at university we never really spent any time together. However now, after my small breakdown he had proclaimed he was my protector. How he intends to act on that title is beyond me, be way down south in London.
"Not heard from him, but Mum spoke to him earlier today, she says he's coming up to visit soon but well we'll see"
"And how is your mother?"
"Well the usual" My mum is a very protective, but also very difficult woman at times. She is always right even when she is blatantly wrong, and has a bit of a drink problem. It's the belief of most of the family now that she has some deep seated medical condition, something like Personality Disorder Cluster B, but getting her to a doctors... its easy to draw blood from a stone, "Fighting anyone and anything, the doctors mainly over the last few weeks, I think the neighbours are in for some soon though. She's been harping on about the fence again"
My dad shakes his head slightly, his face set in a frown, then he perks up, "Wendy wants to see you", Wendy is my dads wife. She's an interesting woman, she worked for years in the mental health sector and is now a social work supervisor. For the past year she's been angling for me to go into social work, believing quite adamantly I would be perfect for the job. She had obviously just heard about my application to the local college to see about an access course in Health and Social Care, the vital stepping stone for me to get into university.
"I thought she might," I say with a smile. The conversation continued following the line of my decision to go into social work, am I sure its the right move, and so on. Then we discuss my step brothers, both eager to see me. They are another ten years younger than me, and since they lost their biological older brother I seem to have stepped into that role without knowing it. Dad says there's a number of questions they have for me, which they don't want to ask my dad or their mum. So its about girls no doubt. Eventually the hour for me to move on draws. We say our good byes and Dad sets off home.
I only had one drink with my dad, this is because I don't like to drink much around him after a very embarrassing incident when I was fifteen and ended up in hospital with Alcohol Poisoning, all because I accidentally drank a bottle of rum. Now your probably thinking I spend quite a considerable amount of time in hospital. This is essentially true, I am a bit clumsy, and have quite bad luck. To emphasise this, I trip on a curb just by the White Lion, and I can see James and his usual posse in the window laughing at me. I do a bow and walk into the pub. The White Lion is distinctly different from the Cross Keys. It's patrons usually the younger citizens of Afondiwedd. There's clichéd rock music playing on the jukebox. Flatscreen TV's tiling the walls portraying the sports events of the day. Something I have little to no interest. The bar maid was considerably much younger than the aged crone that could barely pull a pint in the Cross Keys.
James and his gang had occupied their usual window table. They were all there, Rachel, Becky, Brian and Stuart, and of course James. His rugged blonde face still dusty from his masonry work. But there was also someone else. I recognised him but couldn't put a name to him. Who ever he was he was quite handsome. He was leaning on the wall behind one of the girls, I forget which because they all look the same round here. James immediately clocks me and throws his arms up into the air crying out my name. I smile as a round of cheers comes from the table. It's their cheesy traditional welcome, but its nice. I order my drink, a cold pint of cider, and I walk over to the table careful not to spill. I realise there's no more seats so rather than turning round and getting one I opt to stand. Thankfully my shorter welsh stature means I'm not to much higher than those sitting down.
Usual conversation unfolds, how am I, what did I have, where was I, how did I get it, and what was it like dying, were the dominant questions. I reassure everyone I wasn't dying at any point just really quite ill. I then spend twenty minutes convincing them I'm not contagious in anyway, something some of them are reluctantly believe. I then notice the handsome stranger had remained silent the entire time, he spent the time just staring at me. Not in a freakish way but still staring. I look at him and smile. He smiles back. This is getting interesting.
"Oh yeah Alex, you remember Lee. We used to go to primary together, you were the year below us weren't you Lee?" James states. I nod recognition, as Lee confirms this. Of course I knew him, I knew him pretty damn well, I slept with him a couple of times I seemed to recall. We had been quite close in Primary, but then when I was away at school we rarely saw each other and then one day when I was fifteen and he fourteen, we, well we fucked. It was a mad moment in my life, I was just coming to terms with my sexuality and somehow it happened. I was camping with a couple of friends from school who were staying with me for the Easter Holidays and Lee was there. We got a bit drunk then we had each other in the woods. Very romantic. He fucked me first, and then I him. It was a potent memory, and it came flooding back. I blush involuntarily.
"Yeah the lucky dogs banging Rachel here" James states quite braskly. Rachel instantly chastises him and Lee laughs. Ah... not so interesting then after all. A bit disheartened I decide to go for a smoke. I get the usual frowns from the gang but Lee offers to join me, I agree and we walk to the back of the pub to the smoking area. Night had quickly come and the typically pale skies of mid summer were turning purple-blue, the occasional star blooming.
"So... Lee..." I began as I took a seat at the picnic table under the awning, a lone light bulb flickering above. I take out my pack of cigarettes and offer one to Lee who is leaning against the wall of the pub. He declines the cigarette. "How are you?"
"Good, yeah really good. You"
"Never felt better!" I scoff as I spark up, relishing the burn of the smoke as I inhale, "What you been up to?" I study his face, he had turned out very handsome in deed. He had green eyes that sparkled in the strange light and dirty blonde hair I remember fondly. He had a nice brush of stubble about his jaw and chin. I suddenly remembered the touch of his soft smooth olive skin and I start to get hard. I try and hide it by crossing my legs.
"Uni mostly, got back about a few months ago, set up my own business. I design and make bespoke furniture. Yourself?"
I laugh to myself a moment, "That's a complicated story!" and so I regale him with a brief explanation of my adventures up north. He responds appropriately and sincerely. That's just like him I thought, recalling his friendly and polite nature. The bastard I thought, your going to be stalking my dreams for a while now.
"I'm glad your well again, I've been hoping to catch up with you" he said a soft and curious smile crossing his lips.
"Yeah, its a nice surprise. So Rachel?" I ask unsure if I want to hear the answer.
"Yep... Rachel" He doesn't sound totally happy, I tilt my head slightly cigarette dangling between my lips. Then he leans forward. He's very close, so close in fact its a little invasive. I have a thing about personal space, just another one of my many wonderful and strange intricacies. He carefully plucks the cigarette from my lips and took a drag before handing it back. I realise my face had been mere inches from his crotch. I blush again. He leans back on the wall. "She's great and all, but well it was more my parents idea. She works for my mum, and well you remember my dad".
This is true, I did. Lee's dad was hot, well he was when he was younger. He had been a boxer in the army in his youth but when I met him he had turned his attention to martial arts. He had a toned body, with the right amount of muscle and a gorgeous smile and piercing green eyes. But he was a typical army man in many ways, and expected his son to be very much a man.
I finish my cigarette quickly, not truly interested in the politics of Lee's family, as I go to step past him, he raises his hand ever so slightly and it touches against my stomach. I stop instantly, his mouth close to my ear.
"I remember" he whispered. I look at him. His flashes his white teeth in a cheeky grin. When I think back I find it strange how I reacted here. I gulped. Quite loudly. His hand moved down slowly and groped me. I gulped again unsure of what to do. Suddenly the door to the pub swung open and I instantly jumped back onto the picnic bench landing awkwardly and nearly fall off the bench. Rachel looks at me curiously, one of my legs in the air.
"Erm... OK... we're putting some songs on the jukebox either of you two fancy anything?"
"Do you want the truth or something beautiful by Paloma Faith please hun" Lee asks. I have to battle against my will to laugh at the irony of the choice, but I don't disapprove. The song in my opinion was an instant classic.
"You always pick that" She said with a cute chuckle. She was very pretty.
"What can I say. I like the song. We'll be in shortly Alex is just sorting himself out!" Lee turned to help me up, I had remained frozen in position, unsure if Rachel suspected anything. He offered me his hand and I took it. With a great heave I was upright, and a bit flustered. He pulled my shirt straight and smiled his sickeningly handsome smile. "Sort yourself out" he teased. His hands lingering on my sides, his thigh brushing against my crotch. He could clearly feel my hard on. I blush instantly and try to arrange myself, which isn't as easy as I would like in my jeans.
Still a bit blustered I follow Lee into the pub, I check his ass out in his skinny jeans. Its a nice ass. I realise have to stop thinking like this, or I'll get myself into trouble. The cards are out when we get back to the table. I am awful at cards so I sit the game out. Poker is to much like hard work for me. For an hour or so we all chat and have a good time, and then I decide to check my mobile. Sure enough there's another text message and a missed call. When will people learn not to bother calling me. Its from Mum.
A. can you get me a bottle of wine and some cigarettes? Xxx