Fireside Romance Box Set

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

It was the week before Christmas. I’d been walking along Gamble Street for the past three days, with no sign of Mark. I had mixed emotions about this. The weather was really cold now, so I was glad he wasn’t out in the harsh weather so much, but I was missing him. I had grown very fond of him; I could quite easily be falling in love with him. Of course I couldn’t tell him this. It was unlikely he’d feel the same way about me, and if he rejected me, even though he’d probably do it as gently as it could be done, I’d be devastated. I’m not very good at handling rejection.

By the fourth day of not seeing Mark I was beginning to get worried. Knowing I needed some answers, I timidly approached one of the other boys I’d seen on the corner near Mark before. “Um, have you seen Mark? I’ve walked down here for the past few days, but he’s not been around and…”

The guy looked at me for a moment. He seemed to come to a decision and asked, “You Simon?”

“Yes.”

“Mark talks about you sometimes. You’ve been good to him. We don’t get many johns who care about us, but you’ve made a real impression on him.”

“Err, thanks. I do really care about him. I’m getting worried because I haven’t seen him for a while. It’s not like him.”

“He’s in hospital. Got burnt.”

A bolt of electricity shot through me. My mind went frantic, a thousand images flashing through my mind. What happened to my beautiful Mark? “Was it Jake, did he hurt him?” I remembered Mark’s comments about the guy who tried to cheat on Jake, and what happened to him.

“Not exactly. Mark probably told you he was staying with Jake. Well him, Jake I mean, and a couple of his sidekicks decided to go into the drugs making business. They got some chemicals and other s**t together and tried to mix ‘em. The dumb f***s didn’t know what they were doing and there was an explosion. Jake was killed. No great loss there.”

I couldn’t disagree with him on that point, but I needed to know how Mark was. Was he badly burned? Would he live? So many questions came to my lips, but I just couldn’t speak. I was frozen with fear.

The guy continued. “Both Jake’s cronies were really badly burnt up. Mark was a lot more lucky though. I don’t rightly know what’s wrong with ‘im, but I think he’ll be all right.”

“Is he in The General?” I managed to find sufficient breath to ask.

“Yeah, Bobbie, one of his mates, visited him the other day.”

“Which ward?” I had to get to Mark.

“Um, dunno. Hang on a sec.” The man yelled over to one of his colleagues, who yelled back “Ward Four!”

I turned and ran back to the high street, completely forgetting to thank the guy for the news. Hopefully he’d understand. I needed to get a bus to the hospital as soon as I could.

It’s odd, I’ve always been pretty lucky about buses. Even when the service is really sporadic, I generally never have to wait longer than five minutes for a bus. I prayed damned hard my luck would hold today. It did. The number 14 turned up just a couple of minutes after I reached the bus stop. Of course—it being rush hour, and near Christmas—the bus was packed and I had to stand. I didn’t mind. I don’t think I could have sat still anyway. With agonising slowness the bus wound its way through the streets. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever spent a longer ten minutes in the whole of my life. Every time the bus stopped to drop off or to pick up passengers, I raged inwardly at how long it was taking to get to Mark. I could barely contain my anger at the seemingly inconsequential lives I perceived my fellow passengers were living. Women heavily laden with presents for their undeserving brats back at home. Young men staring with vacant expressions out of the bus window, lazily chewing gum while their girlfriends applied more make-up to their already overly made up faces.

Pull yourself together, Simon. You’ll be no use to him if you get yourself all worked up.

I managed to perform a few deep-breathing exercises, which helped me to calm down somewhat.

After what seemed like an age, the bus finally pulled up at the hospital gates. I almost wrestled an old lady to the ground in my haste to get off the bus.

I knew where ward 4 was. I didn’t need to consult the hospital’s useless signs. The moron who designed them had the worst sense of direction I’d ever come across.

I’d volunteered a couple of years ago to take the library trolley around the wards. It was a bit of a busman’s holiday to swap one library trolley for another, but that was me.

I got to the entrance to Mark’s ward completely out of breath. I stood outside for a couple of moments to compose myself. Having regained my equilibrium, and with some trepidation, I pushed open the door and entered.

It didn’t take me long to find Mark. My angel was asleep.

I knew from personal experience you had to grab your shut-eye when you could in a hospital. I’d had to spend a week in one just after leaving school. The nursing staff would wake me up in the evening to give me a sleeping tablet. Then at six o’clock in the morning they’d wake me up, because ‘patients had to get all spick and span for breakfast’. God, the food was awful. I’d have preferred to sleep through it.

I quietly pulled a chair next to Mark’s bed, although not before taking a peek at his chart. I was able to learn Mark’s hands—which I could see were bandaged—had received moderate chemical burns. The doctors predicted a full recovery apart from the possibility of slight scarring. Mark had a few minor cuts and bruises, but nothing too severe. The chart said he was twenty years of age. I’d never actually got around to asking him how old he was.

The relief I felt that he’d live, that he’d be okay, overwhelmed me. For the past half hour or so I’d been gripped by a fear I might lose him, or he’d be badly scarred, or…I didn’t care even if he was scarred. I loved him. I finally admitted the fact to myself I loved the beautiful, kind, gentle man lying in that hospital bed. I began to cry.

“Hey, it’s me who ought to be crying.”

Mark’s soft, croaky voice brought me back from my thoughts. “Hey, Mark,” I said. Wow, what a bloody inane thing to say. “How are you? Are you in much pain?”

“These hurt sometimes,” he said, holding up his hands. “But they give me pills which take away the pain for a while.”

“How long have you been in here? I wished you’d called me, or asked one of the nurses to.”

“Just over a week. I thought about you, but…I didn’t want to be a burden.”

“Mark, you’re never a burden. I found out from a guy on Gamble Street—I think he’s a friend of yours: dark hair, kind of bushy eyebrows, pierced left ear with a gold hoop in it—”

“Sounds like Sammo.”

“Okay, well, until I spoke to Sammo I had no idea you’d been hurt. Sammo didn’t know how bad you were. So I got here as fast as my legs and the number 14 could carry me.”

He gave a weak smile.

“Sammo told me there was an explosion. Something to do with Jake trying to make drugs or something.”

“Yeah, he’d got some stupid idea about making more money, but I guess he didn’t know what he was doing. I was in the room next door when I heard a really loud bang. I went in to see what I could do. It was horrible. They were screaming and carrying on. I got some of the stuff on my hands, and it bloody hurt.”

“You know Jake died, don’t you?”

“Yeah, one of the policemen who interviewed me told me. Can’t say I’m sorry. Jake was an evil bastard.”

I’d never heard Mark swear before, but I couldn’t help agreeing with him.

“When are they letting you out?”

“I don’t know. They’ll have to find somewhere for me to go. Can’t go back to Jake’s. The Council has boarded it up, and with these hands…” He looked down at his bandages.

I had a decision to make. I could help Mark. I could look after him, nurse him, and—God help me—love him. I thought it unlikely Mark could love me back, but as I sat there I became absolutely certain I had a duty to help him. Given what Mark had told Sammo, I thought Mark at least liked me as a friend. Certainly his behaviour towards me was that of a friend. So with a determination—the likes of which I hadn’t felt in years—I stood up.

“Have to go to the lav, back in a minute.”

I didn’t need to use the toilet, but I was on a mission, a mission to help Mark. I left the bay where Mark’s bed was, turned the corner and went towards the ward sister’s office. Finding the door partially open, I knocked.

“Come in,” a female voice answered.

I pushed the door open to reveal a forty-something, plump woman wearing a dark blue uniform dress sitting behind a desk.

“Sister, sorry to bother you. Have you got a minute?”

She smiled tiredly. I could tell she was over-worked. “Of course. How can I help?”

“It’s about Mark Smith in bed eleven.” I took the seat she pointed to.

“Yes?”

“I’m assuming the only reason he’s still with you is that he has nowhere else to go, and given the fact that he can’t use his hands, you can’t discharge him until you’ve found somewhere for him.”

“Are you a relative?”

I shook my head. “I’m a friend. Mark’s mother is dead, he’s estranged from his father, and he has no brothers or sisters.”

I actually didn’t know if Mark had any siblings, but I didn’t think telling such a lie—if lie it was—would hurt. Besides, any brother or sister who could stand back and not help Mark when his father did what he did, wasn’t worth much.

“You are correct, Mister…” She hesitated, not knowing my name.

“Peters, Simon Peters.”

“Mr Peters. It’s true Mr Smith doesn’t need medical care as such.”

I nodded. “I only just found out he’d been hurt. I lo…I mean I’m sure I’ll be able to cope. So long as he gets a professional to change his dressings.”

She smiled; she knew what I’d almost said. “Mr Smith can’t do very much for himself.”

“Yes, Sister, I know I’ll have to feed him, bathe him, even attend him while he uses the toilet.” This was a polite way of saying I’d have to wipe his bum. I’d do that in a heartbeat. “I guess it’s a bit like looking after a baby; you have to do everything for them.”

“It’s similar,” she smiled again, “although you’ll have to cope with his mood swings if he develops them. Patients who can’t do things for themselves tend to get very frustrated.”

I nodded. “I’m sure I can cope. Besides, it’s almost Christmas, and I’d hate to think of him stuck in here when he could be at home with me.”

Her smile widened. “Have you discussed this with Mr Smith?”

I shook my head. “I wanted to see how the land lay first. I guess I didn’t want to promise something I couldn’t deliver.”

“Thank you for being so understanding. It’s true, we do try to discharge as many patients as possible at Christmas time. It’s better for them, and of course we are short staffed over the holidays. Go back and talk to him, and if he’s agreeable, I’ll ring the doctor on-call and arrange for Mr Smith’s discharge.”

I shot out of that office as though there was a herd of wild animals in hot pursuit.

“Don’t run!” she called after me.

But I was still on my mission to spring Mark. All I had to do now was convince him he had to come with me.

“Whoa, what’s the hurry? Mark said.

“Mark,” I paused to catch my breath, “I absolutely will not take no for an answer. I’ve thought it over carefully, spoken with the medical staff, and I am totally serious about this.”

He looked confused.

“I want you to come home and live with me.” I held up my hand to stop his protest. “You’re not going to spend Christmas in this place. You’re going to stop with me for as long as you want.” I hoped he would want to stay for a long time, but kept that to myself.

“Urm.”

“I can take some time off work, and there’s The Holidays as well. And if you still need to be cared for, you can come to the library with me sometimes.” I got very close to his ear and said quietly “I don’t want you to go back onto the streets, it isn’t safe. I’d not be able to rest knowing you were in danger. You’ve been given another chance now Jake is dead. Please, please, Mark.”

He didn’t say anything for the longest time. I grew more and more convinced he would refuse.

“You’ve thought all this out, haven’t you?”

Was Mark going to do it? I nodded, but said nothing, holding my breath, hoping…praying.

“You know I can’t do much for myself.”

I nodded. “Yes, I’ve thought it through, and I know you’ll need a lot of help.”

He went quiet again. Maybe a minute passed before he sighed. “Okay, you win.”

“YES!” I exclaimed a bit too loudly. A few of the other patients and their visitors looked at me, but I didn’t care.

Eventually, after a load of form filling, and a letter to be given to Mark’s family doctor explaining his injuries and treatment, and to make arrangements for his dressings to be changed by the nurse at the doctor’s surgery, we were on our way.

At The General, as with many other hospitals I suspect, patients have to be escorted from the hospital in a wheelchair. It doesn’t matter what’s wrong with you, in Mark’s case he had injured his hands. He could walk, but no, he had to sit in a wheelchair. The nurse pushed Mark in the chair as far as the hospital’s main foyer, where we could ring for a taxi.

One good feature in the foyer was a direct and free phone to one of the local taxi companies. All you had to do was pick up the receiver and press the button. The only trouble was rival taxi companies didn’t like this arrangement and frequently vandalised the phone. Of course sods law was in evidence here, the phone didn’t work. The kind nurse who escorted us down went to the reception desk and got the receptionist to call a cab for us. This done, she departed with the wheelchair back to the ward.

“Shouldn’t be too long,” I said to Mark.

“Good, I’m getting hungry.”

“Yeah, the food is pretty crap in here isn’t it?”

“Bloody well is,” he said with feeling. “The most edible thing we had for lunch today was the skin off the rice pudding.”

I pulled a face. “Never mind, I’ve got plenty of food in at home. Stocked up for Christmas as usual.”

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

What is it about the British? We go around like headless chickens for a few weeks before Christmas, buying in tonnes of food. Much of the non-perishable items are still in the larder come April.

The taxi ride home was uneventful, the rush hour having long since passed, so it only took a few minutes to get us home. I paid the fare and got us inside.

As soon as the door closed behind us, Mark wrapped his arms around me and gave me a tight squeeze. “I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t come along. I was beginning to think I’d have to go back home to Dad.” He gave a shudder.

“You’re stopping here.” Tears began to threaten. “I get lonely stuck in here on my own. I want you to stay. Now you’ve got a permanent address.” I hope he understood what I meant by permanent. “You can apply for state benefits, and hopefully when your hands heal, you’ll be able to get a job. That should also be easier now you’ve got a proper home.”

He kissed me.

“Come on, you said you were hungry. Let’s raid the kitchen.” I put my arm around his shoulders and led him into the other room. I opened the main cupboard door and said, “So, what do you want?”

“Erm.” He stared into the cupboard, then, looking back at me, asked, “You remember the first time I came here and we had chicken and pasta?”

I nodded.

“Can we have that again?” He lowered both his voice and his head. “It’s kind of symbolic, I suppose.”

“Of course we can.” I swallowed. I was beginning to get emotional again. “You sit down there on that stool and remind me what we did last time.”

I had to turn away from him to hide my eyes, which were starting to leak.

He directed operations while I prepared the meal. Thinking back to a psychology book I had once read, I realised it was a good idea to get him involved as much as his disability would allow. It would lessen the chances of him feeling helpless.

I put the two plates of food on the kitchen table and asked him if he wanted anything to drink.

“Water, please.”

I filled two glasses from the tap. Then I rummaged around in the cupboard and found a packet of drinking straws. Putting a couple in Mark’s glass, I took the drinks to the table.

“At least you’ll be able to take a drink on your own,” I said. More psychology.

“Thanks.”

I sat at 90 degrees from him. Picking up my fork, I stabbed a bit of the food with it and raised it up to Mark’s lips.

“Open wide for the choo-choo train,” I said with a smile.

He laughed.

While he was chewing, I put a forkful in my own mouth. We continued to eat. Mark bent down occasionally to take a sip of water. All in all I think we managed pretty well.

“I think in future, I may as well put both portions on the same plate,” I said, bringing a piece of paper towel to his mouth to wipe up the spills. “It’s odd isn’t it? I can see where I’m putting the food when I feed you, but I make more of a mess than when I’m putting food in my own mouth, which I can’t see.”

“Yeah, but then you’re used to feeding yourself. Probably just a matter of co-ordination and muscle memory.”

“Yeah, probably.” I replied. “Have you had enough? I think there might be some ice-cream in the freezer.”

“No, I’m full, thanks,” he said as he broke wind. “Sorry.” He flushed red.

I smiled. “In some countries it’s regarded as a compliment, and anyway, being laid down in bed does cause you to suffer from trapped wind. If you feel a bit bloated later, let me know. I’ve got some pills you can chew that should help.”

“Thanks. Talking of pills, could you get me out a couple of pain killers that the hospital sent?”

“Your hands hurting?” I asked.

He nodded.

I found the pills and popped them in his mouth. He bent down and took a sip of water.

“Do you want to stay in here and talk while I clean up? Or would you like to go and watch a bit of telly?”

“I saw enough of the i***t box on the ward. I never was much of a telly addict.”

“Me neither,” I confessed. I used to spend most of my time at home listening to music, usually while reading a book or a magazine.

Mark remained where he was at the table, and I cleaned up. That done, we both went into the living room and sat on the sofa. I’d forgotten to light the fire. The central heating was on so the house wasn’t cold, but things were always more cosy when the fire was lit.

I looked over at the mantle clock. It was a little after nine. “There’s not much point in lighting the fire this late.”

“No, I agree.” Mark put his arm around me.

“Feeling okay?” I asked.

“Very.” He yawned.

“Are the pills making you tired?”

He yawned again. “Yeah. It was difficult to sleep on the ward.”

“I know. Do you want to take a bath or something?”

“I think I’d better, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to stay awake.”

We headed upstairs into the bedroom.

“Back in a minute, I’ll start running the bath.”

“Thanks.”

On my return, I said, “Right then, we better get these things off you.”

“You remember the doctor said to put plastic bags on my hands and tie them shut with tape?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” I ran downstairs, got a couple of large freezer bags and some bandage tape and began to climb the stairs again. I first went into the bathroom and turned off the bath taps, then back into the bedroom.

“Okie-dokie, I’ve got the stuff.”

I found Mark sitting on the bed, hugging my teddy. “I see you two have made friends.”

“What’s his name?”

“Humphrey.”

“Aw, that’s a good name.”

“We’ve been together a while now,” I said, smiling at the pair of them. “The bath is ready if you are.”

Mark put Humphrey aside.

As I undressed Mark, I saw the bruising which had been mentioned on his chart. “How come you got these bruises, I thought you weren’t in the room when the explosion happened?”

He fell silent for a time. “A couple of my customers got a bit nasty when I wouldn’t do stuff I didn’t like doing.”

I put my arms around him and gave him a gentle squeeze. Then I cupped his face. Looking into his eyes, I said, “That’s all over with now. No one, and I mean no one, will ever hurt you again if I have anything to do with it.” I kissed him on the lips.

He returned the hug. “Thanks, Simon. You don’t know what that means to me.”

It was certainly interesting bathing Mark. I’d never been so intimate with another adult male before. I had no small difficulty in trying not to get an erection. Mark’s p***s was just perfect. Resolutely turning my attention away from between his legs, I focussed on his chest instead. That didn’t help all that much. Although not overly developed, Mark’s chest was broad, smooth and…

“I’ve got some witch hazel in the cabinet. It’ll help heal these bruises.”

“Thanks, they do get a bit sore sometimes.”

Back in the bedroom after drying Mark, I asked, “What do you normally wear to bed?”

“Underpants normally.”

I got out a pair that was in a small package that had come home with him from the hospital.

“Are these the only clothes you own?”

“Yeah.” He looked at the floor. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. We’ll go shopping in the next couple of days and get you some more stuff.”

Mark started to say something, but I put up my hand to stop him.

“I’m paying. One day, when you’ve started earning, and you’ve built up a bit of capital, you can pay me back if you must, but I promise I’m not in any hurry.”

“You’re a good man, I don’t know what I did to deserve your help, but I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad to be able to help.” I gave him a hug.

He sat on the bed and I put the underpants on him.

“Now get into bed. I’m going to take a bath myself, and then I’ll be back in. Is there anything you need in the meantime?”

“No thanks, but if you could bring in another glass of water and a straw when you’ve had your bath? I might need a drink in the night.”

“No problem.”

I pulled the quilt up to his chin then kissed his forehead. “Back soon.”

I don’t know why, but I seem to do most of my thinking while lying in the bath. A bit like Archimedes, I guess. Though I make no claims to be as intelligent as he was. I allowed the hot water to soothe me as I reviewed the day’s events, and what a day it had been. First I’d had the worry about not seeing Mark for a few days, then I’d been told he’d been hurt, but hadn’t known the details. Then I’d found him, and the relief that he would get well again had been tremendous. I’d learned he would need a lot of TLC, which I was determined to provide. Then I thought about washing him here in this bath.

Oh, God, he’s so perfect.

I couldn’t believe how lucky I was that I’d been given the chance to care for him in such a personal way, and I’d be able to do so for the next few weeks, too.

Lathering up the sponge, I washed my arms.

I desperately hoped the close relationship with Mark wouldn’t end when he got well again. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t go back on the streets. From what little he’d told me, it wasn’t pleasant. I hoped once he found a job, he wouldn’t want to move out. How would I persuade him to stay? I was certain I couldn’t tell him of my feelings. As Mark hadn’t said how he felt about me…romantically, he might feel trapped, or obligated to love me if I said anything. That would be horrible.

I scrubbed at my thin chest, then rinsed.

I wanted, no, needed his love, but it would have to come from his heart, not out of a sense of obligation. No, I couldn’t tell him how I felt. But by God I could and would show him! Actions speak louder than words.

I’d have to be careful to give Mark his space, not smother him. I would be there for him, to help him, to support him. I would demonstrate my love for him in any way I could. This—I realised—was probably the best chance I’d ever get in life to be loved. Mark wouldn’t just be judging my book by its cover. Hopefully he was seeing the kind of person I really was inside.

I got out of the bath and dried myself, then brushed my teeth. I’d forgotten to brush Mark’s. I’d tell him when I got into the bedroom. I’d worried at the hospital that I only had the one bedroom. I didn’t confess this to the staff, but Mark and I had been left alone for a few moments during the discharge process, and I’d asked Mark if he would object to sharing a bed with me. I’d said it wouldn’t bother me, but if he felt more comfortable, I’d go out and get a camp bed, and we’d take turns using it.

He’d told me I worried too much. “Of course I don’t mind sharing. It’d be nice to sleep in a bed with someone who really cared about me.”

So that little problem had been solved.

I walked out of the bathroom and, remembering Mark’s request for water, went downstairs. Coming back upstairs, I went into the bedroom to remind him about brushing his teeth. Fortunately I’d recently bought a new toothbrush that was still in its package. However, when I entered the bedroom I saw he’d already fallen asleep. He looked so peaceful, lying there on his left side. All the horrors which he must have faced recently were forgotten for a brief time. No, I wouldn’t wake him. He needed his rest.

I got into bed behind him and spooned up against him. I put my right arm between his chest and his right arm. I’d never been fortunate enough before to sleep with another man. I hadn’t expected I’d ever be given such a privilege. I wondered if I’d be too keyed up to sleep. But I needn’t have worried. I soon drifted off into the best night’s sleep I’d had in ages.