Surface Tension

For everyone whose beauty is found from within. Chapter 1 “But we’ve paid for it.” “Jesus H. Christ.” Andy fumed. He knew it had been a mistake to go out with them. But their continual griping that he was becoming a hermit had weakened his defences. However, he had never suspected anything like this. Andy looked around the crowded room. What had Tom called it? A pre-club bar? The place was packed with people shouting, or at the very least talking loudly to be heard above the high degree of background noise. Andy felt closed in, trapped. Now they’d sprung another surprise on him. They had paid for him to be kissed by some kid, a porn star no less. “It’s part of our present to you,” Paddy said. Andy remained unmoved and unimpressed. “The proceeds go to charity.” Paddy seemed to hesitate at Andy’s continued silence. Handing him the ticket, he babbled, “You’re not chicken, are you?” Andy glared at him. If there was one thing he wasn’t, it was a coward. He was about to open his mouth to remonstrate with his friend when Paddy put a hand on his arm. “Sorry, mate. I didn’t mean that.” He leaned forward and kissed Andy’s cheek. “Honest, I didn’t. We just wanted you to have a good time…enjoy yourself. Let your hair down…I’m sorry.” Andy still didn’t say anything; though he had lost his anger. His friends, his only friends, were good people. They genuinely cared about him. Tom, Paddy’s boyfriend, stood and approached. His five feet even height meant he was only a little taller than the seated six foot five Andy. Hugging Andy around the neck, Tom said into his ear. “We really are sorry. It seemed a good idea at the time.” He, too, kissed Andy’s cheek. “We love you and just wanted you to be happy.” Andy couldn’t stand it any longer. “The next time you two get any more bright ideas?” He looked at them, Paddy sat next to him, biting his lip, Tom still holding him round the neck, “Keep ‘em to yourself, okay?” His friends smiled and nodded. Standing, Andy began to make his way to the raised platform at the other end of the bar. The place was so crowded he was occasionally forced to squeeze between people. Once, his backside was pinched. He whirled round ready to deck whoever had done it, but no one met his eye. Finally reaching the stage, Andy queued to receive his kiss from whoever the young looking bloke was. As he waited, Andy tried to wipe the scowl off his face. It wasn’t—he looked at the ticket, Luke Wales’, fault. And given the injuries to Andy’s face, he didn’t want to gross the poor kid out any more than he had to. Finally it was his turn. Oh, God, this is a bad idea, he thought, shuffling forward. It seemed as though every eye in the place was on him. “Oh, my, you’re a tall one.” Luke’s voice was clear, fairly high-pitched but not girly. Andy could never understand femme acting gay men. “Uh, yeah,” was all Andy could think of to say as he handed over the slip of paper. The platinum blond took it, looked at it briefly before tearing it in half and handing the pieces back. Andy had to lean down to be kissed. Luke didn’t hesitate or flinch at the sight of Andy’s disfigured right cheek. The kid’s lips were soft, moist but quite firm against Andy’s own lips. There was even a brief touch of tongue that made Andy’s d**k go rock hard. Luke withdrew, licked his lips and gave Andy a cheeky smile. “Nice.” Andy knew his cheeks were flushed. In fact all of him felt overly warm. Straightening up, Andy murmured something that he hoped passed for a thank you and left the stage, grateful that the whole embarrassing thing was over. Instead of going back to his seat, he spied an exit and made his escape. Outside, Andy let go the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. Ever since the ambush, he’d avoided crowds, and excess noise. When Tom had first proposed a trip to Manchester’s gay district as a birthday present, Andy had objected. Tom, aware of his friend’s apprehension, had reassured him that they’d take him to a bar and not a noisy nightclub. The clincher had been the mention of the canal close-by. Andy knew if things got too much for him he’d be able to stand by the water and regain his composure. The almost freezing November night meant very few people were on the canal side. A fact that suited him perfectly. Leaning against a railing, he took in another calming breath. He’d tried, God knows he’d tried, to reintegrate himself back into society. His psychiatrist understood, but kept pressuring him to meet people and not hide himself away on his farm. He didn’t used to be like this. Hell, before his stint in Afghanistan, he’d have been first in the queue to kiss that kid. Then he’d have dragged Tom and Paddy off to the clubs. Andy patted the pockets of his camouflage jacket, but didn’t find what he was looking for. “s**t!” He needed a fag. But he’d given up smoking ‘cause Phil had said they could kill him. Andy let out a bark of mirthless laughter. Phil, who had lived in the house opposite Andy, had adored him from an early age. Their eight-year age difference didn’t seem to matter. Andy feared when he announced his intention to join up after finishing secondary school, Phil would be devastated. He was, but the teary-eyed ten year-old pledged the night before Andy left for his basic training, that he too would join up the minute he was old enough. Andy hadn’t taken the promise seriously. However, on every leave he spent at home, Phil quizzed him on all aspects of army life. And despite Andy’s best efforts to put him off—telling him of the pressures of maintaining a high level of physical fitness, the endless marching and parade drills, the smell and sight of battlefield injuries and having to treat them—nothing would deter him. Finally, in desperation, Andy told Phil that he was gay and wasn’t the sort of role model Phil should lookup to. Phil laughed. “I’ve known you were gay for years. What do you think I am, blind? I’ve lost count of how many girls have virtually thrown themselves at you and it was like you didn’t notice. Say, next time one flutters her eyelashes at you, can you point her in my direction?” So, at the minimum entry age of sixteen, after sitting his GCSEs and with his parents’ consent, Phil joined up. During his CMSR (Common military syllabus (recruits)) training, Andy pulled some strings, called in favours and generally brown-nosed in all the right places to get Phil attached to his unit once the lad passed out. “Jesus. If only I’d have said no.” Andy picked up a small stone from the cobbles and hurled it into the canal. He felt a little better. Phil passed his basic and took to army life like a duck to water. Though he tried not to show it, Andy couldn’t have been more proud of his honorary little brother. Then came Afghanistan. One month into their deployment, they were on a routine mission to investigate a reported sighting of Taliban rebels when a roadside bomb exploded. Phil and one other private were killed instantly. A corporal died two days later. Andy suffered severe injuries to his right leg, torso and the right side of his face. Despite being in agony, he sighted his rifle and as calmly as he could, picked off a number of insurgents who had murdered his comrades, only stopping when he passed out from the pain and loss of blood. Another stone joined the first in the canal. The look on Phil’s parents’ faces when he finally met up with them was the worst. They couldn’t even look him in the eyes. Although Phil’s parents said they didn’t blame him, Andy didn’t quite believe them. A third stone was thrown. Andy heard footsteps. He hoped whoever was out walking would just pass by. “Lot quieter out here,” the voice announced, now about six feet away. It was the kid, the porn star, Luke whatever his name was. Andy grunted. He wasn’t interested in talking. “And they don’t like it when I smoke,” he said just before a match was struck, briefly illuminating his face. Andy turned away. Whenever the dark thoughts reared their heads, he would always retreat into himself. Why wouldn’t this kid just leave him alone? “You want one?” Luke asked. Andy’s first reaction was to walk away and not acknowledge he’d heard the question. But something made him stay. “I’ve given ‘em up.” The same something made him reach out and accept the unlit cigarette Luke was about to put away. The tips of their fingers touched. Luke’s skin felt soft, smooth. Leaning close to accept the proffered light, he drew in a deep lungful of the smoke, then let it out slowly. “You look like you’re enjoying that.” Despite himself, Andy smiled. “Yeah.” He watched as Luke took his own cigarette out of his mouth. He then heard the young man’s teeth chattering. In the dimness, Andy could see that all Luke had on above the waist was his silk shirt. “You’re cold.” “I’ll go in when I’ve finished this.” Luke seemed…Andy wasn’t sure what…easy to talk to maybe. He had changed his mind; he no longer wanted to be alone. Taking off his combat jacket, he wordlessly laid the heavy coat over Luke’s shoulders. “Thanks. It’s loads too big, but it’s nice and warm.” Andy nodded. “But what about you? You’ll get cold now.” “I don’t feel the cold.” “You’re lucky. Mam used to say I had thin blood ‘cause I’d always sit closest to the fire.” “Yeah.” Andy knew he wasn’t holding up his end of things. Since the ambush he’d never been one to initiate conversations. The other person had to do all the work. Most gave up and left him alone. Usually that suited him, but here, now, he didn’t know why, but he wanted the kid to stick around. “You do many of these, uh—” he didn’t know how to finish his question. He didn’t want Luke to think he was a dirty old man who wanted to perv on him. “Sometimes. Roger, my boyfriend, thinks they’re good publicity.” “Yeah, I suppose.” There was a long silence. Andy scrabbled around for something else to say, something to keep the conversation going. The kid’s cigarette was burning down. “So, you in the army?” “Not any more. Was in Helmand. Got injured and was invalided out.” “I’m sorry.” Luke really did sound as though he meant it. Most people didn’t understand and didn’t even try to. “Thanks. Now I run my uncle’s pig farm.” Andy could have kicked himself. Luke wouldn’t be interested in pigs. “Really? I remember reading somewhere that they’re actually quite clean animals; it’s just that people often keep them in dirty conditions.” Andy felt himself smiling as he warmed to one of his favourite themes. “My pigs have a raised platform in their pens where I give them plenty of straw to bed down in and play with. The sunken part of the pen is where they do their business. They’re good at keeping the two separate. It also makes cleaning up after them a lot easier. Though during good weather they spend most of their time outside in a big fenced-off yard.” “That sounds so much better than battery farming. Sorry, I know hens can be battery farmed. I don’t know the first thing about pigs, though.” Andy became increasingly animated, Luke seeming genuinely interested. He told him how he didn’t use hormones to artificially boost the pigs’ growth. In fact he had just been awarded “organic” status. He explained that he only had fifty sows, but because they were rare breeds and they were raised partially outside, their meat was of higher quality and commanded a premium at the butcher. “Though having said that, I don’t make much of a profit. I’m not really in it for the money.” “Oh? They’re sort of a hobby for you, then?” “Exactly.” Andy nodded. “I can live off my army pension. The pigs just give me something to do.” “Uh huh. Do you give them names? Sorry, that’s a stupid question.” “It’s all right. No, not really. They have a number tag in their ear. But one or two, I…” Andy felt himself blush. He had never admitted to anyone that he had a soft spot for a couple of his pigs and had names for them, would give them extra attention, even sit and talk to them. “That’s so cool.” Andy was surprised Luke didn’t think he was a sentimental old fool. Or at least he did a good job of hiding it. “I’d love to come see your pigs sometime.” Andy nodded. He knew Luke was only being friendly and didn’t actually mean what he said. Someone as beautiful as Luke would be completely out of place in his pig sheds. “You’d probably not like it. The smell, the—” “There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you,” a whiny nasal voice said as its owner grew near. “What the hell you doing out here? It’s effing freezing.” “Roger, I—” “Come on, you promised we could go clubbing after you did your charity-kiss gig. And I want to go.” “Just a minute, I—” “But, Lukie—” The newcomer, Roger, was thin, tall, all knees and elbows. He latched himself onto Luke and was pulling him away, oblivious to Luke’s unwillingness to go. Andy hated Roger instantly. “Just a minute!” Luke said, trying to disentangle himself. To Andy he said, “Been nice talking to you. I—” “Come on. We’re missing all the fun.” “It’s all right,” Andy waved a hand to dismiss Luke’s apology. The pleasant feelings of a few moments earlier had dissipated completely. Now he just wanted to get away, be with his thoughts. Turning on his heel, he limped back to the car park and his van. His right knee was aching, a sure sign rain was on the way. Paddy and Tom would know where to find him, he’d often go sit in his van when things got too much. The arrangement suited all of them. It got Andy out and about occasionally, and because he couldn’t drink after the explosion had damaged his liver, he was always the designated driver, allowing Paddy and Tom to imbibe. Moving further up the canal, Andy could hear Roger’s whiny voice and Luke’s steadier one receding. Fishing out his keys, he opened the driver’s door and sat behind the wheel. Feeling the cold for the first time, he realised he didn’t have his jacket. He thought about going to find Luke to retrieve it, but decided against it. He knew if he encountered Roger again, he’d probably deck the annoying prick. Turning the key in the ignition, Andy waited until the engine warmed before putting the heater on. As he waited, he switched on the radio. Pop music blared out at him. Tom had fiddled with the stations on the way in. Andy turned the rotary dial until he found Radio 2 and a concert of light classical music. He patted the fascia of his trusty eight-track cartridge player and radio. He’d found it in a junk shop and had installed the unit in the van, much to Tom and Paddy’s bemusement, although the pair would often turn up with music recorded on eight-track cartridges they had found while visiting car boot sales. Leaning his seat back and closing his eyes, Andy let the music and the warm air soothe him.