Colin and Martin's Goodbye Christmas

Chapter 1

Colin Rogers flexed the fingers of his right hand before replacing them on the steering wheel.

“Still sore?” Martin Kellam asked.

“A bit.” Colin examined the reddened and puffy knuckles. At least the skin wasn’t broken.

Martin was blind, but Colin had long ago come to recognise that they were so attuned to each other, Martin often knew what Colin was thinking or doing.

“You shouldn’t have hit him,” Martin said, shaking his head.

Colin grunted. He’d put up with Bob’s snide comments for long enough. Even though Bob and Martin were brothers, they couldn’t be more different. Where Martin was kind and generous, Bob was mean-spirited and always angry.

Earlier that day they’d dropped off Christmas gifts for Martin’s nieces. The girls had been at a friend’s house and Martin had believed that his brother would be at work. He hadn’t, and it had taken less than a minute for Bob’s hateful remarks to start.

They’d always avoided the guy as much as they could, and when that was impossible, Colin had always managed to keep his mouth shut and his fists by his sides. But Bob’s parting comment of, “at least once you’re in Australia there’ll be two less limp-wristed queers walking the streets” had been the last straw. Colin had delivered a roundhouse punch to Bob’s face, feeling the satisfying crunch of Bob’s nose under his knuckles.

“My wrists are strong enough to drop you to the floor.”

As long as he lived, Colin would never forget the total look of shock on Bob’s face as he picked himself up off the carpet.

Colin flexed his right hand on the wheel once again. “He deserved it.” He reached his left hand over and patted Martin’s knee. “Any regrets?”

“About you thumping Bob? No.”

Colin chuckled. “I meant about us packing up and moving down under.”

“‘Whither thou goest, I will go. And where thou lodgest, I will lodge.’”

“Shakespeare?” Colin asked, sliding a quick glance at Martin.

“The Bible.”

Colin shook his head. His man was so intelligent, what Martin saw in a bloke who’d left school with only a handful of GCSE’s Colin didn’t…

“Don’t even go there,” Martin said, laying a hand on top of Colin’s and giving it a squeeze.

Colin smiled. Yep, it was amazing how well Martin knew him.

Martin sighed. “The only regret I have is leaving Seth.”

Colin turned his hand over and threaded his fingers through Martin’s.

Martin had struggled with the decision of whether or not to take his guide dog, Seth, with them, or start afresh in Australia with a new dog. Ultimately Martin was persuaded that the long flight, then the totally different environment—swapping a town in England for rural New South Wales—would be asking too much of the dog. Martin had called the guide dog association with his decision and they’d promised they’d be able to find a new owner for the dog.

Although Martin had bonded with Seth, Colin knew the connection hadn’t been as strong as the one he’d had with Toby, the German Shepherd he’d had when Colin first knew Martin. When Colin had questioned Martin about this, he’d denied that his feelings for Toby had been stronger, but he’d soon conceded that, yes, the relationship he’d had with Toby had been especially close. This brought back feelings of guilt. Colin had left the garden gate open one morning and Toby had wandered into the street and had been run over.

Colin was reassured somewhat by Martin’s words about Toby being a German Shepherd and Seth a Golden Retriever. “Once you’ve had a Shepherd you’re spoiled for any other breed.”

Martin had accepted Seth because he’d been available and Martin had needed a dog quickly.

“No, I have no regrets about leaving Yorkshire,” Martin said, rubbing a thumb along the side of Colin’s hand. “There’s maybe one or two regrets about leaving Britain.”

Colin nodded. It hadn’t been an easy decision to make. Colin had found another—better-paying—driving job after losing the one with the supermarket. But the time he and Martin had spent on Matt’s sheep station a couple of years earlier had persuaded him that, although he didn’t mind being behind the wheel, he was better suited to something in the open air. And you couldn’t get much more open than the huge fields on his Uncle Matt’s property.

“Matt said it’s difficult to get a decent cup of tea in Australia.” Martin said.

Colin laughed, recalling his uncle’s complaints about how he missed a good English cuppa. When they’d visited Matt, they’d remembered to pack a large box of PG Tips. And Martin had insisted on them each taking even larger boxes this time. He’d pointed out that the luggage weight allowance was greater for this journey because they were emigrating.

“We’re almost at the border with Lincolnshire,” Colin said a few minutes later. “Want me to stop the car so you can kiss the hallowed turf of Yorkshire one last time?”

“You can kiss my arse.”

Colin flipped on the indicator.

“What are you doing?”

“Pulling over so I can kiss your arse.”

“Idiot.”

Colin turned off the indicator and continued driving.

The music coming out of the in-car stereo pulled Colin out of his silent farewell to his adopted county. He reached over and pressed the track advance button on the CD player. “Enough!”

Martin chuckled. “Thought you liked Wham!”

“They’re all right, but Last Christmas five times in the past hour is enough to…” Colin struggled for the right term. “Turn me into a Jehovah’s Witness.”

Martin’s chuckle grew into a full laugh. “Well, I like Wham! I bet George Michael looks just like you.”

Colin shook his head. They’d had this discussion many times before. Martin pretended to get a crush on a celebrity, insisting whoever it was looked just like Colin.

Martin reached out and fiddled with the CD player’s buttons.

Colin groaned when the familiar thumping intro came out of the speakers.