Page 2 of Toy Boy

“So much I still don’t know about you,” Josh tuts, shaking his head and sliding his hands back into his pockets, his mouth slowly turning up into a smile.

“Go home, Josh. Spend some time with Natalie, and quit worrying about me.”

“I’ll try.”

“Make sure you do.”

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay. I get the message.”

“Finally!”

I smile at him, to let him know that I understand, and I love that he feels the need to protect me, I do, but I don’t need protecting. I never did.

“I’m just worried that – “

“Go home, Josh.”

He plucks an apple from the bowl on the counter and tosses it into the air before catching it, and biting into it. “Alright. I’m out of here. I’ll call you later.”

“Please, don’t… Hey, I’m serious! No phone calls!”

But he’s walking away now, keeping his back to me as he raises an arm and waves it around in a kind of ‘whatever’ manner. And I know he’s only doing what he’s doing because he loves me. Because he worries about me, after everything I’ve been through. Because he thinks my marriage to Scott damaged me, in some way, but he’s wrong. I didn’t let it. I got out in time, remember? I’m much happier on my own, if truth be told. I feel free for the first time in years. No controlling husband, no dependent son; my business – a café on the harbour-front – it’s doing really well, I’m fine. On so many levels. I’m fine…

Xander

I’ve spent too much time trying to pretend shit didn’t happen; trying to block out reality, but you can’t do that forever. I know that now. Sometimes, that reality, it comes back to hit you so hard; comes at you so fiercely you have no time to prepare, and once the dust has settled you’re left with a million and one things to think about that had never even been on your radar before. I should know. Reality… Yeah. What a bitch!

Closing the door of my rented beach house behind me I go over to the window and pull back the curtains. The view’s great. Right on the beach. It’s exactly what I was looking for, because I could be here for a while. I’ve certainly got no plans to go home just yet.

Heading into the kitchen I open the fridge. The rental company were as good as their word, there’s water, beer, some cold cuts, salad and eggs in there. And as I check the cupboards I also find a loaf of bread, some canned soup, coffee, enough basic supplies to make sure I don’t have to hit the supermarket tonight, anyway.

Grabbing a beer and flicking off the top, I down a long draft and head back into the living room; back over to the large rectangular window that lets in heaps of light, it brightens the entire room. And for a moment or two I just stand there, and I breathe. I just breathe, because, for a long time now, I’m not sure I’ve been able to do that properly. I’ve been so consumed with guilt and anger; frustration that couldn’t be helped but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. But now I’m here, I feel like I can let go. I can breathe. It’s okay. I’m here now. I’m here. That guilt. That anger. I can finally start to deal with it…

Scott

It’s good to be home. Edinburgh had been a necessary detour, but it was never intended to be permanent. I’d just needed a little more time away, one final stop-gap after two years working in Europe. A little more time to get my head together. Reboot, if you like. There’s been a lot to think about. A lot to process. The past few years have been a whirlwind… No. That’s too nice a way of describing everything. They’ve been a fucking shit-show. And I want to blame Megan, I really do. For a while Idid, blame Megan, because I needed to blame someone, and my ex-wife seemed like the perfect target. But, despite everything I might still feel towards her, and none of that is simple, believe me, where Megan and I are concerned there’s no black and white, just a ton of grey. And I couldn’t blame her, for anything. It was all on me.

Megan Flowers, as she’s known now. She made the decision to revert back to her own name before she’d closed the door of the taxi the day she walked out on me. Left me. She brokemyfucking heart that day, was that some kind of payback? I fixed hers, only for her to strike back and shatter mine? Why? Because she thought I was controlling? Bullshit! I’m a fucking surgeon, I’m assertive, not controlling. Some days I, literally, hold people’s lives in my hands, I don’t have time to be weak.

She had it all, too. The kind of life a lot of women would kill to live, and I fucking adored her! And she couldn’tseethat? She couldn’tgetthat? I mean, what the fuck else was I supposed to do? I had nothing more to give, and she accusesmeof being controlling? She was the one with the problem. The one who couldn’t see what was right in front of her. And yet, to some extent, maybe that was something I was guilty of, too. I just couldn’t see it at the time. Moving Lucie in before I’d even had time to change the sheets, that was just me displaying a knee-jerk reaction to something that had pissed me off, big time. I’d wanted to send a message to Megan that what she’d just done… She wasn’t hurting me. She wasn’t getting to me, I didn’t need her. Whatever point she’d been trying to prove, it meant fuck all to me. Except, I know it meant everything. Now. She hurt me. She got to me. But I can’t blame her for anything that’s happened over the past couple of years. I can’t do that. Like I said, it’s all on me. All of it. But I’m dealing with it. I’m moving on. And I needed to come full-circle to do that. I needed to come back home, to Beachcastle Bay, make a brand new start in a brand new home, with a new job at, granted, my old hospital, but it’s all part of a brand new me. A new man. That’s what I need to become, because the old one – he messed up, in so many ways. It’s time to start a new chapter, make new plans, and I have big ones.

My new home, it’s a stone’s throw away from the old house. The one Megan and I shared for just over eighteen months, that’s how long our marriage lasted. Eighteen months. Was that really all it took for everything to come crashing down? And this new house, it’s also a little smaller than the last one, but I don’t need the space now, do I? There’s just me. All alone, after Lucie left. Yeah. She left me, too, something some – probably Megan – may say I deserved. And maybe I did, I don’t know. But Lucie’s reasons for leaving me, they were very different to Megan’s. Lucie was grateful for the money. She loved the lifestyle. She recognised that being with someone like me brought her many benefits, and for a while she was the perfect woman for me – loyal, adoring, she worshipped the man I was instead of bitching about it constantly. I thought we were going somewhere, until I woke up in the middle of the night, just a few weeks after we’d moved to Denmark, to find her side of the bed empty and a note on the kitchen table informing me that she was sorry, but she wanted more excitement than I could give her. Was she for fucking real? That was the thought that went through my head as I read her ‘Dear John’ letter. She’s touring Europe and Asia now with a rock band nobody’s heard of but she’s convinced they’re going to be the next Foo Fighters. Poor cow. In hindsight she’d probably been a little too young for me, but to be honest, I think, subconsciously, I’d been pushing her away from day one. Because I’d never really stopped loving Megan. No matter what my ex-wife thinks about me, I really did love her. And that’s another reason I’m back home; why I didn’t stay in Edinburgh after returning from Denmark, because I had plenty of job offers there. Even after what happened, so many people still wanted me, both professionally and personally. But I came home. To Beachcastle Bay. Because there’s only one thing I want; onewomanI want, and I’m ready to resume the fight now. The time’s right, and I know she hasn’t found anyone else. I know she hasn’t even tried to replace me, she’s thrown herself into her work instead, built up a successful little business in my absence. And the more I think about it, the more I can understand why she felt the need to push me away. Why she couldn’t cope with being married to me, maybe it was all just too overwhelming, in the end, being involved with the man who saved her life, I completely get that. But it’s okay. I understand, now, what might have driven her to make that rash decision to leave, and it’s fine. It’s all good. I think we both just needed some time, everything happened so quickly between us. From that second meeting, three years after she stopped being my patient, to getting married, to her walking out, that all took place in the space of just two years. Two fucking years! It was too quick. We should’ve taken more time, got to know each other first because I don’t think we really did that. Not outside of a doctor/patient relationship, and that was the problem. The more I thought about it, over time, the more I know that was the reason why it just didn’t work, back then. She couldn’t see past me as her doctor, but things are different now. And I’ll make her see that. I will, it’s all going to be fine. I believe in second chances. I believe we all deserve them. All of us. No matter what we’ve done…

2

Megan

The view from my café is beautiful. Facing out over the harbour across the road it ensures the outdoor terrace is rarely empty, in the summer months, anyway, but this prime location, it quite obviously comes with a price. And it’s worth it. Harbour-view restaurants, cafés and bars draw the crowds in, especially in summer when tourists help to swell the visitor numbers. And as well as having stunning views of the harbour,Flowersis also the perfect place to people-watch, and I smile to myself as I set the tables outside, placing laminated menus on each one, it’s almost time to open now. It’s still early – just gone seven-thirty in the morning – but our breakfasts have become extremely popular.

We don’t have a huge menu, and I only have three other members of staff who work with me – cooks Graham and Hanna, and Iona who runs front-of-house – but we try to make sure that small menu stays interesting, changing on an almost monthly basis. It’s part of what makesFlowersunique, in my opinion, anyway. And right now, for breakfast, as well as the usual full English fry-up, we’re serving blueberry pancakes, bacon and sausage hash with fried eggs, and home-made nut and berry granola. We try to keep our menu simple – as well as the breakfast dishes, which are served until 10am, we also serve a variety of sandwiches and burgers, fish and chips, and a selection of salads and sides. And Hanna – whose ambition is to become a professional pastry chef – rustles up the most perfect sweets and desserts. This week we’re serving her sticky chocolate brownies, pistachio ice cream, and date and walnut cake. All of our food is home-made, in-house, and it’s gained us a regular customer base who keep coming back, as well as people who’ve discovered us via our website and social media platforms, or through word-of-mouth. Sometimes that’s the best marketing tool of all as far as I’m concerned. I’m proud of what this place has become in such a short space of time, a family-friendly café with a personal touch.

Heading back inside, I flip the sign on the door toopenand within minutes we already have almost a dozen customers seated and their orders taken. Another day is about to begin, and I couldn’t be happier. Yes, I know, to some it might seem like I’m stuck in this comfortable, safe rut – for want of a better word – but I like where I am now. I like what I’ve built around me. I like my independence. I’ve learnt that life is precious, and whatever makes us happy, however safe and comfortable it may be, because that doesn’t have to be a bad thing, that’s what we should concentrate on. Whatever makes us happy.

“There you go, Tim. Sausage and bacon hash with two fried eggs. Anything else I can get for you?”

“No, that’s perfect, thanks, Megan.”

Tim Featherstone is the Deputy Chief Constable of the local police force, and a very good friend of mine. He’s also a friend of Scott’s, his best friend to be exact, but that’s fine. I never asked people to choose between us. I hope both Scott and I made it feel like people didn’t have to. But Tim, he’s a good man. Loyal to this town, he cares about the people who live here, and he does everything he can to make sure Beachcastle Bay stays a beautiful, safe place to live, and visit. For him, the police force is, and always has been, his life. Following in his late father’s and grandfather’s footsteps before him – both of them made it to Chief Constable, and I have no doubt Tim will get there too, eventually, unless he chooses to retire before then – the Featherstone’s are a bit of an institution around here. Tim’s wife, Greta, is Chair of the local hospital’s foundation trust, they’re both popular, and important, members of the community. And both have always been extremely supportive to me, especially after I left Scott. In fact, I’m not sure Greta’s ever forgiven him for what he did to me. She despises cheating. Which makes her one of the few people who took their rose-tinted glasses off after Scott and me separated; one of the few who haven’t missed him since he left to go and work in Europe.

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