Page 12 of The Gods of Chaos and Chance

‘Where are they going? Wales?’

‘I’m not sure. Enid didn’t mention it. Scotland, I assumed. Given it’s the Duke of Edinburgh causing all this fuss.’

The dogs were done and making moves to return to the house, so Aleksey levered himself to his feet. Ben came over to him and slipped his arm around his waist, whether to ensure he didn’t stumble in the dark or because he wanted to be affectionate Aleksey didn’t care to enquire. It was acceptable either way.

‘I wanted to do that, but they didn’t offer it at my school. They had the Gang Scheme, but it was full. I only really joined the army for the chance to hike and abseil and climb and stuff. I should have gone in the PT Corps. They get to live in the camps full time and do nothing but that. What a life.’

Aleksey couldn’t have agreed more, and made a mental note to cross it off his list of things to wish for the next time around. ‘I sometimes regret that Miles is at school so far away. We should visit more.’

‘Yeah.’

Aleksey didn’t push it further. Subtle tendrils were now nicely stewing around in Ben’s mind. They would come together in a very satisfactory conclusion sooner or later.

* * *

One obvious outcome of being old, fat and damaged was being treated like precious china in bed. Precious, he was more than happy to agree on. Ben worshipping him was more than allowable. It was the breakable part that caused ceaseless friction between them. He couldn’t win the arguments because obviously Ben was right: he couldn’t be slammed, bent, stretched, pummelled or thumped. He wanted to be, but his body betrayed him. Once, their sex had more resembled combat than love making. Now, it was something of languor and exploration, sensuality and touch that brushed upon the heart as much as upon the skin, and it was perfect in its own way, but not in theirs. It was just not the way they were together and, frustrated, Aleksey would shudder into Ben, tethered still to this time and this place, and not flying free into the world he longed to reach, the one Ben’s body had been his roadmap for, his compass, his true north.

They never discussed what they did in bed, however. Never had.

* * *

Chapter Six

‘I wonder if they’re going to Benbecula. That’s Scottish.’ Ben was demolishing a plate of buttered toast for his breakfast, so his enunciation of this gem was somewhat lost in translation. He swallowed and added, ‘I went there once. It was an army range for the artillery. They test-fired their biggest missiles—out to sea. They hosted Duke of Edinburgh there sometimes. Some kids were gathering for a hike last time I went. It’s all closed now, I think. Or RAF. Same thing, I guess.’

‘You’vebeento one of the Scottish islands?’ This was annoying. ‘What was it…like?’

Ben slurped some tea. ‘Pretty dire. All flat. Not moorland like here, either. Just sort of boggy heather full of midges. Jesus, I can picture them now, swarming up around us in great clouds all the time. Buggers bit every piece of exposed skin, crawled in our eyes and noses. Cold too. It was summer, but it was bloody freezing, although the locals claimed it was mild. Hah, you’d hate it all. What? Why are you making that face?’

Aleksey returned to his own tea. This wasn’t looking good at all. He wanted a nice island, like the one stupid rich people who took drugs and drank to excess apparently owned. Not midges and the cold.

So what wastheirfascination with Islay? It didn’t make a lick of sense to him.

Obviously, he wanted a warm island, and he wasn’t stupid: warm places were always a long way away from where he currently resided. But he also wanted his island handy and accessible, and not at the end of a long flight.

Bolt holes needed to be close.

Having swiftly ruled out Scotland, therefore, the next evening he began pondering some islands closer to home. Oddly, it had been the moron who’d brought them to his attention only that afternoon. They’d been doing some upper-body work in the gym, Ben having gone with Sarah to pick Molly up from school. Aleksey was paranoid that if heliftedheavy(which he could) with the parts of his body that did still work, he’d become freakish: shoulders unable to pass through doors but legs like soggy paper straws. No one listened to him, of course, so he was forced to endure the family idiot for a few hours a couple of times every week up close and personal. ‘I wish you would not wear shorts when you stand over me like that. Spotting takes on a whole new meaning.’

‘Ack, you fucking love it. Only cock you’re probably getting any glimpse of right now.’

Aleksey twitched his nose and was about to change the subject when the moron observed, ‘Notice you wear your long leggings now. That for my benefit? Victorians used to cover the legs of their fucking tables for modesty sake too.’

Aleksey re-racked the bar and sat up, unconsciously rubbing his aching leg. No, it wasn’t a pretty sight underneath the soft material. There were scars, and then there were…well, monstrosities of flesh from traction rods in pale, withered muscle.

Squeezy handed him a bottle of water and straddled the end of the bench, facing him. It did nothing forhismodesty.

‘You goin’ up to town anytime soon?’

‘No, why? You have only just come back, have you not?’

‘Oh, yeah, sure, but I was pissed and semi-conscious then. So?’

‘No. Again.’

Squeezy frowned. ‘Thought you’d be wanting to do a bit of money laundering, or whatever it is you do with the big guy, seein’ as they’re coming for you now.’

Aleksey wondered idly if he could be bothered to untangle this. This pause in the training nightmare had been intended to take the moron down the paths he’d wanted him to go, continue the interesting conversation they’d been having up at the cottage. But coming for him? Money laundering? Big guy, he got.

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