Blood Rising - Part Two
Rating: 15+ for language and descriptions, this part
Word count: This part 2013
In the morning, it was raining. Des was still buried beneath his covers when I made my way downstairs. Everyone except Tag was in the kitchen and Mark was grilling bacon.
Will was wearing a dressing gown and eating a grapefruit whilst being mocked by Wayne. He regarded his tormentor over his glasses and commented that “Vitamin C is best absorbed on an empty stomach.”
Wayne stopped laughing when Will got him in the eye with an accidental squirt of juice. “It’s not best absorbed through me bloody eye socket, is it?” he complained.
Mark grinned into the bread he was buttering and asked me to pass the Tommy K.
Tag appeared, looking like shite, when we were half way through the butties. He claimed he wasn’t used to wine, but we reckoned he wasn’t used to acting like Howard Marks.
We made him a coffee and he came round a bit.
Des came down a few minutes later in a black, long sleeved T-shirt which said, 'EVIL SIMON and the DIET OF SOUP' on it in big, red letters.
Tag kept frowning at it as if he couldn’t focus. We knew he wanted to ask what it meant, but it was fun watching him trying to form the words.
Having made himself tea and toast, Des sat opposite him and tucked in. After a bit, he noticed he was being stared at and waved his toast at Tag. “You all right, mate?”
“Who’s Evil Simon?”
“All you need to know,” Des winked at him, “is he’s called Simon. And he’s evil.”
Tag stared at Des even harder, but didn’t ask anything else. Des smiled benignly at him and carried on chewing his toast without breaking eye contact. I think Tag thought at least one of them was tripping.
Wayne eventually took pity on him. “It’s a local band. We went to see them at The Tomb.”
“You’re all mental,” Tag told him and went off to have a shower.
There wasn’t much discussion about what we were going to do that day. After he’d finished his grapefruit, Will stripped off his dressing gown to reveal a very fetching pair of trunks.
“Gentlemen, I will see you at the poolside in half of an hour.” He sauntered off across the yard, ignoring the faltering rain.
“You know,” Mark said, to no-one in particular, “where Will’s concerned, Tag might have a point.”
We sat around for a bit, chatting and digesting. Wayne had some great stories about Tag’s public school pals. They sounded like a right bunch of tossers.
Des offered to wash up, since Mark spent most of his time at home in the kitchens. None of us were normally so domesticated, but we weren't going to wreck our chances of staying again for a few pots and pans.
Wayne and I were going to help, but Des told us to go and make sure Will wasn’t drowning under the weight of his inheritance.
*
The pool was beautiful. It was long and deep and ultramarine. William was floating in the middle of it, humming to himself and making undulating ripples.
Outside, it had stopped raining. The fresh sunlight coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows reflected the whole scene onto the rafters. Up there, Will became a small, bright edged shadow.
“You are the luckiest bastard I have ever met,” Wayne shouted to him.
“Next month,” Will called back, “I am to be Man of the Month in the 'Lucky Bastard’s Weekly'. Be sure to buy a copy.”
Wayne pulled off his T-shirt and jeans and dove into the water. Seconds later, Will disappeared under the water with a shout as Wayne grabbed his ankles.
I turned to Mark. “Shall we?”
Mark smiled regally. “Indeed we shall.”
I’ve no idea when it became funny to talk to each other like Lords of the Manor, but in that moment, it was.
After an hour or so, Will and I were sitting on the side of the pool, dangling our legs into the warm water. Tag had appeared at some point with a plastic football, and he, Wayne and Mark were involved in some made up game.
“Where did Des get to?” Will asked me.
With all the shouting and swimming and ‘douse-ball’ I hadn’t even realised he was missing. “I’ll go and see.”
I forced my trainers onto wet feet and wandered out across the yard.
It was turning into a stunning day. The sun was getting hot, and heavy dampness hung in the air.
I looked down the lawn to where Des and I had sat the night before. The other side of the valley was just visible through a misty haze. It was a million miles away from the redbrick back-to-backs that made up the rest of our lives.
Des wasn’t in the kitchen. I called out to him, but there was no reply.
I found him in the lounge, lying on his back on the sofa. It couldn’t hold him all; his head and legs were hanging off either end which is how I spotted him. There was no way he hadn't heard me shouting.
“What are you doing?” I asked him, moving in front of the sofa. It was green leather with brass studs and curved dark-wood legs. It looked like it had grown there. Des, in contrast, looked out of place. He didn’t meet my eye.
“Nowt.”
“I can see that. Why aren’t you in the pool with us? It’s great.”
He made a move that might have been a shrug. “Didn’t fancy it.”
I frowned. Des loved swimming. He was good at it, had won awards and everything. Surprisingly for a tall lad, he wasn’t awkward when he walked, but when he swam he was graceful. He was talking bollocks if he said it didn’t suit him. What the hell was he on about?
Then it struck me.
I sat down on one of the other chairs and leaned forward, struggling for the right words.
“Des… Mate… It’s not the first time we’ve seen you with bruises. The lads won’t say anything.”
He looked at me then and I knew I’d hit the nail on the head. It probably explained why he’d kept the jumper on the day before, too. I guessed it had to be bad because he wasn’t normally so coy about it.
He was staring at me, chewing on his lip. He had unusual eyes which I didn't always notice; we'd known each other since we were five. They were dark grey in colour and gave the impression he could see more than most. It felt like he was checking whether I’d meant what I said.
“Tag’s not seen them before,” he commented, pointedly.
“Well, it’s nowt to do with him, is it? We’ll tell him to shut up if he asks.”
Turning his head away from me, he addressed the ceiling. “I get sick of it; the way people look at me like I’ve been touched by God or summat.”
I didn’t get what he meant. “No-one stares, mate. We know what it’s all about.”
His head snapped back round and I flinched at the look he gave me. It was dangerous, angry, and reminded me of the way Thomas had glared through the train window. The two of them looked a lot alike at the best of times.
“Do you?” he spat. “You know what it’s like, do you, to be shit scared all the time? To want to get away more than anything, and then - when you finally do - to have it fucked up for you? I don’t want to have to look at myself, let alone have a complete stranger gawping at me.”
He paused, swallowing hard and then spoke quieter, “It’s shaming, and I hate it. I hate my brother. I hate what he does to me.” He covered his face with his hands and breathed deeply.
The clock above the mantelpiece chimed eleven. I stared at it while I decided what to say. Things must have got worse between them, because Des usually shrugged it off. He seemed so chilled out most of the time; I’d never seen him lose it like that. I wondered if it was the first time he had.
Glancing back at him, he hadn’t moved; long fingers still covering his eyes. I tried to imagine him getting hit; cowering away from Thomas; wondering when the next time would be. It gave me a weird sensation in the pit of my stomach, followed by a sudden rush of anger for him.
“We’re forty miles away from Thomas. If he’s stopping you from doing stuff, then he might as well be here.”
Des lowered his fingers. The expression on his face said he’d not thought of it that way.
I stood up and reached my hand towards him. “Come on, mate. Sod Tag, we’ll drown him if he says owt.”
Reluctantly, he took my hand and unfolded stiffly from the sofa. I always thought of myself as tall unless I was standing right next to him. He had a good three inches on me. I had to raise my eyes to meet his.
Standing so close, I could see the fear running through him like blood. It was hard to believe I hadn’t seen it before.
*
If there’d been chance to tell the others what was going on before Des went in the pool, I’d have taken it. As it was, he wanted me to wait with him while he got changed in the shower room.
I tried not to watch, but it was difficult. He had his back to me and when he struggled out of his T-shirt, I couldn’t help staring.
It was possible to make out each finger mark around his upper arms where he’d obviously been gripped. They were vivid red and purple and contrasted with the dark blue and grey bruises along his spine.
The back of one shoulder was a violent spectrum of colour and the opposite elbow was practically black.
He bent over to take off his boots and the light threw his ribs into sharp relief. The left set were stained with faded bruising in greenish yellow: The right had angry red marks that looked like the result of a kicking.
I didn’t know what to do with the feelings that began churning at the sight of him; they weren’t anything I’d felt before. I couldn’t even describe them. I chewed my lip to prevent anything stupid escaping from my mouth, and turned away as he unfastened his jeans.
*
The lads didn’t get chance to notice anything at first, partly because Des’s chest and stomach weren’t as bad and partly because he dived straight into the pool.
He re-emerged at the other end; pushing hair back off his face and wiping water from his eyes and mouth.
There was a chorus of cheering from the others and Des grinned. “Been keeping it warm for me?”
The knot of tension in my chest relaxed slightly as the minutes slid towards another hour. If the others had clocked anything, they weren’t making it obvious. Tag was asleep on a lounger at the side, walkman plugged into his ears.
It wasn’t until we were thinking of getting out and having something to eat that Mark swam over to me. He turned his back towards Des and muttered at me. “Is that why he didn’t come in before?”
As he spoke, Des stretched up and out of the water to catch the ball. His movements were less stiff in the pool and it was easy to admire his body. Physically he was more mature than some of the lads, his muscles lengthened and lean. It seemed impossible that anyone would want to inflict violence on a body like that.
My chest knotted again and it all got too much. I nodded in response to Mark’s question, taking a deep breath and sinking under the water. There had to be some way to dilute the feeling of overwhelming uselessness.
*
Word count: This part 2013
In the morning, it was raining. Des was still buried beneath his covers when I made my way downstairs. Everyone except Tag was in the kitchen and Mark was grilling bacon.
Will was wearing a dressing gown and eating a grapefruit whilst being mocked by Wayne. He regarded his tormentor over his glasses and commented that “Vitamin C is best absorbed on an empty stomach.”
Wayne stopped laughing when Will got him in the eye with an accidental squirt of juice. “It’s not best absorbed through me bloody eye socket, is it?” he complained.
Mark grinned into the bread he was buttering and asked me to pass the Tommy K.
Tag appeared, looking like shite, when we were half way through the butties. He claimed he wasn’t used to wine, but we reckoned he wasn’t used to acting like Howard Marks.
We made him a coffee and he came round a bit.
Des came down a few minutes later in a black, long sleeved T-shirt which said, 'EVIL SIMON and the DIET OF SOUP' on it in big, red letters.
Tag kept frowning at it as if he couldn’t focus. We knew he wanted to ask what it meant, but it was fun watching him trying to form the words.
Having made himself tea and toast, Des sat opposite him and tucked in. After a bit, he noticed he was being stared at and waved his toast at Tag. “You all right, mate?”
“Who’s Evil Simon?”
“All you need to know,” Des winked at him, “is he’s called Simon. And he’s evil.”
Tag stared at Des even harder, but didn’t ask anything else. Des smiled benignly at him and carried on chewing his toast without breaking eye contact. I think Tag thought at least one of them was tripping.
Wayne eventually took pity on him. “It’s a local band. We went to see them at The Tomb.”
“You’re all mental,” Tag told him and went off to have a shower.
There wasn’t much discussion about what we were going to do that day. After he’d finished his grapefruit, Will stripped off his dressing gown to reveal a very fetching pair of trunks.
“Gentlemen, I will see you at the poolside in half of an hour.” He sauntered off across the yard, ignoring the faltering rain.
“You know,” Mark said, to no-one in particular, “where Will’s concerned, Tag might have a point.”
We sat around for a bit, chatting and digesting. Wayne had some great stories about Tag’s public school pals. They sounded like a right bunch of tossers.
Des offered to wash up, since Mark spent most of his time at home in the kitchens. None of us were normally so domesticated, but we weren't going to wreck our chances of staying again for a few pots and pans.
Wayne and I were going to help, but Des told us to go and make sure Will wasn’t drowning under the weight of his inheritance.
*
The pool was beautiful. It was long and deep and ultramarine. William was floating in the middle of it, humming to himself and making undulating ripples.
Outside, it had stopped raining. The fresh sunlight coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows reflected the whole scene onto the rafters. Up there, Will became a small, bright edged shadow.
“You are the luckiest bastard I have ever met,” Wayne shouted to him.
“Next month,” Will called back, “I am to be Man of the Month in the 'Lucky Bastard’s Weekly'. Be sure to buy a copy.”
Wayne pulled off his T-shirt and jeans and dove into the water. Seconds later, Will disappeared under the water with a shout as Wayne grabbed his ankles.
I turned to Mark. “Shall we?”
Mark smiled regally. “Indeed we shall.”
I’ve no idea when it became funny to talk to each other like Lords of the Manor, but in that moment, it was.
After an hour or so, Will and I were sitting on the side of the pool, dangling our legs into the warm water. Tag had appeared at some point with a plastic football, and he, Wayne and Mark were involved in some made up game.
“Where did Des get to?” Will asked me.
With all the shouting and swimming and ‘douse-ball’ I hadn’t even realised he was missing. “I’ll go and see.”
I forced my trainers onto wet feet and wandered out across the yard.
It was turning into a stunning day. The sun was getting hot, and heavy dampness hung in the air.
I looked down the lawn to where Des and I had sat the night before. The other side of the valley was just visible through a misty haze. It was a million miles away from the redbrick back-to-backs that made up the rest of our lives.
Des wasn’t in the kitchen. I called out to him, but there was no reply.
I found him in the lounge, lying on his back on the sofa. It couldn’t hold him all; his head and legs were hanging off either end which is how I spotted him. There was no way he hadn't heard me shouting.
“What are you doing?” I asked him, moving in front of the sofa. It was green leather with brass studs and curved dark-wood legs. It looked like it had grown there. Des, in contrast, looked out of place. He didn’t meet my eye.
“Nowt.”
“I can see that. Why aren’t you in the pool with us? It’s great.”
He made a move that might have been a shrug. “Didn’t fancy it.”
I frowned. Des loved swimming. He was good at it, had won awards and everything. Surprisingly for a tall lad, he wasn’t awkward when he walked, but when he swam he was graceful. He was talking bollocks if he said it didn’t suit him. What the hell was he on about?
Then it struck me.
I sat down on one of the other chairs and leaned forward, struggling for the right words.
“Des… Mate… It’s not the first time we’ve seen you with bruises. The lads won’t say anything.”
He looked at me then and I knew I’d hit the nail on the head. It probably explained why he’d kept the jumper on the day before, too. I guessed it had to be bad because he wasn’t normally so coy about it.
He was staring at me, chewing on his lip. He had unusual eyes which I didn't always notice; we'd known each other since we were five. They were dark grey in colour and gave the impression he could see more than most. It felt like he was checking whether I’d meant what I said.
“Tag’s not seen them before,” he commented, pointedly.
“Well, it’s nowt to do with him, is it? We’ll tell him to shut up if he asks.”
Turning his head away from me, he addressed the ceiling. “I get sick of it; the way people look at me like I’ve been touched by God or summat.”
I didn’t get what he meant. “No-one stares, mate. We know what it’s all about.”
His head snapped back round and I flinched at the look he gave me. It was dangerous, angry, and reminded me of the way Thomas had glared through the train window. The two of them looked a lot alike at the best of times.
“Do you?” he spat. “You know what it’s like, do you, to be shit scared all the time? To want to get away more than anything, and then - when you finally do - to have it fucked up for you? I don’t want to have to look at myself, let alone have a complete stranger gawping at me.”
He paused, swallowing hard and then spoke quieter, “It’s shaming, and I hate it. I hate my brother. I hate what he does to me.” He covered his face with his hands and breathed deeply.
The clock above the mantelpiece chimed eleven. I stared at it while I decided what to say. Things must have got worse between them, because Des usually shrugged it off. He seemed so chilled out most of the time; I’d never seen him lose it like that. I wondered if it was the first time he had.
Glancing back at him, he hadn’t moved; long fingers still covering his eyes. I tried to imagine him getting hit; cowering away from Thomas; wondering when the next time would be. It gave me a weird sensation in the pit of my stomach, followed by a sudden rush of anger for him.
“We’re forty miles away from Thomas. If he’s stopping you from doing stuff, then he might as well be here.”
Des lowered his fingers. The expression on his face said he’d not thought of it that way.
I stood up and reached my hand towards him. “Come on, mate. Sod Tag, we’ll drown him if he says owt.”
Reluctantly, he took my hand and unfolded stiffly from the sofa. I always thought of myself as tall unless I was standing right next to him. He had a good three inches on me. I had to raise my eyes to meet his.
Standing so close, I could see the fear running through him like blood. It was hard to believe I hadn’t seen it before.
*
If there’d been chance to tell the others what was going on before Des went in the pool, I’d have taken it. As it was, he wanted me to wait with him while he got changed in the shower room.
I tried not to watch, but it was difficult. He had his back to me and when he struggled out of his T-shirt, I couldn’t help staring.
It was possible to make out each finger mark around his upper arms where he’d obviously been gripped. They were vivid red and purple and contrasted with the dark blue and grey bruises along his spine.
The back of one shoulder was a violent spectrum of colour and the opposite elbow was practically black.
He bent over to take off his boots and the light threw his ribs into sharp relief. The left set were stained with faded bruising in greenish yellow: The right had angry red marks that looked like the result of a kicking.
I didn’t know what to do with the feelings that began churning at the sight of him; they weren’t anything I’d felt before. I couldn’t even describe them. I chewed my lip to prevent anything stupid escaping from my mouth, and turned away as he unfastened his jeans.
*
The lads didn’t get chance to notice anything at first, partly because Des’s chest and stomach weren’t as bad and partly because he dived straight into the pool.
He re-emerged at the other end; pushing hair back off his face and wiping water from his eyes and mouth.
There was a chorus of cheering from the others and Des grinned. “Been keeping it warm for me?”
The knot of tension in my chest relaxed slightly as the minutes slid towards another hour. If the others had clocked anything, they weren’t making it obvious. Tag was asleep on a lounger at the side, walkman plugged into his ears.
It wasn’t until we were thinking of getting out and having something to eat that Mark swam over to me. He turned his back towards Des and muttered at me. “Is that why he didn’t come in before?”
As he spoke, Des stretched up and out of the water to catch the ball. His movements were less stiff in the pool and it was easy to admire his body. Physically he was more mature than some of the lads, his muscles lengthened and lean. It seemed impossible that anyone would want to inflict violence on a body like that.
My chest knotted again and it all got too much. I nodded in response to Mark’s question, taking a deep breath and sinking under the water. There had to be some way to dilute the feeling of overwhelming uselessness.
*