For Launa Alvara, with love.
It was a cold night on Fitton Common, and Martin was beginning to wish that he'd stopped at home.
But he was here now, and he'd paid his entrance money. So he reasoned with himself that he might as well stay until the end rather than pushing his way through the crowd and making his way back to his equally cold attic.
God, it was cold. And he felt such a fool. Everyone else at the charity firework display was with someone – small kids with their parents, bigger kids with their friends, girlfriends with boyfriends, husbands and wives – he must surely be the only person there by himself.
But he just couldn't face the thought of another night in alone, and so he'd paid his entrance money and stood there, looking up at the sky and wishing – just wishing that he was there with someone, and really rather glad that it was dark so that no-one could see the sad, lonely man staring up at the sky.
God, it was cold. If only he hadn't lost his gloves – they must have fallen out of the van this morning. And his coat was thin and threadbare and oh God, Crieff, what a bloody failure you are.
He blew on his hands – it didn't seem to make them any warmer – and tried to concentrate on the fireworks.
Perhaps if he stamped his feet for a bit that might warm him up.
The big set pieces were starting, and the crowd were beginning to 'ooh' and 'ahh' and Martin was thinking to himself that it really was quite pretty but not a touch on the Aurora Borealis when suddenly – and so unexpectedly that it made him start – a warm leather-gloved hand slipped into his cold one.
Who on earth?
Martin glanced sideways, but he couldn't really make out anything about the heavily wrapped up figure standing next to him. Taller than Martin – not that that's difficult, he thought, ruefully - and now whoever it was had taken both his hands and was rubbing them warm with their soft leather-clad hands – large hands – oh my God, it's a man, dear God Almighty I've been picked up by a man at a sodding firework display and how the hell I am I going to get out of this? – and he pulled his hands away and tried to step away, but the crowd was too tightly packed.
And the figure next to him just gave a little sigh and continued to look upwards.
After a few moments, there was a rustling sound and Martin realised that the man was holding out a paper bag to him. There was a smell of warm toffee, and before Martin had time to think through what he was doing he took a piece – oh my God, Mum always warned me about taking sweets from strangers, what have I just done? – he giggled hysterically and the figure made the sort of 'uumph' noise that you do when you've got a mouthful of sticky toffee and need to communicate and waved the bag at Martin again.
Martin stopped panicking. He took another piece, and they stood there, side by side, just looking at the fireworks.
After a while the leather-gloved hand slid back into Martin's, and this time Martin didn't pull away. Because, although Martin has no doubts at all that he's straight, it was, in a strange way, rather comforting.
Just to know that he wasn't alone.
The stood there, hand in hand, not speaking. Just watching the fireworks, eating toffee.
The final rocket burst, the crowd sighed and started to make their way back to the car park.
Martin finally turned to the figure standing beside him.
'Erm – thanks for – for the toffee –' he stammered.
'That's okay Skip! It was brilliant, wasn't it? I love fireworks!'
'Erm – Arthur – '
'Hope you didn't get the wrong idea when I held your hands, Skip! It was just that you looked a bit cold and I thought it might warm you up – and – and anyway, fireworks just aren't the same if you haven't got someone's hand to hold while you watch them!'
Martin grinned to himself.
'Indeed they aren't.'
'Fancy a hot chocolate? Mum's bought a flask – she's over there with Herc, but I thought I'd better give them a bit of time alone. She told me to tell you to join us.'
'I'd love one, Arthur. But you really ought to be careful whose hand you go holding in the dark.'
'But I knew it was you! And – oh wow, Skip, you mean you didn't know it was me? You – you must have thought –'
'I knew it was you as soon as you offered me the toffee, Arthur. No-one – absolutely no-one else could possibly come up with Turkish Delight-flavoured toffee.'
Giggling, the two men made their way over to where there was hot chocolate and friendship waiting.