"You total bastard!"
Christian recoiled from the blow of a tea towel, swiped across his jaw, thankful it wasn't a saucepan.
"I know… Sas, stop it!" He managed to grab the edge of the material, trying to wrest it from Sas' grip. She let go, and he could smell the alcohol on her breath, as, hair whipping across her face, she pummelled fiercely at his chest, her hands clenched into fists.
He endured the assault stoically; his mouth set into a grim line, feeling that it was all he deserved, until Beattie shot across the room, and seized Sas by the waist. Showing surprising strength for one so slender, she eventually managed to drag her shrieking girlfriend away.
"For fuck's sake Sas! He hasn't killed anyone. Calm down!" Beattie smoothed the hair from Sas' blazingly angry face, so pink with rage that Christian was surprised it didn't have steam rising from it, and uttered soothing, cooing noises. She rolled her eyes at Christian, and explained mildly,
"Sas is very protective of Carlo. They go back a long way…"
"Yeah. We do. He's a wonderful, kind, generous man…" Sas made another lunge at Christian. "And you've been leading him on since the moment you picked him up…"
Christian stayed, motionless, in the doorway to the flat, his keys dangling, poised above a bowl on the small gilt console table, and felt reduced to the size of an ant.
'Smaller,' He decided. 'A microbe…'
"I swear that was never my intention… Where is he?"
Indicating towards the terrace with a dip of her blonde head, Beattie increased her hold on Sas, preparing for another onslaught.
"And he's fucking drinking again, Christian. So well fucking done." Sas hissed.
"Sas, hush. Come on. Come to bed. I'll make it better…"
Christian watched them walk to the bedroom; wrapped around each other, and yearned desperately for Syed, wanting him there to make it better for him, to kiss away the twisting wrench of guilt in his gut.
He dropped the keys, and the jangling of metal onto china made him home sick. He imagined himself in the old flat, wanted to shout, "Hey sexy. I'm home!" See Syed's face turn sleepily towards him, concentration dragged from his book, watch him light up with joy as he reached for an embrace. He longed to be scolded for having drunk all the milk, or juice, or for being late, or too noisy. To lie next to him, on the long white sofa, and talk peacefully about the day.
"Never should have moved…" He muttered, wishing he could smell the incense that barely masked the scent of the chippy beneath, instead of the sweet salty pine air, drifting in through the open doors to the terrace.
Carlo sat in one of the metal chairs, illuminated by a lantern on the wall, intently studying a photograph. He turned, startled, when Christian touched his shoulder, and smiled forlornly. In one movement, he pulled the headphones away from his ears, letting them rest around his neck and quickly slipped the photograph from sight.
"I didn't hear…"
"No…" Christian slipped into a seat on the other side of the small round table, the sight of the open bottle of red wine in front of Carlo making his stomach sink. He traced one of the shining orange tiles on the mosaic top, digging his fingernail into the grout beside it. "….What were you listening to?"
Shrugging, Carlo met his eyes, dark circles beneath and the lines etched deeper, and Christian saw his sorrow.
"An old song… Memories. You understand?" He turned the bottle of red wine around, and his wedding ring gleamed dull gold against the ruby liquid, mirroring the streaks that slowly spread on the horizon, across the sleeping town, slashes of colour in the sky above the sea, heralding the beginning of another day.
"I do…" Christian reached out to take his hand, and thoughtfully twisted the metal band. "I'm so sorry, Carlo… If I gave you hope… It's just, Syed…"
"Cariño. I worry for you… How he made you feel." Carlo pulled away, and slid the bottle over. "You want?"
"I've had enough. Should you be drinking?"
With a wry grin, Carlo pointed to his untouched glass and the photograph slid from his lap, fluttering to the floor. He bent to retrieve it, but Christian moved more quickly, beating him to it, and lifted the well-worn picture, its edges creased, and studied it, his shoulders stooped with sadness.
The two faces that gazed out at him epitomised happiness and hope. Matching suits and festively gaudy purple ties, identical white carnations in their buttonholes and smiles so wide and bright they could have created a new star.
"I could never have replaced him Carlo."
"No. You never could. A love that only happens once… It is okay, Christian. You seemed so lost when I found you. I thought we could be lost together. Yet they hold our hearts… It happened when you went back? I was confused, I wondered, you and your handsome friend tonight…"
"Michael? He went to school with Syed, he's part of the life we have. At home."
A moth battered at the lamp, burning the fragile dust on its wings, compelled to carry on, regardless of the pain, and Christian understood, too well, the helpless pull of the agonising attraction.
"The wife and daughter?" Carlo asked gently. Taking the photograph from Christian, he looked at it once, and put it carefully away in the breast pocket of his shirt.
"He chose me. He chose me, again." The knowledge made Christian triumphant, gave him an urge to do a victory lap around the town, waking up the drowsy residents with a cacophony of whooping. Then his delight declined, crushed by a horrible recognition of all the collateral damage that had occurred along the way.
"And you believe him now? Trust him?"
"Yes…" Christian realised he sounded uncertain, aware that it wasn't Syed he doubted, more his own latent issues, lurking under the surface silent as sharks, waiting to be addressed.
"Make sure he knows. Before it is too late… Time can be short…" Carlo stopped abruptly, holding himself in check, and made to get up.
"Carlo, I am so sorry. If I ever led you on, made you think…. I'm so grateful for everything you've done for me. Without you, I could never have faced going back to Walford…" They exchanged glances, struck by the irony "…I'll book into a hotel until I can get a flight home…"
Genuinely shocked, Carlo frowned.
"But why? There is no need. You need money, no? For your future. Stay a little while; bring your Syed for a holiday. I expect an invitation to the wedding…"
Christian pushed back his chair, sending it clattering onto the stone floor, and grabbed Carlo into a hug, clasping him tightly, distraught that he was unable to magic a happy ending for him.
"Guest of honour. Thank you so much, Carlo, for taking care of me. I don't know how I can ever repay you."
Stepping away, Carlo ran his thumb along the line of Christian's collarbone.
"Work hard. Love your man, and never let him go. We must sleep now. It's morning."
The sand moved in an eddy, sibilantly shifting from the ridge, and Michael gazed moodily into the distance, glad that the designer shades were protecting his eyes from the glare of the sun. The long white robe he wore, spread out in a pool behind him, dragging heavily when he pointed to where Mimi, in an indecently miniscule, leopard print bikini, lay at his feet.
"I think she's asleep." He remarked.
"She so isn't." Mimi snarled, and rolled onto her front. "She's dying. Can I get a water?"
The director sighed, beckoning to a bored looking blonde girl who listlessly opened a cool box and sloped over with a bottle, handing it to Mimi.
"Cheers. Michael, baby, can you drip it into my mouth?" She wheedled plaintively.
"Fuck off. Drip it into your own mouth. If I move my head too much, it'll fall off."
"Guys!" The director, a young, balding man, hair carefully arranged to cover the evidence, tetchy and also hung over, irritated by the fact that the sand was ruining his two hundred pound shoes, sighed in frustration. "Can we get on? The light will change soon, and the place will start filling up."
"Sorry, sorry…" Michael resumed his pose.
"That's great… Mimi, sit up, and grab Michael's knees. Cool, raise your sunglasses and look at him…"
The whites of Mimi's big brown eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and too much alcohol, and Michael giggled when the director quickly asked her to put the glasses back on. She prodded him sharply in the shin.
"It's your fault, dragging me to that club."
"You bloody loved it, sending the boys straight."
Mimi's mouth curved into a sensuous leer.
"It was awesome. Who was your hot friend?"
"Christian. He's taken…"
The director clapped his hands impatiently.
"Can you PLEASE stop yakking? Michael, lower the shades, look over the top of them. You want her… Yeah, that's sexy. Good."
The image of Rory that popped into his mind, spectacles dropped to the end of his nose, studying him, dark eyes bemused and loving, made the savage pain in his temples slightly more bearable, and stopped the alarming fretting that the sunlight might make him go blind.
"Archie, can you sort out Michael's Galabeya?"
Mimi cackled at the director's request, and, as Archie bounded forward, over excited, exuberantly fiddling about with the hem of Michael's costume, muttered,
"I bet he'd love to."
Michael was wondering if Archie was going to burrow beneath it and grab hold of his privates, when something rang in his pants.
"Oops! That's me. Apologies!" He lifted up the yards of material, rummaging around, almost making Archie faint in the process, and pulled out his phone. Exasperated, the director raised his hands to the clear blue sky, and admitted defeat.
"Take five everyone..."
Michael wandered away from the group, feet sliding deep into the soft sand, and held the phone close to his ear.
"Hello honey!" His voice croaked, hoarsened by the excesses of the night.
"Oh dear, all gravelly. Good time?" Hearing Rory, at the other end of the line, faint and crackly due to the weak signal, made him beam foolishly with delight.
"Crazy. Went to Christian's bar, and guess what?"
"Christian was there, and he tortured you on an assault course. I worked that out from one of the many garbled messages."
"Oh darling, did I wake you?"
"Nope. I had the phone turned off. I thought you might call."
"Charming! You're up early. Did you wet the bed?"
"Ha! Kind of. It started pissing down with rain, and the roof leaked again. You seem to have sent me pictures of a selection of body parts. The ones of blisters and grazes were a little derivative, but I particularly liked the last few, the composition was magnificent."
"I didn't, did I? I did… Those were specially created with you in mind."
"I should hope so. The reception's awful. You sound like you're on the high seas."
"I'm a ship of the desert."
"You did what in the dessert? You could have just not left a tip… When do you get to the hotel tonight?"
The prospect of another night in a soulless room made Michael slump dejectedly onto the sand. Although he knew, undoubtedly, that it would be luxurious, with towels as thick and fluffy as the cloud that had appeared above him, a gigantic bed and all the room service he could ever desire, he would swap it in an instant for a dusty attic room, crammed with books, a rickety iron bedstead and a lumpy mattress. Because that was where Rory was, waiting patiently for him.
'I wouldn't even swear when I bumped into stuff.' He mused, answering,
"About nine, if the flight isn't delayed. Will you be in?"
"Yes. It's my turn to harangue Fred about her homework. She sends her love. She misses you."
"I'll ring her…" Michael turned, hearing a shout, and saw Archie's flame red hair as he struggled over the crest of the dune behind him.
"Don't go offering bribes; we've got nowhere to put a pony. Or One Direction… I'll see you later then? Albeit on a screen…"
"You most definitely will. I've got to go, I'm being called… Oh! Ror. Christian asked, would you go and see Syed, if you've got any time? He's stressing about him being on his own, without him."
"He's not on his own, though, is he? Isn't he running some business with his ex?" Rory responded, evidently perplexed.
"I think that's the problem. Don't worry about it. I said I'd ask. Christian's still a bit raw after the break up, despite them being back together."
"I don't mind, I like Syed. Even though I always get the distinct impression he thinks I'm wrong in the head…"
Michael laughed.
"You ARE wrong in the head."
"I must be. I'm in love with you."