Page 80 of The Best of Times

He was fucked if he was going to share the sofa with Paul again. He paced over to the window and flopped down on the window seat. The times he’d sat there as a teenager, staring out at the world and waiting for his life to start. If only he’d known how bloody complicated it would get. In some respects, he mourned the days when it was as simple as choosing what outfit to wear for the next school disco.

“I don’t know why you do this,” Aron said quietly.

“Do what?”

“Hurt me for no reason. It’s like you get a sick thrill out of it.”

Paul came over. He sat next to Aron and took his hand. “I never meant to hurt you. Not then and not now.”

“Yet you do,” Aron said, snatching his hand away. “Every fucking time.”

To his astonishment a tear ran down Paul’s cheek.

“Hey. What is it? Please tell me. I deserve at least that, don’t I?”

Paul brushed the tear away with his sleeve. Then another followed it. And another. And another.

Suddenly Paul burst out crying. Aron pulled him close. He was shocked at how violently the sobs erupted from Paul. He held him tight as they worked their way through his system.

Something was terribly wrong. Aron would bar Paul from leaving the room until he’d found out what. Even if they had to watch the wedding from this very seat.

Once Paul calmed, he leant against the window frame.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I must’ve had too much brandy as well.”

“Oh no you don’t.”

Paul looked startled. “What?”

“Don’t you dare clam up now. I’ve been waiting two years to find out why you just bolted like that and didn’t contact me. This is your moment so you’d better take it.”

Paul sighed. “It will ruin everything.”

“There isn’t anything to ruin, according to you. Not yet anyway. Please, Paul. Tell me what it is.”

He wished he had more brandy. There was no way he was disturbing the moment to get some. Paul seemed to be on the precipice of revealing it all and Aron was desperate to know.

“Years ago, I was in Afghanistan?” Paul began.

He remembered Granny telling him many years ago that Paul had been badly injured in a mortar attack when he’d been photographing a base there. In those days, Paul had been the Higg’s handsome son that Aron lusted after from afar.

“That has to be fifteen years ago,” Aron said. “I was at uni.”

Paul nodded.

“I got pretty messed up,” he continued. “Mum and Dad were amazing. Once the army flew me home, they brought me back to life. Your grandparents too. How many games of whist did we have to play?”

He was rambling and Aron had every intention of keeping this chat firmly on course.

“I don’t understand. What has Afghanistan got to do with now?”

Paul bowed his head.

“I’d been out there for a month or so. I thought I was really making a difference by showing the world what life was like. Not just for the armed forces but the locals too. No one really gave a shit about me being gay. I got some silly comments of course. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

It was almost silent in the drawing room. Just the ticking of the clock and the crackling of the fire. Aron could hardly breathe.

“One night, Gavin, a captain who was assigned with my security, visited me in my tent,” Paul said. “I had my own to give me space to lay out all my kit and everything. He came to me most nights after that.”