Monday 02 August 2 pm
Charlie was a little puzzled by the instructions he'd been given that morning. He'd got back to the flat he shared with Liam and Ben at about nine-thirty, only to be rung by Chris and told to come into the office after lunch. He hadn't been planning on going into town at all, but after shaving and grabbing something to eat he went into the job centre to fill in time and was lucky enough to score an interview for the following day.
He arrived at the office just after two, humming a little tune under his breath. The office was quiet, as usual, and Chris told him that McManus was out. He cooled his heels in the waiting room, and was flicking through what had to be the World's Most Boring Magazine when his phone rang. He answered it immediately, but instead of McManus, it was Liam.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Charlie?"
"What?" Charlie was stunned at the vehemence in Liam's voice.
"Your fucking boyfriend just stormed into my office and threatened me!"
"What? He's not -"
"What have you been saying about me?"
"Nothing!"
"Bullshit!"
"No, nothing! He saw the bruise you gave me -"
"So you had to go bleating to him."
"No! He asked me, that's all."
"You didn’t have to tell him!"
"You didn’t have to hit me!"
"Since when have you been such a fucking girl's blouse?"
"Liam -"
"Hiding behind your fucking pet gangster -"
"Liam!"
Whatever else Liam had to say was lost as McManus came into the waiting room behind Charlie and plucked the phone out of his grasp.
"Liam." His voice was cold and hard, redolent of generations of Glasgow toughs. "I told you not to bother Charlie again. I told you I protect my own. Now believe it." He thumbed the phone off and glared at Charlie, his face as black as thunder. "What the hell possessed you to give the prick your phone number?"
Charlie took a half-step back. "It - it was just in case something happened - to Mum or Dad, or someone, and he had to contact me. I - I didn’t know how much time I’d be spending with you. And I couldn't really give the number to anyone else without explaining how I got the phone, so..." his voice trailed off, half-expecting a cuff around the ear. To his surprise, however, McManus didn't hit him, but thrust the phone into his chest, pushing him back against the wall.
"Don't give it to anyone else," he ordered.
Charlie nodded, not trusting himself to speak coherently.
Rory's face became even harder as he looked at the bruise on Charlie's cheek again. "You'll stay with me tonight, I don't want you going anywhere near him until his temper cools. I don’t like my property getting damaged by vandals."
"I'm not your property!"
"For the next thirty days that's exactly what you are, and you'd better not forget it."
Charlie was about to protest but McManus forestalled him, lifting a finger and hissing, "Don't even think about answering back, boy."
Charlie's temper flared. Fuck this! He wasn't about to let some pint-sized Glaswegian mobster tell him what to do. McManus could go to hell and shrivel up into a cinder before he'd obey any more orders from him.
As he opened his mouth to say this out loud, he caught sight of Chris, who was slowly shaking his head. Charlie paused. Chris was not pint-sized. Chris was large and solid and would pound him into a bloody pulp if he was ordered to - and he'd do it without even breaking a sweat.
Gradually, common sense reasserted itself. Charlie closed his mouth and forcibly relaxed his clenched fists as he slowly regained control over the rage that had almost taken him over.
Much as he hated to acknowledge it, McManus was right - for the rest of the month McManus could order him around. He'd agreed to that. He'd volunteered, in fact. He'd done it for his family, to forestall the threats that McManus had made against his mother and sisters, and he had to remember that. He vowed to control himself better, for their sake. He couldn't afford to lose his temper again, not until the arrangement was over, no matter what the provocation. He just couldn't.
He nodded, reluctantly, in acquiescence if not agreement, and saw McManus relax very slightly in return.
There was silence for a few more seconds, then McManus turned away and ran a hand through his hair. As he was walking over to Chris's desk, Charlie remembered something else - he'd have to ask McManus for a lift in the morning if he was going to get back into town in time for his job interview. Nice timing, Charlie, he told himself. This is going to be really awkward. He wondered if he should leave it for a few minutes, but then he worried he might forget until he was too late. He couldn't afford to risk skipping an interview - his dole might be stopped and then he'd be totally destitute.
He cleared his throat. "Would you be able to give me a lift back into town in the morning, then?" he asked, trying to make his voice calm and non-demanding. "I have a job interview at half past nine."
If McManus was taken aback by the sudden change of tone and subject he didn't show it. "Oh, aye?" he queried. "What's it for?"
"Short order cook, at a takeaway place in Oldham St. Nothing fancy, but it'll help pay the rent."
"Can you cook?" McManus did look surprised at that.
"Oh, yeah - a bit, anyway. I had a job as a cook at a café in Broughton, but they closed down at the beginning of May. I haven't been able to get anything since then." He shrugged. "No qualifications, that's the problem. And trying to get time off if we have a gig in Leeds or somewhere can be a right pain."
"Well, with your brother out of action for a few more weeks that won't be a problem."
"I guess not." Charlie hesitated. "Is it all right if I take the job? If they offer it to me, that it."
"Why are you asking me?"
"Well, because of this... um... agreement thing. I'd be working seven till four. Maybe Saturdays too."
McManus frowned as he thought. "As long as you can start work after the first of September. You're mine until then."
"Oh." Charlie hadn't actually expected him to say that. "OK, I'll tell them... though it might make trouble at the job centre."
"Not my problem, kid. Tell them you're ill, or away or something."
Chris coughed, and McManus looked at his watch. "Aye, it's time." He turned to Charlie. "Since you're here, you can make yourself useful. Chris and I need to go and do something and Ken's away out. You mind the phone. If anyone calls, take their name and number and tell them we'll ring back tomorrow, got it?"
"Yes, I think so," said Charlie, a little confused. "Couldn't I come with you?"
McManus's face hardened. "No, son, you'll have nothing to do with this. And don't ask questions - you may not like the answers." He turned to Chris. "Ready?"
"Aye." Chris was as non-committal as always.
"We'll be back in an hour or two. Don't leave here and don't open the door to anyone but us. And don't even think about trying to get into the files." He didn't elaborate, but then he didn't have to. Charlie's imagination could easily provide the "or else" for himself.
Charlie swallowed and nodded. McManus stepped out, followed by Chris, who shut the door firmly behind him, and Charlie was left standing on his own in the middle of the room.
"Well, I guess I'll stay here for a bit," he said out loud, putting the phone back in his pocket.
He strolled around the office, asking himself how Chris could stand to work in such a dingy environment. As he walked behind the desk he tried moving the mouse, but the computer was password-protected, so he left it alone. He did a little exploration of the desk drawers, but found nothing of interest. He looked into McManus's office, but there was nothing there either. It was a slightly more attractive office, though, with a better view. He gave the filing cabinet drawer a gentle tug, just for curiosity's sake, but it was locked. He spent a few minutes looking down at the busy street before wandering back into the reception room.
He sat down at the desk, twirling around in circles on the chair. After a few minutes he was bored enough to give the magazines another try, but they were just as bad as before. He recalled seeing a book in one of the desk drawers and pulled it out - a well-thumbed copy of Tolstoy's War and Peace. It puzzled him - he found it difficult to reconcile the taciturn and monosyllabic Chris with the verbose Russian. He wondered if it might be one of McManus's books instead, but the flyleaf held the name 'Christopher Morrison', printed in small, even letters.
He started to read, but found his interest flagging by the end of the first page. Still, it was better than the World's Most Boring Magazine and he persevered for a few more pages. He was happy to be interrupted by a phone call, and, as instructed, he took down the name and number and told the caller in his most professional tone that Mr McManus's assistant would call him back in the morning.
He put the phone down and looked at the book with distaste. He really couldn't summon up any interest in Russian aristocrats, and put it back in the drawer. There was a small jotter pad beside the telephone, so he took a pencil from the drawer and started to write down a couple of chord progressions that had been running around his head all day. Soon he was humming and trying to imagine a melody line on top, but it was very difficult without actually hearing it. He wondered if he'd ever get his precious guitar back, and jabbed the pencil into the jotter, breaking the point right off. Since another search of the drawers failed to reveal a pencil sharpener, he tore the page off the pad, screwed it up and threw it into the wastepaper bin. So much for that.
He made another circuit of the office, but found nothing new. Eventually, running out of things to do, he put his feet on the desk, tipped the chair back and attempted to catch up on some of the sleep he'd missed over the last few nights.
* * *
It was close to six o'clock when McManus and Chris returned. Charlie woke up when he heard the key turning in the lock, and straightened up, rubbing his neck. Both men were very sombre, and Charlie gathered that whatever they had been doing, it hadn't gone well. Chris had a couple of bruises on his hands, and McManus looked a bit ruffled, as if someone had tried to lift him up by the scruff of his neck.
McManus went straight into his office and shut the door. Chris came over to the desk and Charlie hurriedly got out up and moved around to the other side, glad that he'd put the book away just as he'd found it. He told Chris about the one call that he'd received, then went to sit over by the wall.
He could hear that McManus was on the phone to someone, and it wasn't a particularly pleasant conversation, from the sound of it. Charlie could hear the tone (the Glasgow accent sounding even more harsh than usual) but couldn't make out the words until the very end, when he distinctly heard McManus say "Well, if you want your fucking money you can come and get it yourself!"
The door opened and it was definitely The Shark who came out, eyes flashing and chest heaving.
Chris looked up. "You told him, then?"
McManus nodded. "I did."
"And is Himself coming down?"
"No." McManus flicked an eye at Charlie, as if he would have said more if they'd been alone.
Charlie took the hint and said, "I can go outside if you need to talk."
McManus nodded, so Charlie went outside and closed the door behind him. He heard McManus and Chris talking in low tones but, as before, he couldn't make out the words. He slid down the wall and sat with his forearms on his knees until McManus came out a few minutes later.
McManus looked a little calmer and his voice had returned to normal. "Time we were going, lad."
Charlie scrambled up and McManus glanced back into the office. "See you in the morning, Chris."
"Aye."
McManus ushered Charlie out of the building and down to the car. There wasn't much conversation on the journey to Whitefield - McManus had turned on the radio and looked lost in his own thoughts. Charlie wondered what they had been doing that afternoon, and who "Himself" might be. From what he'd heard in the office and the look on McManus's face, he had the impression that he didn't want to find out.
* * *
As soon as they got in, McManus went to the phone and ordered a couple of pizzas, then poured himself a glass of whisky and drained it. He took out twenty pounds from his wallet and handed it to Charlie, telling him to pay for the pizzas if they arrived before he was back. He showed Charlie how to work the intercom and buzzer, and then headed upstairs.
Charlie heard the shower running shortly afterwards, and he wondered once more what had happened that afternoon that made the man so keen to wash to day off the moment he got home.
He made himself a cup of coffee and sat down to wait for the pizzas and McManus. The food arrived first, and Charlie had kicked the door shut and was wondering where to put the boxes when McManus came down the stairs, dressed in an old T-shirt and a pair of board shorts.
"Kitchen," he said, curtly, and Charlie obediently turned and followed him. He put the boxes and the change on the table but wasn't sure what to do next, so he just stood and watched as McManus grabbed a couple of plates and some paper towels and threw them on the table. He disappeared into the next room and came back with another glass of whisky.
"Dig in," said McManus, reaching for a slice.
Charlie didn't need to be told twice - he hadn't had any lunch and was starving. They ate in what was a relatively companionable silence for several minutes. Charlie had demolished about three-quarters of a pizza and was going back for more when he realised that McManus had finished and was just sitting there watching him. He put down the piece he had just picked up. "Upstairs?" he asked, and McManus just nodded. He grabbed a paper towel and wiped off his hands and face, then decided that he'd better rinse his mouth out with a glass of water - just in case - before following McManus out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the bedroom.
It seemed to him that McManus was moving a little stiffly, in spite of the shower. He was moving his neck this way and that, apparently trying to stretch some of the kinks out his neck and shoulder muscles.
"Would you like me to give you a back rub?" Charlie asked him. "I'm good at it, and it looks like you're a bit sore."
McManus was nodding before he'd even finished speaking. "Good idea." He took off his T-shirt and lay face down on the bed, wriggling a little until he got into a comfortable position.
Charlie sat down beside him, looking at the man's shoulders. He wasn't sure where to start, at first, so he placed his hands gently on either side of the neck and stroked down and over the shoulders and back, trying to get an idea of where the knots were. McManus's skin was warm and dry, and it felt good as he started to press a little more deeply. The spicy, sandalwood-and-citrus scent from his soap and shampoo drifted up in the warmth of the evening, and Charlie inhaled appreciatively.
McManus gave an encouraging sound and Charlie continued, finding the knots around the shoulders and upper back and kneading them until they released. After a few minutes his own back was aching from leaning over to one side, so he got up on the bed and straddled McManus's hips. The new angle gave him much more power to work the sore muscles, and McManus responded with a throaty moan that sounded almost like he was purring. Charlie smiled at the thought and kept going.
Charlie enjoyed giving back rubs. He liked the feel of warm skin and flesh beneath his fingers, the way he could mould and press and deform the tissue until it submitted to his will. He liked being able to make people feel comfortable and relaxed, taking away their pain and tension and replacing it with contentment and well-being. He liked the way his hands could turn bad tempers into good, or send an insomniac to sleep. He was amazed at the way pressure on one trigger point could release the spasm in someone's neck or shoulder and restore their full range of motion. It was the closest he could come to magic, and he loved it.
After about twenty minutes of dedicated attention, McManus was much more relaxed, and smiled sleepily when Charlie prodded him to roll over. "That was good," he murmured, reaching for Charlie and running the back of his hand lightly over Charlie's arm.
Charlie couldn't help smiling broadly at the compliment, however mild. "Do you want anything else?" he asked.
"Mmm... well, since you're offering..." McManus answered, his meaning clear by the way his hand cupped his crotch.
Silently congratulating himself for having rinsed the taste of jalapenos out of his mouth, Charlie pulled down the board shorts and positioned himself between McManus's legs. After the backrub and the whisky it appeared that McManus was relaxed everywhere, and Charlie at first despaired of achieving any result at all, but eventually his hands and tongue worked their own type of magic and McManus was straining up into his mouth and moaning. From this angle, Charlie found the man's climax was easy to contain and swallow, a welcome change from the last time. He sat up and watched as McManus sighed, mumbled something that ended in "good, yeah," and fell asleep without opening his eyes or losing the slight smile on his face.
Charlie got up, stripped off his clothing and got into the other side of the bed. It wasn't long before he was asleep either.
Tuesday 03 August
The alarm's shrill tones woke them both at seven. McManus groaned and made vague flailing movements in the general direction of the alarm, but he missed the clock entirely and it kept on ringing until Charlie crawled over McManus and pressed the button himself.
In the sudden silence Charlie realised that he was bending over McManus and that his boxers, tented out by his usual morning erection, were hovering very close to McManus's face.
McManus raised an eyebrow. "You're not trying to give me ideas, are you? Because if you are, you've got a fucking twisted sense of humour."
His tone was without malice, but Charlie backed away hurriedly. "No, no," he said, "I just wanted to help. With the alarm, that is. That's all."
McManus attempted a chuckle, but stopped almost immediately. "Christ! My head feels like it's going to explode." He groaned, clutching both hands to his head. "Must have been that bloody pizza. I'm as dry as a bone."
"I'll go down and get you a glass of water."
"I need aspirin."
"Where is it?"
"Bathroom cabinet."
"I'll get them. You stay there."
Charlie returned a couple of minutes later with a large glass of water and a box of aspirin tablets. He watched as McManus slowly dragged himself to a sitting position and took the tablets, draining the glass in one go, and told himself he should have brought a jug. He ran a face flannel under the cold tap for a minute, wrung it out and placed it gently over McManus's forehead.
"There, you'll feel better soon. I'll make you some tea if you'd like, and some toast. Bring it up to you. Breakfast in bed, like. No expense spared."
McManus sighed, in a mixture of relief and exasperation. "What do you want, Charlie?"
Charlie flushed - he didn't think he'd been that obvious. "Well... I have that interview this morning, and... well, I was wondering if you'd have a spare razor I could use. So I don't look too scruffy."
"There's a packet of disposables somewhere in the main bathroom. You can use one of them."
"Thanks!" Charlie beamed at him, and was about to head out of the door to get them when he was stopped by a word from McManus.
"I'll have that pot of tea, lad. And marmalade on my toast." He sagged back onto the pillows.
"Sure," Charlie agreed, and strode out of the room.
* * *
By half past eight they were on the road into town, moving slowly through the morning traffic. Rory's headache had responded to the painkillers, and Charlie had made good use of the disposable razor and some of Rory's aftershave. His shirt wasn't the freshest, but at least it wasn't torn or stained, and he figured he'd get by.
"Do you want me to drop by at the office later?" Charlie asked as they drew into the city.
"No."
"Oh. OK. I'll go home afterwards, wait for the phone call, shall I?"
"Not tonight, kid, I'm busy. I'll call you tomorrow."
"Really?"
"Really." He didn't give any further explanation, and Charlie was reluctant to ask any more questions.
They reached the city a little before nine. Charlie got out at Cateaton St and headed for the bus interchange. He had mixed feelings about the day ahead: on the one hand, he was quite excited at the prospect of an evening to himself, for a change; on the other hand, he still had to deal with Liam, whose temper was unlikely to have improved since the day before. Added to that, he had no idea if there was any food in the flat. Or any beer, for that matter.
Oh well. At least he could have a sleep-in the next day, since it wasn't a signing-on day. And if he was really, really lucky, he might not have to sign on again.
* * *
At approximately 7pm that evening Charlie gave serious thought to ringing McManus and asking if he could go over for the night.
By 8pm he wondered if McManus might let him stay for the rest of the month.
It wasn't that Liam was being particularly violent, though he'd had to fend off a couple of blows when Liam had come in, it was just the incessant comments about "his boyfriend", or the way that Liam could work certain words into his conversation, like "rent boy" or "cocksucking" or "debt". Liam had never been one to suffer embarrassment easily, and it was obvious that the general resentment he had felt for McManus before was now becoming personal and more focussed. It was also clear that he considered Charlie to be sleeping with the enemy - literally - and seemed to have forgotten that he had agreed and even encouraged the arrangement made the previous week.
Charlie sighed. Sometimes Liam wasn't very logical.
He had just about reached screaming point when one of Liam's girls had rung and Liam had disappeared into the night, leaving Charlie with a somewhat bemused Ben, who didn't seem particularly interested in what had been going on, which Charlie considered a distinct blessing.
There was no TV, of course, and no radio, so the flat was eerily silent once Liam had gone. Charlie tried to read, but he couldn't concentrate. He checked the fridge again but there was still no beer, so he made a strong cup of instant coffee instead, and then went back to the book. He tried not to think wistfully of Rory's malt whisky, or the spicy Thai food they'd shared, or the way that Rory had smiled at him, half-asleep after last night's backrub.
He blinked. When had McManus become Rory?