Saturday 14 August
The phone rang while Charlie was trying to sort out a pile of washing, ready to take around to his parents' place the next day. He grabbed it from the dresser and pressed the button, telling himself yet again that he had to get a decent ringtone.
"Charlie speaking."
"Where are you?"
"Oh, hi, Chris."
"Where are you?"
"At home."
"Good. Pack an overnight bag and get yourself over to Mr McManus's flat. You'll be staying there a few days."
"Why? What's happened?"
"We'll be there between seven-thirty and eight."
"Chris? Chris?"
The line was dead. Charlie looked at the phone in astonishment. He'd had some pretty odd phone calls in the last fortnight, but that was definitely the strangest. He wondered what could have happened. Had he done something wrong? Had something happened to Rory? - to McManus?
He looked at his watch and swore - he'd have to be quick if he was going to make the bus. He threw the phone into the bag and started sorting through the pile of clothes, trying to work out which ones were clean enough to pack.
* * *
At ten minutes to eight Charlie was sitting under one of the oak trees opposite the entrance to McManus's block of flats, basking in the evening sunshine. It was calm and peaceful and he enjoyed every second of it, the more so since he was certain that peace and quiet would be hard to find once McManus and Chris turned up. He watched the occasional car go by and wondered what had happened, where Chris had rung from, why he'd been so abrupt. He'd got the impression it wasn't anything good, but what it might be, exactly, he had no idea.
It wasn't long before the familiar dark blue Camry turned into the driveway pulled up outside the main entrance. Chris got out of the driver's seat and hurried around to open up the passenger side door. That was unusual.
Charlie got up, grabbing his backpack, and strolled around the front of the car. McManus was sitting in the passenger seat, looking pale and haggard, as if he were in a great deal of pain. He caught sight of Charlie and swore.
"Oh, for fuck's sake! What's he doing here?" The effort of speaking left him grey, but he persisted. "Get rid of him, tell him... I'll call him in a couple of days."
Chris appeared unimpressed with the display of temper. "I called him, boss."
"What did you do that for, you prick?"
"You need someone. And he won't blab."
McManus fumed. "Don't... need... anyone," he uttered between clenched teeth as he unfastened his seatbelt. It was obvious that even that small movement was painful, and Chris leaned in to help him, moving the seatbelt out of the way.
"Boss, you're in pain now. By tomorrow you'll barely be able to move. You'll need someone to fetch and carry for you for a few days at least. He's available, he's at your disposal for another couple of weeks... it makes sense to use him."
McManus grunted. With Chris's assistance he managed to manoeuvre himself out of the seat and into an upright position.
Charlie hovered over them, looking worried. "Shit, you look bad. What happened?" he asked, as he took McManus's other side.
"Nothing that concerns you," he growled. "Just help me up the stairs."
"Should I call a doctor?"
"No fucking doctor."
Charlie looked at Chris for confirmation, but Chris just shrugged. "You heard him. He won't go to any doctor."
Charlie shook his head at the man's pig-headedness, but kept silent as Chris got McManus's jacket out from the back seat and they made their way slowly into the building and up the two flights of stairs to the apartment.
"Where are your keys?" Charlie asked.
McManus patted his right trouser pocket. Charlie slid his hand down into the pocket and drew out the small bunch of keys, selected the door key and opened the door into the flat. It was awkward getting all three of them through the doorway, but they managed it, and walked slowly into the living room. By the time they'd moved McManus to the sofa, however, he was white and almost shaking with the effort it had taken.
"What happened to you? You look like you're about to keel over." Charlie asked again, but McManus stayed silent, his eyes closed.
It was Chris who answered him, saying, "He got in the way of a fist. Maybe a shoe. I think he's cracked a rib or two, got a few bad bruises." He took no notice of the finger that McManus flipped him.
"Why didn't you stop it? That's what you're there for, isn't it?" Charlie was incredulous.
Chris shook his head. "Wasn't there, son. I just delivered him and picked him up, like he asked me to." He turned to go. "I'll tell Ken we'll be doing the rounds ourselves for the next few days."
"Don’t-" McManus bit off whatever he was about to say, but Chris answered him anyway.
"Don't worry, boss. I'll tell him you've got flu."
McManus nodded, and Chris glanced at Charlie. "Mind you take care of him, son. He can't afford to be out of it for more than a few days."
"What? Are you just going to leave me here with him?" He hurried after Chris, hardly believing that the man was going to leave him alone with Rory - with McManus.
"Who else is there?"
"Well... you. Ken. Anyone."
"He needs nursing, son. I don't do nursing. And Ken doesn't need to know about this."
"I'm not a nurse-"
"You're the closest we've got."
"But-"
"But nothing, kid." Chris's voice was still quiet, but there was a vehemence there, a hard note that Charlie hadn't heard since the first week they'd met. The big man took a couple of steps back into the room and loomed over Charlie like a bear - and not a tame one. "He needs help. You're available. Help him."
Charlie nodded, reluctantly. "OK."
Chris leaned closer to his ear and added a few words in a quiet but menacing tone: "And if I find that you've hurt him while he's helpless I'll break every single bone in your hands and you'll never play guitar again. Got it?"
Charlie shuddered. "Got it. Right. No problem. Absolutely." He swallowed the temptation to make a run for it now. This was going to go so very wrong, he could just feel it.
"Right." Chris straightened up and headed for the door. "I'll be away, then."
Suddenly Charlie thought of something. "Oh... umm... Chris?" he hesitated a moment before using the man's name, "Do you have time to get to a chemist? He needs painkillers - Brufen and Mersyndol if you can find them. Something like that, anyway."
Chris looked at his watch and nodded. "There's one in the shopping village. I think it's open until nine. I'll see what I can do."
He left, and Charlie listened to the door close before turning back to McManus, who had closed his eyes again. He was starting to get a little colour back in his face, but there was too much effort in his breathing and Charlie thought Chris's guess of a cracked rib was probably right. He'd have to get him up the stairs to bed - he should have asked Chris to help him with that before he left, but, looking at him, McManus needed a bit of rest before any more movement anyway, so perhaps it was just as well.
"Umm.. would you like me to make some tea or coffee?" he asked, rather tentatively.
McManus opened his eyes at that and stared morosely at Charlie. Then he took a breath in, winced, and said, "Whisky. Then tea."
"Whisky's not good for injuries."
"I said whisky, you-" Whatever McManus had intended to say next, it was lost as he gasped and tried to clutch his ribs. Charlie went over to the cabinet and quickly poured a large whisky. He took it over and held it to McManus's lips as he drank.
The drink brought a little more colour into his face, and he leaned back against the cushions. Charlie put the glass down on the coffee table and went to make the tea. While the kettle was on, he made a quick inventory of the contents of the fridge, freezer and cupboards. Apart from some milk, bread, and tins of soup, there wasn't much food in the place - not really surprising, since the only meal he'd ever seen prepared in the flat was breakfast. He wondered if McManus would let him have some money to go to the supermarket in the morning or if he'd have to ask Chris.
He made the pot of tea, and as soon as it had steeped sufficiently he poured out two mugs, adding the milk and two sugars that McManus liked. After a moment's thought he added a third sugar, and took the mugs into the living room.
McManus hadn't moved, but he opened his eyes and gave a very weak smile as he saw the tea that Charlie was carrying. Charlie helped him to sit up a little and to take a few sips of tea, noting how it hurt him to lift his arms. They didn't talk, and Charlie was careful not to jar him as he moved him. He hovered in silence, wondering just what he was supposed to do. He wasn't a doctor or a nurse... what if anything went wrong? What if there were fractures? Bleeding? Infection? He remembered some of the stories his mother had told him about neglected injuries. All right, so they were cautionary tales, meant to scare them into doing the right thing, but they had to have some truth in them, didn't they?
He wondered if he could ask his mother for advice. She'd know what to do, he was sure of it, but he didn't think he could ask her without letting her know what had happened, without telling her about the situation he was in, without revealing he was gay. He knew he couldn't risk it, no matter how much he tried to disguise the story. She was a mother, after all - she could pick up on a weak excuse and follow it through like a bloodhound on a trail. One word to her and she'd have the whole sorry story out of him in ten minutes, and then there'd really be hell to pay. Whatever the outcome for himself, he knew one thing - Liam would never, ever, forgive him, and while Liam could be a right pillock at times, he was still Charlie's brother, and he didn't want a complete rift between them.
He stared at the carpet and hoped that it would all turn out all right.
"Charlie," McManus whispered, bringing him out of his reverie.
"What is it?"
"Whisky."
Charlie frowned. He started to ask, "Are you sure?" but on seeing the look on McManus's face he capitulated and picked up the empty glass. He poured a generous amount from the bottle and held the glass to McManus's lips as he drank. After all, he reassured himself, plenty of Scottish soldiers had dosed themselves with whisky after their battles, so it can't have been all that bad for them, could it? At the least, it would take some of his pain away, and then maybe he'd sleep, and sleep was good for injuries.
It was after nine o'clock before Chris got back, but he was carrying two bags of groceries, besides the drugs Charlie had asked for. He went through to the kitchen, followed by Charlie.
"I thought you'd need these," he explained as he took out two icepacks and put them in the freezer. "And he doesn't eat in much so I got some food. Easy stuff." He pulled out milk, bread and a variety of frozen meals. "Instructions are on the packets."
"Th-thanks," said Charlie, sounding somewhat taken aback at this unexpected forethought. "Would you mind staying for a few more minutes? I think I'll need your help to get him up the stairs."
"Sure."
Charlie filled a glass with water and forced McManus to take some painkillers, though he wasn't in much state to fight him off, then said, "Right then, we'd better get you upstairs so you can rest properly".
McManus leaned forward a little, but was unable to lift himself up off the sofa. Normally, Charlie would have laughed at the expression of dismay on McManus's face, but now he felt that it wasn't so much comical as shocking. He was used to the man being strong and decisive and totally in control - they all were. Seeing him weak and helpless was fundamentally wrong.
Charlie leaned forward to grasp McManus's arm, hoping to pull him up, but McManus flinched and moved away.
"Don't pull me up," he muttered. "I can do it."
Chris and Charlie looked at each other. It was clear that no matter how much he tried, there was no way that McManus was going to be able to get up unassisted. With a brief nod to each other they moved in, one on each side, and gently eased him forward over the soft cushions. It took a few minutes of fumbling until they managed to find spots where they could move him without pressing on his injuries, but eventually they had him standing more-or-less upright.
"OK," said Charlie, encouragingly, "now for the stairs. Can you get up them or should we carry you?"
"I'm no' a fucking jessie. I'll walk up the fucking stairs." McManus took a step forward and winced.
Charlie glanced at Chris, puzzled. "What's a jessie?" he whispered, behind McManus's back.
"A nancy ," Chris responded in a low voice.
"Oh." Charlie sighed. He and Chris followed McManus to the bottom of the staircase where they all stopped as McManus contemplated the ascent with the air of an exhausted mountaineer facing Everest.
"Are you sure...?" ventured Charlie, but he was cut off with a look from McManus that would have frozen helium.
"I'm sure."
It took a long time for them to get up the stairs - McManus had difficulty taking his weight on his left leg, and couldn't pull himself up using the banister because of his injured ribs. Chris and Charlie stood close behind him, supporting some of his weight, and McManus took the steps one at a time, leading with his right leg, like a toddler. He wobbled once or twice, but Chris steadied him and Charlie held him, and there were no stumbles or falls. Once on the upper level, they proceeded into McManus's bedroom. Chris helped him into the small en-suite bathroom while Charlie turned down the sheets and grabbed a couple more pillows from the linen cupboard.
When McManus came out of the bathroom he was shaking again, but he refused to sit down until he was undressed.
"OK, Chris, you support him and I'll start undoing buttons."
They set to work: Chris supported McManus while Charlie unbuttoned his shirt. He felt a bit nervous undressing McManus, and in front of an audience, too. He tried to cover it with a joke, saying, "It's just as well you like these button down shirts, you know - if you'd been wearing a t-shirt we'd have had to cut it off."
"Over my dead body," growled McManus, and Charlie hurriedly dropped his gaze and concentrated on what he was doing.
He undid all the shirt buttons, then McManus's belt and zip. He helped McManus to step out of the trousers, then shook them out and placed them neatly over the back of a chair, saying, "I'll hang them up properly as soon as we've got you settled." He knew how obsessive McManus was about keeping his clothes neat.
He returned to McManus and eased the shirt over his shoulders, sliding it gently over the bruised skin until it too dropped to the floor. That left only the cotton vest, and Charlie regarded it with some consternation. It was going to be very difficult to get that off McManus without him lifting his arms above his head - and from what Charlie had seen so far, that was about as likely as the sun rising in the west. The only choice was to cut it. He hesitated, after McManus's earlier response... but this was only a vest, not a shirt.
McManus sighed and said, "There's a pair of nail scissors in the bedside table."
Charlie flushed - he hated it when McManus read his mind - but reached into the drawer and found the scissors. It took a few minutes to cut the vest away with such tiny blades, and he had to be careful not to pull the vest against any bruises, but eventually it was done. With slow, careful movements he eased the ragged fabric away from McManus's body and saw clearly, for the first time, just why Chris had called him. There were large red and purple bruises along McManus's left side, from shoulder to pelvis, a few on his right side, and several more on his arms and legs. His left leg had a large purple and blue swelling, only part of which was visible beneath the boxers, where someone had obviously kicked him hard, and there were several similar but slightly less severe marks over his hip and flank. Both sides of his chest and his upper spine were covered in bruises and abrasions.
Charlie swallowed. He'd seen plenty of bruises before, but none this extensive, and none that had been so deliberately inflicted. Someone had given McManus a real beating, with more than just their hands, and yet had been careful enough not to touch his face. That, more than anything else, made him feel a little sick.
McManus turned towards the bed, but Charlie stopped him. "Hold on a minute," he said, "I want to check your ribs - to see if anything's broken." He explored the chest wall with his fingers, taking his time, trying to be as gentle as possible. McManus flinched once or twice, but bore the examination stoically.
Charlie relaxed a little as he finished the examination. There were tender spots, of course, but he couldn't feel any of the crackling or grating he had feared. "I think there might be a crack or two, but I don't think any of them are broken," he pronounced seriously.
"You're a doctor, now?" McManus muttered.
Charlie grinned as he shook his head. "No, my Mum's a nurse, though. I just picked a few things up from her. And Liam and I were always fighting when we were kids, so I do know about cracked ribs. Not much you can do apart from ice and painkillers."
They helped him into bed, and Charlie removed the black socks that looked so incongruous on McManus's nearly-naked body. McManus couldn't help but give a small sigh of relief as he leaned back and closed his eyes. The bruises stood out against his pale skin, and Charlie remembered the ice packs Chris had brought in. He raced down to the kitchen and opened the freezer, but the ice packs weren't even cool yet. There were a couple of ice-cube trays, though, so he grabbed those and made up a couple of icepacks from plastic bags and tea-towels before running back up the stairs.
"There now," he said soothingly as he placed the improvised packs against the worst of the bruises," with that and the tablets you'll soon be able to sleep."
"Sleep... sleep would be good," McManus muttered, sinking back into the pillows.
"Absolutely." Charlie adjusted the bedclothes around the bruised torso, careful not to touch any of the sore spots, then reached up and closed the curtains, shutting out the fading evening light. He picked up the discarded trousers and hung them up in the wardrobe with all the others. "Just give us a shout if you need anything. I'll see Chris out and then come back upstairs."
"Aye," Chris concurred. "I'll call in tomorrow, boss."
McManus gave a tiny nod, not even opening his eyes. He did look to be a little more comfortable now, so Chris and Charlie left the room and went down the stairs.
"Who did that to him?" Charlie asked again as they walked down the stairs, but Chris shook his head.
"Not my place to say."
"But surely you have some idea?"
"Control yourself, kid. He'll tell you himself, if he wants you to know."
Charlie almost ground his teeth in frustration, but he knew it would be useless to pester Chris further, and he would need the big man's help in the days to come.
"OK, I'll try and keep my mouth shut," he grumbled. "Thanks for calling me," he added, as Chris opened the front door. "I'll take good care of him."
Chris smiled at him, without even a hint of cynicism. "I know you will," he said, and stepped out into the corridor.
Charlie stood beside the open door for several minutes. It had been a while since anyone except his mother had expressed any confidence in him, and he felt absurdly pleased by the trust that Chris had shown. He'd just have to prove that he was worth it.
He heard a faint noise from upstairs, and closed the door behind him, a wry look on his face as he contemplated the days ahead. He had the feeling that Rory McManus was going to be a very difficult patient.