Sunday 15 August, 6 am
Charlie was woken early by the sound of a restless McManus groaning as he tried to move around on the bed. He hadn't slept well himself - he'd been too scared that he'd roll over and hurt McManus in his sleep – but there hadn't been any other option. He'd thought of sleeping in the spare bedroom so that he wouldn't disturb McManus, but on looking into the room he'd found it to be almost empty, with a gym mat in the centre and a few boxes against the wall. Since the only chair on the upper level was hard and uncomfortable, he'd been forced to share the bed, but he'd stayed as far from McManus as he could without actually falling off the edge.
He sat up and looked across to where McManus was lying against the pillow - he'd slipped down a little in the night and looked very uncomfortable. Charlie glanced at the bedside table, but realised immediately that he'd left the painkillers downstairs in the living room. He got out of bed, trying to move slowly, and fetched them from downstairs.
By the time he got back, McManus was awake and trying to get out of bed, but not succeeding very well. A night's fitful rest hadn't improved his temper, and he was cursing under his breath as Charlie helped him to sit up. He swallowed the painkillers without a word, then tried to stand up, with even less success. Charlie helped him to stand, and then they made their way very slowly to the ensuite, McManus shuffling and limping heavily on the left leg.
"You'd think... I'd be able to get to the... fucking bathroom on my own," he muttered as Charlie tried hard to hold him up while not putting any pressure on his bruises.
"Maybe tomorrow," Charlie answered, trying to sound soothing rather than irritated. "For today, you don't move without someone with you. I'll ask Chris to go back to the chemist for a urine bottle. That will mean you don’t have to move so much."
"I'm not a fucking invalid... and I don't need a... bloody bottle!" McManus pulled free of Charlie and, as if to demonstrate quite clearly that he didn't need a bottle, pulled his dick out and started to relieve himself.
"Suit yourself then." Charlie left him in the bathroom and went downstairs to make some tea. McManus was going to be even worse-tempered when he got back into bed, but at least a cup of hot sweet tea would go a long way to soothing him.
He found a wooden chopping board that would do as a tray, and made a mental note to ask Chris to get one of those trays with legs, that could double as a bed-table - McManus wasn't going to be going downstairs for a few days, so he'd need something to eat his meals on.
The journey upstairs was somewhat perilous, the chopping board not being as large as a tea-tray and prone to tilting unexpectedly, but eventually he reached the bed and transferred the pot, a mug, milk, sugar and two icepacks (wrapped in cloths) to the bedside table. He plumped the pillows up and straightened the sheets on the bed. He frowned to himself: they could really do with changing, but he didn't want to keep McManus out of bed any longer than was necessary.
He looked over to the bathroom and found that McManus was leaning up against the doorway, obviously unable to move further on his own. Wordlessly, Charlie went to his assistance, supporting him as they crossed the open space to the bed. As he settled back into the pillows, Charlie placed the icepacks on the worst of his bruises, and listened to McManus's sigh of relief with a grim satisfaction.
"You don't have to say it." McManus's voice was flat; he spoke with his eyes closed, as if that would give him the opportunity to deny it later.
Charlie smiled to himself. Even so small an admission was a huge step for McManus, and Charlie didn't want to risk him putting up all his screens again. "I won't," he said softly. "Would you like a cup of tea, now?" he asked. "The pot's just nicely brewed."
"Aye, tea's good."
Charlie poured the tea out, adding milk and three sugars. He held the cup to McManus's lips so that the man didn't have to pull himself upright. It took a long time for McManus to drink his tea this way, but he looked a bit better when the cup was empty. Bendy straws, he thought to himself, must remember to ask Chris for bendy straws.
"Would you like some breakfast?" he asked.
"Aye, I'm famished."
"Well, you didn't eat much yesterday, I guess. Toast?"
"That'll do. Eggs would be good... can't remember if I have any, though."
"I'll check the fridge. If not, I'll add them to the list for Chris."
"What time's he coming by?"
"He didn't say, but I imagine it'd be mid-morning. I can ring him if you like."
McManus shook his head. "No, it's all right."
"OK. Toast and eggs, if we have any, just toast if we don't. Marmalade?"
"Of course."
Charlie smiled. "You really love that stuff, don't you?"
McManus smiled back weakly. "Puts hairs on your chest."
"So that's the secret, is it? Maybe I should have some too."
"Just as long as we don't run out."
"I'll make sure of that. Toast without marmalade would be a disaster of epic proportions, I can tell."
"Too right."
Charlie grinned to himself as he went down to the kitchen to make breakfast. Perhaps this was going to be easier than he thought.
There were two eggs left in fridge, only a couple of days past their "use by" date, but they didn't smell, and Charlie thought he'd take the chance. He had to race back up the stairs to ask McManus how he wanted them cooked, and was thankful that the answer was scrambled rather than soft-boiled or fried - it was hard to get scrambled eggs wrong. He found a saucepan in the cupboard beside the oven and spooned a generous dollop of butter into it before setting it on the stove. He spent a bit of time fishing out a couple of fragments of eggshell that somehow fell in when he broke the eggs, but he managed not to burn anything, at least.
He looked on his labours with some pride as he walked carefully up the stairs. The eggs were nicely scrambled without being watery or rubbery, and were framed by two slices of buttered toast. Knife and fork, salt and pepper… he hoped he'd remembered everything.
He had to put the makeshift tray down in order to help his patient to sit up, but once it was placed across McManus's knees he saw, with gratification, how eagerly McManus attacked the food. He was sent back to make more toast, which he spread thickly with marmalade, and saw McManus wolf that down as well. Another cup of tea later, and McManus settled down for another nap, leaving Charlie to clean up the dishes.
Chris rang the buzzer a few minutes after nine, and was sequestered with McManus for about thirty minutes. When he came to find Charlie before taking his leave, he seemed his usual imperturbable self, so Charlie guessed that the conversation with his boss had gone reasonably well.
"How're you holding up, kid?"
"I'm fine, thanks," said Charlie. "He hasn't been any trouble."
Chris gave him a quizzical look, and Charlie gave a wry grin. "Well, he's been a little bit of trouble, but not much, really. We'll be fine."
"Anything you need?"
"Oh," Charlie stopped to think for a minute. "Eggs - he likes them, and we're out. Bacon. And marmalade - the thick cut stuff - he loves that." He got the nearly-empty jar out of the cupboard to show Chris. "And bendy straws, so he can drink without sitting up. And maybe some lemonade. I think that's all."
"Eggs, bacon, marmalade, straws, lemonade," repeated Chris.
"Yeah, I can't think of anything else. Maybe later."
"OK, I'll drop them off this afternoon. That soon enough?"
"Yeah, I think so. I'm hoping he'll sleep most of the day."
Chris nodded and was turning to go when Charlie suddenly remembered something. "A tray," he called out.
"What?"
"I need a tray to carry things up to him. One with legs would be really good, the sort that turns into a little table, you know?"
"I know the sort. I'll see what I can find."
"Thanks."
Chris headed off, and Charlie went up to see if McManus needed anything. He found his patient restless and crabby, the sheets rucked and twisted beneath him.
"I can't get comfortable," McManus complained. "My fucking chest hurts and my leg hurts and I can't lie down any more."
Charlie reached for the painkillers and forced him to take two more tablets. Then he looked at the mess McManus had made of the bed and said, "Well, I think your bed needs making, and you could probably do with a wash as well. I can do that much for you, anyway."
McManus's immediate response was to pull the sheet higher over his chest and to growl, "I'm not having you wash me."
Charlie had to stop himself from laughing out loud at that. "Jesus, man! I've sucked you off, you've fucked me raw, and now you're embarrassed to let me wash you?"
"Don't get snotty with me, kid."
Charlie knew he was supposed to back down, but somehow, the words didn't sound so threatening when they came from a man who was cowering behind a sheet, and he pressed on, saying, "It'll be fine, trust me. You'll feel better afterwards, promise."
"I can have a shower."
Charlie snorted. "It took everything you had just to go to the loo. You'd never be able to stand up long enough to have a shower. And you can't lift your arms up high enough to wash your hair."
McManus was silent, which Charlie took to mean that he accepted that Charlie was right but didn't want to admit it - if it were anyone else, Charlie would have said that McManus pouted. He resisted the temptation to make another smart comment and instead set about gathering the things he'd need: towels, a face flannel, soap and a bowl of warm water. When he was ready, he put the bowl down on the floor beside the bed. McManus hadn't said another word in the intervening minutes, but Charlie figured that if he really didn't want to be washed him he'd certainly say so - the fact that he hadn't merely confirmed what Charlie had thought earlier.
Charlie pulled back the sheets gently, revealing McManus's bruised and battered torso. The bruises on his torso were becoming spectacular - blue and purple and red, like monstrous flowers. They stood out on McManus's pale skin and Charlie found himself muttering under his breath as he thought of what he'd like to do to whoever had done this. It was a miracle no bones had been broken, and he still didn't want to think about the possibility of internal injuries. He knew it was irrational - McManus was no innocent, no matter how angelic he looked in his sleep - and physical beatings were an accepted part of the world in which he lived, but it still seemed wrong to Charlie, especially if, as he suspected, the culprit had been McManus's own father. How could anyone hurt their own child like this? His own father had never been violent, and early childhood spankings had soon given way to other punishments like extra housework, being confined to his room when he wanted to go out, or having his guitar taken away from him for a few days at a time. Never in his life had Charlie seen such deliberate punishment - not even in his own fights with Liam had they ever managed to inflict such a degree of damage to each other.
"Who did this to you?" he whispered.
McManus lay still, eyes closed, and made no reply.
"This was meant to hurt you but not to damage you. This was done by someone who knew exactly what they were doing. Am I right so far?"
Only the twitch of an eyelid indicated that McManus had even heard what Charlie said, but it was enough to spur him on.
"You won't say a word, Chris won't say a word, you'd rather have me look after you than go to a doctor. You don’t want anyone to know about this at all, so you don't want them to get into trouble and you don't - or can't - retaliate. And it's someone who can call you up to Glasgow at a moment's notice." He paused. "Was it your father?"
Not a muscle moved in McManus's face, but the fingers of his right hand started to curl into a fist before relaxing once more.
"If it was, I'm sorry."
"Don't pity me." The words were no less cutting for being whispered.
"I'd pity anyone in this condition." Charlie ventured, but McManus stopped him by opening his eyes and glaring furiously.
"If I want you to know, I'll fucking tell you. Until then keep your useless thoughts to yourself. Understand?"
Charlie nodded. Even lying in bed, McManus could be intimidating when he really wanted to be.
"Now are you going to finish this fucking wash or do I get to have a shower after all?"
Charlie surrendered the topic for the moment and picked up the towels. He rolled McManus gently one side, then the other, so that he could to lay the towels over the bottom sheet, then sponged him down with the flannel cloth and a little soap. His mother had done this for him when he'd been sick as a child, and he was surprised by how much he remembered: wash, rinse, pat dry - one small section at a time. He took his time, changing the water a couple of times, until finally the only section left unwashed was the bit covered by McManus's boxers.
He delayed the inevitable by changing the water again, then approached the bed with a little more trepidation than before. He tried clearing his throat, but that didn't help much, so he put the bowl down and took hold of the elastic waistband. He eased the boxers down, trying to avoid putting any pressure on the extensive bruise on the left leg. McManus turned a little, shifting his weight to make it a little easier, and then spreading his legs as Charlie picked up the soft cloth.
Charlie noted that this was the first time he'd seen the man naked but not aroused. He couldn't help but feel some vicarious relief that whoever the perpetrator was, he hadn't managed to kick McManus in the groin. He'd taken a few blows there himself over the years and he wouldn't wish that on anyone, not even his worst enemy.
The two of them managed to get through the final part of the wash without dying of embarrassment, largely because they ignored each other with determination. Charlie kept his eyes firmly focussed on the area he was cleansing, while McManus, for his part, kept his eyes firmly fixed on the back of Charlie's neck (at least, that's where they appeared to be looking when Charlie had sneaked a sideways glance). Neither of them spoke until Charlie was almost finished.
"Are you happy to stay like this for a while?" Charlie asked, as he patted the last bit of skin dry.
"What?"
"Do you want me to get you something to wear, or would you prefer to stay like this?"
"Oh." McManus shook his head and frowned. "The boxers are in the second drawer down, over there." He nodded towards the large chest of drawers under the window.
Charlie got up and went over to them chest of drawers. The second drawer down was obviously the underwear drawer and contained a pile of neatly-folded silk boxers, in plain dark colours, several vests, all white cotton, and about a dozen pairs of socks, mostly black and all of them rolled up into neat, perfectly oval balls. The drawer was so tidy it almost hurt.
Charlie stared. He'd never seen anything like it in his life - it was unreal. Who in the world would keep their underwear drawer so tidy? It was the sort of drawer that would pass muster in the marines, even under the most vicious of sergeants. Charlie thought about that. Had McManus ever been in the Armed Forces? He didn't have a military look about him, though. Perhaps… perhaps he'd been in prison? Though he didn't think that prisons really cared about underwear being tidy as long as all items were accounted for. Maybe it was just another expression of McManus's weird personality.
McManus's voice interrupted his musings. "Hurry up, lad. I don't want to sit here all day with my willy waving in the breeze."
Charlie hurriedly grabbed the uppermost set of boxers (dark green - a bold departure from navy) and closed the drawer. He pulled the boxers on over McManus's feet, then eased them up his legs, taking particular care that the elastic didn't press against any of the bruises. McManus cooperated by shifting his body this way and that as Charlie drew the fabric up his legs and over his hips.
"There, now. Is that a bit better?"
McManus admitted, without in any way indicating that he was grateful, that he did feel better. "You have very gentle hands," he said, looking down at the sheets.
Charlie smiled appreciatively at the compliment, mild as it was. He looked at the bed sheets too, for different reasons. They were still a mess, and he really ought to change them, but he thought that McManus had had enough movement for now. He could always change them later, the next time McManus went to the bathroom.
"Er... Mr McManus?"
"For fuck's sake, kid, I'm not your headmaster. You can call me Rory – at least in here. Just don't give me any cheek."
"Oh. Right." He swallowed. "Well... umm... Rory... do you want me to bring up the TV for you? Or the radio?"
Rory shook his head and the lines on his forehead deepened as he frowned. "No. You can bring the radio up later. I wouldn't mind reading for a bit, but I'm too tired. Not sure I could hold a book up anyway." He sighed and shifted uneasily in the bed.
"I could read to you," Charlie offered.
Rory looked at him oddly, but refused. "No, I think I'll just try and have another nap."
"OK," Charlie acquiesced. I'll bring you up some tea then."
"Tea's always good."
"Yeah, I worked that out," he grinned, and was pleased to see a glimmer of amusement on Rory's face. "Any particular flavour?"
"Mmmm… Darjeeling ."
"OK."
Charlie collected the cold teapot and cups and took them down with him. Once in the kitchen, he put the kettle on and fished out the Darjeeling tea from the jar on the counter. He glanced at the clock and was astonished to see that the time was nearly eleven - he'd have to think about getting lunch ready soon.
Speaking of lunch… He opened the freezer and looked at the packets Chris had deposited there the night before: two frozen pizzas, fish fillets, oven chips, and a couple of pre-packaged meals, guaranteed to be devoid of all nutritional value. He shook his head, sadly. He was expected to cook and eat this? Still, he could tell that Chris had meant well. He'd make do for today, anyway, and later on, once Rory was settled a bit more and he could get to the shops himself, he'd get them something a bit more interesting to eat.
He looked in the cupboards, not really expecting much to have changed from the week before, and grimaced as his suspicions were confirmed. There were a few tins (soup, baked beans, fruit), a box of cereal, a packet of tea, the nearly-empty jar of marmalade and two sauce bottles (one tomato, one HP). That was about it.
Oh well, at least it made the choice of meals a little easier: beans on toast for lunch, fish and chips for dinner. Sorted.
He got out the tin of beans and set it on the counter. There was plenty of bread for toast, now that he'd spotted the two loaves stashed away in the freezer, so he wasn't worried about running out, but he'd need more if Rory wanted fresh bread, and he made a mental note to ask Chris for some at the next opportunity.
The kettle boiled and Charlie made the tea. He reassembled the pot, mug, sugar and milk on the cutting board and made his way up the stairs for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. If I ever get an apartment I'll make bloody sure it's all on one level, he promised himself.
Rory looked to be asleep, but he opened his eyes as Charlie set the improvised tray down on the bedside table. He poured the tea, added milk and sugar, and supported Rory as he drank the first few sips.
There was a buzzing sound, and Charlie had to think for a moment before he worked out what it was - his mobile phone, still tucked into the front pocket of his backpack. He set the cup down and hurried over to where he had left it the night before. He gave an apologetic look at Rory as he fished it out of the backpack, saying, "It's probably Liam, wanting to know if I'm going home for lunch."
He pressed the button. "Charlie here."
"Hey, bro', it's Liam. Where are you? You didn't come home last night."
"I'm with McManus."
"He must really like what you do for him, hey?"
"Cut it, arsehole. What do you want?"
"You going to Mum and Dad's for lunch?"
"No, not today."
"Too busy sucking his cock, are you? Or is he ramming himself up your arse?"
"Fuck off, Liam, I'm just here, all right? And I won't be back for a couple of days, so leave it alone."
"So I just tell them you're too busy, eh? Should I go into any details?"
"Like you never skived off lunch to go away with one of your girlfriends. Prick."
Liam laughed, like he always did. "Ok, lil bro', I'll just say you're busy. Ta-ra."
Charlie glared at the phone, wondering how it was that Liam always managed to make him feel useless and pathetic. He glanced over at Rory, who was watching him interestedly. He felt suddenly embarrassed at having to ask him for anything, but he had to let his mother know before Liam got there.
"Er… could I use your phone?" he asked, a little hesitantly. "I'd better tell Mum I won't be there for lunch."
Rory nodded, so Charlie walked around to his side of the bed and picked up the handset from the extension on the beside table. He dialled the number and waited, a little nervously, for someone to pick up.
"Pace family, Bridget speaking."
"Oh, hi, it's Charlie, how are you?"
"I'm fine, thanks. How are you?"
"Fine, yeah, no problem. Listen, could you tell Mum I won't be over for lunch today?"
"Are you sure? She'll be really annoyed. We're off to Ireland tomorrow, and I know she wanted to see you and Liam today before we go."
"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, but I just can't make it. Give her a hug from me and tell her I hope you all have a wonderful time."
"I will.
"How is everyone?"
"Oh, we're all well. Dad's doing his usual 'Why do you need three full suitcases and two bags just for ten days?' speech. Tess is in a right state because the A-level results are due out on Wednesday and she won't be here. She wanted to stay behind but Mum wouldn't let her, so she's asked Liam to check the post on Wednesday and ring her at Uncle Jim's."
"She'll be fine."
Bridget snorted. "Of course she will - she's just being a drama queen. My GCE results are out next week and I'm not panicking."
"Well, be fair, Biddy, it's not quite the same. If she doesn't get into King's she's going to have to scramble to get a place."
"She'll get it. I think she's more worried about getting the grant, but I reckon she'll get that too."
"Yeah, she will. Listen, I've got to go, but don't forget to tell Mum I love her, right? I’ll come over when you get back. And tell Kevin to behave himself."
"I will. Have a nice time yourself. Bye."
"Bye."
He hung up and looked at Rory, a little embarrassed. "Thanks," he muttered.
"It's OK," Rory said, surprisingly sympathetic. "You don't want them to worry."
"Yeah." Charlie nodded, then made an effort to change the subject before things got too emotional. "Listen, speaking of lunch… Chris brought some food in yesterday, but it's all crap - microwave meals and frozen pizzas. I'll make do for today, but tomorrow I'd rather go to the supermarket and get you some fresh stuff. I'm not a bad cook, honest, and I can get you stuff that'll be a lot better for you."
Rory looked worried and sceptical. "You're not going to try and make me eat salads and healthy shit are you?"
Charlie laughed out loud at the expression on Rory's face. "I'm skint, not stupid! Though I do make a mean Caesar salad, if I do say so myself," he added, teasingly. "No, I was thinking more stir-fry, or egg-and-bacon pie, or macaroni cheese, even a small roast if you want.
Rory looked positively eager as Charlie rattled off the list of dishes. "I haven't had a decent egg-and-bacon pie in years," he said plaintively. "No one trims the rinds off anymore, and they keep putting garlic in it."
"Give me ten quid to get the ingredients and I'll do you the best egg-and-bacon pie you've ever had. Guaranteed no garlic."
"You're on, lad. And a treacle pudding, if you can manage that."
Treacle pudding? In summer? Charlie couldn't help smiling at the thought. "Well, it's not what I normally recommend for August, but I'll see what I can do. Would you want custard as well? I have to warn you, custard is not one of my better products - it goes all lumpy. But I guess I could buy a carton of the ready-made stuff and heat it up. Or I could get a tub of clotted cream."
Rory looked quite cheerful, and tried to reach for his tea. "Sounds good. I'll give you some money in the morning and Chris'll drop you at the shops."
Charlie picked up the mug and put it in Rory's hand, making sure it didn't spill. "OK. I'll see what else we need and make a list." He left Rory happily drinking his tea and went down to check the cupboards again. It was only as he was reached the bottom of the stairs that he realised he'd sounded just like his mum. Charlie Pace, domestic goddess.
Bloody hell.