feet. We’d been friends since junior school, our sudden mid-teen transformation into lovers a blazing surprise to us both. We’d dealt with it shoulder to shoulder, breath to breath, just as we always had everything else in our lives.
“How’s it all going, then?” I asked, casual as I could. The barn was warm and peaceful now, dreaming in hay-scented sun. “Cleaning up the mean streets of Torbeg and Ballymichael living up to expectations?”
He was glancing between the broken window and the ladder to the hayloft. “Aye, it pays the bills. And they’re not… They’re a lot less particular than I thought they’d be, about hiring… Well. I had to sit through three or four lectures on equal opportunities and respect for gay officers. Talk about preaching to the converted.”
“And are you?”
“What?”
“Reconverted?”
I hadn’t meant to be sarcastic or harsh. There it was, my old Gaelic sandpaper, the accent the well-spoken Edinburgh boys teased me for and tried to get me fired up on a subject to hear. Precise, abrasive, quiet because it never needed to be loud. Recon- vair -ted.
Archie turned round and looked at me in surprise. “Well,” he said uncertainly, “what if I am? They’re a lot more liberal these days. What if I made a mistake?”
I couldn’t believe what he was asking me. I’d paid off a bit of my sleep debt, but there were still weeks of exhaustion piled up in my brain, sand in the works. Did you just walk in here five years after dumping me cold and try to pick me up again?
No. That would be outrageous, insane even by Archie’s standards, though he’d never been lacking in nerve. The last year had made me so painfully serious, every little thing a life-or-death drama. I let the mad idea go, a butterfly out of my unclenched hand. There were plenty of others, way more likely, to replace it.
“Did you just walk in here,” I enquired, hooking my thumbs into the back pockets of my jeans, “because you’re bored and you fancy a quickie?”
“Och, Nicky—”
“Don’t you och, Nicky me. Look at the colour of you—bright bloody scarlet underneath that ginger, like the idea would never occur to you.” I paused, a prickle of excitement beginning in my spine. “Anyway, am I saying no?”
His mouth fell open. Well, why not? I’d had a long and lonely year. Perversely, now I had my old lover in front of me, a hard-on beginning to disfigure the cut of his uniform trousers, I was thinking of someone else entirely. Of indigo eyes dilating with horror at my dumb, tragic family history. A bony hand reaching fearlessly for mine…
For the first time in months, impulse won out over weariness. Why the hell not? I shifted, letting him see how little harm a year of hard physical graft had done me. “Cat got your tongue, copper?”
“No. No, but…”
“Come on, then. I haven’t got all day.” Not turning or taking my eyes off him, I began to back towards the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Outside.”
“What’s wrong with in here?”
I grinned. Archie had got wary, as we grew older, of alfresco sex. I hadn’t argued his caution. We’d heard of the teacher sacked from his job in Ardrossan, of two lads beaten half to death for a kiss outside a pub. Today, though, he was on my turf. My terms. “You know I never do it in front of the sheep.”
“Oh, like they’re going to tell…”
“No, but they talk amongst themselves. And the collies understand them, and Harry understands the dogs.”
“You’re nuts, you know.” He was smiling helplessly back at me.
“Ah, well,” I said, unfastening the barn door. “Catch as catch can.”
I gave him a run for his money. Out in the sunshine it felt good to stretch my limbs, and I pelted headlong through the yards and outbuildings, picking the muddiest route I could. Police chase on remote Arran farm , I thought, half choking with laughter. Archie’s training hadn’t hurt him any either—he was close on my heels all
“How’s it all going, then?” I asked, casual as I could. The barn was warm and peaceful now, dreaming in hay-scented sun. “Cleaning up the mean streets of Torbeg and Ballymichael living up to expectations?”
He was glancing between the broken window and the ladder to the hayloft. “Aye, it pays the bills. And they’re not… They’re a lot less particular than I thought they’d be, about hiring… Well. I had to sit through three or four lectures on equal opportunities and respect for gay officers. Talk about preaching to the converted.”
“And are you?”
“What?”
“Reconverted?”
I hadn’t meant to be sarcastic or harsh. There it was, my old Gaelic sandpaper, the accent the well-spoken Edinburgh boys teased me for and tried to get me fired up on a subject to hear. Precise, abrasive, quiet because it never needed to be loud. Recon- vair -ted.
Archie turned round and looked at me in surprise. “Well,” he said uncertainly, “what if I am? They’re a lot more liberal these days. What if I made a mistake?”
I couldn’t believe what he was asking me. I’d paid off a bit of my sleep debt, but there were still weeks of exhaustion piled up in my brain, sand in the works. Did you just walk in here five years after dumping me cold and try to pick me up again?
No. That would be outrageous, insane even by Archie’s standards, though he’d never been lacking in nerve. The last year had made me so painfully serious, every little thing a life-or-death drama. I let the mad idea go, a butterfly out of my unclenched hand. There were plenty of others, way more likely, to replace it.
“Did you just walk in here,” I enquired, hooking my thumbs into the back pockets of my jeans, “because you’re bored and you fancy a quickie?”
“Och, Nicky—”
“Don’t you och, Nicky me. Look at the colour of you—bright bloody scarlet underneath that ginger, like the idea would never occur to you.” I paused, a prickle of excitement beginning in my spine. “Anyway, am I saying no?”
His mouth fell open. Well, why not? I’d had a long and lonely year. Perversely, now I had my old lover in front of me, a hard-on beginning to disfigure the cut of his uniform trousers, I was thinking of someone else entirely. Of indigo eyes dilating with horror at my dumb, tragic family history. A bony hand reaching fearlessly for mine…
For the first time in months, impulse won out over weariness. Why the hell not? I shifted, letting him see how little harm a year of hard physical graft had done me. “Cat got your tongue, copper?”
“No. No, but…”
“Come on, then. I haven’t got all day.” Not turning or taking my eyes off him, I began to back towards the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Outside.”
“What’s wrong with in here?”
I grinned. Archie had got wary, as we grew older, of alfresco sex. I hadn’t argued his caution. We’d heard of the teacher sacked from his job in Ardrossan, of two lads beaten half to death for a kiss outside a pub. Today, though, he was on my turf. My terms. “You know I never do it in front of the sheep.”
“Oh, like they’re going to tell…”
“No, but they talk amongst themselves. And the collies understand them, and Harry understands the dogs.”
“You’re nuts, you know.” He was smiling helplessly back at me.
“Ah, well,” I said, unfastening the barn door. “Catch as catch can.”
I gave him a run for his money. Out in the sunshine it felt good to stretch my limbs, and I pelted headlong through the yards and outbuildings, picking the muddiest route I could. Police chase on remote Arran farm , I thought, half choking with laughter. Archie’s training hadn’t hurt him any either—he was close on my heels all
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