Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play Read Online Free PDF Page A

called over to
the undergrad dorms and some bastard had busted a shower, torn it right off the
fucking wall. Took me half a day to put it right.”
    “And I bet you didn’t get so much as a kiss my arse?”
    “Wouldn’t have been so bad if I had. There were a
couple of nice little arses I wouldn’t have minded kissing or bending over a
desk.” That thought touches a nerve and he sits down to fasten his laces,
giving himself time to settle.
    Ernie pats him on the back. “I’ll leave that to you
champ. I’m a bit too old for that kind of talk.”
    “No problem, I can handle your share,” Dan calls out
after him, still feeling the after effect of something sweet between his legs.
    “I’ll check the jobs list and we’ll draw straws for
toilet duty. Ladies or gents, you’re welcome to it. Gets my guts rollin’,  that
smell. Puts me right off my lunch.” He’s sticking out his tongue like a lizard
tasting the air.
    “Leave it to me, Ernie. I’m use to clearing up other
fuckers’ shit. I hold my breath and count to sixty. By then, the worse bit’s
over.” Dan stands tall, his chest fills out his work shirt, he’s fearless.
    Ernie, checks his watch and compares it to the one on
the wall. “You’re a good lad Dan. We’d better make a move. Can’t stand here
chatting all day, shit happens.” They share the joke and stroll towards the
office, Dan at the rear and Ernie in his shadow.
    It’s 1500hrs, the journey home to Ely only takes Dan forty
minutes but he can do it in thirty on a good day, minus the tourists.
    “Hello. Honey, I’m home,” he calls out to his golden
coloured cat, the only female he has ever cared about, bar one.
    His one bedroom, ground floor flat is no more than two
rooms and a bathroom, slotted together into a tidy matchbox shape. For a man of
his size it’s adequate, or it would be if it wasn’t for the piles of newspapers
and magazines stacked like stalagmites along every wall. There is only one
special area, his favourite place, facing his cork noticeboard where he stands
and remembers.
    His face casts a ruggedly handsome reflection in the
window pane as he fills the kettle with water. A mug of hot tea, that’s what he
needs. He relaxes a little, feeling Honey weaving herself around his ankles,
not for attention but for food; his awesome frame towers above her but she
isn’t intimidated by his size. He gives her what she wants and her behaviour is
merely instinctive.
    “There you go honey.” He amuses himself with the
endearment. “Get your teeth into that and I’ll tell you all about my day.” He
scrapes out the remains of a half empty can of cat food and leaves it by his
feet. “Let’s have half an hour to ourselves, then I’ll get to work. We’ve a job
to do, I feel lucky tonight.”
    He places the day’s newspapers and magazines on the
battered sofa, throws yesterday’s take-away box off the single chair into a
black bin bag and plonks himself down. On his knee rests a new pizza box: it’s
pepperoni. He hits the news channel on his TV remote and lets it wash over him;
he lives in the present but his thoughts reside in the past. Distant memories
are as vivid as they were seven years ago. Letting go simply is not an option.
    Fifteen minutes later, with the sizzling taste of
pepperoni and cheese tingling his taste buds, he prepares to start the night
shift. He is not a man to shy away from work, especially when it’s the same
thing he did yesterday and the day before, and the day before that … looking
for her.
    The chair seems to give a grateful wheeze when he
eases himself out of it and makes his way over to the kitchen table, carrying
today’s purchases under his left arm. They drop onto the pine table with a thud
and sit patiently waiting to be scanned for any trace of her. Laid out on the
table is his equipment, tools for the job: a pair of scissors, a pad and a
pencil at the ready to take notes to plan, to orchestrate an abduction or, at
the very least,