In The Garden Of Stones (35 page)

“
I’m trying to.”

He helps
her take off her top, revealing sun kissed skin prickling with
goosebumps of excitement, her gentle tan enhanced by the stark
whiteness of her matching bra and panties.

Colin
licks his lips, puts his hands either side of her waist, moving
them over her ribs to her breasts, cupping and kissing the soft
mounds, touching his lips along her shoulders and up the side of
her neck to her ear, every touch soft and warm and sensuous. A
flick of his wrist behind her and her bra is undone and
off.

Grace
has already unbuckled his belt, popped the button, unzipped his
fly, and taken his shirt from him. She has his vest halfway off
when he pulls back from her, snatching at the fabric, covering
himself again.

“
No! You can’t.”

“
Can’t what? What’s the matter?”

“
You can’t … I don’t want … I don’t want you to
see.”

“
I already have, more than once.”

“
Not all of it. Not close to. I don’t…don’t want you to
be—horrified, sickened–”

She puts
her finger to his lips. “Shhhhh. I won’t. It’s okay. Trust me.” She
unclenches his fingers, releases the fabric and eases it over his
head. “Now, turn around.”

He
hesitates, then does as he’s told, slowly turning his back and
shoulders to her, exposing the huge swathe of scar tissue. It has
the texture of pink tree bark, hard and hairless, a macabre relief
map of pain etched into his flesh.

She lets
her fingertips caress the healing blast burns, delicately touching
her lips along the puckered trail which stretches as far as his jaw
line.

Colin
keeps his head bowed, eyes fixed on the bed. No matter how
desperately he wants to see her face, to gauge her reactions as her
fingertips discover the troughs and hollows where the fire ravaged
him, the craters and gouges where shrapnel tore through him, he’s
afraid to. Afraid of seeing the look of barely disguised revulsion,
afraid of seeing her brows pinch together to form that soft groove
between her eyebrows in silent rejection of the deformed creature
he’s become.

“
If you’re going to go, go now,” he says, and closes his
eyes so he won’t have to see when she stumbles outside to vomit her
disgust into the leaf mould.

She
doesn’t go. Instead, she presses her lips to the ruined skin with
its pattern of fine silvered lines and dots, each one marking where
a fragment of shattered metal sliced into his skin, the tiny black
metallic tattoos serving as permanent reminders. She takes his
flushed face between her cool palms, tilts his head forward and
kisses his eyelids.

“
I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers.

She
pushes him down onto the cot and eases his pants to mid thigh, and
then hesitates. What is she going to find when she reaches the
point where the rest of his legs should be? Fresh air?

Here I can have them back. Even make masel’ a bit taller if I
want.

That’s
what he said. Time to see if it’s true.

There is
not an empty space, or plastic and metal prosthetics, but flesh and
blood and bone, although both legs are hideously scarred and
disfigured, and one is missing a kneecap.

“
I couldn’t get them right,” he says. “I never really took
much notice of them when I had them, always took them for granted,
so whenever I thought about them …” He massages the mangled limbs.
“I couldn’t remember what they looked like. These are just
representations of what I’ve lost.”

“
Shhhh. No talking,” she says, fingers caressing his
stomach, sliding gently over his hips to his groin, to an interest
which is becoming more obvious by the second.

“
Let me ask you something first,” he says. “It’s
important.”

Grace’s
response is muffled by the shaft of his cock against her lips.
“Better bloody be.” She cups his testicles in her hand and
squeezes. “And make it quick, because if Mr Stiffy here loses
focus–”

“
What do I look like?” he says.

Grace’s
head snaps up and she stares at him. “What!?”

“
My face. I’ve never had the courage to look properly. I
know it took a pounding and there’s still some shrapnel shards in
it, but tell me … is it … scarred, hideously twisted. Dammit, do I
look like the Elephant Man?”

“
Seriously?” Another squeeze of his balls. “You’re asking me
this now–?!”

“
Please, Grace.”

“
God’s sake. You have a few little scars here and there,
nothing major, and a quite bad one here–” She touches the deep
crescent shaped mark under his right eye. “But overall, you’re
pretty … presentable. Nobody would notice.”

“
You sure?”

“
Yesssss. Now, if it’s not too much trouble, there’s sex to
be had.”

Colin’s
smile is broad and full of mischief as he pulls her to him, kisses
her hard, his hands cupping her breasts.

“
Like this?” he says, and takes one nipple into his mouth,
sucking on it, teasing it with his tongue, whilst massaging the
other with his thumb, making her moan and mew with
pleasure.

“
That’s more like it.”

When
they are both ready to take it further, he lies back on the cot and
she lowers herself onto his now very attentive cock, encasing him
in wet warmth.

Chapter 35

Colin
kisses Grace on the forehead. “Thank you.”

She
breathes out a deep exhalation of satisfaction and relaxes against
him, listening to his heartbeat through his gently rising and
falling chest, fingering the collection of little silver scars
nestling in his body hair, joining the dots.

“
You’re welcome.” Another sigh. “You know, I haven’t felt
quite so comfortable with anyone since … well, for a very long
time,” she says. “I’ve had sex before, of course I have, lots of
times, but it was always functional, mechanical; there wasn’t
anything there, either during or afterwards. I never got the
feeling of … contentment?”

“
Aye, I know exactly what you mean,” he says, kisses her
again and holds her tighter, his large hand moving up and down her
slender spine in slow, sensuous strokes.

“
It’s a pity I don’t smoke or I’d be puffing smoke rings of
happiness right now,” she says, and lets out a chain of rapid
huffs, simulating the action.

“
Being forced to give up the ciggies was probably the only
good thing to come out of all this,” Colin says.

“
Can’t disagree with that. Filthy habit. Expensive
too.”

“
Aye, they said it would stunt ma growth, but having ma legs
chopped off did that anyway so what have I got to lose by having a
fag now and again?”

Grace
stares at him open-mouthed.

“
Ach come on, Gracie, crack a smile,” he says, grinning
himself. “Nothing gives misfortune a bigger kick in the bollocks
than laughing at it.”

She
settles back against him. “True.”

A warm
quiet silence descends, and then Colin laughs.

“
What’s so funny?” says Grace.

“
I was just thinking about how much worse things could have
been. Losing ma legs is one thing, I can get spares. Having ma
knackers blown off–” He sucks air over his teeth. “Doesn’t bear
thinking aboot. Do they make artificial dicks?”

Grace
splutters. “You could try Ann Summers.”

“
Should be grateful I managed to hang onto ma bits,” he
says. “Although I don’t know if they still work. Since the…
incident, I’ve never even thought about sex.”

“
Not even a five fingered shuffle to keep the blood flowing,
to stop them shrivelling up from lack of use?”

“
With a tube stuck up ma dick, literally taking the piss,
what do you think?”

Grace
nods. “Hmmm. I can see how it might take the shine off it
somewhat.”

“
Aye. Somewhat.”

In the
conversational lull Grace refits her bra and roots about for her
panties, while Colin eases on his trousers and pulls his vest over
his head, wincing as the movement of his arms and neck forces the
not yet totally healed scar tissue over his back and shoulders to
twist and stretch.

Their
shifting about as they gather up their clothing makes the rickety
old cot creak beneath them in an alarming fashion.

“
How on earth do you manage to sleep on this?” Grace says.
“I’d be frightened of it collapsing under me.”

“
I don’t… and I don’t jest mean I don’t sleep on this bed, I
mean I don’t sleep … at all.”

Grace
wriggles into her T-shirt. “You probably do. You just think you
don’t. Everyone sleeps. You have to. It’s a scientific fact that if
you don’t sleep, you go mad. I get really cranky if I don’t get at
least eight hours a night.”

She
regards him keenly and notices for the first time how utterly
shattered he looks. Dark heavy rings encircle eyes that are sunken
and bloodshot and clouded with fatigue. “You really mean it don’t
you?”

He
shrugs one shoulder.

“
Why not?” she says. “Are you in pain?”

“
No much.”

“
Then why?”

“
I–”
A pause, before the truth spills out. “I daren’t sleep,” he
says, fidgeting with the front of his vest. “I’ve tried, I really
have. Even here, where I ken it’s safe, I canna rest. At the
centre, it’s worse. I have ta have the light on all the time, and
even when I’m too tired ta stay awake I canna risk even snatching a
few minutes, I have ta be facing the door and have the emergency
call button in ma hand at all times. And then, if by some miracle I
do manage to drop off, there are the dreams, the nightmares, and I
wake up screaming and drenched in sweat. One time, I pissed
masel’–”

He puts a
trembling hand to his brow, where the liquid terror leaking from
him stands in glistening beads. More spring out on his neck and
chest, making his skin shine.

“
The bathroom is another place where I know I’m
vulnerable,” he says. “No that I’m ever in there alone, there’s
al’ays someb’dy wi me, but I canna take my eyes off them in case
they’re an enemy infiltrator sent to finish the job they started.
The rational part of my brain tells me they’re no … but the
rational part isn’t always in control, and the thoughts are always
there, niggling at the back of my mind.” He barks out a mirthless
laugh. “Daft thing is, if they
do
turn out ta be some kinda ninja assassin, there’s
no a damned thing I can dae about it, is there? It’s no’ like I can
spring out of the chair, kick them in the balls and run away. I’m
yer genuine sitting duck ready ta be picked off.”

She gives his
arm a comforting stroke, a silent encouragement to tell her
everything.

“
I’m
on edge the whole time,” he says after a short pause. “They call it
being hyper-vigilant, wary of every sound, seeing things from the
corners of ma eyes, paranoid about there being something or
somebody hiding in every shadow. I hear whispering when there’s
naeb’dy theer, I canna stand the sensation of anyone behind me,
even the nurse pushing ma chair. Any sudden out of place noise sets
me to a panic. Could be a door banging, someone shouting, a car
backfiring, or a crack of thunder–” His breathing turns to sharp
edged ragged gasps. “It’s everything Grace. The slightest bloody
thing and I’m right back there, down in the dirt, covered in my
mates’ guts and brains, on fire with my legs ripped to bloody
mush–”

He bows his
chin to his chest, hunched over as if all the weight of the
world is pressing down on his shoulders.

“
I
know that was hard,” she says. “You did really well to tell me.”
She puts her hand to his hot sweaty neck, his skin burning with
heat from some deep seated internal furnace.

He curls his
arms over his head, drawing them together like a defensive shield,
hands balled into fists, breaths now heavy and noisy as he fights
to retain a semblance of control. It is another battle he cannot
win. His shoulders heave and drops of water spill from his eyes to
catch the sun as they fall. Tumbling diamonds of abject
misery.

She
rests her head against his, fingers buried in his hair.

“
Shhhhhh. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

After a
while he unfurls himself, looks at her with eyes dulled by
exhaustion, and she knows what he needs. She shifts on the bed,
straightens out her legs and pulls the pillow into her
lap.

“
Lie down,” she says, patting and smoothing the plain
ticking cover.

“
What?”

“
Lie down here, close your eyes, and let yourself go. I’ll
watch over you. Nobody and nothing is going to hurt you. You’ll be
perfectly safe.”

He
doesn’t move.

“
I promise,” she says.

He looks
at the pillow, then back at her, blinks a couple of times and then
lowers his head.

“
There you go,” she says, pulling the blanket over his
spoiled shoulders. “You sleep now. As long as you like. You’re safe
here.”