Part 4 ~ Sunday 10 April 1994

Even as he woke Ray knew it was mid morning. He also knew he was alone. Turning in the bed and raising himself on one elbow he listened: beyond his breathing the house was silent, Ben had gone to work. The knowledge that he’d left without saying goodbye was something Ray knew he’d have to pick his way through; but Ben didn’t know he was flying out, if he had… Who was he trying to fool? Not himself.

He threw back the covers and swung his legs off the bed, feeling the first low ache that reminded him of the sexual battering he had actively encouraged. He stiltedly walked to the bathroom, actually glad that Ben wasn’t around to see this comedic waddle, urinated, then crossed to the shower. He reached out to turn it on then paused, doubting that he could bear to wash the Mountie’s scent from his body; perhaps a little selective sluicing. At the basin he found himself staring at his face in the mirror, looking to see what was different, wondering what his eyes had given away last night – Stan actually resorted to making him wear sunglasses at times because his eyes were so expressive. What had Ben seen there when he’d fucked him that last time, face to face? If he’d seen the truth it was no wonder he’d sneaked off this morning.

Washed, shaved and dressed, Ray packed his belongings and threw his holdall and suit bag over his shoulder, taking the stairs somewhat carefully. In the kitchen was a note, and Ray hesitated before reading it, not sure he was able to face a, ‘So long, thanks, it was fun’ moment. But, once fortified by coffee, toast, and more coffee, read it he did.

‘Ray,’ it said, ‘I didn’t want to wake you this morning, you looked so peaceful. The frown was finally gone. I won’t be able to get back for lunch because of a meeting with the coroner, but feel free to drop in at the Post if you get lonely – the Jeep is at your disposal. I look forward to seeing you. Ben.’ Beneath the signature was an added, ‘Last night was wonderful. Thank you.’

Ray carefully removed the page from the pad, folded it precisely and tucked it into his wallet before phoning the airport to arrange passage on the day’s solitary flight out. He had a couple of hours to wait and he spent an entire hour of that time composing the note he wanted to leave for Ben.

‘Benny. I have to go home, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you last night. I would’ve liked to have seen you this morning. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, and I’ll contact you about the coroner’s report, and about Al. I hope the Jeep being at the airport won’t be a problem. I have stolen your CD and your photo – sue me. Ray.’ And beneath his signature: ‘Thank you too.’

It was stilted, reserved and not what he wanted to say, but Ray was a realist and he knew anything more personal would not be welcome.

Taking a last look around the Mountie’s house, Ray pocketed the Afghan Whigs CD and undid the back of the frame to remove the photograph of Ben taking charge of the Post, slipping it between the pages of the large notebook he’d brought from home.

…

Ray was in the air by the time Ben finished rearranging his schedule so he could drive home for an hour with his gorgeous detective from Chicago. The morning had been a complete waste of time, he’d been so distracted, and now he was preparing the things he wanted to say to Ray: how he respected him, and enjoyed his company, and just how much he’d come to care for him in such a short space of time. That was what was going to frighten him off, but you had to take chances in life, reach out for what you wanted, and he wanted Ray very badly.

Ben felt a first stab of anxiety when he drew up to his house and the Jeep was nowhere to be seen, but he rushed inside in the hope that Ray had left a note regarding his intentions for the day. Ben hadn’t passed him on the road so maybe he’d left earlier and was shopping – he still had Ben’s card – or maybe he’d gone back to the Lodge, or…

Yes, Ray had left a note. Ben read quickly before checking his watch and realising the day’s flight out had departed over an hour ago. He sank into a chair at the kitchen table and read again, crushed by the message. He stared at the words, wanting more, needing more; Ray’s handwriting was very fluent and he could see where he’d firstly written ‘Ben’, then added the ‘ny’ to make Benny. He’d been thinking of him, of his feelings, giving him what he’d wanted.

‘I like Benny. Makes it sound as if you have some great affection for me.’

‘What makes you think I haven’t?’

The three day question had been replaying in his head all morning.

“I should have answered,” Ben told the silence angrily. “I should have had the courage.”

Ray had seen straight through him, knew exactly how he felt. ‘You think you can fall in love in three days?’ he’d challenged Ben’s too apparent feelings, and, when confronted, Ben hadn’t had the nerve to say yes. Ray had known the Mountie was a coward and he’d left, bitterly disappointed no doubt. Ben ran up the stairs and into the room they’d shared the previous night, remembering touches that had made it Ray’s: the slim, elegant watch on the bedside cabinet, silk robe thrown over the chair in the corner, discreet bottle of aftershave on the dresser. It had been left so tidy Ben could believe that nobody had been here. He hated that, snatched the top pillow from the bed, buried his face in it. Ray: amazingly, poignantly, heart-breakingly Ray. A combination of the aftershave and his own distinct scent. Head to toe, every inch of Ben responded automatically to the heady fragrance, wanting the cop, wanting his soft mouth and hard body. Wanting – no, needing – Ray. This was a whole new experience for Ben and, for the first time, he had an understanding of how his behaviour had affected so many men in his past. It was a brutal lesson he could have done without.

Ben hugged the pillow, missed the lover it smelt of, and hurt, hurt, hurt.

…

Ray had some of the easiest airport connections of his life: it was almost as if the Gods had deemed it fit that he escape from the Mountie as quickly as possible. On the last leg of his homeward journey he sat hunched in a window seat, trying to be inconspicuous and stay out of the eye line of the irritatingly pleasant flight attendants. He’d been trying so hard not to think about Ben, but the constant ache of his body wouldn’t let him forget for a moment. He deigned to remember, only to be confronted with a new barrage of pain.

He’d entered a new phase of his life, filled with opportunities to live as he’d always wanted to, and had celebrated that liberation by getting screwed over physically and emotionally. The Mountie provided one hell of a learning curve, teaching him in one crucial lesson that it was humiliating to be somebody’s fling, and that sex alone wasn’t going to be enough for him.

Feeling – knowing – he’d made a complete and utter fool of himself, Ray wondered how Ben was feeling about his latest conquest. Detached by now, no doubt, and just happy to have got laid, Ray concluded. Maybe that was how he should approach the whole sordid affair. Be philosophical about it. At least I got laid. At last. I got laid.

I didn’t get laid. I got used.

Ray rested his head back, inwardly focusing on the inception of the next migraine, accepting the predictable consequences of his actions with an air of inevitability. And as he waited for the light show and the nausea he squeezed his eyes shut, grimly fighting the desire to weep. Not for the father he had lost, but for the love he had left behind. He could not cry. If he began to cry now he suspected it would be a long time before he stopped. This was not the moment to open the floodgates to a lifetime of tears.

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