Page 51 of Wood

GEOFF

Caddie’s dinner. I sit at the end of the long table, at least ten years younger than most of these guys, and isolated. I feel the glares, the homophobic slurs, even though no words are said. Scraping up the last of the decadent shepherd’s pie and tipping back the final dregs of my beer, I pay my tab and head out the door.

I walk without picking a direction, just away, down towards the harbor because the streets narrow there and it feels less like being on display.

Cobbles wet, slick in the low light and I take the bridge over the burn and stop, lean on the railing. Nobody out here to perform for, which after two hours of laughing at other men’s stories about other men’s players is like fresh air.

The tide is out and boats are canted over in the mud, going nowhere until the water returns. The sea beyond them is just a dark suggestion, no line where it ends and the sky starts. It’s late and I should get back to our rented house. I want to walk the course for pin placement in the early morning hours.

I turn towards the townhouse and hear the footsteps.

“Oy, ain’t that the poofter caddie?” a rough Scottish voice calls out.

Shit.

“Eh, you there! Take it up the arse do ye? Faggot, we’ll show ye what a real man is!”

The first hit catches my shoulder, spins me half around before the second one finds my ribs and the cobbles come up faster than I expect, wet and cold under my hands. I get an arm up. It doesn’t do much. I curl into myself, arms covering my head. A boot somewhere, a fist somewhere else, no shouting, just the grunts and the sound of punches landing and my breath going ragged. Shit, I’m going to die alone on a Scottish bridge and Ben won’t know… And then another voice cuts through, several voices, loud and getting louder and the weight comes off me all at once.

Feet running the wrong way. A woman’s voice is close to my ear, asking if I can hear her. Somebody’s phone lights up in my face, and I turn from it, taste copper.

“I’m fine.” I grunt. I think.

They get me sitting up against the wall. Four of them, maybe five… I can’t get the number to hold still, shit, am I concussed… fans, has to be, coming from a pub, half of them still in tournament gear, one still holding a pint like he forgot to put it down before he started shouting. Nobody chased far. Didn’t need to. The two men ran like the cowards they are.

“D’ye want us to call someone,” the woman says. “Ambulance, police…”

“No.” Too fast. I try again. “No… just. Just give me a bit.”

I sit there with my back against the stone and let them fuss, someone pressing a cloth to my eyebrow where it’s split. I evaluate, scan myself mentally. Nothing broken. Ribs are sore, but I can carry a bag. Head is clearing, the ringing has stopped. Not going to be giving any blowjobs for a few days: the inside of my cheeks and my tongue are shredded.

“Where are ye stayin’, lad,” the man with the now-forgotten pint asks. “Let us at least help ye home.”

“House in The Scores,” I reply and soon I have two broad shoulders to lean on as I stagger.

We make our way through the streets, a woman and three men helping me get back home.

“Yer Ben Vance’s man, aren’t ye,” one guy asks.

“Yeah,” I groan.

“Damn, sorry about this lad, no call for beating a man for who he loves.”

“Thanks.” I grunt as we reach the townhouse door. “Thanks for your help.”

The woman takes the keys, and they shuffle me into the kitchen, pushing me back into a chair. Drawers open and close. The freezer is opened, then ice cubes wrapped in a cloth are pressed to my face. The noise brings Ben out of the back room, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt.

“What’s going… Geoff!” He rushes forward, kneeling next to me.

“Boy was set upon at the bridge,” one guy says. “Couple o’ thugs. We chased em off, brought the boy here.”

The woman chimes in, “He didn’t want an ambulance, he said.”

“Hell, baby,” he tilts my face up to the light.

“I’m ok, Ben. Just not very pretty,” I try to smile, but fuck, that hurts.

He presses his lips to my forehead, then turns to my rescuers. “I don’t know how to thank you enough,” he says, his voice choking.