Brick Walls
Fire, Burn
by elfin
Jackie banged again on the door, fist curled, anger and hurt lending strength to her aching hand.
"'You're not going to ignore me, Robbie," she muttered to herself,
giving the neighbourhood a short respite before launching a fresh
attack.
Finally the light came on behind the door and she heard the lock
thrown. When Robbie peered out into the dark she was surprised to
see him fully clothed, imagining he'd been in bed.
He shook his head when he saw her. "Jackie. If you're here to lecture me, I'm not in the mood."
She'd already worked that out. Even out on the doorstep she could smell the whiskey and smoke on his breath.
"I'm not here to lecture you, I'm here to find out what the hell you think you're doing."
He regarded her for a half a minute. "Resigning. That not clear enough?"
His tone, his attitude should have been warning enough but the feeling
that this was her one and only chance to stop him leaving had been with
her since Burke had broken the news. "I want to know why."
"No, you don't."
"Robbie... I'm your friend!" Despite the note of hysteria in her
voice, her expression challenged him to deny it, to throw that away too.
He sighed, deflating in front of her. And shaking his head
slowly, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, he let the door
swing open in silent invitation.
Pushing her hands deep into the pockets of her raincoat, she stepped
inside and closed the door behind her. Robbie was already heading
into the lounge and she followed him.
The last time she'd been here the place had been spotless, almost
unlived in. Although there were signs of a cleaner having visited
in the last week, Robbie had definitely spent more time than usual in
the house.
The television was on but the sound was turned down. Jackie
didn't recognise the film playing and she wondered if Robbie even knew
what he'd been watching. He offered her a drink and she almost
declined, but something made her nod.
He poured her a generous measure of Single Malt and handed it to her
before refilling his own glass and dropping carelessly into the corner
of the couch.
She sat down in the armchair, looking around as she did. Something caught her eye and her breath caught in her throat.
On the mantelpiece was a single, lone photo in a simple glass frame. The image was both strange and familiar at once.
Michael Jardine. Their boss, murdered three months ago by a man
hell-bent on revenge. From beyond the grave he was slowly
breaking up her marriage; the realisation that she'd been in love with
him was slowly driving her crazy.
The photo was of him in a pose she'd often see him strike - back
against a wall, one leg bent, foot flat against the bricks, hands in
his pockets. But here he was dressed casually, white T-shirt and
blue jeans. His head was turned toward the camera and he was
laughing.
A beautiful photograph of a very beautiful man. She couldn't for
the life of her imagine what it was doing in Robbie's living room.
Robbie leaned forward, snatching the almost-empty pack of cigarettes
from the coffee table and tapping one out. Sticking it between
his lips he lit it.
"Do you have your answer now?" he asked her eventually.
She tore her eyes from the photograph to stare at him. "What?"
"You wanted to know why I resigned this afternoon."
It took a moment for her to put two and two together. "Michael? You resigned because of Michael?"
Breathing out lungs full of smoke, Robbie dropped his head back against the sofa cushions, his own gaze going to the photo.
"Two years ago, after the scheme enquiry and the crap with that psycho,
Martin Strange, Mike and I had a god-awful row. It was really
late one night. I went back to the office for some reason and he
was still there. I accused him of not having a life, he told me
it was none of my business. I explained it was if it meant he was
an insufferable miserable bastard who made life hell for the rest of
us. He pointed out we didn't need him for that, I told him his
abstinence from sex was driving us all insane... he told me to get out
of his sight.
"I came home, started to drink. What I didn't expect was for him
to turn up twenty minutes later to apologise. I invited him in,
offered him a drink without thinking and he took it. We sat and
talked for hours, about... nonsense. He stayed over, crashed in
the spare room.
"I thought that was it, the end of it. I didn't think anything
would change but at least we'd both had that release. Two nights
later we finished early and I came back here. About nine there
was a knock on the door and Mike was standing there with a Chinese
takeaway and a bottle of wine."
He smiled, blinking away tears.
"That night, he stayed over again but this time... he wasn'a in the spare room."
It really was the only conclusion to be drawn from the photo in the
frame but still she hadn't. It wasn't a possibility she'd been
able to entertain. And even now Robbie had said it she still
couldn't believe Michael - her beloved Michael - had been sleeping with
him.
He looked at her for a very long time. "You should see the look on your face," he said tiredly.
"Well... how could you? All Michael wanted was someone to love him."
"And you think I took advantage? Had sex with him for....
For what? A promotion? Blackmail?" He took another
long drag and a mouthful of whiskey. "I loved him, Jackie.
He was the best thing that ever happened to me."
She was still grappling with the idea. Over the last couple of
months she'd grieved for Michael like a widow would grieve. She'd
come to the painful conclusion that he had been the love of her life
and she'd lost forever the opportunity to be with him. Now Robbie
was telling her that chance had never existed.
"What about him? What about what he wanted? What he needed?"
Robbie laughed. "Do you think I tied him to the bed and forced
myself on him?" He shook his head with a sigh. "Where do
you think that photo was taken?"
But 'where' wasn't the point, she knew. 'How' was closer to the mark. And 'why'.
"Florence, Italy," he told her. "A week away last summer.
The most amazing week of my life." He reached for the whiskey
bottle. "Do you want to know the best thing about it?" She
didn't, but she couldn't help the single nod. "We walked though
the Plaza hand in hand. And no one gave us a second glance."
His tears were falling steadily as he poured himself another
glass. Hers were too despite the numbness creeping through her
chest.
"Kennedy destroyed the one thing in this god forsaken world that was
good for me. Mike... he made everything seem easier
somehow. Nothin's ever going to be the same without him,
Jackie. Burke's a good bloke and Mike liked him, he really
did. But I'm used to working side by side with my lover.
Every time I step foot in that office it hurts over again."
She stared at him. She felt as if her world had been torn out
from under feet, everything she knew and trusted to be true had been
turned on its head. "I can't believe I didn't know."
Robbie shrugged. "At first it was just sex. And when it
started to be something more, Michael didn't want you and Stuart to
think there'd be any favouritism at work. He wanted to leave it
until we had some history and proof that we could have this
relationship and it not affect us at work."
"Two years?" she asked incredulously.
"That was the problem. It did affect us. We over played it,
going for one another's throats at every opportunity. We
surprised one another - from a simple start to a relationship so deep I
think it threw us both out of kilter for a while."
She was shattered. That Robbie hadn't told her made her
angry. But that Michael hadn't told her, that he'd kept something
so apparently incredible from her, hurt like hell.
It didn't matter now, somehow, that Robbie had resigned. She no
longer had the will to talk him out of it. As painful as it was
not to see Michael every day she couldn't fathom how it would feel to
work with the man who'd occupied her rightful place in his life, a man
she no longer felt she knew.
Putting her glass down onto the floor, she rose. "I'm sorry, Robbie."
"Me too."
He listened to her footsteps in the hall and the front door opening
then slamming shut. Rising, he took the photograph from the
mantelpiece and let his tears fall to the polished glass.
Instant Feedback! (No Flames Please)