Life in the Land (3 page)

“Another dreary Wednesday,” he said, giving up on the idea of watching the rest of the game and turning to talk to Steven. “I even managed to persuade the gladioli to save their budding for the weekend when we have more customers.”

“Good lad. You will let me know when you get the new lot of dahlias in? Your auntie wants some for a friend’s back terrace.”

His two cousins arrived, and as usual, they were in the middle of a squabble. The taller of the two was sporting blue hair and looked angry, while his younger brother was smirking, and Robert saw traces of blue dye under his fingernails.

“Bloody hell, Gavin, what have you done to your hair?” said Steven in horror, spotting his oldest son.

“Ask Git Zit here. He laced my new shampoo with hair dye.”

Robert laughed and tried to hide it behind his beer bottle, but his uncle was not impressed. “Jesus, Stuart, you’re worse than the twins!”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” said Stuart, affronted. “At least it wasn’t puce.”

Steven scowled. “You’re not twelve anymore. Time to start acting your age.”

Stuart and Gavin took seats at the table, beer bottles already in hand. “I can’t believe I spent most of the afternoon giving a police statement,” said Gavin, helping himself to the nuts Robert had bought earlier. “You’d have thought that by now the cops would take ‘I have superpowers’ as a legitimate response to how I stopped a bank robber.”

“It’s not like we’re in the States, Gav,” said Robert with a shrug. “The British police are still getting used to the idea that the comic books were right.”

“I blame that twat, the Green Furnace, for his viral YouTube video. If he hadn’t filmed himself torching that van, I doubt we’d get half the shite we do.”

“The important thing was we stopped the robbery and none of us were hurt,” said Steven, raising his bottle for a toast, and then the three other men clinked bottles. “And that brings me to what I want to talk to you all about.”

Gavin looked confused. “Something wrong, Dad?”

“I know we’ve talked about this before, and you’ve all been dead set against it, but it’s time for me to take a step back.”

“Is this about what happened with the guard?” asked Robert. “Because none of us could’ve known he was in on the job. He’d have got the drop of any of us.”

“It’s good of you to say, Bobby, but you know that ain’t true.”

Gavin and Stuart rushed to disagree, but their dad wasn’t having any of it. “I’m sorry, boys, but my mind’s made up. One last mission, and I’m hanging up my cape for good.”

“You retiring? What you gonna do, spend days watching daytime telly and gardening? I’m telling you, Dad, you ain’t made for sitting on your arse.”

“No, I’m going to go and help Bobby’s dad with the farm. Since John’s spent his life making sure we’ve a home to go to, seems only fair that I lend a hand now we’re both getting on a bit.”

“You’ve spoken to my dad about this?” asked Robert, surprised. He’d suspected his uncle had been thinking about quitting, but he didn’t think Steven had actually started making plans. Maybe he just hadn’t wanted to believe Steven would really walk away from them. They worked well as a unit, but it was more than that. Having his uncle and his cousins by his side had made it easier when he’d left the farm, given him an anchor when he’d most needed it, when he’d doubted himself and the decisions he’d made. And on days when a rescue didn’t go exactly to plan, he still needed them.

“Yeah, spoke to him last night,” said Steven. “He called to tell us about one of the neighbor’s farms being put up for sale, and wondered if we should consider an offer.”

Robert nearly knocked his beer bottle over. “Which neighbor?”

“The Flints—the ones to the west.”

The mention of Mike’s family caused a bubble of bile to burn in Robert’s chest, and he knew there was no way he could blame it on the beer. “Dad didn’t mention they were having trouble last time I phoned home.”

“And when was that?” asked Steven.

Robert shrugged. “It’s been a couple of months,” he admitted.

“Yeah, well, it’s only been a week since Flinty spoke to your dad—he’s not what you’d call a gregarious bloke.”

The thought of Mike brought back a slew of memories he refused to dwell over, and stamping down on the rush of regret, he drained his bottle and stood up. “Sorry, I gotta go. Said I’d meet a friend.”

Robert grabbed his coat and headed out of the bar, not giving his family the chance to question him. He emerged into the city, the streets comprising of rows of bars and takeaway places. It was already dark, and when he checked his watch, he realized it was nearly eleven. Given the time, Robert knew exactly where he wanted to go. He wanted to lose himself for a few hours, to clear his head both from thoughts of rescues and the memories that had left him feeling more unsettled than expected.

Heading off the high street, he took the next left, and was shoulder barged out of the way by a teenager in a hoodie, who grunted an insincere apology without looking back. Robert was glad he’d grown into his tall frame and was no longer the beanpole his dad used to call him. The kid would’ve probably sent the old Bobby flying before giving him a mouthful for getting in the way and having the gall to share the same pavement.

The neon lights of Club Nirvana beckoned, its garish orange sign reflecting across the wet pavement and making the front of the club glow in an almost unworldly manner. Being a Thursday night and relatively early for the hard-core clubbers, it wasn’t a surprise to see there was no queue at the door, which would’ve been unheard of on a Saturday night.

He hurried across the road after a cursory glance to check for traffic and bounded up the steps to the club. At the payment window, he flashed his membership card and handed over a five-pound note to Lulu, a green-haired drag queen with electric-blue lips and more mascara than a Max Factor counter.

Lulu grinned when she spotted Robert. “Roberto, my sweet,” he said in a voice ravaged by cigarettes. “Not like you to visit us on a school night.”

“It’s been a long day.”

“I get you, hun. Some days need vodka and pretty boys in hot pants.”

Robert laughed and accepted the change Lulu handed him. “Bring ’em on.”

He headed into the club, Lulu’s filthy cackle drowned out by the blare of music as he climbed the stairs to the main room. Robert figured the rest of the city must’ve been in the same reflective mood, as the club was much busier than he had expected it to be. The dance floor had a respectable number of men grinding and swaying along with the heavy bass. He caught the barman’s eye and bought a beer, avoiding the temptation of the cheap and lurid cocktails. He found a spot by the wall with a view of the dance floor and the entrance, an ideal vantage point to identify a likely companion for a spot of mutual stress relief. The club was gearing up for a weekend of themed events, already partly decorated in readiness for the “Ride ’Em Cowboy” Friday night special, although there were a few too many Stetsons about for Robert’s taste.

There were at least three young men who matched his usual type on the dance floor and another leaning against the bar on his own. The man at the bar had a compact build, not overly muscular but with an allusion to strength, and his dirty blond hair fell over his eyes, which, if Robert were really lucky, would turn out to be blue. Robert didn’t dare dwell on the reason for his particular taste in men; he didn’t want to overthink things tonight, wanting instead anonymity and an easy path to forgetfulness.

Robert pushed himself off the wall, and with a lazy saunter, made his way over to the bar. The blond watched him approach, his head cocked to one side and his expression switched from curious to interested when he realized Robert was heading in his direction.

“Can I buy you a drink?” asked Robert. He leaned closer to be heard over the music and catch a whiff of an earthy cologne that delighted his senses.

“I’ll have a beer,” he replied, holding up the nearly empty bottle he had in his hand.

Robert ordered the drinks at the bar, receiving two bottles, his change, and a knowing smirk from the barman.

“The name’s Robert. You?”

“Ian,” he replied, accepting one of the bottles and saluting Robert before taking a drink. “Y’know, I’m not one for small talk, and you don’t strike me as Mr. Happy Ever After.”

As much as he hated small talk, Robert had always found it necessary if he wanted his cock sucked, so Ian’s reply was a refreshing surprise. “You don’t know that. I could be after the one.”

Ian laughed. “Are you?”

“No.”

“Thought not. Listen, I want to get off and go home. If we’re on the same page, it’s either the back alley or the toilets. Which do you prefer?”

Robert gaped slightly at Ian’s abruptness, but he couldn’t argue with his logic. “Back alley.”

“Good choice. The toilets in this place can get a bit ripe.”

Ian took his hand and led him to a door in the corner, a fire exit to the right of the bar. Ian must know the club better than he did, thought Robert as they emerged into an alley lit only by a single security light over the door.

In the shadows Robert smashed his mouth against Ian’s, the kiss hungrily returned amidst a taste of beer and lust. His back hit the brickwork, and his cock hardened as a hand cupped him through his jeans.

“Fuck,” moaned Ian. “I’m gonna love having you in my mouth.”

Ian dropped to his knees and freed him from his boxer briefs before rolling a condom over Robert’s already aching cock. Ian really loved to suck cock, thought Robert as Ian took him into his mouth, engulfing him in a delicious wet heat. It had been a long time since someone had been so enthusiastic, with a tongue that stroked him in a perfect way to complement the suction. His head rolled back as Ian hummed and massaged his balls, the dark and dirty alley forgotten amidst the pleasure coursing through him.

A horrendous bang—a mix of a thunderclap and a lorry crash—shook him out of his bliss. But it was nothing compared to the explosion that ripped through the air, making the ground shake and Ian dive to the ground, lying flat on his belly with his hands over his head. Robert saw a blaze of color at the mouth of the alley.

He pulled off the condom and threw it to the floor. After tucking himself back into his trousers, he helped Ian to his feet. “You all right?”

“Yeah. I think so. What the fuck is going on?”

“I’m gonna see what happened. Can you call the emergency services?”

Ian nodded dumbly, and Robert, with an apologetic smile, raced toward the noise of squealing tires and chaos.

The street was ablaze with flames licking up the side of the club. Men streamed into the road and away from the stifling heat and choking smoke. A van was lodged in the plate glass of the club’s window and, if it weren’t for the gaping hole in its side, Robert may have thought it was an accident it had ended up where it had.

There were a number of injured men lying curled up on the damp road. One man sat up, cradling his shaven head as blood poured from a gash across his temple; another howled in pain, clutching at the compound fracture of his arm. The bones had torn through his elaborate tattoos, which were barely visible, mired in blood. A friend was at his side, paralyzed with his inability to help.

Desperate cries came from a second-story window, where three men screamed for assistance in escaping the flames that licked around the window frame. Sirens wailed in the distance; the emergency services were on their way, but Robert doubted they’d arrive in time. A quick glance told him that apart from a window box filled with half-dead petunias, there was nothing in the vicinity he could work with. Having been in similar situations, he was prepared for this. Ignoring the instructions from the club staff to stay back, he raced to the front of the club, dug his hand into his pocket for his wallet, and pulled out the packet of seeds he made sure he carried with him wherever he went.

He tipped the seeds into his hand, they quivered as he concentrated, and within seconds, a tangle of vines spilled out of his fist, twisting and knotting together. He tried not to think about the heat and flames as he stood under the window. He urged the vine to spiral upward, golden sparks of his energy exciting the cells in the plants. Robert could hear the vines babble happily, singing with joy and eager to do as he ordered, even above the noise around him.

The men watched in wonder as the vines poured into the window. The sight before them was seemingly bizarre enough to make them forget the trouble they were in, and Robert could feel the vine’s shooting tips hook onto something and anchor themselves in place.

“You need to climb down—use the vine like a rope,” Robert shouted up to the men in the window. “But one at a time. I don’t think it’ll hold more than that.”

With no option but to trust the vine, the first man launched himself out of the window, sliding down the vine without hesitation despite the painful-looking burns to his hands. The next guy was more reticent, but the man behind him encouraged him to hurry up. Their quick kiss and gentle touches confirmed Robert’s suspicion they were boyfriends.

“Was there anyone else up there?” Robert asked the third man once he was on the ground.

He looked a little shaken but didn’t appear injured. “Not that I saw.”

A faint scream caught both men’s attention. “Right, the ambulances are on their way. You’d best get yourself checked out.” Robert grabbed the vine and pulled on it to see if it could still bear his weight.

“What are you doing?”

“Someone might be trapped,” replied Robert, pointing to the window.

The guy looked incredulous. “Are you some sort of hero?”

Robert laughed and shrugged. “Yeah, sort of.”

He concentrated on the vine, and it shuddered in his hands, beginning to unwind its tightly woven structure and morphing into a vine ladder with sturdy rungs. Climbing quickly, Robert found the vine had no problem supporting his weight. A loud rattle to his right made him stop midway, and to his horror, he saw the van below begin to shake violently from where it was lodged in the front window of the club.

The shockwave from a second explosion loosened the vine’s anchorage and sent him flying backward, still clutching the plant. He hit the ground with a jarring thud. Dazed and debilitated by the impact, he could do nothing but watch, eyes wide, as the masonry of the club rained down upon him.