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discoveredinalj
Discovered in Scraps From the Past
The box in the cupboard taunted him. It had been taunting him almost since he’d met Ray, an old battered tin, once stuffed with shortbread, and at some point inscribed in scratched, childish writing with Keep Out!
Because it was Doyle’s, Bodie’d been keeping out for years, but today, this wet, miserable, grey-encrusted day, with Doyle taking three times as long to fetch the curry as he should have done, Bodie thought that it was time to find out what was inside. Because it was Doyle’s.
He took it from the cupboard, where he’d been looking for cloths to clean his gun whilst he waited, and stood staring for a moment. An energetic man on one leg, kilt leaping around his knees and one hand curled above his head, the other clutching a set of bagpipes which he was apparently playing at the same time, stared back. He didn’t seem to mind that Keep Out! had caught the top of his bearskin and the sleeve of his jaunty red jacket.
Just a quick look, before Doyle got back.
Bodie slid his fingers under the edge of the tin and pulled.
He had expected the usual--bits and bobs from the past, Doyle's childhood. The things that any boy would have collected as his own in the fifties. Instead he found drawings--sketches done in two distinct styles. They filled the tin, different sizes, and different papers--from lined pages from school notebooks to cartridge paper.
Bodie backed up, sat on the edge of the bed. There was an entire history told on paper here. And it was the history of two boys. He recognised Doyle in some of the sketches--a young Doyle, with an unbroken cheekbone. The artist had captured something of the essence of Ray. Another boy was there as well--drawn by Ray? Those sketches were rougher, yet Bodie could recognise the boy as he aged--straight hair, high cheekbones, dark eyes and a thin mouth.
Bodie felt something constrict within him as he went through the sketches, and saw the changes age brought--Doyle with a knife, the dark-haired boy with narrowed eyes and no smile. There was a drawing of Doyle after his cheek was broken. And on the bottom of the tin, below all the sketches, there was a post card. It was from the seaside, like countless other holiday post cards from the sixties--the only splash of colour in the box. Written on the back were the words: Wish you were here.
Nothing else, no signature, no indication if the sender had been a bird... or a fellow. Bodie stared at the card, wishing he could somehow know more. Why did he even have that wish? Because of something he'd discovered about himself. Something interesting. Something new. Something exciting and frightening. He'd realised that he was falling for his partner.
A sound in the hallway had Bodie snapping up his head. Before he could close the box, Doyle loomed in the doorway, carrier bag in one hand. Bodie felt himself flush and he knew he looked as embarrassed as he felt.
There really wasn't much point in him pretending that he hadn't been caught red-handed rifling through Doyle's personal belongings.
"Bang to rights," he said feebly as Doyle remained standing stock-still in the doorway for a too-long moment. Bodie replaced the lid very carefully, put the whole thing down on the bed and then sat with his hands in his lap.
"Not good at following instructions are you?" Doyle said and turned to go towards the kitchen. "That was Keep Out. As in ... Keep your bloody, nosy mitts to yourself."
Bodie got up and padded after him, heart hammering.
"Who was the kid, Doyle?" he asked when he got to the kitchen door. Doyle had his back to him, unpacking the foil containers. The back was very expressive. Doyle was fuming but he was trying not to give in to it. Bodie found he was consumed by the need for more information all of a sudden. "Who wished you were here?" he carried on, and then cleared his throat. "I mean, there."
"Bloody hell!" Doyle burst out and there was a clatter of metal on china that made Bodie wince. "Why couldn't you have just left it alone!"
"Well, I didn't, and I can't pretend I haven't seen it now, can I?" Bodie said, on the defensive. He knew he was in the wrong for rifling through Doyle's private things, but surely Doyle was overreacting?
Doyle turned round. "Have we got any beer in?" he asked, and without waiting for an answer, he pushed past Bodie to get to the fridge.
Bodie put his hands up in mock surrender, ready to call a truce. "Ok, ok, I get it. Shurrup, Bodie," he said.
Doyle shot him a fierce look and then seemed to deflate, pressing his forehead against the side of the fridge. "Bugger," he said, forcefully, and thumped the fridge door.
"No beer?" Bodie asked.
"No brains, have you?" Doyle said with an exasperated glare, but it lacked power. He opened the fridge door again, took out two bottles of Carlsburg, and then rummaged in the drawer for the bottle opener. "He was my brother."
"You haven't got a brother," Bodie said before he could help himself. Bugger.
"Nope." Doyle passed him a beer, and his biriyani on a plate, still in its foil container.
"But you did have..."
"Yeah."
Bodie stood still for a moment, as Doyle vanished into the sitting room again, then followed him. "Go on then - what happened?" It was, after all, too late to be careful now. And it was somehow just the same as the shortbread tin - this was Doyle, and so he should know.
"He was killed," Doyle said, around a mouthful of onion bhaji, "Murdered before he was sixteen, alright?"
Not really, thought Bodie. How could he not have known this? There was more to the story, much more, and from the look on Doyle's face it was going to take more than a few questions to get to the bottom of it.
"So," he said, moving the Radio Times with his elbow as he sank into the sofa. He already knew this evening wasn't quite going the way he had hoped, with beery over-indulgence, a bit of telly and then possibly sex on the carpet. The plate remained on his knee, the biriyani untouched for the moment. "What was his name?"
And why haven't you ever bloody said anything to me about him?
"Do you often go snooping about? Carrying out covert ops behind my bloody back like you think you have a right?"
Doyle didn't seem totally overcome by the memory of the lost sibling as far as Bodie could tell. At the moment it seemed his main problem, apart from the chewy nature of the naan bread, was that his personal property had been stalked, uncovered and rifled through by someone he was supposed to trust a pretty bloody long way. Bodie took a swig of beer, picked up his fork and unearthed a few pieces of chicken from the rice.
"Vegetable curry?" Doyle growled at him.
Bodie supposed he could grovel. He could hold up his hands and apologize for taking such a liberty. Only... that wasn't really his style.
"Who murdered him?" he said and was relieved to see a flash of something other than outrage in Ray's eyes.
"His name was Paul." Doyle spoke through gritted teeth. He pushed aside his plate and sat forward on the chair. "He got in with some bad lads."
"On the mean streets of Derby, eh?"
"I couldn't pull him out," Doyle said and it sounded like it was that old invention of gunpowder thing again. "I saw what was happening and I couldn't get to him fast enough." He looked up and Bodie felt the remains of his appetite flee. "Fucking awful thing... arriving too late to save someone you care about."
Bodie felt as if he'd just been gut-punched. He dropped his fork and lifted his beer, taking large gulps.
Doyle's eyes widened before he also put down his fork. "Sorry. I didn't mean-"
"Leave it."
"No," Doyle said softly. "No, it's not the same."
Bodie smacked the bottle on the coffee table. "Any why not? I arrived too late to save someone I cared about. No need to remind me."
"You're not the aggrieved party here, Bodie, so you bloody well leave off also!" Doyle ran a hand through already disheveled curls. "Let's start over, eh? Without the sniping and treading on each other's privacy. Deal?"
"Don't know if I can now. Now that I know about -- Paul. I want to hear it all, if you want to tell me." Bodie rolled his eyes. "And I did arrive too late, but you didn't die. No great thanks to me."
Doyle was silent for a while, staring at his plate as if he would push it away, appetite gone, then he picked up his fork and took another mouthful. After a moment, Bodie did the same. Nothing to hurt you in memories after all, they just slowed you down for a while. Keep moving, that was the thing, and Doyle knew it as well as he did.
"Everyone knew Paul was different," Doyle said at last, through a mouthful of curry, his eyes strictly on his meal. "He had that look about him, you know - camp as a row of tents. He'd always been like that, that was just Paul. People ignored it mostly. Then for some reason one of the resident Macklins decided to take an interest - only he didn't beat him up, he buddied up to him, made out they were good mates."
The story paused, and Bodie didn't push it. The chink and scrape of forks on china was loud around them and slow, until finally it was over and they'd both pushed their plates away and picked up their bottles. Doyle sat back on the sofa, crossed one leg to rest ankle on knee, drank his beer.
"I followed him into the gang - Paul was a year older than me, and I went wherever he did, always had. Deep down I knew something was up though, that there was something..." His hand tightened on the bottle, though his face became unnaturally still. "I was right too. Should have done something to get him out then, but... Anyway, I turned up one night to find them kicking seven hells out of Paul, and the thing was, they'd tied him up to do it. They'd... put makeup on his face, lipstick and eyeshadow, and they'd tried to dress him up in a skirt and blouse. Didn't get very far with that - he kicked, did Paul, when he was feeling vicious. They reckoned they were going to tie him to the railings in town so that everyone could see that he was a queer, and that's what happened to..."
"But you got there first," Bodie said, as Doyle paused. Another memory rose - "That's when you knifed one of 'em, isn't it?"
Doyle's eyes flickered to Bodie and back to his beer. "Yeah. Too late for Paul, but the rest of 'em scattered quick enough when they saw the blood. I left Fisher lying there, managed to get Paul to the nearest house, an' he was still alive then. Me dad sent him away to stay with Auntie Vi in Scarborough. Didn't want the shame of it, you see..."
The phone rang, startling both men. Bodie fumbled with his beer, nearly dropping it, and Doyle arched an eyebrow at him as he picked up the receiver.
“Yes?”
Bodie recovered his bottle and saluted Doyle with it, tapping the mouth of it against his forehead. Doyle grinned at him, and then lost his smile as the voice on the other end continued speaking.
“Yes, sir! Right away.” He dropped the phone back into the cradle.
“Cowley?” asked Bodie, already reaching for his jacket.
Doyle retrieved his holster from the back of a chair and began swiftly strapping it on, while simultaneously jamming his feet back into his sneakers. “None other than the Cow himself. Appears there’s a hostage situation at the Conservatory. Something to do with that Russian pianist. All hands on deck.”
“Russians!” exclaimed Bodie.
Doyle shot him sharp glance, and Bodie realized he had sounded perhaps a tad too cheerful at the prospect of tangling with the Soviets. Again.
“I mean, dreadful situation I’m sure,” said Bodie, virtuously.
Doyle snorted rudely, his opinion clear.
Bodie finished getting his gear together and then leaned against the wall in the hallway and watched Doyle set the alarm. “You can tell me the rest of your tale on the drive over.”
“Nothing to tell,” said Doyle, distractedly.
“Your brother was alive when your old man sent him away,” said Bodie, following him out the door.
Doyle paused on the stoop. “Look, Bodie. I’ve been more than reasonable. By rights I should have tossed you out on your arse when I found you going through that box. Some things are better left locked away. Leave off!”
Those last two words were delivered in a snarl that would have been enough to warn most people away. But Bodie had seen Doyle’s hand absentmindedly brush his broken cheek.
Unseen, behind Doyle's back, Bodie tapped the side of his nose. One way or another, he was going to get the whole story.
To play, just read the story so far (check the comments!) and then write your own wee installment as a new comment. Before you post your comment, give it the next number in the subject header - we're up to Discovered in Scraps of the Past - 7, and the person who carries on should use the next number as their subject header: Discovered in Scraps of the Past - 2 and so on... *g* And if you "Track Post" then you'll be able to read each installment as it comes along... *g* (And here's the original post, if you'd like to see how it's done so far... *g*)
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Discovered in Scraps of the Past - 7
Date: 2010-09-25 08:35 pm (UTC)And why haven't you ever bloody said anything to me about him?
"Do you often go snooping about? Carrying out covert ops behind my bloody back like you think you have a right?"
Doyle didn't seem totally overcome by the memory of the lost sibling as far as Bodie could tell. At the moment it seemed his main problem, apart from the chewy nature of the naan bread, was that his personal property had been stalked, uncovered and rifled through by someone he was supposed to trust a pretty bloody long way. Bodie took a swig of beer, picked up his fork and unearthed a few pieces of chicken from the rice.
"Vegetable curry?" Doyle growled at him.
Bodie supposed he could grovel. He could hold up his hands and apologize for taking such a liberty. Only... that wasn't really his style.
"Who murdered him?" he said and was relieved to see a flash of something other than outrage in Ray's eyes.
"His name was Paul." Doyle spoke through gritted teeth. He pushed aside his plate and sat forward on the chair. "He got in with some bad lads."
"On the mean streets of Derby, eh?"
"I couldn't pull him out," Doyle said and it sounded like it was that old invention of gunpowder thing again. "I saw what was happening and I couldn't get to him fast enough." He looked up and Bodie felt the remains of his appetite flee. "Fucking awful thing... arriving too late to save someone you care about."
Re: Discovered in Scraps of the Past - 7
Date: 2010-09-27 05:27 pm (UTC)Discovered in Scraps of the Past - Part 8
Date: 2010-09-25 09:02 pm (UTC)Doyle's eyes widened before he also put down his fork. "Sorry. I didn't mean-"
"Leave it."
"No," Doyle said softly. "No, it's not the same."
Bodie smacked the bottle on the coffee table. "Any why not? I arrived too late to save someone I cared about. No need to remind me."
"You're not the aggrieved party here, Bodie, so you bloody well leave off also!" Doyle ran a hand through already disheveled curls. "Let's start over, eh? Without the sniping and treading on each other's privacy. Deal?"
"Don't know if I can now. Now that I know about -- Paul. I want to hear it all, if you want to tell me." Bodie rolled his eyes. "And I did arrive too late, but you didn't die. No great thanks to me."
Discovered in Scraps from the Past - part 9
Date: 2010-09-26 08:06 am (UTC)"Everyone knew Paul was different," Doyle said at last, through a mouthful of curry, his eyes strictly on his meal. "He had that look about him, you know - camp as a row of tents. He'd always been like that, that was just Paul. People ignored it mostly. Then for some reason one of the resident Macklins decided to take an interest - only he didn't beat him up, he buddied up to him, made out they were good mates."
The story paused, and Bodie didn't push it. The chink and scrape of forks on china was loud around them and slow, until finally it was over and they'd both pushed their plates away and picked up their bottles. Doyle sat back on the sofa, crossed one leg to rest ankle on knee, drank his beer.
"I followed him into the gang - Paul was a year older than me, and I went wherever he did, always had. Deep down I knew something was up though, that there was something..." His hand tightened on the bottle, though his face became unnaturally still. "I was right too. Should have done something to get him out then, but... Anyway, I turned up one night to find them kicking seven hells out of Paul, and the thing was, they'd tied him up to do it. They'd... put makeup on his face, lipstick and eyeshadow, and they'd tried to dress him up in a skirt and blouse. Didn't get very far with that - he kicked, did Paul, when he was feeling vicious. They reckoned they were going to tie him to the railings in town so that everyone could see that he was a queer, and that's what happened to..."
"But you got there first," Bodie said, as Doyle paused. Another memory rose - "That's when you knifed one of 'em, isn't it?"
Doyle's eyes flickered to Bodie and back to his beer. "Yeah. Too late for Paul, but the rest of 'em scattered quick enough when they saw the blood. I left Fisher lying there, managed to get Paul to the nearest house, an' he was still alive then. Me dad sent him away to stay with Auntie Vi in Scarborough. Didn't want the shame of it, you see..."
Re: Discovered in Scraps from the Past - part 9
Date: 2010-09-27 05:27 pm (UTC)Discovered in Scraps of the Past - 10
Date: 2010-09-27 05:10 pm (UTC)Part 10
The phone rang, startling both men. Bodie fumbled with his beer, nearly dropping it, and Doyle arched an eyebrow at him as he picked up the receiver.
“Yes?”
Bodie recovered his bottle and saluted Doyle with it, tapping the mouth of it against his forehead. Doyle grinned at him, and then lost his smile as the voice on the other end continued speaking.
“Yes, sir! Right away.” He dropped the phone back into the cradle.
“Cowley?” asked Bodie, already reaching for his jacket.
Doyle retrieved his holster from the back of a chair and began swiftly strapping it on, while simultaneously jamming his feet back into his sneakers. “None other than the Cow himself. Appears there’s a hostage situation at the Conservatory. Something to do with that Russian pianist. All hands on deck.”
“Russians!” exclaimed Bodie.
Doyle shot him sharp glance, and Bodie realized he had sounded perhaps a tad too cheerful at the prospect of tangling with the Soviets. Again.
“I mean, dreadful situation I’m sure,” said Bodie, virtuously.
Doyle snorted rudely, his opinion clear.
Bodie finished getting his gear together and then leaned against the wall in the hallway and watched Doyle set the alarm. “You can tell me the rest of your tale on the drive over.”
“Nothing to tell,” said Doyle, distractedly.
“Your brother was alive when your old man sent him away,” said Bodie, following him out the door.
Doyle paused on the stoop. “Look, Bodie. I’ve been more than reasonable. By rights I should have tossed you out on your arse when I found you going through that box. Some things are better left locked away. Leave off!”
Those last two words were delivered in a snarl that would have been enough to warn most people away. But Bodie had seen Doyle’s hand absentmindedly brush his broken cheek.
Unseen, behind Doyle's back, Bodie tapped the side of his nose. One way or another, he was going to get the whole story.
Re: Discovered in Scraps of the Past - 10
Date: 2010-10-05 02:22 pm (UTC)Re: Discovered in Scraps of the Past - 10
Date: 2010-10-05 03:58 pm (UTC)I'm still pretty absent - way too busy these days! - but I'm looking forward to participating in the Advent Calendar this year, with luck. (Knocking on wood!)
This particular Round Robin was just too tempting... unfortunately I seem to have accidentally killed the Robin. Maybe there'll be a sequel some day!
no subject
Date: 2010-09-27 05:28 pm (UTC)