Bobby and the Beast

Chapter 1Bobby Simpson felt the time on his tactile watch—11:54. He was having a bad day. The UK was suffering a heat wave, with temperatures in the mid-thirties Celsius. The physiotherapy conference in Sheffield had been cancelled and no one had let him know until he’d arrived for it. So he’d gotten the next train back. The air conditioning on that train was broken, and when he reached Leeds where he needed to change trains, disabled passenger assistance wasn’t there to meet him. Okay, to be fair, it was a last minute change to his travel plans, but… He stood on the airless platform, tapping the tip of his long white cane on the concrete, waiting impatiently. Reaching for his phone to call someone, his hand stopped when he remembered his phone had failed to charge the previous night and had died by mid-morning. “And it isn’t even f*****g Friday the thirteenth,” he muttered under his breath as he wiped the sweat off his brow with a sodden tissue. Behind him the train left, making him feel even more alone, helpless, and frustrated. Bobby sighed and checked the time again. Three more minutes had passed. The station echoed with the usual sounds of the screaming of rails as trains arrived and departed. A group of young children tried to emulate the sound of the rails by issuing their own screams. Though not a fan of either noise, Bobby preferred the mechanical version. But all that was at some distance. Then, loud and clear, he heard the announcement that his train was about to arrive on platform 12B. Bobby gritted his teeth, squared his shoulders, turned left, swept his long white cane in an arc in front of him, and, not detecting any obstacles, began to walk. Hopefully he was going in the right direction. “Hey, stop!” a loud male voice boomed from his right. Not thinking the speaker was addressing him, Bobby carried on walking. “Stop! You’re about to fall onto the tracks!” Bobby stopped walking. The man had to be talking to him. “Stay there! I’ll come and get you.” “Uh, okay, thanks.” Problem was, he was going to miss his train. A couple of agonisingly long minutes later, Bobby heard someone racing up the steps and making their way towards him, gait uneven. “You’re too near the edge.” Bobby felt a hand on his arm. “Let’s move away.” Bobby allowed himself to be manhandled for a few steps, then said, “I wasn’t in any real danger of falling off the platform. There’s a tactile strip near the edge.” At least he assumed there was. “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Remembering the train announcement, Bobby said, “I’m going to miss the South Flincham train. They announced it a few minutes ago.” “Yeah, I know. That’s my train, too.” The man grabbed Bobby’s elbow again. “Come on, if we run, we might still catch it.” He started pushing Bobby forward. “No.” Bobby stayed where he was and lifted his arm to disengage the man’s grip. “It’s easier and safer if I take your elbow and you lead.” “Oh, okay. Sorry.” Bobby could sense the man didn’t have a lot of confidence. And maybe Bobby had come on a bit strong. “No problem. Everybody gets it wrong first time.” Said elbow was soon located. It was bare, felt big, firm, and sweaty. Judging by its height above the ground, Bobby could tell the man attached to it was a couple of inches shorter than his own six feet. They’d only taken a few steps when the man cursed and slowed his steps. Bobby heard a train a few platforms away start to leave. “Was that ours?” “Uh huh.” It was Bobby’s turn to apologise. “Were you on the South Flincham platform when you saw me about to fall off the edge of this one?” “Yeah, but it’s all right.” “Sorry again. The next train’s not for another hour.” As usual, Bobby had memorised the timetable in advance of his journey, just in case. “Guess there’s no point in rushing then.” Bobby felt terrible. “s**t, man, all I can do is say sorry again. And thank you. Today’s been…” He sighed. “Let’s just say, I should have stayed in bed this morning. Sorry I’m spreading my, uh, messed-up-ness to you.” The man chuckled. “Not a problem. I’m not in any hurry today.” The man smelt of sweat, but it was clean, fresh, and Bobby liked it. He also liked the man’s voice. He had a local accent, but it was tinged with something else—Midlands maybe? His voice was deep, masculine, and had a slight roughness to it. Was the man a smoker? Bobby couldn’t smell tobacco on him. Bobby’s limited assessment of the man was interrupted when said man let out a sharp hiss and faltered. Bobby squeezed the man’s elbow. “You okay?” “Sorry, I’ve got a limp.” “A limp what?” Bobby shot back immediately. The man paused for a second then laughed loudly, the noise echoing around the station. “That’s a good ‘un.” “Old physiotherapist’s joke.” Bobby smiled. “Name’s Bobby by the way.” “Phil. But most people call me Beasty.” Before Bobby could ask why, Phil said, “We’re coming up to the top of a flight of stairs. You okay with stairs?” Bobby nodded. “Fine. Just show me where the hand rail is and I’m good.” He let go of Phil’s elbow and Phil guided his hand to the rail. Using his cane in front of him, Bobby started to descend. He could hear Phil struggling behind him, so slowed his speed. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened? To cause your limp I mean.” “Slipped on a wet patch in the changing room after a rugby match the other week.” In a change of subject that momentarily confused Bobby, Phil added, “You’re coming up to a flat spot in a sec.” Bobby detected the hand rail levelling out. He also felt ahead with his cane. “Yeah, got it.” To pre-empt Phil’s likely next comment, he added, “I’ll be able to tell when the stairs start again.” “I’m impressed.” Phil stopped on the landing. “s**t, mate, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to sound patronising or owt. You’re probably rolling your eyes at me from behind them dark glasses.” Bobby laughed, stopped, turned around, and raised his glasses. “No eyes.” He tapped his left eye with a fingernail. “They’re both plastic.” “Wow.” Bobby resumed walking. “Sorry, probably shouldn’t have done that, grosses some people out.” “Nah, mate, I think it’s fascinating.” Bobby had had to have both eyes removed as a baby due to eye cancer. He had no memory of being able to see. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Bobby waited for Phil to catch up. “Wanna go for a pint or something before our next train?” “Uh, sure. And I’m buying,” Bobby insisted. “It’s ‘cause of me you missed it.” “Okay, but you don’t have to.” “I do.” Bobby found Phil’s arm and they resumed walking. “There’s a Wetherspoons just outside the station. It’ll be air conditioned in there.” “Sounds perfect.” Bobby sighed and Phil chuckled. * * * * Bobby took a pull on his lager and sighed. “I needed that.” “Uh-huh.” For the next five minutes, Bobby found he was doing most of the talking. All he got out of Phil were one or two word answers. He cast around in his mind to try and get the guy to open up, confused as to why Phil had become so closed off. Eventually he went with, “What brought you to Leeds then?” “Had to take something into the town hall for my boss.” “Oh, right.” Bobby took another pull on his pint. Then he remembered something Phil had said in the station. “So, why do people call you Beasty?” “Two reasons. My last name’s Beeston.” Bobby was delighted he’d gotten a few sentences out of the guy. “That makes sense I suppose.” “Uh huh.” Bobby waited but Phil didn’t add anything. “And the second reason?” Phil, who was sitting close in on Bobby’s right, shifted in his chair. Was it a sign the man was uncomfortable with the subject? But he’d brought it up. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. It’s none of my—” “I’m, well, ugly,” Phil said so quietly, if Bobby didn’t have such good hearing he’d have missed it. “Huh?” It was Bobby’s turn to become monosyllabic. “You’re lucky you can’t see me. Sorry, I didn’t mean you’re lucky you’re blind.” Bobby smiled. “That’s okay. And I’m sure you’re not ugly.” Phil laughed mirthlessly. “I have cauliflower ears, a crooked nose, crooked teeth, my lips are too thick, and…” “Caused by playing rugby?” Bobby interrupted, not wanting to hear the man put himself down. “Mostly. I’ve also got some pretty scary-looking tattoos on my arms.” “You’re right, I can’t see your nose, your ears, or your tattoos. Those things aren’t that important to me.” That wasn’t totally true. Bobby rather liked the idea of a man with tattoos. It made him think the wearer was a bit of a bad boy, dangerous, sexy. But he didn’t think Phil was a bad boy or dangerous. Sexy, hell, yes. His voice alone was like verbal Viagra. “But I can see what’s beneath the surface. You came to my rescue. You guided me through the station. A bloody hot and airless station, and brought me in here where it’s cool. You went up to the bar and got our drinks.” Okay, Bobby had paid for them. Phil grunted. “Someone else would have helped you if I hadn’t.” “But you were the one who did, and I thank you.” Bobby raised his pint glass, saluted Phil with it, and took a healthy gulp of ice-cold lager. “Yeah, well.” When Phil didn’t add anything else, Bobby decided to go out on a limb. “Back in the station, you seemed a lot more, I don’t know, talkative. But now, uh, not so much. Can I ask what happened? Did I say or do anything that upset you?” He couldn’t think what. “No, not at all.” Phil shuffled in his seat again. “When I went up to the bar, a bloke stared at me and pulled a face, and…” “What?” Bobby could feel his hackles rising. How could anyone judge someone just on their appearance? As if hearing the unspoken comment, Phil said, “‘Cause I’m a fuckin’ freak.” Bobby reached to his right, first finding Phil’s thick muscled forearm then his hand. He tapped it then withdrew. “Then he’s fuckin’ wrong. I think you’re great. Kind, strong, gentle.” Bobby stopped himself from going any further. Phil was most probably straight and might take the comments as Bobby hitting on him. Was Bobby hitting on him? The man certainly pressed many of Bobby’s buttons. “Thanks.” Phil let out a long sigh. “Normally I don’t let that s**t bother me, but last night I….” Bobby waited, sensing he shouldn’t ask. Phil shuffled in his seat once again. “I’d arranged a Grindr hook-up—” He’s gay! He tried to hide a smile. That was made all too easy when he heard Phil’s next words. “But when the guy opened his door to me he took one look at me, gasped, said, ‘no match’ and slammed the door in my face.” “f**k!” Bobby knew he had spoken too loudly, had probably attracted attention to them, despite them sitting in a booth, but he didn’t give a s**t. He found Phil’s hand again but this time didn’t let go of it. “Another f*****g idiot.” Phil turned his hand over to lace his fingers between Bobby’s. “Thanks.” Back came Phil’s barely audible voice. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. Dating isn’t easy for me either. Men see the dark glasses, the white cane and they either run or want to smother me. I like my independence. It’s important to me, but yes, there are times I need help.” There, Bobby had come out to Phil, too. He left unsaid the fact he was mostly a top, which was another factor in him not getting many dates. People saw the disability and concluded he had to be a bottom. He didn’t get it. Conversation began to flow more easily and comfortably between them. Phil kept hold of Bobby’s right hand, which made drinking his pint a little more difficult, but he managed. Seemed Phil was a builder and played amateur rugby for the Longton Lightning. Bobby had heard of them. He’d also heard a handful of their players, as well as their coach, were gay.