Standing Ground
“Come with me.”
They are sprawled out on their backs, eyes to the sky and side-by-side, in the long grass that surrounds the house, invisible to anyone who may be meandering about the countryside with them. The skylarks are wheeling, like they did last year, shrieking to each other about the disturbance, and Ryan’s voice is a deep counterpoint that reminds him of his own life outside this sunlit field.
“Come where?” Alex mumbles.
He looks to be half-asleep; eyes closed, every muscle relaxed, and the only movement being his chest as he breathes, and his hair as the breeze catches it.
An ant is wandering over the hand propped on his chest; Ryan flicks it away.
“To Newcastle.”
“Did you get your results?”
“Tomorrow. And then we’ll go to the pub. But I know I got it.”
“
