seven
On the far side of the chain-link fence, Ramon found a trail that led down through the trees.
The park was the remains of La Foixarda quarry, basically just a huge hole in the ground that had slowly filled with rainwater over the years, creating a pond, whose sides had been allowed to grow wild.
It was now quite dark and Ramon needed the light from his phone to see the way down the trail, which wound up and down, right and left around roots and tree trunks.
So he had to keep his eyes peeled to the track to avoid falling and twisting an ankle.
When the ground finally leveled out, he found himself on the grassy bank of the pond.
Trees rose around its perimeter in a dense curtain of vegetation, cutting off the noises and hum of the city.
So, in the unexpected quiet, with only the night sounds of cicadas and crickets, he could have been on his farm down in Terres de l’Ebre.
He stood listening and slowly the night closed back in.
Night birds began to call, though he couldn’t identify them, except for the nightingale, whose song he loved.
For a while he stood listening to its long-winded, sweet piping call, which, after the invisible bird had exhausted all the air in its breast, dissolved into a repetitive chug-chug-chugging as if the drab brown bird were puffing out its tiny chest in pride at its achievement.
Above its song came the high-pitched keening of bats, which he saw flitting back and forth against the indigo sky far above.
It was at that point, without really realizing when he knew, that he became aware of David.
The guy was sitting, leaning with his back against a tree trunk a few yards from the water, legs stretched out before him.
They each knew the other was there, but they stayed that way for a few minutes longer, listening to the nightingales’ endless sweet trilling and chucking.
“I love that song,” Ramon finally said, but his throat was hoarse and his voice came out barely above a whisper. “The rossinyol.”
“What, that last one? The nightingale?”
David’s voice was also low, barely above a murmur, but then he often spoke like that. Ramon nodded, though in the dark David could probably not see it.
“Rossinyol in Catalan.”
“The bats are cool too, though most people don’t like them. We used to have them on our farm. They’d come out in the evening for the insects.”
“I can’t say they’re my favorite.”
“All God’s creatures.”
And Ramon couldn’t tell if David was serious or mocking him. Probably a bit of both.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have intruded. I came to look at Estel, and couldn’t find you. One of the girls said you might be down here.”
“Maria.” And David hopped up in a lithe movement and loped toward him. “Shall we go look at him?”
But as he passed by on the slippery grass of the bank, he stumbled.
Ramon reached out to steady him, and found his arms around him, hands clasping his ribcage.
David’s hand went to his shoulder as if to steady himself, but instead of pulling away, he leaned in.
And his breath was all of a sudden in Ramon’s face, his head finding the hollow in the crook of Ramon’s neck.
For a few moments they stayed like that, quiet, breathing.
Ramon felt the thump of David’s heart against his chest, felt his own, which was abruptly racing as if he’d run a hundred yards.
He could smell the alcohol on David’s breath, but also the sweetness of his exhalation, like the smell of straw.
David raised his head, though Ramon wanted him to keep it resting there on his chest, where it was.
It felt right. But then David’s lips were gently brushing his own in a soft kiss that seemed like just a natural extension of the evening, the nightingale’s sweet trilling, providing a soundtrack of loving urgency.
His lips were soft, full, and warm. With a jolt Ramon realized he had been waiting for this moment, ever since he first saw David in the stable yard with the sun in his hair.
Then he was kissing David back, his tongue sliding between those beautiful lips, exploring the exhilarating taste of him.
David, standing half a head shorter than himself, seemed to fit his body into Ramon’s in a way that just felt right.
Ramon brought his arms fully around David and squeezed, hugging them together, while David’s hands found the small of his back.
One traveled up to his shoulder blades while the other moved down, sliding over Ramon’s ass.
They were now standing hip to hip, and through their clothes, Ramon felt the hard lump of David’s sex pushing into his groin, could feel his own cushioned against the gentle curve of David’s belly.
His hands dropped down, exploring David’s back, until they rested on those two hard mounds of his buttocks, cupping them and pulling David harder against him.
His tongue, pushing its way more forcefully now between David’s lips, found his tongue, entwining with it, while exploring the inside of his mouth.
There was that slight taint of beer, but above all his saliva tasted sweet with a tang like the bittersweet of a grass stalk when you clamp down on it on a summer’s day.
David pulled away for a moment.
“No, sorry… We really shouldn’t be doing this…”
“Quiet.”
Ramon was going to say more, but it was more effective just to clamp his lips back over David’s and take control of his mouth that way. They kissed for a long time more.
“We need to go and check Estel,” David got out, but his stiff erection remained pressed insistently against Ramon’s hip.
And Ramon ground against it mercilessly, not wanting to give the younger man any reason to pull away but rather one single or a million compulsive reasons to keep kissing him as if his life depended upon it.
Because right then, his, Ramon’s life, did depend on continuing to kiss and make love to this English boy he barely knew.
Around them the nightingales and crickets continued to sing.
But then David placed both hands on this chest and pushed violently, causing Ramon to stagger back, dangerously close to the edge of the dark pond. He managed to recover his balance just in time to avoid tumbling in.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” David gushed. “Are you alright?”
“Ah, yes, I’m fine,” Ramon growled, “but what was—“
“I’m sorry, I can’t do this. Let’s, ah… Let’s just go and look at Estel.”
And then he was off, running swiftly up the track through the dark, as if he’d grown up here and knew how to negotiate all its twists and turns with his eyes closed.
Ramon followed more slowly, using the glow from his phone to light his way.
To say he was crestfallen was an understatement.
He felt as if a great soft vulnerable part of his heart, one that had lain covered and protected for years in the dark, had just been exposed to the harsh light and smashed with some blunt object.
He felt angry, and yet tears were welling up as he tried to keep his eyes peeled to the path so that he wouldn’t trip on some treacherous root sticking out, of which there were many.
Back up at the stables, all the boxes were now lit up in bright, garish fluorescent light—they must all be on a master switch somewhere that controlled all the lights in the blocks of boxes.
He walked slowly along to Estel’s box at the far end of the row.
The door was slightly ajar, meaning David must have either taken Estel somewhere, or tied him up inside the box.
But when he looked in, he saw his horse lying down in the sawdust. David was there too, kneeling, the horse’s head resting in his lap.
“What…?”
“I’m sorry, Sir. … I’ve just found him. We cleaned the wound well. I mean it couldn’t, but it has… The wound’s got infected. He’s got a fever.”
Ramon slipped into the box and knelt beside David.
Estel raised his head as he recognized Ramon’s scent, and he stroked the horse’s head and neck.
He looked at the wound covering. It had held, and he had been there watching David dress it.
He had seen nothing to fault the care the younger man had given his horse.
But Estel’s lower leg now looked obviously swollen, and this fever must have come from the cut.
Stroking his hand gently down the swollen leg it felt hot, and Estel quickly lashed out against his touch, not quite a kick but a warning. The leg was clearly sensitive.
“OK, time to call the vet. Do you have a number?”
“Yeah, I don’t know it, but it’ll be in Carme’s office.”
“Where is she?”
“She and her girlfriend… they had a wedding this weekend, in Aragón. They’ll be back tomorrow. She left us to it. We all know the drill for the regular day-to-day stuff.”
“OK, if we can’t get in touch with Carme’s vet, I’ll call in the police one. Do you know where in her office she'd have his number?”
David eased Estel’s head off his lap, and gently got to his feet so as not to spook the horse.
“I’ll show you.”
As they walked through the stables, Ramon was aware of David’s physicality, his shoulder and hip swinging along so close to him.
He wanted to reach out and pull him close, but they were both now estranged by the crisis of the horse’s ill health.
David said nothing about what had just happened down in the quarry, and Ramon could think of no way to broach the subject, so they walked in silence.
At the end of the block from Estel’s box was an office.
The door was unlocked and they went in. Tidiness was clearly not Carme’s forte, though it looked like the office of someone who knew where to find things—even if no one else could.
Papers were stacked in two messy piles on the desk, weighted down with an old horseshoe and a worming syringe still in its box, next to an aging computer.
Books were arranged on a couple of cabinets around the walls, propped up with more piles of papers and brochures.
The titles, mainly in Spanish or Catalan, were things like Equine Veterinarian, An A–Z of Horse Health, and Breaking In – A Horse Trainer’s Guide.
Pieces of broken harness, a coiled lunge rein, and mouth bits of various types were piled on other surfaces.
There was a large white-board planner on the wall beside the desk, and a free calendar from a feed company, still showing last month’s dates, hanging on the wall behind.
“OK, where do we start?” Ramon mused.
“She has a diary for all the day-to-day stuff,” David said. “Maybe she’s got phone numbers in there? I could give her a call.”
“No, she’ll come roaring straight back. Let her enjoy the wedding.”
Ramon walked around the desk. He couldn’t see anything that looked like a diary planner on top, so he started opening drawers. In the top left one he found it: a dog-eared diary planner with a black vinyl cover. Flipping through, he found a list of phone numbers at the back.
“Here we are,” he said, reading out the entry: “ ‘Dr. Ernest Iglesias, vet. Better it doesn’t mean anything.
That was probably all it had been for David.
It was only that he, Ramon, had to turn a silly kiss into a major event.
And then—was it just worry about Estel?—a huge wave of emotion, of sadness, anger and despair swept over him.
For several long minutes he fought to keep his tears at bay.
He had to stop and control himself. David would think he was nuts.
But there it was, another guy he’d fallen for, hook, line, and sinker.
And of course nothing was reciprocated. David didn’t want anything to do with him.
He was in a vulnerable position. Maybe he thought Ramon might badmouth him to Carme and get him sacked.
So, he’d tried to let Ramon down as gently as he could.
But there it was: he wasn’t interested. People never were.
Was it because he was a cop? Was it because he was too intense?
Or too old-fashioned, wanting just one man for himself, for himself alone? Was that too much to ask?
He wanted to leave, head back to his apartment, leave David to his life, whatever life he had made for himself here at the stables.
But he couldn’t leave Estel. The gelding was his horse, his police mount, his responsibility.
And also his love, a surer, more faithful love than any you might expect from a human.
He would at least be faithful to Estel, and stick it out, here at the stables, until he could take his horse back to the police stables and be done with all this.
He took out his phone and checked himself in the camera, made sure he didn’t look all red-eyed and weepy.
Then he left Carme’s office, closing the door behind him, and began the long walk back to Estel’s box, where an English stablehand was sitting with his horse.