B

RADY

’

S

C

HOICE

…I thought we’d been in love. Stupid now to think of it. I’d met

him over ten years ago, when I was just twenty-six and trying to

pursue a career in finance, whilst getting increasingly side-tracked by

my hobby of pot-making. God knows why I’d ever imagined I could

make a go of anything to do with mathematics, but my father had been

keen. And, after all, it was where I’d met Philip. He’d taken my breath

away at first sight, and I wasn’t being a cliché as I’d really felt it hard

to breathe for a few moments. It hadn’t been love, not then, just

something else that felt almost physical, but wasn’t only lust. He’d

been standing at the door of the meeting room I was heading toward, a

dark-haired, rugged man with the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. Such a

contrast from my own fair hair and rather too willowy physique.

Opposites, I supposed, and even then I should have been warned.

He was there representing one of our clients, and I couldn’t stop

glancing at him, which made focusing on the presentation I was giving

an uphill task. Once, I looked across at him while I was in the middle

of pointing out sales trends for his aeronautical consultancy, and he

smiled right at me. I think I stammered my way to the end of my

moment in the spotlight after that and, as I sat back down, he winked

at me.

When we left the meeting, he caught up with me and asked me out,

then and there, breaking at least a dozen professional rules in the

process, and not seeming to care that my colleagues were right next to

me, overhearing everything. While I hesitated, feeling the weight of

surprise at my back, Philip laughed.

“Don’t worry,” he’d said. “I won’t let it affect any business

relationship we have. That decision isn’t entirely mine to make

anyway. In this instance I’m interested in you on a personal level,

Brady, so what you do say? Yes or no?”…

A

LSO

B

Y

A

NNE

B

ROOKE

The Boilerman And The Bride

The Delaneys And Me

Give And Take

The Hit List

Martin And The Wolf

A Stranger’s Touch

Tommy’s Blind Date

Tuluscan Six And The Time Circle

BRADY’S CHOICE

BY

ANNE BROOKE

A

MBER

Q

UILL

P

RESS

, LLC

http://www.AmberQuill.com

B

RADY

’

S

C

HOICE

A

N

A

MBER

Q

UILL

P

RESS

B

OOK

This book is a work of fiction.

All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the

author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales,

or events is entirely coincidental.

Amber Quill Press, LLC

http://www.AmberQuill.com

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or

reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in

writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief

excerpts used for the purposes of review.

Copyright © 2011 by Anne Brooke

ISBN 978-1-61124-050-4

Cover Art © 2011 Trace Edward Zaber

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

BRADY’S CHOICE

1

BRADY’S CHOICE

The last time I saw Mr. Philip Matthew Keys O’Connell, I’d

slapped him across the jaw with the back of my hand and called

him a fucking bastard before walking out of his flat and our so-

called relationship. He’d made no effort to chase after me, so I’d

just kept on walking. Away from my home, my town and my

whole ruddy life.

Which made it something of an embarrassment to be facing

him now, five years on, in an interview room the size of a postage

stamp and absolutely desperate for the job he might be offering

me. Fate was a bloody thing sometimes, but that didn’t mean I had

to like it. So I kept my best professional smile beaming brightly at

the right moments and tried not to think about the new way he’d

styled his hair and his surprisingly distinguished beard.

BRADY’S CHOICE

2

“So, Mr. Treherne, can you tell us what you might offer in this

role that our other candidates won’t?”

The interview was coming to a natural end now and this must

be the last question on their lists. When I’d walked in about an

hour ago, I hadn’t expected to see Philip. Hell, I didn’t even realize

he had anything at all to do with the Surrey Design Consultancy

and I nearly walked out again. I wasn’t the only one affected

either; his face had turned pale behind that dark beard and his

fingers had, for a moment or two, gripped the table edge. By the

time we were formally introduced, however, his handshake was as

steady as stone. Mine, I have to admit it, was less so.

It turned out my confusion was justified; Philip hadn’t been

intended to be one of the interviewers and, in fact, didn’t even

work for the company. He was here in a business capacity for one

of the sponsorship companies who part-owned the project and had

only been called in as a replacement at the last minute since his

colleague had found a job elsewhere. It looked like, if I still wanted

the post, I’d be working, at least some of the time, with him. That

couldn’t help but change everything.

Right now, I tried to focus on the question.

“I think I bring freshness,” I said. “I retrained professionally in

pottery and pottery design about five years ago and some of my

commissions since then have become quite well known. But

you’ve got my references. I don’t need to repeat them for you. I

found my niche later in life than most. That means I can bring

steadiness and an understanding of the business side to the role

and, with the perhaps limited budgets this project might have, that

may well come in useful. I’m not a prima donna. I cut my designs

to the needs of the money available and I don’t whine.”

Philip said nothing to this, but one of the other interviewers—

BRADY’S CHOICE

3

an elderly woman called Janet—laughed and wrote something on

her notepad. When my ex-lover finally spoke, it was to dismiss me.

“Thank you for that, Mr. Treherne. If you have no more

questions, then I think we’re done. Your time here is appreciated.

When we’ve made our decision, we’ll let you know.”

Another brief shake of the hand with the interviewing panel

and then a couple of minutes after that I was outside, leaning

against the wall opposite their offices and taking great gulps of air.

If anyone had looked out the window, I must have seemed the least

hopeful candidate of them all, but I couldn’t help myself. The

delayed shock of seeing Philip was making my legs tremble, and I

swore I could still feel the warmth of his skin against my palm

where our hands had touched. I simply needed a few minutes

before returning to my car and driving home, a good twenty miles

away. What was I worried about anyway? It was obvious this was

one job I’d never get, not in a thousand years, no matter how well

suited I thought I was. I’d better get going, strike it off the list and

send my CV to a few more hopeful-looking places.

That would have been the sensible thing to do. Instead, being

the sort of obsessive bloke who didn’t ever know what was good

for him, I drove home, poured myself a large glass of red, sat in the

living room and remembered how things had been with Philip and

me.

I thought we’d been in love. Stupid now to think of it. I’d met

him over ten years ago, when I was just twenty-six and trying to

pursue a career in finance, whilst getting increasingly side-tracked

by my hobby of pot-making. God knows why I’d ever imagined I

could make a go of anything to do with mathematics, but my father

had been keen. And, after all, it was where I’d met Philip. He’d

taken my breath away at first sight, and I wasn’t being a cliché as

BRADY’S CHOICE

4

I’d really felt it hard to breathe for a few moments. It hadn’t been

love, not then, just something else that felt almost physical, but

wasn’t only lust. He’d been standing at the door of the meeting

room I was heading toward, a dark-haired, rugged man with the

bluest eyes I’d ever seen. Such a contrast from my own fair hair

and rather too willowy physique. Opposites, I supposed, and even

then I should have been warned.

He was there representing one of our clients, and I couldn’t

stop glancing at him, which made focusing on the presentation I

was giving an uphill task. Once, I looked across at him while I was

in the middle of pointing out sales trends for his aeronautical

consultancy, and he smiled right at me. I think I stammered my

way to the end of my moment in the spotlight after that and, as I

sat back down, he winked at me.

When we left the meeting, he caught up with me and asked me

out, then and there, breaking at least a dozen professional rules in

the process, and not seeming to care that my colleagues were right

next to me, overhearing everything. While I hesitated, feeling the

weight of surprise at my back, Philip laughed.

“Don’t worry,” he’d said. “I won’t let it affect any business

relationship we have. That decision isn’t entirely mine to make

anyway. In this instance I’m interested in you on a personal level,

Brady, so what you do say? Yes or no?”

Of course, I’d said yes. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, so

there was no other option. Five hours later, when work was done,

he was kissing me in the shadows outside the gay-friendly bar

where we’d agreed to meet. An hour or so after that, he was in my

bed, and in me, and I was well on my way to having the richest

orgasm I’d ever had in my life, while begging him for more.

For about a year after that, I couldn’t get enough of him. I

BRADY’S CHOICE

5

thought about him every minute of every day, the shape of his

hands, the particular shade of brown of his hair, the lilting tones of

his voice. I could never, to my own satisfaction, describe how

beautiful he was, but I knew every inch of him as if he was

engraved in my blood and in my memory. In many ways he was.

Later, my so-called career in finance shuddered to a halt and

never took off again, and I found myself with no job and no house

and no apparent future. And I was living with Philip. I’d imagined

that would be perfection, and for the first few weeks it was. I kept

house for him, redesigned and began to replant his garden, and

began the first of the pots that would eventually ease me into an

entirely different career. All of them were inspired by Philip: with

him in mind, I created tall, elegant vases and all types of ceramics,

with a basic design of the brightest blue and the darkest brown on a

white background.

Each pattern was different, depending on my mood, and

sometimes I added small red butterflies or flowers to the design.

Those were the ones that began to sell the most, before the

medium-sized dealers picked up on the whole concept. I loved

every part of the process—the shaping, the firing, the final

decoration, the molding of something ugly into something

I

counted as beautiful.

Each time a pot was finished, I dedicated it to Philip, ensuring

his name appeared alongside mine on each individual piece. Then I

took to simply putting his name on each pot, as the design was

associated with me in any case. That was why they began to be

called OConnellware, and then the “O” was dropped and

Connellware became my trademark design.

This was later still, though, and a good while after I’d left him.

The memory of that made me pour myself another glass of red,

BRADY’S CHOICE

6

whilst wondering how on earth the first glass had disappeared so

quickly. I gulped half the second glass down before steadying

myself.

I should stop this pointless meandering through my personal

history.

It will do me no good. Besides, I needed to ring Tim, the

man I was currently dating, and tell him how I’d got on at the

interview. I almost did it, too, knowing Tim would make me smile,

no matter what I said to him, but then another twist of grief took

me and I was back with the memory of Philip again.

Our last few weeks together had been painful, a series of long-

running arguments and more than a few pots or vases smashed. A

lot of tears were shed, not just by me. Philip had started to call me

obsessive and overpowering, and he’d begun spending nights away

from home with his mobile switched off so I couldn’t even talk to

him. And, God knows, I needed to hear his voice. I’d wait up all

night for him to come home, then maybe he’d turn up for a quick

breakfast before heading out to work again, his career more and

more successful, while mine stumbled along blindly.

Or maybe he wouldn’t turn up at all until the evening, after

work. On those days, I would create something, anything, not even

stopping to eat, scarcely even to breathe, and then I would smash

it, throwing the pieces away so nobody could ever see them, and so

another day, a day without Philip, would be wasted again.

The last time I saw him—before today’s job interview, that

is—was a cool winter morning when I’d woken early, the pillow

wet and Philip’s side of the bed untouched. I hadn’t wanted to

sleep, but exhaustion had driven me there at last. I didn’t know

what had roused me, but then a noise from the kitchen, the rising

hum of the kettle, dragged me from my bed and propelled me

downstairs, dressed only in my night-shirt.

BRADY’S CHOICE

7

Philip was there, in the kitchen, standing with his back to me.

When he turned around, his hair was messed up and the top few of

his shirt buttons undone. He smelt of stale aftershave, cigarettes

and sex. God, but even if he hadn’t, I could have worked out what

he’d been doing simply by the look on his face: relaxed; undone.

Just the same look as he had when he’d fucked me and didn’t have

anything left to give.

I began to tremble. “Where the hell have you been this time?”

He swallowed hard, just as the kettle reached boiling point and

switched itself off.

“What do you want to know for?” he said. “Apart from using it

as a stick to beat me with, that is, like you always do.”

“Don’t be stupid. I just want to know, that’s all. For Chrissake,

Philip, we live together. Aren’t I entitled to know where you’ve

been all night?”

He sighed and folded his arms tight across his middle. “I think

you’ll find we don’t live together, actually. You’re living here

while you’ve got no job and no money. I’m doing a favor for

someone who’s a friend…or was.”

His words took all my accusations away and I stepped

backward, or rather staggered was more accurate. “Is that what you

think, Philip? Really?”

“Yes,” he replied. “It’s exactly what I do think. More than that,

I think it’s time we brought whatever we had to an end, Brady. It’s

not going anywhere; it hasn’t for a while, and I want you to leave.”

He spoke quickly, as if he’d been storing up the words for quite

some time and needed to get them out, but it was I who was

winded. I hadn’t realized he thought like this. All I’d focused on

was getting him to stay with me and, for the first time, I wondered

if I might not have been driving him away.

BRADY’S CHOICE

8

Words were pouring from my throat, too. “Please, Philip, don’t

do that. Don’t ask me. We’re together. I want us to be together, no

matter what. God, if you have to sleep with other people and that’s

what this is about, I can take it. I’ll learn. Just don’t ask me to go,

please.”

Shadows crossed his face, and I couldn’t tell what they might

mean. I opened my mouth to beg again, frightened to reach out and

touch him and terrified to let him go, but Philip got there first.

“No, it’s no use. I’m sorry, Brady, but it’s over. Please, can you

leave?”

I hit him. God forgive me, but I hadn’t had any idea I would do

that. I struck him across the mouth with my hand. I heard his sharp

cry of surprise before pain ripped through my fingers. At once, I

sprang away, apologizing even before he could respond.

“God, God, I’m sorry. Philip, I didn’t mean to… Are you all

right? Please, let me help you, I—”

He shoved me back before I could get too close and leaned

against the sink, running the faucet and rinsing his mouth with

water.

“Go away,” he mumbled, and then more loudly, “Get out,

won’t you? This has to stop, for God’s sake.”

Even then, I knew he was right. I knew I’d gone too far and it

was over, really over. I couldn’t take it in.

“You fucking bastard,” I said, though it was more of

a

realization than a threat. “You fucking bastard.”

Then, hardly able to see him through my blurred vision,

I

walked to his front door, opened it and stumbled out onto the

street, and out of his life.

Back then, I’d thought that was it and I’d never see him again.

Sure enough, two weeks later, the belongings I’d left at his home

BRADY’S CHOICE

9

were returned to me via my brother’s house. I didn’t unwrap them

for another month, so by the time I read Philip’s brief, cool

message of farewell, I was almost strong enough to bear it. Almost.

But here I was, five years down the line, with my life utterly

changed, at least in terms of my career choices, and all but ready to

run back to him again if he asked me. God damn it but the man I

was starting to see didn’t deserve that. No, Tim didn’t deserve any

of it.

Taking another sip of the red, I found it was gone and

I

couldn’t be bothered to pour another glass. It didn’t take away the

shock of seeing my ex anyway. I needed to ring Tim. I’d been

meeting up with him on an increasingly regular basis for about a

month or so, and it wasn’t exactly dating and it wasn’t exactly not

dating. I’d met him through a mutual friend of a sort—one of my

customers, to be precise. She’d come to visit me to collect a pot I’d

been making for her. She’d mentioned Tim as one of the friends of

a second cousin of hers, and the next thing I knew, I was going on

a date. Hazel wasn’t the kind of customer who was used to refusal.

It had been nice, too. I’d never been that great at the dating

game, and Philip had never been the sort of man who took you out

anywhere. Or perhaps that had been me; I wasn’t quite sure.

Anyway, Tim and I spent our first date at the theatre followed by a

post-show supper. He was five years older, a tall man with graying

hair and a smile that took a while to arrive, but made me feel safe

when it did. He worked as a senior lecturer in civil engineering at

the local university and spoke with some enthusiasm about his

students, and with quiet humor, too. I liked his company.

At the end of the evening, he shook my hand and asked if he

could call me again, and I found myself agreeing, even though

when the date had first begun I hadn’t felt sure. Neither was I sure

BRADY’S CHOICE

10

that he’d actually call me, but he did. The following night, to thank

me for an enjoyable evening and to suggest another date.

“I like you, Brady. I wanted you to be sure where things stood

with me before I see you again, if you allow it. And I do hope you

will as, if you give me the chance, I’d like to get to know you

better.”

I didn’t answer him at first as it took me a couple of moments

to catch my breath. When I did, it was to tell him the truth as I’d

never told it to anyone before.

“I had a bad experience,” I said. “Stupid, I know, as it’s a while

ago, quite a while. I changed my life completely after and I didn’t

want to get involved with anyone either. It felt too painful. So I’ve

kept things light with the one or two men I’ve seen over the last

few years. I didn’t want anything more.”

The smile in Tim’s voice when he replied was obvious. “I’m

not the man who did that to you, whoever he was, which doesn’t

matter at the moment. If you’d like to see me again, we can take it

as slowly as you like. It’s not a race.”

Even as I said yes to our next meeting, I knew he was right.

We hadn’t made love yet, not fully. We’d kissed a great deal,

though, necking like teenagers on either his sofa or mine and then

the last time we’d brought each other off, an unexpected

development that left me shivering and shaking in his arms while I

waited for my heartbeat to slow. I knew Tim wanted to do more; it

was obvious from the look in his eyes. And I wanted it as much as

he did, but I was afraid. It felt like things were moving on, but I

didn’t know if I was ready.

In the here and now, I blinked. Too many memories and too

many things to ponder on weren’t helping me get on with my

evening. All this from meeting Philip again at a job interview I’d

BRADY’S CHOICE

11

fucked up because I didn’t know how to react to his presence. I

needed to get a grip, and fast.

There was only one way to clear my mind and make things

right again, but before that, I’d ring Tim. I needed to hear his

voice.

He picked up on the first ring. “Hi, there. I knew it was you.”

I laughed. “You could barely have had the chance to check

caller ID.”

“How did the interview go? I bet they loved you.”

It was difficult to know what to say. “I don’t think so. No, they

didn’t.”

Tim hesitated. “Is something wrong?”

I closed my eyes. In the old days, I’d have said everything was

fine, tried to sort things out myself…and maybe that had been part

of the problem. I didn’t want to do that with Tim.

“Yes,” I said, my voice sounding husky and uncertain, even to

me. “You remember me telling you about Philip? The bloke I

broke up with?”

Not that I’d told Tim much about my ex, but enough for him to

understand and maybe pick up on more than I’d wanted to let on,

as his response was instant.

“What’s happened?” he asked. “Do you want me to come over,

love?”

His kindness made me close my eyes and breathe deeply for a

few moments. “No, that’s fine, really, but thank you. I need to be

alone. It’s just Philip was one of the people interviewing me today,

for a client of his, and it floored me. I didn’t know what to do. So I

can’t remember much about the interview itself, but obviously I

didn’t give it my best shot. Not that I want the bloody thing now.

God, why would I?”

BRADY’S CHOICE

12

Tim was silent for a while after I’d finished. There was

a

moment or two when I thought he would say something,

something I wasn’t quite ready to hear. Not yet. But he didn’t and

when he did speak, he was the voice of reason once more.

“You don’t have to take the job if you don’t want to, Brady. I

know it’s a good step up, but there are other projects out there, you

know. It won’t be long before something else turns up.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so. And engineers are always right, of course, so best

listen to me.”

I laughed, and we chatted some more—casual, meaningless

stuff. Finally Tim ended the conversation.

“I know you want to go and make pots,” he said. “I can feel the

vibe even from this distance. So go do it, but don’t forget to get

some sleep, too, eh?”

With promises I’d do exactly that, I cut the call and headed off

to my studio, my fingers already itching for the feel of the clay.

Not that it could really be called a studio as such, as there was

barely room for the wheel, a chair, a shelf and floor space to store

what I made. But I liked it as it made me feel safe. Sometimes I

longed for somewhere larger, but then where would the sense of

enclosure and protection be?

I switched on the light and closed the door. I was sure the

wheel was calling to me. I could almost hear its voice for real as I

donned my overalls. Funny how when it was just the clay and me,

everything else faded to nothing, or almost nothing. I sat down and

started up the wheel. It was so much easier now that I’d changed

my old kick wheel model to an electric-powered one six months

ago, and I’d not looked back since. Besides, not having to worry

about what my feet were doing made it easier to concentrate on my

BRADY’S CHOICE

13

hands.

Taking a deep breath, I felt the quietness rise up inside my skin

and, when I was steady again, I took a ball of clay and began

manipulating it. It felt alive and expectant between my fingers, and

I knew what real happiness meant. As the wheel rotated, I pressed

the clay down to center it before opening it in the middle so I could

feel the hollowness inside. Then I drew it upward and outward to

see what shape it wanted to take tonight, and all the time I was

humming with the low whirr of the machine.

Sometimes the feeling of creating something new and fresh

could be the most satisfying part of the whole process. Well, that

and the final decoration stage, too, when the pot was complete.

Tonight the shape was long and thin, or as thin as wheelwork could

make clay. It took a while, but finally it was what I wanted it to be.

I prepared to line the color on, my trademark blue, the image of

the lip of the pot already in my mind. But something made me

hesitate as this time things felt different. I stopped what I was

doing and stared at the pot. The conversation with Tim

reverberated in my head and made me smile and, almost before I

knew what I was intending, I picked up my fluting knife and made

a series of three undulating lines right across the body of the clay

rising upward, and somehow that was enough.

I wondered about coloring them blue, but thought that would

be too obvious. The lines were, for me, the sea and the color was

hidden in the shape. The ocean wasn’t in itself blue, but it reflected

the sky, didn’t it? So, this was enough and again I thought of Tim.

Tomorrow I would take the pot for firing and see how it turned

out, but already I was smiling. I hoped it would be good.

I’d just finished cleaning my hands and taking off my overalls

when the doorbell rang. I could hear it echoing through the open

BRADY’S CHOICE

14

window. When I glanced at my watch, it was gone ten P.M. and I

wondered if it might be Tim. But he would have rung me first, as

he always acted with that kind of courtesy.

Whoever it was, they were insistent as the bell rang again while

I was walking through the house to the front door.

“Who is it?”

No answer. Only a cough, but a familiar one, and when

I

opened the door, I already knew it would be Philip. My throat felt

dry and my fingers gripped the doorframe until my knuckles turned

white.

“Please, Brady, can I come in?”

They say you always know what your first response to any

unexpected question is no matter what you might pretend, but in all

honesty, that night I had no idea. I both wanted Philip to come in

and I most definitely didn’t. It was as if all the happiness and all

the sorrow I’d known with him had been combined into one and I

could no longer separate them out.

“I don’t know,” I said, and at least it was the truth. And then,

stupidly, but I thought we needed to clear the issue up, no matter

what, “I suppose this means I haven’t got the job and you wanted

to break the news to me face-to-face?”

Philip blanched and shook his head. “God, you really do think

I’m an evil bastard, don’t you? You think I’ve come here to gloat.”

He turned to go, still pale, and I grabbed his coat to stop him.

“No, I don’t think that. Believe me. Well, maybe I do a little, but

not to the extent you imagine. I’m sorry if what I said came out the

wrong way. Come in, why don’t you?”

I must have made some kind of decision then, or I would

simply have let him go. Why, after all, should I care what he

thought? We were history.

BRADY’S CHOICE

15

He followed me into the kitchen. Neither of us had spoken in

the hallway, and I suppose we couldn’t think of anything to say. I

knew I certainly couldn’t. For lack of anything else to do, I ran my

hand through my hair, then turned on the kettle. Whatever

happened, we would need coffee.

Behind me, Philip coughed again. “I’m sorry, but we gave the

job to the first candidate, an older bloke with more experience with

the sort of project this is, but it was a close-run thing, I swear it. I

wanted to tell you myself.”

“Don’t screw with me, Philip. I don’t deserve it…

maybe

neither of us does.”

The tone of my voice must have startled him as I heard a sharp

intake of breath. “I’m sorry.”

I spooned coffee into two mugs whilst the kettle started to boil.

I didn’t trust myself to ask him if he actually wanted some, but

that’s what he was getting. He could take it or leave it. The heady

smell of the fresh jar of Douw Egberts made me blink, or

something did. Finally, I turned back around to face him, thinking

once more how pale he looked and also perhaps not quite in

control, which wasn’t something I associated with Philip.

“It doesn’t matter now, though I wanted that job,” I said, the

statement more challenge than regret. “You don’t know how much.

You also don’t know how much I’m glad I didn’t get it, as working

with you would’ve been more than difficult.”

He had the grace to smile, briefly, at that. “I know. It would’ve

been hard for me too, Brady, though I have to say you were my

chosen candidate. The rest of the board overruled me, but they’re

not stupid. They could see the talent you have, and I don’t think

it’ll be long before you get a call from one of their contacts with

another job in the offing. Not as big, but it’s something you might

BRADY’S CHOICE

16

like.”

I swallowed. It was impossible to take in what Philip was

saying, whatever salves he was for some reason trying to offer me,

as I was aware of only the way he looked and the sound of his

breathing. When the water was boiled, I made coffee, added milk

and gave him the nearest mug. My hands were shaking, but it

couldn’t be helped. What surprised me most was the fact he’d

supported my application when I’d thought he’d be the one to vote

against me. In his position, I wasn’t sure I could have been as

generous, if it were true. Looking into his eyes for the first time

since he’d entered my house, I could see he meant it and that made

me shake all the more.

“All right,” I said after several sips of coffee made me think my

voice might be steadier. “I can’t take it in now, but thank you for

that. Okay?”

“Okay.”

And then we were silent. We simply stood in my kitchen,

drinking coffee and saying nothing. It was the strangest thing I’d

ever done, and he felt at the same time utterly familiar and as if he

were someone I’d never known.

When he finished his coffee, he stepped past me to put the dirty

mug in the sink. I must have made a sound, though I didn’t know

what, because he glanced at me, frowning, before turning back to

the task in hand, rinsing out the mug and placing it on the draining

board.

“Do you have a dishwasher?”

“Yes.” I thought he should have easily seen that, but didn’t

make any other comment.

“Good, then I won’t need to wash up properly then.”

“No.”

BRADY’S CHOICE

17

Another pause and I put my mug down, only half-finished, but

I knew I didn’t want more.

He put his hands into his pockets and shrugged, though

I

supposed it was more of a shudder. “I’ve been seeing someone for

about a year, you know. His name’s Richard. He works in IT.”

“I see.” I should have told him then about Tim, but I couldn’t

find the words and anyway, if I could even find them, I didn’t

know what they might be. My heart was beating too fast. I tried to

find another way of explaining. “I’m celibate now, sort of.”

He glanced at me as if he, too, expected me to say something

more, and when I didn’t, he said, “Do you want to go upstairs?”

“Yes, of course.”

And it was as simple as that. We walked up the stairs to my

bedroom without a word, without even a touch. Once inside, I

switched on the bedside light and sat on the bed. Philip sat down

next to me, and we began to kiss, slowly, relishing the moment.

His beard scratched my chin, though it didn’t matter. It wasn’t

deep kissing either, not at first. It was gentle as if we’d only just

met and didn’t know how things were going to be, even though we

were on my bed and he’d asked me up here. Something inside me

was buzzing, although I didn’t know if it was delight or a warning.

At the same time, I had a thousand reasons not to do this, but I

pushed them all down, telling myself I’d deal with them later. This

was something out of time; this was for me.

After a while, he touched my face, running his finger down my

cheek and to the edge of my lips where we were still kissing. I

drew apart from him and took his finger into my mouth, licking

and sucking at his skin and nail. He groaned and whispered my

name.

“It’s been so long,” he said.

BRADY’S CHOICE

18

So many reasons why that was the case, and none of them

seemed to matter. All I could say was, “Yes.”

He withdrew his finger and returned to kissing me. I pressed

myself against him, surrendering more fully to his touch and the

delicious, familiar smell of him, wanting him to fill every part of

me that he could. Then his hands caught me up, clutching me, and

he was pushing me down on the bed, both of us losing any

semblance of control.

I cried out his name and felt hot tears prickle my eyelids. This

was it then. He was really going to fuck me like he used to, and for

the first time in my life I was going to be unfaithful to the man I

was actually with. God, but I couldn’t think of that now. I couldn’t

think of anything except Philip and my overwhelming need to

connect with him once more.

I knew exactly when it was he thought of Richard. One

moment, Philip’s tongue was filling my mouth, and I was sucking

on it avidly while our hands explored our bodies again, tearing off

buttons and burrowing inside shirts, seeking skin. The next

moment, he stopped, his fingers clutching the shape of my cock

where it strained for release through my cotton trousers.

I

continued kissing him, desperate for his response, but there was

nothing. It was around about then that I saw sense, too.

Slowly we disentangled, not able to look each other in the eyes.

His tongue pulled from my mouth, and I gasped my

disappointment. He removed his hand from my groin, and

I

stopped running my fingers up his back where I’d pulled his shirt

from his waistband.

“Brady. God,” he said, his voice shaking.

I couldn’t even reply to that, not trusting myself to speak yet.

He pulled away from me and got up. I brushed my hand upward

BRADY’S CHOICE

19

over my face, trying to gather myself together again before I got

up, too, on the other side of the bed. I couldn’t stop shaking.

“Yeah, well,” I said at last when we’d both tucked our shirts

back in, “there’s Richard. We shouldn’t.”

“No, we shouldn’t.”

I wanted to say this was what I’d objected to so strongly when

we’d been together. Encouraging him to be unfaithful to someone

else now was the worst thing I could do and made me more than a

hypocrite. I’d wanted him to kiss me; I’d wanted him to cheat on

his boyfriend with me. So where was my moral high ground now?

“I’m sorry,” I said, glancing at him. His face looked lined and

his jaw was tight. “I shouldn’t have agreed to this.”

He shook his head. “No, I wanted you to. I’m sorry, too. I-I

love

Richard, you know. I really love him.”

In the kind of way you never loved me, I wanted to say, but

didn’t. It wasn’t my place and, besides, we’d been over a long time

since, hadn’t we, Philip and I? I simply hadn’t seen it until now.

“I know,” I whispered when the empty space between us

seemed to demand an answer. “Richard must be a good bloke.

You’re very lucky.”

“Yes,” he said.

We buttoned up our shirts as best we could and made our way

downstairs. There I said, “You’d better go. I’m sorry about the job,

but I’m glad about it, too.”

It was only when Philip was at the door that he spoke again,

half-turning to face me. “Brady?”

“Yes?”

“Did you really mean it when you said you were celibate? I

don’t mean to pry, but there is someone else, isn’t there? You don’t

strike me as a man who’s truly alone.”

BRADY’S CHOICE

20

I sighed. “Yes, I meant it, Philip. I haven’t actually slept with

anyone for quite a while because, after you, I needed to walk away

from all that. I needed to be on my own. But yes, there is someone

else now. It’s very new, in the early stages. We’re taking it very

slowly, and he understands. So for now, he’s just a friend, a special

one, but a friend.”

A silence then. This was as much as I’d ever said to anyone

recently about myself. At last Philip spoke and his voice was

softer, more measured. “What’s his name?”

I swallowed. “His name is Tim. And I think if I ever sleep with

anyone again, I want it to be him. For that reason alone, I’m glad

we stopped tonight. Thank you for that, Philip.”

“My pleasure.”

The way he said it, low and intent, as if he was touching me

with his voice, made me see for one clear moment how dangerous

it remained for him to still be here. How dangerous it was for us

both.

“Please go, Philip. You need to go. No more conversation. We

shouldn’t see each other again. What’s past is gone, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” he said. Then, “You know I always loved you,

don’t you? And in some part of myself, I always will.”

I drew in a harsh and ragged sigh. “Yes, I know it. And I, you,

Philip, and I, you.”

The choice came to me at that moment and I didn’t think I was

ready for it, and that I’d never really be ready for it. So much of

me, of my body, wanted him to turn back, take me in his arms

again and not let me go until morning. But the sane and clear part

of myself knew it would be madness. Somehow I pushed him

outside and found myself staring at an empty hallway as the door

clicked shut behind him.

BRADY’S CHOICE

21

The last thing I heard Philip say was “Goodbye,” and, though I

couldn’t answer, it felt like an ending, perhaps the ending we

hadn’t had before. I wasn’t sure. But here I was, standing half-

crying, half-laughing in my own hall, and I wasn’t naked in

a

warm bedroom, rutting like an animal with the man I’d once loved

to desperation and back, and did so no more.

It felt like a kind of victory, maybe my first ever. I bolted the

door and walked back through the house and into my studio. There

I took my phone out and texted Tim these words: Pls, come stay? I
promise brkfst, luv u.

He answered in moments, and I was glad he wasn’t asleep.

Tonight I needed to be with him, the man I was coming to love and

not the one I once had. I needed to hold Tim in my arms and plan a

future, not brood over the past. When he arrived, I’d tell him what

had so nearly happened and hope he’d forgive me, as I needed to

be honest with him, come what may.

Then I returned to my studio, took the pot I’d made with its

stripes of the mysterious sea and its simple plainness, and I went

back and sat in the hallway and waited. I knew somehow even then

that it would be okay soon, and the morning would bring a new

day for us both. It would be okay because when I trusted myself, I

could do the right thing sometimes, I could make the right choices.

For me and, most important of all, for Tim.

A

NNE

B

ROOKE

Anne Brooke’s fiction has been shortlisted for the Harry Bowling

Novel Award, the Royal Literary Fund Awards, and the

Asham

Award for Women Writers. She has also twice been the winner of

the DSJT Charitable Trust Open Poetry Competition. She loves

reading dark and quirky crime novels and has a secret passion for

bird watching and chocolate. Preferably at the same time. She once

took a balloon flight in Egypt but spent most of the time

screaming, and she hopes she never has to do it again.

To learn more about Anne and her writing, please visit her website

at:

http://www.annebrooke.com

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