Deconstructing the Combine (standard:other, 12027 words)
Author: Magenta	Added: Aug 08 2010	Views/Reads: 2664/2649	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The Combine used to be the kings of comedy then they just fell off the radar. A reporter goes looking for answers.

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what? I always thought Ol would make a great Heathcliff; this great 
brooding, fractured Yorkshire man, stomping across the moors.” His eyes 
find the window once again, and Rich is lost to his own thoughts. “It's 
a beautiful part of the country.....Cornwall.” I say to lure Rich back 
into the conversation. “Beautiful.” He agrees his face obscured by the 
sunlight. Rich switches on the kettle and turns to face me, leaning 
back against the counter with his hands on its surface. His face has 
adopted a hard expression, his lips bearing no trace of the former 
smile. When he speaks his tone is sharp, almost aggressive. “But you 
can't beat the chaotic pace of the city...to be in the thick of 
things...on the pulse, where every day brings new opportunities, 
evolution, revolution, commotion, emotion......where anything can 
happen and usually does..... who wants to be stuck out in the 
country... cut off from......from life?........Oliver Garrett it 
seems!” He shakes his head, and looks directly at me. “Suppose you want 
to know what happened?” His eyes dare me to ask. “My article is mainly 
about The Combine's influence and its impact on the ever changing 
landscape of comedy. Obviously it will touch on how it all 
ended...but....” “It just ended......” He lowers his eyes for a second 
and then regains my eye contact again. “That is all.........” He shrugs 
and turns to take two cups out of the cupboard. “So, what do you want 
from us?” “A brief history, whether you ever knew how groundbreaking 
you were, what you think of the current comedy scene, maybe a little 
bit about what happened next ..... Oh, and photos, if that is ok?” 
Silence. He head is lowered, turning the two cups over in his hands. I 
feel the silence expand, threatening to suffocate me. I control the 
urge to touch his arm to remind him I am still here. Finally, Rich 
looks at me over his shoulder, his blue eyes penetrating his ebony 
fringe. “If you get Garrett....I'll do it!” Shit! “Ok, that's great.” I 
try to smile and overdo it, my jaw aching. “Also . . . I want to be 
interviewed with Oliver. Not separately.” Fuck! 

* * * * * 

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regretted them. I wanted to
reach down into my phone and drag them back. This could back fire in 
spectacular fashion leaving my article in ruins. But once the words 
were spoken, they can't be unspoken. “Ok, I will mention that to Mr 
Garrett and I will get back to you.” How often had I heard that reply? 
16 to be exact. How many emails have I sent without any replies? 23. 
How many phone messages had I left? 37. My heart sank. It was all I had 
left.  Rich wasn't forthcoming with any help.  When I rang him, all he 
was interested in was whether I had spoken to Oliver. The last time we 
spoke all I managed was “No but..” and he just hung up...I was losing 
him. I needed to do something; I needed a break, but sometimes you have 
to make you own breaks.....that is how I found myself saying the words, 
“Can you tell Mr Garrett that Mr Pepper has agreed to do the interview 
and the photos?” When I hang up, I just stare at my phone; the phone 
call had lasted 4 minutes 39 seconds. In less than 5 minutes I may have 
fucked up any chance of an article. ***** 

I am standing in line in the Bank when my phone rings. Number withheld.
“Hello?” “Hello....mmmm....this is Oliver Garrett...” My knees give way 
and my stomach flips; I half stumble and elbow the lady in front of me. 
“Sorry...I..” My phone slips from my hand and I knock heads with the 
guy behind me as we both bend down to retrieve it. “Sorry.” “Sorry?” 
“Sorry......Mr Garrett....I....sorry....oh...” I leave the line, for 
damage limitation, and go and stand outside. My heart thumping, my 
hands shaking. OK keep it together. Oliver Garrett is notoriously 
guarded and prickly...shit I haven't prepared for this...fuck fuck 
fuck.....ok ok...breathe...FUCK! “Hello...are you there?” “Sorry Mr 
Garrett, I am so glad to hear from you......I...” “You want to write an 
article on The Combine?” “Yes, it's more a piece exploring the 
impact...” “Yes, I know I read your emails and listened to your 
messages.” “OK, so...” “You were speaking to Rich?” “Yes, I was.” 
Silence. “Mr Garrett.... “How is he?” “Good.....he's good.” Silence. 
“Mr Garr...” “Is he still painting?” “I think so...we never spoke about 
his painting, we spoke ...” “He's agreed to do this?” “Yes he has!” 
Silence. My heart stops, I remind myself to breathe as I close my eyes. 
“Mr Garrett?” More silence. Oh no! “Mr Garrett?...Hello?” “Oliver!” 
“Ok. Oliver. Would you be inter...” “Ok..When and where?” 

***** I dial Rich's number. Voicemail. “Rich? Oliver has agreed to do
the interview, does Friday..........” 

****** 

Bang bang bang! What? Bang! What the Fuck? Is that my front door or my
neighbour's front door? The Muppets Theme Tune. My phone. Who? Where 
the fuck is it? Ah, there you are. “Hello?” “Don't you answer your 
door?” “Who is this?” “It's me...Rich.” “Rich?” “Please answer your 
door....its fucking freezing.” I go to my window and sure enough there 
is Rich Pepper standing on my door step. “Ok. I will be right down” I 
grab a sweater from my wardrobe and manoeuvre into it as I make my way 
down the stairs. I open the door and the smell of alcohol fills my 
nostrils, making me take a step back. Despite the strong smell of 
drink, Rich appears steady on his feet. “Hey....what time is it?” “No 
idea; no watch,” and he waves his wrist at me as if I required proof. 
“Come in.” I stand aside and Rich moves forward, getting his foot 
caught up in my mat. Maybe he is not as steady as I first thought. Rich 
settles down on the couch, running his fingers through his hair, 
pulling it all directions. He smiles and I realise he is using my TV as 
a mirror. “Anything to drink?” He asks as he takes a last look at his 
reflection. “What do you want? Coffee, tea?” “Anything stronger?” 
“Beer....think I have some vodka.” “Vodka would be great.” I go into 
the kitchen and grab the half full bottle of vodka from the cupboard. I 
pour Rich's drink and add some diet coke to it. I glance at the clock, 
half past two. What is he doing here? I hand him the drink and sit down 
in the armchair opposite him. I watch him take a mouthful of his drink, 
his eyes scanning the room; he knows I am watching him. He sets his 
drink down on a nearby table. “Nice space.......I really love...” He's 
stalling.....oh God he has changed his mind...shit!!! He looks down at 
the armrest where he is picking at a small hole in the upholstery. 
“Suppose you're wondering why I'm here?” “It did cross my mind?” You 
are here to ruin my life you motherfucker! Don't you realise that this 
interview could potentially be my big break....I already have an editor 
interested...Oh fuck! Please, please.... My jaw is beginning to ache 
from maintaining my forced grin.....I may cry. He smiles, and in the 
half-light of my living room his faces is mesmerising, the shifting 
shadows contorting and softening his mismatched, misshapen features. 
“So Ols....Oliver....he's agreed to this?” “Yes he has.....I am so 
pleased.” “How did you manage that?” “I......well.” Rich starts to 
laugh and waves his hand through the air cutting me off. “I just can't 
believe....” He stops and leans forward, his elbows on his knees, eyes 
downcast. His voice low, almost a whisper, “Did you see him?” “No, I 
have just spoken to him on the phone” “Ah!” He starts fidgeting and 
tucks his hands under his thighs, moving his feet about and nodding 
along to music that could only be playing in his head. Time passes. 
What is going on? “He asked if you were still painting.” He freezes. A 
faint trace of a smile flickers across his face. He looks up at me 
through his fringe. “What did you say?” “Well...that I didn't know...I 
don't know.” “I am.” He says this quietly, to himself almost. “Oh 
that's great....any exhibitions coming up?” “NO!” The abruptness of his 
response startles me that I knock over the plant sitting on the table 
beside me. Rich just glances at the overturned plant and lies back in 
the couch. “Sorry!” “No worries....I'll just brush this up.” I walk 
into the kitchen, and go looking for a pan and brush under the sink. 
“How did he sound?” I look over my shoulder and Rich is standing in the 
doorway of the kitchen. “Sound?...ok I suppose.” “It was always hard to 
tell.....he didn't.....” He trails off leaving the sentence unfinished. 
He looks at his hands and adjusts a large silver ring in the shape of a 
skull. “Rich.....what is this all about?” I'm tired and I wish he would 
just get to the point. “Loss.” He says, resting his head against the 
doorframe. Ok, a bit melodramatic! “What?” “Why do you want to do this 
piece...this article about us?” “You interest me.....your progression 
from the pub gigs to Wembley....from underground to...” “Overground?” 
He laughs...forced and heavy. I smile. “Are you having second thoughts 
about the article, Rich?” My heart is trying to claw its way up my 
throat. Please! Please say no! I hold his gaze. “No,” he eventually 
answers. My heart resumes its former position. He rubs his eyes, 
dragging his hands back through his hair. He looks nervous and on edge. 
“Why are you here?” Rich walks over towards the table and sits down. He 
looks at the pan and brush in my hand. He makes no attempt to answer. 
“I'll just be a minute.” I walk into the living room, and brush up the 
scattered soil and replace the plant. I notice Rich's drink and bring 
it back into the kitchen with me. Rich has his head in his hands; he 
looks up as I place his drink down in front of him. “I miss him.” I 
freeze. Him? Who? “Who; Oliver?  Rich, you were together for so many 
years...it's only natural.” I put away the pan and brush and turn and 
look at him, leaning against the counter. Rich is turning his glass on 
the table, tracing the rim of it with his finger. He misses his friend, 
maybe he sees this interview as a way to catch up, reconcile. I realise 
that he is now watching me. “I miss him so much.” His blue eyes are 
wide and glistening. Tears? Please don't cry. What am I suppose to do 
if he cries? I take the seat next to him and place my hand on his arm. 
“You should ring him....He probably misses you too.” His face brightens 
momentarily, but then he shakes his head. What happened between them? I 
stroke his arm. “You will see him on Friday!” He frowns. “If he turns 
up.” “He will.  On some level he must want to see you, otherwise he 
wouldn't have agreed to do this!” He places a hand over my hand. “I 
can't believe he has agreed to do this.” “He has...and when I was 
speaking to him I got the impression he missed you too.” “Why?” His 
gaze fixes mine, pleading and almost desperate. “I just got a feeling.” 
His shakes head slightly. Wrong answer. But what would have been the 
right one? Good grief...what is this all about? He looks away and makes 
a move to get up.....Quick! Think! “Painting!” My sudden outburst grabs 
his attention. “Sure, he asked if you still paint......” I try to 
regain my composure as he turns his gaze back to me. “He liked to watch 
me paint.” I nod and pat his arm. “He would just lie there watching 
me...we could go hours without talking....him watching me...me watching 
him.” “You...” “They found it strange that we spent so much of our 
non-Combine time together........they would question it....make 
comments.....” “Ahh! They...They talk a lot don't they!” He smiled and 
squeezed my hand. I returned the smile. “You were friends!....That's 
what friends do.” “You know there was talk that we were lovers?” 
“Yeah.....but surely you encouraged that.....all the touching and the 
kissing........fuel for the fire; no?” I muster a laugh. The atmosphere 
in the kitchen has shifted. “Yeah, we did like to stir it up.....but we 
were so.......people would say he was cold and hostile, even rude.” “He 
did have a reputation for being a difficult interviewee; I always 
thought it was just shyness.” “A mixture of shyness, contempt and 
boredom.” “Great...can't wait till Friday!” I try to laugh again, but 
it gets lost in my throat. Rich nips my arm. “Yeah, he could be a bit 
of a nightmare, but he was ...... unbelievably sweet.” “Yeah?” “He 
would give me a hard time about all the crap I eat and then once in a 
while I would find a Pic ‘n' Mix in my bag or under my pillow.” I 
squeeze his arm and we share a smile. Rich eyes glow and his voice is 
low. “We could sit for hours and not talk....just be...you know..no 
pressure to be interesting or amusing......it was....” “A relief?” 
“Contentment.” He took another drink, finishing it. “Do you want 
another?” He nods. I get up to fix his drink. Suddenly he laughs. “You 
know what he used to do? ......He used to leave me notes....and sign 
them off as Oliver Garrett.....his full name.....just silly notes 
like.....  ‘Rich, I have to go to the dentist I will be back in an 
Hour...Oliver Garrett' .....who does that?” I laugh. “That is 
priceless...Bless him.” “Oh and when he left me messages on my 
voicemail....he would always say his name.” I hit him with a tea towel. 
“Oi! That's not so strange, lots of people do that; I do that!” But 
Rich's face has altered; all trace of laughter and amusement has 
vanished. “Yeah, like I wouldn't know it was him.” I swallow. Rich is 
now staring towards the counter, eyes unfocused; he continues to talk, 
not really to me, to no-one. “I would save these messages, you know, 
just so I could hear his voice....” He takes a phone out of his pocket 
and stares at it. It is only now that I notice that he has two phones 
with him, the other phone has been sitting on the table beside him. 
“This was my old mobile ....I've his saved messages on here....you know 
me I have to move with the times.....can't be seen using an out of date 
mobile...I'd be a social outcast!” I smile; his weak attempt at self 
deprecating humour has failed to dispel the sense of despair that has 
now filled the kitchen. He starts to play about with the phone, 
flicking through the menu. As quickly as the question occurs to me, I 
find myself vocalising it. “You were in love with him?” The words float 
in the air between us. He looks straight at me, his eyes sad, but 
unflinching. “I am in love with him...I never stopped!” 

***** Friday I scan my living room. Ok it will have to do. Ashtray?
Oliver will probably want to smoke. I go into the kitchen and find a 
dish that will make an adequate ashtray. I run through a check list in 
my head; Camera, Dictaphone, notes. I look at my watch - 6.05pm. After 
Rich had left the other night, I lay awake for hours going over what 
had taken place. Rich is in love with Oliver. Of course there had been 
talk, and comments....... My doorbell. Who is that? Well whoever it is, 
they can get the fuck....I can't have any-one here when they arrive. 
Muttering to myself, I walk to the front door ready to chase whoever it 
is away. I open the door and I am confronted by a broad back clad in a 
black woollen jacket. The person flicks a cigarette into the street and 
turns to face me.....Oliver Garrett. My first impression is how tall 
is, he towers over my 5' 3” frame.....I was waiting till the last 
moment to slip into my boots. Then as I look up to his face, I am taken 
aback by how handsome he is. His rugged unshaven face is topped off by 
a headful of unruly curls. He smiles and I feel my stomach flip and I 
become so disorientated, that when he offers his hand, I force out my 
hand so vigorously that I catch him sharply between his stomach and 
crotch. “Shit...I'm so sorry!” “This is the first time we've met, yet 
it's at least the fifth time you've apologised to me!” I laugh a little 
too eagerly and then blush....get it together girl!!! “Won't you come 
in?” I stand aside and let him pass by into the hall. I close my eyes 
briefly and take a deep breath and then follow him, closing the door. 
“Rich isn't here yet.” “Really?......it's not like him!” He raises an 
eyebrow at me, his eyes twinkling. “Well to be fair we did arrange to 
meet at 7......not that it's not ok that you have arrived early,” I add 
quickly, only to be met once again with a raised eyebrow and an amused 
grin. “Seven...so, on Rich Time that is 9, 10ish....so I'm afraid you 
are stuck with just me....till...” the smile momentarily leaves his 
face, but is quickly reinstated as he claps together his hands and says 
“Ok; let's get started” It suddenly occurs to me that he wants to get 
the interview over before Rich arrives. Shit...I have to stall 
him...Rich would probably just walk out if he arrives and Oliver has 
left...I‘ve come this far, I have to keep him here.....and besides I'm 
quite interested in seeing their first interaction in over a year. 
“Have a seat....would you like something to drink?... Beer?” “Sure. 
Thanks!” He takes off his coat and is about to place it over the back 
of the couch when I get an idea. “Here, let me take your coat.” He 
hands me his coat....I take it and walk into the kitchen with 
it...There; he can't leave without his coat....good god I am such a 
dick..can't believe I am hiding his coat......if he asks for his coat 
what am I planning on saying?....oh, silly me, I think I have mislaid 
it, can you hang around for an hour or two until I remember where I put 
it? Ingenious...sooooooo going to work! Am I that desperate? Yes, I am! 
I return with the beer and hand it to him. I sit down on the armchair 
opposite him. It then occurs to me that we are in the same positions 
Rich and I were in the other night. I watch him take a long slug of 
beer as he takes in his surroundings. I start to fiddle with my 
Dictaphone....anything to delay the interview.....small talk. “So how 
have you been Oliver?” “Good...I...” He looks down at his bottle of 
beer, “Good.” Okay. “So, what have you been up to... I believe you are 
now primarily behind the camera....do you miss performing?” “Right now, 
I'm working on a book of short stories.” “Oh? Does it have a title?” 
“It changes every day; I haven't settled on one yet!” “What are the 
stories about?” “Life, Death, Fear and Los...” The doorbell stops 
Oliver short. He stares at the doorway into hall. The doorbell rings 
again. It's Rich and he's early. The realisation occurs to both of us 
instantaneously. I glance at Oliver, he looks surprised and tense. I go 
to the door and open it and as expected Rich is standing there. He 
smiles and leans forward to give me a kiss on the cheek. As he walks by 
me I grab his arm, he looks back at me and nods his head and walks on 
into the living room. I lean against the back of the door....relief 
washing over me....all the pieces are finally coming together. I walk 
into the living room to find Rich alone. Where? I look around. My 
confusion must be obvious on my face. “What's wrong?” “Oliver...he was 
sitting right here.” Rich looks like I have slapped him. He is on his 
feet. “What?....He must have gone out of the back door when he heard me 
......I knew it...I knew he wouldn't be able to face me!” He pulls his 
hands through his hair...he looks devastated. “Rich.” We both turn to 
find Oliver standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “I was just looking 
for the toilet,” he explains. The two men just stare at each other. 
Oliver breaks the silence. “You're looking well, Rich.” Rich looks down 
at himself, absently tugging at his long leather coat as if to say 
“Ahhh this old thing”, his cheeks redden as he looks back at Oliver 
through his fringe. “I see you're still championing the Lumberjack 
look.” Oliver smiles. “Bringing it back, Sir!” At the same moment they 
move towards each other. Within touching distance Oliver places his 
hand on Rich's shoulder. Rich looks like he is going to move closer, 
but I see Oliver's arm tense and it turns from a gesture of greeting 
into a barrier. Rich catches my gaze briefly......and I see it...the 
pain.  I feel the back of my throat contract....should Rich do this to 
himself? Can I be a witness to this self-inflicted torture? Oliver 
glances in my direction and then back at Rich. “How have you been 
Rich?” “Not bad, you are looking good, Olls.” Rich nudges him in the 
ribs...in a desperate bid to dispel the tangible tension. Oliver 
removes his hand from Rich's shoulder and smiles. He looks over at me 
and raises his eyebrows. He is relieved. The hardest part is over. 

***** 

“Remember that woman on the 2006 tour Oliver, you know the one who...”
Rich began to laugh and as he did so leaned against Oliver placing his 
hand on Oliver's arm. In the last two hours Oliver and Rich had 
recounted their memories of The Combine, and as a result of the 
combination of alcohol and nostalgia, the earlier tension has 
completely disappeared. They started the interview at opposite ends of 
the couch, yet slowly they have gravitated towards each other. Funny; I 
never noticed as it was happening, I just all of a sudden realised that 
Rich's knee was now resting on Oliver's thigh. They seem happy. Maybe 
this was all they needed. Whatever had happened seems to be forgotten; 
maybe that tour will happen after all. Could be the alcohol, but I am 
feeling good; a little too pleased with myself, after all I have 
brought the Combine back together. “Remember the night we played as the 
Combine band for the Teenage Cancer Trust gig? I was seriously shitting 
myself,” Rich was saying. Then my phone rings. Oliver and Rich start to 
laugh and sing along with it. It is John, the editor interested in 
publishing my article, I need to take it. “Sorry, I need to take 
this......talk amongst yourselves.” When I stand up I realise how drunk 
I am and it is confirmed when I trip over Oliver's legs; he reaches up 
and steadies me. “You ok?” “Never better.” I leave the room to the 
sound of Rich and Oliver laughing and answer my phone. “Hello.” He just 
wants an update on the interview; he can't believe the boys are still 
here.  I tell him the interview is going really well and that I got 
some really great photos, really natural, and lots of anecdotal 
material. I give him a brief summary. “We should get together...does 
Monday suit...” “LOOK AT ME!” “What the hell was that?” “John...I will 
have to phone you back...” I hang up and approach the door to the 
living room, the door is slightly ajar, I try to position myself in 
such a way that I can see but not be seen. I can see the mirror above 
the fireplace, in which there is a reflection of the couch; Rich and 
Oliver. Rich is kneeling beside Oliver on the couch, his hands on his 
shoulders, trying to turn him so they are face to face. Oliver is 
trying to twist out of his grip, which then results in Rich attempting 
to climb onto Oliver's lap. “Please Ju.....” “No.” I could hardly hear 
Oliver, his voice barely a whisper. “Ju, please listen..” “NO!” 
Suddenly Oliver is on his feet and Rich is on his back on the floor. 
Oliver steps over him and walks towards the kitchen. From his position 
on the floor, Rich can see me crouching on the floor in the hall 
through the gap in the door. I crawl towards him. “You ok?” “No.” Rich 
clings to me and I feel his tears on my shoulder. “What happened?” “He 
won't listen.” 

“Where's Rich?” “Bed.” “Upstairs?” “Yes.” Oliver is sitting at my
kitchen table. He offers me a cigarette. “No thanks.” Oliver lights a 
cigarette and takes a long drag. His eyes dart around the room avoiding 
my gaze. Finally he closes his eyes and rubs his jaw with his hand. 
“Sorry about...” he gestures towards the living room. I glance into the 
living room recalling Rich's tear-soaked face. Reading my mind, Oliver 
says “He will be fine!” “You think so!” I didn't mean for it to be so 
abrupt, but don't regret it. His eyes widen at my outburst. He takes 
another drag. “He just gets a bit emotional when he drinks.” I meet his 
stare and he immediately looks away. “You have hurt him.” “I have hurt 
him?” He voice; even, emotionless. He shakes his head. “I'm going.” He 
gets up from the table. I grab his arm. “Please talk to him; it doesn't 
have to be now, but soon.” “The thing with Rich ....when you have his 
attention....it's like the sun shines on you, and it's glorious. And 
then he forgets you and it gets very very cold.” “Oliver....” “Look at 
you.....you have his attention ....and look at what you're 
doing....every-one is the same.” He moves away from the table into the 
living room. “Where's my coat?” “He's in love with you.” He stops and 
drops his head, rubs his temple. He makes a small movement towards the 
kitchen, changes his mind and walks on into the living room. I follow 
him. “Don't go!” But he continues to walk through the living room and 
then he stops. I can't see what he is looking at as the door to the 
hall is open, blocking my view. “I thought you were in bed.” “I take it 
you're leaving, then?” Oliver places his hands in his jeans pockets and 
shrugs. “Typical!” “Yeah, whatever Rich, I'm outta here!” “NO!” “What?” 
Oliver leans forward, as if he has misheard. “You're not leaving!” 
“Watch me!” Oliver walks into the hall and then reappears suddenly 
backwards into the living room. Rich must have shoved him. I move 
quickly towards Oliver, who has steadied himself.  He now looks at 
Rich, his eyes glowing with anger. “Oh! Danger, little man! I suggest 
you get out of my way.” Rich is standing in the doorway.  I see that he 
trying very hard to control the shaking of his lower lip.  He looks 
terrified but determined. “You're not walking out on me again.” Oliver 
shakes his head. “Don't do this Rich.” Rich's voice is breaking. “I 
want you to listen to me.” “I stopped caring about what you wanted a 
long time ago.” Rich bites his lip. “Please.” Oliver makes a move 
towards the door.  Rich places his hands on his chest. “Get out of my 
way Rich!” “Ollie. Please.” Rich places his arms around his waist. “Get 
off me!” “Olls.  Please stay.” “Get off me!” “Olls, I need to talk to 
you.” “GET OFF ME!!” Suddenly, Oliver has Rich pinned up against the 
wall in the hall. “Don't you get it? I don't want to talk to you. I 
hate you, you...” Oliver releases Rich, who slumps to the floor, and 
then, stepping over him, he pulls open the front door and leaves. I go 
towards Rich, but he has gotten to his feet and is at the open front 
door, shouting into the darkness. “FUCK YOU, OLIVER GARRETT, YOU 
SELF-RIGHTOUS CUNT!” As I place my hand on his shoulder, he falls into 
my body and I almost lose my footing. He is weeping; he grips the front 
of my shirt. “I hate him so much I can barely breathe.” 

***** 

“So much for my coat plan.” “What?” We are sitting in the living room.
“When he arrived early, I thought he was going to try and get the 
interview over with and leg it before you showed up, so I hid his 
coat.” I am too drunk to care about how crazy that makes me sound. Rich 
stares at me, his lips sealed shut, trying not to laugh. “You hid his 
coat?” I nod, my face reddening. Rich's face is red too, but for a 
different reason. He can't suppress it much longer. He laughs so loud 
and hard he is doubled up, clutching his chest. “Yeah, I know, I'm a 
dickhead!” When Rich finally gets a hold of himself, he grabs my empty 
glass and his and goes to the kitchen to refresh them. It has been a 
hour since Oliver left, and it has been tough, Rich hasn't spoken much 
until 10 minutes ago, when he turned to me and said, “Fuck 
him.....let's throw some tunes on and finish off your drinks cabinet!” 
Rich returns with our drinks. “Thanks Rich” He crouches down beside my 
chair. His blue eyes bloodshot and slightly swollen. “Where is it?” 
“What?” “His coat?” “It's in the cupboard with the Hoover.” “Get 
it?....Will you? Please.” “Why?” I don't like the sound of this. 
“You're not going to mess up his coat?!” Rich sighs and places his chin 
on the armrest. “I....please!” I get up and walk into the kitchen with 
Rich directly behind me. I go to the cupboard and remove the jacket. 
Rich stares at the jacket as if it is a delicate work of art. He looks 
at me, as if for permission to touch it. I push it into his hands. I 
watch as he rubs the material of the coat against his face and then he 
buries his face in it. Oh, no.  Have I made a mistake?  Made things 
worse? Before I get a chance to retrieve the coat, Rich is walking 
towards the living room. He is putting the coat on. He looks like a 
child dressing up in his father's clothes. He sits down on the couch 
and curls up in the coat. So much for getting wasted and pulling a few 
shapes. “His smell....” He closes his eyes and pulls the collar of the 
coat closer to his face. “Rich? “Yeah?” “Rich, what ha...” I am 
distracted as Rich now has a small hardback notebook in his hands, 
which he has found in one of the inside pockets of the coat. He turns 
it over in his hands and strokes it. “Ahhh . . . . Rich, don't go 
through his pockets....that's a bit shit.” I start to hiccup. It's the 
alcohol. “Rich, I will, hic, take the coat, hic, off you!” But Rich 
isn't listening; he is transfixed by this notebook. “Rich? hic” I kick 
him and he looks up. “Rich, c'mon! hic Stop that! hic” He ignores me 
and returns to the notebook. My hiccups are getting worse; I pull 
myself up and go into the kitchen to get a glass of water. I stumble 
slightly and knock the plant, but despite my alcohol intake my reflexes 
are quick and I manage to steady it before it falls. When I return, he 
is flicking through the notebook. I shake my head and fall back into my 
chair. “He always carried a notebook...” “Oh?” “Just in case 
inspiration struck......though he just ended up using it as a place to 
write lists and phone numbers.....inspiration only ever struck when we 
were together....like a chemical reaction.” “Mmmm.” I close my eyes. “I 
see things haven't changed.....I always.....” His silence prompts me to 
open my eyes. Rich is holding something in his hand.....what is it? A 
square piece of card....I blink...it is a Polaroid picture. His face 
has drained of colour and is motionless. “What is it?” No answer. 
“Rich?” “Oh, Ollie.....baby!” Rich is now smiling and his eyes are 
tearing. What is this? I get up off my seat and sit down beside Rich. 
The Polaroid is of him and Oliver, in what looks like a pub, Rich is 
sitting behind Oliver with his chin resting on Oliver's shoulder and 
his hand on his arm, their heads are together and they are both 
smiling. Some-one has written “COMBINELOVE” across the bottom and drawn 
a crude heart around the two men. Rich is now stroking the photo. I 
touch his arm and he puts his head on my shoulder. “Oh Rich!” “We were 
so happy....look!” “I can see that.” “Look at that smile....those 
eyes...those curls...oh God.....I love him so much.......seeing him 
tonight, I lost my breath, my heart began to pound, and I was painfully 
aware that I wasn't over him.” “It'll get easier...I promise.” “Trying 
to forget someone you love, is like trying to remember someone you 
never met.” “A break-up can be like a bereavement...that intense sense 
of loss...you just need time.” “Sometimes I wish I had never met him, 
because then I could go to bed at night not knowing he's out there.” He 
turns to look at me. His eyes like two saucers full of tears. “My 
biggest fear was that one day we'd run into each other on the street 
and have one of those horrible artificial conversations, as if we never 
were anything to each other.” “Rich, what happened a year ago?” He 
settles back on the couch and returns his gaze to the photo. “It wasn't 
just one thing.......so many things were going on...” “Was there 
nothing you could've done at the time?” “I was too stubborn, I just 
stood there...nothing more painful than to watch someone you love walk 
away. To watch the distance between you expand until there is nothing 
left but empty space... and silence. The silence and the empty 
space.....it was unbearable.....deafening silence....overbearing 
space.... ‘Hearts will never be practical, until they are made 
unbreakable' ...that wizard knew a thing or two.” “He sure did!” I rest 
my head on his and we look at the photo. Where did it all go wrong? “I 
want him back!” “I know you do, but Rich....you don't know what has 
happened in the last year, he could be with some-one else, he could be 
happy!” “No....he . . . .” “You know that for sure?” “No, but I feel 
it...here.” He points to his heart. I turn to face him. “Rich, you 
might have to accept that Oliver has moved on.” “No .....Look!” He 
waves the photo in my face. I get up off the couch. “You're hopeless!” 
He grabs my hand and looks up at me. “I'm not without hope.” “Rich, you 
could be setting yourself up for more heartbreak. Besides he obviously 
doesn't want to talk about happened..” I kneel down in front of him and 
place my hand on his cheek. “Rich, sometimes there is no going back. I 
know you are hurting, but even if you do see Oliver again, there is a 
chance he has moved on.” Rich starts to say something, but I keep on. 
“Yes he has kept your picture, yes there may be a chance you could get 
back together, but Rich you have to see that there is also the 
possibility that you won't.” We stare at each other, his sorrowful eyes 
piercing my heart. Rich places his forehead against mine and I feel a 
tear against my cheek. “I will die if I accept that; hope is the only 
thing keeping me alive.” “Oh, Rich..” The doorbell. Rich looks up. 
“Who's that?” “Sorry, can't see through walls.” I get up and go into 
the hall. I know exactly who it is. Who else could it be? Oliver 
Garrett. “I have come for my coat!” I stand aside and he passes and 
enters the living room.I follow. Oliver is standing looking down at 
Rich curled up in his coat with his notebook in his lap and the photo 
in his hand. No-one has said a word. I stand in the doorway, watching 
these men, their eyes locked, as if in a standoff. Finally Rich speaks. 
“You kept the picture.” It was a statement rather than a question. 
Oliver shrugs and looks away. “I forgot it was in there.” Rich shakes 
his head. “Look!” He turns to photo around to face Oliver. Oliver looks 
away. Rich thrusts the photo closer to Oliver's face. “Look!” Oliver 
glances at it. “And what?” “We were so happy!” Oliver looks at me. He 
begins to move from foot to foot and his hands rake through his curls. 
“Oliver?” “What?” His tone is irritated. He keeps glancing over at me. 
He looks uncomfortable, I bet he is wondering how much I know? I lean 
against the doorframe and avoiding his gaze. Rich tugs at his shirt. 
“Please sit down.” “Rich...” Oliver shakes his head and sits in the 
armchair opposite Rich. He glances up at me again. “You getting all 
this?” His words are practically spat out. His face contorted with 
disgust. I move towards him. “Listen, I... “Oliver...she's ok!” Rich 
reaches for my hand and smiles up at me. “Really?...so this isn't going 
to be splashed all over some torrid little rag is it?.....I hear you 
make good copy Rich.” That was it. “Where the fuck do you get off....” 
Rich is on his feet. “Stop it...Oliver...it's ok..” Oliver looks up at 
Rich and suddenly his expression softens. “I'm sorry...I'm...” He 
glances at me then at his boots. “It's fine.” I try to make it sound 
casual, but it sounds flat and cold. “Would you like a drink?” “A beer 
would be great.” He smiles at me, I am unresponsive. When I return with 
the beer, I sit at the other end of the couch. Rich and Oliver are just 
sitting in silence stealing glances at each other. “So,” I shatter the 
silence, “When was this photo taken?” Rich answers. “I think it was 
2008.” Rich looks at Oliver for confirmation. Oliver is staring at me. 
He is trying to figure out how much Rich has told me. He nods. Rich is 
smiling broadly at the photo. I stare back at Oliver; he averts his 
eyes and shifts in his seat. “You make such a lovely couple.” Oliver 
chokes on his beer and knocks over the same plant as I did the other 
night. He is on his feet, his shirt and jeans covered in beer. I smile, 
satisfied. Rich laughs. “My God, Oliver! You're only here five minutes 
and you've already wrecked the place, he's completely footless” He 
nudges me and we laugh. “Fucking typical!” Oliver is glaring at Rich, 
he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “What?” “You haven't 
changed!” “Oliver, I was just” “You were always just....Rich!!” “Hold 
on, Oliver.” Rich raises his hands in protest. “No, I won't hold 
on.....I was always your punch line.” “What?” “You and those trendy 
dickheads you called friends.......Yeah, but where were they when you 
were so off your tits you would shit yourself and pass out in your own 
vomit?” “Oliver, why...?” Oliver turns to face me, his face red, full 
of rage. “Want to know what happened to The Combine? Eh?” He points at 
Rich. “His ego! It couldn't cope with the weight of this fucker's ever 
expanding ego! Ah, but look at you!” He looks at me, a smile full of 
contempt twisting his features, “Blinded by his sunshine, taken in with 
his bullshit......we all were sweetheart!! We all were!” Oliver swings 
his arms gesturing to the entire room. I look at Rich, horrified. What 
the fuck is happening? Rich's face is flushed and I notice that he is 
trying hard to control his voice as he speaks. “Oliver....Please, I 
want to sort this out!” “What? And be friends?” “It would be a 
start...” “Tell ya what, let me ruin your life, let me break your 
heart, let me rip your world into little pieces, let me destroy who you 
thought you were, and then I'll ask YOU if we can be friends. Eh? How 
does that sound?” “You did Olls, you did!!” “Here we go....it's always 
you isn't it...Fuck this I'm going!” Rich stands up, the coat falling 
from his shoulders, and grabs Oliver's arm. Oliver looks at Rich his 
eyes blazing. “Make me stay. Say something sweet and tender and untrue 
and make me stay. For old times' sake.” “Oliver...please.” Rich's grip 
on Oliver's arm tightens. Oliver brings his face closer to Rich's. His 
voice is low and controlled. “The hardest thing about knowing that you 
didn't love me was that you spent so much time pretending that you did. 
I was holding on to something that used to be there, hoping it would 
come back, yet all the time knowing it wouldn't.” Rich bows his head 
and looks away. I can see that he is trying to keep himself from 
breaking down. Oliver shakes off Rich's grip. “Rich, what did you 
expect?” “Oliver, I know I fucked it all up, but what we had...” “What 
we had? Ok, let's see: you would fuck me, then disregard me. You'd love 
me, you'd hate me. You'd be attentive and passionate and then you'd 
turn into a total cunt.” Oliver pauses and observes Rich for a second. 
Rich's hand is shaking as he bites his thumb nail. “Is this a pretty 
accurate description of our relationship? I can see how that would be 
worth saving!” Rich looks at Oliver, he voice barely escaping from his 
throat. “You don't mean that!” Oliver holds his gaze and I see his 
features soften and when he speaks his tone is softer also. “Have you 
ever hated somebody so much that you wish they would just leave and 
never come back, and yet loved them so much that you knew you would die 
if they did?” Rich moves towards Oliver and places his hands on his 
arms. “Oliver...I...” Oliver looks down at him, their foreheads are 
touching. “The truth of the matter is that I still have feelings for 
you.” Oliver places a hand on each side of Rich's head, and as he 
speaks he increases the force of his grip, distorting Richs face, “And 
no matter how many times I tell myself that I'm better off without you, 
a part of me just won't let go. That is why I came back...I had to see 
you and remind myself why I left!” Rich pushes Oliver away, there are 
red marks on his face were his hands had been. “My God, Oliver, you are 
one sanctimonious asshole.” “Sanctimonious?...Oh, my! We've extended 
our vocabulary!” “See that?...That was it right there.” He points at 
Oliver. “Making fun of me......you and that smug fucker Alistair.” 
“Alistair?” Oliver eyes widen in disbelief. “Yeah...your private 
jokes......your self-righteous little speeches about my 
lifestyle....all your pretentious waffle about your music and books and 
shit.” “Books and shit?” Oliver rolls his eyes. “Fuck you Oliver....it 
wasn't easy for me; my input wasn't welcome.” “Bullshit! I tried to 
involve you, but you just weren't interested...it wasn't exciting 
enough for you because there weren't photographers chasing you or gangs 
of girls screaming and cheering at your very existence.” “Alistair made 
it very clear I wasn't welcome!” Rich turns away from Oliver. “By what” 
Oliver follows Rich until they are face to face again, “By not being 
interested in the latest fad, haircut or what some ponce was wearing in 
China Whites?” Rich shakes his head. “He would belittle and ridicule me 
and you'd let him.” “Is that so? “Yeah....made me feel like some 
worthless retard.” Oliver looks away; the harshness has left his voice. 
“Well at least I tried to involve you.....better than being 
ignored....I'd reach out to you...but you wouldn't be there...I'd end 
up clutching at air.” “Yes, it hurts to see someone you love ignoring 
you, but it hurts even more to know that he loves you, and just doesn't 
want to show it.” “What?” Rich is becoming more animated, his face and 
composure all transformed, he is getting into his stride. “You know 
exactly what I mean, all those stolen glances, lingering touches, 
drunken fumbles and half spoken sentences till we finally admitted to 
ourselves what was really going on.....and just when.....just when I 
thought we could finally enjoy really being together....really 
together...you. . .” He pokes Oliver in the chest. “You, would freak 
out if I touched you or said anything about us in public...when we were 
alone...God it was fantastic...but out there...Mr Garrett was having 
none of it...no way; no sir!,...when we did touch or fooled 
around...you made it quite clear it was all part of our act, all for 
the camera....funny; most double acts would play up to the whole 
supposed-homoerotic aspect of their relationship....suggesting there 
may or may not be something going on....we were the opposite...playing 
up to it, but making it clear, in however subtle a way, that it was 
part of the act!” “Sounds complicated!” Oliver catches my eye and 
smirks. Smash! Rich has thrown a bottle against the wall just behind 
Oliver's head. “STOP IT!!!!” Rich is glaring at Oliver, his breathing 
heavy and erratic. His voice is loud and the words are bouncing off the 
walls. “You know it's true Oliver. YOU placed a barrier between us,  
making ME feel that I wasn't special enough......when you love some-one 
you want to scream it from the rooftops.....you would whisper it under 
the duvet cover.” “I was afraid.” Oliver looks away. Rich sighs. Oliver 
places his hand on the fireplace looking into the empty hearth. “It was 
all new to me and besides you became obsessed with this image of 
yourself...Rich fuckin' Pepper...wee Richard Brown thought he was some 
sort of Rock n'Roll star.” Rich closes his eyes and places his head 
against Oliver's arm. “Rich,your behaviour became more and more 
erratic, you were becoming more incoherent and unreliable by the 
day...I was never really sure how you felt about me.” “Even when I was 
acting crazy, I loved you Ollie. I tried to show you in a million ways 
but nothing ever got through. I would catch you looking at me with 
contempt and sometimes disgust....my heart was breaking....I tried to 
reach out...but I was trapped in this spiral of ...” “Self 
destruction?” Rich nods and their eyes meet. Oliver continues. “It 
wasn't contempt...it was sadness...I was watching you destroy yourself 
and there was nothing I could do...but wait for the call to go and 
fetch you, clean you up, put you to bed and take the barrage of abuse 
you threw my way...night after night. But the thing is, I would have 
followed you to hell if you'd asked me to and with all you put me 
through, maybe I did.” “Oliver....I'm sorry!” Rich hugs Oliver's arm. 
“I'm so sorry!!” Oliver's gaze returns to the hearth. “I used to think 
that if I loved you enough you would realize it and love me back, but I 
can only love so much for so long. I would question myself 
constantly....Do I really love him or am I addicted to the pain of 
wanting something he is not willing to give? I loved you yet I hated 
you.” A sad smile crosses his face. “It's like I wanted to throw you 
off a cliff and then run really fast to the bottom and catch you. I 
hated the way I could never fully hate you.” “I thought I was losing 
you....” Rich looks up at Oliver, resting his chin on Oliver's arm. 
“First you deny our relationship and then you meet this guy who you 
have so much in common with...you spend all this time with him.....when 
we did get together you'd spend your time lecturing me about how I was 
on the road to destruction....If only you'd realised that you drove me 
there.” Oliver shakes Rich off his arm with such force; Rich falls 
backwards onto the couch, his elbow catching me sharply on my cheekbone 
“You're blaming me because you were a fucked up wee trendy with a drug 
problem?” Oliver is standing over him. I am so close I can see the vein 
in his temple throb. “Your indifference towards me.....it began when 
Alistair came along.” Rich is struggling to sit up, but Oliver looms 
over him, his hands on the back of the couch. “You were on that road 
long before Alistair, dear boy!” “But you were with me and it was fun; 
a laugh, as long as I had you. I could take or leave it.....after 
Alistair; it was all I had and it became a necessity!” Oliver 
straightens up. “Alistair was just a friend.” Rich shakes his head and 
adjusts himself into a sitting position. He looks up at Oliver, who 
refuses to meet his gaze. “I remember passing that coffee shop down by 
Dave's and I saw the two of you laughing...and you know what? I 
couldn't remember the last time I'd seen you laugh.....and at that 
moment I realised that I had to fight for you...I was about to go in 
when I saw you both get up to leave...for some reason I panicked and 
ducked into a nearby doorway......as you were both leaving Alistair 
turns to you and says ‘What about Rich?' and you know what you 
said....?” Oliver shakes his head....his face blank. “You said, ‘Who 
cares.....I'll buy him something shiny and he won't give a 
shit!'.....Do you remember that?” “No.” “Yeah, well, when you got back 
that night...I was waiting for you and you seemed surprised when you 
saw me and you asked me what was wrong, I smiled and said nothing.  
When you walked away, I whispered to myself ‘Everything is!'” Oliver 
sits down in the armchair and puts his head in his hands. “Do you know 
what your problem is Oliver Garrett?” Rich begins, but Oliver is back 
on his feet and grabs Rich by his t-shirt lifting him off the couch. 
“What my problem is? I will tell you what my problem is. My problem is 
that I LOVE YOU. I love the sound of your name on my lips, I love the 
way you look at me, I love your smile, I love your walk, I love your 
eyes, I love how you look when you are asleep, I love the sound of your 
laugh, I love how you bite your thumb nail when you are concentrating, 
I love how you can't leave your hair alone and actively seek out 
reflective surfaces just to study it, I love how the simplest things 
please you...” Rich cups Oliver's face in both his hands, tears 
streaming his face. Oliver is trying hard to control his voice as he 
continues. “The sound of your voice makes my heart beat faster and I 
forget to breathe. I love the way I can be having the worst day of my 
life and seeing you completely changes my mood. I love how when you 
touch me I feel weak.  That was my problem, is my problem and will 
always be my problem!” “Oliver...I want to be with you.” “Why?” Their 
mouths are so close, lips are almost touching. “So I can kiss you, 
touch you, hold you, anytime I want!” Oliver gently pushes Rich back 
and looks at him. “You remember...... but that was so long ago, Rich.” 
Rich puts his hand on Oliver's shoulder close to his face. His thumb 
strokes his chin. Oliver closes his eyes. “It's not too late.” Rich 
whispers. Oliver sways slightly, lets go, returns to his seat, lies 
back and closes his eyes. Rich kneels down in front of Oliver, his hand 
on his thigh. “Don't say we're not right for each other.  The way I see 
it, we're not meant for anyone else. I have missed you!” Oliver opens 
his eyes and looks at Rich, his voice tender. “If you think missing me 
is hard, you should try missing you.” “I can imagine.” Rich winks at 
Oliver. Oliver smiles briefly, but then shakes his head before saying. 
. . “Do you remember what you said to me, when I tried to speak to you 
about how I was feeling?” “Olls, please?” “Do you?” “Yes!” “Well...what 
was it?” “Olls...don't...” Oliver leans forward. “Say it!” “I said ‘If 
you don't love me at my worst then you don't deserve me at my best.'” 
“Well you know what...I loved you more than you deserved....you hurt me 
more than I deserved!” Rich is on his feet, his face distorted with 
rage. “How come you are the victim?....You are the one who gave 
up...... while I was holding on, you let go.” He voice breaks and the 
tears come. “ I don't know which I would rather believe... that you 
never did care or that you eventually stopped.” “I wish I'd saved all 
the tears I cried for you so I could fucking drown you in them.” “What 
about my tears?” Rich begins to shake, his limbs all jerking out of 
sync. “ My heart was taken by you... broken by you... and now it's in 
pieces because of you.” “I think it's time I let you go,” Oliver's 
voice is even and emotionless, his eyes blank. Rich stares at Oliver, 
his eyes swell, he shakes his head. “No, No, No!” I can't see Oliver's 
face because Rich is now leaning over him. “No.....we can make this 
work!” “Make it work? It either does or its doesn't, you can't force 
it!.... Besides what did we have really?” Rich is back on his knees, 
holding the collar of Oliver's shirt. “I had a guy who would call me 
beautiful, who always called back when I hung up on him, who would tell 
me obscure facts about everything and nothing, who would sit and talk 
to me as I lay in the bath,.......I miss how he would drive with his 
hand resting on my knee and the way he would let me pick at his 
food......I miss the hot nights in those hotel rooms when he was all 
around me, the taste, and the scent and the feel of him. And I'd fall 
asleep in his arms, with the sound of his heartbeat being the last 
thing I heard before going to sleep”. Rich tugs at Oliver's shirt. “But 
what I don't miss is how he wouldn't hold my hand in public or tell the 
world ‘This is him...the man I love'.  You feared what we had; your 
love was cowardly.” “I would fear how much I love you!....And I would 
hate you for it.” Oliver meets Rich's gaze, and I can see his eyes are 
red raw and swollen. Rich places his head against Oliver's chest. 
Oliver's hand moves towards Rich's hair, as if out of habit, and then 
suddenly retracts as Oliver continues. “When I hate you, it is because 
I love you to a point of passion that unhinges my soul.......you tore 
me apart....your addictions, your changing personality, your erratic 
behaviour, how you would bring home strangers and turn on me........and 
in the morning you would be all apologetic....it was soul destroying.” 
Oliver closes his eyes. Rich looks up and places his hand on Oliver's 
face. Suddenly, Oliver grabs Rich by the shoulders. “Rich you would 
disappear for days on end...I would be frantic.....then I would open a 
paper and there you were, draped over some tart......but it didn't 
matter...as long as I was there to clean up after you and available for 
an occasional fuck!...You used me!,” Oliver begins to shake Rich 
emphasising each word. “And now you're trying to blame me for the state 
of your life...that I'm totally to blame.....Alistair.....he was all I 
had.....he was the only person I could speak to about you....I had to 
speak to some-one.” “You're so naive....he wanted you for himself....he 
was always trying to push me out!” Oliver lets go of Rich and falls 
back into the chair. “Rich you weren't pushed...you drifted!” “I tried 
to bring you with me, but..” “Yes, at the start the parties and all 
were great, but then you got in with those assholes and you 
changed....for some reason you wanted to impress them.....and you used 
me as your punching bag to get a few cheap laughs!” Rich sighs loudly 
and stands up, irritated. “So, you're telling me Alistair never made a 
move on you?” “Rich...See; classic denial!.....You won't even 
acknowledge how your behaviour destroyed our relationship.” “My 
behaviour?.......You have no idea, have you?..Alistair told me to leave 
you alone, that the only reason you were still with me was because you 
felt responsible for me... he told me I was selfish and that I didn't 
deserve you.” “Rich....fuck off!!...A new low.” “Do you remember that 
night you saw him leaving my room, and he told you he was just checking 
I was alright?” “I remember when I still believed the things you said.” 
“Well, that's when he told me I was a useless cunt that didn't deserve 
to live and that I should fuck off!...... He told me that if I truly 
loved you I'd leave you.” “Rich, I don't....” “No!.... I think we have 
established my contribution to the cesspool that was our 
relationship....what about yours Garrett?” “What do you mean?” “You and 
Alistair....There was something going on!” “Why would you think that? 
Huh? Why?” Oliver slowly shakes his head. “Why not... after 
all.....sure..... I was once the other “woman”......ME!....when we got 
together...why wouldn't it happen again?” Oliver stands up, and pushes 
past Rich, his hands pulling at his hair. He stalks about the room, his 
arms flailing. “I'll tell you why. When I was with Sarah, all I thought 
about was you, when we were together, all I thought about was you, and 
all the time we have been apart all I have thought of is YOU......it 
has always been you Rich, just you!....Just you!...No-one else just 
you!.......always you....just you!” Oliver stops pacing and the two men 
stare at each other. Oliver then falls back into the armchair. Without 
a word, Rich walks over to Oliver, kneels down before him and places 
his hand on his face. Oliver places his hand over Rich's hand holding 
it there, his other hand gently brushes Rich's fringe from his eyes. “I 
always thought a break up was like a broken mirror.  Was it better to 
leave it broken, than hurt yourself trying to fix it?  But the fact is 
you and me are inevitable; you're all that makes me happy but if you 
break my heart again, I'll have to kill you, as that is the only way I 
can stop myself from taking you back again.” Rich closes his eyes and 
rubs his forehead against Oliver's chin. “There is no way I will ever 
let you go again...you are stuck with me Oliver Garrett, I'm afraid.” 
Rich moves closer to Oliver, and places his head in his lap. Oliver 
begins to stroke Rich's hair as Rich plays with the end of Oliver's 
belt. I should leave; they need their space, besides I might not get 
another opportunity.  I get up out of my chair as quietly as I can, but 
as is typical when you are trying to escape unnoticed, you make the 
sound of some-one who is trying desperately not to make a sound. Oliver 
looks up, his eyes half closed and drained, he looks confused as if he 
had forgotten I was there or doesn't recognise me, he blushes. He opens 
his mouth to say something, but I just shake my head and smile and 
creep out of the room. 

* * * * * * * * I hear the post dropping onto my mat. I need to get up,
but I am afraid to move. Since I left them last night, I have been 
lying awake listening. For what? I heard some laughter, the clink of 
glasses, but mostly silence. Hell, this is my house; they can't keep me 
out of my own living room. I swing my legs out of bed and put on my 
slippers. I creep down the stairs. Why am I creeping? They know I am 
here. I collect my post from the mat and flick through it....crap, 
crap, crap. I throw the post on the hall table and walk towards the 
living room door.  For all I know they might have left....but surely I 
would have heard them leave...unless I had drifted off...oh, for God's 
sake open the door. For some reason I open the door quickly as if I 
want to surprise them....for what reason, who knows? The room smells 
heavily of smoke and beer; I need to open a window. I walk toward the 
window and that's when I see them. They are lying on the couch. An 
entanglement of limbs and clothing. Oliver's shirt is undone and Rich 
is lying with his head on Oliver's naked chest. One of Oliver's hands 
is on Rich's hip and the other is one his shoulder, holding him tight. 
Rich's face is all red and patchy...stubble rash? .... He is smiling. A 
fairytale ending? I open the window and lift a few empty beer bottles 
and my poor abused plant before I make my way to the kitchen. ***** 
Oliver is sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper. Rich goes 
over to him and stands behind him, putting his arms around his neck, 
one hand finding its way beneath his shirt. He places his chin on 
Oliver's shoulder, so they are cheek to cheek. “What ya reading?” 
Oliver smiles.“Just this piece about the upcoming election.” “Who's 
that?” But Rich isn't looking at the paper he is too busy kissing 
Oliver's neck. Oliver laughs and moves his head closer to Rich's. “The 
Prime Minister, Rich” “Great!” “You really interested in the Election?” 
Oliver's voice has a mocking tone and is full of amusement. “That's 
wonderful, good for them!” Oliver pulls Rich onto his lap and as he 
does he catches me watching. I see Rich tense up, unsure how Oliver 
will react. It feels like we are suspended in time. No-one speaks or 
moves. Then, slowly Oliver turns to Rich, and kisses him gently on the 
mouth, his hands stroking his hair, then his face. Rich leans against 
Oliver, their foreheads touching. I let out the breath, I didn't 
realise I was holding. “So!” I say “Who wants sausages?” 

***** 

We are standing at my front door, when Oliver's phone rings. “I'll just
be a minute.” Oliver is walking about talking on the phone and when he 
is out of earshot I ask Rich, “A second chance?...I'm so happy for 
you.” “I'm happy for me!” We look at Oliver, who when he sees us, makes 
a face and smiles. “Even after all this time, that smile goes straight 
to my knees and crot..” I punch his arm. “What?” I roll my eyes. Rich 
is watching Oliver. “Look at him; he still hasn't mastered the 
buttoning of shirts!” Oliver's shirt is not only half buttoned, but 
unevenly buttoned, his coat lying open even though it is quite cold. I 
link Rich's arm and whisper. “He has you to look after him now; you can 
show him how to button a shirt, I know you can unbutton one – I've seen 
the evidence!” Rich blushes, and then looks directly at me. “Thank you” 
“What for?” Oliver's phone call has finished and he has joined us. 
“Ready?” he asks Rich. “I was born ready.” “As if!  I wouldn't be 
surprised that when you exited the womb, you went back in again and 
came back out. He is a bitch for applause!” Rich looks at me, a look of 
exaggerated indignation on his face. “See what I have to put up with.” 
I laugh and Oliver ruffles his hair. “C'mon!!  Not the hair!!” “Let's 
go Rich!” Oliver looks at me and places his hand on my arm. “Thanks for 
having us. . . and if you need anything. . .for the article or. . give 
us a call.” “Will do!” He kisses my cheek and hugs me. “Thank you,” he 
whispers in my ear. “C'mon, c'mon that's enough!” Rich playfully pushes 
us apart. “Ok, well we have to head, let us know when the article is 
coming out!” “I will, now off you go or there won't be no article!” 
Rich kisses me and squeezes my arm. He turns back to Oliver, “Come 
here!” Oliver rolls his eyes at me as Rich buttons his coat. “There ya 
go!” They walk to the end of my path and Rich removes sunglasses from 
his bag and puts them on. Oliver looks at him and raises an eyebrow. It 
is a dull miserable morning. Rich shrugs, his arms outstretched, palms 
upwards as if to say, “And what?” Oliver shakes his head, cups Rich's 
face and kisses his forehead. Rich links arms with Oliver resting his 
head against his shoulder. Oliver kisses his forehead before they walk 
down the street and disappear around the corner. I close the front door 
and walk into my living room. What a mess. I lift as many empty bottles 
as I can carry and walk into the kitchen. Suddenly my foot slips and I 
grab at the counter, pulling my poor dilapidated plant down on top of 
me. On my kitchen floor lies the photograph from Oliver's coat, I must 
have slipped on it. It is face down, there is something written on the 
back of it that I hadn't noticed last night. I lift it: on the back in 
crude child like lettering are the words, “I love you Oliver Garrett 
xxx”. Suddenly an image of a painting I saw in Rich's house that first 
day we met flashes before my eyes....the crude child-like 
lettering.....the painting was of Oliver. I lift myself up off the 
floor, my hair and clothes covered in the remains of my poor plant. 
Using a daisy shaped magnet I attach the photo to my fridge and a 
thought occurs to me............ that sometimes you have to rip 
something apart, before you can rebuild it. 


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