Soitino - Euphorbia

Mark is a self-employed gardener who has never recovered from a painful break-up several years ago. He lives with only a tank-full of fish for company and fills the emptiness inside him by reading romantic gay fiction. Colin is a writer who recently moved to the countryside, disillusioned with the shallowness of life in London. He's looking for Mr. Right, and dares to hope he's found him in the form of the man Colin has hired to take care of his garden.

Too bad Mark isn't interested in having a relationship. But gardening can be a hazardous occupation, and when Mark is injured by Colin's euphorbia plant, he has no choice but to let down his defenses and accept Colin's help.

107 Pages

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

Euphorbia

HIGH BALL

An imprint of Torquere Press Publishers

PO Box 2545

Round Rock, TX 78680

Copyright 2010 by Glyn Soitio

Cover illustration by Alessia Brio

Published with permission

ISBN: 978-1-61040-092-3

www.torquerepress.com

All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address Torquere Press. Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680.

First Torquere Press Printing: November 2010

Printed in the USA

Dedication: For Pob, without whom this story would never have been written

Chapter One

Edinburgh, Scotland, September 2002

Twisting the doorknob with his free hand, Mark shouldered the heavy wooden door ajar, then squiggled through the gap into the cool, stone stairwell. The heat of the fish suppers was leaching through their paper wrapping, and he ran up the steps two at a time, his backpack jiggling on his shoulder. He smiled as he turned the key in the lock. Graham was sure to turn his nose up, for forms sake, but hed eat it anyway -- despite that superior upbringing, Graham loved fish and chips as much as Mark did.

Graham, Im home! Mark dumped his bag on the floor in the hallway and made a beeline for the kitchen, tossing the hot package from hand to hand. Ive brought food, so we can eat first and then go out and celebrate on a full stomach. Dont want you getting drunk and throwing up in front of everybody.

Busy as he was, fetching plates, cutlery and condiments to set out on the kitchen table, it took Mark a little while to realize that the flat was strangely quiet.

Graham?

No answer. Mark frowned. Graham should be home by now, unless hed been held up by business at the firm, and if that was the case, hed have phoned Mark on his mobile to let him know. But perhaps Graham was sleeping and hadnt heard Mark come in.

Mark stuffed a couple of fat, greasy chips into his mouth, then wiped his fingers on his jeans and headed for the bedroom.

The wardrobe door was standing open. A sick feeling swept through Marks belly as he saw that all of Grahams clothes were gone. He swallowed the food down and rushed to the lounge. Grahams fancy stereo system was no longer there. That expensive, state of the art DVD player Graham had bought last month had disappeared, too, along with all his disks, and half the bookshelves and CD stands were empty.

What the fuck? Mark pushed open the door to the room that had once been his bedroom, but was now Marks and Grahams study. Grahams desk had been cleared, with only a little outline of dust to show where his computer had stood.

Mark closed his eyes, shutting out the evidence, scarcely able to breathe through the pain that welled up inside him. Graham was gone. Graham had left him. But why? Okay, the last few weeks had been a little fraught, but Mark had put that down to Grahams anxiety about whether or not his application for a permanent situation in the law firm hed been apprenticed with for the last two years would be accepted. But yesterday evening, Graham had announced that it had been accepted. The two of them had unofficially celebrated the news in bed, and the sex had been phenomenal -- intense, but gentle and unhurried, just like in the old days. Things were back to normal, and everything was once again right with Marks world.

And that morning, just as Mark was leaving for work, Grahams goodbye kiss had been so sweet and so unexpectedly arousing that Mark had been sorely tempted to call in sick and take Graham straight back to bed.

But in retrospect, Mark realized that Graham hadnt just kissed him goodbye. Hed also said goodbye -- not the usual Bye, baby, have a good day, but actually Goodbye.

Mark felt like he was suffocating. He swallowed hard past the lump in his throat, then glanced across at his own desk, which was exactly as hed left it that morning. Or almost exactly; there was a single sheet of paper, folded in half, lying on his keyboard. With a trembling hand, he reached for it.

It was a note. A letter from Graham, written by hand. Mark slumped into his chair, blinking back tears as he began to read.

My dearest Mark,

Im sorry to spring this on you, but my parents insisted. We couldnt take the risk that you might talk me out of leaving. And believe me when I say that leaving you is the hardest thing Ive ever done.

I know you must be feeling hurt and angry, and you have a perfect right to be. But you have to understand that I had no choice.

No choice? What the hell did that mean?

As you know, my position as a contracted employee of the firm is now secure. In fact, it was never in any doubt, thanks to my fathers connections. But what you didnt know, what I couldnt tell you, is that they also offered to make me a junior partner -- not now, but in a couple of years or so, if I prove myself worthy, both professionally and socially.

Socially? Being an outsider, and an Englishman to boot, Mark had always laughed at the legendary old Edinburgh snobbery. But apparently it still held true. Dont tell me theyre making you go straight, he murmured disgustedly. The next few lines said otherwise.

Its nothing to do with my being gay, the letter went on. My employers are okay with that, but if Im going to be a partner, even a junior one, I need to be with someone of my own social standing. So, Ive found someone new. Ive moved in with him. The Post Office has my forwarding address.

Mark felt a cold, hard pit forming deep inside him as he digested the full extent of Grahams treachery. But the letter wasnt finished yet. God, what more could there be?

My parents are selling the flat. Youll get a registered letter, probably tomorrow, giving you three months notice. I am so sorry, Mark. I wish it could have been otherwise. Please dont think too badly of me, though Ill understand if you do.

I hope you find someone worthy of you.

All my love, Graham.

Mark rose from his chair and went back into the lounge. Dropping down onto the sofa, he looked around at the place that had been his home for the last five years, the home that he and Graham had made their own once the other students had moved out after graduation. The home that was now a cold, empty shell. With the paper still clutched in his hand, he took a deep breath and reached for the telephone.

Hello?

He was glad that it was his father, rather than his mother, who answered. Marks father was a straightforward man, his philosophy being that you take each thing as it comes and deal with it the best you can. Marks mothers outraged sympathy would have reduced Mark to tears, and he was not going to cry. No fucking way.