Chapter Text
The front door slams shut with a loud bang and Charlie lets out a huge sigh of relief. He stands at the kitchen counter and breathes in, and out, slowly, counting, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. It shouldn’t be like this when his boyfriend leaves in the morning but somehow it always is.
It is half past eight on a Sunday morning and the day lies open before him. Charlie contemplates on how he might pass the time; he’s lived in this small estate on the outskirts of Rochester for six months now, but he has hardly got to know the neighbourhood, or his neighbours, with one exception. Feeling calmer, he goes over to the small table in the corner of the tiny kitchen, ready to clear away the debris of their hurried breakfast. Ben had been anxious to get back to town, a total workaholic, even on the Sabbath he has a scheduled meeting.
Charlie is just putting the dishes in the sink ready to wash up when his peace and quiet is torn apart by frantic ringing on his door bell while someone pounds on his front door with the flat of their hand. Startled Charlie rushes to the door, and throws it open…
Ben, bright red in the face, barges past.
“Bastard! Fucker! Wanker! That fucking bastard has done it this time…”
Charlie doesn’t need to ask; he knows exactly what has happened to get Ben so agitated.
“Ben… where did you park last night? You didn’t? You promised.”
“It was half past fucking eleven, how was I to know that fucking moron wasn’t away for the night.”
“Ben, we promised after the last time, I said, you just needed to wake me up and I’d go and move my car so you could park in my space.”
“It was late, babe you were tired. Why should you have to get out of bed just because he’s a fucking arsehole with an attitude problem.”
“It is his space.”
“All property is theft… it should be on a first come first served basis. That wanker is making me late.”
Charlie checks, he has his good pyjamas on that look like shorts. He throws a hoodie over his head and slips his feet into the converse he keeps by the front door and leaving Ben to seethe he goes out to inspect the damage and to attempt to reason with his neighbour at number sixteen.
Charlie’s mini is parked in the space for his flat, number fifteen. It is the corner space, with a low wall on two sides, difficult to manoeuvre into except in a small car. Ben’s Audi is parked neatly next to it, in the space allocated to number sixteen, while Amir’s Nissan Note is correctly parked in the space belonging to flat seventeen. Charlie instantly sees what the problem is. Number sixteen has parked his Fiat Tipo sideways immediately in front of Ben’s car… and Charlie’s, although that is not so urgent, he has no place to be. It will be impossible for them to move either vehicle, even if Amir was to move his car there wouldn’t be room to turn and Ben cannot go backwards because of the wall.
There is nothing for it, Charlie needs to ring the doorbell of number sixteen, grovel and eat humble pie, and pray that his neighbour will accept his apology and move his car before Ben blows a gasket himself.
Parking is a nightmare on the small development where Charlie lives, there are twenty-four flats all together, built in blocks of four and each residence is allocated one parking space more or less outside their property, with another half a dozen spaces opposite for visitors. The problem is that these are simply insufficient, with so many two car owners amongst the residents. There is some on road parking on the main street, but that too is scarce, and, in any case, Ben is precious about the Audi.
When he had first moved into the Close, it hadn’t been such an issue. Charlie had formed an instant rapport with his neighbour at number sixteen, a woman around his age called Darcy who spent most weekends at her girlfriend’s and was cool about Charlie’s fella using her spot when she wasn’t there. But Darcy and Tara had moved in together a couple of months ago and the new tenant of number sixteen is not as amenable. In fact, he is the complete opposite.
For a start he is a total jock, exactly the kind of rugby playing meathead that had given Charlie hell while he was at school. Just passing him on the pavement gives Charlie flashbacks, even if he did have a nice smile, and a peach of a arse… and arms to die for. He is also some kind of fitness freak. Whenever Charlie sees him, mainly at the weekend, he is always dressed in a t-shirt and joggers, either on the way to the gym or on his way back from mindlessly chasing a ball around a muddy field for hours. He isn’t the perfect neighbour by any means, not adverse to coming home late at night, drunk and loud, the taxi dropping him off to the accompaniment of car doors slamming and his ‘mates’ catcalling. Sometimes the guy from number six will be with him and they will noisily banter in the street right outside Charlie’s window wrecking his attempts at sleep, before heading off to their respective homes. Of course, it doesn’t help that relations between Charlie and his new neighbour didn’t get off to the best of starts when Ben had parked his car in number sixteen’s allocated space and as a result blocked access to their removal van.
No, he wouldn’t be popping round to borrow a cup of sugar any time soon. The very thought of having to speak to the man and ask him to move his car, when Ben is so clearly in the wrong, fills Charlie with dread. Charlie sighs, braces himself, walks up to the front door and tentatively presses the bell. There’s no sound from inside, he presses again. It is early but not impossibly so, Is the guy asleep? Has he gone out already? While his car is still here?
Charlie knocks and presses the doorbell, still no answer. He is wondering what to do next when he feels a presence behind him. Ben pushes him out of the way, quite roughly, bends down and begins to shout abuse through the letter box.
“Ben, no…”
“Can you hear me? I know you’re fucking in there. Come out and move your bastard car, I haven’t got all day.”
He keeps this up for ten minutes to no avail, the abuse getting progressive worse, but there is no answer, Charlie is beginning to think his neighbour is absent after all.
“That’s it, I’ll show him,” Ben has his keys in his hand, holding one between his fingers like a blade, and is walking purposefully towards the Fiat. Charlie dashes after him.
“Ben, no… he’ll know that it was you, someone will see you.”
As if to prove the point, Amir appears, summoned by the racket, to discover what all the noise is about. He surveys the three cars, purses his lips, and shakes his head at Ben.
“He did warn you, if you stole his space again…”
Ben opens his mouth, but Charlie hurriedly intervenes. “Really not helping, Amir.”
Ben turns his invective on Charlie, “What the fuck am I supposed to do, I’m supposed to be halfway home by now.”
Amir shrugs, “Uber, train?”
He looks at Charlie’s pinched, pale face and takes pity on him. Amir has absolutely no sympathy for his neighbour’s arsehole of a boyfriend, but he guesses, correctly, that he will start to take his frustration out on Charlie before too long.
“If it helps, I could give you a lift to the station.”
Ben hesitates, looks at his watch, scowls, sighs, and says, “Cheers mate. I just need to get my phone.”
Back inside the flat, Ben picks up his phone from where he has placed it on the kitchen worktop, he never brings anything else with him to Charlie’s, he keeps a toothbrush and some toiletries at the flat. He uses the loo, still cursing Charlie’s neighbour, escalating his language to use the C word and making Charlie wince.
“I’ll have to sort out the car later… or tomorrow… fuck I am going to be so late.”
With that he leaves the flat, out to where Amir is waiting with the engine ticking over. He doesn’t even pause to speak to Charlie, let alone kiss him goodbye.
After Ben has gone, Charlie tries to regain his equilibrium. Things have been tricky with Ben for some time. They have been seeing less and less of each other since Charlie moved out to the ‘Sticks’ as Ben likes to refer to Kent. They used to spend time together much more regularly but once Charlie’s job changed to almost exclusively home working, he couldn’t face spending so much time in his pokey, little bedsit. Anything larger in London was out of his price range, the flat in Kent was cheaper but came with a different cost.
It is still only half past nine, he makes himself a cup of tea and finishes the washing up. The sky is looking overcast, and he decides to take a run before the rain sets in. He changes into proper shorts and a t-shirt and puts his running shoes on. He is only out for about forty minutes, but the exercise clears his head, and he feels the tension of the morning’s episode drain away. He arrives home in a much better frame of mind, just in time to see the guy from number sixteen leave his flat, saunter down the path, studiously ignoring Charlie, swing himself into his car and drive off.
“Bastard!”