Chapter 1

Colin closed the door with his foot and laid the large box of groceries on the counter, before bending down to stroke Toby, Martin’s dog. “Hello fella, you been a good boy then?”

The large black and tan German Shepherd dog gave a single deep woof in answer.

“Toby, you’ll get me shot if the Guide Dog Association knows that you’re barking at visitors,” Martin said, making his way into the kitchen. “Hi, Colin, running a bit late?”

“Yeah, mate, it’s all the extra stuff people have been ordering for Christmas.”

Colin looked at the five feet nine inch, slightly overweight man who had just entered. Martin’s auburn hair caught the light from the above fluorescent tube as he made his sightless way towards his visitor. The harsh lighting did nothing to conceal Martin’s severely pock-marked face. Martin had told him the disfigurement had been caused by complications arising from a childhood illness

“Ah yes, of course,” Martin said.

“I’ll give you a hand unpacking if you like,” Colin said, opening the top of the cardboard box.

Colin worked as a delivery driver for a supermarket chain. Many people complained to him that they hadn’t received the exact things they’d ordered. The store would substitute items if they didn’t have in stock the precise article the customer had ordered. It wasn’t Colin’s fault if the order didn’t meet the customer’s expectations; he just picked up the filled boxes and delivered them. Martin had never complained when he’d been given an alternate item, regarding it more as something to laugh about. Once when he’d ordered fresh peas, for some reason best known to the person who had picked the goods from the shelves, he’d received Sharon Fruit instead.

“Oh, I’ve never had the nerve to try it, but it’ll be fun to give it a go,” Martin had said.

“Are you sure you’ve got the time to help, what with your extra workload?”

“Sure I can, mate.” Colin had deliberately left Martin’s delivery till last; he also enjoyed the times he spent helping the kind and softly spoken man. Despite his all too evident disability, Colin marvelled at how together Martin always seemed.

He also knew Martin received few visitors, and judging by how little he’d ordered, he’d be alone for Christmas, as well.

Colin was also rather lonely for companionship. He’d known Simon for a number of years; they’d gone to school together. Simon was devastatingly good looking, and, boy, did he know it. Colin had been besotted with Simon throughout their time together. Colin had foolishly believed in loving someone despite their faults, hoping that if he showed Simon total love and devotion, it would somehow change his friend’s self-centred, egotistical, vain and selfish behaviour.

Simon would spend over an hour in the bathroom getting ready to go out, then once they’d arrived at the disco, nightclub or wherever, Simon’s eyes would invariably begin to wander, as he checked out all the other cute guys. Chances were that Simon would spend much of the evening dancing with other men, leaving Colin standing patiently on the sidelines.

The final straw came one day when Colin had come home early to find Simon in bed with a twink he’d picked up from goodness knows where. Although Colin knew that Simon cheated on him, actually catching him in the act was just too much for Colin to cope with. Colin had quickly gathered his clothes together, cramming them into a couple of suitcases, as Simon and his latest penis-touting airhead watched from the bed.

Colin removed the door key from his key-chain, flung it at Simon, and stormed out of the flat, never to return.

Colin had moved in with a buddy from work, his friend being surprised, but not unaccepting, of his homosexuality.

“Hey, man, how the hell can you be gay? You’re six foot three and built like a brick shithouse,” Max had told the brown-haired brown-eyed Colin.

Although Colin appreciated Max putting him up, he had grown increasingly uncomfortable, not to say horny, when Max brought back his dates and screwed them rather loudly for half the night, the thin wall that separated his and Max’s bedrooms doing little to dull the noise of squeaking bedsprings.

“Thanks, it makes life a lot less stressful, but maybe not quite as interesting, if I know what I’m about to open up for dinner,” Martin said.

“Huh?” Colin said, then realised he’d been wool gathering. “Sure, no problem.”

Martin moved towards the little box he kept on the worktop, which held his stock of Braille labels. Each label consisted of a rectangle of plastic with two holes at the top; through which a loop of elastic chord was threaded. When Martin had used the tin, packet or whatever, he would remove the label and put it in the box. He’d told Colin that the box acted as his shopping list.