Ben hung his head in his hands as he stared at the blank notepad in front of him. One idea, just one idea could make this a little more bearable. But no, he had nothing.
"How's it going?" asked Martha as she dropped a pile of papers on his desk.
"It isn't," he sighed. "What are those?"
"They are some scripts you need to read through."
Ben rubbed his tired eyes. "I can barely write a script of my own and they want me to check someone else's!" Martha shrugged. Begrudgingly he picked up the file and stood up, tucking his chair under his desk. "I'm going on my lunch break now, I will see you later."
Ben was a script writer and editor for a comedy sketch show and, as always, the moment the deadlines approached he ran out of ideas. He still had a few weeks but the scripts needed to be written, rewritten, edited, and then approved. Oh well, this happened every time and he still had a job didn't he? That was mostly down to Martha. She was his fabulous secretary and she kept him in line. She was just as pushy as Jim, his boss, but was much nicer in her manner.
Ben took his usual place on the wooden picnic table on the plaza. The plaza was a concrete seating area between Ben's offices and a block of apartments. Many people used it as a picnic area or a place to meet up, and Ben would come here for a fag and a sandwich. He had long since quit his nasty habit, but out of routine he still had his lunch there when the weather permitted. He always sat at the same bench as well, because it had a lovely view of the fountain in the centre of the plaza, but was out of the way of every one else so he was happily ignored.
Ben pulled out the script he had been given by Martha and, pen in hand, began to go through it. He circled a few bits that didn't make sense and made notes around the edges. He wasn't impressed with the number of spelling mistakes, however, and sighed at the lack of basic English skills this writer possessed. But apart from that it was funny.
Why can't I come up with things like this? He asked himself as he opened up his own uninspired notebook and stared once more at the blank page. Maybe if I... no… what if… no… how about… no! His mind soon wandered into other territories.
There had been rumours about Ben and Martha going round for some time, he knew about them and had chosen to ignore them. If anyone wanted to know the truth they could ask him. Well, they could have. But then the party last week happened. He had gotten a little too drunk and was caught snogging one of the office boys from the floor below. He had been getting shifty looks from various people since then like he had been lying to them about something serious. What he did in his personal life was no ones business. What was he supposed to have done? On his first day at work introduced himself by saying "hi, I'm Ben Willbond, I am the new writer and editor for sketch shows, I am 33 years old, and, oh yes, I'm gay." No, it didn't work like that. Martha was the only one who didn't seem to have a reaction at all to the news. She had told him that she had known from the moment she had met him, but it didn't seem important to her so she didn't bring it up. At least the whispers and looks were dying down again; his sex life was yesterday's news.
He snapped his notebook shut and threw it into his bag in frustration. By chance he glanced back at the bench and realised that whilst he had been… thinking… he had doodled onto the wood. He quickly looked around as if the police might appear any moment and arrest him for graffiting. When he was sure that he was safe, he looked back at the drawing. It was of a very sorry looking man sitting on a bench resting his elbow on his knee and his hand on his cheek. It was a mirror image of how he felt right now. He laughed in spite of himself and packed away his things. His lunch break was over.
*
Mat stood back as he admired his work. Not bad but… ah perfect. He stepped forward and added two more brushstrokes to the canvas. Carefully he put down the paintbrush and palette onto the mass of newspaper, and went into the bathroom to change, the proof of a hard day's work all over him.
Mat was an artist, not a famous one, but enough that he could just about live off what he sold at markets and commissions. He lived in a very small flat, or "studio" as he liked to call it, in London, and spent most of his time working. He had just completed his latest commission, a five foot by five foot canvas of a Tudor style cottage, surrounded by vegetation and blossoms. It was someone's family home and they wanted a memento of the place as they were moving abroad.
Mat stripped off his work clothes, some jogging bottoms and a baggy t-shirt, and had a shower to remove all the specks of acrylic on his body. He then slipped on some jeans and a shirt before grabbing his art bag and keys and heading out the door.
Every time he completed a piece of art he liked to do something just for himself, so he could be reminded of why he loved to paint so much. And he always got his inspiration from sitting on the plaza outside his studio and sketching people as they got on with their lives. There was something so beautiful about every day actions being caught in a freeze frame by an artist that Mat loved so much, and people were one of his favourite subjects to draw. He was one of those few people that could draw a face without any of the features being out of proportion. He had talent; he just needed to be noticed.
He sat down and began to sketch a young lady feeding her baby with a bottle. He quickly caught the look of joyous love on the mother's face as she watched over her child. Yes, Mat could see it now, a figure of a mother and her child in the centre of the canvas, with pastel colours emanating from the mother's body almost like wings, protecting the baby, shielding it from the cruelty of the world.
As the image formed in his mind, Mat quickly packed away his things so he could get back to his studio and start immediately, when something caught his eye. Underneath his sketchbook was a drawing, carved into the wood of the bench with biro, of a sad man. It looked very depressing, Mat thought. On an artists instinct he pulled out a pen and with one stroke turned the thin line of a mouth into a smile. Much better, he decided.
*
Ben spent the next morning in a meeting with the team. They went through the plans for the next month, every ones jobs, etc. He didn't really pay much attention; it was always the same old stuff. Ben longed to get outside after being stuck in such a small room for that length of time but when the meeting was over, Jim asked him to stay behind.
"Ben!" he exclaimed in an over-friendly tone, "How's my scripts coming along?"
"Good, yes, um, good," he stuttered, knowing that Jim could tell he was lying through his teeth.
"Three weeks Ben," he said, giving Ben a warning pat on the back.
"Y-yes sir."
Ben left feeling more stressed and disheartened than before. He dropped his things off at his office and then rushed to the lift before the doors closed on him.
He took a deep breath in the moment he had stepped outside. The rush of cold air that filled his lungs successfully washed away the stress of the morning. He took his place at his bench and shook off his blazer before munching on his egg and cress sandwich. He pulled out his book and opened up to the page with the bookmark for where he had left off; refusing to do any more work during his break.
He had quite forgotten about his rebellious criminal act yesterday and only remembered when he caught sight of it when he was turning the page of his book. He couldn't help but smile at how childish he must have been to draw that when he realised there was something wrong with it. The drawing looked happy. Now that didn't make sense, Ben had most definitely drawn a depressed looking character yesterday, but now it was smiling away at him like it had no care in the world. Someone's given him a smile! Ben thought as he pulled a mockingly offended expression. After having a quick look around, looking for policemen again probably, he took his pen and added a rain cloud over the character's head, so the figure was getting wet. He then added some furrowed eyebrows so that the character was no longer smiling, but had the expression that said 'I've given up'. There was no way this drawing was going to be happier than Ben was!
When it was time for Ben to get back to work, he threw his rubbish into the bin and reluctantly returned to Martha, who said nothing but gave him the eye that said 'Jim's been looking for you'. Crap! He needed ideas, fast! He pressed his hot brow against the cool of the glass and looked out of the window. From his office he could see into some of the flats in the building opposite. Most had blinds for reasons of privacy, but quite a few didn't, and it was these that Ben found himself watching as he avoided more work.
There was a middle aged overweight lady on a treadmill, drinking what looked like a McDonalds milkshake and watching the television. That could be a sketch, Ben thought, someone eating more calories than they were losing. He screwed up his nose, weight problems were becoming a serious issue and it was getting harder and harder to laugh at them without insulting or encouraging bullying. He looked into another window.
There was a couple having a blazing row, arms were flying every where and they were stomping around. Like a gentleman Ben averted his eyes, not one to get involved with people's personal lives, even if he was in a different building to the couple!
He tried another window, and was intrigued by a young man on the fifth floor. At least he thought it was a man, the hair was quite long and he was very skinny but the clothing suggested he was male. He was standing in the middle of the room focusing on something, and every now and again his arm would come swooshing down as if he was having a sword fight with a ghost. Ben squinted to try and get a better look. That wasn't a sword in the guy's hand, it was a paint brush! The guy was painting to music! Ben watched for some minutes, mesmerised by this odd activity. The canvas must have been quite big by the size of the brushstrokes, and the guy seemed quite enthusiastic about it.
"What are you looking at?"
Ben spun round, taken by surprise are Martha's unexpected intrusion.
"Nothing," he said innocently. Martha did not fail to notice the slight pink tone on Ben's cheeks.
"Well don't you think you should be doing something?" She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. Ben found it surprisingly difficult to draw himself away from the window and back to his over tidied desk (well anything to avoid working!). "Any ideas?" she asked hopefully.
"Well, I was thinking about a painter, a bad painter, that painted to the sound of something like a washing machine." Martha placed her delicate hand on her lips and giggled. "Actually…" Ben thought for a moment, before suddenly grabbing his notebook and jotting things down before he forgot the sudden explosion of ideas that came into his head.
"I'll leave you to it," smiled Martha, pleased Ben had had his eureka moment. Ben made an 'mmhmm' noise and waved her out the door without looking up.
*
Mat opted to take the stairs rather than the lift as he descended from his flat into the outside world. He thought it might be a good warm up before the jog he had spontaneously decided to go on after spending the morning doing the basic sketches for the mother and child watercolour. When he stepped outside he jumped on the spot and turned on his iPod to psych himself up. He planned to jog to the park, do a few sketches, and then jog back in time for Pointless, which he enjoyed playing along to. He took a step forward and nearly tripped over as his foot got caught on an untied shoelace. Sighing at the fact that his old trainers had managed to undo themselves before he had even started running, Mat walked over to the nearest bench and put his foot up so he could tie the laces up again.
When he had done so, he put his foot down and jogged on the spot once more. He was about to run off when something in his mind nagged at him. Had he forgotten something? No he had double checked. Had he done something to make him look silly? Spilled something? He looked down at himself – no. What was it then? He looked around; perhaps it was something he had seen. It was. The sketch on the bench he had drawn on had changed. Someone had scribbled an angry looking rain cloud. Mat, sympathising with the drawing, pulled a pen from his art bag that was on his back, and gave him an umbrella. He leant back to examine his work. He then half smiled, and quickly added one more thing before putting the pen away and disappearing for his afternoon jog.
*
"Ben, I know you've never missed a deadline," began Jim as he walked into Ben's office uninvited, "but you are cutting it a bit fine-" He froze. He had to do a full 360 spin to take in all the notes and sketches that had been blue tacked to the walls so that the off white paint was no longer visible.
"Just one second," mumbled Ben as he searched for space for his latest idea. Eventually he stood on his chair and stuck it behind his desk, very close to the ceiling. "Right, yes, so," he only then took in Jim's expression, "so I had a bit of an explosion of ideas yesterday."
"I can see that," replied Jim, taking a closer look at one of the bits of paper. He chuckled at the punch line and Ben heaved a sigh of relief. "Get these," he pointed at the mess, "into some sort of order and ready to present by the end of the week."
Ben bowed his head. "Yes sir."
He was exhausted after being up half the night as he scribbled down ideas as they came to him, and Ben was secretly thankful when Martha told him to stop working so hard and go have a break! He bought a tea and a sandwich from the cafeteria and went outside to sit on his bench. He didn't know why, but he immediately checked the doodle he had left there the other day, and sure enough, the miserable character had been rescued by some meddling stranger. Ben laughed at the sight of the umbrella and was going to consider what he could draw to retaliate when he noticed something had been written underneath the drawing. Ben read it.
Give the poor guy a break!
Ben laughed out loud.
Leave my doodle alone!
He wrote back teasingly. He then drew a man behind the original character with his arms out, as if he was about to grab him. Let's see what you do with that my mystery stranger!
*
Mat knew exactly what he was going to do to the latest addition to the bench doodle.
*
A cupcake? He had drawn a cupcake in the mugger's hand so now it looked like the person behind was just offering the man a tasty treat like a nice person rather than jumping him from behind. There was also a reply to Ben's comment.
Not until you let your drawing have a happy ending.
Ben didn't want to smile, he didn't want to laugh, but he couldn't help it. Everyone else on the plaza must have thought he was a madman laughing at a bench but he didn't care. His stranger was hilarious.
*
When Ben first doodled the image of a sorry looking man, he never intended to have a conversation with a complete stranger about nothing, and enjoy it! And yet that was exactly what had happened. It was strange to think anyone could have read the messages going on between them, and yet for some reason they still felt very personal, like he could tell this stranger anything.
Their conversation went like this;
Give the poor guy a break!
Leave me doodle alone!
Not until you let your drawing have a happy ending.
A cupcake? Really?
Everybody loves cupcakes.
I don't.
Yes you do.
And you know that how?
Because everybody loves cupcakes.
I'm more of a brownie person myself.
Millionaire's shortbread all the way!
It got to the point where Ben itched to get outside and read the next message on the bench. He didn't know why, it was just silly banter with someone he had never met, but something caused him to rush out the door the moment the clock said 1 o'clock.
Mat, who did not intend to leave the house that day, found himself skipping down the stairs purely so he could read and respond to the latest scribble on the table.
No way, homemade brownies and ice cream.
That sounds like a good film snack.
*
One day, Ben was going back into his office building after lunch, when his phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and as he walked he read the text he had received. This meant he did not pay attention to where he was going and accidentally walked into someone. The poor guy's things went everywhere.
"I am so sorry," he said, helping the young man to pick it all up. He looked vaguely familiar, but Ben could not put his finger on it. He looked down at the things the man had dropped and realised it was a series of paintings. The one in his hand was of a forest at night, the moonlight giving the painting a sense of magic.
"That's okay, I should have been looking where I was going," replied a sweet voice. Ben smiled at the stranger and looked at him properly as he handed back his work. He was skinny, attractive, with the kind of messy hair you would love to run your fingers through. His eyes were the same colour as chocolate, and they were staring at him in a way that should have made Ben uncomfortable, but he didn't seem to mind.
"Completely my fault." The two men stood awkwardly in silence. "These are very good," Ben said suddenly, pointing at the artwork, "are they yours?"
"Erm, yes, thank you."
"I really like that night time forest scene," Ben added.
"It's yours for a tenner," teased the man. He had meant it as a joke but Ben immediately extracted his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a ten pound note. "Oh, I was joking," he said, feeling embarrassed at taking this man's money.
"And I am being serious. There is a space on the wall of my office and that painting belongs there. That is, if you want to sell," Ben added quickly, realising that the painting might not actually be for sale.
"Oh, erm, yes," the stranger stuttered. He placed his other paintings down on the floor and politely took the money before handing Ben his painting.
"Thank you very much," smiled Ben, as he tucked the painting under his arm and pulled his shoulders back. The stranger was staring again. "Goodbye."
"B-bye."
Pleased with his purchase, Ben jogged up the stairs, two at a time, and returned to work.
Unknown to Ben, when he disappeared around the corner to go back to work, the very stranger that he had just bought the painting from headed straight for the bench he had just been sitting on. He had then taken a pen and written a reply to Ben's last message that he had written only minutes before.
*
With shaking hands, Mat poured himself a cup of tea after he dumped all his stuff on the kitchen table. He had just returned from the local morning market, selling some of his more commercial work, when he got distracted by the song playing on his iPod and walked straight into some poor bloke! He felt so embarrassed! And to make things worse, the man was the most handsome man Mat had ever seen in his life! When he had smiled at Mat, Mat had almost melted into a puddle. The fitted suit hugged the man's body so that Mat could see every line and curve, the salt and pepper hair was distinguished and yet adorable, and the voice! Posh but not stuck up, soft and polite, like velvet. But it was when the man smiled that had caused Mat to catch his breath. The corners of his eyes crinkled and made them shone, and all Mat could see were these beautiful blue eyes looking back at him, no doubt thinking he was a lunatic for not being able to look away!
Mat sipped his hot drink as he changed into his work clothes. Nice-eyes had actually liked one of his paintings! And it wasn't one of the popular ones, it was the type that he only sold once in a while and yet was one of his favourites.
He slipped a CD into the player and then placed a new canvas onto the easel. He then squeezed some paint onto the palette and stood back as the music guided his hand, nice-eyes not leaving his mind for one second as he worked.
*
Ben stepped back and admired the newest addition to his office. His office had always been very impersonal, no photos or certificates on the desk or walls. But now, with this newly acquired painting, the room felt more like Ben's space than it ever had before.
"What's that?" asked Martha as she came in and stood beside Ben, tilting her head as she inspected the painting.
"A painting, I just bought it. What do you think?" She pulled an approving face, nodding.
"I like it. Who's the artist?"
"I-" Ben frowned. "I don't know his name." He folded his arms. I didn't ask him his name! Why didn't I ask him his name? Now I will never know! He squinted at the signature in the corner of the canvas, but could not make out what it said. Martha, who knew him too well, read his expression like a book.
"Good artist was he?" she asked with her tongue in her cheek.
"Yes very," Ben said eagerly. Martha raised and eyebrow and he blushed. "Well, I liked it."
"I bet you did." Ben gave her an innocent look and she laughed at his own blindness. She patted his arm and walked away, leaving him to pine after this mysterious artist.
*
Even better than popcorn.
Wow, then it must be good.
Define 'good film'.
The Breakfast Club?
That is such a 'happily ever after film'.
What's wrong with that?
It's unrealistic, 'happily every after's' don't happen in real life.
Says who?
Says me.
*
Mat stepped outside for another spontaneous run. He jogged on the spot and then automatically went over to the bench that miraculously still hadn't been removed due to all the graffiti all over it. He no longer thought twice about what he was doing, about how strange it was, it was part of his routine now and he loved it.
He read the last message and frowned. So far the banter had been light hearted and silly, but there was something about the definitive 'says me' that gave Mat the impression there was real malice behind the words. He had two choices, either he could simply make a joke about it and act like he was none the wiser, or he could make a difference in this stranger's life. He chewed on the end of his pen as he thought, and then quickly scribbled something down and walked away before he changed his mind. Part of him was telling him to get hold of a pen knife and carve what he had written out. But he ran away from those voices.
*
A few hours later Mat returned, checking his watch as he turned a corner into the road where he lived. 2:30pm. He was about to open the door to his building when a voice in his mind told him to check the bench.
He had realised that the stranger always replied around lunchtime everyday, and therefore probably worked in the area rather than lived in one of the flats. And since the usual lunch hour had passed there was a chance the stranger had replied.
As he approached the bench, Mat's heart was thumping loudly. He tried to subtly lean over the seat and look, which of course made him look ridiculous. His heart sank.
Aren't you happy?
No.
He sighed and brushed his fingers across the two simple letters. No. He so badly wanted to make his stranger happy, but what could he say on a public bench?
Mat slouched onto the seat and held his head in his hands. The least he could do was to make the stranger smile. So he pulled out his pen and wrote; well you should be, there is a bakery 2 miles away that does the best pasties!
When he got back to his studio he immediately regretted what he had put. This person was unhappy, and he had gone and made a stupid joke! But he could hardly have made the stranger pour out their feelings onto a bench! He rubbed his eyes, feeling unnecessarily guilty, when an idea came to him. How could he not have thought of it before? What was stopping him from meeting his stranger and offering him a sympathetic ear? At worst the person will say no, and at best he would have made a friend. So that was what Mat decided to do.
*
Mat woke up early the next day with a fluttering feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't quite sure if it was excitement or nerves that were the cause of this. He washed and dressed quickly, burning his throat as he did not wait for his coffee to cool down before he drank it. He shoved a toasted bagel into his mouth as he pulled on his leather jacket and picked up his art bag.
The plan was to sit on a nearby bench and sketch all morning, so he didn't look odd for hanging around for hours doing nothing. Being so early, the plaza was pretty empty so Mat managed to claim the perfect seat a few yards away from the bench in question. From where he was he could see anyone who chose to sit there, so hopefully his stranger would turn up. It would just be Mat's luck if it was his day off or something!
He pulled out his sketchbook and settled on a subject to draw. He chose the fountain with the few people sitting around it and the child throwing a coin in to make a wish. He used a 2B pencil to get the basics down quickly before anybody moved and then moved in to the detail.
The bench was on the other side of the fountain so he could keep an eye on it whilst it worked. A few people came and went, and Mat's head snapped up and he watched very carefully when they took a seat at the golden bench, but not one took any notice of the conversation that had been carved on it.
Around 11 o'clock a young lady, in her twenties Mat thought, sat on the edge of the bench and pulled out a book from her bag. Just as she was opening it, she glanced at the bench and began to read what was written there. Mat shot up, watching her carefully. Honestly, he thought it was a man he had been talking to, and he was slightly disappointed that it wasn't. He had fantasised about a knight in shining armour that swept him off his feet and took him away to some fairytale world. But no matter, if this girl needed someone to talk to, he could be there. But before he walked over to her to introduce himself, Mat noted the odd expression on her face. It was like she had never read the words before, like it didn't make sense to her. She also didn't seem to want to write a reply as she made no attempt to fish out a pen from her bag. It's not her! When she had finished reading it she shrugged to herself and went back to her book.
As time went on, Mat got more and more fidgety. He had finished the basic frame of the sketch now and was using pencils with different levels of hardness to get all the detail and shading. He got quite absorbed at one point and did not register immediately that the bench he was supposed to be watching was no longer vacant.
He had looked up to check the shadow created by the curve of the marble fountain, when he did a double take and realised someone was sitting there. He scrutinised the stranger, and realised that he was no stranger at all, it was nice-eyes!
Mat's stomach flipped. Please be him, please be him! Mat almost fell of his seat as he edged forward to try and get a better look at him.
He was just innocently sitting there, picking at a pasta pot whilst he used his elbows to hold a notebook open. It wasn't warm enough for him to have taken his blazer jacket off, but he had done the front button up so it hugged his chest and accentuated his muscle. He didn't appear to have paid any attention to the writing on the bench he was sitting on. Mat's heart sank, he didn't know why, but he so badly wanted nice-eyes to be his stranger. He was about to go back to his drawing and wait for the next person to come along, when he saw nice-eyes throw his empty pasta pot into the nearby bin from where he was sitting. Impressive, Mat giggled. Nice-eyes then began to rummage through his laptop bag before pulling out a pen. He then leaned forward and tilted his head so that he could read the last message that had been left for him. He smiled, it was a beautiful smile, and then began to scratch his reply into the wood.
Mat's heart stopped. It was him!
He couldn't move. No matter how much his brain screamed at his legs to get up and walk over there they would not do as they were told. Mat was rooted to the spot. He could do nothing but watch helplessly as nice-eyes made notes in his booklet, occasionally putting the end of his pen in his mouth and chewing on it as he thought. Mat couldn't look away, he just stared, his mouth open wide and his eyes transfixed.
He had no idea how long he spent just watching, but when nice-eyes stood up, he had a minor panic attack. His legs still refused to move and there was no way he could speak to him now. As nice-eyes walked past, Mat held his hand to his face and hunched over so he could not see his face. It was stupid really, there was no way nice-eyes would have remembered him, but he did it anyway. The moment he disappeared round the corner, he found his feet again and walked quickly over to the bench before any one else took it. He read nice-eyes' reply.
Really? Where? I must go there some time.
Mat pulled a sad smile, he had been so close! He mentally slapped himself before taking a pen and bending over to reply. A voice from behind startled him.
"It's you!"
Mat froze, thinking the police had finally caught up with the graffiti artist that had been terrorising the plaza for the past few weeks. He turned slowly.
Nice-eyes was standing there, his beautiful eyes wide and his mouth open.
"You're my stranger."
They stared at each other for some minutes unable to move.
"Hi," Mat managed to say after an eternity.
"Hi," Ben replied. They both continued to stare. Not quite believing what they were seeing. Ben suddenly shoved his hand out. "Ben." Mat took it.
"Mat." Apparently neither were capable of more than one syllable at a time.
Ben's heart thumped wildly, he had not forgotten the artist that had inspired some of his best work to date. His hand was softer and stronger than he expected. He was still holding it long after they had finished shaking. He quickly pulled his own away as he realised this, and Mat blushed as he did so.
Mat had once more got lost in nice-eyes – Ben's – nice eyes! Say something you idiot!
"Spires Avenue," he blurted out. Ben pulled a confused expression, thinking he had missed half a conversation. "Th-the bakery," Mat tapped the bench, trying to explain that he was replying verbally to Ben's last message, "they do the most amazing pasties. They probably do some great brownies too." Ben smiled fondly at the stuttering artist.
"You will have to show me some time."
Mat's mouth went dry. Is he… is he flirting with me? Of course not, don't be stupid. Look at him, he is a sex god and I am just a scrawny idiot. "Loved to," he just about managed to say.
"How about now?" Ben asked impulsively. Mat dropped the art bag he was holding. Cursing, he struggled to pick everything up as the contents fell out the bag and sprayed across the concrete. Like the first time they met, Ben helped him to collect his things and gave them back to him. Their fingers brushed momentarily against each other and Mat shivered at the touch.
"Sure," he breathed.
They walked together, Ben standing closer than perhaps necessary but Mat didn't mind. He just had to hold his breath every time Ben's arm accidentally brushed against his own. He held his sketchbook close to his chest, clutching on to it for dear life as he thought of something to say.
"So what do you-"
"Shit!" Ben cut off Mat mid sentence as his mobile went off. Mat almost dribbled at the sound of the posh voice swearing. "Sorry," he said to Mat as his picked up. "Hello?"
"Ben, where the hell are you?!" screeched Martha down the other end of the phone. "You are supposed to be in that meeting with Jim and the team, presenting the final script!"
"Shit," Ben said again. With everything that had happened, Ben had completely forgotten he was supposed to be working! "Give me five minutes; can you stall them for me?"
"You owe me big time Ben Willbond," she said.
"I love you too," he said with a laugh before hanging up and turning to the crushed looking artist by his side. He didn't want to have to say goodbye to this man. "I… I have to go, that was my secretary, I'm supposed to be at a meeting. I only came back down because I left my notebook on the bench!"
"That's okay," Mat smiled meekly, trying not to show the disappointment he felt. So he was in love with his secretary, of course, it had to be too good to be true. All the flirting had been in his own imagination.
Ben took a step back but then turned again, hovering.
"Tomorrow," he said, "would you like to do this tomorrow? 1 o'clock at our bench?"
We have a bench! Mat squeed. Stop it. He is in love with his secretary, he said so, he reminded himself. He nodded nervously, not trusting what might come out of his mouth. Ben smiled again, making Mat's stomach flip. You can't look at me like that, that's not fair!
"Tomorrow then," Ben said finally, before turning and running back to his office, hoping he still had a job when he got there. It was worth it though, he thought.
*
Mat fiddled with the cuff of his checked shirt. After telling himself twenty times that this was not a date, he had decided to go for smart casual; one of his best red and black checked shirts and black skinny jeans. Last minute he had also put on his leather jacket, which he was thankful for as it started to rain the moment he stepped outside. He held his jacket over his head as he stood by the bench waiting for Ben.
1:05pm. He's late. He's not coming, you've been stood up. No you haven't, this isn't a date so you can't be stood up. Just go back inside, you are getting soaked. But what if he has hurt himself, fallen down the stairs or something? Maybe you should just hang around to make sure an ambulance doesn't turn up. But then what would you do? You could hardly go with him could you? "Hi I'm Mat, Ben and I wrote messages to each other on government property." Just get out of the rain, you look like an idiot.
"Hi." Mat's legs almost gave way underneath him as Ben approached him, beaming. "You're soaked!" he exclaimed as he shifted the umbrella in his hand so that Mat could stand underneath it with him. Mat looked down at himself like he hadn't realised.
"Oh, yeah, I didn't have an umbrella." Ben just laughed.
"Sorry I'm late, my boss wanted to see me. Shall we go?" Mat lead the way to the infamous bakery, chatting about this and that; what horrible weather it was, not like last week, the flowers will probably appreciate it. Mat stepped back and allowed Ben to enter first, catching a cheeky glimpse at Ben's bum. He approved of what he saw, and then flushed as Ben turned and asked him what he wanted to eat.
"You're going to want to try the beef pasty," he said with an innocent smile, hoping Ben had not seen him looking.
"Alright," Ben turned to the till lady, "two beef pasties, a brownie and a millionaires shortbread please." Mat shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a collection of coins. Ben immediately enclosed his hands around Mat's and said, "No don't worry, I'll pay." Mat was so unprepared for the contact that he froze. Ben took the silence as acceptance and paid the cashier whilst Mat tried to process what had just happened.
Ben handed Mat's meal to him, and then took his own and they walked out the shop as there was no seating area inside. They stood against the window under the canopy to avoid getting wet (or more wet in Mat's case) as they ate.
"So?" grinned Mat, "was I right or was I right? Are these not the best pasties you have ever tasted?"
"I have to say that this pastry does indeed surpass any I have had before." Mat's heart fluttered as Ben smiled; all he had wanted to do was to make Ben happy.
"So what do you do? Jobwise I mean."
"I'm a writer for a TV show. I write various comedy sketches as well as editing others. We are just about to finalise the latest script and start casting and filming."
"Oh wow," said Mat, genuinely interested. "And, um," he picked at his millionaires shortbread, not sure if he wanted to know the answer to the question, "how – how long have you been dating your secretary?"
"Wh-agpt?" Ben choked on his brownie.
"I heard you say 'I love you' to her on the phone. Sorry is it a secret? I won't tell anyone," he mentally slapped himself, thinking he had put his foot in it. Ben burst into a fit of laughter.
"Martha is one of my closest friends, I was teasing her. I'm," he dropped his eyes and wrung his hands, "I'm gay actually."
"Oh," Mat too lowered his eyes. "Me too."
The two of them avoided making eye contact with each other for fear of exposing the want in their eyes. Mat could have taken Ben there and then against the window, to the shock of the two old women buying some iced buns for their grandchildren. They stood quietly and ate, neither able to think of anything else to say.
"I'd better…" Ben pointed aimlessly behind him. "I can't be late two days in a row." Mat nodded and Ben opened his umbrella up so that the two of them could make it back to the plaza relatively dry. When they reached the point where they had to go their separate ways, Ben hovered like he did before. "Would you, um, would you like to do this again tomorrow?"
"I can't," Ben visibly deflated, "I have to mind my stool at the market, I sell my artwork there twice a week."
"Oh," was all Ben could think to say.
"Here." Mat fished out his mobile and got up the contacts list. "Let me give you my number." Ben quickly took out his own phone, a posh Blackberry, much more expensive than Mat's old Nokia, and tapped in Mat's number as he read it out to him. It amused him that Mat didn't know his number off by heart.
"Why would I need to know my own number? I don't need to call or text my own phone do I?" was his defence. Mat curled a lock of hair around his finger as he said, "call me?" They said good bye and then parted ways, both leaving with slightly pink cheeks.
*
Ben was humming to himself when he got back to the office. When Martha saw the glint in his eye as he walked by her desk she jumped up and followed him into his office. She pulled up a chair and sat opposite him on the other side of his desk and used her arms to prop her head up. Ben pulled a face.
"What?"
"Tell. Me. Everything."
"There's nothing to tell," but the grin on Ben's face gave him away. Martha kicked him under the table.
"Something has been going on for ages now and you are going to tell me what." This was why Martha was one of Ben's closest friends, you could tell her anything and it would stay between the two of you.
Ben leant forward, giving the appearance of a conspiracy going on between them as he told her how Mat had drawn on his doodle, and then they started to talk and met and gone to lunch. Martha stayed silent as Ben told his tale, but her grin grew bigger and bigger as every second went by.
"Ooh!" she squealed when Ben had finished. "It's like a fairytale! You two are destined to be together."
"Wait, who said I liked him like that?"
"Erm, every grin and wistful look you have pulled in the past ten minutes! Don't try and deny it Ben, you're easier to read than a book. So what are you going to do to bag your man?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Well, in every fairytale the prince does something to sweep the princess, or other prince," she added with a wink, "off his feet. So how are you going to surprise him?"
"I… er… I…"
"I know!" Martha exclaimed suddenly. "Go visit him at the market tomorrow. He won't be expecting it, it would be so sweet!" She clapped her hands over her heart and hugged herself.
"He will think I am a stalker!"
"No he won't, he'll love it."
"I don't know…"
"Well I do. You are going if I have to push you out the door myself."
"Fine," Ben said, making it sound like he was only going to shut Martha up, but really he hadn't needed that much persuading to see Mat again. Martha then looked at him with a cheeky grin.
"Can I come and watch?"
"Get back to work!" Ben pointed to her desk out the door and Martha poked her tongue out as she returned to work.
*
Ben walked up the street and saw the entrance to the market a few yards ahead of him. He then turned around and walked quickly in the other direction. Stupid, stupid, Mat wouldn't want him to disturb him whilst he was trying to make a living. No, best to go back and tell Martha what a silly ideas of hers it had been. He then thought of what she had said to him before he had left.
"I can make life a living hell for you if you chicken out of this you know."
Ben gritted his teeth and told himself to pull himself together. He turned once more and made his way to the market. As he approached the entrance, he froze, not able to walk any further. Fate intervened and just then a bustle of people chose to walk into the market, Ben got caught up with them and was forced to enter with them.
He saw Mat immediately. He was sitting in a plastic chair with his feet up on his stool, throwing peanuts in the air and catching them in his mouth. Doubt once more flooded Ben's mind but before he had the chance to run away Mat saw him. He jumped up and tried to look as dignified as he could, as if he hadn't been slacking only moments before.
"Hello," Ben grinned as he approached him.
"Hi," Mat breathed, wringing his hands, "what are you doing here?"
"I've never been to this market before and so I thought I'd check it out," he lied.
"Oh." Why does my brain go to mush every time I try and talk to this man, thought Mat. "Well this is the market," he said as he gestured to the space around him and tried not to think about how he had just stated the obvious. "There are craft stools over there, clothes and fabric stools over there, food stools over there, and home made things here." He pointed to each area in turn. Ben did not seem interested in any stool there except Mat's.
"And these are your paintings?" Ben asked as he had a look though a box of prints.
"Yes, it's mostly the more commercial stuff. I do a few copies of the same subject of things that seem to sell the most. Usually it's landscapes and abstract splodges." Ben nodded as he listened to Mat talk about some of the art he pointed out; where it was, what had inspired him, whether he liked them. Ben couldn't understand some of the terminology but he was happy listening to Mat talk about something he was clearly passionate about. He complimented him every time and Mat got shyer and shyer as he did so.
Ben was edging his way around the table, a few steps further and he would have been round the back with Mat. He used the artwork that was spread out all over the stool as an excuse to get even closer. Mat licked his lips; not taking his eyes of Ben's shining eyes for one second, willing him to close the gap.
"Your customer has been at your stool for over twenty minutes and he hasn't bought a thing." They sprang apart as someone Ben did not recognise lent against the pole of the stool and got between them.
"Ben," he offered is hand, hoping he hadn't got Mat into trouble with his boss.
"Simon," the man replied, furrowing his brow. "Have we met?"
"I don't believe so," said Ben, quite certain he would remember someone with such fantastic blonde spaghetti hair.
"This is Simon," he explained to Ben, "he owns the antiques stool. Talking of which, shouldn't you be minding it?" asked Mat, feeling embarrassed enough for the both of them.
"The market closes in fifteen minutes; no one ever buys anything now."
"You never know," glared Mat, trying as subtly as he could to get Simon to go away. He did not take the hint. Instead he edged closer and with a low voice said,
"See that guy at table twelve," Mat automatically spun round and looked at the man in question. Ben followed his gaze, but tried not to stare so obviously. "He has been making eyes at you all day." Simon nudged Mat on the arm and wiggled his eyebrows.
"No he hasn't, you're just seeing things." As Mat said this, the man on table twelve noticed Mat looking and smiled at him playfully through his eyelashes. Mat smiled back awkwardly and then looked at Simon, whose expression could be translated into 'so tell me again how this guy doesn't fancy you?' Mat began to straighten out his stool, tidying bits that were already tidy in the hope that Simon would drop the subject. But instead he moved so he was standing next to him again and began to tell Mat all he had learnt about the guy in the past few hours.
"His name is Larry, he owns a book stool. He enjoys a good bit of comedy, sports, and comic books, and I bet you £10 that in the next half an hour he will give you his number."
"I'm not interested."
"No you're not are you," mused Simon, "you're still hung up on that mystery man of yours."
Ben, who had been very quiet up until now, felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The thought of Mat fancying a man that was not him made him feel sick. He pretended to be engrossed by a painting of a tree as he focused on the conversation the two men were having.
"I keep telling you there is no mystery man!" Mat was pleading with Simon, praying that Ben did not realise it was him he was so hung up on.
"Don't lie to me Mat, you've been acting differently lately, and then there's the – oh!" he suddenly exclaimed, clapping his hands together, "it's you!" Ben froze as Simon pointed an accusing finger at him. "I knew I had seen you somewhere before!"
"Simon, please," Mat tried to say, but it was too late.
"You're the guy in Mat's painting!" Mat ducked incredibly quickly behind the table so that Ben did not see his face turn bright beetroot. He pretended to put the money box into some sort of order.
"What painting?"
"Mat brought a new painting with the rest of his things today by accident. You are the man reading on the bench."
Maybe, just maybe if I wish hard enough the ground will swallow me up, thought Mat.
"Mat," Ben leant over the table to look at the crouching artist, "is this true? Can I see it?"
Mat slowly stood up, hoping against hope that his skin colour had returned to it's normal pale self. He half smiled and nodded at Ben, unable to deny anything he asked. He turned and walked to the back of his stool, glaring at Simon as he went past – if looks could kill! Underneath his chair he pulled out a canvas, which he hugged close to his chest.
"I didn't – it's not – you just have a very nice face," he bumbled, "as a subject for a painting I mean – not that you don't have a nice face anyway! I mean – you have a lovely face – not that you need me to tell you that, I'm sure people tell you that all the time. I -" Mat snapped his mouth shut before he said anything even more stupid than he had done already.
"Just show me," Ben said gently as he held out his hand to accept the painting. Mat watched Ben's face as he handed the canvas over. Ben smiled at him first, before he looked at the painting. It was a smile that told him not to look so terrified as he would tell Mat he liked it even if he didn't. But when his eyes flicked down and took in the image, his smile dropped. Mat wrung his hands round his wrists, he had never cared about the verdict of his work like this before, and Ben's look of dumbfoundness was not comforting.
"I just thought it would be a nice painting," he said apologetically, "I'm an artist, I can't really switch off my creativity. It's silly I know." He tried to take the painting back but Ben snatched it away.
"I want it," he said quietly, still not taking his eyes off it. "It's amazing. It's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen!"
The painting was a landscape of the plaza, the fountain on the left and their bench on the right. The fountain was full of life and spurting water so it flowed over the three bowls that made it up. There was a crowd behind, all a blur, but you could make out the families and the elderly couples walking by. And then there was Ben. He could see why Simon had recognised him from the painting. Although he was not the main focus he did take up a large part of the canvas. He was wearing a simple polo shirt and jeans, chewing the end of a pen as he looked over a notebook. His hair did not look grey as such, as Ben always liked to complain about, but was more 'salt and pepper-y' that gave him a distinguished look. The light from the sun highlighted his facial features perfectly, and enhanced the creases and folds in the clothes giving them a 3D feel. But what was most striking about this picture were his eyes. They were so blue! Ben, of course, knew what colour his eyes were, but he had thought them dull and lifeless. Mat, however, had made them look young yet wise, bright yet kind and loveable. Was this really how Mat saw him?
"You – you like it?" stammered Mat.
"It's perfect," Ben looked Mat directly in the eye as he said this.
"Then take it." Ben dug out his wallet and pulled out a few notes.
"I have… ninety pounds…"
"No, no, just take it. It's for you." Their eyes locked as their bodies gravitated towards each other.
"Not bad is it?" said Simon, completely oblivious to what he had just interrupted. Mat gave him another killer look and Ben coughed.
"Thank you for this, really. I still feel like I should buy this from you."
"Not at all," replied Mat as he tucked a curl behind his ear. It pinged back immediately. "This is for lunch yesterday."
"This is worth more than just a few pasties!"
"You could buy him dinner," murmured Simon with a grin, crossing his arms suggestively. Apparently he wasn't as oblivious as he had been making out.
"Simon!" Mat exclaimed, wishing the ground would swallow him up again.
"Alright."
"What?" Ben squared his shoulders.
"Would you like to go to dinner with me Mat?"
"I – er – ye – I mean – I –um – if you want – er -" Simon took Mat by the shoulders.
"What he is trying to say is 'yes'."
"Yes," Mat said, as the words finally got from his brain to his lips.
"I'll call you," said Ben as he bit his bottom lip and reluctantly returned to work.
The moment Ben was out of sight, Mat had collapsed against Simon and said, "I fucking hate you." He had then thrown his arms around his neck and said, "thank you!"
*
Ben sipped the beer in his hand as he stood by the bar waiting for his name to be called. He had been so afraid of being late for this date, no dinner, that he had turned up early and their table wasn't ready. He smoothed down his clothes for the umpteenth time, hoping he hadn't overdressed for the occasion. He had chosen, well, Martha had chosen a pale blue shirt with a faded stripe pattern and cotton jeans when she volunteered herself to be Ben's date advisor.
"He's only ever seen you in suits, he will want to see the real you. And don't take him to a posh restaurant either. He is an artist; he will like homely and rustic food. Take him to the cavalry, everyone loves a good roast." She had also ruffled his hair after he had tried to brush it down and taken the tie off him when he tried to put it on. When she had finally approved of his appearance she said, "Go get him tiger," and shoved him out the door.
"Ben Willbond?" A waiter called his name and he was lead to his table as he waited for his date, no friend, to arrive.
Mat was shaking as he opened the door to the restaurant. Being practically jobless and making money off a hobby meant he could not afford to eat out and so this was a rare treat for him. When he entered he looked around aimlessly, not quite sure what he was supposed to do. Thankfully a man approached him and asked him if he had a reservation.
"Um yes," he replied. The two men exchanged glances that made Mat feel horribly uncomfortable, until the waiter finally asked him under what name was the reservation, and he realise how stupid he must have looked. "Willbond, I think."
"Right this way sir." Mat ran his sweating hands through his hair, something he always did when he was nervous. Normally he would have loved this place, looking at all the artwork on the walls, asking about the history of the place, but right now all he could think about was Ben. I hope I look okay, I hope I've got the right place, I hope I've got the right time, I hope turns up, I hope I don't do something stupid, I hope I don't drop food down myself! His heart beat increased as he thought of more and more things that could go wrong. And then he saw him.
Ben stood as Mat approached. Do I hug him? Kiss him? Shake his hand? He began to panic as Mat's clean shaven face and wispy hair highlighted his jaw line. He rushed to Mat's chair and pulled it out, chivalry was something he had been brought up on.
"Oh thank you," Mat said with an amused grin. "Hello," he added.
"Hi." They looked at each other shyly, neither sure what to say. Their awkward silence was short lived, however, when a woman from a nearby table began to shout at the poor waiter that had brought Mat to the table.
"I am not happy with my soup, waiter," she said as she clicked her fingers at him, "I demand you take it back and get me another one." Mat and Ben could not help but watch.
"What is wrong with it madam?"
"It is cold."
"You ordered the special madam."
"I am well aware of what I ordered thank you," she said rudely.
"It was the Vichyssoise."
"So?" The waiter looked awkwardly around, aware of how much attention this conversation was getting.
"Madam it's supposed to be served cold, it's a cold soup."
Mat and Ben tried to stifle their sniggers but when they caught site of the other they burst into a fit of laughter.
The dinner went like a dream. They talked non stop about anything and everything, they probably knew more about each other than themselves! Ben told Mat all kinds of stories that come with working at a TV station and Mat continuously made Ben laugh with his cheesey jokes. Mat told Ben how he had bought and watched all the shows Ben had written for and loved every single one of them, and Ben told Mat of how everyone on his floor wanted a copy of the painting hung in his office.
They were happy and content in each others company, but as the evening drew to a close something nagged at the back of Mat's mind.
"Ben," he said as he mixed his ice cream sundae.
"Mmhmm," Ben said with a mouthful of ice cream.
"Can I ask you something?"
"You just did," Ben winked. "Of course," he then said when he saw the frown on Mat's face.
"When we were writing on that bench to each other," he couldn't help but smile at the thought of the thing that brought them together, "I asked you if you were happy, and you said no." Ben put his spoon down and looked at his lap.
"Yeah I remember. I'd had a bad few weeks at work; the pressure of deadlines, the lack of inspiration, and then the fact that I was gay came out and rumours started. I was just sick of everyone and everything."
"Are you still unhappy?" Mat was inspecting the bottom of his glass.
"No, I met you," Ben said very quietly. Mat's stomach flipped. They both looked at each other out of the corner of their eye, and when they caught the other looking they got caught up in a fit of shy giggles.
After a lot of protesting, Ben paid for dinner and he walked Mat back to his flat.
"Do you live nearby?" asked Mat, knowing Ben didn't actually live in the offices by the plaza.
"About a twenty minute walk that way," Ben pointed in the general direction of his home. Mat made an 'o' shape with his mouth.
They got to the plaza and Mat dug his hands into his pockets awkwardly.
"Well, um, thanks for tonight, it was," we're just friends we're just friends we're just friends, "nice."
He looked down at his feet and a curl flopped down into his eye. Ben reached out and tucked it behind his ears, trailing his fingers down Mat's jawline until it rested on his chin where it stayed. He pushed up slightly so that Mat's big brown eyes were looking at him. He then inched closer, parting his lips slightly and saw that Mat did the same. As they got close enough to feel each other's breath, Ben hesitated, expecting Mat to pull away and explain that he just wanted to be friends. But when he did not, Ben closed the gap and pecked a short and sweet kiss on Mat's lips. He pulled away immediately, still expecting Mat to say he did not have feelings for him, but Mat had other ideas. He cupped Ben's face in his hands and eagerly pulled him into a much more passionate kiss. Ben responded by lifting Mat off the ground, which took him by surprise, and putting him down on the bench. As their kisses got more and more frantic, Mat got pushed back so that he was lying on top of the bench and Ben climbed on top of him. Ben ran his fingers up Mat's thin arm and as he reached Mat's hand he interwined them so that they were locked together. Ben used his other hand to hold himself up as he traced kisses along Mat's neck when he felt the surface become uneven. He glanced at the bench and saw he drawing of a man in the rain, a stranger offering him a cupcake, along with the long conversation two people had had over a period of time. He smiled at it, and Mat saw and sat up, smiling too. He pressed a delicate kiss on Ben's cheek and whispered in his ear.
"We could… take this to my flat… if you like." Ben kissed him full on the mouth and nodded. He got off the bench and then helped Mat to do the same. Before Mat could lead him inside, he wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him close. He gave him a soft smile.
"My stranger."
