The Spice of Life

 Not for the first time, they’d shared their problems, put the world to rights, the world seeming a much friendlier place after a few vodkas.  They said their goodbyes outside the ‘Lion’, Sam hauling Whizz into the back of a taxi, somewhat worse for wear.  Sam waved him off, then headed off home.  It was only a ten minute walk, if he cut across the playing fields.  It was a clear, warm night, the moon high in a cloudless sky.  Sam shoved his hands in his pockets, sniffing the warm, humid air.  He headed down an alley way that cut off the High Street through to the open space of the playing fields, then through to the streets beyond, one of them Wordsworth Avenue.  A single light half illuminated the alley, itself in need of attention, flickering on and off every few seconds.  He was half way down when he heard footsteps behind him.  He stopped, not turning, but curious to see if the footsteps continued.  They stopped too.  He continued, and the steps started up again.  He walked a little faster, but the steps behind him got quicker.  He stopped, right under the light, and turned.
“Who’s there?” He asked, but there was no answer.  He peered into the gloom, but the bloody light was off, he couldn’t make anything, or anyone out in the darkness.  Then a voice.
“Hello, West.”  The voice was low, gruff, and instantly familiar.
“Carver?  Is that you?”  He called out, then the light flickered on again, and he suddenly appeared just a few feet away from him, his features looking menacing, bathed in the orange glow of the lamp.  He was much thinner than the last time Sam had seen him, and seem smaller too.  His eyes were hidden deep in shadows, and his features seemed sharper, his jaw jutting out from high cheek bones.
“Long time no see, eh?  How many years has it been, ten?”
“Something like that.”  Sam knew exactly, but didn’t want him to know that.  “What are you doing here?”  He glanced around him, the shock of seeing him again combined with his surroundings making him nervous.
“Thought I’d pay you a little visit, you know, settle things.”
“Settle what?”  Sam sputtered.  He glanced at his hands, noting they had instinctively clenched into tight fists, but were also shaking.  He slid them back in his pockets.
“I understand you met Dean earlier on tonight.”
“You two still close then.”  Sam muttered.  I knew Ricketts was lying, once a weasel, always a weasel, he thought to himself.  He tried his hardest to appear nonchalant, but inside he was fighting hard to contain his emotions.
“Yeah, well, I’ve not seen him for a while, I’ve been away you see.”
“So I heard.”  Sam simply said, Carver seeming to ignore him.
“He did tell me that you were still a bit upset about that night at the school, and well, its no skin off my nose now, is it, so I thought I’d come and talk to you about it.  Figured I owed you that much.”
“So you followed me?”  Sam asked accusingly.
“More of a coincidence really.  I was in the Lion earlier tonight, you know, celebrating my return to freedom and all, when Dean phoned me, out of the blue.”  Sam didn’t seem to hear him, still shocked from his sudden reappearance.
“But why now?  After all this time?”  Sam asked him, after a long, awkward silence.
“Well, I’ve been inside for a couple of years, in fact I was released just today.  Being inside changes you, let me tell you.  I’ve got no intention of going back there this time.  I’ve even got a job sorted out and everything.”  He claimed with pride.
“Congratulations.  You’re a credit to the system.”  Sam snapped back sarcastically, but Carver continued to ignore his scepticism.
“I want a fresh start, just as the next bloke.  So after Dean told me you were still pissed off with me, I though maybe we should get together and talk about it, you know, wipe the slate clean.”
“Is that what your probation officer told you, is it?”  Sam retorted.
“I did have a counsellor on the inside, yes.  And they helped me realise I don’t have to be angry all the time.  They said that I am the only person who can change my future, but until I settle the past, I can’t look to the future.  So here I am.”  He held out his hands, palms facing upwards.
“Pah!”  Sam responded to his little speech with a bitter laugh he couldn’t suppress.
“I’ve never heard so much bullshit in all my life!  You turn up here, after ruining my life, just for some pathetic school bully grudge you had against me, and expect to heal all the damage you’ve done by saying sorry?  No way, pal!”  Sam felt his anger rise, and it felt good.  It was as if a part of him, for so long locked away, had been released and unlocked.
“I suppose I was a bit out of order.”  Carver replied meekly.
“Out of order?  Ha!  That’s a bit of a fucking understatement, wouldn’t you say?  Well I’m so glad that your life is back in order, pity you didn’t think about all this before.”  Sam was nearing boiling point.  How dare this idiot stand before him and simply say sorry for demolishing all the plans he’d laid out for himself when he was younger.  The vodka wasn’t helping, making his rage even worse.  His head ached from the pain of trying to digest what was happening.  Suddenly he exploded, the years of pain and anger culminating in a blind fit of rage, too raw to just let go.  The source of all his anguish, the root cause of all his problems stood before him.  He threw himself at Carver, just like he had done so to Sam all those years before.  The two of them went tumbling over on to the floor, rolling around in newspaper and empty fish and chip wrappings.  Sam landed a couple of blows onto Carver’s face, and wriggled and kicked.  His rage had overcome him, and it took him several long seconds before he realised that Carver wasn’t fighting back, he was just taking it, just protecting himself from the worst of the attack.  Sam began to calm just a little, realising what he was doing.  He pushed himself off of Carver, and sat up against the brick wall on one side of the all way.  Carver pushed himself up, wiping blood from his nose with the back of his hand, and sat up against the opposite wall.  They were both breathing heavily, perspiration dripping down Sam’s forehead, some of Carver’s blood once again on his clothes.  Long moments passed, before Sam, wiping tears of frustration and anger away from his eyes, could suddenly focus again.
“I suppose I deserved that.”  Came a whisper from the other side of the alley way.  But did it make Sam feel any better?  He felt like that angry fifteen year old once again, and the hurt had been real enough.  But the absurdity of the two of them, two grown men, rolling around in an alley way, among the squashed chips and dog pee, was ridiculous.  Sam exploded into laughter, his tears now replaced with ones of humour, and Carver blinked at him in surprise, before joining in with him, suddenly feeling the indignity of the situation too.  It was an age before either man spoke, both reluctant to let this brief moment of peace slip away easily.
“Fancy a drink?”  Sam suddenly said.