The Miles In Between part 2.
A/n Rae is attending University of Leeds, Finn meanwhile is back in Stamford working at a local record shop.
Red rimmed eyes, warm hands and cold tea. Finn sat at the kitchen table A large brown package with familiar looped handwriting taunted him from across the table.
‘Jedi mind tricks wouldn’t work, just open it’ without acknowledgement or a glance at his father. Finn picked up the soft envelope running his thumb along the gummed seal. A scraping sound rang through the kitchen as Finn bolted from the room and bounded up the stairs. Looking over at the package Finn’s Dad saw a worn familiar plaid poking out from the package.
September the 3rd 1998- three months earlier
The drive to Leeds wasn’t an arduous one but when the long road was the knife driven between you and your loved with your hand is wrapped around the hilt. The A1 soon becomes a march to the gallows. Rae was brave leaving everything behind in search for something more when I moved to Leeds I was a coward. Rae’s knees were knocking out an unsteady rhythm, she was chewing on the loose skin around her thumb, a bad habit acquired from Finn. Leaning across Finn placed a steadying hand on her knee and mumbled something trite, she smiled tersely in response. God I’m crap at this I wish I could hold her still forever.Sitting back into his car divested of his check shirt, the sadness that he held at bay while he lay with Rae broke over his back like a crashing wave. If the journey to Leeds was a march to the gallows then the return journey was a funeral procession; long, slow and trailed with tears. Pulling into Stamford everything seemed dull and grey, the colours were muted. A light a had been turned off.
The weather turned bitter, Finn found for comfort in the fleece and flannel of his lumber jacket. Hugging it close to his body as he walked to the record store, aptly named Stamford Discs. It had always bugged Finn that Vern put no effort into the name with the multitude of puns he could have used. Finn got his A levels, Rae made sure of that but University didn’t call him. Vern, the local ageing pothead who owned the record store offered him a job, a favour he owed his Dad he suspected. Finn sat hunched over the counter, having swept, dusted and alphabetized the bargain bin. He sat writing out imaginary set lists and dream concert line ups. Writing lists was a good habit he had acquired from Rae. As the clock struck one, the door chimed, it was Vern bleary eyed and scruffy.
‘What’s up Finney boy’ he winked as he slipped into the back room flopping down on the old rotating leather chair, creaking and groaning under his weight. Finn was lapping at heels through the cloud of hazy smoke that seemed to linger near Vern wherever he went.
‘I’ve stocked the shelves. Sorted and alphabetized’
‘Ah righteo lad. Erm well job well done’ Vern muttered absently as he began his afternoon production of spliffs.
‘Anything else I could do for you’ he asked bouncing on his toes eager to do some work.
‘Nah man, you’re cool’ Finn shoulders sagged as he turned back to his stool.
‘Oi Finn, mate you could make us a brew’
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