Naked Hero - The Journey Away

man on the shoulder, resting his hand there as he gazed into his eyes. The kiss came naturally. It was tender and all confirming: two players of consequence relishing the shared ground. It ended, leaving pleased but sheepish smiles - and for Lee Porter the surprise of an honest simple statement.
    “Me too,” he replied, knowing fine well that it had nothing to do with the plan he had come with - a plan that he seriously needed to reconsider.

Chapter 39
    Part of Lewis’s ritual involved going to Melbourne Park long before the match would start. As per usual, Jim and Mike went with him, leaving Lee and Fiona behind. It would be another hour before they made their move to join coach and trainer in the supporters’ box at courtside. This had been explained in advance, so Lee was prepared, and to be honest he welcomed the situation. He sat down in the living area with Mrs. Murdoch and awaited the inevitable questions whilst harbouring a few of his own.
    They came slowly, with charm and innocence over a cup of tea – a beverage that Lee was actually quite fond of – taken at the table with a plate of biscuits on offer that Mr. Porter politely declined at first.
    “Oh on you go – just the one,” Fiona insisted , nudging the plate in his direction having taken a biscuit herself. “It’s shortbread! I’ve been hoarding it specifically for today... Not that anybody’s bothered.”
    “Bothered? Bothered with what?” asked Lee, eyeing the biscuits suspiciously – the perfect body required the perfect diet and biscuits rarely featured.
    “With the date!” Fiona cried, pretending exasperation. “There’s more to today than a tennis match, you know... The twenty-fifth of January! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
    “It’s Australia Day tomorrow,” Lee optimistically offered.
    “Australia Day!” Fiona exclaimed. “And what would Scottish shortbread have to do with that?”
    Lee splayed his hands in apology of his ignorance.
    “Robert Burns!” it was explained to him. “I’m Ayrshire born, as is Lewis, and Rabbie’s our local hero. I used to love reading his poems when I was a girl – ‘To a Mouse’ that was my favourite... ‘Wee, sleekit, cow’rin, tim’rous beastie. O, what a panic in thy breastie!’...” Having delivered her lines in a broad Ayrshire brogue, Fiona smiled at Lee’s incomprehension and reverted back to her more Anglicised accent. “...I won a prize at school for reciting that. Use to know the whole thing off by heart, although I doubt if I could manage it now. Anyway, tonight is Burns Night, and all over the world there’ll be celebrations to commemorate the birth of Scotland’s national poet - traditional Burns supper with haggis, neaps and tatties, and a fair amount of whisky as well. Not that we make much of a fuss in this household nowadays... The shortbread’s my token gesture - so don’t offend – eat a piece!”
    Lee knew better than to refuse a second time. He took a biscuit and tried. It was sweet – very sweet – crumbly and rich, laden with butter – totally unhealthy but rather delicious. They ate in silence for a moment, Fiona trying to remember the ending to her favourite Burns poem, Lee wondering about the lack of fuss the household made over such things when clearly it was important to the matriarch. There was something there which linked to what Lewis had said. “I haven’t been to Scotland in a while, and it would take a hell of a good reason to entice me back there...” He was tempted to enquire about the lack of fuss over Scottish heritage and the rarity of visits north of the border, but Fiona got in there first having abandoned her memory attempt for the time being.
    “Lewis said you met at a party in Sydney .”
    “That’s right,” answered Lee cagily. “It was a shame that he had to leave so soon after it.”
    Fiona nodded her head in response, declining to offer a view on the matter. She recalled the hasty arrangements she had made for that departure, and wondered what part Lee Porter had played in the decision Lewis had taken to scarper the moment he had met him. She was sure that he was in some way involved – just as she was sure he was fishing for information which she didn’t feel inclined as yet to give. “Will you be there long, in Sydney?” she asked.
    “I’m not sure, another month perhaps. It depends on how things work out.”
    “You’ll go back to England I suppose. That’s where you live, isn’t