Isle of Waves (20 page)

W
IG
BASKED
in the early-autumn sunshine. He closed his eyes and held his face up to get the most of the sun. “This is fucking amazing.”

“It’s about time. I was beginning to think the rain would never stop.” Ben slurped at his mug of tea.

“Pig.”

“You know it,” Ben agreed. Then he frowned as his attention focused in the distance. “Isn’t that Paul?” He pointed to a man in the distance near the pier.

Wig squinted, the glare of the sun in his eyes. “Uh, could be, but we’re not expecting him down.”

“Perhaps he’s come to see Rose,” Ben suggested.

“You could be right. I didn’t think of that.”

As the man drew closer, it became apparent that it was Paul, his bleach-blond hair styled in sharp spikes.

“He doesn’t look happy,” Ben said.

Wig watched Paul stalk down the road, radiating anger from every pore. “No, he doesn’t. I hope nothing’s happened to Rose.”

The Owens matriarch was still in a coma, but she stubbornly clung to life despite the doctors’ dire prognosis.

Wig sipped at his mug of tea, enjoying a break in the autumn sunshine on the deck. He watched Paul stomp up the stairs.

“Got one of those for me?” Paul pointed at the mug.

“Good morning to you too,” Wig said.

“I’ll go and get you a drink,” Ben said hastily and disappeared inside the Lagoon.

Paul grunted and flung himself onto one of the chairs.

“Bad day?” Wig asked.

“Crap day.”

Wig waited, but Paul didn’t elaborate.

Ben emerged with a mug, which he handed to Paul, and disappeared back inside again. Wig sighed inwardly. He had obviously been delegated to “talk to Paul.” Great.

He waited until Paul had swallowed half the contents of the mug before he said, “What’s happened?”

“Olaf’s dumped me.”

Wig choked on a swallow of tea. “What?”

“You heard.”

Wig
had
heard, but he couldn’t quite believe the actual words. “Why?”

Paul heaved a huge sigh. “Because having a long-distance relationship is too complicated, because he’s happy where he is, because he doesn’t want to come out of the fucking closet….”

Wig looked at his empty mug of tea. He needed a drink. This wasn’t a one-mug conversation. He stuck his head around the door. “Ben, bring out the coffee. Where’s Sam?”

“He and Liam are upstairs.”

“Get ’em down, will you?”

“I don’t need my big brother,” Paul said.

“Bollocks. Everyone needs their big brother at a time like this.”

Ben came out with a full pot of coffee and two fresh mugs. “He’s on his way.”

“Leave the pot,” Wig said.

“Will do.”

Wig waited until Ben had gone back inside before he said, “Tell me what happened.”

“I told you what happened.”

“What prompted it? Was it out of the blue? Did you have a row?”

“No idea, yes and no.” Paul accepted the coffee. A sign perhaps of how agitated he was because he really didn’t like coffee that much.

“Well, something must have prompted it.”

Paul glared into his cup. “How the fuck do I know?”

Wig breathed a sigh of relief when Sam breezed out of the restaurant and straight up to his younger brother.

“What’s happened? Who do I have to kill?”

“No one. I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam said disbelievingly.

Wig removed the mug from Paul’s hand as he thunked his head onto Sam’s shoulder. “Olaf. He’s dumped me.”

“He did what?”

“He dumped me last night.”

Sam looked over Paul’s head to Wig who shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“Sit down and tell me what happened.” Sam pushed Paul into the seat, and Wig handed him back the mug.

Paul ran his fingers through his hair, disturbing the spikes. “I don’t know, to be honest. One minute we were having a mutual wanking session, and the next he tells me he can’t do this anymore.”

“Has he found someone else?” Wig asked. If Skandik had finally stepped out of the closet only to find someone closer to home, Jesus, wouldn’t that be bloody ironic?

“Not exactly.”

“What did he say, then?” Wig asked. “What were his exact
words?”

“He’d been to see his mother and let slip that he was ‘in a relationship.’” Paul made air quotes. “She wanted to know who the lucky girl was and he panicked. Gave her some long, convoluted story about meeting a girl when he came over here.”

“Oh, Paul.” Sam squeezed Paul’s shoulder.

“After all the shit he’s given me about fucking women, he dumped me for an imaginary bird.” Paul tried to smile, but it was painful to look at.

“He’s scared,” Wig said. “He’s never had to face up to the idea of being out to his family.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Paul snapped. “He’s not the only one. This is the first relationship I’ve ever been in.”

“You’ve had girlfriends before,” Sam said.

“Olaf’s the only one I’ve given a shit about,” Paul muttered.

“Oh, Paul,” Sam said again. “There’s only one way to handle
this.”

“Get shitfaced, go to a strip club, eat kebabs, and end up in A & E getting our stomachs pumped?”

Sam grimaced. “I was thinking of something a little different.”

“I am not an emo girl, Sam,” Paul warned. “Playing sad songs on repeat is your way of handling things, not mine.”

“Getting shitfaced it is, then. But I’m only going to a gay strip club, and I’m not eating bloody kebabs.”

“You don’t know how to have fun, do you?”

Wig shook his head. This was between the brothers. “You guys talk it out. I’ve got work to do. Anyone want more coffee?”

Paul pulled a face. “Ugh. Can’t I have another tea?”

“Tea for me, please,” Sam said.

Wig picked up the coffeepot. “I’ll bring it out in a minute. Are you staying for the day, Paul?”

“If I say yes, doesn’t that mean I’ll have to work?” Paul asked warily.

“Do you want me to answer that?”

“I’ll stay for lunch, and then I’ll go see Rose.”

“I’ll come with you,” Sam said. “Liam’s working this afternoon.”

“We could go and see Chrissie. You buy me lunch and I’ll drive.”

Sam beamed. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Where’s Mum and Dad? They could meet us at the pub.”

“They’ve gone home for the weekend. You probably crossed them en route. We promised to look after Rose while they’re away.”

“Okay. Go get your wallet, big brother.”

“So you don’t want tea, then?” Wig asked.

Sam shook his head. “Not now. Sorry.”

Wig huffed and went inside to remake the coffee.

Liam looked his husband and brother-in-law through the window. “Is Paul okay?”

“No, but I guess he will be. Paul’s suffering his first broken heart.”

Liam chewed on his bottom lip. “Olaf called me this morning.”

“What? You knew about this already?”

“Yeah. He wanted to talk, and he couldn’t talk to anyone back home, so he called me.”

“And you didn’t tell him to fuck off?”

“He’s overtired, overwhelmed, and not over here. The poor guy doesn’t know what the fuck to do.”

“He could try being honest,” Wig said.

“That’s asking him to change his entire way of living. His family are likely to disown him, not welcome the faggot with open arms. He’ll lose his job because the sheriff is a homophobic asshole, and he can’t live here because his immigration won’t go through for years. He’ll end up jobless, homeless, and on his own.”

“Christ, I didn’t realize it was that bad.” Wig felt ashamed that he’d presumed so much.

“I lost my family, but I always had Alex to support me. Olaf’s got no one.”

“Paul knows all this?”

“Of course he does. Paul’s more pissed off with the tale of the fictional girlfriend, and Olaf can’t see the wood for the trees.”

“I wish we could do something.”

Wig paused the conversation to go and seat a group of four men. He smiled at them and offered to take their drinks order. They ignored him, carrying on their conversation as if he wasn’t there. Wig waited until one of them reluctantly looked up. “Drinks?” Wig asked brusquely.

They gave him their orders and, he minced away, flaming for all he was worth.

Liam raised his eyebrow. “Should I ask what that was all about?”

“Ill-mannered dicks.” Wig dismissed them. “Are you going to tell Paul?”

“I’ll have to. Sam’ll kill me if I keep it to myself.”

“Yeah, he will. When are you going to tell him?”

“I suppose now is as good a time as any.” Liam looked as if he’d rather have his teeth pulled.

“Give the dicks their drinks and then go deliver the bad news.”

“Do you hate me that much?” Liam took the tray. “Do you want me to take their food order?”

“No, I’ll do that.”

“You just want to make them uncomfortable, don’t you?”

“I live to make them shudder.” Wig smirked at Liam, who smirked back and walked away.

Wig dealt with a couple of other tables, but the focus of his attention was on the three men outside. He could see the moment Paul received the news from Liam. For once Sam was concentrating on his brother rather than Liam, and he propped Paul up. Wig sighed. The poor kid was too old to get his heart broken for the first time. Considering the trail of broken hearts Paul Owens had left in his wake, karma had come around to bite him firmly on the arse.

W
HEN
S
AM
and Paul left, Wig took Liam to one side. “Well? Are they still talking to you?”

“What are we—five? Of course they’re talking to me, although it was a close run thing with Sam,” Liam admitted.

Wig snickered because he knew the Owens so well. “Go for your lunch. I’ll cover you.”

“Cool.”

“Oi, poofter, we want the bill.”

Liam looked at Wig. “Do you want me to deal with this?”

Wig shook his head. “Get Nibs out here.” He minced over to the four men who had become more obnoxious as the meal had worn on, in part fuelled by the beer inside them.

“On it.” Liam disappeared inside the kitchen.

Wig processed the bill and took it to the table.

“About time.” The red-haired dick sneered. “I want to complain to the management about service.”

“Certainly, sir.” Wig waved Nibs over who was hovering by the kitchen door. The redheaded dude blanched as Nibs stomped over.

“These gentlemen”—Wig could put a wealth of sarcasm in the word—“are unhappy with the service.”

“You’re the manager?”

“He’s the manager.” Nibs pointed at Wig. “I’m the boyfriend with the knife. You have a complaint?”

One of the other dicks looked at the implacable expression on Nibs’s face and got to his feet, as did his friends. “It’ll keep.”

“Good. Pay my man and don’t come back.”

The three standing were throwing notes on the table, more than enough to cover the bill, but the redhead had to try one more time to be obnoxious.

“We’ll report you,” he blustered.

“Try it.” Nibs folded his arms and waited.

Wig took the money and smiled sweetly at them. “Have a nice day.”

“You’re too old to be his bum boy,” the redhead said.

The man did not know when to give up, and he’d homed in on one of Wig’s greatest insecurities. But before Wig could respond, Nibs leant forward. “I’m
his
bum boy. Now fuck off, there’s a good lad, before he decides to try ginger.”

Wig tried to live up to Nibs’s declaration, but the urge to laugh at the dicks’ faces was overwhelming.

The door had barely closed behind them before Nibs growled in a low voice, “Don’t get any ideas.”

Wig raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure, lover? Turn and turnabout, after all.”

“Ain’t gonna happen.” Nibs stalked back to the kitchen.

Liam came over to the table, holding out his hand for the money. “I’ll take that, boss.”

Wig looked down to realize he was screwing up the notes. He handed them over, seeing his hands were shaking. “Thanks, Liam.”

Liam looked at him curiously. “You’ve dealt with homophobes before. Why call out Nibs?”

“There were four of them. Better to head it off from the start. Once Nibs talks about the knife, they shut up. I’m not afraid of morons like these guys, but they’re trying to get a rise out of me. Nibs spoils their fun.”

“Need a coffee?”

“An espresso—double.”

“Coming right up, boss.”

Wig cleared the table, ready for the next customers, then took his caffeine shots out in the sunshine. He rested his elbows on the railings and watched the waves lap gently in the distance, a far cry from the storm-crashed beach the previous week. A few people waved at him as they walked by, customers and locals. He smiled and waved back, hoping they weren’t in the mood to talk. He needed to recover his equilibrium. Over the years he’d encountered many dickheads like those guys. There was something about him that brought out the worst of straight macho guys. He knew he was effeminate, and to be honest, he’d come to terms with that. Hell, he embraced it. But there were days like today when he wondered if he ought to tame it down, become more of a gray suit and less flamboyant. He used to deliberately wind the guys up until they snapped. He’d been assaulted a dozen times by men trying to beat the gay out of him, a couple of times hospitalized for weeks, and if it hadn’t been for Nibs, he’d probably be dead by now.

“You okay, babe?” Nibs squeezed his shoulder.

“Yes. Maybe. No, not really.” He tilted his head to look at Nibs. “Did Liam send you after me?”

“Yeah. He’s never seen you so down before.”

“Maybe I’m too old for this.” Wig waved a hand at his clothes, today a light gray sweater and tight trousers.

Nibs frowned. “What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?”

“It’s not just the clothes, it’s me. I seem to attract trouble.”

“Babe, they would have been dicks whether you’d been a woman or a man. Can you imagine the trouble if Karen had served them?”

“You didn’t get any hassle.”

“I was twice the size of ’em.”

Wig chuckled, although there wasn’t much humor in the tone. “They were small, weren’t they?”