The Bones of Summer (4 page)

“So then, you got my note,” she said.

He closed his eyes and swallowed. “Yes.”

“I didn't know what to do for the best,” she said, the words tumbling into his ear as if in a bid to escape. “I'm sorry it was so short, but I couldn't decide what to say. Not after so long. I'm sorry too that I haven't contacted you before, especially after your letter. Things were difficult then and I wasn't really sure what to write. And then ... but never mind that. Your father's never disappeared before, Daniel—I mean Craig. At least not like this, and he's always come back. I do understand how awkward things got between the two of you—I'm sorry you went away, you know. And that you never got to do your A Levels. You were always such a bright boy, it seems such a shame. I'm glad you're doing all right though—I knew you would. Sensible head on you, that's what I always said. But your father—this time he's been gone for longer. I've called the police, but they don't seem able to do much. And I didn't want to just leave it ... so I thought of you. I've probably assumed to far, but....”

At last she took a breath, a long one as if she might be about to cry, and Craig knew he had to say something to stop her.

“It's okay, Andrea,” he said, though he had no real idea if it was or not. “You've done the right thing. It's fine.”

She began to cry in earnest then.

When he finally ended the call, he'd agreed to go to see her—something inside him couldn't say the words “go home"—on the following Monday. Two days’ time. But what the hell was he going to do when he got there?

* * * *

“If it wasn't for work,” Maddy said, “I'd come with you. You know that. We both would.”

Craig grimaced at her and took a swig of beer. “Thanks. That's kind of you but you really don't want to get involved. Trust me on that one. You're better off in the office.”

All three of them—Craig, Maddy, and Julie—were sitting in the kitchen just chilling. Their normal Sunday-night routine, even though only two of them could justify it by having normal jobs. Maddy worked in the Advice Service at the University of Westminster and Julie in PR at the British Museum. A part of him envied their regularity of employment, though he knew he'd be hopeless at either job. Mind you, he always enjoyed the office stories they brought back, though Maddy swore blind he had an unfair share of the glamour. He wished. Right now she was on the red wine, Julie on the white, and he was sticking, as usual, to the London Pride. He thought that suited him now. In more ways than one.

“Are you sure?” Maddy put down her glass and frowned at him. “If you really feel you need us, one of us can pull a sickie, can't we, Julie? Or in the uni it might even come under compassionate leave? After all, your father's gone missing. It's family stuff.”

“Well, I—,” he began, but Julie—in typical fashion—got to the heart of things first.

“No,” she said, causing Maddy to almost spit out her wine. Almost, but not quite. Still speaking, Julie softened her words by refilling Maddy's glass. “No, we won't. At least not unless Craig asks either of us directly, rather than being forced into acceptance by social politeness. Honestly, Maddy, you're way too much sometimes. Let the poor bloke think for himself.”

Craig smiled to himself. Julie always said what she thought and what you least expected. She never went along with the crowd. Maybe that's what made her so good at PR. She made you think about things.

Maddy gave a rueful shrug. “Yeah, you're probably right, Jules, but what man has ever managed to think for himself, gay or otherwise? Anyway, it's a great chance of getting firsthand knowledge about Craig's secret past. Who could resist it?”

Craig snorted. “Nothing secretive about me. You know everything there is to know several times over, believe me.”

Even to him, the lies seemed obvious. Maddy only laughed, but Julie pursed her lips and reached into the drawer for the Chinese menus.

“Before anyone makes any decisions about anything,” she said, “we ought to eat. Do you want something different or the usual?”

They went for the usual. Even Julie had a combination she'd had before. For Craig, there was something about Sunday nights that made familiarity the best option. This Sunday night more than any of them—after all, didn't he have the strange journey “home” to face tomorrow? No, not home. It hadn't been home for a while. His home was ... where? He no longer knew. He wasn't even sure he had one. No, this Sunday night he clung to anything that was normal with the strength of a small child clinging to a favorite toy.

So he had the seaweed, and the sweet and sour pork. Maddy went for prawn toasties and the lemon chicken, and Julie for the spring rolls and the Peking duck. They shared the special fried rice.

They were happy-drunk by eleven. Or rather Maddy was; she could never take her alcohol well, so he and Julie had to help her to bed at 11:30. Based on past experience, she'd be no worse for wear in the morning. The world of student advice would still be safe. For a while yet.

As Craig headed for his room, Julie tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned to face her, she was frowning.

“Look,” she said. “I know you and Maddy think I can sometimes be the bitch queen of Crouch End, but if you wanted someone who won't take any crap to come with you tomorrow, I'm happy to be that person. Work can cope without me for once.”

In the gloom of the landing light, Craig smiled. Without her, he was convinced the museum would fall apart. If anyone was destined for greatness and the Women's Institute circuit, it was surely Julie. Even though her offer had touched him, he shook his head.

“Thank you,” he said. “That's kind of you, but I think I need to do this alone. And, really, you're no bitch queen.”

She removed her hand, still resting on his shoulder, and stepped away. “Thanks, but to my mind going back is always scary. And I should know—it's something I do as little as possible. But if you want to keep things distant from the people you live with, why don't you take Paul? He might come in useful. Investigations are his job after all.”

For a moment, Craig almost laughed. What she said seemed ridiculous. He'd only just met the bloke. Properly. Why put him off even more than he already had by taking him on some wild goose chase to where he'd grown up?

But, a moment later, the idea didn't seem quite so crazy after all.

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Chapter Four

He rang Paul first thing that morning, skulking in the corner of his room with the mobile jammed to his ear, hoping the girls wouldn't wake up. Paul took two rings to answer. He sounded sleepy.

“Morning, Craig.” He stifled a yawn. “It's early, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. Eight-thirty a.m.” He couldn't help it. In spite of the fact he might be about to piss Paul off again and break Gay Rule Number Four:
Don't upset a new boyfriend for at least the first three weeks, if you make it that far,
he couldn't stop the smile spreading over his face. Again. “But you said I could ring.”

“Suppose that means it's my fault, eh? I should have specified a time frame. Funny, I'm usually good at that. You must have got me at a weak moment.”

“You in bed?” He hadn't meant to say that. But the thought made him feel warm all over. Hard too. Not only that, but it took his mind off what he needed to ask.

“Yes,” Paul replied after a moment's hesitation. Then, “You?”

“Yes. I mean no. Well, I'm in my bedroom, but I had a shower earlier. Got dressed.”

“You have the advantage over me then,” Paul whispered, his voice a low, enticing hum.

“You mean you're not...?”

“Dressed? No. Not at all.”

“Hell, Paul, but I don't think I can—”

“Do this?” Unexpectedly, he laughed. “No, me neither. I'd rather see you, though it might be fun this way too, I have to admit.”

“Yeah. It might be.”

They were silent together for a few seconds before Craig remembered what it was he'd rung for.

“Paul, can I ask you a favor?”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

He took a deep breath. “I need to go back to Devon—where I really come from—to sort something out. And yes, I know that's not where I told you I came from, but ... but I didn't know how. I'm sorry about that. Anyway, it's because of the letter I got yesterday. I wondered if you might like a trip out to the country. Get away from the city. I don't think the ... business will take long and afterward we can ... you know ... just chill. Or something.”

When he finally trailed off his so-called hard sell, even he didn't believe it. He closed his eyes. Paul said nothing.

“Okay,” Craig continued after the silence had bled into his conscience. “That's the partial truth only. Again. Yes, it would be nice to have your company. But the real truth is that I'm feeling shaken about it, and I don't want to go alone. And I don't want to take Maddy or Julie, though they've both offered to come. They assume stuff about my background and I don't know if I'm prepared to be that open with them at the moment. But you, well, I like you. You don't assume anything. I don't think you'll judge me. Please, Paul, will you come with me?”

This time, when he finished, Craig found he was shaking, and he ran one hand through his hair, waiting for the obvious refusal. He'd just made a complete fool of himself, hadn't he? Paul was bound to say no.

He didn't even hesitate.

“Of course I'll come with you, Craig,” he said. “I knew you weren't a London boy. It's obvious from your accent. I'll be happy to see Devon. When are you planning to go?”

“What? Oh, thanks. That's great. Thank you.” Craig stumbled over his words as he slumped back against the wall. “Thank you. Yes, when? Um, actually, I was hoping you might be okay with today.”

“Today?” Paul started to laugh. “Bloody hell, but you don't hang around, do you? I'd better get dressed then. Have you got transport, or do you want picking up too?”

“No, that's fine. Really. I'll drive. It's the least I can do.”

He arranged to pick Paul up in an hour. That would leave plenty of time to get there by early afternoon and sort things out. Who knows, his father might even have turned up by then. Craig didn't care, just as long as he didn't have to meet him. That would be beyond impossible.

He was five minutes late. Not bad for him, he thought, but when Paul opened the door of his flat, he was frowning.

“Thought you wanted an early start,” he said.

“I did,” he replied. “I
am
early.”

Then Craig kicked the door shut and kissed him. When they finally came up for air, the frown had gone and instead a half-smile played across Paul's face.

“Maybe you and I have a different timescale,” he said. “In which case, do you want a coffee?”

Craig shook his head. “No thanks. But a pee would be nice.”

On his way to the bathroom, he took the opportunity to have a quick look around. Gay Rule Number Five:
Always check out where your boyfriend lives; it will give you a good idea whether he's a psycho or not.
He came to the conclusion Paul wasn't. Probably not, anyway. The place seemed, at least from the hallway and bathroom, simply furnished, but neat and clean. The hall table had nothing on it but an old cigarette packet. And the bathroom cabinet, which Craig briefly opened before blushing and closing it again, was as tidy as if it had only just been stocked. It made him smile to think of the mess he kept his own surroundings in, compared to the precision Paul brought to his. Not that he could really judge, not having been invited into the living room yet, of course.

He wondered how it would be if they ever ... then shook the thought away. If he started thinking like that, they'd be finished before they'd even begun. He was probably breaking all the Gay Rules there'd ever been anyway.

When he came out of the bathroom, Paul was waiting in the hallway. He was clutching a bottle of water. He held it out toward Craig like an offering.

“Thought we might need this and—”

“And assumed I hadn't got any,” he said with a shrug. “You'd be right about that. Thanks.”

“I wasn't going to say that, but yeah.”

In his clapped-out old Fiesta, Craig shoved the pile of crisp packets and old receipts off the passenger seat and into the back and watched as Paul sat down. Gingerly.

As he reached for the ignition, Paul put his hand on his arm.

“Look,” he said. “I don't mean to be rude, but are you sure we're going to make it in this?”

“It's not too bad. It gets me most places.”

“A four-hour trip to Devon?”

“Okay,” Craig conceded. “I've not driven that far for a lifetime, but I'm sure it will be fine.”

“I'm sure it will too. But what do you say to going in my car instead? It's bigger and more comfortable, I think. I just had it serviced last week too, so we won't have to worry.”

“What about the driving? And anyway it's mean as I asked you, so you shouldn't have to put yourself out for me. No, really, I'll do it. I'll—”

Paul placed his fingers on Craig's lips for a second and the touch silenced him at once.

“What if I want to do it?” he said. “What if I want to put myself out for you, Craig? What do you say then?”

He swallowed and found himself gazing into Paul's eyes. He had no idea what to say, couldn't understand how this bloke could suddenly turn so intense, but yet Craig didn't feel like running. Normally, he liked to keep things light. He'd learned it was best that way. How he'd learned it.

“Sorry,” Paul said, echoing Craig's thoughts. “Am I coming on too strong? I've been told in the past that's the case. I—”

This time it was Craig who interrupted him. By means of a kiss.

“Don't worry,” he said. “I like it. In a weird kind of way. And the answer is yes. Thank you. We can take your car, but only if you let me pay for petrol and buy lunch. Deal?”

Paul smiled. “Deal.”

Paul's car was a gray Vauxhall Estate. Not too new, not too old. Craig saw a few old newspapers scattered over the backseat, but the front was tidy enough. Comfortable too. The only odd feature was the tinted windows. Not too obvious so people would notice at a casual glance, but seeing in would be tricky.