Chapter 2 #2
“No. The lovely lady he cared for. Alice left him everything. He lived with her and looked after her for...” He counts on his fingers. “Well, it must be over four years by now. They said he must have coerced her into changing the beneficiaries of her will, but I know Dair.”
He leans so close to his phone that I can see the teeny tiny helicopters printed on his pyjamas.
And I can hear his conviction.
“He would never, ever take advantage of anybody.”
That promise from someone I can’t help thinking has better judgement than me lingers all the way through my workday.
At least Kev is happy to have me back full-time to help him shift flatpack furniture from one high-rise to another, where every lift is out of order and each stairwell reeks of piss.
To say I’m sweaty and in need of disinfecting by home time is an understatement.
It’s a long job. Too long. We run late, and my cousin clocks me checking my watch once too often.
He’s a man of few words. Has been since I moved in with him and my aunt Stacey. Now he reminds me of what brought us together by punching me with questions. “Why you in such a rush to get off?”
“Got a quote to do for a private job.”
“Private job?” His eyes narrow. “Who for?”
“A friend of a friend.” A beat too late, I remember that’s how I’d described Flynn the first time I asked Kev to collect some auction finds for him.
Kev must also remember that vanload. Those narrowed eyes of his give me a thorough butcher’s. “What you planning on quoting this friend of a friend for?”
“For a full house clearance.” I know what he’ll ask next, so I go ahead and tell him. “If I do take the job, I can handle the lifting myself. I’d only need you to drive.”
“Where?”
He’s wedged me into a room with no escape route. A sofa blocks my exit, trapping me on one side with Kev on the other, and it doesn’t matter that I can’t see his whole face. I can already guess his reaction to my answer. “It’s in Kensington. South Ken.”
He scowls. “If they live there, they got money. Don’t end up working for nothing again.”
“I won’t.” I shove at the sofa, which shows no sign of shifting. It also gives Kev the time to land another verbal punch.
“Promise me, Vince.”
“Promise you what?”
“That you won’t work for free for another rich tosser.”
“Yeah, yeah, I promise.”
“You sure? Because being a soft touch is a weak spot, and what do we know about those?”
“That we don’t let anyone see them.” It’s a cast-iron rule where we come from. I give the sofa another shove. It doesn’t budge even though I’m packing plenty of muscle.
Kev’s had sixteen more years than me to practise never moving unless he wants to.
He isn’t shifting right now. He also isn’t done looking out for my best interests.
“And promise me you’ll keep your lip buttoned.”
“When?”
He rolls his eyes. “When do you fucking think? When you quote for your private job. If you spot anything worth real money, keep your gob shut. That way, you could claw back some of your losses.”
I almost wish I hadn’t let slip the bare bones of that drunk voice note.
Kev’s been stewing on that news all day long.
I know the signs. He used to brood like this when stand-in teachers who didn’t know me dished out detentions for my silence in their classrooms. He’d take me to work with him instead.
Tell me I was useful and not to listen to any doom and gloom about my future. I’d always have a job with him.
He brings up that subject once we’re finished for the day and he parks near a Tube station entrance. “You thought about what I said about getting the van repainted?”
I know what he’s really asking—am I ready to let go of a different future that, like Flynn, turned out to be as substantial as smoke.
“Still thinking about it.” I get out of the van. Kev gets out too. I don’t need him to walk me to the station. No one’s about to mug someone my type of big and beefy. Regardless, Kev shoulders through commuters, carving a clear path for me, then he stops to prove how well he knows me.
“You’re not ready for me to paint over Mum’s name, are you?”
Stacey.
I shake my head, then nod.
He nods too, gruffer than ever. “This job you’re gonna quote for. Tell me what you’re gonna do.”
He’s going nowhere until I give him the right answer. Commuters have to part around us.
“Keep my eyes open for anything worth real cash.”
“For?”
“Me.”
He nods firmly. “And what are you gonna do if you do spot something?”
“Keep my lip buttoned.”
“Or check in with me.” Kev scrubs a hand over his stubbly buzz cut, then grasps the back of my head to knock our foreheads together so, so gently before issuing a final, gritty order. “Come home soon. Marilyn says you’re overdue a haircut.”
I am.
“And she’ll want to talk about you moving in with us.”
I guessed that offer was coming. It has semi-regularly since before Christmas when Flynn first fucked off.
And before I knew he never meant to come back.
That doesn’t mean Kev and his missus need a lodger.
I make myself sound bright and breezy. “I’m fine where I am.
The lease is paid up so it’s free, innit?
We’ll talk when the lease runs out. I gotta go now. I’m running late.”
Kev makes me even later. “You know where you’re going?”
“Course I do.” I head off, impatient. Kev snags my elbow and checks the Underground app regardless, like I don’t have the exact same app on my own phone.
“No line closures,” he grumps, before finally letting me go.
We part ways, but at least a day of hot and sweaty manual labour means no one comes too close on each train rattling underneath the city.
I finally emerge in South Ken, running late, and also badly in need of a shower. I plan on sending Alasdair a quick message, but turn the corner of my own street to discover I’m not the only one with a patience problem.
Alasdair has come to find me.
He stands beside my own front door, and with the afternoon sun low in the sky, his hair glows. His face does too, softly lit and even prettier than I remember, and I can’t help liking how my name sounds when he says it.
“I couldn’t wait to see you, Vincent.” He digs an incisor into his lip, but I’m almost certain his eyes laugh like they did last night. “Or should I call you Carpet Burns?”
I dig out my door key. “Vincent’s fine.”
He can’t be a foe. Not after what Charles said about him.
It’s just hard to believe someone this friendly can be the kind of tosser Kev warned me not to help out again.
And Alasdair is friendly—his smile strengthens as soon as he mentions Charles.
“He said you lived just around the corner.” That smile turns hesitant and he looks over his shoulder in the direction of the address I was meant to visit.
“Sorry to turn up like this, but I got a first quote from another firm to have Alice’s place cleared and I needed to get out afterwards.
Had to walk away from it all before I set a match to the lot. ”
His smile does fade then, and wow, what a difference that makes.
I would have put him in his early twenties right up until this moment.
Sadness adds years. So does his laugh turning hollow.
“After what they told me, I thought I better warn you what to expect before you saw for yourself.” He digs that incisor into his lip again.
“Maybe let you off the hook entirely. Save you from wasting your time too.”
“They said you wasted their time?” I open my front door a fraction. “Because?”
“Because it’s all…” He huffs out a long breath. “They said everything is worthless. That it wasn’t even worth auctioning off. I wouldn’t raise enough to cover the cost of removals, let alone pay a big bill I need to cover.”
Yesterday evening, I saw fire in his eyes. This evening, it’s a whole lot dimmer. “There’s a lot, Vincent. Most of it is china. But last night, one of the guys at the restaurant told me that you’re actually a furniture restorer, a skilled one, and that clearing houses was a waste of your talent.”
“Who told you that?”
“The one with—” Those soft eyes turn intense for a brief moment, boring into mine.
“He was a wee bit scary, to be honest.” Alasdair describes Blake so clearly that I can almost see his laser focus.
“I can’t help thinking he was warning me off.
” And I can’t help thinking that all those teachers I disappointed would fucking marvel at my sudden increase in word power, because I can’t think of better descriptions for him than sweetly worried, concerned, and caring.
About me. “I really don’t want to waste your time.
Charles must have made a mistake about your line of work.
And then I caught you on the hop by turning up like that out of the blue to ask for your help. ”
He speeds up talking, tripping over his words like I used to at school.
“A-and I guessed that you only agreed to come take a look because I mentioned Charles had sent me.” He holds up his phone. “Then you didn’t turn up on time or message me.” There goes that incisor again, digging.
“I was about to message you.”
He sags. “To cancel?”
“No. To let you know I was running late. And that I’d need a bit more time to shower first.”
“Oh. Of course.” He nods and backs off. “I’ll…” He looks over his shoulder again. “I’ll go back and leave you to it.”
Believe me, he sounds all light and breezy, but I just did the same to Kev, didn’t I, so I know that bullshit when I hear it.
He wants to go back to his place about as much as I want to walk into a home stripped bare of everything I’d worked so hard on.
His place might be full of stuff, but he’s been stripped bare of a person he cared for.
It’s a reminder that both of us have loved and lost recently.
Alasdair isn’t a friend. Not yet. Maybe never.
And I just promised my cousin not to get sucked in all over again.
I still wouldn’t wish that heart-sink moment on my worst enemy.
It’s too gutting. “I do need to shower.” I swing my front door wide open.
“Want to come in and wait? We can walk back to your place together.”
He smiles, a layer stripped back to show he’s weak with relief, and fuck my actual life.
I like being the reason.