Chapter Forty-Five Si
In the early hours of the morning, when they’d finally gone to bed, Si lay with his arms around Zig. He could have wept, except he was a big boy now, wasn’t he? Any road, this was good, wasn’t it? Zig showing his true colours again. Like, before Si got in too deep with him.
Hah. That horse had bolted clean across the Welsh border and would be booking a crossing to Ireland right around now.
Zig had lied to him. He’d lied about seeing his dad—maybe not explicitly, but he’d said there hadn’t been any trouble at the pub. Si wouldn’t call the sudden appearance of Zig’s estranged, criminally minded bastard of a dad no trouble.
Or maybe he’d lied about being on the outs with his dad? Gods, had that whole story about getting him sent down been a lie?
Maybe it hadn’t, though, cos what about that hand of his? Lie number . . . Si had lost count. It’d been a rubbish lie. Who had Zig been punching, to bruise his knuckles like that? His dad?
But why wouldn’t he tell Si about it?
That bit about his phone being switched off had been a lie too. Si knew how long it took for a phone to restart. So, he must have seen the missed calls. And ignored them. Si was losing him.
His arms tightened reflexively around Zig, who shifted and rolled out of his grasp. “Sorry. Can’t sleep. Gonna watch telly for a while.”
Again? They’d watched two episodes of Doctor Who already. “Want some company?”
“Nah, you get your rest. I’ll be good.”
Will you? Si pulled the duvet tighter around himself, but somehow he still felt cold.