Chapter 3
Chapter Three
This was a bad idea.
Matt Daley surveyed the chaos that was his bedroom. All his things from uni were still in boxes piled under the window, against the wall, around the bed…
There’s always the garage.
Except he’d already taken a peek in there. Dad had claimed every available inch of space, for his and Mum’s cars, the tools Matt had used more than Dad ever had, and countless boxes of stuff they’d accumulated over the years.
Thirty plus years together? That added up to a lot of stuff.
Matt’s room hadn’t changed much since he was a kid. The desk Dad had put together when Matt had been studying for his GCSEs seemed woefully small, and looked as if it was on its last legs.
That made him smile. Dad was good with his brain, not his hands, but Matt had appreciated the effort.
On it sat his folders containing everything related to his dissertation. He’d met with his tutor before leaving Edinburgh, and so far, so good.
Matt glanced through the window down into the garden. The pool whispered to him, and he did his best to ignore it. He loved the summer, days of lying out in the sun—when it bothered to show up—swimming, chilling…
This summer would be different.
He wasn’t going to work all the hours God sent, but there was already a calendar pinned to the wall above his desk, with red circles indicating deadlines and calls to be made. Work wasn’t the issue, however. He was used to deadlines, to getting his head down and concentrating.
The issue would be finding somewhere quiet to concentrate when his brother and sister descended the way they did every summer. The bad idea? Leaving Edinburgh early and thinking he’d find a workspace at home.
Maybe I should just decamp to the public library.
Except the times he’d done that during holidays, he’d discovered libraries were not quiet and the lure of books was impossible to ignore.
“Don’t you think it’s time you replaced some of these posters?”
Matt jumped, then gave Dad a glare. “Do parents get taught how to sneak up on their kids? You must’ve been top of your class.
” Then his words hit home. “Are you kidding? These films are classics.” The posters were displayed behind glass, safe from fingers.
Their DVDs were on the shelf, along with countless books related to film lore and history.
Dad smirked. “If you say so. Give me a film full of car chases and people blowing things up any day.” He looked around the room. “You know, most people your age have football shirts on their walls.”
Matt glanced at the framed posters. “Most people my age haven’t spent a year or nearly two writing about British cinema.”
“Don’t remind me.” Dad groaned. “If I hear the phrase post-war masculinity one more time…”
Matt grinned. “Masculinity in post-war British cinema, to be precise.”
“See? You corrected me. That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”
He laughed. “Films tell you what every generation thought men were supposed to be.”
Dad blinked. “I just watched The Italian Job because the Mini Coopers were cool.” He peered closely at Matt. “Sometimes I’m not sure you’re really my son. I think someone swapped you in the hospital.” He grinned, then glanced at the room with a sigh. “I also think you need a clear-out.”
Matt rolled his eyes. “I’ve been home for less than forty-eight hours. I thought I’d have at least a week before you came up with that line.” He gestured to the shelves. “They’re research.”
“I know, I know, the dissertation.” Dad went over to the bed, moved a pile of folded clothing aside, and sat down. “I might have found you a job for the summer.”
Matt’s stomach tightened a little. “We’ve talked about this. I don’t want to go into London with you and work in your office. I couldn’t think of anything worse. No offence, Dad. I know this is what you do, but I’m not you.”
Dad bit his lip. “Yeah, I had noticed. And no, I wasn’t about to suggest it again. Once was enough.” He got up and wandered over to the window. “We’ve got a new neighbour.”
Matt blinked at the randomness of the remark. “I heard the vans. Mum said she’d sent you over with food to do the good neighbour bit.”
Dad nodded. “And then I got the shock of my life.”
He grinned. “What—even bigger than when Mum announced she was expecting me?” He’d heard that story all his life.
“You’ve listened to my tales of university, right?”
Matt coughed. “Listened might be too strong a word. I took some of them in by osmosis over the years.” Dad gave a dramatic gasp, and he snorted. “Oh, come on. You got up to a ton of shit at uni, which you never tire of talking about.”
“Well, search through your data banks. Does the name Owen Lane ring a bell?”
He thought for maybe a second. “Your best friend?”
Another nod. Then Dad grinned and pointed towards the newly occupied house.
Matt gaped. “No way. Seriously?”
Dad gave a gleeful smile. “I couldn’t believe it. But this is where you come in. Owen needs someone to maintain the pool, look after the garden…. And I thought of you.”
He narrowed his gaze. “And would I actually get paid for any of that?”
“Owen says he’ll look up the going rate.”
Matt grinned again. It sounded perfect. Spending the summer outdoors and getting paid to do it?
“Hold your horses. Before you get too excited, this isn’t a done deal. He wants to interview you first.”
He shrugged. “Which won’t be a problem. I can get along with anyone.”
“And there’s one more thing.” Dad paused. “Owen is gay. Or should that be bisexual? He’s been married to both sexes, so I guess that makes him bi.”
He blinked again. “And?” He chuckled. “Dad, have you any idea how many of my friends at uni were LGBTQ+? You make it sound like it’s a problem.” He frowned. “But you never said anything about him being gay before.”
“That’s because he wasn’t. Well, okay, he was, I just didn’t know it back then, and—” Dad sighed.
“None of that matters. I just wanted to make sure you were okay with it.” He gave Matt an affectionate smile.
“I should’ve known better. Your generation is so much more comfortable with this kind of thing than mine ever was. ”
Matt smiled. “Which I totally get. You grew up in the whole AIDS-is-death era. Section 28. Newspapers calling it the gay plague. It wasn’t exactly an environment that encouraged people to come out.”
Dad’s smile faded. “No, it really wasn’t.” He straightened. “So any time you’re ready, go next door and have a chat. He’s a good guy. You’ll probably meet his son too who’s only a bit older than you.”
Matt had had enough of stressing over boxes.
“I might as well go now.” He glanced at his jeans and tee. “I guess I don’t need to dress up.”
Dad waved a hand. “You look fine. Just be you.” Then he gave Matt an unexpected hug. “And in case I haven’t said it yet, it’s good to have you home.”
Matt bit back a smile. “Under your feet?”
Dad laughed. “Yeah.” He headed for the door. “Now go and impress Owen.”
He listened to the sound of Dad’s footsteps on the stairs before glancing at the mirrored wardrobe door.
I’ll do. I mean, what does a pool guy-cum-gardener wear anyway?
Matt walked over the gravel towards the front door. Every house on South Drive was different, and he’d always liked the look of this one.
It was a broad, detached place built in warm red brick, with weathered clay tiles climbing to a steep roof broken by dormer windows and a wide gable clad in faded shingles.
It had probably been built in the eighties or nineties, but years of careful maintenance had softened its edges. Nothing shouted for attention.
The front garden was immaculate without being fussy. Rounded shrubs sat among ornamental grasses and flowering borders.
Well, I won’t be working out front, that’s for certain.
A neat gravel drive curved towards the detached garage, while the solid oak front door sat beneath a sheltered porch.
Before he had a chance to ring the bell, the door opened.
Owen Lane was maybe an inch or two taller than Matt, with broad shoulders and muscular upper arms. His beard was mostly silver streaked with dark grey, but it was his dark eyes that grabbed Matt’s attention. They spoke of intelligence and humour.
Then he smiled. “Dear Lord, it’s like looking at your dad.”
It was a good voice, deep and rich. Which in Matt’s book was a good start. He’d had a couple of professors whose voices either put you to sleep, or felt like nails scraping over rusty metal.
Matt laughed. “Mum says that a lot. My brother and sister take after her.” He held his hand out. “I’m Matt.”
Owen shook it. “Owen.” He cocked his head to one side. “I’m going to assume you like your dad’s idea.” His eyes twinkled. “That’s if he gave you a choice. He’d have had your life signed away for the summer if I hadn’t insisted on you getting some input. And of course, me actually meeting you.”
“Yeah, that sounds like Dad.” Matt held his arms open. “So here I am.”
“Come on in and we’ll talk.” Owen stood aside, and Matt stepped into the cool interior.
He had to smile. “Your place looks like my room. Nothing but boxes.”
“You’ve just got back from uni, your dad said.”
He nodded. “Still working out where to put everything.”
Owen groaned. “Tell me about it. The first thing on my to-do list is to go onto IKEA’s site and order wardrobes, bookcases…
.” He winced. “Me and screwdrivers—not a good match. Thank God the kitchen doesn’t need more cabinets.
” He gave Matt a hopeful glance. “I don’t suppose being a whizz with flat-packed furniture is on the list of your skills? ”
Matt chuckled. “Wow. You and my dad really do have a lot in common.” He smiled. “And yeah, I’ve assembled a few bits in my time.”
Owen’s face lit up. “Great. Then I might be offering you more than work in the garden—if you have the time. Jeff said something about a dissertation?”
“As long as you don’t intend working me twelve hours a day, we’re good.” He followed Owen into a large room with floor-to-ceiling windows. “Oh, nice.”