Barging In (31 page)

Dan flushed. “It doesn’t matter. Just…just take care of yourself, yeah?” Dan stepped up close and hugged Robin tight.

Robin wanted to avoid those treacherous lips, but his body seemed to think otherwise, and he found himself drawn into a heartbreaking kiss. He was acutely aware of how they’d missed their chance to make love one last time.

But making love wasn’t so great when for one of you it was just fucking.

He clutched Dan tight, trying to store up the memory of him in his body. The warm scent of his aftershave, the strong, slender arms wrapped around him. The soft strands of hair, shining like bronze filaments in the weak December sun. And then those eyes—green flecked with gold—that seemed to promise so much, yet kept holding out on him. Betraying him.

Dan wrenched himself away at the last moment, visibly shaken. “I’ll call you. I promise. We’ll work it out, okay?”

Robin nodded, but he still couldn’t believe.

His eyes smarted as he returned to the car. For once, his mother didn’t say anything but just pressed a hand over his. Somehow, that simple pressure was enough to start the tears rolling. He fell against her, and they sat in the car while he gave in to the sobs that threatened to rip him apart. But they didn’t, and eventually he calmed, even if the empty ache inside him was still there.

“He’ll be back soon, darling. It will all be just fine. You’ll see.”

Robin nodded and gave her a smile. It felt tight and false.

He had a terrible premonition that he’d never set eyes on Dan again.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Dan stared out of the train window, watching the cramped houses and their tiny back gardens spool past in an endless parade of battered fences, peeling paint and dirty windows. His mum’s house was the best of the lot; she had standards. He spotted the shiny red back door and the brightly coloured plastic toys that filled the yard. Was that her at the kitchen window? The train went past too fast to tell, but she was generally the one who ended up doing all the chores when Dan wasn’t there. It was a shame he’d be around only for the afternoon—she wouldn’t be getting much of a Christmas break this year.

The walk from Streatham station took about ten minutes, and as always, Dan felt like he was shrinking in response to the bleak surroundings of the neighbourhood. The South London estate was particularly stark after just coming from the genteel outskirts of Cheltenham. As he turned into his old road, anger boiled up inside him. For fuck’s sake, was the family next door deliberately trying to turn their front garden into a haven for every last vicious, disease-riddled rodent in the area? He glared at the piled-up detritus and made a mental note to harangue the local council into clearing it up. Again. They tended to listen to him more than to his mum. Perhaps it was because he’d let them know about his contacts in the media. He’d threatened to use them in the past, he’d been so incensed about the vermin problem.

His mum answered the door in her apron, and he leant down to give her a hug. Jean Taylor was a tiny woman, thin but strong. Her red-gold hair had faded now, and her face was etched with lines, but you could tell she’d been a right looker when she was younger.

“You’re looking gorgeous, sis. Now where’s that mum of ours?”

“Oi, stop it, you! Cheeky boy.” His mum giggled and flicked him with a tea towel. Dan thought she looked beautiful, with the lines in her cheeks framing her smile and her green eyes sparkling. “Come on in. It’s bleedin’ brass monkeys out ’ere. I’ll pop the kettle on.”

Dan followed her down the narrow hallway. He could hear the television blaring from the living room. It sounded like
Doctor Who
. He glanced in to see an assortment of nieces and nephews sprawled in front of the screen. No doubt his siblings and their partners were all down the pub. Dan said hello, and the older kids grunted, their eyes drawn back to the spectacle of David Tennant outsmarting the Cybermen. Little Chantal rushed over to hug his leg and gave a sticky, raspberry-flavoured kiss to his lips when he crouched down. He rubbed a hand through her frizzy hair and promised her a present when they’d finished watching telly. She giggled and kissed him again, then scampered back to join the others.

His mum had filled a chipped china teapot and covered it with a hand-knitted cosy. Dan sat at the table and looked up at the array of kid’s paintings covering the tatty floral wallpaper.

“Where’s Chantal’s latest masterpiece, then?” He had a real soft spot for that kid. Only four years old and already she was producing beautiful paintings. His mum pointed the picture out. It showed a row of kids with brown skin and crazy hair holding hands with a ginger woman and a dark-skinned man. Dan grinned. “She’ll have an exhibition in the Tate before she’s twenty, you know.”

His mum smiled indulgently, pouring out the brew into mismatched china teacups. Dan really should buy her another set. They never lasted long around here, though. Not with the herds of grandchildren that were always running around the place. Dan’s brother and sisters all lived within a half-mile radius and used their mum as an unpaid babysitter so that they could earn enough to feed all those mouths. She didn’t seem to mind, though, lavishing her grandkids with affection but still able to lay down the law.

“How’s things, then, Mum? You keeping well?”

“Fit as a fiddle, love. You know me.” She grinned at him over the teacup. “What about you and this sexy boater of yours, then? Has ’e swept you off your feet, yet? Made an honest man out of you?”

“Mum!” Dan felt an unfamiliar heat in his face. He stared at the steam hissing out of the pressure cooker. No doubt it was one of her famous Christmas puddings. He knew he should be answering her but didn’t know how to.

“Well, I never! Never thought I’d live to see the day I could make you blush. Not without getting a photo album out, anyway.”

Dan cringed. Yep, there were some seriously embarrassing photos in there. All those youthful fashion experiments. He’d looked like a right twat for most of his teenage years, and it was a wonder he hadn’t had the shit kicked out of him on a more regular basis.

“So when are you going to bring this young man around so that I can show them to him? I want to see this tattooed gypsy who’s managed to bewitch you.”

“Mum! He’s not a gypsy. They’re called travellers. Or boaters. Or just people.”

“I’m not being rude, love, honest. Robin, isn’t it?” Dan nodded. “So has he always lived like that? Come from Romany stock?”

Dan gave a wry smile, wondering how Rosemary would react to hearing her son called a gypsy. “Hardly. They’re proper upper-middle class, they are. There was a family tree and coat of arms up in the downstairs bog.”

“You never! Seriously?” Her eyes were round, sparkling with glee. “You gone and got yourself a sugar daddy?”

“Mum! He’s five years younger than me. And he makes his own way doing manual labour. It’s just not like that. If anything, I’m the sugar daddy.” And that was such a disturbing thought, he blushed again.

“So, when am I going to meet him? Can you bring ’im round for tea once you get back from your hols?”

“Erm, well, I…” Dan trailed off, realising that he had no idea if Robin even wanted to meet his family. Maybe Robin would find them all appallingly common. He doubted it. The guy lived among travellers, also known as the scum of the earth by the right-wing press. Still, he’d hate to think of his mum being looked down on by anyone.

But when he met her understanding gaze, he realised that this wasn’t the thing that was making him hesitate. If he brought Robin back here, it would be like making it all official, wouldn’t it?

“What is it, love?” Her voice was gentle, and Dan really wanted to unburden himself.

“Oh, it’s all gone tits-up, Mum, and I don’t know what I’m feeling. He says he loves me, and he wants me to move onto his boat with him.”

“And that’s a problem, is it?”

“Yes! Yes it is. There’s no way I could live in such a tiny space with another guy, no matter how much I…like them. It’d be a disaster waiting to happen. It’d be like you and Dad.” He clamped his mouth shut, seeing the hurt on his mum’s face and wishing he could erase the words out of existence. “Shit! I’m sorry, Mum. I’m sorry.” He got up and went to hug her.

“Is that what you think, love? You think we was unhappy?”

“You used to row all the time.” Okay, they weren’t screaming matches like you heard coming through the thin walls from next door. More a constant bickering that sent him running for the sanctuary of his granddad’s shed.

“Row? What about?” She looked genuinely puzzled.

“You know. Stuff like you pestering him to repaper the kitchen and calling him a lazy, drunken sod. And him saying you spoilt us kids. And complaining about having to sleep in the lounge.” Now that he thought about it, they didn’t seem like anything too serious. Not much worse than Robin berating him for feeding the swans out of the hatch.

His mum was giving him an affectionate smile. “You silly boy. That was just life. Nothing to worry yourself about. We used to enjoy our little spats, you know. Especially makin’ up afterwards.” She had a distinctly roguish gleam in her eye. “We loved each other. If you love someone, you can make it work. D’you love this Robin?”

And that was the thing, wasn’t it? The thing he couldn’t answer. He stared at her, wondering if he should tell her about the stupid mistake with Tris and whether she’d be able to help him understand his messed-up feelings.

But then the familiar theme tune blared through the wall, closely followed by a mob of children all desperate for their Christmas presents from Uncle Dan. His mum rolled her eyes, saying they’d talk later. It wasn’t until he was on the train back that he realised they’d never had a chance to. His sisters had stayed late, chattering about the kids and the latest celebrity gossip—though why they’d thought he’d be interested in the Beckham’s love life he had no idea. The only moment alone with his mum had been on the doorstep.

“You look after yourself, hear me? And you make sure you ’old on to this Robin fella. He’s good for you. I can see that.”

Dan nodded and kissed her before heading back to the station and his empty flat.

Robin cruised away from Bath, looking for somewhere peaceful he could be alone for a while. Trouble was, in the middle of winter, most of the canal was crammed with boats, and he didn’t want to deal with all the well-meaning enquiries about Dan from the other boaters. That was the problem with living on the towpath—people were always stopping by to say hello and check up on you. He wasn’t sure how well he’d be able to lie when friends asked him if he’d heard from Dan.

Robin hadn’t switched his phone on since leaving his parents’ place. He didn’t want to be reminded of where Dan was and who he was with.

No, he needed somewhere away from gossiping boaters. Somewhere secluded. Somewhere private. He looked with envy at the other side of the canal, where the ends of the carefully manicured gardens of Bathampton met the water’s edge.

“Yoohoo! Robin, darling, is that you?”

The call cut through the engine’s chugging and snagged his attention. There was a man standing in the next garden waving his arms around. God, it was Charles Wentworth, flapping a handkerchief around like it was some kind of flag. Robin couldn’t help but smile at the spectacle and steered
Serendipity
in towards the bank.

Someone who’d owned the house in the past must have had their own boat as there were two wooden jetties extending from the grassy verge. They couldn’t have been better positioned for
Serendipity
, one reaching her front deck and one the back, and would be so much safer than tramping over an icy plank in the depths of winter.

He wondered if the offer of a mooring still stood.

“You’ve come! Oh, that’s marvellous. But really, my dear, you should have rung. I haven’t got anything in. Well, that’s not true, I’m sure I can rustle up a glass of brandy for my favourite young man. Come on in, let me show you what needs your expert attention.”

Robin allowed himself to be led inside the large stone house. He didn’t shake off Charles’s hold on his arm. Right now Charles offered sanctuary, and he’d be a fool not to take him up on it, no matter what the price might be.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Marek gave Robin an icy glare and muttered something under his breath. Robin forced a smile, stepping around the ladder on his way to the bathroom. It was hard to figure out why the Polish decorator had taken an instant dislike to him, and Marek’s English either wasn’t good enough to articulate his reasons, or he couldn’t be bothered to try. It seemed like an overreaction to the news that he would have to repaint the study once Robin had finished fitting Charles’s bookshelves.

He’d been working here for five days now, and apart from the tense situation with Marek, so far things were going well. As well as could be expected, anyway. He worked long hours and kept his mobile switched off so that the outside world couldn’t reach him. He had access to Charles’s log pile and the use of his bathroom, so he could probably last a month before needing to cruise anywhere to fill or empty
Serendipity’s
tanks. It was the kind of seclusion he’d always dreamed of, which made it even more peculiar that he wasn’t enjoying it one bit.

Most evenings he’d have a brandy with Charles after finishing up but always made his excuses rather than accepting another. Surprisingly, Charles didn’t seem to mind. Either that or he had the good manners not to force the situation. Maybe he had a drink with Marek after Robin left, although God knew what they’d find to talk about. Maybe Marek had other qualities Robin couldn’t see. He was certainly very blond and well-built, despite being a couple of inches shorter than Dan.

Robin wondered what he’d do if Charles did make a pass at him. Could he divorce his emotions from his sex drive enough to accept some physical comfort? Dan didn’t seem to have a problem doing so. Maybe he should try it. Maybe revenge would give him some satisfaction. It might help to close the raw hole where his heart should be.

He closed the door on the surly decorator and sagged back against it. A big stack of magazines had appeared in Charles’s bathroom. He must have been doing more unpacking. Robin leafed through a copy of
Gay Times
until he reached the travel section. A full page advert for a gay resort stared out at him. The photo teemed with scantily clad and well-muscled young men, looking like they’d been oiled. Apparently, clothing was “forever optional”.