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“It’s still here,” Paul assured him.

Adam walked over to the bed, the cane swinging from left to right in front of him, until he reached the bed. He stretched out his hand and touched the covering. Paul caught his breath at the smile that transformed Adam’s face. “It can’t be.” He turned his head in Paul’s direction. “Describe this bedspread.”

Paul ignored the presumptive tone, lost in Adam’s expression. “It’s a satin quilt, a faded peach colour.”

Adam stroked the covering in a slow motion. “This was my grandmother’s. She made it.” He shook his head. “I never expected to find it here still.”

Paul was transfixed by the sight of a single tear edging its way from beneath Adam’s glasses to trickle down his cheek. In that instant Paul felt as if he was intruding on a very private moment.

“I’ve laid out your clothes on the bed,” he said quickly. “Since we don’t have a lot of time, I’ll let you get dressed. When you’re ready, call me if you want me on hand for when you come downstairs.”

Not waiting for an answer, Paul hurried out of the room and down the carpeted staircase.

How can he affect me so powerfully?
Every time Paul thought he had a handle on Adam, the writer went and showed him another facet, something he hadn’t expected.

This job was beginning to get interesting.

* * * * * *

The car engine died and Adam breathed deeply. “I take it we’re here?” They were the first words he’d spoken since Paul had helped him into the passenger seat of his car. The prospect of venturing out into the world he’d been hiding from for the last few months was overwhelming. His heartbeat had sped up, and breathing had become difficult. He’d taken great pains to hide his fears: it was bad enough that Paul had seen him overcome with emotion earlier. And over a fucking bedspread, of all things.

He couldn’t help it. There it lay, a part of his childhood, its satiny surface bringing back so many memories. He recalled sitting on that cover with his grandfather, Adam cuddled up at his side with many thick pillows behind them, peering at a book filled with old photographs. He could still hear his grandfather’s voice as he pointed out relatives long since departed, places that existed no longer, and photos of the Cove that showed how little it had changed throughout the years. Adam remembered drifting off to sleep, safe and content, his grandfather’s arm securely around him.

“We’re right in front of the salon,” Paul told him. “We’re at the top end of Union Street.”

Adam was familiar with the steep street that led down to the seafront at Ryde. He knew from memory that the journey would have lasted about twenty-five minutes, but it had seemed much longer. Ever since he’d returned to the island from London, Adam had shut himself in, not wishing to see a soul. Paul wanting to take him for a haircut had been a catalyst of sorts: even as his heart had quaked at the prospect, part of his brain was yelling at him to just
do
it.

Well, we’re here now.

He waited until Paul was out of the car before he undid his seatbelt. His hands shook and he clenched them, drawing in several deep breaths. By the time Paul had opened his door, Adam was calmer. He handed over his cane, before Paul eased him out of the car and handed it back to him. Adam stretched, sniffing the air. He could smell the sea.

“Okay, about four steps and we’re at the salon.”

Adam followed the sound of Paul’s voice, tapping the pavement. A bell rang when Paul pushed open the door and a wealth of diverse aromas teased Adam’s senses. Paul’s hand was at his elbow, guiding him.

“About two steps to your right, there’s a couch.”

Adam nodded and felt his way with the cane. He sat down on the firm couch, his cane placed between his knees, and waited. Music played quietly, something soothing, accompanied by running water and a hairdryer, before it was switched off. Paul took a seat beside him.

“Hey, sweetie. Mark’s nearly finished with his lady. Unless your friend would like me to cut his hair? I’m finishing off my lady here.” The female voice had a South African twang to it, soft and musical.

“Finishing me off, Sonia?” A woman laughed. “Sounds macabre.” Sonia’s laughter mingled with hers, the sound bright and cheerful.

“Thanks, Sonia.” Paul leaned in closer to Adam. “Up to you,” he said in a low voice as the sound of the hairdryer resumed. “They’re both good hairdressers.”

“I’ll take your first recommendation,” Adam said in a low voice. “I’ll wait for Mark.”

“Okay.” The couch dipped as Paul sat back. “So, how’s business, Son?”

“Busy as usual, though we were concerned when a new salon opened up across the street.”

“Ooh, competition.” Paul chuckled. “Let battle commence.”

Sonia giggled. “Hair straighteners at dawn, eh?” She switched off the hairdryer. “Though lately, we seem to be having more young men joining our ranks. I think Mark and Sam are spreading the word. You think he’s leaving business cards in those clubs they go to on the mainland? Because all these guys who keep turning up for a haircut are kinda similar, if you know what I mean.” She chuckled.

Adam kept his head down, but listened with interest.

“You must be Mr. Kent. I’m Mark.”

A male voice, clearly island-born, judging by the soft vowels that rolled off his tongue, addressed him.

Adam straightened. “Call me Adam.”

“Okay, Adam, I’m ready for you.”

Adam rose to his feet, cane in hand. Paul guided him, his fingers on Adam’s elbow, until he reached a chair. After helping him into it, Paul took the cane. “It’s leaning against the wall in front of you.”

Adam tried to relax into the chair. It was only a haircut, for God’s sake.

“Right, what am I doing here?” Mark’s voice came from behind Adam’s chair.

He attempted a smile. “Paul thinks it needs to come off. He thinks I should look smarter.” He couldn’t resist a dig at the younger man, even though he knew Paul was right. Adam couldn’t believe how quickly it had grown. It had been quite long before the diagnosis, but the thought of his impending loss of vision had seemed more important than a haircut.

“Short layers all over?” Mark asked.

Adam nodded. “I haven’t had hair this curly since I was a kid.”

“Then let’s get on with it. We’ll get you over to the wash station, and I’ll see if I can give you a nice head massage while I’m washing your hair.”

Before Adam could react, Paul guided him to another chair, and the whole process began in earnest. Mark chatted away, talking about the weather, the proposed fixed link to the mainland, any number of inconsequential topics.

Adam shut himself down and drifted. Too many sensations, too much noise, too many thoughts that collided inside his head. It was overload and he reacted the only way he knew how. He tuned out the world radio and turned inward.

* * * * * *

Any optimism he’d had since he’d gotten Adam to take a shower dwindled into nothing. Adam wasn’t coping with the situation, and there was nothing Paul could do about it. He’d watched the writer withdraw into himself, retreating into whatever safe place existed inside his head. Mark had noticed, that was for sure. He stopped talking and allowed Adam to be.

I pushed him too fast, too soon.
It had been two months since Adam had lost his sight, and Paul had thought him ready to move on. Well, all the signs were there that Adam wasn’t ready.

It was something of a shock when Sonia nudged his arm. “Hey, sweetie. Adam is done.”

Paul sat up on the couch and glanced across to where Adam was sitting and—
oh my God.

It was amazing how much change could be wrought with a shave and a haircut.

Adam’s hair was dark and sleek, molded to his head. Added to that the smooth, firm jaw and those dark glasses, and Paul felt a pang of yearning. The stiffening cock in his jeans was testament to that. Adam wore the white shirt Paul had chosen for him, along with a pair of black jeans. His sleeves were rolled up, showing off toned forearms, and the open collar revealed creamy skin.

Adam’s jaw was set. “I want to go home.”

Paul lurched to his feet. “How much do I owe you, Mark?” He fumbled in his wallet and removed two ten pound notes, taking the receipt Mark proffered. Adam remained in the chair, waiting, his fingers wrapped around the cane, his back rigid.

“Will we see you on Saturday night?”

Mark’s voice cut through his contemplations. “Sorry?”

Mark sighed patiently. “Taylor’s party? This Saturday night? He did text you about it, didn’t he?”

Paul was about to reply when a thought occurred to him. He had no idea how the land lay. Everything was up in the air until after Caroline’s visit.

“I’m sure Paul will be able to make it,” Adam replied swiftly.

Paul twisted his head to regard Adam in surprise. “I will?”

“We can talk about this later.” Adam’s tone was firm. “But right now we have things to do.”

We do?
Paul’s mind was in a whirl. He gave himself a swift mental kick up the backside and sucked in a deep breath. “Yes, we do,” he said decisively. Adam walked over to him, cane swinging, and Paul guided him to the door, saying his farewells to Mark and Sonia. Once they were outside in the fresh air, he inhaled. “Okay, what things do we have to do, exactly?”

“Get me in the car and we’ll talk.”

Paul did as instructed. When Adam was secured, he walked around the front of the car and got in. The engine switched on, he pulled away from the curb and joined the slow trail of cars that were making their way down the hill. Ahead lay the deep blue of the Solent that reflected the wide expanse of sky, and across the horizon was Portsmouth, its Spinnaker tower glowing white in the early evening sunlight.

“I did some thinking while Mark was washing my hair,” Adam said at last. Paul waited. “Caroline thinks you’re living in the house.”

“Yes.”

He let out a growl. “I know my sister. She’ll have a good look around, putting that long nose of hers into every corner. If she gets so much as a whiff that you’re not really living there, that you’re not fulfilling your contract, she’ll make things difficult.”

Paul didn’t dare ask how difficult, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out there was the possibility of losing his job. “What do we do?”

“How far are we from where you live?”

Paul laughed. “About five minutes. I live in Binstead.”

Adam nodded. “We stop at your house on the way. You grab whatever you need to convince my sister that you’re living at the house. I’ll stay in the car. We get back and you spend some time making sure your room looks lived in.” He sighed heavily. “You were right. We have to work together on this.”

At last
. “Okay.” Paul turned right at the roundabout and headed for Binstead. All this subterfuge to convince Adam’s sister that Adam was coping.

He must really want her out of his hair.

“Once she’s satisfied, we can have another discussion, especially concerning the living arrangements.”

Well, fuck
. Adam’s words prompted Paul to reassess the situation.

What Adam
really
wanted was to be left on his own to live his life without interference, and that included Paul.

But what kind of life was that?

Chapter Seven

Paul had been up since six, cleaning. By the time he heard Adam stirring, the kitchen shone, every bit of stainless steel gleaming. The library was tidied and dusted, all evidence of Adam’s sleeping habits removed. The cloakroom was pristine.

At eight o’clock he took a mug of freshly brewed coffee up to Adam’s room and knocked.

“Come in.”

Paul pushed open the door and entered. Adam lay in the bed, the quilt folded over to one side: it had been a hot August night. A white sheet covered him. Paul walked around the bed to place the mug on the bedside cabinet. “I thought you might appreciate an early start today.”

Adam sniffed up. “God, that smells good. Thank you, yes.”

“How did you sleep?” After weeks of spending nights on the couch, Paul assumed the bed was a blissful improvement.

He smiled. “Like a log. I haven’t slept that well for a long time. I could hear the waves as I fell asleep. It took me back.” Then his face straightened. “Thank you.”

It felt like—no, it
was
—a dismissal.

Paul bit back his sigh and left Adam to his coffee. At least with Adam awake, Paul could use the Dyson on the hall and stairs carpet. He had no idea when to expect Caroline, but she had said early and he was taking no chances. By nine, the house was spotless and Paul was preparing soup for Adam’s lunch.

At least she can’t say I’m giving him crap to eat
. Paul made sure Adam’s diet was healthy. The bread dough was already proving in a bowl under a damp tea towel. Adam had finished his breakfast and was sitting in the library, listening to music, lost in a world of Beethoven’s piano concertos. That had been one of Paul’s brainwaves. In the car on the way to Binstead, he’d asked Adam what CDs were in the house. A wistful expression had flickered across Adam’s face. It turned out that his CD collection was yet another thing he couldn’t lay his hands on.

Paul grimaced. Somewhere in that house were tons of boxes with Adam’s possessions in them. Now that Adam was beginning to settle more, it was important to have his belongings around him, so that the house felt like home. Paul wasn’t sure how he felt about tackling Caroline on the subject: his job was in the balance.

Let’s make sure she’s happy with the situation,
then
we can work out where she’s put everything.

Apparently Adam was a classical music nut, so Paul had dashed into the house and begged his mum to let him borrow some of her classical CD’s. She’d agreed, albeit with a bemused expression, and then laughed at the sight of him laden down once more with his belongings. She’d followed that with mutterings under her breath, something about never knowing if Paul was coming or going.

Paul had waved his hand. He’d explain it all when he had the time. Right then he’d been on a mission.

When midday arrived and there was still no sign of Caroline, Paul began to think she’d changed her mind, until he heard a car pulling up outside.