The Sceptic, page 30
“You know what I mean.”
I sigh, and reaching out, I grab his narrow hips and pull him into me. He comes willingly, wrapping his arms around my neck.
He raises an eyebrow. “Well?”
“I know,” I finally say reluctantly. “I’ll miss you too. Very much.”
He groans. “Oh, don’t say that.”
“You made me do it with your Jedi mind tricks,” I say indignantly.
He chuckles and nestles his face into my neck. His breath is warm, and his hair is soft against my chin. I abandon my attempt at restraint and hug him tightly. “I will miss you,” I whisper. “But you have to go, and that’s it. Think of the penguins.”
“Again, with those fucking things,” he mutters.
“You’re going to have a fantastic couple of years away, and when I see the programme, I’ll always think of you.”
“I’m not dead.”
I stroke his hair, feeling the silky strands slip through my fingers.
He lifts his head, giving me a tragic expression.
Against my will, I chuckle. “Don’t look like that.” I sigh. “We always had an expiration date, you and me.”
“Is that a reason to be cheerful?”
I shrug. “It’s a good thing, in a way. We always knew it would end. A lot of people don’t have that luxury. They never see the end coming.”
He shakes his head, a disgruntled look on his face. “I hate that you think like that,” he informs me. “It’s shit. I fucking hate Jason.” I shrug, and he stares at me for a long moment. “What about long distance?”
“I don't think you can get any more long distance than York and the Antarctic. We’d probably manage two dates per annum, factoring in the travel time.”
“Someone thinks they’re funny,” he says in a sing-song voice. Then he pauses. “What do you mean, York?” A funny expression crosses his face. “Are you staying in York?” I nod, and he starts to laugh. “Blue got to you.”
“Doesn’t he always? I think it might be the place I want to stay for a while. The viscount has been on about making me a manager of the shop, and then once I get my accountancy qualification, I can do the books for him and Tom. That should keep me busy enough. Neither of them knows the meaning of a receipt.”
His eyes are soft. “I’m glad,” he whispers. “I think that’s the right move for you, Will.” He hesitates. “You never answered my question.”
I consider it, wanting to say yes so badly. He’s the first person I’ve met since Jason who has ever made me want more. And that’s the problem. I want everything with him, and that freaks me the fuck out, because what about when he goes? I already know that he’ll leave a bigger hole than fucking Jason ever did.
I start to speak, but he slams his hand over my lips before I can say anything. I raise my eyebrows, and he smiles. “Nope. Don’t say anything.”
He lifts his hand, and I glare at him. “Bit difficult to speak anyway with your hand preventing it.”
“Be glad of that hand and keep quiet. I don't want you to give me your standard depressing knee-jerk reaction.”
“But that means my whole conversation has just gone down the toilet.”
“You’re welcome.” I repress a smile, and he carries on talking. “I want you to think about me and you, rather than acting like I’ve morphed into the Wanker Otherwise Known as Jason.” He grabs my chin, forcing me to bend slightly. “I’ll be seeing you,” he says, giving me a hard kiss on the mouth.
“That sounded threatening rather than loverlike, and what do you mean?” I say, but he just smirks at me and climbs into the Land Rover. “No, really. What does that mean?” I call through the window, but he just gives me a fancy wave of his hand and drives away. I stand there until the car disappears from sight.
Blue and Levi come up next to me. “Alright?” Blue asks.
“I’m not entirely sure,” I confess. “I thought we’d finished it, but now I’m not so sure. Jem doesn’t appear to be listening to all my carefully thought-out arguments, and he says he doesn’t want my usual depressing instant reaction.”
“Good for Jem. I knew I liked him.”
I turn to stare at him. “What do you mean? You, of all people, know my history and why I don’t want anything serious again.”
“There’s serious, and then there’s twatty.”
He stops, and I blink. “Are we getting to the one moment in the day when you make any sense?”
Levi snorts, but Blue just gives me his serene look. It’s meant to convey the fact that he knows everything. It usually just makes me want to push him over.
“Jason was not serious. Ever. He was a user and a one-in-a-million, diamond-plated cunt. Jem is nothing like him.” He shrugs. “You need someone who isn’t going to listen too hard to your nihilistic relationship ideas. Someone who can get you over your customary initial panicky little hump.”
“Little hump? Lovely. Are we friends?” I look around. “Does anyone know?”
He pats my arm. “Jem needs to know when to keep going despite your loud protests. Maybe I’d better have a chat with him.”
“I’d rather Rasputin had a chat with him.”
Blue sings a snatch of the old Boney M song, and Levi laughs and rattles his keys. “So, are we going home then?”
I jerk. “I’d forgotten I was homeless.”
“You will never be homeless again,” Blue says sharply, and it’s my turn to pat him on the arm.
“I know. It was just a figure of speech. I meant I need to look for somewhere to live.”
I’m fully expecting him to launch into an invitation to his spare room, but he just smiles and pulls out his phone. “I need to ring Tom and tell him we’re on the way home.”
I stare at him. “Why? Will he send you to bed without any supper if you don’t?”
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t laugh at Will,” he warns Levi. “It just encourages him.”
We set off, and as Levi and Blue chatter in the front seat, I sit in the back, resting my head against the window. The glass is cold against my cheek, and I let the sound of their conversation drift over me. It isn’t anything serious. Just the day-to-day talk of two people who love each other and share their lives, but for the first time, it occurs to me that maybe it wouldn't be that bad if I had someone.
I think of Jem and feel such a powerful stab of longing to be near him that it hurts my stomach. It feels horrible not to be able to turn around and see him. I’ve grown used to it being the two of us. I determinedly turn my mind away from the thought of him. There isn’t any use pining. He’ll be out of the country soon, and I’ll be out of his mind as soon as his plane’s wheels lift off the ground.
Still, I sense that I’m changing slowly. All these new friendships and found family are making me put down tendrils that will one day become roots. Maybe I won’t be alone forever. Just thinking that makes me realise how far I’ve come since I landed in York as a frightened kid. But no matter how much I’m changing my ideas, Jem hasn't. He might chat about relationships, but since I’ve known him, he’s had two relationships, and both floundered on the fact that he loves his job more than anyone or anything.
Once that sort of casual relationship would have seemed perfect to me, but now I’ve met Jem, I know it would never suit me. I’m greedy with him. I want more, and I know I wouldn’t be able to get it with him.
I grimace as I tell myself it’s time to move on from Jem. I just wish someone could tell me how.
The Minster is striking nine o’clock and the streets of York are already bustling when Levi parks his car. The shops are starting to open, and tourists are flooding from their hotels. I climb out of the car and stretch. Ford Focuses aren’t built for people my height. I look over at Blue who’s brandishing his phone at me.
“Tarquin needs you at the shop,” he says.
I stare at him. “How do you know? I didn’t hear your phone ring.”
“Tom texted me.”
“Tom did? I thought he hated mobile phones.”
“He likes them now. Well, I should say he likes Twitter. The brevity of the word count makes him happy.”
“Oh my god, you put him on social media. How’s that going?”
He grimaces. “Put it this way. I don’t think his manner improves if it’s typed rather than verbal. He has more fights online than a drunk at kicking-out time.”
“Okay. I’ll head round. Dinner tonight? My treat.”
He shrugs. “Maybe. You might be busy.”
“Hmm. Are your super senses tingling, or do you actually know something for a change?”
“Do not mock my psychic abilities,” he says in a tone of doom, and Levi laughs. “I’m not a superhero even if I do have the chiselled good looks of one.”
“If you were, you would be Captain Irritating.”
“And you would be the Vexing Vixen.”
Levi groans. “Please, no more.”
Blue threads his hand through his boyfriend’s arm and smiles at him affectionately. “And you would be the Tea Man.” He pauses. “Or the Ghost Tour Flasher.”
I wave my hand and wander back down the street, leaving them to their couple snark. The morning sun casts the lane in shadows, and I pass through them and make my way across Minster Yard, dodging the tourists taking pictures of the beautiful building.
I pass into the alley, and the two bookshops loom into view, making me smile. There’s a funny sense of homecoming about these two shops, as if they’re welcoming me back.
I dismiss my silly thoughts and cast an idle glance over a tall, handsome man with a head of shaggy blond hair. He’s waiting outside the shop with a patient air and doesn’t seem to be in any hurry. He must be waiting for a customer. I’ve done my fair share of waiting there while Blue was reading on the second floor. I offer him a smile and let myself in, hearing the bell give its melodic tinkle.
I immediately spot the viscount. He’s talking to a man who looks up when he hears the bell. He’s very good-looking with jet-black hair and is wearing a pair of hipster glasses that draw attention to his bright blue eyes.
I make a gesture to the viscount that I’ll be in the back, but he waves me over.
“William. How are things?”
“Fine,” I say somewhat awkwardly in front of the stranger.
The viscount turns quickly to the man beside him. “Oh, let me introduce you. This is John. He’s my solicitor, and he’s come with some documents for me.”
“That’s nice.” I offer my hand.
John shakes it firmly, his eyes keen on my face. He wears a wedding ring that catches the sunlight. “So, this is Will,” he says in a posh, deep voice.
The viscount nods, looking a bit like a blackbird after some bread. “Yes, dear boy.” He pats him on the shoulder. “John is my godson.”
“And he’s also leaving,” John says. “Matt’s waiting, and I promised him a walk along the wall. Dinner is at eight tonight in that Italian restaurant on the Shambles you like.”
The viscount nods. “I’m looking forward to it.”
John nods at me and leaves the shop. I watch through the window as he nears the blond-haired man I saw earlier. The blond’s face lights up with lazy affection, and the two of them hug, the blond saying something that makes John laugh.
The viscount smiles. “Lovely boy, and his husband is a stunner. Funny to think that if things had turned out differently, he could have been my grandson.”
“Really?”
“I courted his grandmother before she threw me over for another man. She was a fine figure of a woman.” He brightens. “But it’s probably for the best. She never had any patience and wouldn’t have stood for all that possession-by-an-evil-spirit nonsense.”
A second of silence drops, and then I clear my throat. “No, of course not.” I smile at him. “Blue said you wanted to see me, so I thought I’d pop in before I go back for a kip. Everything okay with the shop?”
“Oh yes. We’ve been lovely and busy, although I do think we might keep Madame Hecate off the gin before three o’clock. It makes her tarot-reading rather erratic. She told someone that the Hanging Man card meant they’d have a long wait at the train station.” I laugh, and he smiles. “You look well, child. I’m dying to hear about your adventure. It sounded fascinating when I spoke to Blue. But first, Tom and I have something to show you.”
“You do?”
“Yes.” He steps over to the curtain and raises it to call to Tom. He looks back at me. “Put the Closed sign up, dear boy.”
“Now? We’ll miss out on customers.”
“They will wait. We have more important things to do.”
I’d like to know what’s more important to a bookshop owner than customers who want to buy books, but I do as he says and slide the lock home before turning to see Tom.
“Okay?” he asks, his keen old eyes running over me, as if searching for injury.
“Fine, and Blue is okay too.”
“I just spoke to him. His mouth seems as loud and robust as usual.”
“Yes, it’ll take more than a dead murder victim to shut him up.” I stare at the two of them. They’re standing like bookends, and both look very nervous.
“Alright?” I ask, unease stirring. “Oh my god, are you sacking me?” I blurt out.
The viscount blinks. “Good heavens, no. What on earth put that in your head?”
“Well, I did bugger off to go ghost hunting.”
He waves a careless hand. “I love that you did that. We’ll have so much to talk about. That’s part of your job description now.”
I blink. “Do I have one of those?” I ask cautiously.
“Somewhere.” He looks around as if the job description is going to appear out of thin air.
Tom clears his throat. “We want your opinion on something, lad.”
“Okay.” I’m more mystified than usual with this pair, which is really saying something. I wave my hand. “Shall we look at it, then?”
“Upstairs,” the viscount says, bustling off. Tom and I follow him to the back of the shop where a back staircase leads to the flat.
“Ooh, you put in new carpet,” I say, looking down at the plush midnight-blue that now covers the stairs instead of the raggedy old runner. “It’s lovely.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Tom says, and something is amusing him because his mouth is tilted at the side.
We follow the viscount as he climbs the winding staircase and pauses. At one time, this upstairs space was used as a flat, but in recent years it’s become a cramped stockroom. The door to the room appears to be new too.
The viscount produces a key, unlocks the door, and then hands the key to me. “Yours,” he says. “You’ll need to get a keychain, dear boy.”
“Mine?” Realisation dawns. “Oh, did you want me to check the stock? That’s fine. If I can have a kip for a couple of hours, I’ll get on it afterwards.”
They both stare at me. “Stock?” the viscount asks.
“Yes. That’s what you want, isn’t it? I presume the contents of the house sale have arrived. If you’re in a rush, I can always pull a rug out and kip on that.”
Tom smiles. “Not quite, Will.” He gestures at the door. “Well, go on in. I’m not getting any younger, and I have a date with Mrs Tomkins tonight. She wants to watch Midsomer Murders. It always puts her in a good mood, if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t want to,” I say with complete honesty. I eye them suspiciously then move forward and push open the door. My mouth falls open. “Wow.”
I’m standing in what should be the first box room. It’s now a hallway painted white. The scarred old parquet flooring has been polished to a honey-coloured shine.
I look at the two men and Tom gestures to the door in front of me. “Try in there first,” he orders.
I walk through and stop dead. Everything is completely different. What was once a rabbit warren of dark little rooms crammed with boxes is now a big lounge filled with the scent of new paint and bathed in light. Big, squashy, cream-coloured sofas face a fireplace and the wainscotting has been painted a warm teal colour. A faded oriental carpet in shades of blue covers the parquet flooring, looking like it’s always been there. Artwork covers the walls and pale gold curtains hang at the floor-to-ceiling Georgian windows through which I can see the Minster.
I spin around. “It’s lovely,” I say softly. “I can’t believe these are the same rooms.”
“Through here, William,” the viscount says, bouncing on his feet like an overexcited puppy. “Come and see.”
I follow him into a long kitchen with polished oak cupboards and stainless-steel appliances. The walls are painted navy and a table and chairs sit at one end. I wander over to the Juliet balcony. “This is new, isn’t it?” I say, peering out at a view of the area behind the shop.
“Yes.” He laughs. “Isn’t it lovely? On warm summer days this will let in some air.”
“Lovely,” I say dutifully, and it really is. This is a very high-spec renovation. He’ll rake in the cash with the tourists.
“Now the bedroom,” he calls, darting out into a narrow corridor.
“Have you knocked through to Tom’s flat?” I ask, staring around. “It’s a lot bigger.”
“Yes, the two flats are now one. The stock is now in the big room off the kitchen downstairs.”
I wonder why they’ve done all this but follow them dutifully. We poke our heads into a beautiful bedroom with a big, polished walnut bed that’s been made up with white, soft-looking sheets and a duvet that looks like a cloud. An old leather chair sits next to the window and the breeze bangs the shutters against the wall.
“And then there’s the bathroom,” Tom says, pointing to a door.
I open it to see a room with more navy walls and a clawfoot bath sitting on the parquet floor.
“This is so beautiful,” I say and mean it. The whole effect is one of quiet comfort and class.
They exchange a smile, and I wonder what they’re up to.
“I’m so glad you like it,” the viscount says almost nervously. “It’s given you a lounge, a big kitchen and bathroom, and two bedrooms.”
