Laying a Ghost (26 page)
John took a drink from his can of lager, draining it, and nodded, looking pleased. “That’s settled then.”
Chapter Twelve
Settled was a good word. It was a word that meant everything was okay, that everyone was relaxed and where they belonged.
It was also the last thing that Nick felt as he stood at John’s front door trying to get up the courage to knock.
He was late, although not late enough that anyone would have been worried about him. He would have thought he was fashionably late, only he’d never been a hundred percent clear on what that meant. All the muscles in his legs ached from their earlier climb up Ben whatever it was, the mountain, and he hadn’t been able to sleep no matter how hard he’d tried when he’d gone back to the house. He’d lain on the bed staring at the ceiling and getting himself worked up into an almost frenzy over the necessity of meeting John’s friends.
It was very clear to Nick that this was a test. If Sheila and Michael didn’t like him, it was going to be a big deal to John, and Nick wasn’t oblivious enough to think that John’s high school friends would be the ones being abandoned in favor of his new boyfriend.
The night was cold, and Nick’s hands, even balled up in the pockets of his jacket, were freezing. This was stupid. He should knock on the door.
About a minute later, he did, and immediately heard the sound of footsteps inside the house. He pasted on a smile as the door started to open.
Seeing John standing in the doorway smiling back at him with what looked like relief and pleasure on his face helped a little.
“I was thinking I should have picked you up to save you the walk,” John said by way of greeting. “At least it’s on the level though. Come on in.”
He stepped back and Nick walked into the hall, struck at once by how different it was from Rossneath, even if this house had belonged to John’s grandparents who were, he supposed, not that much older than his uncle had been. The faded paper on the walls that he’d become used to was replaced here by cream paint dotted with paintings that looked as if they were of local beauty spots, and the floor was covered in a hard-wearing carpet in deep green. It was comfortable without being quite like John somehow, and Nick remembered that the plan had originally been to rent the house to tourists, which might explain the slightly bland decor.
John pushed open a door off the hall, and Nick followed him into a room that ran the length of the house, with a large dining table at one end, on wooden flooring, and a conventional grouping of a couch and two chairs, coffee table, and TV where he was standing.
A couch that was occupied by Michael and Sheila, who were gazing at him with frank interest but no more, the smiles on their faces polite and meaningless.
They didn’t know, then.
Sheila was pretty; green eyes and red hair, with a bright warmth about her. As she glanced away from Nick to John, her smile became genuine and her affection for him was clear.
“Hello, Mr. Kelley.” Her gaze returned to Nick. “John was getting worried about you.”
John’s “I was not, then!” mingled with her husband’s “Sheila!” and she grinned mischievously at Nick, who couldn’t help grinning back.
Michael stood up and stretched out his hand to shake Nick’s. “Welcome to the island, Mr. Kelley. I’m Michael Stewart.”
Michael’s grip was firm, and Nick found himself looking into warm brown eyes that were surrounded by smile lines. Michael looked relaxed, comfortable in his own skin, his light brown hair slightly long and mussed.
Nick thought he could see, at least on a superficial level, what had attracted John to the man.
“Nick Kelley.” Nick released Michael’s hand and smiled at Sheila, who’d stood up behind Michael and slipped an arm around his waist. “John told you that we climbed the mountain today? It was better exercise than I was expecting.”
“I don’t think I would’ve made it to the top and back without someone carrying me,” Sheila said frankly. “You’ll be stiff tomorrow, I expect, and wishing you’d just gone out fishing, which is all the exercise these two usually get, I can tell you.” She dug Michael in the ribs, ignoring his yelp of protest, and turned to pick up a glass of white wine from the table. “Are you not going to offer Mr. Kelley a drink, John?”
John flushed, looking as on edge as Nick had ever seen him. “Aye, of course I am, Sheila. What will you take, Nick? Whiskey or beer? And if Sheila’s left you any, there’s wine.”
“Of course I left some!” Sheila jumped in before Nick could even respond. “Unlike some people in this room, I limit myself to one drink a night.” She winked at Nick. “I just use a big glass.”
“Um ... whiskey’s fine.” A small part of Nick wished that he’d stayed on the other side of the door.
“I’ll help,” Sheila announced, as if it were perfectly reasonable to suggest that a grown man might need help in pouring a glass of whiskey. She grabbed John by the arm and started the two of them toward what Nick assumed must be the kitchen. “Give you two a chance to get acquainted.”
Michael and Nick were left looking at each other awkwardly. “She’s very nice.”
“Aye, she’s a fine lass.” Michael glanced in the direction she’d gone. “I take it you’re not married?”
Nick shook his head as they both moved to sit down, Michael in the same spot he’d been sitting before on the couch and Nick in the nearest chair. “No.”
There was an appraising look in Michael’s eyes that was doing nothing to make Nick feel anything approaching relaxed. “So you arrived on Monday and bumped into John right away? That was nice, you being neighbors and all.”
“I was dead on my feet. I’d been traveling for the best part of twenty-four hours with no sleep; John was very kind about helping me get settled in.”
“That sounds like John.” Michael nodded. “He’s not one for standing by when someone needs help.” He reached for a can of beer on the table and held it in his hands, turning it slowly. “Can’t say that I’ve ever known him go to this much trouble for someone he’s only just met though.” He glanced at Nick. “You two must have something in common, maybe?”
“We’re actually related.” Nick hoped that focusing on that would be enough of an answer. “Really distantly -- some thing about my great aunt and ... okay, I have no idea. Which is one of the things I’m interested in; tracing my family’s history. John says he’s willing to help. Maybe he’s interested in finding out more, too?”
Michael took a drink of beer. “Suppose he might be. Never heard him talk all that much about it, but who knows what goes on inside other people’s heads?”
That was the sort of comment that made Nick uncomfortable, but his instinct in that situation was to open himself up more fully in the hopes that the other person would trust him. “I was kind of worried about coming here tonight.” He lowered his voice and met Michael’s gaze. “Being new on the island ... I know people are going to see me as an outsider, but I want to fit in.”
“And you’re using John to do it?” Michael’s eyes narrowed a little. “From what he said, I got the idea he thought you two were friends.”
Mildly exasperated, Nick sighed. “I was getting the impression you didn’t
want
John and I to be friends.”
“I want John to be
happy,
” Michael shot back at him. “And I don’t know how much of a priority that is with you because I don’t know you.” Some of the tension went out of him and he sank back against the cushions. “I
don’t
know you, do I? So I shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions about you two, and if I’m wrong you’re going to think I’m mad making all this fuss.” He took a drink from his can of lager and then said moodily. “I’m making a mess of this, aren’t I?”
Nick was wishing for a drink of his own. “You’re looking out for him.” He was struggling to find the right words. “He’s lucky to have friends that care enough about him to do that.”
Michael gave him a look that Nick couldn’t help thinking was a bit disappointed, as if he’d been hoping for more, but given John’s attitude there was no question of Nick saying anything until he was sure that John hadn’t changed his mind about telling his friends.
“Aye,” Michael said flatly. “So what part of the States are you from, Nick?”
Faced with that abrupt change of subject, onto something that he wanted to discuss even less, Nick was deeply grateful for the squeal of excitement Sheila gave that had Michael’s head turning towards the kitchen.
“What the hell are they doing in there?” he muttered.
Nick shrugged helplessly, feeling his face burn. “Something to do with the, uh, party tomorrow?”
Michael gave him a skeptical look. “Oh, aye. Look, Nick --”
Sheila came back into the room with her eyes sparkling and John two steps behind her looking acutely embarrassed, rescuing Nick once again, even if only temporarily.
“Michael, love, you know what I always said I’d do when John finally met someone?” Without waiting for an answer she rushed across the room, bent over, and kissed Nick’s cheek, hugging him hard before stepping back. “There now.”
“Um ... thank you.” Nick looked from Sheila to John in bewilderment. He’d heard what the woman had said, but under the circumstances he doubted that he’d heard her correctly.
“You don’t mean ...” Michael sat forward, looking as confused as Nick felt.
“Yes!” Sheila’s hands were clasped together like those of a little girl seeing
Nick’s first instinct was to run from the room, but he had enough sense to ignore it. “There’s not that much to tell.” He gave John a grateful glance as the man handed him the glass of whiskey he’d brought out of the kitchen.
“Hang on,” Michael said. “Sheila, just stop for a minute, will you? Just
stop
.” He turned to look at John, who had stepped away from Nick’s chair so that he was standing alone. Watching them, Nick was painfully aware that John had loved Michael for years -- still did -- and that they had a lifetime of shared memories.
He had just over three days’ worth.
“John? You only just met him, for God’s sake! He’ll be here until the winter comes and then he’ll be selling up and going home like all the tourists do; you can’t just -- God, this doesn’t make any sense. You’ve never wanted people to know about you; this is going to change everything.”
Nick wanted a drink, but raising his glass to his lips would’ve meant taking his eyes off John and he wasn’t going to do that. John’s flush had faded and his face was resolute.
“It is, aye. I’m seeing that right now.” John’s voice was level. “And I can see how it looks to you, but you’ll just have to trust me that what’s between me and Nick isn’t a step up from a one-night-stand and it doesn’t bloody well matter how long we’ve known each other or if he stays or if he leaves. I was planning to tell you both even before Sheila started in with her questions, but it’s not something I want going further. Not yet.”
“How can you say it doesn’t matter if he leaves?” Michael got up and walked to the other side of the room, running a hand through his hair and leaving it sticking up in a way that would have been comical under other circumstances. “As if you’ll just shrug and forget about him? You
know
that’s not how you are, John! And I don’t want to have to pick up the pieces when you fall apart.”
“So you’re worried about you?” Nick asked.
The glare that Michael gave him was punctuated by a pointed finger. “I’ll deal with you later.” Sheila made a small sound of protest.
“No, you won’t.” Nick tried to stay calm as he swallowed some whiskey and then set the glass down on the table and stood up. “I don’t owe you anything. You don’t have to like me if you’re determined not to, but that has the added benefit of me not needing to listen to anything you say.” He didn’t intend to walk out, not when he knew that would hurt John, but he wasn’t going to take whatever shit Michael wanted to throw in his direction.
“It would matter if he left,” John said quietly, all his attention focused on Michael. “It just wouldn’t change the way I feel about him. Nothing would. That’s all I meant. And I’ll ask you both to sit down, please,” he added, with a flash of irritation. “Unless you’re planning to thump him, Michael, for coming back to a house he owns, on an island his family’s lived on for years, and taking a fancy to me that I’m more than happy about. Tell me what bothers you the most about that, will you?”
Most of the air seemed to go out of Michael at that, although he crossed his arms briefly before going back over and sitting down. As Nick sat, too, Michael muttered at him, “Wouldn’t have hit you. I’m not like that.”
“It’s okay.” Nick sighed. “Look, I can see how it seems to you and why you’re concerned, but I’m not planning on leaving any time soon. I’ve spent my whole life wandering, and I’m sick of it. You’re just going to have to take my word for that or give me time to prove it.” He glanced at John. “And just for the record, I’m happy with anyone knowing John and I are together, but I’m starting to understand why he doesn’t want people to know. If his best friend freaks out -- and you already knew he was gay -- I don’t imagine the rest of the island’s going to be reacting the way Sheila did.” He smiled at her. “Thanks for that, by the way.”
“I’m very happy for you.” Sheila frowned at her husband. “And certain other people in this room will be as well, once they’ve had a chance to get it through their thick skulls that this is a good thing.”
“It’s not that I don’t want him to be happy!” Michael protested, although he sounded less angry and more confused now. “You know that.”
“Aye, I do,” John said. “That’s why I was so surprised.” Nick didn’t think he had been surprised, though, and that thought was pretty depressing, because it meant that John had been right about how people would react, and the thought of going through this multiple times ... well, it was more than he wanted to think about right then.
“And I wouldn’t have hit him.” Michael was looking at John now.
