Barging In (32 page)

He threw the magazine back on the stack as if it had bit him. Why the hell did he keep torturing himself with thinking about Dan out there? It wasn’t like he could do anything to change the situation. Other than phoning Dan and begging him to come back, of course. But he wasn’t going to do that. Not under any circumstances. Far safer just to leave the sodding phone switched off and try to forget all about Dan Taylor.

If only he could convince himself that he wanted to.

Dan took another sip of his virgin piña colada and leaned over the mezzanine railing to give Tris a wave. At the moment, Tris was on the dance floor, sandwiched between two sun-kissed, tattooed gods, and Dan had to swallow the jealousy away with another sip of pineapple juice. Playa Del Inglés hadn’t changed much since he’d last visited the island, that time staying in one of the high-rise hotels in the centre of town. At night the central shopping area burst into gaudy mayhem as the plethora of bars and clubs, both gay and straight, competed for trade. Fortunately, this time he’d been set up in a resort at the nearby, yet rather more genteel Maspalomas, just far enough away to no longer hear the pervasive throbbing bass lines and hoots of drunken tourists. However, tempting though it was to mope in the villa every evening, he had a guidebook to update, and that involved visiting as many of the bars and clubs as he could stomach.

“All right, mate? Are you Dan?” an Australian voice asked him, booming over the deafening techno.

Dan stared up at six feet plus of tattooed muscle and attitude, topped with a shock of blond curls. It was one of Tris’s dance partners. “Yeah, that’s me.” His innate friendliness fought with his desire to avoid temptation.

“That’s a relief. Name’s Shane, and that hunk dancing with your friend is Greg. My boyfriend,” Shane said proudly. “I fancied sitting out for a bit, but I’m not in the mood to be cruised. Mind if I join you?”

Dan nodded, and Shane flashed a brilliantly pearly set of teeth. They sat in silence for a while, watching Tris’s and Greg’s obscene gyrations. The jealousy welled up again, not strong enough to make Dan do anything stupid, just a futile longing. He looked up to find Shane studying him.

“What’s up? You look jealous as fuck.”

Dan sighed. “That bloody obvious, is it?”

“Sorry, mate, if I’d known it was like that, I wouldn’t have danced with him.”

Shane looked genuinely contrite, and Dan rushed to explain. “No, it’s not that. We’re not together. Tris and I are just friends. I just… I wish my boyfriend could trust me like you do with Greg, that’s all.”

“Your boyfriend?” Shane looked around as if expecting Robin to appear out of the crowd. “Where’s he, then?”

“Back in England,” Dan admitted.

“You came
here
without him?” Shane’s jaw dropped.

“It’s not like that! This is work. I’m a travel writer, and I asked him first, but when he wouldn’t come, I gave the spare ticket to Tris.” Dan stared at his mobile on the tabletop. “Now the fucker won’t even answer his bloody phone. He doesn’t trust me. Thinks I’m sleeping around behind his back.” Dan took a long slurp of his drink as Shane looked on with a puzzled yet sympathetic expression.

“You wanna fill me in on the whole story?”

Shane was a good listener, raising his eyebrows when Dan confessed his fear of water, but making no comment. When he’d finished his saga, Dan sat back and studied Shane, who was again watching Tris and Greg, now snogging and grinding against each other. Shane had an affectionate smile on his face.

“How come Robin can’t be like you?” Dan asked, not really expecting an answer.

“God knows, but I’ll tell you what, there’s no way I’d be happy about Greg doing that”—Shane stabbed a finger in Greg’s direction—“if I didn’t know he loved me and that he’d be coming back with me later. Not that I mind if Tris comes back too,” he added with a leer.

Dan tried to imagine ever suggesting a threesome to Robin. He wouldn’t dare.

“Enough of this heavy shit, yeah?” Shane said, standing up. “Reckon it’s my shout. What’ya drinking?” Dan filled him in, and Shane grimaced at the notion of alcohol-free cocktails but didn’t argue. “All right, I’ll get you your lolly water, but when I get back, we’re gonna talk about your swimming lessons. Starting tomorrow, I want to see you in your togs out by your hotel poolside at nine. Reckon I can get you swimming like a bloody fish in a month’s time.”

Dan gaped as Shane strutted off to the bar. Arrogant bastard! Mind you, the idea of being able to swim was appealing, and anything that helped to take his mind off missing Robin had to be good. He mulled it over as he drained the last of his glass. Yeah, it would be great to have a surprise for Robin when he got back. It would do him good to face his fears.

He wished he could contemplate facing the other ones with such courage.

Robin woke to the sound of creaking. He’d been a boater long enough to recognise the sound of a vessel ploughing through ice, but there was still something unearthly about the noise. It reminded him of how there was only a quarter of an inch of steel between his home and the freezing water. He shivered and forced himself out of bed to get the stove going.

He glanced at his phone. Still switched off. But he didn’t want to think about why, so he distracted himself with making coffee.

He stood by the hatch with a mug of steaming coffee in his hands and looked out over the frozen canal. It was a proper cold snap; hoar frost rimed every branch of the willows opposite, glittering in the watery sunshine. Looked like every last plant had been dipped in sugar and crystallised. The field was so white, if he squinted it looked like snow. Jagged sheets of ice lined the canal, but the early boat had cut a clear path through the centre, and the ducks were taking advantage of it. They spotted him at the hatch and headed over in a demanding mob.

“I suppose you want some breakfast too.”

He fetched the stale end of his last loaf of bread and began throwing them pieces. He could almost hear a ghostly echo of Dan’s delighted chuckles when feeding them. Everything reminded Robin of him—especially this hatchway—the one he’d fucked him against until his legs gave way. He bit his lip hard at the thought of Dan letting anyone else do that to him.

But it was inevitable, wasn’t it? Eventually, Dan would give in to temptation. He’d get drunk with Tris, and then all thoughts of Robin would be pushed aside. It wasn’t like they had a future together. Dan had told him as much when he refused to contemplate moving in.

It wasn’t like Dan loved him back.

He punched the hatch frame. It startled the ducks, hurt his knuckles and did nothing to improve his mood.

He trudged up to Charles’s house, leaving the phone behind again.

“You sure you don’t want to come?” Dan asked.

Tris lifted his head a fraction, then slumped back onto the pillow. “Jesus bloody Christ, how much did I have to drink last night?”

Dan grinned. “No idea. I wasn’t there, remember?”

“Can’t remember anything.”

“Greg dropped you back here and said you’d demolished a whole bottle of Malibu, so if you taste coconut when you chuck, that’s why.”

Tris just groaned and pulled the pillow over his head. He’d been maudlin the whole time they’d been in Maspalomas. Happy hour at the bar seemed to cheer him up for a while—as did hitting the clubs—and he found someone to keep him occupied most nights, but whenever he and Dan were alone together, all he could talk about was how much he missed Alex. Several times Dan had had to bite back a snappy comment about why the hell didn’t he just go back and make up with the guy.

Dan downed a glass of water and started sifting through the pile of clothing on the floor to find his Speedos.

“Ugh, can’t breathe!” Tris flung the pillow to one side. “Oh my God, you’ve grown your pubes. And is that a tan line I can see? Are you having some kind of early midlife crisis I should know about?”

Dan glanced down at his stubbly groin. “Maybe I’ve decided to go for the natural look.”

“Natural? Why on earth would you want to do that? Now be a dear and close that blind before you go. Need sleep.”

Dan pulled on his swimming trunks, wrapped a towel around his waist and headed down to the pool. It was early yet, but Shane would be waiting for him. The thought filled his stomach with butterflies. He’d known the bloke only for a week, but already Shane had him doing something he’d never thought possible.

Shane had him enjoying swimming.

This was the pattern of Dan’s days. He headed down to the pool early to get his lesson in before any of the other guests woke up. Then, after a shower and checking in on Tris, he’d pick up his camera and head down to the bus station. It never ceased to amaze him how much there was to see on the island. Previous times he’d visited, he’d never ventured far from the bars and clubs of Playa Del Inglés, but there was a whole native community out there. Tiny villages nestled precariously on steep mountainsides. Roadside shrines glittered with votive candles and a bizarre mix of offerings. Hand-painted icons and plaster statues of saints rubbed shoulders with silk flowers and holographic portraits of the Pope. Goats scampered up the hillsides, and giant cactus plants grew through tumbledown stone walls.

He’d take his lunch in some tiny restaurant that usually catered only to locals, then head back down to the resort on the last bus. He’d go out for a couple of drinks with Tris, then spend the rest of the evening holed up in their villa. He’d download the day’s photographs and sort through them.

He’d dial Robin’s number again and again and again.

He’d sleep alone. Sometimes Tris would fall into bed at a late hour, but they kept to their own sides of the mattress.

He couldn’t wait to get back home.

Home wasn’t London.

Home was wherever Robin was.

“Robin, my dear, have you seen the
Observer
magazine yet? Oh, you simply must come and have a look.”

Robin followed Charles down to his temporary office. He had an idea what he might be asked to look at but was unprepared for just how sharply his stomach lurched when he saw the double-page spread.

Dan’s photographs filled the pages like a mosaic. Robin’s fellow boaters stared down the lens as if challenging the world to judge them. Charles was still talking, but Robin barely noticed, absorbed in studying the pictures. He lifted the magazine to take a closer look. He’d forgotten about this side of Dan. This side that could see the essence of someone and bring it out. Could help them open up in a way that they never normally would. Could make them feel comfortable in their own skin.

The way he made Robin feel whenever he was around.

The pictures blurred. He blinked to clear his eyes.

“I say, whatever is the matter? There, there, no need to get upset.” Charles folded his arms around Robin and handed him a large handkerchief that smelt of cedarwood. “Now come on, you’ve obviously been working far too hard just lately. You’re coming out with me for a drink, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

Robin nodded, not trusting his voice right now. Strange how easy it was to sink into Charles’s embrace. He’d never have expected to welcome it like this. Must be the effect of seeing those photographs.

After what felt like an age, he extracted himself from Charles’s arms and risked a quick look at his face. Charles smiled, and Robin couldn’t for the life of him work out if it was a leer or simply friendly, or even which one he’d prefer right now, but there was only one way to find out.

“Okay, let’s go,” he said, wondering what the fuck he thought he was doing.

Robin grabbed his coat on the way out, pulling on a layer of guilt with the woollen fabric—he was going for a drink with another man, wearing his Christmas present from Dan. But he couldn’t keep thinking about Dan. It was time to move on. To forget. He drew in deep lungfuls of frigid air and focused instead on the plumes of steam he exhaled.

Charles steered them down through the village, then turned towards the humpback bridge that crossed the canal. Robin balked as they neared the Queen’s Head. “Does it have to be here?”

“Do you have a problem with the place? I admit Nigel may not be the most genial landlord, but he does know how to cellar his beers, which is your preferred tipple if memory serves me correctly.” Charles held open the door for him, and as ever, Robin found it almost impossible to argue with the man. “Don’t worry, darling.” Charles lifted Robin’s chin with a finger. “You just trust me to know how to deal with Nigel. We were at school together, you see.”

“No! I can do it. I’ll get the first round in. I owe you a drink.”

“Stubborn creature, aren’t you?” Charles gave a wolfish grin. “Very well, then, I’ll allow you to treat me for a change.”

Nigel was his usual, odious self. “Pint of bitter and a double brandy. That’ll be six sixty,” he said, slamming the drinks down so hard they sloshed into the drip tray.

Robin tried to pay, but Nigel wouldn’t put his hand out. In the end, he had to put the tenner down on the bar. The change was shoved back towards him in a similar, begrudging fashion.

“Now, now, Nigel,” Charles said, his voice so icy it sent a chill down Robin’s spine. “There’s no need to treat your customers like that. We expect better service in future.”

Nigel muttered something under his breath that Robin didn’t catch, but Charles drew in a sharp breath and puffed up with anger.

“Lest you forget, Nigel Truman, I’m still Chairman of the Bath Chamber of Commerce, and I can make things very difficult for you if you carry on spreading vicious rumours about the boating community. I’ll have you know this young man has been doing sterling work around my house. I’d trust him with my life.”

“Oh yeah?” Nigel’s usual ill-tempered sneer seemed to have returned. “I’ll bet he’s been doing
work
for you. I know your tastes, Charlie. Remember them well.”

Robin’s rage rose, quick and hot. He’d defend Charles if things turned ugly. There was no way he’d let Nigel pick on the harmless old gent.

But Charles didn’t seem to need his help. He pulled out a handkerchief and started polishing up his glasses. Eventually he held them up to the light, nodded and pushed them onto his nose. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and pleasant, but somehow even creepier because of that.