Boats in the night (17 page)

“She was half-baked when I found her,” Finn continued, “but she listened and told me there was a letter behind the picture, then passed out. I thought it was one of her tall tales, like how she’d pretend she was a cast-out princess sometimes, but I had a look anyway. Had to take down every single fucking picture before I found it.”

That would have been no mean feat. Smutty remembered how she’d covered every

inch of spare wall and ceiling with art postcards. Jessica had favoured the Pre-Raphaelites and all those weird Symbolist artists, with their creepy, dark paintings. It was no wonder she’d sunk into depressions, surrounding herself with miserable stuff like that.

“It was just a single sheet dated 1976,” Finn went on, the candles on the galley work surface reflecting in his eyes like distant stars. His voice sounded as if it came from a far off place, carried on the wind over an empty plain. “One old letter, but it changed everything. It was from her father, telling her she wasn’t welcome home again, and that she’d have to survive on her trust fund. He said he wanted to take the baby, because she wasn’t fit to bring him up. He called the baby Fabian and it took me a while to figure out he meant me. She stole my fucking name, Jupe! She took my birthright.”

Smutty stood up straighter and crossed his arms. The two of them here in a candlelit room, the rain just starting to patter against the roof, made him feel sixteen again. He had to shake the sensation off. Finn—no, Fabian—wasn’t his lover anymore and he didn’t deserve too much sympathy.

“So what? You’re angry because you lost out on being brought up in a nice house?

Well screw you, Finn. Most of the world’s population lives in poverty and it doesn’t turn them all into heartless bastards.”

“Yeah, yeah. Spare me the lecture. You’ve always been so fucking right-on, haven’t

you?” Finn spat out. “Like you’ve got the moral high ground. How d’you think I felt when Starlight took you off travelling every winter, leaving me with that old cow, shivering in a fucking caravan all on my own because she wouldn’t have me in her van?”

Smutty’s face heated. “Jessica wouldn’t let mum take you. Starlight wanted to. We

both wanted to.”

“Right. Of course. And the two of you couldn’t stand up to one useless junkie.” Finn’s lips curved in an ugly parody of a smile. “Well, as I found out in that letter, I had a home waiting for me all that time. A stately home. And a family who spoke properly and knew how to use a set of cutlery.”

“Glad they had their priorities sorted out, then,” Smutty muttered.

“They did. And they welcomed me, even though I was a sorry excuse for the man I

should have been. I was sent over to a school in Switzerland to learn how to behave like someone of my class, and I’ve never looked back since.” Finn raised his chin defiantly, somehow managing to look down his nose even though he was sitting and Smutty was

standing. Yeah, Finn had always been a snotty brat when things didn’t suit him. How had Smutty forgotten that side of him?

“And you never thought of me again? Never cared what I might be feeling? Jesus,

Finn. You don’t treat people like that.” Smutty began to pace. There wasn’t much room to do it in, but he was too agitated to keep still. “You’ve totally fucked over Giles as well. I should deck you for what you’ve done to him.”

“Oh.” Finn’s smile was knowing. “I see. It’s like that between you, is it? Well, don’t you go acting holier-than-thou, you dirty little gold-digger. Good luck with it all. Most of his money is tied up in the property and in trust, so you won’t be able to get your hands on much capital.”

“I don’t want his money.”

“Don’t tell me it’s ‘twu luv’, or I think I’ll be sick. People are all out to get what they can. Why do you think I’m getting married?”

“Married?” Smutty must have heard that wrong, surely? But then hadn’t Giles

mentioned the same thing?

Finn’s smile was the very definition of smug. “You missed that part of the

conversation, didn’t you? Yes, it’s an advantageous match for the both of us. She gets my family name, I get her father’s connections and the chance of an heir.”

“You can’t marry a woman. You’re gay!”

Finn shrugged. “And Letty’s okay with that. Her father’s told her it’s the only way

he’ll keep up her allowance. Gives her a veneer of respectability so she can go on partying as much as she likes, while I’ll be taking on a whole new set of lucrative accounts as

compensation.” Avarice gleamed in Finn’s eyes, hard and ruthless.

“That’s not what marriage should be about.”

“God, you’re living in some kind of fairy-tale land, aren’t you? You really think Giles is after you for your personality? Give me a break. He knows you’re just an easy lay, and when he’s had enough he’ll move on to someone of his own class.”

“Arsehole.” How dare Finn try to spoil the first good relationship he’d had?

The first time he’d been in love.

It hit Smutty with the force of a juggernaut, crushing all opposition. This was love, wasn’t it? And it was worth sticking around for. Worth making it work, despite all the differences between him and Giles.

“Jesus, you should see the look on your face. You really do care about him, don’t you?

Well you’re a perfect match. Trusting fools, both as dumb as each other.”

“It’s not dumb to trust someone, and if that’s what you think, then I feel sorry for you.”

“I don’t need your pity,” Finn snapped, standing. “There’s only one thing I can think of that you could do for me these days.”

Smutty’s skin crawled as the lecherous gaze panned up and down his body.

“You might be a gypsy, but you’re still looking pretty fine. You ever get bored of

Giles’s limited repertoire, just look me up and I’ll give you a proper seeing-to.” Finn took a step forward, right into Smutty’s personal space.

“Fuck you.”

“No, I’ll be fucking
you
.”

Smutty didn’t have to think about it. He slapped Finn’s cheek hard. Shit! Had he

really done that? He was meant to be a pacifist. Smutty stared at his stinging palm in disbelief.

Finn slammed a fist into his belly, knocking the air out of his lungs. Smutty collapsed against the galley counter, knocking a candle sideways. It rolled off the work surface, still lit, but he didn’t hear the thud he expected.

Because his rucksack was there, cushioning the floor.

His fire-dancing rucksack. Full of paraffin-soaked wicks and a half-empty bottle of

the stuff.

Smutty tried to speak, but he could only wheeze. Finn loomed in front of him, nostrils flaring and a red hand print stark against his pale skin.

“Is that the best you’ve got? You fight like a girl.”

Smutty saw the light change out of the corner of his eye, a brightness where there

should be no light. He finally pulled in a shallow lungful of air, laced with the stench of burning canvas.

“Fire!” he gasped.

Chapter Twenty-One

Giles hugged the blueberry bush container with both arms, the leaves tickling his nose and obscuring his vision. He couldn’t see where to put his feet, but relied on a lifetime’s acquaintance with the path around the side of the house to avoid the cracked paving slabs.

Who’d have thought a plant could be this heavy? It felt like the container was full of rocks, although perhaps it was just sodden. Giles was uncomfortably aware of a growing damp patch on the front of his T-shirt.

As he rounded the corner to the back garden, he almost bumped straight into Rick,

returning with the wheelbarrow.

“You shouldn’t be doing that, Mr Rathbourne,” Rick chided. “You’ll put your back

out. Let me.”

Rick took the weight of the pot and Giles’s shoulders gave a sigh of relief. He helped Rick place it into the wheelbarrow then straightened up. A chill wind ruffled Rick’s hair and made Giles shiver as it insinuated itself through his clothing.

“This must be the last one,” Rick said. “I’ll be off in a minute, then.”

“Yes, of course. I’ve kept you long enough. I expect you’re keen to get back to your colleagues.”

“Yeah,” Rick blushed, looking every inch the gawky teenager. “D’you think I should

ask Dylan out for a drink after work? Can’t hurt, can it? Not if it’s just as mates to begin with.”

It was on the tip of Giles’s tongue to say that in his experience, love could end up hurting you worse than anything else, but he bit back the words. Rick reminded him of an over-eager puppy, and Giles didn’t have it in him to deliver a kick to the teeth. He gave his encouragement and smiled through a polite goodbye instead, then turned towards the back of the house.

The breakfast room doors swung in the wind. What the hell were they doing open?

Giles stomped over to shut them, trying not to think about what he might see inside.

Whatever was going on between Smutty and Fabian, it was bound to cause hurt to the man he loved, and possibly even worse hurt to Giles.

But the room was empty. Giles slammed the doors shut and rested his head against the glass. Every breath tore from his chest with a sickening pain. There was only one place he could think of where they’d have gone.

The boat.

Smutty had said he’d needed to talk to Fabian. Talking. That’s all it was. Giles clung to that thought, but doubt dug its needle-sharp claws into his back.

As he turned to face the orchard path, the first drops of rain fell. Ice cold and driven with the force of the wind, they stung Giles’s face as they hit. It wasn’t until he saw tiny chips of ice bouncing off the pathway that he realised they were hailstones.

He could walk down there and find out what was really going on for himself, but

wasn’t it better not to know? Better to seek oblivion in a bottle or two of claret. Or perhaps a pinot noir to match his black mood.

Giles swung towards the kitchen door, fully intending to follow through on that

thought, when a memory hit. Smutty, sitting on a tatty old camping chair and spitting out a mouthful of wine in disgust. He heard the glugging of the bottle he emptied onto the grass; felt it growing lighter in his hand as the liquid fed the earth. That had been the last bottle he’d opened. Smutty’s abstinence probably wouldn’t have been enough to dissuade him on its own, but combined with his tale of being tricked and raped by drunkards… Well, Giles would have to be as cold-hearted as Fabian to go on drinking around Smutty.

And Giles wasn’t like that.

Smutty deserved better, and he had Giles on his side, whether he needed him or not.

There was no way Giles was going to leave him at the mercy of his lying, cheating bastard of an ex.

There was no way he was going to let him go without a fight.

Giles squared his shoulders and headed out through the meadow. He took the direct

route through the long grass, ignoring the mown path’s meanderings. Stems flattened

underfoot. Twigs snapped from branches as he battered his way through the trees. Hailstones bounced off his head, unheeded.

A flickering light ahead caught his attention. Giles drew in a breath. The cloying tang of paraffin and burning wood caught in his throat. Surely Smutty wasn’t fire-dancing in this weather?

The flames flared brighter, too bright for Smutty’s torches, and a dull boom battered his eardrums.

Giles began to run.

***

as his vision was greying out around the edges anyway. He shut off the smoke-hazed image of Finn struggling to open the latch on the door. It had always been obstinate. Should have put some WD-40 on that, shouldn’t he?

Should have bought a fire extinguisher when he’d noticed Grouch hadn’t left him one.

Too late now, though.

Smutty laughed mirthlessly, but all that came out was a desperate wheeze. His ribs

still ached from where Finn had decked him, but who cared about a little pain when he couldn’t breathe?

Every attempted gasp for air ended with Smutty choking on thick, oily smoke. He

should drop to the floor for the cleaner air, he knew, although how he’d get up again was anyone’s guess. Felt like his knees were about to make the decision for him, though.

They buckled. Smutty swayed. Toppled.

Pain struck him in the side of the head, ricocheting around inside his skull.

Everything went black.

***

up by the storm. Flames licked out of a hole halfway along
Freya’s
side, and she listed alarmingly, but Giles didn’t spare her condition any more attention than a cursory glance.

His eyes desperately scanned for movement on the bank as his feet pounded on the

ground, crunching hailstones to powder. Where the hell was Smutty?

The doors on the front deck burst open, releasing a dense cloud of smoke. The flames roared fiercely in response, eating up more of
Freya’s
roof.

A lone figure emerged, soot blackened and coughing. Not Smutty. The size and shape

was all wrong.

Giles vaulted onto the boat without breaking his stride. He grabbed Fabian around the waist and hurled him onto the bank, then turned to the door.

Heat blasted his face, singing his eyebrows.

Instinct took over. Giles ripped off his hail-dampened shirt to cover his mouth and

nose then plunged into the fires of hell.

He almost tripped over something on the floor. A heavy, inert something. Giles

dropped to his knees and felt his way around, eyes closed against the acrid smoke.

A warm, pliant body, lying in an inch of cold water.

Smutty.

His chest was still.

Tears stung Giles’s eyes and a sob ripped from him. He dropped his shirt to use both arms to heave Smutty up, closing his lungs against the toxic smoke. No breathing now. Not until he reached the outside. Giles staggered, blinking wildly.

Where the fuck was the door?

Orange lay ahead, so he turned and squinted, seeking the paler light of day. There it was. Giles twisted, protecting Smutty’s head from cracking against the door frame, but whacking his own shoulder instead. He reeled, careened then felt cooler air damp against his skin.