Hard Tail (12 page)

On the TV, DCI Barnaby pursed his lips as he discovered the incestuous love affair that had sparked the whole sorry series of events in Badger’s Drift. Unconventional relationships, he seemed to say, never end well.

Was he right? Would it be madness to risk so much, with so little chance of happiness at the end of it all?

I didn’t know.

But at least then I wouldn’t have to spend the rest of my life knowing I was a coward and wondering what I was missing.

I woke up late on Tuesday morning after a bad night’s sleep with my hair sticking up in all directions and no time for a shower. Well, that solved the Matt question nicely. Clearly there was no chance of him ever fancying me once he’d seen what a god-awful state I woke up in. I flattened my hair down with a bit of water and watched morosely as it sprang straight back up again.

No wonder hats were so popular in years gone by. What I wouldn’t give for a stylish trilby or fedora right now. There was a beanie in Jay’s wardrobe, but it wasn’t quite the same. I pulled it on anyhow, hoping it might flatten my hair down. It made me look like a giant matchstick on legs, but I could always take it off before I went to the shop.

I reckoned I just about had time for a cup of coffee—if I didn’t feed the cat. “Nobody should have to deal with a moral dilemma like this first thing in the morning,” I groused, stumbling downstairs to the kitchen. Wolverine gave me a smug look as his breakfast hit his bowl, and I set off on my caffeine-deprived drive to the shop, snarling at anyone who dared to hold me up on the way.

I got there just a few minutes after we were supposed to open. Fortunately, there were no queues of impatient customers demanding their right to purchase a pump adaptor on the dot of nine thirty. Matt wasn’t there either. I wondered if his timekeeping was this erratic when Jay was around and decided it probably was. Matt didn’t seem the sort to take advantage of the boss being away—just the terminally disorganised sort. I smiled just thinking of him—there was something rather endearing about his scattiness.

By the time I’d switched on the till and filled it up with cash from the safe, noting we were getting short of change, Matt had finally arrived. I did a double take as he walked in the door. “Has Olivia talked you into collagen injections? Because I think you ought to ask for your money back.”

Matt smiled even more lopsidely than usual. “You mean this?” He touched his swollen lip with understandable caution, then crouched down to re-tie the laces of one of his trainers. “Hit a low branch out in the forest,” he explained to his feet.

“You know, they say some people are an accident waiting to happen—maybe you ought to try and work on the
waiting
part?” I said with fond exasperation. “Have you always been this accident prone?”

Still with his head down—how long could one shoelace take to tie?—Matt shrugged and muttered something I didn’t catch. Then he rose and disappeared into the back room.

Bugger. I’d overstepped the mark, it seemed. I followed him in there, and he looked round warily. “Sorry,” I said. “I keep forgetting we don’t really know each other well enough for me to be a bastard to you and expect you to think it’s funny.”

Matt just stared at me for a moment, an expression on his face I couldn’t interpret but which made him look oddly vulnerable. I felt a strange tightness in my chest at the sight. Then he shook his head, shaggy curls flying. “It’s not…” Matt paused, then started again. “I mean, I’d get it if you got pissed off about me being such a klutz, that’s all. You weren’t being a bastard.” He gave that painful-looking smile again. “I went to see Jay last night, by the way. Stopped in on my way home from work.”

I collected my thoughts, still a bit scrambled by his strange diffidence. “I’d ask how he was, but I imagine he hadn’t changed a lot since Sunday.”

“Yeah, I guess not. Um, Tim?” Matt seemed troubled.

“Yes?”

“Look, about the necklace I was wearing the other day, when Adam was here…” Matt bit his lip. “Well, I was talking to Jay, and he said you—I mean, it must have looked a bit odd. Sorry. I mean, what I said… You see, the first time I wore it, I was with Steve and Adam and some other lads down the pub, and Steve asked me where it was from…” He thrust his hands into his pockets and walked a few paces away from me, before turning back. “See, it’s not his fault, but Steve gets a bit, well, jealous sometimes. So I didn’t want to say Jay gave it to me, in case Steve flew off the handle or something. So I said I’d bought it. And then, when you asked about it, and Adam was there, I just sort of panicked, because if I told you Jay gave it to me and Adam went and said something… Anyway, I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” I said. There was something about this little story that left a nasty taste in my mouth. And it wasn’t just finding out Jay, the bastard, had told Matt just how much of an idiot I’d been over one cheap little coral necklace. So Steve was the jealous sort, was he? I was liking Steve less and less the more I heard about him. “Don’t worry about it,” I said with a forced smile. “Obviously, you wouldn’t want your…want Steve to go jumping to conclusions. It’s only a necklace, for heaven’s sake!”

Matt broke into a relieved grin. “Yeah—that’s just what Jay said. I mean, he only mentioned it because he thought it was funny—you thinking he was after me.”

“Yes, well, Jay’s sense of humour isn’t the most mature in the world,” I muttered, hoping my face wasn’t as red as it felt.

The grin turned wicked. “He told me you and him had a pillow fight.”

“One pillow!
And
it was Jay who threw it!”

“How come you didn’t throw it back, then?”

“I couldn’t! Mum was in the room!”

“Ah, right. Wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with your mum.” Matt nodded sagely. “I mean, she might stop your pocket money or something.”

“Very funny,” I said sarcastically, inwardly pleased he felt comfortable enough to tease me like that.

“Must be nice, having a brother,” Matt went on, sounding a bit wistful.

He’d said that before, I remembered. “Are you an only child?”

“Nah—two sisters. Well, stepsisters—my mum was my dad’s second wife. They got together when I was little, so he’s my stepdad, really. They’re way older than me—my sisters, I mean—both married with kids. Haven’t seen them for a while, though.”

“Live too far away, do they?” I asked sympathetically.

“Bristol—but things are a bit difficult. I mean, it’s hard for them to get over here, with the kids and all, and if I go over there, well, we have to be careful my dad doesn’t find out.” Matt stared at a grease stain on the floor. “It’s his generation—he’s got some funny ideas about gay blokes. Doesn’t want me near the grandkids.”

“That’s outrageous!”

Matt shrugged awkwardly. “Yeah, well. Maybe it’d be different if I was a blood relative… But he’s eighty-three—he’s not going to change.”

I boggled. “How old’s your mum?”

“She died when I was twelve, but she was a lot younger than him, yeah.”

I didn’t quite know what to say—was it still appropriate to offer condolences for something that happened over a decade ago? But I did feel sorry about it, so I said so.

“’S okay,” Matt mumbled.

I was willing to bet it hadn’t been. He’d lost his mum and been left with a bigoted old man five times his age just as he was about to reach his teens and, presumably, realise how different he was from most of his mates. It was a good thing he’d at least had Adam. “Do you ever see your real dad?”

“Nope, and I don’t want to.” Matt said it in an
I
don’t want to talk about it, end of
kind of way, and pointedly grabbed a bike that’d been leaning against the wall, wheeling it into the central work area.

I took the hint and headed back to my till.

Although three separate customers had given me funny looks, it wasn’t until a tiny Asian woman walked in and asked me pointedly if it was cold up there that I realised I was still wearing Jay’s bloody woollen hat. Indoors. In June.

I tore it off, cursing, and shoved it under the counter.

I didn’t see Matt to speak to again until after I got back from a trip to the bank—luckily it was only down the road, so I didn’t have to leave the stock in Matt’s accident-prone hands for more than a quarter of an hour or so. I went through the
you’re-not-Jay
routine with the lady behind the counter and eventually walked back in the shop door newly stocked with change for the till.

Matt was practically bouncing up and down with excitement. “It’s here!”

“What is?” I asked.

“The iO single-speed.” He pointed to the bike at the front of the row, which I vaguely registered as being a different colour to the one that had been there earlier. “Jay bought it before the accident. It came while you were out.”

“What’s so special about it?” I asked, crouching down to get a better look. It had a few scratches—obviously second-hand. Then I frowned. “Hang on, is there a bit missing?”

“You mean the gears? Sorry. Shouldn’t laugh. That’s what single speed means. No gears.”

“What?” At this rate, I was going to end up with a permanent line etched across my forehead. “I don’t get it. What’s the point of a bike with no gears? Especially for…” I glanced at the invoice, which was Sellotaped to the handlebars. “Bloody hell, three hundred quid?”

“Yeah, I know—it’s a bargain, innit? Bloke wanted a quick sale. Said his wife told him either one of his three bikes went, or she did.” Matt gave the bike a fond glance—then sighed, as if he really wished he could take it home with him. “The frame’s steel—makes it nice and springy. Less harsh than aluminium. This one’s been fitted with a carbon-fibre fork and handlebars—the Shimano brakes come as standard.”

“But…” I was wondering when Matt had stopped speaking English and had moved on to gobbledygook. “Why?” I asked in the end.

He looked at me blankly.

“I mean, why have a bike without gears?”

“Oh—right. Well, some people like it. I mean, they’re a lot sturdier—less to damage in a crash—and obviously, there’s less maintenance, and they’re lighter without the derailleur and all that guff. And round here we’ve got a lot of single-track trails, and it’s not that hilly, so it’s perfect terrain for a single-speed. They’re supposed to feel more natural, more direct when you ride them.” Matt’s hand rested lovingly on the saddle.

“Want to give it a try, then?” I asked, amused. I still didn’t quite get the point of it all, but maybe you had to be a serious mountain biker to understand.

Matt’s face lit up like one of the 900-lumen bike lights I’d been incautious enough to shine in my eyes while faffing around with the stock. “Really? Um, I probably ought to tell you Jay doesn’t usually let me test ride the stock…”

“So? He’s not here, is he? Go on, have some fun.” I’d been about to say, “Knock yourself out,” but Matt, being Matt, might have taken me literally. “Just—take care, okay?”

He nodded vigorously, shaggy hair falling over his face, then wheeled the bike to the door, more carefully than I’d ever seen him do anything. There was a warm feeling spreading through my chest at the thought I’d made him so happy.

Of course, if he managed to trash the bike and himself, things would get a mite chillier. I touched the wooden counter for luck and set to emptying out the little moneybags into the till.

When Matt came back, his face was shining, and not just with sweat. “It’s brilliant!” he enthused a bit breathlessly, his chest still heaving. “I mean, it’s a bit weird ’til you get used to it, and it’s harder work uphill, and when you go downhill your legs are going round like buggery, but it’s like…” He trailed off, hands waving as they struggled to express what his words couldn’t manage. “It’s like the bike’s just an extension of your legs. Like, you’re not so much riding it as being it.” He gave me a rueful smile. “That probably sounds like a load of bollocks to you.”

“N-no,” I managed. My throat was tight, and my vision might even have swum, just a little bit. Matt’s smile was broader than I’d ever seen it, he was talking with his whole body, and his enthusiasm wasn’t so much infectious as in serious danger of causing a pandemic. He just seemed so…so alive at this moment. As we stood there staring into each other’s eyes, I had the strongest, almost painful urge to kiss him.

He’d had me at
buggery
.

Chapter Nine

I ate my lunch (yellow rice salad with prawns; a sort of cold paella that tasted of sunshine and made me yearn for a holiday in Spain) sitting alone at the counter. It was a nice day, so I’d encouraged Matt to go out and get a bit of sun, rather than stay cooped up inside with me. While his well-being had genuinely been a motive, I’d also wanted some time to think things through, and his presence was very definitely a distraction. I couldn’t deny it to myself any longer—I was falling for Matt.

Or was I? If I was brutally honest with myself, was I just fixating on the first openly gay bloke I’d ever spent any length of time with? My heart screamed
No!—
but then, what did it know? It hadn’t exactly had a lot of experience over the years. I’d never felt this way about anyone—at least, not since my teenage years when I’d had a crush on an older boy that had first clued me in to my not-quite-straightness. I’d seen men I fancied since then, of course—but that had all been about their bodies and yes, all right, their cocks. With Matt… I just kept thinking about his smile, and the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners, and that shaggy brown mop of his that was just made for running your fingers through.