Laying a Ghost (38 page)
He was still holding the bag of fish, and he clenched his fingers tightly around the handles, his gaze fixed on Nick’s face.
It was clear that Nick was uncomfortable with the idea, but after a moment he nodded. “Yeah, okay.” He looked over John’s shoulder to where Michael was waiting and lifted his chin to indicate that the other man should join them, which Michael did, John shifting to one side so that Michael and Nick could have a proper conversation.
“John thinks you should know,” Nick started. “And he’s probably right, if there’s any chance that we’re going to be friends.”
“I wouldn’t say that’s impossible,” Michael said. John shot him a look, but it was clear from Michael’s expression that he’d meant it good-naturedly, and just as clear from Nick’s tone as he started speaking again that it had been taken that way as well.
“I ... have this ability,” Nick began. He was hesitant enough in describing it that John knew that he hadn’t needed to very often. John wondered if Matthew had done most of the talking for him. “I can see things. Hear things, sometimes. Ghosts.”
“You’re joking.” Michael’s face twisted scornfully.
“No. Although believe me, there are times when I wish I was.” Nick grimaced. “Anyway ... because I know they’re there, they usually want something from me. There’s usually something I can do for them, to help them, so they can move on.”
John set the bag of fish down, rubbing his hand clean on his jeans without thinking about it. Here, in the sunshine, with the familiar smell of seaweed and fish rising up and the town behind them Sunday-quiet, what they were discussing seemed ridiculous.
Maybe they should’ve taken Michael to the graveyard and told him there.
“It’s true.” John took over from Nick because now that they’d started to tell Michael he knew he’d take it better coming from him. “I’ve seen one. Felt one, too, and it’s enough to give a man nightmares when you don’t know what’s going on, I can tell you. I followed him out to the graveyard in the middle of the night and I saw -- God, Michael, I touched his hand and I saw Kirsty, his grandmother, clear as I’m seeing you now.” He shuddered, remembering. “You can’t know what it’s like. And he can hear them, too, and it’s all the time for him.” Michael’s face was setting in stubborn lines and John carried on quickly before Michael said something he might end up regretting. “Last night when he shook
“He would have been.” Nick wrapped his arms around himself. “It’s okay; you don’t have to believe me. I know it sounds crazy.”
“It does, a bit.” Michael sounded as if he was making an effort to be polite, which John supposed was an improvement of sorts..
“I know.” Nick sighed and glanced at John. “See? This is why ...” He turned his attention back to Michael. “Anyway, while
Michael looked between them. “So when everyone thought you were out there getting off, you were actually doing a spot of breaking in and DIY?” he asked incredulously. “Will you come and fix that leaky tap of mine and save us all from drowning in our beds, too?”
John rolled his eyes, keeping a tight hold on his temper. “Look, you know what
“Aye, all right.” Michael shrugged. “I’ll have Sheila bake him something and use that as an excuse to stop by.” He looked at each of them in turn. “Not that I’m saying I believe there’s anything to any of this, in case you’re thinking it. And I’m not saying I
don’t
believe. You can’t just lay something like this on a man and expect him to nod and smile and agree with everything you say.”
John caught Nick’s eye.
He’d
believed Nick. Without thinking about it at all. Believed him because he’d seen, he’d
felt
-- but he would have trusted Nick without that.
Didn’t mean he expected anyone else to, though.
“No, I can’t,” John said. “But I can ask you to believe that I’d not lie to you when I say that’s why we left.”
“Aye, I do believe that much,” Michael said. “I’ve no reason to think you’d lie to me, John. We’ve been friends too long for that.”
Nick was still, silent, but radiating discomfort as loudly as if he’d been shouting.
John sighed. “Right, then. That’s something.” He leaned against the car, not touching Nick, but close to him, and changed the subject, directing it away from Nick’s abilities. “Is Sheila blaming me for the state you’re in?” he asked, cringing slightly at the thought of her wrath, which he’d experienced in the past more than once. It’d be just his luck if he’d managed to antagonize the only person on the island who was enthusiastic about his relationship with Nick. “And what the hell did she say to her mother? Peggy was in the shop yesterday, and I may have been drunk, but from what I recall, she didn’t sound too pleased.”
“You’ve gone mad if you think Sheila was anything but delighted once she found out how my face got to looking this way,” Michael said. “I can’t remember the last time she was so pleased with me. Kept going on about how proud she was.” His cheeks flushed slightly at the memory. “You can guess as well as anyone what she told her mother. That it was none of her business, and that people ought to be happy for you rather than sticking their noses where they don’t belong.”
John shook his head, unable to stop a smile from spreading across his face. “She’s a fine woman, your Sheila, but you don’t need me telling you that. I’m glad she’s not hating me for spoiling your good looks for a week or two.” He swallowed, finding it hard to express himself. “I’m grateful to you, Michael. And I know fine if they’d come at you singly, you’d not have a mark on you. There wasn’t a one of them you couldn’t have beaten.” He thought of the faces around the table and his lips thinned. “Bastards,” he said succinctly.
“I’d imagine a couple of them will think twice before running their mouths off again.” Michael nodded, looking grimly satisfied “You needn’t thank me, though. It’s no more than you deserve, having your friends stand up for you. Known each other a long time, and you’ve never given me reason to think you’re anything but a decent man. Anyone with any sense will figure that out, given enough time.” Michael’s lips, always expressive, twisted into a wry grin. “Time, and a few broken bones.”
John grinned back and then sobered when he saw that Nick was looking a bit concerned. “Aye, but you’re not to be doing this again. I can fight my own battles and you’ve more than me to look after. Besides, most of the ones doing the talking won’t be the ones you can thump.” He grimaced. “Like Sinclair and my mother, just for starters. I don’t give a damn what he thinks, but my mother ... aye, I’ll have to talk to her once she’s calmed down.”
“She might just need some time,” Nick said. John was quite sure that Nick had said that before, as well, possibly when he’d been quite drunk and less capable of listening to reason.
“Aye, she might.” He wasn’t all that hopeful, but there was no point in being negative, and he couldn’t help but be a bit concerned over how quiet Nick was being.
“Well, I should probably be getting back home before Sheila dishes up Sunday dinner and I’m not there to eat it,” Michael said. “Because even being a hero wouldn’t save me then.”
“Aye, you’d best do that.” John eyed Michael speculatively, noting the stiff way he was holding himself and guessing that his ribs were as bruised as his face. “Take it easy, will you?” He settled for a gentle pat on Michael’s shoulder rather than a hug and winced as even that brought a groan to Michael’s lips.
“I will. And we’ll see you on Thursday as normal?” Michael kept his tone casual but John heard the tension in his voice.
“Well, of course,” John told him.
Michael nodded at Nick. “See you Thursday then, Nick.”
They watched him walk away and then John turned to Nick. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing.” When John waited patiently Nick shrugged and leaned against the car. “I hadn’t realized how ... physical people were going to be. About the fact that we’re together.” He looked worried.
“Well, if it’s any consolation, they’ll mostly just stick to talking behind our backs,” John said wryly. “Yesterday they knew well and good I could hear them, but they didn’t come over and start anything; if I know Michael he’s the one who stopped talking and waded in because he’s happier talking with his fists, always has been.” He shrugged. “I’m not shedding any tears for the likes of Tommy Robson and his mates, no matter how hurt they got, and neither should you.”
“I wasn’t thinking about them.” Nick was looking in the direction Michael had gone.
John followed his gaze. “What did you expect him to do? He’s my friend. I’d have done the same for him -- have done, if it comes to that. And I’d do as much for you, and more. I’m not saying I’ll be out there looking for trouble, but if it comes and it’s men like that bringing it, would you want me to walk away?”
He moved closer to Nick, reaching out to rub a hand along his arm and trying to work out just what was bothering him. Michael’s face was a mess, there was no denying it, but there were four other men who’d be in a similar state, and as far as Michael was concerned, that was all that mattered. He wouldn’t be fretting over his injuries, especially not when Sheila was, for once, cooing approval instead of telling him that one more scrap and she’d be moving back in with her mother -- an idle threat if ever there was one.
Nick was looking down at the sand now, watching as grains of it shifted in the light winds. “What if I said yes? Yes, I’d want you to walk away. Let them call you every name in the book, let them think whatever they want about us. I’d rather that than have that,” he nodded in Michael’s direction, “happen to you.” He lifted his eyes to John’s, wary, looking for all the world as if he were a dog waiting to be kicked.
“And if I had no choice?” John hated that he couldn’t just give Nick what he wanted and promise to walk away. “Nick, love, if someone hit you I’d be tearing them apart before they had a chance to do it a second time, and if they hit me I can’t see me turning the other cheek” He studied Nick’s apprehensive face and sighed. “It’s been years since I got in a fight. Years. And I can take care of myself. It’s really not something you should be worrying about.” He didn’t even look around to see if anyone was watching before reaching out and hugging Nick to him. “Come here, will you? God, don’t look like that. It’s not going to happen.”
Nick’s arms gripped him tightly. Each time they embraced, John was surprised by the strength in Nick’s form, although he supposed he ought not to have been, considering how many years Nick had been living the way he had. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.” Nick’s breath was moist against John’s neck. “I won’t ask for anything else.”
“I can do that.” John felt relieved. “What, do you think I want to end up in that state? With my face so sore you wouldn’t be able to kiss me?” He shook his head. “God, maybe I
will
walk away ...”
“I just don’t want anything to happen to you.” Nick pulled back so they could look at each other. “I’d wait another year to touch you if I had to, but I don’t want to have to wait at all. I want you all the time.”
Nick’s words -- and the look in his eyes as he said them -- made John feel a glow of pleasure that he was sure was reflected in his face as he smiled at him. “It’s the same way I feel about you, so you won’t find me arguing with that.” He kissed Nick, tasting the salt on his lips, and made an effort to step back before he did more than just brush his lips over Nick’s. “We should get these fish in your fridge, or better yet under the grill.”
“Wouldn’t that require the kind of thing that might tempt the grill to explode?” Nick held his hand out reluctantly for the bag of fish and gestured at the car door, where John’s keys were hanging from the lock.
John slid into the driver’s seat and smiled across at Nick as he got in. “Tell you what,” he said kindly. “We’ll have sushi instead.”
Chapter Eighteen
“He’s not here,” Nick said again. It was the third time since they’d finished eating, and the fifth since they’d been back at the house. John didn’t even have to finish asking the question at this point before Nick was answering him. “It’s okay.” Nick patted John’s shoulder and took the dish cloth out of his hands, hanging it up on a hook on the side of the refrigerator. “I know this is a big deal. I’ll say if I hear or see
anything
, okay?”
John nodded sheepishly. He couldn’t help being on edge, waiting.
“We could go sit in the other room?” Nick suggested. “Or take a walk?” He seemed remarkably relaxed about the whole thing.
“I’d sooner stay in the house. Do you think -- is there any way that you can, well, call him?” Vague memories of a dozen horror films rose up and John swallowed. “Or maybe that’s not such a good idea.” He gave Nick an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be trying to do your job for you. So do you think it’ll be here in the kitchen again? Or anywhere in the house as long as it’s where you are?”
“I’m starting to think it’s your mother he needs help with.” Nick came closer and pulled John into his arms, holding him firmly, one hand running up and down his back, and John sighed and leaned into the embrace. “He’s had plenty of opportunities to come back, I think. Maybe it’s an energy thing. Sometimes they need a certain person’s energy, or a particular place, but there’s no reason to think it’s here and nowhere else. He seemed pretty ... determined.”
