Rentboy (22 page)

“Fox.” The twins stood in the doorway holding hands, nervously glancing over their shoulders. They were in matching pink T-shirts, and both wore boys’ undies. Sometimes they both wore girls’ undies. Fox bought both in the hopes that one day they would figure out they were opposite sexes, but neither seemed to know it yet.

“Come here.” He held out his arms. The twins crowded in beside him but kept glancing at the door. “Don’t worry about him. He’s gone for a while,” Fox assured them. “We’re safe. He’s in another country. We’ll get the globe out later, and I’ll show you how far away he is.”

“I love all of you,” Tara said.

“Yeah, we love you too, Mum,” Fox said. It was true, even if most of the time all he felt for her was impatience. “Give your mum a hug, aliens.”

The twins crawled onto the bed on either side of their mother. She gathered them into her arms, and for a few moments they all looked normal, as if the twins would start speaking in full sentences any minute and his mum didn’t stink of drink.

“What’s the matter, Afton?” she asked.

“My boyfriend is in danger,” he said. Why he was telling her, he did not know. She’d forget it with her next drink anyway.

“You’ve got a boyfriend? I didn’t know you were like that.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Why is he in danger?”

“Because of Dad,” he said.

A look of understanding swept over her face. “I suppose your dad wants to smack him one. He was upset when you wouldn’t go into the army. Being a poof wouldn’t go down well at all with him.”

“Poof? That is very politically incorrect,” Fox said.

“Sorry, luv. Should it be homo?” she asked.

Fox started to giggle, though it could have been hysteria. “What about ginger beer or bum boy or shirt lifter? How about pillow biter?”

Tara started to laugh, and the twins joined in. Fox hadn’t seen his mum laugh in years. The twins laughed occasionally but only when he was laughing. Either he set them off or they were mimicking him; he never knew. The silent house was filled for a moment with genuine merriment.

When they were calm again, Fox said, “Mum, I have to go and talk to someone. I’m really worried about Eddie. Can you get up and make some dinner for them?”

Tara looked doubtful. “With your father out of the house we should all be safe. Yes, I can manage it.” She tried to get up but faltered. Over the next ten minutes, Fox and the twins got her on her feet and helped her downstairs.

In the kitchen he realized she would be unable to stand for any length of time. Her swollen liver and general ill health had drained her stamina.

“Right, you sit there.” He pulled a chair up to the island. “Give the twins instructions, and they’ll do it. They can do quite a lot as long as you supervise them.” Fox looked into the twins’ beautiful faces. “I want you to listen to Mum and do as she tells you. You make some dinner for the three of you. I’ve got to go out. I’ll be back later.” They looked intently at him. He never knew how much they understood. “You can make beans on toast.” He grabbed a tin from the cupboard as he spoke. “Or in your case, beans beside toast but not touching it.”

His mum laughed again. If only they could always be like this, just the four of them, a normal family who were not afraid to laugh or speak too loudly. Fox kissed the twins quickly, then kissed his mum on the cheek. “It’s going to get better, Mum, I promise. Please try not to drink till I get back.”

“All right, son. I’ll do my best.” She smiled, but it was not at all convincing.

* * * *

The rectory where Godfrey Rooke lived was a tall, narrow house attached directly to the church of St. Luke the Apostle. Fox grabbed the knocker and rapped hard on the door. The woman who answered had to be Gemma. She was as plump as Godfrey with an equally congenial smile.

“Yes?”

“I’d like to see Godfrey, please,” Fox said.

“We’re about to have our dinner. Come in and join us. There’s plenty.”

The house was old and dark, the interior pleasantly cool. Gemma led the way into a large old-fashioned kitchen. Dinner? They were about to have a feast, and it was mostly meat, chicken, sausages, and ham.

“Fox!” Godfrey smiled broadly as he rose from the table. He wore a worn old black T-shirt bearing a picture of the Cure, and a pair of baggy shorts.

“Godfrey”—Fox pointed at the shirt—“you are a dark horse.”

Godfrey chuckled. “I’m so glad you’ve come. I was worried about you.”

He didn’t look worried, but Fox suspected the smile was an automatic response to everyone Godfrey dealt with. It was probably meant to reassure them, but the only thing that would reassure Fox at that moment was an AK-47 and free rein to use it. “Sit down and join us for dinner, and then we’ll talk.”

“No, thanks. I’m a vegan.”

“Is that like a vegetarian?” Gemma asked.

“Erm, yeah,” he said vaguely. “Actually Godfrey, I don’t think this can wait. I’m really concerned about…” He glanced at Gemma, who was piling food onto her plate. “You know.”

“There’s plenty of chicken here.” Gemma hefted a large platter loaded with chicken portions.

“I don’t eat meat, but thank you.”

“Yes, I know, you’re vegetarian. But do you eat chicken?”

“Why does everybody say that? Chicken is meat.” Catching himself, Fox apologized quickly. “That sounded really ungrateful. Thank you, Gemma, but I’m not hungry, and my mind is on other things.”

“That’s all right. We’re on the Atkins diet. Protein and no carbs. No bread or spuds on this table.” She smiled at Fox.

“Does that mean no bikkies and cupcakes?” Fox asked.

“Absolutely not. We haven’t had cake in weeks, have we, Godfrey?”

His cheeks growing pink, Godfrey said, “No, darling.”

With a grin at Godfrey, Fox tapped his left nostril with his forefinger. He wasn’t the only liar.

Gemma grabbed her knife and picked up her heavily laden plate. “I can see whatever you have to talk about is urgent and private. I’ll go and watch a bit of telly while you chat with Godfrey.” At the kitchen door she stopped. “It’s a girl, isn’t it? The problem.”

Fox found the woman’s Rubenesque girth very artistically attractive. He wondered what she would look like in the nude. “No, it’s a bloke. My boyfriend.”

“Jolly good.” She closed the door behind her.

“Sit down, Fox. Tell me all about it.” Godfrey tucked into his sausages and ham.

“This is like confession, right?”

“Just you and me,” Godfrey assured him.

For the next fifteen minutes Fox told him about Eddie and the pesticide, Mr. Maputwa, and why Fox had been pretending to be a prostitute. He told him about William Baillie and how he supported his family by waging war on innocent civilians. Though his plate was still half-full, at some point Godfrey stopped eating to listen. “This whole story is extraordinary.”

“It’s true. I swear to God, I am not a nut. It’s all true,” Fox said.

Godfrey reached across the table to pat Fox’s hand. “I don’t doubt you. I saw those men trying to grab your boyfriend. And you say he is a scientist.”

The relief that someone sane believed him about the insanity in his life brought Fox to the verge of tears. “Dr. Edward Atherton. Yes.”

“This is international terrorism. We have to talk to someone about this. Dr. Atherton is clearly in danger, and you are too, by the sounds of it.”

“My dad has kicked the shit out of me many a time, but I don’t think he’d let anyone else do it.” Fox shook his head. “I don’t have anything they want. They think my dad controls me and that I wouldn’t dare tell anyone what he’s up to, and in the past I wouldn’t have. But I love Eddie, and it’s Eddie they want. I can’t let him get hurt, and Eddie, being the bloke he is, would be just as hurt that his pesticide was being used to harm people as he would if they waterboarded him.”

“He sounds like a lovely man.” Godfrey smiled.

“Yeah, he is.” Tears finally broke free to roll down Fox’s cheeks. The tension he had been holding on to ever since he realized he was in love with Eddie could no longer be contained. Fox rose and crossed the room to tear several sheets of kitchen paper off the roll, and leaning against the sink with his back to Godfrey, he wiped roughly at his face. When Fox turned around again, Godfrey stood a foot away, reaching for him.

Fox allowed the other man to pull him into a tight embrace. All the paternal love he had never got from William Baillie flowed from the vicar into his body, healing him. Parts of his soul he did not realize were injured began to melt and loosen up. Gently Godfrey patted his back. “We are going to get help with this. It’s bigger than either of us can manage.”

“What about God?” Fox asked. “Can God help?” He had no idea why he was asking except that he was desperate.

“God’s helping right now.” Godfrey released him from the hug but continued to hold him loosely by the upper arms. “There was a man—or it might have been a woman; it doesn’t really matter—who was stuck on a roof as floodwaters rose. He prayed and prayed, and a boat came by. He called out.
I don’t need the boat. I’m waiting for God to help me.
Then a helicopter flew over, and he called up.
I don’t need a helicopter. I’m waiting for God to help me.
The long and short of it is, he drowned. At the pearly gates he said to God,
Why didn’t you save my life?
God said,
I sent you a boat, and then I sent you helicopter. What more do you want?
”

Fox sniffed loudly. “So you’re the boat. Now who’s the helicopter?”

“I’ll get changed and show you. I could be an absolute idiot here because we may not be believed, but I don’t know what else to do right now.”

As dusk gathered, the heat of the day had cooled, which was a great relief to Godfrey. Being chubby helped in cold weather; it kept him warm. In the heat, he suffered horribly.

“So where are we going?” Fox asked him as they walked side by side across Vauxhall Bridge.

Godfrey pointed. “Right there. Eight-Five Albert Embankment.” The beautiful and strange-looking structure of the MI6 building rose up to their left.

“Secret Intelligence Service? You’re kidding,” Fox said.

He wasn’t kidding. It was definitely their best option. “The police will think we’re a couple of crackpots if we go to them. These people will be more discerning about something of this nature. At least I think they will. Have you any better ideas?” He looked at Fox, knowing that had the young man shown up here alone, he would likely be sent on his way. He belonged at a Halloween party in that outfit.

“I don’t have any ideas except to keep Eddie safe,” Fox said.

They walked up the steps of the main entrance and into the deeply recessed vestibule. Godfrey had passed the impressive construction so many times he barely noticed it anymore, but today it seemed important since he was going to walk in. “It’s quite the tourist attraction, this building, even though no one is allowed to enter without permission.”

“The building was designed by Terry Farrell,” Fox told him. “It’s commonly known as Legoland since it resembles a structure made from Lego. I’d be terrified if I was Farrell in case they killed me afterwards to maintain perfect security.” Godfrey threw him a questioning look. “I did a course on architecture as part of my art degree.”

“Oh. Excellent.”

Inside the main doors was a security barrier with metal detectors. Being after hours, there was almost no one about, giving the building an empty, echoic feeling. Uniformed personnel homed in on them as soon as they entered. Godfrey had changed into gray trousers and a mauve short-sleeved shirt with his dog collar to give him the backing of the church. But Fox, eyes rimmed with black, hair gelled into spikes, and wearing his vampire outfit, was another matter entirely.

He caught Godfrey looking him up and down and smiled apologetically. “I would have changed if I’d known we were coming here. The vicar and the Goth. They’ll laugh at us.”

“Perhaps.” With his practiced broad smile Godfrey walked directly up to the security barrier. “We’d like to speak with someone about a pressing matter. A life is in immediate danger, and many more are in imminent danger.”

The woman was taller than either of them and did not crack a smile when she said, “No kidding.”

“I’d never kid about something like this. Please fetch the appropriate person.” Godfrey’s smile never faltered. He’d always had a ready smile and always found it comforted people who needed comfort and paved the way with those more hostile.

The woman looked back and forth between them, appearing decidedly unimpressed. “Have you called the police? They are well equipped to take care of civil matters.”

“This isn’t a civil matter. It involves international terrorism.”

“Sounds ominous.” She pulled out a pad, though it was clear from the skeptical look on her face that she thought they were wasting her time. “Name.”

“Reverend Godfrey Rooke.” He looked at Fox.

“Afton Baillie. AKA, Fox. Tell your boss this is about Ogwambi Maputwa.”

With one finger the woman pointed at a bench by the door. “Over there.”

Like schoolboys, they trundled over and sat down. Fox began at once to tap the bench with his painted black nails.

“It’ll be all right,” Godfrey told him. But he had no idea if it would be all right.

“What if they’ve found Eddie already? What if they’re torturing him to get the information they want?”

“Is he brave?” Godfrey asked.

“That’s an odd question, but yeah, I’d say he is. He tried to fight my dad. He didn’t stand a chance, and he got his arse kicked, but he had a go.”

Being reassuring was part of a vicar’s job, and Godfrey had years of practice behind him. “There you are, then.”

“But that could have been stupidity. Eddie had no idea how dangerous my dad is or what a fucking psycho he is. He thinks because he’s truthful and reasonable and kind that everyone else in the world is the same or they can be persuaded to be.”

“A refreshingly innocent approach to life.” Godfrey patted Fox’s knee. “I told you, God works in mysterious ways.”

“Yeah, right.” With his head hanging, his hands gripping the edge of the bench so hard his knuckles had turned white, the boy looked so young and vulnerable that Godfrey wanted to hug him again, but he had been warned about such things by the bishop. Everything was misinterpreted these days, and he had already hugged him once. Best leave well alone.