Rentboy (29 page)

“Yes, sir.” Fox had no idea why he called the bloke sir. It just seemed appropriate, maybe even expected. William Baillie was lying on his side, slumping forward onto his face. A single bullet hole ran with blood. But when Fox looked closer, the hole seemed larger than a single, close-range bullet. “Double cap,” Fox said. His father had lectured him on how to kill professionally even though Fox knew he would never use the skill. He looked up at the man, who nodded, tipping one corner of his mouth in a smile.

“And that’s your idea of a double cap, a hammer and a spanner. Very professional. Didn’t Captain William Baillie teach his son how to kill?”

“He tried,” Fox said. “But I’m an artist. I create, not destroy.”

“Killing can be very creative.” The man sounded offended. “There’s myriad ways to do it. You were going to bash his brains in with a hammer. How artistic is that, boy?”

“Not terribly, sir. But I was desperate.” Fox glanced around for the blond young man.

“He’s not here,” the man said as if he had read his mind.

“Is he your boyfriend?” The man looked questioningly at him. “It’s just the way you spoke to him. The tone, the look in your eyes. You were proud when he told you he killed the dude outside, who, by the way, was unconscious because I had hit him with a garden spade. You were proud of his work.”

Ignoring the question, the man said, “In the morning you will call 999 and tell them you found your dad shot to death in his bed.”

“They’ll think I did it. I need the insurance money.”

“You were prepared to bash his brain in a moment ago.”

“I’d have done anything to stop him. I didn’t know you were coming.” Fox swallowed hard. “You’ve got no idea what goes on in this house.”

“I know exactly what goes on in this house. I’ve met your father before, and I’ve been in this house for the past two hours. I saw everything, including the way he looked at your sister.”

Fox shuddered. “Two hours watching us? Shit! That’s creepy. You must be fucking good at your job if my father didn’t know you were here.”

“People only know I am present when I want them to.” The man was so self-assured Fox envied him. “You’ll get the insurance money. It will all be taken care of, just like the car accident story.”

Crossing the room on silent feet, the man said, “Let’s go downstairs.” With his arm around Fox’s shoulders he walked him down and into the kitchen. The man took the spanner and hammer from him and put them away. “These would have made a very messy kill.”

“He must have known I was going to kill him tonight. I was going to get one of his guns, but he locked his office. He never locks his office.”

The man went into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a set of keys, which he dangled from one finger. Fox noticed for the first time that he was wearing latex gloves. “He didn’t know a thing. But I knew. I locked the office to stop you attempting to kill him before I did. I also didn’t want you waving guns around in confined areas. After I saw the way he behaved with your sister, I knew you’d kill him tonight.”

“Who are you?” Fox asked.

“A ghost. You never saw me. If you talk, my people will not be nice to you. I won’t be nice to you, and that would be a shame because I like you, boy. You’ve got integrity.”

For reasons he could not explain Fox quickly crossed the space between them and hugged him, his head resting against the man’s chest. He felt enormous and solid as rock in Fox’s arms. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome, boy, and remember”—he held Fox at arm’s length—“be good to your mother. She’s had a hard life.” A second later Fox stood alone in the kitchen. The man was gone as if he had never been there. Truly a ghost. Fox felt exhilarated, as if he had crept downstairs on Christmas Eve and met Father Christmas himself.

Before he could go to bed, he slipped back into his father’s bedroom to make sure it was true. The lamp was still on. William Baillie lay unmoving on the bed, his face stark white in contrast to the dark, congealing blood spilling from the wound. It
was
true. A line from
A Christmas Carol
came to him.
Old Marley was as dead as a doornail.
William Baillie was as dead as a doornail. Now they could begin to live. Fox walked around the bed to flip off the lamp. In the darkness he opened the curtains and looked out, hoping to see the assassin leaving, but he was gone.

Strangely he wasn’t creeped out by being alone in a dark room with his dead father. He felt safe for the first time in his life. At his mother’s bedroom door he slipped inside. The bottle on the bedside table was still half-full. With big eyes his mum looked at him, seeming both afraid and hopeful. “It’s over,” he said simply. “In the morning I’ll call 999 and say I found him shot dead. If anyone asks you if you heard anything or saw anything, you tell them you were drunk and slept through the night.”

Tara nodded, reaching for the wine bottle. Though he wanted to snatch it away and pour the contents down the sink, Fox did nothing. Without booze she might not sleep tonight, and she needed to sleep just then. They had wanted this and planned it, but they were both in shock that it had happened. “It’s going to be different from now on, Mum.”

“I love you, Afton. I’m so sorry for all the rotten times, your miserable childhood and all the years you’ve spent looking after the twins instead of being a teenager.”

All the anger he had harbored against his mum, his resentment of her drinking, faded in the aftermath of the man’s words.
“Be good to your mother.”

“I love the twins, and we can’t change the past.” He kissed her on the cheek. “It’ll be better from now on. Get some sleep. I’m going to.”

In his bedroom Fox opened the wardrobe. The twins must have looked like that in the womb, wrapped around each other, their limbs entwined, eyes closed, utterly peaceful. Now they could know that peace all the time and not just when they slept.

Gently he shook them awake. “Come and get in bed with me. Everything’s fine. Dad’s asleep. He’s never going to wake up again.”

Faces creased with confusion and sleepiness, the twins crawled out of the wardrobe and into bed on either side of Fox. He clung to them, looking at the door. On the other side of the landing their father lay dead, shot in the head by a professional killer.

Perfect.

Now if only Eddie would talk to him again.

In the small, cool interior of the nondenominational chapel, the Reverend Godfrey Rooke recited the funereal service for Captain William Baillie. Decorated with flowers, the coffin rested on the catafalque behind him awaiting cremation.

“Pathetic fallacy,” Fox whispered into his mum’s ear. She looked lovely. William Baillie’s death had taken years off her. The bright floral-patterned dress was full in the skirt to hide her swollen torso. She wore a shawl despite the heat of the day to hide the fact that the rest of her body was so thin.

“What?” Tara had drunk very little over the past week while they prepared for the funeral, but she still smelled strongly of alcohol. Her attar of roses cologne did little to mask it. Before they left for the service, she had sat in the kitchen with them while they ate breakfast and unapologetically drunk half a bottle of wine. Fox had not commented.

“It’s a literary term for when the weather mirrors your mood or emotions.”

“The sun is cracking the flags out there. It’s a gorgeous day.”

“Exactly,” Fox replied. “It can only get better from here.”

The funeral was very small with only two decorated military men in uniform, Fox, Tara, the twins, and a few relatives who had long since stopped getting in touch because William Baillie had made visits impossible.

“Please rise while we bid Captain William Baillie farewell,” Godfrey said.

A shuffling of feet followed as everyone rose, but the atmosphere was dry, hollow, with a general sense that everyone wanted it over with so they could leave. There were no tears, and no one read a eulogy.

“We commit the earthly remains of Captain William Baillie, husband, father, and honored soldier, to the flames. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

Like a magic show, the coffin began to move backward while at the same time a pair of heavy, dark blue curtains closed slowly. The twins started to clap. Fox had taken them to the pantomime a few times over the years, and everyone clapped when the curtains closed, so they did it automatically. Fox still wasn’t sure if they fully understood that their father was not coming back. An embarrassed silence followed the applause, which the twins appeared completely unaware of.

“God go with you,” Godfrey said, indicating the end of the service. The moment the words were out, the aunts and uncles nodded and smiled apologetically as they hastened from the chapel. Having no desire to speak to them, Fox sighed with relief. Tara looked up at him.

“Thank God that lot have gone. I’ve got nothing to say to them. Where were they when we needed them?”

Fox took his mum’s elbow to help her up. She looked really tired, and he knew that it was hard for her to stay sober this long.

The army officers walked up the aisle toward them. From their insignia Fox knew them to be a colonel and a lieutenant. They both shook hands with Tara, offering quiet words of condolence. The look they gave Fox was so blatant they might just as well have said,
What the hell are you wearing at your father’s funeral?
The red tartan kilt and white button-down shirt were probably not the best choice, and neither were the black Gravel boots with six silver buckles on each. Heavy eye makeup was the clincher. His father would have hated it, and that was the point.

“You must be Afton. He always called you Fox,” the colonel said.

“Yes, Colonel.” Fox shook hands with them both. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant.”

“You recognize army rank?” the colonel said appreciatively. “Most civilians haven’t a clue.”

“I grew up on army bases, and when other kids were doing their times tables, sir was drilling me on army insignia and the Royal Clothing Warrant. I suppose he thought it would make me want to join the army, but it just made me interested in art and fashion.”

“Did you always call him sir?” the lieutenant asked.

“Yes. He insisted on it.”

The colonel smiled as if it was adorable to make your kids call you sir. “It’s only natural he hoped you would join the army. Your father was a fine soldier, as was his father and grandfather before him. He was brave and fearless. Damn shame that, surviving combat only to die accidentally with his own gun.”

Fox looked back and forth between the two men. Even had they been in civvies, he would have known they were army officers by their bearing and their snotty expressions. “I know. He loved his guns. He was always cleaning them.”

“Captain Baillie talked about another son. Isn’t he here?” the colonel asked. “It would be nice if one of you continued the family tradition.”

The twins were standing with Godfrey, who chatted to them as if they understood every word. “Yeah, he’s here. Alder!” Fox waved him over. The boy came forward, holding Arden’s hand. When they came down to breakfast that morning, they were dressed in identical plain white T-shirts and hip-hugging denim miniskirts with white trainers. Fox didn’t see much point in telling his brother that trousers would be better on this occasion. “Alder is on the left, and this is his twin sister, Arden. They’ve got learning disabilities. Neither of them are army material.”

The men stared at the twins, then back at Fox, obviously embarrassed by Captain Baillie’s strange children.

“We are very sorry about the loss of your father.” They walked quickly away.

“Fox?” He looked at Godfrey, who stood beside him. “Did you do it?” he asked very quietly. “I can take your confession and offer absolution.”

“Thanks, God. And thanks for agreeing to come here and do the service. I know it’s not your usual gig.”

Godfrey placed a hand on Fox’s shoulder and squeezed. “It was my pleasure. I’ve done services outside my parish before. Do you need to talk to me?”

“I plan to count you among my best friends and have you over for vegan food as soon as I’ve got my act together, but I didn’t do it. I swear, I didn’t do it.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Godfrey smiled warmly. “And look who’s here.”

At the back of the small chapel, leaning heavily on metal crutches, was Eddie. Fox felt a sudden lurch in the pit of his stomach, but this time it was excitement, not panic.

Beside Eddie, his parents stood ready to support him should he fall. Bruises still wreathed his cheekbones. They had faded to yellow and gray, and the swelling was largely gone. “Mum, Godfrey, come and meet Eddie.”

The twins walked in front of them, and when they reached Eddie, they patted his chest by way of hello.

“Hello, twins,” he said with such gentle affection that Fox wanted to grab him and hold him forever.

Fox introduced his mum to the Athertons and everyone to Eddie.

“Fox, I’m so sorry about your father,” Eddie said. The wires on his teeth were gone.

“Dreadful,” Dr. Atherton agreed, shaking Fox’s hand. “We read it in the papers. So fast on the heels of that awful car accident. You must be reeling. Nicoletta sends her regards.”

“They both survived. That’s all that matters,” Tara said. “But you be more careful next time you drive my son around.”

“I will, Mrs. Baillie,” Eddie assured her. “Mea culpa.”

Eddie’s gaze rested unwaveringly on Fox, and Fox met it as if they were completely alone. “Sorry about the attire,” Eddie said. He wore very baggy knee shorts dragged in at his skinny waist with a belt, topped with a loose polo shirt. On his left leg he still wore the metal contraption that held his leg straight. “Not much fits over the caliper.”

“You look great,” Fox said.

“So do you,” Eddie replied.

“Shall we go outside?” Dr. Atherton looked uncomfortable at the soft voices and tender looks. “You two need to talk.”

“Twins, help Mum,” Fox said. Obediently they each took an arm to assist her outside. The Athertons followed with Godfrey until only Fox and Eddie remained in the silent chapel.