“Something like that. Somebody knifed me, but it was a long time ago. I was fine. Same with my stomach, and chest—though that one's taking a while to heal. I got into trouble and was burned.”
“
Jesus
. You're a bit accident-prone, aren't you?”
Paul laughed and kissed him, but didn't say anything more. The subject, Craig realized, was closed. For the moment.
They showered and, at breakfast, he finally found the NESCAFÉ. It was in the cupboard under the sink. Next to a supply of Dr Stuart's teas and a half-eaten packet of muffins. No point in asking himself about the muffins. Those could only be Maddy's. The teas belonged to Julie. He refused Paul's offer of help and his date sat down at the rickety wooden table. While Craig located mugs, Paul cleared a space in front of him between yesterday's unwashed plates and a pile of what looked suspiciously like....
Bloody hell
, it was.
Craig tried to snatch away Julie's laundry pile, but it was too late. Paul had already hooked out a suspender belt and was grinning at him.
“I take it these aren't yours?” he said.
“
No
.” He felt himself blush. Again. “They're Julie's. I think. She must have forgotten to put them away.”
“That's okay.” Paul dropped the belt back onto the table. “It doesn't bother me, though I can't say I've tried it. Cross-dressing, I mean. But you didn't seem the type.”
“I'm not.”
He made Paul coffee—which he took with a dash of milk, no sugar—and put toast on. All the while, something niggled at his brain. Something he'd forgotten to do. But he couldn't place it. Never mind, he thought. It couldn't have been that important then. Could it?
Finding a bowl, he dropped the toast into it and took it to the table. Then he added margarine and the newest-looking jam and sat down opposite Paul. They ate in silence for a while. It felt okay and Craig wondered if he was going to see him again. Or not.
When Paul had finished eating and was licking his fingers clean, Craig leaned back in his chair and asked what he'd been desperate to know since last night.
“So then,” he began, in a vain attempt to sound cool, “why leave it so long? A few minutes earlier and you wouldn't have caught me at all.”
“I know.” Paul moved his mug in front of him, but didn't drink any. Instead, he gazed at Craig, his expression serious. “I know. It's been ... nearly two months since we met in October. Things have been difficult. I've rung here four times this week, but I didn't leave a message. I thought I'd try one last time.”
Craig shook his head. “So why not ring the mobile? I know you had the number.”
“Yes, I did. But it seemed too ... personal. I'm not ... bloody hell, Craig, but I'm not too good at relationships, you know?”
His last few words were all but hissed out, as if he was trying to say something beyond the sentences themselves, and a shadow passed over his face. Craig took his hand and squeezed it.
“Bloody hell,” he said, “but who is? I'm not exactly hot at them myself. But I know I'd like to see you again. If you want to, that is?”
Paul smiled, the darkness disappearing from his expression.
“Yeah, I'd like that,” he said.
Craig smiled back at him. Like last night, he couldn't seem to stop. In fact they were still smiling at each other when the door burst open and Maddy appeared, her blonde hair frizzing outward from her head as if someone had just given her an electric shock. She was holding something in her hand.
“Hi, Craig,” she yawned. “Post for you.”
She dropped it on the table between the two of them. And it was then that everything changed.
Chapter Two
Sometimes, life could turn on the tiny moments alone. And decisions could be made on an intake of breath. If Craig hadn't come back yesterday evening in time for Paul to ring.... If Paul hadn't rung at all.... If Craig had opened the post before going out to meet him ... then everything might have been different.
As it was, that crisp December morning, with the frost framing the kitchen window, Maddy grinned at Paul, winked, and held out her hand.
“Hello,” she said. “I'm Maddy Flannigan. And you are...?”
“Paul,” he replied. “Paul Maloney. Nice to meet you, Maddy.”
“Paul?” She gulped. “
The
Paul? Paul Maloney? We've heard nothing else from Craig for
weeks
. Oh God, sorry, me and my mouth. Forget I said that. Anyway, so good to meet you at last.”
Before Paul could make any kind of response, Maddy was out of the kitchen and yelling up the stairs. “Julie! Julie? Wake up! Come down and meet Paul, won't you?”
All chances of looking remotely sophisticated now vanished forever, Craig groaned and put his head in his hands.
“As you can see,” he mumbled, “Maddy gets a bit enthusiastic sometimes.”
“That's okay,” Paul said, but when he looked at him Craig could see he was still blushing. “It's nice to be popular. And, hey, I've been thinking about you too.”
Craig raised his eyebrows at that.
“Chancer,” he said. “Anyway, you haven't been the only topic of conversation. We have to eat sometimes.”
By the time Julie appeared, her short dark hair already neatly brushed, and wearing something floaty from the Monsoon sale, Maddy had already asked all the usual questions. So Craig found out that Paul lived in Hackney, and he'd run his own one-man band investigations firm for six years. And yes, he'd had one serious relationship but that had ended. Really ended for a long time, but absolutely finally about a month ago. Maybe that explained the long lead-in to his phone call. Craig couldn't help but hope though that, before last night, he'd been the one to have sex with Paul most recently. Couldn't count on it though. And no way could he actually ask it. Some things in life were always private. Didn't Craig have enough of his own secrets?
Never mind that. What mattered, of course, was now.
While Maddy paused for breath, Craig glanced at the envelope on the table. The one for him. It looked handwritten. He supposed he should open it. Reaching out, he picked it up, just as Julie came in.
“Hello,” she said. “You must be Paul?”
Paul smiled, stood up, and stretched out his hand. “You must be Julie.”
Julie took it. The two of them shook hands and looked at each other as if sizing the other person up before deciding how to continue with their day. A second later, she smiled back.
“That's right,” she said. “Nice to meet you, Paul.”
Phew, Craig thought. Julie likes him. Of the three flatmates, Julie was the most responsible by far. As well as being the only detox and nettle tea drinker. Maddy tended to smile on whoever he brought back to the flat—though recently there had been no one—but Julie was more cautious. If she didn't like the guy, it would make things so much more difficult in the future. Assuming there was a future, of course.
He opened the letter.
It was only one page. And on it, apart from the address which he knew so well, only a few words:
Dear Craig,
Sorry to trouble you and I'm sorry if this letter comes as a shock, but I do hope you get this. Please forgive me for not writing before—it was difficult. And please call me. Your father's gone missing.
With warmest wishes always,
Andrea
His skin grew hot, and he felt as if he were a hundred miles away. The chair, the table, the cupboards, Maddy, Julie, and even Paul all faded, and he was back in his childhood. As if he'd never left at all.
You have to be taught what is good and upright, and I am the one who will teach you.
“Craig? Craig? Are you okay?”
Maddy's voice brought Craig back to himself, and he was aware of the warmth of fingers on his arm. When he looked down, he could see the one touching him was Paul.
“Craig?”
“Yes. Yes, I'm fine.” He shook off Paul's comfort and stood up, crumpling the letter in his hand. “I just need a glass of water, that's all.”
He rested himself against the sink, feeling the cold enamel press against his belly through the thin T-shirt. Running the tap and filling the glass he found on the draining board took an age, but at last he had it. All the time, he was aware of the crackle of paper between his fingers and the strained silence behind him. He was also aware of Paul's presence at his side. He didn't come too close but he didn't back off either.
When Craig replaced the glass, he realized he was shaking.
“Sit down,” Paul said. “Is it bad news?”
“Wh-what?” Doing as he was told, Craig sat down and glanced up at him. At the same time, Julie switched the kettle on, and Maddy settled herself in the chair next to him. She was frowning.
“The letter,” Paul explained. “Was it something you read?”
“No.”
Suddenly it was crucial that no one Craig knew saw what Andrea had written. He stood up, scraping the chair backward, and it fell sideways onto the floor with a clatter. Away from Paul. He caught Julie's startled look, but by then he was at the kitchen door, still clutching the letter. He knew it was stupid, dramatic even, but he had to get out. He needed air.
Still, some last vestige of politeness toward his date made him turn back.
“I-I'm sorry,” Craig said, staring at Paul. “I have to go. I just need to ... go. Can you see yourself out? Is that okay?”
He nodded. “Sure.”
And, with a last impression of Maddy standing up, her hands hovering as if about to conduct something, he was gone.
* * * *
Crouch End Hill was its usual mix of Saturday-morning shoppers and groups coming home who'd never gone to sleep at all. Craig avoided eye contact with any of them. He didn't want to be an easy target. His feet carried him in their own direction, as they always did when he wanted to walk and think. Northward, toward Alexandra Park. Even though he hadn't ever returned to the countryside once he'd left it, something in his blood always directed him back to that misplaced sense of space. Or what passed for space in London.
As he walked, dodging people and situations, his brain clicked shut and he was far away from the noise and pressure of the city. It was funny how he could think that everything was sorted, that he had it all worked out—was even managing to develop some kind of shaky career here where nobody could find him—and then one day something happened and everything turned around again. Changed to what it had been before. Or at least his feelings changed. Did people ever escape the past?
Stopping at the end of a street and leaning against the stone corner of a row of shops, he took out the letter and scanned it again.
Andrea. Craig hadn't seen her in seven years. Hadn't even heard from her. Even though he'd written to her two years ago when he'd first moved into the flat. He'd wanted to let her know where he was, but she'd not replied. In the end he'd realized that was for the best. The past was the past. Better left alone.
Why had his father gone missing though? Was it to do with the Fellowship—the church he went to? They'd always owned the largest part of his life. Or was he coming to find Craig? If so, why? On the other hand, it might be to do with Michael.
No
. Too many questions. He didn't want to visit those times again. He didn't want to....
A sudden tug on his arm snapped Craig out of his thought processes—such as they were—and into reality again.
“Hey, mate, got any spare change?”
Relaxing at once—only a tramp, nothing more sinister—he reached into his pocket and offered a handful of change. “Here. It's nearly all I've got.”
The old man took it with a gnarled, filthy hand and breathed whisky fumes into his face. Then, nodding and smiling, he backed away, stroking the coins as if they were jewels. As he disappeared, the sound of the streets came back to Craig. People talking, shouting. The noise of laughter and the screech of traffic. It felt as if he'd been set free from his own history. For a while.
Honestly, his head was so jazzed he was sounding as if he were up his own arse. And it wasn't even 10 a.m. More than anything, he needed a coffee. A strong one. He had just enough money left for it too.
It didn't take long to find a café. One of the advantages of London. He sat down at a table as far from the other customers as possible and facing away from the window. Taking the first sip, the fiery heat of the liquid exploded through the foam and into his mouth. Stretching backward in his seat, he sighed. At the same time, he was half-aware of the door to the café opening and shutting.
A moment or so's pause and then the chair opposite slid outward. When he looked up, Paul was standing behind it, a frown across his forehead. If Craig had known him better, he would have said he looked concerned.
“Craig,” he said quickly. Perhaps before he could object, or walk off. “I'll leave now if you don't want me to be here—and I have to say your friend Maddy advised me against it. She said you liked to be on your own sometimes, to sort things out. But if you want company, I'm happy to stay.”
Craig put down his drink, the heat of it still warming him. “How did you know where to find me? Did Maddy tell you?”
“No.” Paul shook his head, half-smiling before maybe thinking better of it. “I followed you.”
“I didn't hear you...” he began before the truth hit home. “Oh. Of course. It's your job, I suppose. This sort of thing.”
“Yes. It's my job. So...?”
Craig shrugged, knowing he should try to be friendly but right now not knowing if he could manage it. “So, stay. If you can bear a miserable date who hasn't the first clue how to treat a bloke who stays over. Obviously.”
Paul smiled briefly and sat down.
“Sounds ideal,” he said. “So, what's wrong?”
Craig didn't look at him. Instead, he folded the paper away and stuffed it in his jeans pocket. “Are you asking me for professional or personal reasons?”
“Which would you rather?”
“I don't know yet.”
“I see,” he said. “In that case, it's just a question, and I'm only a friendly stranger to talk to. If you like.”