Wanting (10 page)

This was how things went for him. He thought and thought in analogies instead of the real deal. It was his way of coping, he knew that well enough, but it posed the problem of not being able to get rid of the things that bothered him because he hadn’t faced them head-on. Just their shadows, their parodies.

“Fuck!” he whispered and got out of bed.

He padded downstairs to make some tea. He sat with it at the kitchen table, a notepad and pen beside the cup, and began writing everything down in real terms—no pissing about now, no sweeping it under the rug—from the attack to the present day. Once done, he jotted his feelings next to each point and examined them. In the past there hadn’t been anything he could do about the majority—that was what he’d thought, anyway. They’d festered inside him pretty much of their own accord. But now, seeing them as black ink on white paper, they didn’t seem so scary.

It was done, all of it, strains of his past but not his future. Well, the attack and the mini-mart came under the first banner, at least. So he told himself they were gone, things he didn’t need to entertain anymore since they didn’t live in the city, and he’d now concentrate on this barn shite.

He mulled over the scenarios. Was the barn killing an isolated case? Was it linked to just the warehouse murder? Were both linked to the Sugar Strands case? Was the latter even possible? The first two didn’t pose any threat unless he and Dane identified the men and they had to appear in court or their names were dragged into it. If more men were involved, they could come after them, try to shut them up. But that was a bit far-fetched, wasn’t it? It wasn’t like they lived in gangster land.

But people from the city do.

He clamped his jaw and blotted that thought up as though it was just a spill that could be cleaned away. He did the same with every frightening thought he conjured while examining all the possibilities, and by the time he was done he felt better due to one thing—this time they had the police on their side, actually following things up. This time the case was possibly so big his welfare wasn’t classed as something that could be ignored then forgotten. The authorities wouldn’t want another victim on their hands, another person’s death or disappearance to explain to an already outraged public.

No, he was safe here in this situation.

As though to convince himself of that, he got up and went into the dark living room. He pulled one curtain back a bit and looked outside. The police officer was still there, reading by the looks of it, head bent with a flashlight wedged into one of the spaces in his steering wheel. Idly, Adam wondered if it would be the same cop out there by the time he peeked out again tomorrow, or whether they would silently change over while he slept—if he finally managed to.

Adam did sleep, thankfully, from around three until eight. They were due at the farm at ten, their job for the day clearing up pigs’ shit, he imagined, but it was better than hanging around here where he’d let his mind wander to things it was best it didn’t wander to. He’d sorted everything, would only deal with stuff as it presented itself now, and he was lighter of spirit, his shoulders less heavy.

Dane had left Adam sitting at the kitchen table, going out to the shop a neighbour had set up in her back room. Lower Repton really was like something out of the past, stuck in its ways and refusing to move on. A shame, then, that the ugliness of the twenty-first century had breezed through, turning everything upside down and giving the residents a massive dose of reality. Shouting in its violent voice that life had moved on, and would you look at that, murder even happened here.

The sound of a key scraping in the lock had Adam turning around to watch Dane walk into the kitchen, folded newspaper tucked under his arm, a carton of milk in hand. He didn’t look happy, a rigid frown firmly in place, his mouth downturned.

“What’s up?” Adam asked, refusing to allow the knot of concern to grow into something more sinister in his belly.

“Fucking journalists, that’s what, and whoever the hell tells them this shit.” He slapped the newspaper on the table and went over to the side to make coffee with jerky, un-Dane-like movements.

“Shit,” Adam said.

Adam wasn’t sure he wanted to read the news now he’d found a coping mechanism. He was aware of his new mind state being precarious, liable to tumble down if another shock came his way. He’d built it on rocky ground as it was, and the cement between the layers wasn’t even dry yet. He bit his bottom lip while he thought about what to do next. Was it sensible to read whatever had been printed so he could deal with it in the same way he’d dealt with the other stuff? Or was it true that what you didn’t know didn’t hurt you? But the latter wasn’t really the case, was it? He did know—at least he knew something bad had been printed—and that would gnaw at him with razor-sharp teeth anyway until he finally gave in and took a peek.

“What’s it say?” he asked, thinking it might sound better, gentler coming from Dane. “I mean, is it really bad?”

Dane brought two mugs over and placed them on the table. He slumped into a chair and leant back. The wood creaked with his movement. “It doesn’t mention us, if that’s what you mean.” He flexed his jaw. “Or not our names, anyway.”

“What d’you mean? What’s the problem?”
Please don’t let this get worse. Please just have it all go away.

“They’re calling it the Queer Rites case, a fucking double meaning because some bastard leaked the fact we’re bent as well. It insinuates we were in on it.”

“Like how?”
Just read the damn thing yourself.

“That we went up there to join in the orgy or whatever the fuck it was but didn’t. That two new residents from Lower Repton—I mean, come on, who isn’t going to know it’s us?—went to the barn to get their jollies then backed out.”

“We can deny it—”

“What, deny we’re new? Deny the fact a bloody copper’s out there in his car? I tell you, I nearly gave the shop woman what for when she pursed her chicken’s arsehole lips at me and gave me one of those looks. Bloody old cow.”

“What looks?” He didn’t need to ask, he knew exactly what looks, but he was stalling, diverting the conversation away from what the news leak could actually mean for them. Moving again. Hiding. Feeling ashamed.

“Oh, you know the kind. ‘Oh, so you’re one of those shirt-lifters, are you? Moving here and bringing this mess down on us. Perverts as well, I see. Dirty bastards!’ I’m sick of it, thought we’d found a good place to be at last, but people around here won’t be any different to those we left behind, I’ll bet. We were stupid to think they weren’t the same as every other fucker out there.” He let out a big sigh and rubbed his forehead. “If it was a bigger place we could’ve got away with it, said it was someone else they were on about, but it isn’t and we can’t. This is just one street, for fuck’s sake. I’m half-expecting us not to have a job when we get there.”

Adam hadn’t thought of that, but the farmer, Sam Rhodes, hadn’t given any indication them being gay was a problem. And he knew they were, had caught them holding hands one day last week. He hadn’t said a bloody word. But being ‘involved’ in a gay orgy might change his opinion. “We should just take the paper up there and show him, tell him what happened. But not what we did, not that we…”

“Yeah, I know what you’re saying.” Dane took a sip of coffee and cringed. “Forgot the bloody sugar. But yeah, at least that way we know where we stand instead of waiting for him to find out, get the hump and fire us.”

Adam glanced at the clock on the microwave. “All right, we’ll go now.”

“We don’t start for another hour or so.”

“So? We’ll be showing we don’t expect to discuss it on work time—providing we still have work there when we’re finished telling him.”

“Right. Okay. Fuck it, let’s get it over and done with.”

* * * *

“All right, lads?” Sam nodded in his usual brusque manner, propping a shovel against an outhouse wall. He wiped his meaty hands down his dirt-stained jeans then crossed his arms over his chest. “You ready for it today? Looks like it’s going to bloody piss down again. It’ll make the pigs’ shit all sloppy, but what can you do, eh?” He glanced at the sky and frowned, looking back to them while shaking his head.

Had he heard the news and wasn’t bothered, or had he yet to go in for his break and read the paper—if he’d even bought one, that was? Adam couldn’t tell. Sam was his normal self.

“Yep, ready for it,” Dane said, “but you might not be after what we’ve got to tell you.”

Sam lifted his chin. “Oh yeah? You on about that barn murder?”

“Yeah.” Dane gave a tight grimace and handed him the newspaper.

Sam took it, sliding it under his arm. “I had the police up here.” He pinched one side of his jaw between finger and thumb. “Asked me whether I’d seen a Transit van hereabouts. Then they came back this morning. Told me my barn’ll be out of use for a bit cos someone had been killed there.”

Shit, it was his barn?

“Your barn?” Dane asked, eyes wide.

“Yeah. Bit of a bugger that, because I’d only just got it cleared out ready to store stuff in. Course, it isn’t the poor bastard’s fault he got killed in there, is it, so there’s not much I can do but suck it up and wait.”

“You read the paper today?” Dane nodded at it and chewed the inside of his cheek.

“Yeah, and what a right lot of crap that is. Reckon this one needs to join mine. In the bloody fire. Look, lads, if you’re into orgies, bully for you—wished I’d done some of that myself when I was younger. And if you’re bent—sorry, gay—then bully for you an’ all. The only thing that would bother me is if you were in on the killing, and somehow I don’t think that’s right, do you?”

“No.” Adam was relieved he’d finally found his voice. “It wasn’t how the paper made out.”

“Didn’t think so. ’Sides, the coppers told me all about it.” He clapped once. “Right, no use us gas-bagging. The chickens need a good clear out, and there’s a right old layer of pigs’ shit accumulated over the weekend. You good to be getting on with that?”

“Yes!” Adam said, more rushed and elated than he’d meant it to come out.

“On you go then,” Sam said, turning to pick up his shovel. “Oh, and while we’re at it, don’t you be worrying about those down in your road. I’ll soon sort them out. Reckon the only ones who’ll give a shit and believe the rags are the old biddy opposite and the one who runs that little shop. Fishwives with nothing better to do, the pair of them. I’m off for a cuppa.” He held up the paper. “And this’ll go some way to warming my toes while I’m at it.”

Adam and Dane watched Sam traipse towards his house, Dane blowing out a huge breath.

“Fuck, well, that was easier than we imagined,” Dane said, setting off for the chicken shed.

“You want me to work with you in there, or shall we do the job separately?” Adam called after him.

“On my own,” Dane shouted. “Don’t fancy company today.”

* * * *

Showered and dressed in clean clothes, Adam lounged on the sofa while Dane finished cooking dinner. Adam’s muscles ached—Sam hadn’t been joking about the accumulation of shit—and he closed his eyes only to snap them open again when he felt sleep creeping up way too fast. He was shattered, a combination of the day’s work and the shock from yesterday, he reckoned. He’d ignored the second edition of the newspaper when they’d arrived home and avoided the local news channel on TV. The last thing he wanted was a reminder of what he was trying to forget, but it wasn’t that easy, what with the white elephant in the room.

He stared at the large, two-layered box of Milk Tray chocolates on the coffee table, deposited on their doorstep while they’d been at work, wrapped in bright pink paper with a matching bow. Sam had left the farm during their lunch break, saying he had some old crones to sort out, and had winked when he’d come back, confirming everything was hunky dory.

“Ought to have been a writer,” Sam had said. “Had them eating out of my hand with the tale I told them. As far as they’re concerned, you’re heroes, got it?”

Adam smiled at the memory and slid the box towards him. Part of him thought he’d choke if he ate any of them, knowing the gift had only been given because someone respected in the community had ensured the rumours were squashed. He had no doubt in his mind that if Sam hadn’t visited Lower Repton today, quite a few residents would have given them the silent treatment, made things awkward until they eventually moved away.

Still, chocolate was chocolate, but eating it wouldn’t solve his current problem of Dane giving him the cold shoulder all day.

He got up and wandered to the kitchen, a room Dane had banned him from earlier because he was ‘getting in the bloody way’. He stopped in the doorway, leaning on the jamb, and crossed his arms. Dane stood with his back to him at the cooker, one hand gripping the wok handle—a bit too hard from what Adam could see—the other stirring whatever was inside. Smelt like chicken, black bean sauce as well, and his mouth watered.

“I know you’re there,” Dane said. “I can hear you breathing.”

“I like to watch you cook.”

“Yeah, I know. And you don’t do too badly at eating it either.”

Adam smiled, although he’d detected a hint of snark in Dane’s response. “You okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

Adam refrained from giving a long list of reasons why. Maybe Dane was putting things behind him, his answer being his way of letting Adam know that he was cool with everything. Or maybe he was just plain hacked off and didn’t fancy sharing why.

“Just asking, that’s all.”
Jesus.

Dane didn’t turn around but continued cooking. “You?”

“I’m fine.”

“You sure? I mean, I remember how you got before and I don’t—”

“Really, I’m fine. You don’t need to patch me up this time. Hold me up. Keep me together.” He closed his eyes briefly. “I’m sorry about that, you having to pamper me. Sorry I didn’t get a bloody job, sort myself out, was needy and in your face.”

“Hey!” Dane slid the wok to the back burner and turned around, resting his arse against the side. He held his arms out.