Misfits

by Garrett Leigh

  Cass slid into his car and slammed the door. He gunned the engine and drove away in a cloud of exhaust fumes before Tom could verbalise his answer.

  Because we love you.

  Cass’s headlights disappeared into the night. Cold seeped through Tom’s bare feet and into his bones. In his hand, he still clutched the carving fork from the abandoned chicken, and the other was outstretched, reaching for something that was already gone.

  He turned back to the house, his mind in bits. “They found my mum’s body.” How the hell had that morphed into a sack of remains on a building site? How the hell had this happened at all? Faye Pearson’s disappearance had been a cold case for more than a decade. The way Cass told it, another missing hooker had meant little to the police fourteen years ago, but then, Cass hated coppers with a venom Tom would never understand.

  Tom stepped inside and shut the door. It took him a moment to notice Jake frozen in the kitchen doorway.

  “What happened to Cass’s mum?”

  Tom wondered how much he’d heard. He picked up the phone Cass had dumped on the pile of shoes by the door and dialled 1471, but the robotic operator had nothing for him.

  “Fuck’s sake.” Tom fought the urge to throw the phone at the wall. Who the hell called someone to tell them they’d found their mother’s bones? Why didn’t they send someone round?

  He ran upstairs and shoved the loft hatch open. It had been years since he’d looked at the copies of the cold-case files documenting the disappearance of Faye Pearson, but he knew where they were. Could picture the battered cardboard box as though he’d shoved it into the attic just yesterday.

  He jumped and hauled himself up through the hatch, his biceps burning. Below, he heard Jake’s footsteps on the stairs, a dull thud, and a muttered curse. Jake was prone to bashing himself on the banister. His Tourette’s didn’t seem to like the stairs. Tom’s heart ached, but Jake would be okay. Cass was the one who needed him now.

  Like everyone’s loft, Tom and Cass’s was full of junk—books, clothes, and abandoned electrical appliances. Tom wove his way through the chaos, balancing on the wooden beams between the layers of insulation. The box he was looking for was behind the hot water tank, deliberately hidden from view. Tom retrieved it, then realised he needed Jake’s help if he wanted to bring it down without dropping it out of the hatch.

  “Jake?”

  “I’m here.”

  Of course he is. Tom’s heart cracked a little more. Of course he was there. Jake was everything he thought himself incapable of—strong, dependable. Tom crouched over the hatch. Jake stood below, his arms outstretched.

  Tom passed down the box and lowered himself out of the loft. He took the box from Jake and carried it through to the bedroom.

  Jake watched him dump the contents on the duvet and start leafing through the papers. “Tom? What’s happened? Tell me? Please?”

  The confusion in Jake’s voice almost broke him, but it was also enough to return some perspective. He pulled out a page of the Metro and passed it over. “Cass’s mum went missing when he was fifteen. She worked as a prostitute in Hackney. She went out one night and never came back.”

  “She didn’t come home?”

  “Wherever that was. Cass lived with his nan. Dolly raised him from a baby.”

  Jake said nothing for a long moment, then he pointed at a date in the article. “New Year’s Eve. That’s why you don’t celebrate.”

  Tom nodded, his heart heavy. He’d seen Jake’s bewilderment that night just a few months ago when Cass had stayed at work, and Tom had gone to bed at 11 p.m. like any other Tuesday night. “Unwritten rule, about the only one we ever stick to. He doesn’t talk about Faye much, but New Year’s Eve always finds him in the kitchen, working his arse off. Most years, he won’t even look at me.”

  As Tom admitted it out loud, he realised for perhaps the first time how much that hurt. He’d grown used to Cass’s reticence over his colourful past—drugs, crime . . . prison—but he’d never allowed himself to take stock of how painful it was when Cass shut him out of something so huge.

  Jake touched his arm. “What’s happened tonight? Where did Cass go?”

  Cass. Fuck. Tom shook himself and rifled through the old papers until he found the contact details for the detective who’d handled the case. He pulled out his phone and tapped the number in before he gave Jake his attention. “Honestly? I have no idea. I think the police called here and told him they’d found some human remains that could be Faye. That’s about all I got out of him. He was pretty upset.”

  Upset. The word didn’t sit right. Upset, Tom could handle, but the edge in Cass tonight scared the crap out of him.

  Jake moved closer to Tom and pressed himself against his side. Tom wrapped an arm around his slender shoulders and held him tight while he waited for the call to connect.

  It didn’t. It rang and rang until an automated voice told him the office he was calling no longer existed. Tom growled and killed the call.

  I can’t be here.

  Tom’s stomach turned over. Over the years, Cass had mostly got to grips with the real belief that he didn’t deserve the life he’d worked so hard for, but Tom remembered times he’d been sucked back into the black hole he’d come from. Times when Cass couldn’t hide the person he’d once been.

  Tom gathered up the papers on the bed. “I need to go out.”

  “Where? To find Cass?”

  “Yeah. He’s not himself. I need to be with him.”

  “Okay.” Jake helped Tom gather the papers. “Do you know where he’s gone?”

  “Nope.” Tom let Jake stack the papers back in the box and opened a drawer, looking for a jumper to put on over his T-shirt. He pulled one of Cass’s over his head and came through the other side to find Jake right in front of him, his phone pressed to his ear.

  “He’s turned his phone off. Where are you going to look for him? He could be anywhere.”

  Tom shook his head. He knew Cass, and there were places he went when he felt more like the troubled boy he used to be than the incredible man he’d turned out to be. “There’s a few old haunts I can try . . . places he goes when he’s pissed off with me. If he’s not there, I’ll come home again, I promise.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “Jake . . .” Tom stopped, and so nearly crumbled. Jake was strong and brave, but it wasn’t that simple. Cass had come from a volatile place in the city, laced with crime, death, and poverty. To find him, Tom would have to search some of London’s darkest places, and he couldn’t take Jake with him. Whatever Cass’s state of mind right now, he’d never forgive Tom for that. “No. I need to go on my own.”

  Jake coughed. “Fuck off, you selfish bastard.”

  The tic caught Tom off guard, but before he could react, Jake punched the wall. The plaster crumbled. Jake stared at the dusty crack, and then something seemed to snap in him. “No,” he said. “You don’t get to decide. You can’t bring me into your life, your fucking bed, then shut me out every time shit goes down.”

  “I’m not sh—”

  “Bollocks! You’ve been doing it for weeks, you both have, almost as much as you’ve been doing it to each other.”

  It was like he’d been hit in the chest. Wished he had been, because as the truth of Jake’s words sank in, it would’ve been easier if one of his lovers had decked him. “Jake, I can’t explain it all to you now, I need to go, but Cass . . . he’s not himself. He wouldn’t want you to see him like this.”

  “Why? Because I’m a stupid fucking kid? Some retarded kid you took in because he had a nice arse? Fuck you, Tom.”

  “Jake, please.” Tom stopped. Please what? What the fuck could Jake do to fix this bloody mess? “Jake, I’m sorry, okay? I’ve messed up, we both have, and we were messed up long before we met you. Please, God, don’t doubt anything we’ve ever said to you. We love you, both of us, but I need to go looking for Cass, and I need you to stay here in case he comes home. Can you do that for me? Plea
se?”

  Jake shook his head. Tom’s heart sank before he realised it was a tic, and Jake was reaching for him, his shoulders slumped and his anger gone as quickly as it had appeared. Jake took Tom’s face in his hands. “Do you think he’ll come back?”

  “I don’t know, but I need you to be here. I can’t bear the thought of him coming home to an empty house.”

  “He won’t.” Jake pressed their foreheads together.

  Tom tried to smile, but it felt hollow. “I’m going to get the last fast train to Euston. I know a few places he might go to blow off some steam. Wait by the phone, okay? Whoever called him might call back.”

  “Who should I say I am if they do?”

  Tom thought on it for less than a second. “Tell them you’re his partner.”

  Tom dashed through the barriers at Euston station and jumped on the first bus he saw heading south. He’d start in Hackney, which was close to Cass’s old stomping grounds and the last place Faye had been seen alive.

  The journey to London’s East End took twenty minutes, and as he watched the bright lights of the city trundle by at a maddeningly slow pace, Tom found himself questioning his sanity. It had been a long time since Cass had been lured back to the deprived estates he’d grown up on, and Jake was right. Driving, he could’ve been anywhere by now. Maybe even somewhere benign, like Pippa’s, or the flat in Hampstead.

  After reaching Cass’s voice mail again, Tom called the flat first, knowing in his heart Cass wouldn’t pick up. He never went to the flat alone unless he knew Tom was there. Tom called Pippa’s with more hope, but a brief check with the manager confirmed Cass hadn’t been there all day. Tom hung up and tapped his phone against his lips. His sanity might be dubious, but his gut told him he was on the right path.

  The bus pulled into a stop on a street Tom vaguely recognised. He disembarked and when his feet hit the pavement, he knew Cass was close. Felt it in his bones. Determination surged through him. Cass’s demons had been trying to pull him down for years, but now, with so much to lose, Tom would be damned if he let them.

  For the next few hours, he scoured the pubs and bars of Hackney, keeping close to the path plotted out on the long-forgotten map in the box at home. Cass hadn’t been through it in years, but there’d been a time, back when Tom had first met him, when he’d lost weeks to trying to retrace Faye’s last movements. Cass hadn’t long been out of prison and was still haunted by the isolation he’d endured, and the brutal violence he’d witnessed inside. At the time, Tom had figured looking into his mum’s case gave Cass a gruesome distraction, and now he was glad of it, and glad he’d taken the time to peer over Cass’s shoulder.

  But he came up blank as he roamed the streets of Hackney, keeping a sharp eye out for Cass’s blue Toyota. The stupidity of his search washed over him again as he approached the final pub on his mental list. The Star in Bethnal Green was a dive, but not only was it the last place Faye had been seen alive, it was also a place Cass knew well, a place where he’d come of age, drinking, fighting, and fencing stolen car parts.

  Tom shuddered as he pushed the door open, forcing away visions of Cass’s darkest days. He’d seen Cass unhappy, seen him struggle, but there was no doubt Cass had been on his way up by the time Tom met him. Tom could only imagine the lifetime of crime and violence that had come before.

  He searched the crowded pub. A cloud of illicit cigarette smoke hit his senses. He pushed through the sea of bodies, taking care not to jostle anyone. As anxious as he was to find Cass, he also didn’t want to get punched. He worked his way to the far end of the bar, searching for that mop of unruly hair he knew so well.

  “Tom?”

  Tom whirled around, his heart in his mouth, but instead of Cass, he found himself almost nose to nose with Nero. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Nero eyed Tom. “Might ask you the same thing. Me? I live here, mate.”

  He had a point. Tom had forgotten the Spanish-born chef had a flat in Bethnal Green. He hadn’t seen Nero since the staff piss-up on Christmas Day. When it came to business, Nero preferred to deal with Cass, which suited Tom just fine. Nero looked exotic, but his cockney brogue was as broad as Cass’s, his scowl just as deep, his temper as fierce. Tom didn’t have the energy to deal with him and Cass both. “Very funny. I meant what are you doing in this shithole? Is Cass with you?”

  “Cass?” Nero frowned. “Why would Cass be here?”

  Tom didn’t have an answer. He shook his head, for his own benefit as much as Nero’s. “We might need you to cover Pippa’s this week. Do you think Henrietta could handle Pink’s?”

  Nero scowled. “Suppose we can cobble something together. Where’s Cass at? Anywhere nice?”

  “What?”

  “Cass. Where’s he at?”

  Cass, Cass, Cass, where are you? Tom glanced around the pub again. He’d walked in half-convinced he’d find Cass propping up the bar and staring down an empty glass, but Cass wasn’t here, and he couldn’t figure out if he was relieved or about to have the world’s biggest anxiety attack.

  Because if Cass wasn’t here, where the hell was he?

  Tom left Nero to it, unable to answer his question, and stepped out into the night. He found his phone, hit speed dial, and walked to a nearby bus stop while he waited for an answer. The call connected on the first ring. Tom sat down and closed his eyes. “Jake, I need help.”

  There was a rustling on the other end of the phone. “I’m here, Tom. What do you need?”

  Tom opened his mouth, shut it again. He needed . . . something, anything, to help him find Cass, but he was bang out of ideas. “I can’t find him.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Bethnal Green.”

  “Why? What’s Bethnal Green to Cass?”

  “He used to, uh, work around here, and so did his mum. I thought he might have come back here.”

  Jake said nothing, but Tom heard his muttered tics and his heart ached. Jake was upset, and more than that, he was alone, like Cass, and Tom had failed them both.

  Then Jake made a low noise. Tom couldn’t decipher it, but the sound soothed him until Jake found his words.

  “I figured she’d sacked him off when he told her he was gay, or something, but . . .”

  Tom waited, tapping restless fingers on his jittering leg. It sometimes took Jake a while to articulate his thoughts.

  “What was the worst part of losing his mum for him?”

  Tom frowned. The question was something he’d never considered before. Why would he? The whole situation was awful. No part of it was worse than any other, or was it? “Dolly,” he blurted. “It killed Cass to see her so upset, even before Faye went missing.”

  “Nana Dolly?”

  Tom nodded. “Yeah. She raised him.”

  Raised him, loved him, and stuck by him when the mess of his childhood and the power of outside influences inevitably sent him off the rails.

  “Do you think he maybe went to see her? She’s his maternal grandmother, right? Perhaps he went to tell her the news.”

  Tom felt suddenly stupid. All this time he’d been running around London like a twat, and the answer had been bloody obvious. “Fuck. I know where he is.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Tom stood and studied the bus timetable. Jake hadn’t quite hit the nail on the head, but he’d done enough. Cass wouldn’t have gone to the nursing home, he couldn’t bear it, but he would have gone to Dolly, spiritually, at least. Tom traced the glass-covered bus routes with his fingertip until he came to Tower Hamlets. An audible click sounded in his brain, and he knew he was right.

  Cass had gone home.

  He pleaded with Jake to get some sleep, and hung up. Then he placed another fruitless call to Cass’s voice mail, left the bus stop and crossed the road. The next bus wasn’t for ten minutes, and he couldn’t wait that long. Tower Hamlets was only a thirty-minute walk away, twenty if he ran.

  Ran. Shit. That was a bloody joke. It had been months since Tom
had last found the time to put his trainers on and pound the streets, and a ten-minute burst of speed was as much as he could manage. He jogged the rest of the way and an ominous shadow crossed his heart when he caught sight of the concrete towers Cass had once called home looming in the distance.

  Tom slowed. Cass’s old estate was a dangerous place, and attempting to run through it would attract attention from both the hidden eyes in every stairwell and the parked-up police on the pavements outside. He glanced between the foreboding towers. Cass hadn’t let him come here much, and he could never remember which block housed Dolly’s humble flat.

  He took a chance on the eastern block and made his way cautiously to the entrance. He dug out his keys and found the set he’d long forgotten about. The larger key for the exterior door worked and let him inside.

  Tom let the door swing shut. Cass had taught him to avoid the lifts in places like these, especially at night, but hearing echoing voices above him, he didn’t much fancy the stairs.

  Man up.

  Tom made for the barren concrete steps. Dolly’s flat was on the eighth floor, and he sensed eyes on him as he passed each landing on the way. He glanced up a few times. Regretted it. The estate had changed in recent years, but the influx of the Bangladeshi families Dolly had insisted on calling “darkies” were absent from the landings and stairwells tonight. The sullen-faced cockney boys were out in force, like time had stood still, that he was retracing his steps from the first time Cass had run out on him.

  He remembered that day well. It was the first real fight he and Cass had ever had, borne of Tom pushing Cass too far, too hard, and not understanding the world Cass had come from, or the scars it had left. Cass had walked out of the converted studio flat they’d shared by the docks and come back to a place he believed was no less than he deserved. He’d stolen a car that night and driven it into a wall for shits and giggles. How he wasn’t killed, or caught and thrown back in prison, Tom would never know. Perhaps he didn’t want to know. Cass had told him years later that he’d grown addicted to the thrill and speed of racing boosted cars through the streets of London. That of everything, he’d found it the hardest habit to break.