Cass drew a chair up close to Dolly. He stroked her white hair away from her face and took her hand. “Nana?”
Tom’s heart broke. Cass had never called Dolly “Nana” in front of him before, at least not when he’d been aware of his presence. The term of endearment had been one he saved for her, and only her.
And Dolly heard him now. She stirred and opened the dark-blue eyes that held so much of Cass. She didn’t speak, but for a moment, Tom saw recognition flicker in her cloudy gaze, a gaze that had once been sharp enough to make grown men shake.
The spark faded even as Tom convinced himself it was real, but Cass didn’t seem to notice. He squeezed Dolly’s hand. “I’m sorry I haven’t been by in a while, but I’ve got something to tell you. They found Faye. The police. They found her body. She died, Nana. She died a long time ago, like we always thought.”
Dolly’s eyes watered, though that wasn’t unusual. Cass pulled a tissue from a nearby box and wiped her tears away. “They found her in Lambeth. Remember you used to say you could feel her close by? Turns out you were right. The police think she could’ve OD’d in a squat somewhere, and someone hid her body to stop the police raiding their stash. Or . . .” Cass paused, like he was steeling himself, though he was surely past the worst. “She could’ve been killed . . . murdered, by a john, or someone else. They reckon they’ll let me know if they find anything, but I’m not sure I want them to. You always said it didn’t matter . . . that you just wanted to know one way or the other. I didn’t get it at the time, but I think I do now.”
Cass stopped for breath. Dolly stared at him, and something seemed to pass between them that made Cass smile. “There’s something else I need to tell you,” he said. “Me and Tom, we’ve met someone else. He lives with us now, and he reminds me of you sometimes. He’s clever and kind, and he has this honest grin that lights up the world.”
Dolly smiled at that, a loopy half smile that said though Cass’s words meant little to her anymore, she’d understood the sentiment.
“He says weird things too,” Cass went on. “Stuff that sounds like a riddle, until I realise it makes perfect sense. You’d love him, Nana. We do.”
Tom had heard enough then. He slipped unnoticed out of the room and left Cass to it. The nursing home had a pretty garden, part of the reason he’d chosen it for Dolly, to give her something she’d never had, and he drifted along until he found a bench by a patch of lavender. He closed his eyes for a while and breathed it in. He wasn’t much for sleeping, but the snatched few hours bent in half on Cass’s childhood bed hadn’t been nearly enough. He felt shattered, wrecked, and more than anything, he wanted to wrap Cass in his arms and take him home. Home to Jake.
Jake. Tom opened his eyes. He wanted to call him, but knowing he’d been on the phone with Cass until sunrise, he let him be. Exhausted, he stared up at the sky and considered calling his own mother, but he didn’t know what he’d say to her. His parents had welcomed Cass—and Jake—with open arms, but they’d never understood the fire that burned for Cass deep in Tom’s belly. Never understood how a broken East End car thief had stolen his heart so entirely.
But stolen his heart he had, and Tom felt the world shift when warm hands touched his shoulders from behind. He turned and smiled up at Cass, squinting in the sunlight. “All right?”
Cass stooped a little so Tom could see his face. He looked drawn and tired, but there was a peace in his gaze Tom hadn’t expected. “I’m so fucked. Can we go home?”
“Of course.” Tom stood and stretched. He felt a hundred years old. “How did it go with Dolly?”
Cass shrugged. “I promised her I’d get the bracelet for her. I hope the police let me have it in time. I think she’s going to die soon.”
Tom couldn’t argue with that. “Are you going to come back, then?”
“Yeah. Tomorrow. Do you think Nero would cover Pippa’s?”
Tom cupped Cass’s face and traced the shadows under his eyes with his thumbs. “I sent him over last night, and he’s there for the rest of the week. Take as much time as you need. We’ll figure it out.”
Cass closed his eyes. “You always know what to do.”
If only. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
Tom pressed his cheek against Cass’s and searched for the words to voice what had been on his mind since that fateful phone call the night before. Shit. Was that only yesterday? “Do you feel different now that you know?”
“That Faye’s dead?”
“Yeah.”
Cass thought on it a moment, then lifted his shoulders in a listless shrug. “Maybe. I feel . . . I dunno, lighter, I s’pose, like I can get on with my life. It never felt right before, knowing she was out there somewhere while you made me so fucking happy.”
Tom pulled back and tilted Cass’s face until he found his gaze. “That’s why you’ve pushed me away all these years? Because you didn’t think you deserved a life while Faye was missing? Fucking hell, Cass. You’re not her. You never have been. You had the same shitty start in life and look at what—look at who you are. You deserve everything.”
Cass shook his head. “No, I don’t, or at least, I didn’t. Maybe now, shit. I don’t know. I don’t know anything except I love the bones off you and I need to see Jake before I bloody combust.”
Tom held Cass firm for a long moment and felt the weight hanging over them break its bonds and float away. “You can’t hide from me anymore. I can’t bloody stand it, Cass. I need you and Jake as much—more than you think you need me.”
Cass opened his mouth, but Tom silenced him with a kiss.
“I don’t need your promises. I just need you to do it.” Tom released Cass and nodded towards the car park. “Let’s go home. I need our bed, and so do you.”
Tom drove them home. He expected to find Jake passed out on the couch, or even in bed, but the front door opened before he’d killed the engine.
Jake met them on the path, barefoot and dressed in a pair of Cass’s tracksuit bottoms and one of Tom’s sweatshirts, hair sticking up in every direction. The jumper was huge and made him feel even lighter as Tom lifted him off the ground.
Jake hugged him tight, then squirmed and reached for Cass. He embraced him so hard Tom was sure Cass could barely breathe. “I’m so sorry you had to do this. I love you. Shit. Wankers. I do. I love you.”
Tom would never know if Jake meant to articulate himself so beautifully, and hearing Cass return the sentiment was better than bloody Shakespeare. He took them both by the arm and steered them towards the open front door. “I love you both, but I’ll love you even more if you take this indoors. It’s bloody freezing out here.”
He guided them inside and dispatched Cass to find some comfortable clothes while he built a fire. They regrouped in the living room and set up camp on the couch with a bottle of wine and a bowl each of Cass’s secret stash of Angel Delight.
“We need a bigger sofa,” Cass said later from his position squished between Tom and Jake. The wine had gone straight to his head, and despite the horrendous twenty-four hours he’d just lived through, he seemed content.
Tom rolled his eyes. “It’s a corner couch. How much bigger can you get?”
“There’s no room for the cat.” Cass put his bowl on the floor and dumped his feet in Tom’s lap. He was already using Jake as a pillow. “And she hates this couch.”
Jake laughed. “How can you tell?”
“Because . . .” Cass broke off to yawn. “She always dumps dead mice down the back of it in the summer.”
“They’re not always dead,” Tom said dryly. “Remember the live one she dropped in the CD rack?”
“No.” Cass seemed bemused. “I think you made that up.”
“Whatever.” Tom retrieved his bowl from the arm of the couch, scraped the last of his Angel Delight onto his spoon, and held it up to Cass’s mouth. “Perhaps you weren’t here. You know how she likes to torment me.”
Cass licked Tom’s spoon,
then his face fell serious. “I want to do something about that, about me, and you, not being around enough.” He glanced at Jake. “I’m going to offer Nero the rooms over Pippa’s, maybe get him out of Pink’s a bit more, and I think we should ditch the flat. Buy it and rent it out, or just sack it off completely. I want to come home every night . . . come here. I don’t want work to get in the way anymore.”
Jake said nothing, but the gleam in his eyes told Tom this was something he and Cass had cooked up between them.
Tom rubbed Cass’s feet and wished he could reach Jake without bending them all in half. “I want what you want, but I don’t want you knackering yourself. Driving in and out of the city every day is brutal.”
Cass opened his mouth, and Tom knew he was gearing up to say he didn’t care, but Jake cut him off.
“Wouldn’t matter if you worked less. I think you should take Friday nights and Sundays off, both of you. Cass, Gloria told me you have a second chef bloke who can handle Sundays, and Tom, you told me you only work Sundays because Cass does.”
Jake rounded off his lecture with a flurry of tics. Cass passed him the wine and rubbed his chest. No one spoke for a while, but Tom could see the storm raging behind Cass’s tired eyes. Pippa’s had been his baby from the moment they’d drafted the business plan and taken it, cap in hand, to the bank. It was the first time they’d combined their skills and passions and created something together, and leaving the Sunday service to someone else would be a huge deal for him.
So Tom expected Cass to shrug it off, to deflect it as a pipe dream to come back to another day. He nearly fell off the sofa when Cass answered at last.
“My second at Pippa’s is a banging chef, and he’s better with the team than I am. I’m going to train him up to take over from me. After that, who knows? Maybe I’ll get that dog Tom won’t let me have.”
Warmth crept through Tom’s chest and into his veins. Cass could have a whole pack of bloody dogs if it meant he was home to take care of them. He met Jake’s bright grin, absorbed his muttered tic about flying to the moon, and felt like his heart would combust.
Cass put his half-empty wineglass down and snuggled into Jake. He was knackered, and Tom knew he’d be fast asleep the next time he turned their way. Jake slouched down too, resting his cheek on Cass’s head. Tom wanted to carry them both to bed, but failing that, he got up to search out some blankets. They were sound asleep when he got back. He knelt on the hardwood floor, a hand on each of them, and in awe of the men who made his life complete. Cass was the love of his life, and Jake . . . Jake had taught them to love each other better.
Jake had taught them to live.
Cass Pearson dusted off his nana’s headstone. It had only been up a few weeks, but it was already losing the glittery sheen it had come with. He traced the engraving with his fingertip. His granddad had been in this grave for twenty-nine years, but Cass had ditched his old headstone and ordered a new one for them both. Dolly had loved shiny new things.
He sat back on his heels and inspected his handiwork. Daisies, lavender, and thyme. In the spring he’d plant daffodils. A stray dandelion caught his eye. He left it there. Dolly had a thing for dandelions. Said they were wild and free, like the birds.
Cass closed his eyes. In the sky above, he could hear the starlings calling each other, and the distant hum of the traffic. A sense of calm washed over him, the kind of peace he only ever felt when he was visiting the dead. Graveyards were tranquil places, even in the hustle and bustle of east London, and he sat, content, until a stirring in his heart told him it was time to go.
He stood and brushed the dirt from his knees. In the distance, he saw Jake loitering by the cemetery gate, smoking, and clearly doing his best to be quiet. Cass smiled. Jake always made him feel better. Dolly had died ten days after Cass told her Faye was dead. He’d been by her side, his fingers hooked in the bracelet on her wrist, and afterwards, he’d driven to Bites and found Jake making banana cake with Ethel. That day, despite his grief, all had seemed strangely right with the world. Like a chapter of his past had come to an end, but his future remained entwined with everything he had left.
Cass reached Jake and pinched the last of his smoke. Jake scowled, but punctuated it with a gentle kiss that smelled of smoke and Jake. A kiss that smelled perfect. They’d promised Tom they’d quit the fags, but sometimes, these stolen moments felt too good to give up.
Jake snuggled closer and put his hands in Cass’s back pockets. “Are you ready to go?”
Cass cast a final glance behind him and nodded. “Damn straight.”
They caught the underground to Camden Town. On the crowded train, Jake stood behind Cass and buzzed away to himself while Cass stared at the empty black windows. At home when the TS took over, Jake would curl into Cass and hide his face while Cass rubbed his back. Often the tics would subside, but on the Tube two blokes embracing attracted as many stares as the ticking, so Cass let him be. Instead, his mind drifted. It had been six months since Faye’s remains had been found in Brixton, and the police had yet to release them to Cass. Not that he knew what he’d do with them. Bury them? Burn them? Put them in the ground with Dolly?
No fucking way. Cass shuddered. He wasn’t much for religion and faith in an afterlife, but he believed Dolly was at peace now. He couldn’t bear the thought of Faye tormenting her beyond the grave.
Jake nudged him. Cass looked away from the window, unsure if Jake needed him or had hit him by accident.
“Shh. There’s rats in here.”
An accident, then, but Cass gave Jake his full attention. The rats tic often meant he was nervous, and Cass was pretty sure he knew why.
“Chill your beans, mate. He’s going to love it.”
Jake rolled his eyes. “How do you do that?”
“What?”
“Read my mind.”
“I don’t read anything. I listen.”
“Eh?” Jake’s puzzled frown made him seem far younger than his twenty-five years.
Cass held up his hand and counted off his fingers. “Flying to the moon makes you happy. Wankers annoy you. Rats make you nervous. And the only thing I can think that’s making you nervous right now is showing Tom the restaurant tonight.”
Jake growled. A nearby man stared, but Cass stared right back until he dropped his gaze. Jake trod on his foot. “Stop it.”
“What?”
“Being aggressive. You promised Tom you wouldn’t hit anyone for a whole year.”
Jake had him there. The three of them had sat up many nights over the past six months and hashed out what they all needed to make their unconventional relationship work, but it turned out each of them wanted very little in return for their love and trust. Tom wanted Jake to believe in himself, and Cass to think before he lost his rag and punched people. Think before he flipped his shit and ran off into the night.
“Don’t run from me anymore,” he’d said.
Cass couldn’t argue with that, and he could argue even less with Jake’s desire for them all to just be.
The trained grumbled into Camden. They jostled their way off and made the short walk to the restaurant site. The old fire station was beautiful, as always, but something caught Cass’s eye.
“Wow. They fitted the sign.”
Jake bounced on the balls of his feet. “There’s rats in there. Do you like it?”
Cass took in the simple, clean branding. Took in the name that had come to Jake and Cass late one night while Tom slept between them. Misfits. It was perfect. “I love it, and Tom will too, so stop jigging about and let me inside to see what else you’ve been doing.”
Jake pushed open the restaurant door. Cass had spent the past few weeks training the Misfits team at Pippa’s, but though he’d seen the prep areas of the new restaurant and developed the open-plan kitchen himself, he’d yet to see the dining areas set up for service, and Tom hadn’t either. The Camden project had changed their lives in more ways than one, and Misfits had become entirely Jake’s vision.
Tom had given him a budget and taken a big fat step back, and it had turned out to be the most canny business decision he’d ever made.
Not that he knew it yet, and Cass couldn’t wait to see his face when he did. The funky, hipster burger bar was everything Tom had dreamed of when he’d founded Urban Soul all those years ago. Unique, eclectic, and cool, it was Jake all over, but it fit their core values and ethos like a glove. Style with a conscience.
Hell yeah.
Cass gazed around the dining area. Most of the tables were still bare, but Jake had laid out the one closest to the vintage fire engine the night before. He moved past Cass and turned on the low-hanging lights. The restaurant caught the best of the sun during the day, but in the evenings it was going to look epic.
It’s all going to be epic.
Cass stared at the table. It looked awesome, but it took him a minute to figure out the punch line. “Bloody hell. Nothing’s the same.”
Jake snorted. “Took you long enough to notice.”
“Shut up.” Cass bent over the table and stared, but sure enough, no glass, plate, or piece of cutlery was the same. Nothing matched, nothing at all.
Misfits. Fuck. Cass burst out laughing. “Fuck me. When you named this place, I thought you were talking about us. You could’ve told me you meant the plates, mate.”
Jake stepped into Cass’s personal space. “I was—I am talking about us. The plates are a coincidence, and I’m thinking a pretty dodgy one now. Tom’s going to go ape, isn’t he?”
“You’re taking the piss, right?” Cass held a smoked-glass champagne flute up to the light. It reminded him of a bowl Dolly had kept behind the cheese grater for the sole purpose of mixing egg mayonnaise for picnic sandwiches. To use it for anything else had been considered sacrilege. “You spent less than half the money he gave you and the place looks—”
“Fucking incredible.”
Misfits Page 21
