Fuck, I missed Cary. It had been over six weeks since I’d left him at the hotel. While I understood and appreciated what he needed to go through, I didn’t like it.
Thank God for the few Skype calls we’d had, the FaceTime, the texts, the phone calls. And the phone sex. I grinned. It didn’t happen that often, but when it did, it was off the charts.
The last phone call had been a solid reminder I still wanted him, still wanted to see if he was open to building a future together.
I stared down morosely at my beer in the busy Edinburgh tavern where I sat, waiting for Stuart to return from the men’s room. He’d dragged me out of my self-imposed doldrums, saying I needed to get out and have fun. We’d ended up at The Keg and Kilt in the high street where behind me some longhaired lout in a kilt shouted out words I couldn’t even make out as he sang about a man and his lost love. The screeching made me wince, and I drained my second beer of the night.
Someone slapped me on the shoulder and shouted for more beers from the bartender. I regarded Stuart with some animosity as he plonked himself down beside me and waved at the band.
“Listen to them, aren’t they bluidy great? They were on X-Factor and all. Izzy’s their lead man. He’s my mate.”
I snorted and toyed with the beer-stained bar mat. “Did they get anywhere? I’m thinking not.”
Stuart did a dramatic double take and laughed. “Och, and be listening to you, you sad, miserable git of a man. I’ll have you know they got to third place then got kicked off the show.” He pursed his lips. “One of the judges found Izzy shagging some starlet in the back room. It was all over the gossip magazines, mine included. I’m hurt you didnae see it.”
A busty redhead walked past at that moment, and his eyes followed her. She smiled at him, winked and disappeared into the hub and the bub of the bar. Stuart’s eyes gleamed as he looked at me.
“What do you think? You think that was a come-hither look and I might get lucky tonight?”
I laughed. “You always get lucky, mate. It’s that blond hair and manly build of yours.” I smiled, remembering Cary’s jealousy about my friend. “My man thought we were having it off. He had a green tinge to him last time I mentioned you.”
Stuart’s eyes widened. “Och no, lad. Does he not know I like the ladies?”
I shrugged. “He does now. I thought it was rather adorable myself.”
Stuart’s peal of laughter rang through the pub, causing people to look at us. “Oh God, Rhys, you’ve got it bad. Ya canna stop talking about the man, he’s on your mind and then you call him adorable.” He shoved my arm as I felt myself flush. “It’s true love, is what it is.”
“Oh, piss off,” I retorted as the barman arrived with yet another beer. I’d already resigned myself to the fact I’d be getting a taxi home and not driving. “It’s not like that. He’s not that kind of guy. To be honest, I don't know where I stand with him. It’s a work in progress.”
Stuart leaned back and regarded me with compassion in his eyes. “When are you going to go down there and tell him how you feel for real?” he asked. “It’s not like you to back off anything, my man. You’re the big-shot war photographer who’s a gung-ho bloke and finds himself in dangerous situations without flicking a hair.” His cheeky grin held a touch of compassion. Stuart knew about my past nightmares, the ones that were luckily not as bad now. He’d helped me deal with them when I’d gotten back from being shot.
“If you say so.”
“I’d thought when you found someone special like this bloke Cary seems to be, you’d be all over him.” He grinned. “In several ways.”
“He asked me to give him some room, so I have.” I scowled down at the tablecloth. “That’s not to say I don’t want to take the first flight out of here down to Kingston and see him.” I waved my beer bottle at Stuart. “He said he’d finish this week.”
My secret: I hadn’t told Stuart I’d done my own digging after Greta’s talk and come across something so disturbing I didn’t want to believe it. It had involved a murder-suicide and a missing young boy. There were pictures of him, a pale, dark-haired child with blue eyes, and while my adult Cary didn’t look much like him, I saw a resemblance in the blue eyes.
I’d prayed I was wrong thinking it might be him, and once I saw Cary, I was going to get to the truth. If the story was true, then I could see how his mind must be tormented. That thought kept me awake at night, my old nightmares paling into insignificance.
Stuart nodded. “So, do that. Surprise him.” He picked the label off his bottle. “I mean, you have a right to check out what’s going on at the circus, you have a book depending on it, and you still have a few shots you need. You put that all on hold for him, so maybe now, you do what you need and go see him. It doesn’t mean you have to be in each other’s pockets, you can finish the project while he finishes up his.”
I contemplated the suggestion, feeling both a prickle of unease and excitement running down my spine. “I dunno,” I hedged. “I made a promise.”
“It’s been over six weeks, Rhys,” Stuart said gently. “You’ve kept that promise, but it’s eating you up inside. The only job you’ve done recently was that National Geographic shoot at the Peaks. Other than that, you’ve been mooching around like a kid without his dummy. It’s time you got back to the old Rhys McIntyre I know and love. In fact, I’ve heard a certain someone,” he tapped his nose, “wanted to pay you a huge amount for a photo shoot in Quintana Roo, Mexico. They need someone to tell those people’s story, what with drug cartels and mass murders.”
I shook my head. “Not going to happen. I’m done with that part of the job.”
Stuart shrugged and drained his beer. “Well, it’s an opportunity if you want me to follow up on it. It’s big bucks.”
I huffed. “Yeah, because the chances are a person could die. Danger pay’s always attractive when it’s not you who’s in danger.”
“Seize the moment, my man,” Stuart said. “Because who knows what tomorrow might bring? Neither of us may be here.”
I glared at him. “Cheers for that. Way to make me feel better.”
Yet sitting there, drinking my beer and watching the interaction of the surrounding people, I felt Stuart had a point. Marco had been there one moment, gone the next, and I’d hate for something to happen to Cary, or me for that matter, without me telling him how I felt about him. Or finding out whether he truly was the missing child from all those years ago.
Crap. The day Stuart made sense was the day the ship fell off the end of the earth. And I was watching it now, spiral into oblivion.
*****
The flight to London City Airport was a nightmare. After a few hours’ delay, it was close to six pm by the time I picked up my hire car, a rather snazzy Honda Civic, and was eating the miles up towards Kingston. Traffic for a Sunday evening was heavy and my envisaged one and a half hours’ drive took me two and a half.
I pulled up at the gate to the Trazellas inner circle around eight thirty pm. The man in the ticket office directed me across to the parking area close to where my old caravan was, and I clambered out of the car, stiff, tired, and wanting a drink.
I looked around the deserted field, smiling when I heard the shouts of laughter and joy from inside the tent. Tonight’s performance seemed welcome to the customers. In an hour’s time the place would teem with shouting happy children and frazzled parents as they exited the show.
I knew Cary wasn’t on tonight so, girding the proverbial loins for facing him, I walked across the field to his van. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door. “Cary? It’s Rhys. Are you home?” There was no reply. I reached up and peered through the grimy windows, but could see nothing moving.
Perhaps he was in the Big Top, watching the end of the show. I waited in the shadows for the crowds to disperse then go backstage and find everyone rather than interrupt them now.
I sat down, elbows on my knees and closed my eyes, breathing in the scents and sounds I’d missed. I didn
’t think I could live in a circus permanently, but this lifestyle was a balm for the soul, an experience I wouldn’t have missed for the world.
That got me thinking about something I’d feared but not considered in depth before. Would Cary ever leave this place? We’d never talked about it, and to be honest, we hadn’t gotten that far in our wobbly relationship to even tackle it. Now, thinking of his promise to see where our relationship went, I felt the first frisson of fear at the thought perhaps he wouldn’t want to leave here.
“Rhys? It is you.” Julien beamed at me in the glow of the spotlights. “What are you doing back? Cary didn’t tell me you were arriving.” He was dressed in his elaborate performance gear, sweat shiny on his high forehead. Seeing his face was like coming home.
I stood up and dusted damp grass off my backside. “Yeah, that’s because he doesn’t know.” I gestured to Cary’s caravan. “He doesn’t appear to be home though, so I presumed he was inside the Top. I thought I’d wait for the show to finish before crashing backstage.”
Julien frowned. “I haven’t seen him tonight, he’s not inside, I don’t think. He said he wasn’t feeling well, so he’d be resting. Perhaps he’s gone for a walk.”
A prickle of unease slid down my spine like melting ice cream. “Maybe. I guess I should wait here then, see if he comes back.”
Julien stared at me, worry in his eyes. “He doesn’t know you’ve come back? I thought you and he agreed….” He flapped a hand at what was no doubt a worried look on my face that someone knew our business. “Oh, he hasn’t told us anything about your reasons for parting ways, but we all knew he didn’t want you here until he was ready. Are you sure he will be okay with you being here?”
My mood darkened. “I don’t give a damn. I have something to talk to him about, and he said he would be done with his project, whatever the hell that was, so—” I shrugged. “Here I am.”
Julien still looked a little anxious and inside I laughed at the fact Cary’s badass exterior could provoke so much fear. I knew the man. He was nothing to be scared of.
“Well, if you say so. I haven’t seen him all day. He went into town at lunchtime and he returned soon after. I saw him pull up in the car. I thought he went back to his camper.”
I frowned. “Mm. Where the bloody hell can he have gotten to? I doubt he’s still in town. You know Cary. He hates crowds. And people. And social gatherings. And shopping.”
We grinned at each other.
“I’ve just finished my act, I was going back to my place to change. Want to come and wait there, have a drink and update me on what’s been going on? You can see Cary’s van from my place, so you’ll see if he comes back.” Julien motioned to his caravan.
“That sounds like a plan. Thanks, Julien.”
An hour later, there was still no sign of the man I wanted to see. A chill of fear tickled my spine.
Had something happened to him?
Julien looked at me over the top of wire-rimmed spectacles. He’d been dozing on the couch while I read the newspaper. “You are antsy, Rhys. I confess I’m surprised Cary isn’t back yet from wherever he was. Shall we go look for him?”
I stood up and nodded. “I’ll go, you stay here. I’m sure he’s around, perhaps with Greta. I’ll text you when I find him.”
Julien nodded. “Very well. Don’t forget.” He sniggered. “Perhaps he took Stef and Emil up on their offer of a threesome.” His tone was wicked.
“What?” My heart skipped a beat. “He wouldn’t do that. Would he?” Panic at the thought he'd replaced me threaded through my skin like the slow stitches of a seamstress.
Julien chuckled. “I’m sorry, that was unfair of me. There is only one man he’s had eyes for in his self-imposed exile and that has been you, my friend. Now go find your man.” He blinked. “And don’t forget to text me when you do.”
I hurried out of the caravan as fast as I could, Julien’s sly words still wreaking jealous havoc.
Cary, where the hell are you? I have a bad feeling about this.
Chapter 20
Cary
Waiting in the shadows for Littlejohn to arrive was torture. It was surreal, made worse because I’d chosen an obscure place to meet, behind Big Top on the west side of the field, by the grape arbour. It was far away enough from the crowds leaving in droves after the show, and remote enough for no one to see us. If things got bad, I had the police team lurking behind the trees, hidden from view.
I cleared my throat once again, checking that the microphone worked. From a position deep in the thicket, a torch flared then went off. I relaxed, knowing Donald Mayhew was there and that they could still hear me.
The afternoon meeting in Kingston had been a trial of hell for me. Spilling my guts to a stranger, proving who I’d been, had been sheer torture, and while I waited for my nemesis to arrive, I relived every terrible, yet cathartic minute.
Inspector Donald Mayhew had greeted me with a handshake, but the suspicion in his eyes hadn’t boded well.
He beckoned to a chair and I sat down. “So, you’re Christopher Spencer, huh?” His dark green eyes regarded me, and the moustache above his thick lips twitched. “Tell me why I should believe you.”
Wow, the man didn’t pull his punches. I stared back at him, the knot of fear and guilt in my gut unravelling with every passing second.
“I am. How do you want me to prove it to you?”
He twiddled with a ruler on his desk. “Let’s start with your story. Tell me what happened that night and I’ll run it against the facts I have.” He patted a thin case folder and my heart ached that my family had been reduced to a few pieces of paper in a folder. “Then we’ll decide where we go from there.”
I nodded. “Fair enough. Let me say I’ve no excuse for not coming forward sooner, only fear. Guilt. My personal demons. However, in my defence, there were extenuating circumstances, some twisted quirks of fate that came into play like a fucking court jester. I’m not asking for compassion. I want to put the bastard away who destroyed my life, make sure he gets justice. No matter who the perpetrator is. Even if it’s the Prime Minister himself.”
I’d seen the old boy network work in small communities before, and the last thing I wanted was for this man to not believe my story because the killer was the local and revered village pastor. Fuck, for all I knew, they enjoyed Sunday services together and went on picnics with each other’s families. It wouldn’t be uncommon in a town like this one.
Mayhew scowled and leaned back, his hands staying on the ruler he played with. “I assure you that a killer is a killer and I show no mercy to anyone, whoever the fuck they are. If you can prove I’m on to the real thing, and I’m satisfied, I’ll make sure the wanker gets his dues.”
I believed him. I might not interact with people much, but I knew them. It was all those psychology books I’d read as a child and later, as an adult, passionate about the intricacies of the human mind. I’d often wished I could have applied my ethos and knowledge to myself.
I took a deep breath. “How much detail do you want me to go into?” I clenched my hands at my side, and fidgeted on the chair, and he noticed.
His face softened. “As much as you’re comfortable with right now.” He leaned forward and now there was more interest in his eyes, as if my unease was proving something to him. “Tell me your story, Christopher.”
*****
An owl hooting close by drew me out of me reverie and back into the present. I shivered and drew my coat closer around my shoulders. I looked at my watch. Ten pm. Littlejohn should be here soon, if he was still coming. His return text had sounded giddy when I’d texted him earlier to give him the details of the meet.
I can’t wait to see you. It’s been so long, and I’ll see my sweet Christopher again.
At that sickening missive, my fingers had gripped around the phone that Mayhew had given me, something he’d called a burner. Neither of us had wanted to use a phone number that could trace back to anyone.
It
was in my pocket now in case Littlejohn texted. The plan was he came to see me, we spoke about the atrocity of the past, I got him to confess, Mayhew got it on tape, then they arrested him.
It had sounded simpler when the inspector had told me about it. It left me with a heavy feeling in my belly and sweating palms, despite the chill in the air. Mayhew had told me to use the word “hyacinth” should I need rescuing or wanted them to end the conversation. He’d told me he grew them in a greenhouse back home and was quite the award winner.
“Christopher, is that you?” Hearing that voice soured my throat with bile. My skin prickled like all the wicked things were coming at once.
“I’m over here,” I confirmed, throat dry. Let me not fall apart, please. I beg you. I didn’t know who I was entreating, but I hoped the fates out there would hear me.
From beyond the shadows, a man moved into the dim light of the lamppost a few feet away. I recognised him from the picture I’d seen in the paper all those months ago, when I’d found out my world wasn’t as it should be.
Littlejohn moved forward, a beatific smile on his face, hands outstretched as if asking for a hug. Dressed in gaberdine trousers, with a white shirt under a dark pullover, there was no trace of the formidable and commanding preacher from all those years ago. He’d be around sixty-five now and looked diminished, old.
There was no way on earth I was touching this man. “Don’t come too close.” My gravelly voice sounded like I smoked a pack a day. “You stay over there, where I can see you.”
He halted but there was a smile in his voice when he spoke again. “Always the aloof one, weren’t you? Even when we were together, you always seemed to be somewhere else.”
My gut clenched. “We were never fucking ‘together,’ you sick bastard. You raped me, abused me when I was only nine years old. There was never any togetherness.”
I thought I heard a noise, a strangled gasp, from behind me, and I whipped around, searching the darkness. I saw nothing.
I turned back to face him, and Littlejohn’s face had hardened. “Christopher, there is no need for profanity. The Lord would not like it and I don’t either. Your foul mouth doesn’t suit you.”
Living On Air Page 20
