His mum had filled a chipped china teapot and covered it with a hand-knitted cosy. Dan sat at the table and looked up at the array of kid’s paintings covering the tatty floral wallpaper.
“Where’s Chantal’s latest masterpiece, then?” He had a real soft spot for that kid. Only four years old and already she was producing beautiful paintings. His mum pointed the picture out. It showed a row of kids with brown skin and crazy hair holding hands with a ginger woman and a dark-skinned man. Dan grinned. “She’ll have an exhibition in the Tate before she’s twenty, you know.”
His mum smiled indulgently, pouring out the brew into mismatched china teacups. Dan really should buy her another set. They never lasted long around here, though. Not with the herds of grandchildren that were always running around the place. Dan’s brother and sisters all lived within a half-mile radius and used their mum as an unpaid babysitter so that they could earn enough to feed all those mouths. She didn’t seem to mind, though, lavishing her grandkids with affection but still able to lay down the law.
“How’s things, then, Mum? You keeping well?”
“Fit as a fiddle, love. You know me.” She grinned at him over the teacup. “What about you and this sexy boater of yours, then? Has ’e swept you off your feet, yet? Made an honest man out of you?”
“Mum!” Dan felt an unfamiliar heat in his face. He stared at the steam hissing out of the pressure cooker. No doubt it was one of her famous Christmas puddings. He knew he should be answering her but didn’t know how to.
“Well, I never! Never thought I’d live to see the day I could make you blush. Not without getting a photo album out, anyway.”
Dan cringed. Yep, there were some seriously embarrassing photos in there. All those youthful fashion experiments. He’d looked like a right twat for most of his teenage years, and it was a wonder he hadn’t had the shit kicked out of him on a more regular basis.
“So when are you going to bring this young man around so that I can show them to him? I want to see this tattooed gypsy who’s managed to bewitch you.”
“Mum! He’s not a gypsy. They’re called travellers. Or boaters. Or just people.”
“I’m not being rude, love, honest. Robin, isn’t it?” Dan nodded. “So has he always lived like that? Come from Romany stock?”
Dan gave a wry smile, wondering how Rosemary would react to hearing her son called a gypsy. “Hardly. They’re proper upper-middle class, they are. There was a family tree and coat of arms up in the downstairs bog.”
“You never! Seriously?” Her eyes were round, sparkling with glee. “You gone and got yourself a sugar daddy?”
“Mum! He’s five years younger than me. And he makes his own way doing manual labour. It’s just not like that. If anything, I’m the sugar daddy.” And that was such a disturbing thought, he blushed again.
“So, when am I going to meet him? Can you bring ’im round for tea once you get back from your hols?”
“Erm, well, I…” Dan trailed off, realising that he had no idea if Robin even wanted to meet his family. Maybe Robin would find them all appallingly common. He doubted it. The guy lived among travellers, also known as the scum of the earth by the right-wing press. Still, he’d hate to think of his mum being looked down on by anyone.
But when he met her understanding gaze, he realised that this wasn’t the thing that was making him hesitate. If he brought Robin back here, it would be like making it all official, wouldn’t it?
“What is it, love?” Her voice was gentle, and Dan really wanted to unburden himself.
“Oh, it’s all gone tits-up, Mum, and I don’t know what I’m feeling. He says he loves me, and he wants me to move onto his boat with him.”
“And that’s a problem, is it?”
“Yes! Yes it is. There’s no way I could live in such a tiny space with another guy, no matter how much I…like them. It’d be a disaster waiting to happen. It’d be like you and Dad.” He clamped his mouth shut, seeing the hurt on his mum’s face and wishing he could erase the words out of existence. “Shit! I’m sorry, Mum. I’m sorry.” He got up and went to hug her.
“Is that what you think, love? You think we was unhappy?”
“You used to row all the time.” Okay, they weren’t screaming matches like you heard coming through the thin walls from next door. More a constant bickering that sent him running for the sanctuary of his granddad’s shed.
“Row? What about?” She looked genuinely puzzled.
“You know. Stuff like you pestering him to repaper the kitchen and calling him a lazy, drunken sod. And him saying you spoilt us kids. And complaining about having to sleep in the lounge.” Now that he thought about it, they didn’t seem like anything too serious. Not much worse than Robin berating him for feeding the swans out of the hatch.
His mum was giving him an affectionate smile. “You silly boy. That was just life. Nothing to worry yourself about. We used to enjoy our little spats, you know. Especially makin’ up afterwards.” She had a distinctly roguish gleam in her eye. “We loved each other. If you love someone, you can make it work. D’you love this Robin?”
And that was the thing, wasn’t it? The thing he couldn’t answer. He stared at her, wondering if he should tell her about the stupid mistake with Tris and whether she’d be able to help him understand his messed-up feelings.
But then the familiar theme tune blared through the wall, closely followed by a mob of children all desperate for their Christmas presents from Uncle Dan. His mum rolled her eyes, saying they’d talk later. It wasn’t until he was on the train back that he realised they’d never had a chance to. His sisters had stayed late, chattering about the kids and the latest celebrity gossip—though why they’d thought he’d be interested in the Beckham’s love life he had no idea. The only moment alone with his mum had been on the doorstep.
“You look after yourself, hear me? And you make sure you ’old on to this Robin fella. He’s good for you. I can see that.”
Dan nodded and kissed her before heading back to the station and his empty flat.
Robin cruised away from Bath, looking for somewhere peaceful he could be alone for a while. Trouble was, in the middle of winter, most of the canal was crammed with boats, and he didn’t want to deal with all the well-meaning enquiries about Dan from the other boaters. That was the problem with living on the towpath—people were always stopping by to say hello and check up on you. He wasn’t sure how well he’d be able to lie when friends asked him if he’d heard from Dan.
Robin hadn’t switched his phone on since leaving his parents’ place. He didn’t want to be reminded of where Dan was and who he was with.
No, he needed somewhere away from gossiping boaters. Somewhere secluded. Somewhere private. He looked with envy at the other side of the canal, where the ends of the carefully manicured gardens of Bathampton met the water’s edge.
“Yoohoo! Robin, darling, is that you?”
The call cut through the engine’s chugging and snagged his attention. There was a man standing in the next garden waving his arms around. God, it was Charles Wentworth, flapping a handkerchief around like it was some kind of flag. Robin couldn’t help but smile at the spectacle and steered Serendipity in towards the bank.
Someone who’d owned the house in the past must have had their own boat as there were two wooden jetties extending from the grassy verge. They couldn’t have been better positioned for Serendipity, one reaching her front deck and one the back, and would be so much safer than tramping over an icy plank in the depths of winter.
He wondered if the offer of a mooring still stood.
“You’ve come! Oh, that’s marvellous. But really, my dear, you should have rung. I haven’t got anything in. Well, that’s not true, I’m sure I can rustle up a glass of brandy for my favourite young man. Come on in, let me show you what needs your expert attention.”
Robin allowed himself to be led inside the large stone house. He didn’t shake off Charles’s hold on his arm. Right now Charles
offered sanctuary, and he’d be a fool not to take him up on it, no matter what the price might be.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Marek gave Robin an icy glare and muttered something under his breath. Robin forced a smile, stepping around the ladder on his way to the bathroom. It was hard to figure out why the Polish decorator had taken an instant dislike to him, and Marek’s English either wasn’t good enough to articulate his reasons, or he couldn’t be bothered to try. It seemed like an overreaction to the news that he would have to repaint the study once Robin had finished fitting Charles’s bookshelves.
He’d been working here for five days now, and apart from the tense situation with Marek, so far things were going well. As well as could be expected, anyway. He worked long hours and kept his mobile switched off so that the outside world couldn’t reach him. He had access to Charles’s log pile and the use of his bathroom, so he could probably last a month before needing to cruise anywhere to fill or empty Serendipity’s tanks. It was the kind of seclusion he’d always dreamed of, which made it even more peculiar that he wasn’t enjoying it one bit.
Most evenings he’d have a brandy with Charles after finishing up but always made his excuses rather than accepting another. Surprisingly, Charles didn’t seem to mind. Either that or he had the good manners not to force the situation. Maybe he had a drink with Marek after Robin left, although God knew what they’d find to talk about. Maybe Marek had other qualities Robin couldn’t see. He was certainly very blond and well-built, despite being a couple of inches shorter than Dan.
Robin wondered what he’d do if Charles did make a pass at him. Could he divorce his emotions from his sex drive enough to accept some physical comfort? Dan didn’t seem to have a problem doing so. Maybe he should try it. Maybe revenge would give him some satisfaction. It might help to close the raw hole where his heart should be.
He closed the door on the surly decorator and sagged back against it. A big stack of magazines had appeared in Charles’s bathroom. He must have been doing more unpacking. Robin leafed through a copy of Gay Times until he reached the travel section. A full page advert for a gay resort stared out at him. The photo teemed with scantily clad and well-muscled young men, looking like they’d been oiled. Apparently, clothing was “forever optional”.
He threw the magazine back on the stack as if it had bit him. Why the hell did he keep torturing himself with thinking about Dan out there? It wasn’t like he could do anything to change the situation. Other than phoning Dan and begging him to come back, of course. But he wasn’t going to do that. Not under any circumstances. Far safer just to leave the sodding phone switched off and try to forget all about Dan Taylor.
If only he could convince himself that he wanted to.
Dan took another sip of his virgin piña colada and leaned over the mezzanine railing to give Tris a wave. At the moment, Tris was on the dance floor, sandwiched between two sun-kissed, tattooed gods, and Dan had to swallow the jealousy away with another sip of pineapple juice. Playa Del Inglés hadn’t changed much since he’d last visited the island, that time staying in one of the high-rise hotels in the centre of town. At night the central shopping area burst into gaudy mayhem as the plethora of bars and clubs, both gay and straight, competed for trade. Fortunately, this time he’d been set up in a resort at the nearby, yet rather more genteel Maspalomas, just far enough away to no longer hear the pervasive throbbing bass lines and hoots of drunken tourists. However, tempting though it was to mope in the villa every evening, he had a guidebook to update, and that involved visiting as many of the bars and clubs as he could stomach.
“All right, mate? Are you Dan?” an Australian voice asked him, booming over the deafening techno.
Dan stared up at six feet plus of tattooed muscle and attitude, topped with a shock of blond curls. It was one of Tris’s dance partners. “Yeah, that’s me.” His innate friendliness fought with his desire to avoid temptation.
“That’s a relief. Name’s Shane, and that hunk dancing with your friend is Greg. My boyfriend,” Shane said proudly. “I fancied sitting out for a bit, but I’m not in the mood to be cruised. Mind if I join you?”
Dan nodded, and Shane flashed a brilliantly pearly set of teeth. They sat in silence for a while, watching Tris’s and Greg’s obscene gyrations. The jealousy welled up again, not strong enough to make Dan do anything stupid, just a futile longing. He looked up to find Shane studying him.
“What’s up? You look jealous as fuck.”
Dan sighed. “That bloody obvious, is it?”
“Sorry, mate, if I’d known it was like that, I wouldn’t have danced with him.”
Shane looked genuinely contrite, and Dan rushed to explain. “No, it’s not that. We’re not together. Tris and I are just friends. I just… I wish my boyfriend could trust me like you do with Greg, that’s all.”
“Your boyfriend?” Shane looked around as if expecting Robin to appear out of the crowd. “Where’s he, then?”
“Back in England,” Dan admitted.
“You came here without him?” Shane’s jaw dropped.
“It’s not like that! This is work. I’m a travel writer, and I asked him first, but when he wouldn’t come, I gave the spare ticket to Tris.” Dan stared at his mobile on the tabletop. “Now the fucker won’t even answer his bloody phone. He doesn’t trust me. Thinks I’m sleeping around behind his back.” Dan took a long slurp of his drink as Shane looked on with a puzzled yet sympathetic expression.
“You wanna fill me in on the whole story?”
Shane was a good listener, raising his eyebrows when Dan confessed his fear of water, but making no comment. When he’d finished his saga, Dan sat back and studied Shane, who was again watching Tris and Greg, now snogging and grinding against each other. Shane had an affectionate smile on his face.
“How come Robin can’t be like you?” Dan asked, not really expecting an answer.
“God knows, but I’ll tell you what, there’s no way I’d be happy about Greg doing that”—Shane stabbed a finger in Greg’s direction—“if I didn’t know he loved me and that he’d be coming back with me later. Not that I mind if Tris comes back too,” he added with a leer.
Dan tried to imagine ever suggesting a threesome to Robin. He wouldn’t dare.
“Enough of this heavy shit, yeah?” Shane said, standing up. “Reckon it’s my shout. What’ya drinking?” Dan filled him in, and Shane grimaced at the notion of alcohol-free cocktails but didn’t argue. “All right, I’ll get you your lolly water, but when I get back, we’re gonna talk about your swimming lessons. Starting tomorrow, I want to see you in your togs out by your hotel poolside at nine. Reckon I can get you swimming like a bloody fish in a month’s time.”
Dan gaped as Shane strutted off to the bar. Arrogant bastard! Mind you, the idea of being able to swim was appealing, and anything that helped to take his mind off missing Robin had to be good. He mulled it over as he drained the last of his glass. Yeah, it would be great to have a surprise for Robin when he got back. It would do him good to face his fears.
He wished he could contemplate facing the other ones with such courage.
Robin woke to the sound of creaking. He’d been a boater long enough to recognise the sound of a vessel ploughing through ice, but there was still something unearthly about the noise. It reminded him of how there was only a quarter of an inch of steel between his home and the freezing water. He shivered and forced himself out of bed to get the stove going.
He glanced at his phone. Still switched off. But he didn’t want to think about why, so he distracted himself with making coffee.
He stood by the hatch with a mug of steaming coffee in his hands and looked out over the frozen canal. It was a proper cold snap; hoar frost rimed every branch of the willows opposite, glittering in the watery sunshine. Looked like every last plant had been dipped in sugar and crystallised. The field was so white, if he squinted it looked like snow. Jagged sheets of ice lined the canal, but the early boat had cut a cle
ar path through the centre, and the ducks were taking advantage of it. They spotted him at the hatch and headed over in a demanding mob.
“I suppose you want some breakfast too.”
He fetched the stale end of his last loaf of bread and began throwing them pieces. He could almost hear a ghostly echo of Dan’s delighted chuckles when feeding them. Everything reminded Robin of him—especially this hatchway—the one he’d fucked him against until his legs gave way. He bit his lip hard at the thought of Dan letting anyone else do that to him.
But it was inevitable, wasn’t it? Eventually, Dan would give in to temptation. He’d get drunk with Tris, and then all thoughts of Robin would be pushed aside. It wasn’t like they had a future together. Dan had told him as much when he refused to contemplate moving in.
It wasn’t like Dan loved him back.
He punched the hatch frame. It startled the ducks, hurt his knuckles and did nothing to improve his mood.
He trudged up to Charles’s house, leaving the phone behind again.
“You sure you don’t want to come?” Dan asked.
Tris lifted his head a fraction, then slumped back onto the pillow. “Jesus bloody Christ, how much did I have to drink last night?”
Dan grinned. “No idea. I wasn’t there, remember?”
“Can’t remember anything.”
“Greg dropped you back here and said you’d demolished a whole bottle of Malibu, so if you taste coconut when you chuck, that’s why.”
Tris just groaned and pulled the pillow over his head. He’d been maudlin the whole time they’d been in Maspalomas. Happy hour at the bar seemed to cheer him up for a while—as did hitting the clubs—and he found someone to keep him occupied most nights, but whenever he and Dan were alone together, all he could talk about was how much he missed Alex. Several times Dan had had to bite back a snappy comment about why the hell didn’t he just go back and make up with the guy.
Dan downed a glass of water and started sifting through the pile of clothing on the floor to find his Speedos.
Barging In Page 25
