“Where am I to put them?” Thankfully Paul didn’t sound angry or sullen: Adam was in no mood to put up with petulance. But that didn’t mean he missed the slight quake to Paul’s voice.
“The room next door to the cloakroom used to be the dining room. I’ve no idea what’s in there now—it’s probably locked, for one thing—but you can make space in there. It will mean going up and down the stairs for a while, but I can’t see the boxes being that heavy: if Dean could manage them, I’m sure you can.” He scowled at the thought.
“Dean?”
“My nephew, Caroline’s son.”
“I take it from your expression you’re not that fond of him.”
Adam was grateful that Paul’s voice had grown stronger, that tremulous quiver no longer evident.
That’s it, Paul. Put it behind you.
“Dean is a thirty-year-old waste of space who hasn’t put in a decent day’s work in his life. He doesn’t like me, which is fine as far as I’m concerned, if it keeps him from my door. He was the one who helped Caroline pack up my things in London while I was in Torquay for a month, and I’m assuming it was he who brought them to the house. I wasn’t really paying attention at the time, to be honest. I had other things on my mind.”
Like trying not to go crazy because I’d lost everything that made my life mine.
“Am I likely to meet him?”
Adam snorted. “I doubt it. Dean’s one of those idiots who think homosexuality can be caught, like an infection, that it’s somehow carried on the air, to be breathed in.” At least the weekend had done one positive thing—he was free to talk about his sexuality. Not that he made a habit of hiding it, but he couldn’t deny it was liberating to know he could be himself.Not a thing he would have attempted with any of Paul’s predecessors.
“How do I get up to the attic?”
In that moment, Adam was proud of Paul for being practical rather than emotional. The man had a good head on his shoulders.
“There’s a door opposite my bedroom,” he told Paul. “Through it is a narrow staircase that leads up to the attic. If we’re done with breakfast, we can go check it out.” He nearly said ‘take a look’: it wasn’t that such phrases pained him, but they were a reminder that he didn’t need.
“Give me five minutes to clear up the breakfast things, okay?”
“Sure. I’ll sit here and have another coffee.”
He sat back and listened to Paul bustling round the kitchen, pouring out coffee and washing dishes. Adam wasn’t foolish enough to believe that was the end of the matter. It was going to rear its head again at some point in the future, but hopefully by then things would have settled.
“Let’s go find your stuff, then.”
Paul’s remark pulled him back, and Adam rose to his feet, cane in hand. When they reached the attic door, it was indeed locked, but Paul had all the keys. Adam waited at the foot of the stairs: climbing them would accomplish nothing.
“Well?” he demanded after a minute or so.
Paul’s voice floated down to him. “Adam, do you know how many boxes are up here?”
“By the tone of your voice, I’m surmising rather a lot.”
Paul barked out a laugh. “And then some. This might take a while.”
“Then you’d better get started,” Adam remarked dryly. “No time like the present.”
He didn’t miss Paul’s quiet reply. “Yes, sir.”
Adam growled under his breath.
He doesn’t know. You can’t hold that against him.
It didn’t matter. Those words were a reminder of the life he’d lost.
The life that required sight.
Chapter Sixteen
