Zac timed his exit to perfection and caught the next bus back to Holkham.
The journey took forty-five long, rumbling minutes. To pass the time, he pulled out his battered smartphone and engrossed himself in his new favourite pastime: scrolling through pictures of Liam, of him and Liam, the dogs, the nephews, and the rest of the family who’d welcomed him with open arms, asking no questions of his past, or why he’d stumbled into their lives six months ago, broken and scarred, and entirely dependent on Liam. He came to an image of them all together, taken on Christmas Day at Liam’s house, Zac’s face half-hidden by Jazz’s woolly coat, and he couldn’t recall ever being so happy as he had been then.
A message flashed up on his phone screen. He opened it with little thought, assuming it was from Liam. Jamie’s profile caught him off guard, and then he remembered the date: May fourth. It was Jamie’s birthday and Zac had forgotten.
Not that Jamie was complaining. His message simply read: Skype?
Zac chewed on his bottom lip. Aside from text messages, it had been months since they’d last talked, and even longer since they’d laid eyes on each other. With Jamie far away in California, Zac had relied on Liam for updates on his well-being, and though he’d missed him, without his drama, Zac felt more free than he had in years.
Free. The word chewed its way into Zac’s conscience. Jamie was clean now, by all accounts, and living on the coast with some friends of Liam’s, working in the company canteen, and attending night school in his spare time. It sounded amazing, but as hard as Zac tried, he couldn’t see it, couldn’t picture Jamie as anything other than the shambolic junkie who’d twice saved his life.
Think you can manage a video call on his birthday, don’t you?
Zac got off the bus in Holkham and hurried home, hoping Liam would be there to help him reason his way to the right path, but as he jogged up the driveway, he saw Hettie was gone from her space and the porch door was shut. Damn it.
Still brooding, Zac let himself in, bending down to greet the dogs before they knocked him over. A barrage of paws and licks later, he scrambled to his feet and went to Liam’s office, both dogs trotting behind him, bumping his legs with their wet noses. He powered up the iMac and logged into the Skype application, searching out the profile Jamie used to talk to Liam when Zac wasn’t around. He hovered over it a moment, before biting the bullet and placing the call.
The weird, bubbling dial tone filled the silent room. Zac sat in Liam’s chair and whistled Jazz to him, seeking solace in his dark, shaggy coat, a tic that had become a habit since he’d come to live with Liam in Holkham. Jazz was every bit as nuts as Dave, but he always seemed to know when Zac needed a comforting bulk on his lap.
“Zac?”
Zac jumped. For all that he’d placed the call, Jamie’s tentative voice had scared the bejesus out of him. He peered through the wispy tufts on Jazz’s head. A grainy face had filled the widescreen monitor, but it took Zac a few moments to match it with his last memories of Jamie. “Shit. You’re blond.”
Jamie laughed. “Hello to you too.”
“You’re blond,” Zac repeated. “How the fuck did that happen?”
“Same way it happens to anyone else. I bleached it, it turned orange, and then the sun did the rest. What do you think? Am I as cool as Liam? Could I pass for a surfer?”
Zac snorted, because whatever Jamie did to himself, he’d never be as cool as Liam—no one was as cool as Liam. How could they be, when Liam didn’t even have to try? “I think you look well.”
And it was true. With his bleached blond hair and tanned skin, and the extra stone in weight he’d gained, Jamie looked fucking amazing.
“Thanks,” Jamie said sincerely. “You look good too. How’s things going? Liam told me about the, er, dead guy.”
Zac swallowed as bile bubbled in his throat. With Jamie off the scene, Liam had encouraged Zac to talk to the police, telling them the truth about the attack, that he really had been an innocent victim of his mysterious assailant’s brutal attempt to kill him. He’d claimed not to know the motives behind it, and believing him, the police had linked his statement with information they’d already had and launched a series of raids across the city, but the action had come too late to catch the man who’d left his mark on Zac’s arm. Police divers had found his body in the canal a few weeks later, riddled with stab wounds. It seemed karma had caught him first.
“You don’t feel bad about it, do you?” Jamie asked when Zac didn’t speak.
Zac shrugged. “Do you?”
“No. Irvine was a cunt. I saw him kick the shit out of a pregnant girl because she was a fiver short. You’d think I’d have known better than to—” Jamie stopped and took a deep breath. “I do feel bad, Zac. I feel bad about what happened to you. I know that was my fault, and I’ll never forgive myself, but I can’t spend the rest of my life obsessing about shit I can’t change.”
“When did you get so wise?”
“When your boyfriend put me through five months of hippie therapy. I swear down, I seriously came out of that place wanting to wrap myself in hessian and eat quinoa for the rest of my life.”
Zac was lost, and his face hurt. It took him a moment to realise it was because he was smiling so hard. “What the hell is quinoa?”
Jamie grinned too. “I’m still trying to find out. I’ll let you know.”
“How long are you going to stay? In America, I mean?”
Jamie sobered. “Um, that’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about. Marv’s offered me a better job, running the factory canteen. I said no at first because I thought it would be crappy school dinners or some shit, but it’s actually pretty fucking cool. It’s like Wagamama’s on acid.”
Zac could’ve done without the drug reference, but having seen how Sea Rave operated on this side of the pond, he could well believe that their staff canteen in California was awesome. “So you’re going to stay?”
“I might as well. You’re in love with Liam, aren’t you?”
