‘I have no objection to Ben taking part in this car thing if he wants to do it. Of course not. He is entirely free to choose for himself—which he does. He appears to be very good at it in fact—if occasionally a little eclectic in his choices.’ He finally got it: he didn’t need to monitor Ben with Dr Mark Trebetherick; he didn’t need to rise to the moron’s teasing about blow jobs in the chandlers. In fact, he didn’t have to worry about Ben Rider-Mikkelsen’s commitment to him at all. For better or for worse—and Benneverlied.
He rose and adjusted his waistcoat, aware he was towering over the table. He regarded Morwenna for a moment then asked, ‘Do you think the dead turn in their graves at injustice? When their accusers are left unpunished?’ Her lips parted fractionally, but before she could reply to this totally random non-sequitur, he added, ‘Your father now rests easy.’
With that, he strode out and headed back to the car, checking the watch he couldn’t read to see if he was late for Ben. He’d been told to return in two hours, and he’d discovered his life was a great deal easier when he did exactly as his boyfriend demanded.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-SEVEN
‘So? What did they say?’
‘Shush, this is the best bit.’ A vast great white shark suddenly lunged out of the dark at two young women who were hanging, terrified and extremely scantily dressed, in a cage under the water somewhere in Mexico. It apparently missed, although Aleksey couldn’t be sure because he had his eyes closed. Ben shifted on the sofa next to him, getting closer, leaning on him, his elbow bent, holding his heavily bandaged hand up. They’d cut him off his Fentanyl. Aleksey found it hard to have a huge amount of sympathy. When the action in the cage had settled down, Ben fidgeted into yet another position and muttered, ‘Get me another glass of wine?’
Aleksey huffed. ‘Am I some kind of servant now?’
‘Yeah. Mine.’
He chuckled and extricated himself from the tangle of warm limbs. Just as he was stretching to relieve the pain in his back—hello?—hauling Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen from the jaws of death had nearly killed him—again!—his phone rang. He dug it out of his pocket and saw the number. He knew. Without even answering, he just knew.
Harry’s voice was very calm, and he gave the news as if giving an update on the weather. Billy was dead. Just like Enid, he had slipped away sitting in his chair in the sun. Harry wouldn’t have known, would probably have gone on talking to him, if Snodgrass had not climbed down from Billy’s lap and explained the situation to him. Stout heart that little chap, Harry said. Had kept steady, and just quietly told him, he said.
* * *
Two days later, the entire family assembled on Revival Sands. Emilia had travelled down from Cambridge, and then on with Babushka, Molly, Jenna and Miles. Squeezy, Tim, Radulf and PB had travelled together with him and Ben.
Tim had suggested Billy be buried in the pretty little churchyard on Benhar with Jenna, the only mother he’d known. But Aleksey did not want this for their little lighthouse dweller. Billy had been an unwitting hand grenade in the lives of his real family his whole life, and Aleksey did not want that for him ever again.
He lay wrapped now in the blanket he used to wear to watch this other family, the strange wild one that had adopted him, while he sat in his chair, silent but happy. They’d all put something in to go with him: MacArthur, his Christmas photographs, his slippers. Even an out-of-date tin of baked beans. When they were ready, Harry stepped forward, bowed his head and intoned softly the prayer of sailors everywhere: ‘O Eternal Lord God, who alone spreadest out the heavens, and rulest the raging of the sea; who has compassed the waters with bounds until day and night come to an end: Be pleased to receive into thy Almighty and most gracious protection the person of this thy servant, Billy.’ Then he lifted his foot and pushed the little blue wayfarer out into the Atlantic currents. Aleksey realised he’d been wrong: Billy was taking one last sail around the islands in his beloved boat.
When the tiny dingy was a suitable way off, Squeezy drew back his arm and hurled a flaming torch in a great arc towards it.
They watched as the pre-prepared contents of the wayfarer flared into life. Suddenly, Jenna leapt from Molly’s shoulder and darted to the shoreline, her brilliant emerald eyes reflecting the yellow and orange flames as she watched Billy’s last moments. Molly burst into tears on Ben’s hip and buried her face into his shirt. Miles hesitated but then stretched out his hand, holding gently onto her tiny arm.
‘Don’t cry, Mol Mol. He’s going to be with Granny now.’
Emilia half-laughed when she realised she wasn’t the only one wiping her eyes at this. She tucked her arm intohisand leaned into him, her wayward fiery hair whipping across his scarred face. He extricated himself from the hold and put his arm around her neck instead and pulled her in against his chest as they watched the boat begin to sink with its royal cargo—its treasure—down to a sunlit sea, where fragments of forgotten people dwelt.
* * *
That night, lying awake in their bed in Kittiwake, Ben restless with pain but uncomplaining, as was his way, Aleksey suddenly declared, ‘I’ve been thinking.’
‘Oh, God.’
He ignored this and sat up, reaching for his jacket lying on the bleached wooden boards of their little loft. He pulled something out of a pocket and scooted back, leaning against the rough wall. Ben struggled to sitting as well, cross-legged as usual, elevating his hand—as usual. Aleksey was holding a folded piece of paper. Ben narrowed his eyes.
‘Do not tell me that’s a treasure map.’
Aleksey barked a sudden laugh. ‘Actually, it is. In a way.’ He turned to face Ben. ‘I’ve been thinking about it for a few weeks. After the conversation you forced me to have—about us. The promise you extracted—if one of us…doesn’t make it.’
‘Oh. Yeah.’ Ben wrinkled his nose. ‘I think I poked.’ He lifted his hand as if more explanation was needed.
He could prevaricate no longer. He opened the paper and spread it out so Ben could see. Ben took it off him and tipped it more to the light so he could read it. When he saw what it said, he lifted his face sharply, studying him. Then he dropped the document and seized his neck with his good hand, rising up, leaning forward, kissing him deeply. The legal papers for one Aleksey Rider-Mikkelsen to adopt one Molly-Rose Rider-Mikkelsen lay on the coverlet between them, needing only her father’s signature of consent. If, as they kissed and touched what they could with whatever parts of their bodies didn’t hurt, the document got a little scrunched, well so be it.
Treasure maps often did get damaged, after all.
* * *
Epilogue
