Blake’s.
I’m not convinced this ex-soldier is only here to make sure I get to my destination—it isn’t my hand Blake forgets to let go of once we’re airborne.
We only part ways outside the Heppel-Eavis household, where I get out of an old Land Rover Defender driven by a very happy Charles. “I haven’t said a word, just in case you didn’t make the flight. Does he know you’re coming?”
I shake my head. “Got something important to ask him. Don’t want him to overthink his answer.” If Dair has reservations about us exploring if we have a future, his face will show me like it’s shown me everything else. He hasn’t hidden a single thing from the night I met him until now. Not even that he owns this old house lock, stock, and barrel.
I’ve got a photo on my phone to prove it.
The shot of a legal letter I took the first time I paid him a visit was accidental. If I’d used my screen reader long before now, I would have known he only gave away the London base Alice kept for city visits and hospital appointments so he could keep this country manor he thinks of as home. And I would have known that his legal costs were covered as part of that negotiation. Now I can’t help thinking the big bill hanging over his head relates to whatever is under that bright blue tarpaulin.
Charles tells me all about it on the walk up a long driveway, and with each step closer, my nerves flutter. “Apart from the hole in the roof, it’s gorgeous, isn’t it? The main building is Elizabethan. Of course, you can see that the workshop is even older.”
“Of course,” I say faintly. I’ve never felt further from my high-rise home turf. Even what Dair had described as a shed is substantial.
I picture a storage cupboard in a council flat and can’t help comparing.
Charles reminds me that Dair and I are more similar than different. “I knew you two would get along. You’re both seriously the kindest people. His foster parents are too.” He points at a diamond pane window. “You might need to prepare yourself.”
“To meet them?” I’ve never wanted to make a good impression this badly.
“No. They’ve gone home. You just missed them. I meant that you might need to prepare yourself for what’s in there. Thewhole place is full to the gunwales.” Charles laughs. “Alice was such a magpie, but so was her husband. At least he was handy. Needed to be to keep this old place shipshape.”
He points at the workshop next. “Dair’s been a busy bee buzzing in and out of there all afternoon. Maybe he’s been looking for the right tools to fix the hole underneath that.” We both look up at that tarpaulin. “Now thatwasan exciting morning over at the Rectory.”
“Because?”
“Because Dair tried to cover the hole in the roof all by himself. Didn’t even think to come over to ask for our help. I’ve never seen Hugo run faster, bless him.”
I look up at a steeply pitched slate roof, my blood running cold as Charles continues.
“I think the court case left him feeling isolated, poor lamb. And made him realise how tightly his hands were tied. All this property, yet he can’t sell an inch of it without breaking the terms of a trust. Not that he wants to. This is his home. That matters to him.”
I nod, knowing how true that is.
Charles says, “He’s such a cheery chappy. I didn’t guess about his isolation, or about him having this huge repair bill hanging right over his head with no way to pay it, until I saw him up that ladder. That’s when and why I steered him your way. Now he’s come home a different person. Couldn’t stop telling me about his plans to side-hustle up some repair money.”
Dair has also come home to do a spot of removals—we find him in an open doorway, a piece of furniture wedged between us, and no, my day job doesn’t involve too much critical thinking. I am at least one kind of expert.
“That’s an armchair.”
He laughs, and I love to hear it. Love too that the first thing he tells me is, “Youaregood at this game,” like he last did on aKensington doorstep. That home was never mine. This one is all Dair’s. That’s a lot. So is watching Dair trying to slide past the armchair to reach me.
I had wondered what he’d think about me tracking him down this fast. Him clambering over that chair to reach me is one answer. A second is Dair launching himself from its chintzy cushions as if he knows I’ll catch him.
Of course, I fucking do.
If Charles says goodbye, I don’t hear him. I’m too busy kissing Dair until a dog barks, and he breaks off to tell it, “Haud yer wheesht, Hector. It’s only Vincent.”
Like I belong here.
I love to hear it. Love too how happy he sounds. “You came to visit.”
Late-evening light paints him gold. It also finds the fire hidden in his hair. He touches mine, pushing it aside, his fingers gentle in contrast to my sandpaper hoarseness. “Yeah, I did. Not too soon for you?”
“Not soon enough.” He looks back at the armchair still blocking the way into a manor house that must be worth a fortune. “You could have helped me move that.”
I do that helping right now, carrying it with no problem and setting it where he wants it, which is inside that huge barn of a workshop.
