“Well,” Charles says from the workshop doorway, where he crouches to fuss with the spaniel Alice left to me. “Someone’s got the jitters when they really don’t need to.” He aims this at Hector. “Because what do we already know about your other daddy?” Charles reminds him. And me. “He’s a very brave boy.”
I wish I was. Elmo doesn’t work his usual magic today when I sneak a quick look at the sticker that I keep safe in my phone case. I’m as worried now as when I stood outside a restaurant and couldn’t make myself go in to ask for the help I needed. I flip over my phone, and the reason I finally did is right there on my lock screen, so handsome.
Charles interrupts my swooning over Vincent. “All his training has really paid off, hasn’t it?” He comes further inside the workshop, beaming as brightly as the July sunshine that lends him a golden halo. “It’s like a wee palace in here!”
That’s a blast from the past. A reminder of my first visit to the high-rise home where Vincent fell in love with restoration. And it’s where I fell head over heels for him outside a storage cupboard. He got brave enough there to peel back painful layers. I’m still not over it. Never will be. But Charles is right—this space is something special, and so is the man who helped me clear itof so much clutter. “We spend most of our time in here when he visits.”
I hope those visits soon won’t be limited to weekends, and I slide my phone into my pocket, fingers finding what I’ll give him later if he passes his assessment. Meanwhile, Charles turns in a slow circle, admiring our growing side-hustle collection of vintage chairs and tables perfect for rustic celebrations. “Yes, apart from those two ratty old armchairs, everything here looks amazing.”
He’s right about that too, and yet…
“The armchairs are actually my favourites.” I’d never sell them off at auction or give them away on Gumtree. Too many old memories are woven into their faded fabric. Plus, they’re where Vincent and I keep making new ones. The first thing he does each time he comes to Cornwall is pull me down onto his lap in the seat his cousin delivered here from London. It’s where we reconnect and do a lot more than kiss and cuddle. We’ve had the kind of sex I’m not about to share with a vicar’s husband, but Vincent and I have also sat side-by-side here to build a business that could turn into a long-term future for us.
I’ll always keep these chairs. I also want to keep Vincent. That means I need to hit the road, only Charles doesn’t seem in any hurry. “They do look comfy.” He nudges at a clawed corner. “I called them ratty because of the scratches. Oh, sorry, milord and lady. Didn’t mean to wake you two sleepyheads.” He crouches again to stroke Mog and the once feral cat Kev also delivered from the city. There isn’t anything wild about Kitty’s purring this morning.
Like Vincent, she belongs here.
Making a second relocation as permanent as hers is on my mind once Charles finally drives me to the station in his Land Rover. I can’t help checking the time over and over. I also curse under my breath when summertime tourists clog the narrowlanes, their camper vans loaded with surfboards. Like the last time I thought I wouldn’t get to keep the one thing I wanted, Charles reassures me. “Don’t worry about the traffic. I’ll get you there before the train leaves.”
The thing is, I do worry. I can’t help it when the view ahead of the coast road shows traffic at a standstill.
Charles promises, “You won’t miss it,” despite the gridlocked evidence right in front of us. “Want to know why I think so?” He takes a hand off the wheel to sketch a second halo of the morning over his head. “Because Hugo reached out to his boss to ask for a happy ending for you.”
“He called the bishop?”
Charles laughs. “No. I mean he said a little prayer for you two this morning over his cornflakes.” His voice pitches deeper, like his husband’s. “Lord, please guide Alasdair and Vincent this morning. Open every locked door and unbar every gate to reveal your path for them. And lo, a pathwasrevealed.” He points at an open farm gate right beside us, his grin infectious. “Buckle up, buttercup. We’re going off road.”
And we do.
Charles gets me to the station via four-wheel drive, bumping us over field after field where each gate stands wide open. I say a prayer of thanks for that once I’m aboard the train to London. Then I say another when I reach the city to find I’m not the only one with happy endings on my mind.
A glimpse into my future has come to meet me.
Kev.
Yes, he’s greying and stubbly compared to Vincent’s Disney prince good looks, but there’s no denying that someone taught both of them to care, which is so attractive. I hear more of that care when we reach our destination where he stops under golden signage to grumble, “Do you know who else he’s invited?” Kevblocks the museum entrance. “Bleeding school kids. A whole lot of them. And not easy kids either.”
I know who else Vincent invited. Was there when he called Adey to find out the name of the unit where he used to teach real tough nuts.
Kev isn’t happy about it. “They’ll give him a hard time. I know it.” His fists curl tight. “What the fuck was he thinking?”
I know exactly what Vincent was thinking. He told me the last time we snuggled together on faded fabric like Mog and Kitty did this morning. Kev finally comes to the same conclusion. “Guess he wants to face the past, draw a line underneath it, and then move on. Me too. So he better pass this assessment.” He’s even gruffer than usual. “Me and the missus need our spare room back.”
I’m hopeful, and not only about Vincent passing this assessment. “You and Marilyn finally got approved for fostering?”
Kev’s smile melts me like Vincent’s did the very first time I saw it. “Yeah.” Just as quickly, his smile flickers. “But I don’t want him thinking he ain’t welcome. If Vince don’t pass this time around and he needs to stay with us for longer, me and Maz will hold off fostering.”
Marilyn confirms that when we find her waiting for us. “We’ll always have a bed for him.” She hugs me hard. “But he won’t need it, so you better take this bedding back to Cornwall with you.” She opens her bag, and I catch a glimpse of firefighters with extra-long hose reels.
She cackles, but my laugh sounds a wee bit desperate.
Marilyn must notice.
She hugs me again, and I can’t help thinking whoever ends up in her and Kev’s care will be so very lucky. “Stop worrying about Vincent. He’s got this.”
She’s right.
Vincent has got this.
