I wasn’t speaking to her while I was naked and covered in crusted-over bodily fluids. I sent her a quick text.
“I’m going to shower and grab a coffee first. I’ll call in a bit. There, done.” I plugged the handset in to charge because if it was going to play nice, I’d do the same. “Don’t answer if she rings again. Whatever it is can wait.” I strode to the bathroom and shut the door gently but decisively behind me. If Luc joined me, I knew I’d not be phoning anyone for an hour.
When I emerged, there was a mug of coffee by my side of the bed. Luc had pulled the covers up, and sat there bare-chested and buff, his laptop balanced across his knees. He gave me a resigned look. “Thought I’d better check in with Grandpa,” he sighed. “I have rather been ignoring work recently.”
I pulled on clean clothes and took a deep slurp of the coffee. “Thank you for bringing me this. D’you want me to leave you in peace?”
His head shot up. “Only if you want to. I can write to Grandpa at any time. I get the feeling that calls to your mother aren’t stress free, so I’m happy to lend some moral support.”
I dropped onto the duvet, and immediately got up again to perch on the window sill. “There’s a good six inches of snow out there now.”
“Don’t change the subject, Charley.” I narrowed my eyes at him but he didn’t blink. “She’s yourmum. She might not be perfect but at least she doesn’t think your being gay is a shameful aberration.”
Valid point in Nita’s favour. My sexuality had never caused so much as a blip, with her or David. I unlocked my screen and pressed the right buttons. “’Lo, it’s me.”
31
LUC
I couldn’t help overhearingtheir conversation. At first, his mother needed reassurance that Charley was healthy and safe, going so far as to beg him to send her a selfie. To my surprise, he did, angling his phone camera away from anything that could identify where he was, not that there was much to give us away. Seemingly satisfied, she then told him she’d fielded several calls from his manager at work. I took this to mean the warehouse he’d mentioned. Charley sighed dramatically and mumbled an excuse for an apology, stating the vagaries of his phone.
My ears pricked up when I heard her mention the motorcycle club. “That Mr Edge isn’t very polite, is he?”
“Ledge, Nita. That’s his nickname. And no, he’s to be avoided at all costs. He’s a total wanker.”
“Well I could hardly avoid him when he rang the doorbell, could I? He was most insistent I passed on your new address. Said you weren’t answering your phone. I told him you rarely did. He seemed most put out when I said I didn’t know where you were. Darling, are you in some sort of trouble?”
Charley gritted his teeth, presumably at the casual endearment, although I couldn’t be sure. “How long have you got?” He sniffed, and went on hurriedly. “It’s all under control. Ledge is an arsehole, trying to stir something up involving me, to cover his tracks. Or the club’s tracks. I don’t know yet. But for god’s sake, don’t tell him anything more.”
“Oh.” There was a noticeable pause, then a muffled sound which might have been her speaking to someone else. Maybe Charley’s dad. “Your father is asking, have you gone to Eire?”
Charley stiffened. He waved his hand between his free ear and me, asking if I was listening. I nodded, and shoved the laptop to one side to come closer. “Fudge it a bit,” I mouthed.
He gave me a thumbs up. “I probably shouldn’t answer that right now.”
There was more muffled conversation. Then, “Charley, your father wants a word.”
“I’ll take this outside, Nita. The house is very stuffy this morning.” There was another pause, then I heard a man’s voice say clearly, “Charley, your mum can’t overhear now. Are you safe?”
He sighed. “Kind of. It’s complicated. Why did you ask about Ireland?”
There followed a back and forth about rumours and whisperings in town. Some of them seemed to be rather more accurate than I’d have liked, but nobody as yet had come out and said Charley was wanted for murder. Small mercies. And, as Charley had suspected, his parents had checked his bank account for clues. Charley’s father wanted to know if he had enough money, and a safe place to stay. He seemed reassured on both counts. “You’re not alone, Charley, are you? You’re independent but you’re still only nineteen. We do worry about you.”
Charley rolled his eyes. But I sensed genuine concern from both his parents. They might not be typical in their parenting, but they did appear to care about him.
He debated for a moment. I could almost see the cogs turning. Then he said, reluctantly, “I’ve had some help. But I’m not prepared to talk about it, or them.”
“Fair enough. You are legally an adult. That’s your right.” Another pause. “Do you think you’ll be coming back any time soon?” There was definitely hope in that question.
“I probably shouldn’t,” he said finally.
His father said he understood. Then mentioned he needed to get back inside as he’d promised a friend some help, and didn’t want to be late. Charley asked to be passed back to his mother. I raised my eyebrows at him, but he shook his head and turned to face the garden.
“Charley?” She sounded worried. I didn’t blame her.
“Yeah.” His bottom lip was under fire, a sure sign he was anxious. “What would you say if I told you I’m looking for my birth parents?”
There was the sound of a pained gasp. My own gasp was internal but no less anguished: Charley really did have no filter.
