A glance at my phone tells me it’s two in the morning. I’d usually be drunk or high or shagging by now. Or all three. And as apparently all three options are being denied to me, I can’t sleep.
I glare venomously at the wall. On the other side of it, Reuben is no doubt sleeping the sleep of the righteous. I lift my middle finger and raise it in the direction of where his bed probably is. Then I fall back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling.
I consider getting up, going into his room, and sliding into his bed. He’d fuck me, and I’d be able to finally sleep. Sex always wipes me out. I wouldn’t have hesitated to join him before the Year of Silence, as I began calling it, but now I don’t know whether he’d welcome me. The thought makes my belly hurt. Revenge fucking gets a bit pathetic when the person you’re extracting revenge from doesn’t care enough to stick around.
I huff and roll onto my side, kicking viciously at the covers. I scratch at my leg, but it doesn’t relieve the itch. I’m not stupid. I’m coming down from the immense amount of time I’ve spent high or drunk. I didn’t think the lifestyle would impact me. I told myself I didn’t need the drugs, and I don’t, but apparently my circulation system hasn’t got the memo yet.
The wind moans, and I’ve abruptly had enough. I reach out and snap on the lamp. It floods the room with a golden glow as I jackknife out of bed and stomp to the wardrobe, making as much noise as possible. I’m halfway hoping it wakes Reuben up. Then he can share my misery.
However, there’s no sound of movement from his room, so I open the wardrobe doors and grab a pair of jeans and a hoodie off the hangers. I’ve never seen either item of clothing before, sothey must be part of Dean’s purchases. Some of Reuben’s clothes hang in the wardrobe, and I reach up and touch the sleeve of an olive-coloured jumper. It’s soft on my fingers, and a ghostly waft of Reuben’s sandalwood cologne gusts out of it. Before I know I’m doing it, I toss the hoodie on the bed and instead slide into the jumper. It hangs on me, and I have to roll up the sleeves a couple of times, but it feels ridiculously like a hug in wool form.
Dismissing the silly thought, I let myself out of the room. For a few seconds, I freeze on the landing, but there’s no sound of him waking up. I tiptoe down the stairs and into the kitchen.
“Where would you keep them, Reuben Langley?” I whisper. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s kept a pack of cigarettes. He doesn’t smoke very often, having largely packed up when he was thirty, but he likes the option of having them at hand if he changes his mind.
My eye falls on the drawers of an old pine sideboard. “There,” I say. I open it, rifling through the contents and exclaim in triumph when I find a pack of Marlboro Lights at the bottom of the drawer under a pile of tea towels. Grabbing the lighter on the counter near the candles and a throw from the back of the chair, I let myself out of the back door and start down the path towards the bottom of the garden.
The wind grabs me as soon as I step out. It’s fiercer than I’d thought, blowing in off the sea with an icy cold edge like it’s bringing the winter. I shiver and huddle into Reuben’s jumper, pulling the blanket around my shoulders. My feet are already freezing, but I’m not going back for shoes.
My phone rings suddenly, and I fumble for it, nearly dropping it in the process.
“Yes?” I hiss, looking up frantically at Reubens’ bedroom window, but it remains dark.
There’s a startled silence, and then I hear the familiar sardonic voice of Mal. “Mother, are we running from the bailiffs again?”
I blink. “Pardon?”
“Oh, it’s you, Xavier. I thought with the way you answered the phone that you must be in hiding again.”
“Again? I was neverinhiding in the first place.”
“Weren’t you? Silly me. I have the brain size of a pea.”
I stare at my phone when he makes no effort to carry on the conversation. “Erm, did you ring me for anything, Mal?”
“Just wanted to check you were alive. And you are.”
“If you’d asked me that a few days ago, I might have had a different answer.”
“Fucking Robbie.”
“Did Karl’s boyfriend get hold of him?”
“He certainly did.” He snorts. “He tooksucha firm hold of him that Robbie couldn’t escape the fist in his face.”
“Ouch. Reuben had already done enough damage with that.”
“Where is your angry kidnapper anyway?”
“Sleeping. And he’s notthatangry.”
“Really?”
“No. He just had some very forceful questions about what was right and what was wrong, and Robbie’s face was the answer.”
He laughs, and my mouth ticks up at the merry sound. When he speaks next, his voice is extraordinarily gentle. “I’m very glad you’re still here, Xavier.”
I swallow hard. “Thank you. Me too,” I say hoarsely.
