Page 51 of Crying in the Rain

“Ah.” Kris nodded slowly, totally bemused and feeling quite weary. It had been a very stressful day and he was running on his last reserves; God only knew how Ade was still standing.

As if he had read Kris’s mind, Ade asked, “Can you drive?”

“I can. I don’t have a car, though. I’ve never needed one.”

“How would you feel about driving us to your place? My insurance will cover you, and I feel like shit.”

“Yeah, of course,” Kris agreed without hesitation. Ade moved away to go back to the apartment, and Kris caught his hand, pulling him close and giving him a soft, undemanding kiss. “You don’t look like shit.”

“I bet I do.”

“No.” Kris kissed him again to reassure him, aware that this was the first of many times to come when Ade would berate himself, but it wouldn’t be hard to tell him how handsome he was, or how intelligent, witty, desirable and loveable, because it was the truth.

*

They were at almost the halfway point when the car started playing up. At first, it was only a slight judder as they took off from traffic lights. Next, the engine started to click and clatter,then the clicking and clattering was joined by a whirring. Kris pulled over, and Ade called his roadside recovery service.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “I check everything once a week—oil, tyre pressures, brake fluid—everything. It’s never missed a service, and it’s just had an oil change. This shouldn’t be happening.”

An hour later, the mechanic arrived and quickly diagnosed the problem. “Your oil pump’s had it, mate. Your engine’s taken a right battering.”

With the MG on the back of the tow truck, Ade and Kris climbed into the cab, next to the mechanic. Kris couldn’t help thinking it was something of an anticlimax, not that he was up for any more excitement today, but it should have been a chauffeur-driven Rolls Royce or the E-Type Jaguar Ade loved so much, taking him to a big party where the Champagne flowed to celebrate what he had achieved.

No, a breakdown truck being driven by an oily mechanic was nothing like the glorious exit Kris would have liked for Ade, but it was a move in the right direction.

18: Whatever Happens

Ade

Back atKrisand Shaunna’s place, the homely calm lulled Ade into a semi-catatonic state, and it was only when Kris freed his hand so he could go to the bathroom that Ade realised he’d been sitting on the Johanssons’ very comfortable sofa for so long his cup of tea was stone cold. He watched Kris leave, the blank space filling with the image of that sneer, his throat constricting as if Fergus’s hand was still around it. He’d thought Fergus was going to kill him, and in that moment, he almost hadn’t cared.

“…today, hun?”

“Hmm?” Ade blinked out of his trance and looked over at Shaunna, who was curled up in the armchair, her gaze on the TV, but she was watching him too. “Sorry. What did you say?”

“Have you eaten today?”

“I…I honestly don’t know.”

“Is there anything you don’t like?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.” She flipped her legs down and pushed her feet into her slippers.

“Don’t go to any trouble on my—”

“Oh no you don’t,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m an old hand at this. Kris told you about his mental health, didn’t he?”

Ade nodded. “You looked after him. But you’re not my wife.”

“And I did the same for my dad after my mum died, and my mate Adele after every relationship break-up because—”

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Becauseit’s what I do, hun. I know you don’t want to eat, but it’s important, so, what do you like?”

Ade shrugged. He wasn’t winning this one. “I’ll eat pretty much anything.”

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