Page 13 of August's Thief
Dawson chewed on his lip. “Yes. I need him close. It’s difficult to explain, but he makes me stronger. And if I’m going to charm the magistrate, then I need to be at full strength.”
We hadn’t much of a game plan. I’d contacted a couple of lawyers and both had offered the same depressing advice; these cases were cut and dried. Serial offenders were sometimes given custodial sentences and sometimes not. It was at the magistrate’s discretion, and the best Dawson could do was be honest, apologetic, and hope the magistrate was sympathetic and in a good mood.
“You will,” I answered. “I’d let you off scot-free if you were standing in front of me.”
He chuckled. “You’re a tiny bit biased.”
“I could be there for you too?” We’d had this conversation already, and he wasn’t going to change his answer.
As predicted, Dawson shook his head. “No. This is on me. This is pre-Gussie, old-life stuff, and I want to draw a line under it.”
And start anew with me. I could hardly wait, even if we would have to delay for a few weeks while he served his sentence. I knelt to tie his shoes. New black brogues from my favourite tailor and built to last. “When you had your interview with CUPID… What did you ask for? What did your heart desire?”
The question had been on my lips for weeks, but I’d been scared to pose it, fearful I might not like the answer.
I needn’t have worried.
“Nothing much.” He smiled at the memory. “I took Mikey along with me to that weird empty office, seeing as Eileen had gone to visit her sister. Thought we might get some grub there or something. We made a day of it, two buses and a long walk; I remember he was full of cold that week and coughed and coughed. Even though I had him wrapped up as snug as a bug in a rug, I nearly sacked the whole thing off.”
Fuck, I was so glad he hadn’t.
“Anyhow,” Dawson carried on while I made unnecessary adjustments to his tie as an excuse to touch him for a littlelonger. “That bot thing was a nosy bugger. We did get some grub, but they asked me lots of questions first, mostly about Mikey and my background. And why we were alone in the world.” He smiled again. “I guess they was worried I was too young to shoulder that much responsibility. Hah! They wouldn’t have thought that if they’d met our parents. Fucking useless wasters, the both of them.”
Dawson didn’t mention his parents very often. Cut from the same cloth as mine by the sound of them, minus the massive bank account.
Having run out of excuses, I stepped back, admiring him. Still my irrepressible Dawson, but with a face bare of make-up and in a smart suit. Clothes didn’t make a man any more than fine feathers made a fine-tasting bird, but if decent tailoring was what it took to convince a magistrate he was an upstanding, repentant member of the human race, then a smart suit was the order of the day.
“You look great,” I said, because he did. Like always.
“Thanks to you.” He smoothed a hand down his new silk tie. “I’ll phone you as soon as it’s over. It’s a long day for Mikey. He’ll be exhausted. And tetchy. Bring his favourite blanket with you when you fetch him later.”
“I will. And I’ll be fetching you too. I know it.”
I had a whole list of instructions for if I wasn’t. But we weren’t going to dwell on that. For a few seconds, we eyed each other, me like a dramatic idiot, trying to memorise every detail of Dawson’s perfect face as if he was going to be sent to solitary confinement for fifteen years, not the local nick for fifteen days, and Dawson staring back as if I’d hung the bloody moon for him.
“Go on then,” I said. “What was thisnothing muchyou asked CUPID for?”
His answering smile spread through every part of me. He often stroked a finger down my ugly cheek, and he did itnow, tenderly and lovingly. As if marking out a map to cherish forever. “It’s crazy, Gussie. But after visiting CUPID, I knew you were right for me when you first introduced yourself.”
“Yeah? How’s that then?”
“That bot kind of gets under your skin, don’t they? Like a fucking psychiatrist or something.”
I recalled my own teary moment in the presence of CUPID. “Yes.”
“I was blubbing like a baby by the time I’d told them about how we were struggling. So when they got round to asking, ‘What does your heart desire?’the whole truth was fairly dripping from me! And I kind of… um… got carried away.”
I grinned, imagining it. Imagining Dawson listing a whole smorgasbord of desires, ranging from a personal manicurist to a gold-plated teapot.
“I started out trying to keep it simple; I asked for someone to look after us. Someone to love us and care for us, someone who me and Mikey would love back.”
A lump welled in my throat.
“It wasn’t very sexy or aspirational,” he carried on, oblivious. “A bit middle-aged for a twenty-two-year-old bloke, to be honest. But I was at the end of my rope; Mikey was ill, I’d just got done for nicking the Weetabix, and the rent was overdue. And I was cold and miserable and so fucking tired.”
“I’m so sorry. You must have been so desperate.”
“Yeah, I was. But I haven’t finished yet. I was also embarrassed, what with the tears and everything. So I tried to make a joke of it. I saidI might as well ask for a fucking angel.A lonely, big-hearted angel looking for a home.”
