Page 49 of Hard Tail
Chapter Sixteen
When I got to the shop on Tuesday morning, it wasn’t just Matt waiting for me in the doorway. There was a large rucksack, a mountain bike and a guitar collectively taking up a lot more space than he did.
“Hey, I didn’t know you played guitar,” I blurted out before my brain could catch up with what my eyes were telling me about his hunched-over posture and sad eyes. “Bloody hell, are you okay?”
Matt sniffed and struggled to his feet, nearly falling on his guitar in the process. “’M fine.”
“No, you’re not.” For one thing, he was muttering worse than Adam. “Come on in and tell me what’s happened. Have you and Steve had a bust-up?” It was hardly a Holmesian effort of deduction, given the luggage and the general despondency.
Matt grabbed his bike and pushed it into the shop. I picked up his guitar in one hand and his rucksack in the other and followed him in. “Matt? Come on, talk to me.”
“Yeah. Sorry.” He wasn’t looking at me. “I’ve left him,” he told his handlebars.
My heart leapt—and then my conscience stepped in to grab it, give it a good shake and slam it back down to earth. I had no business whatsoever being glad Matt and Steve weren’t an item any longer. “For good?” I couldn’t help myself asking. “I mean, you’re sure you won’t work things out?”
Matt rolled his bike into the back room and leaned it against the wall. Finally he turned to face me, his shoulders hunched and his hands in his pockets. He shook his head. “Nah. It’s over.”
“Did…did you have a fight?” I broke into a cold sweat at the thought of Matt trying to stand up to Pit-bull Pritchard.
The shaggy curls shook again. “Not this morning. I just…I just left. I waited ’til he’d gone to work and then I grabbed my stuff and left. I mean, I wrote him a note so he’d know why I’d gone.”
“Why?” My blood ran cold. “Is there someone else?”
Matt’s face, what I could see of it, turned pink. “It’s not that. It’s just—it just wasn’t a good idea. Me staying, I mean. I thought he’d change—he kept saying he’d change—but he never did.”
I wondered exactly what Steve had been doing that he shouldn’t. Just being himself would have been ample grounds, in my view, to dump the bastard like a ton of steaming hot manure, but presumably Matt had different views on the matter. If Prick-tard had hurt him… “Are you all right?” I asked again, more urgently this time. My chest ached with the need to go and give him a hug, but distrust of my own motives held me back.
Plus, my arms were still full of Matt’s stuff. I put the rucksack down next to the workbench and propped the guitar up against it carefully.
Matt nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he said, his gaze falling to the floor and his uncertain tone giving the lie to his words.
A thought struck me. “Have you got anywhere to stay?”
“Was going to ask if you’d mind me kipping down in the shop for a day or two.”
“Don’t be daft! Come and stay at Jay’s. He won’t mind.” I gave Matt an encouraging smile. “The sofa’s enormous, and it’s actually pretty comfortable. It’ll be nice to have someone else for the cat to ignore.”
He looked up at that. “Jay’s got a cat? I didn’t know that.”
“Well, the jury’s still out on whether he knows himself, actually—I keep forgetting to ask him—but the cat seems to think he lives there, so who am I to argue? Anyway, it’s settled—you’re staying.”
“Are you sure? I mean, it’s a bit much to ask…”
“Good thing you didn’t, then—I offered, remember? Come on, don’t worry about it. I’d better go and open up the till out front, but if you need anything…” I trailed off. I wasn’t honestly certain what he might need, as such. But I’d make damn sure he got it, anyway.
Matt’s smile told me just how relieved he was to have somewhere to go. “Thanks,” he said, still sounding a bit awkward. “S’pose I’d better get down to work, then.”
I nodded and left him to it.
***
Unsurprisingly, Matt hadn’t provided any lunch today, so I sent him out to get something from Asda. Not that I was feeling particularly lazy or anything like that, but I wasn’t sure Matt was really up to dealing with customers on his own, and a bit of a walk in the sunshine would undoubtedly do him good. He came back with a baguette, some French cheese and various other ingredients which he then proceeded to assemble into a simple but delicious lunch. “You know, I’m not saying I don’t appreciate this, but an egg and cress on white would have been fine,” I mumbled with my mouth half-full of brie.
Still subdued, Matt managed a weak smile. “Yeah, well. I like good food, all right? And it’s not healthy, eating a load of packaged crap.” He ducked his head. “Sorry. I probably sound like your mum.”
“Your mum, maybe, but not mine. Mum hates cooking, always has. She thinks convenience food is the best thing since sliced bread.” I looked at the remains of my baguette. “Although I have to say, my opinion of sliced bread has gone right down since you’ve been doing my lunches.”
Matt had a far-off look in his eye. “My mum loved cooking. She was always in the kitchen in her pinny, baking something or other. She used to joke that my stepdad only married her for her sticky buns.”
