Page 34 of Reinventing Cato
Cato turned up the collar of his coat and trudged towards the petrol pumps. Ten at night wasn’t the best time to be hitching a lift, but he hoped someone would have mercy on a priest. And the sad bloody thought lingering in his head, that Vigge might come and find him, could bugger right off and freeze to death in the snow. Cato found himself grinding his teeth. He’d never pursued anyone. He’d never needed to. Well, now he knew what it felt like when you wanted to.
It was too cold to hang around on the forecourt. The bottom of his cassock was still wet and starting to freeze so he went into the shop. He bought a bottle of water and pocketed his change along with the bottle. “Is it okay if I stick around for a while? My flight was cancelled this morning. My ride only got me this far and I need to be in London in a few hours.”
“You can’t hitch a lift from inside here. It’s not allowed.”
“I won’t bother people. Once they’ve paid, I’ll just ask politely if they’ll give me a ride, and leave them alone if they say no. It’s too cold to hang around outside.”
“You’re being recorded by CCTV.”
“I don’t want any trouble.”
“Okay. I guess I can trust a priest.”
Thank you, cassock.Cato went to stand away from the counter so it didn’t look as if he was queuing to pay, and waited. Not many people were out on a snowy bank holiday night and when the first person to walk through the door was a young woman, Cato sighed. He didn’t bother asking her because he knew she’d say no. Sheshouldsay no.
It was ten minutes before someone else came in, but the guy walked off as soon as Cato mentioned the wordlift. The next four guys said no or ignored him. Cato had been in there for half an hour before he got ayesfrom a guy in his fifties who was heading for Wembley.
“Thanks,” Cato said and followed him out to his Volvo. He tucked his bag at his feet and put his coat on top. If he had to make a quick getaway, he wanted his stuff at hand. Though he doubted he’d be throwing himself from the car. Unless he was desperate. With a bit of luck, the heater blasting his feet would dry his clothes.
“Bit risky, hitching a lift,” the guy said as he slammed the door. “I could be a serial killer.”
Why did that sound funny coming out of Cato’s mouth and not from this guy’s?
“I believe in the innate decency of people,” Cato said in his most priest-like voice. “So far, I’ve been treated with nothing but kindness.” Reap what you sow, wasn’t that the term? Cato’s past behaviour was coming back to bite him.
“I’m Mike.”
“Cato.”
“Hope you’re the chatty sort because you can keep me awake.” Mike laughed.
Damn.Cato had hoped to go to sleep and he really hoped Mike wasn’tthattired.
Fifteen minutes later, Cato was regretting having left the motel room. Silent Vigge had to be better than chatty Mike. Cato didn’t need to say a word. Mike went on and on. All Cato had to do was make appropriate comments every now and again. Except that was more difficult than it sounded because Mike rarely paused for breath and all he talked about was his wife and how much he missed her, what a paragon of virtue she was, how she kept the house spotless, always had his meals ready for him, his bed warm, ironed his underwear—what the hell?—and how lonely he was without her.
Cato had no idea if she was dead or whether she’d gone to iron someone else’s underwear, but if she’d been talked at nonstop, Cato suspected the latter.God, am I this annoying? Don’t answer that.He winced.
From droning on about his wife, Mike moved onto football about which Cato knew nothing, although not that long ago, he’d fucked a footballer who played for a Premiership team. Aaron wasn’t out and he’d burst into tears after he’d come. With guilt, not joy. Not quite the reaction Cato had hoped for. He’d had to swear he’d never tell anyone. There’d been no need to threaten to break his legs. It had been shocking how fast Aaron had turned from a blubbering mess, begging not to be exposed, to an aggressive thug. First Aaron, then Drew and the coffee throwing… Now Vigge. Not violent but silent.Do I bring out the worst in people?
Was guilt what had been wrong with Vigge? But instead of tears or aggression, he’d gone quiet. Cato understood it was harder for some than others to be open about their sexuality. He really did understand why a policeman had to be careful. Cato would never out someone. Not a policeman, nor a footballer. The thought appalled him. It was a crucial moment in your life that youhadto take control of yourself. Though it hadn’t been an issue in his house with an older brother who was gay.
But wasn’t Vigge’s concern over being outed enough of a reason to accept that a quick encounter was all they could have? There had been no need to be so bloody…cold. Still, what did it matter? They were done. Even if Cato had wanted more, he wasn’t going to be anyone’s dirty little secret.
Forget him!
I don’t want to.
Ah shit.As if he didn’t have enough racing around in his head.
Every time Cato thought he was about to drop off, Mike nudged him awake.
“Tell me what it’s like to be a priest,” Mike said.
Cato opened his mouth, but Mike jumped in.
“I bet you get people whining at you all the time.”
“Not whining,” Cato said quickly. “When people are in trouble, it’s a privilege to be able to try and help them. I like supporting those in need.” Personally, he couldn’t think of anything worse.God, am I that selfish? So self-absorbed?He didn’t think he was, but helping others wasn’t something he’d want to do for a job. He didn’t count helping students with their work.
