Page 68 of Reinventing Cato
Vigge dried himself, then knelt to dry Cato and when Cato looked up at him, something hurt in Vigge’s chest. How had they slipped from a one-night-stand to this?I trust him. And I trust no one.
Chapter Eleven
When Cato opened his eyes, he had no idea where he was.I slept in my lenses. Damn.Vigge lay behind him in bed and judging by his steady breathing, he was asleep. Cato smiled. This was ordinary and yet somehow the most extraordinary thing he’d done for a long time. The entire day had been great, almost surreal. Even the trapeze, though he wouldn’t be doing it again anytime soon.
For once, sex hadn’t been the sole driver of the encounter. He and Vigge hadn’t even fucked and yet they were here, lying together, and Cato wasn’t thinking about leaving, wasn’t worrying that the guy he was with would get the wrong idea and think this meant something. He was pretty sure both he and Vigge wanted it to mean something.
It was almost a miracle.
Setting aside his concern over the threatening text, Cato felt safe and happy. It came as a shock to realise that he didn’t usually feel that way, or hadn’t for a long time. So was this it? The start of a relationship? The change of direction he’d talked himself into believing he wanted on New Year’s Eve? That he wasn’t filled with either horror or panic meant something, surely?
He carefully rolled over and stared at Vigge, who looked younger while his face was relaxed in sleep. Worry lines gone. If Cato woke him now, they’d fuck and for some reason that he couldn’t currently compute, he wasn’t ready for that. He wanted to keep the way they were now going for a little longer. The fun, the simplicity, the normality of it—though he needed to coach Vigge on what dates usually involved, that a meal out or the cinema would be fine. He wanted to get to know him, and Vigge to do the same.
Warts and all?
Why not?And I don’t have any warts.
You’re going to fuck it up. You always do.
Cato clenched his jaw.
Thanks, little voice in my head. Maybe this time, I won’t.
He slid out of bed to go to the bathroom, and Vigge didn’t stir. It was gloomy in the bedroom, no light coming from outside, and Cato had no idea what time it was. In the dark hallway, the first door he pushed open wasn’t the room he was looking for. But instead of reversing out, he switched on the light.
Vigge’s office. There was a desk with a laptop and piles of paper. A lot neater than Cato’s desk. He stepped closer to it, slid a photo a little further out of a folder and gulped.I shouldn’t have done that.He was looking at an image of a presumably dead body, the back marked by a pattern of puncture-like stab wounds that formed a crooked cross from shoulder to waist. Looked a bit like the cygnus constellation, a sort of stick swan with its wings spread. Cato almost rolled his eyes at himself. Did he see stars everywhere?This poor guy.
He should have pushed the photo back, stepped away, left the room, closed the door, found the bathroom, but he didn’t. There were other photos under that one and curiosity made him sneak a look at another, then another.Stop it now!
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Cato spun round. Vigge stood naked at the door glaring at him.
“I was going to the bathroom, but I pushed open the wrong door. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”Except I did.
“I think you’d better leave.”
“What?” Cato gaped at him. “But—”
“Now. Just when I thought I could trust you. Obviously, I can’t.”
“You can. I made a mistake. I’m sorry. You’re overreacting.”
“You looked at confidential material. You know the sort of trouble I could get into if anyone knew? Trust is a big thing for me.”
Cato sagged.Fuck you.He thought about trying to make Vigge see sense, but he’d been in the wrong, he knew it. His clothes were still in the bathroom, so he strode past Vigge, found the right door and locked it behind him, had a piss, and got dressed. His boots and coat were downstairs. He was pretty sure that was all he’d brought in. He could hear Vigge in the kitchen as he headed down. The temptation to go in and point out that Vigge hadn’t said not to go in that room was strong, but it wasn’t as if Cato didn’t know what he’d done was wrong. He felt ashamed but he was also angry with Vigge, who’d bloody overreacted.
What the hell did it matter? The communication had been clear enough.Fuck off.He shoved his feet into his boots, grabbed his coat and walked out, just managing not to slam the door. He unlocked his car, tossed his coat in the back next to the overnight bag he wouldn’t be using and reversed out of the drive.
All he could think about was getting as far away from Vigge as possible. If he wasn’t the sort of guy who’d discuss what happened, there was no point to any of this. Cato didn’t even want to linger to swap lenses for glasses, or to set the satnav, but it was dark and confronted by lanes he couldn’t remember driving down, and aware that anxiety was causing him to drive too fast, he pulled into a layby after a couple of hundred metres.
He put on the light, reached into the back for his glasses and took out his lenses. What the hell had that been about? Okay, so he’d seen crime scene photos of dead people that he shouldn’t have, but what did Vigge think he was going to do? Perve over them? Tell people? Take pictures and sell them to the press? He’d said he was sorry. Why wasn’t that enough? Not difficult to conclude from Vigge’s reaction that those photos shouldn’t have been seen, maybe shouldn’t have been in the house, but …I said I was sorry.He was. But now Cato was angry with himself more than Vigge.
He stared at his phone.Tell him how sorry you are.He hesitated, trying to work out what to say, if there was anything hecouldsay that would make this right. While he dithered, he checked his phone: several missed calls from his family, even more communications via WhatsApp and a text from a number he didn’t recognise.Oh Christ.If his heart had been beating fast before, it went crazy now.
Cato swallowed hard and opened the message. Just two words.A reminder.What did that mean? He looked at the ten missed calls from his father and Devan, the first several hours ago, and let out an anguished wail.No, no, no, no, no.What had happened? He wasn’t brave enough to call his father, so he phoned Devan.
“Where have you been?” Devan asked.
