Page 9 of Reinventing Cato
“I should take your keys off you.”
Hendry laughed. “Then you’d have to walk home with me to make sure I got there okay.”
Vigge sighed. He was right.
“He was a good violinist, your brother.”
Vigge nodded.
“Not as good as you, but talented nonetheless.”
He’d never stop missing Anders.
“I’ve never seen you up here on New Year’s Eve before.”
“I usually avoid it.”
“Come back with me. Make better memories,” Hendry said quietly. “Or get drunk enough not to remember.”
“Give me your keys and I’ll drive you back. I’ve only had two pints.” And one glass of wine. Whereas Hendry had drunk a lot of whisky.
Hendry put the keys in Vigge’s hand.
It wasn’t far to Hendry’s place. Vigge was half-surprised he’d never left the village. He remembered Hendry telling him more than once that he wanted to move back to Newcastle where he’d grown up.
They climbed out of the car on Hendry’s drive and Hendry slipped on the way to the door. Vigge hauled him to his feet.
“I’m going to blame the ice,” Hendry said. “Which house of the two is mine?”
Vigge laughed. Hendry lived in an isolated cottage at the opposite end of the village to Vigge’s parents.
“Key’s on the keyring.”
Vigge unlocked the door. “Alarm?”
“No.”
Vigge only intended to get Hendry safely to a chair, but as he guided him into the living room, Hendry tried to kiss him.
“You’re drunk.” Vigge pulled away.And I’m not drunk enough.He helped Hendry to the couch and stepped back.
Hendry grunted and closed his eyes. “I don’t usually drink quite this much.”
“Want me to make you a coffee after I get the violins out of the car?”
“If you’re not going to stay, then I’ll have another whisky.”
Vigge suspected Hendry would be asleep before he came back inside. He took the violins from the car and locked it. Setting his own down in the hall, he took Hendry’s into the room on the right, assuming it was still his music room. It was. A couple of violins hung on the wall next to a workbench. A piano sat in the corner. Hendry bought and sold violins, and repaired them too.
There was no fire in the hearth and the room was cold. Lessons wouldn’t begin again until school started. Vigge exhaled as he remembered playing in here, Hendry’s praise, the pleasure Vigge had felt in that, how he’d tried to ignore what else he could see on Hendry’s face.
There was a line of photos on a shelf and Vigge went over to look at them. The last one was of Anders playing the violin in that room and the breath caught in Vigge’s throat. He didn’t think he’d seen that picture before. There was a photo of a teenage Vigge too, smiling. He didn’t do much of that these days.
Back in the other room, Hendry was trying to get up off the couch.
“That’s a new picture.” Vigge nodded towards the painting hanging above the fireplace. “When did you find religion?”
“It found me.Give us a hand to bed or I’ll not get there,” Hendry muttered.
