Page 133 of Everything That Kills Me
“I was wet, cold and dirty. I’m sorry. I brought your clothes.”
Zeph looked at the pile on the floor. Why couldn’t he go back to the bedroom to dress? But he pulled on his things and fastened his shoes.
“Is everything safe now?”
“Yes and no. We need to leave.”
“The bad guys found you?” Zeph straightened up.
Jack nodded.
“Where are they now?”
“They’ve gone. You don’t need to worry about them.”
Zeph followed Jack and Django down the stairs. In the hall, Zeph’s coat lay on top of his bag. No sign of Jack’s bag.
“Thomas’s going to drive you,” Jack said. “I have something I need to do.”
There was no point asking questions. No point in arguing. “Okay.”
Jack looked different. Cold, controlled, confident.Not mine anymore.Had he ever been his? Zeph could almost feel himself shrinking, but then Jack pulled him into his arms and hugged him, and in that moment, Zeph felt wanted. Jack pressed his face against Zeph’s hair and held him so tightly, Zeph understood what Jack couldn’t say. Again. This was it. Goodbye.
Thomas came out of the kitchen, swiftly closing the door behind him and grabbed his coat from the hook.
“Django! Come,” Thomas said.
When Thomas and the dog walked out, Zeph followed. He swallowed hard when he saw the mess outside the door. The snow was churned up and was that blood?
Thomas opened Jack’s car and put Django in the back. As Zeph sat in the front, the dog climbed through to sit on Zeph’s feet. Thomastsked.
“It’s okay,” Zeph said. “He’ll keep my feet warm.”
“I hope I don’t need to tell you not to speak to anyone about this.”
“Of course.”
And that was all that was said.
A couple of miles later, Zeph realised where Thomas was taking him, and swallowed his groan. The car stopped about fifty yards from Zeph’s family home. Zeph stroked Django for the last time, picked up his bag and got out. Thomas drove away without saying a word.
And a merry Christmas to you, too, dickhead.
Zeph watched until the car’s tail lights had disappeared, then pulled on his coat. He looked at his phone. Almost six in the morning. What was he supposed to do? He assumed Jack hadn’t told Thomas about the way he’d been treated in the garden centre. Why would he want to be brought here? Middleton town centre would have been better, though there was no public transport on Christmas Day, and a limited service on Boxing Day. Even if he could find someone to drive him back to Cambridge today and he doubted it was possible, it would cost a fortune. And was that wise if Thomas and Jack wanted this kept quiet? If the police checked, and saw someone had booked a cab or an Uber at this time on Christmas morning, questions would be asked.
He wasn’t going to knock on the door of his former home, but something—curiosity, masochism or maybe a touch ofnostalgia pulled him forward. It started to snow again as he walked up the house, and Zeph put on his hat and gloves. The tree in the front garden was lit up and strings of flashing icicles hung from the roofline. No one would be awake yet so Zeph looked straight through the window.
A container of Quality Street chocolates sat on the coffee table. Christmas cushions had replaced the usual ones on the couches. Cards hung from ribbons. Presents were piled under the tree. It all looked the same. He was surprised to find it hurt. He’d not been home for Christmas for years. Of course it had gone on without him.
Was he to blame too, for not trying to make things right? But the turned backs at the garden centre had made his father’s position clear.
Not wanting to risk his luck, he walked away. His only option was to head towards Middleton, though as he reached the main road, he rethought that. There was one place he could go where he’d at least have a roof over his head until tomorrow. If he walked to the beach hut at Wisby and found it was no longer owned by Bettina, or she’d changed the padlock combination, he’d have to think of something else but it was worth a try.
It was a very long walk and Zeph’s leg was aching badly by the time he reached the town. He was hungry and thirsty but nowhere would be open. Everyone was busy opening presents, drinking Bucks Fizz and eating croissant or bacon sandwiches or whatever Christmas morning tradition they had. He used his phone to check on transport for the following day while he still had power and a connection. Once he’d made a mental note of the buses and trains he’d need to catch, he walked along the line of beach huts.
Bettina’s was still yellow. He hoped that was a good sign. When 9503 opened the padlock, Zeph could have cried. He took the padlock inside, barred the door and put on the batterypowered light. Everything looked almost the same. There was a little camping stove with a small kettle on top. If there was gas, he could have hot water, but Zeph found coffee and tea, sugar and biscuits. Now hedidcry.
It wasn’t long before the hut had warmed up. Not cosy warm but warm enough. Zeph found a pencil and piece of paper and wrote a message to Bettina, apologising for using the hut and eating all her biscuits. He hadn’t yet, but he would. He lay on the day bed, covered himself with blankets and tried not to think about what had happened.
