Dreaming Of The Bones

“Beef burgers. The second lorry driver bought us both beef burgers. But that was a long time ago.”

“I take it you hitchhiked your way here, then?” asked Kincaid. Thank God Kit had come through his journey unharmed, but this was not the time to lecture him on the danger of riding with strangers.

“Four lorries,” said Kit with a touch of pride. “We walked from the motorway, though. I was afraid someone I knew might stop if I tried to thumb it.”

“I’ll bet you’re hungry again,” Kincaid said easily. “There’s a cafe not far from here on the motorway. What do you say I buy you a real lorry driver’s fry up? We’ll get something for Tess, too.”

Kit tensed and gathered the dog to him. “I told you, I’m not going back to Reading. If you try to make me, I’ll just run away again.”

Watching the stubborn set of Kit’s mouth, Kincaid wondered if he looked like that when he dug his heels in over something. Like father, like son. And if that were the case, the best way to win the boy’s cooperation was to treat him as honestly as he would like to be treated himself. After a moment’s thought, he said, “I understand how you feel, Kit, but you’ve got to be reasonable about this. You know you can’t stay here on your own—”

“My dad will come back. I know he will, and then I can stay—”

“That may be true, but in the meantime, you can’t stay here for more than a few hours before someone else comes looking for you—either the police or your grandparents. And you know your grandfather’s frantic. You don’t want him worrying about you.”

“She won’t care what’s happened to me. All she cares about is her bloody carpets.”

Kincaid sighed. “Does that make your grandfather’s feelings any less important?”

Kit stared at him, then his mouth relaxed and he gave a little shrug. “I suppose not. But I can’t go back. They won’t let me keep Tess.”

“I promise you we’ll try to work something out. And I promise I won’t do anything without discussing it with you first. But we have to start somewhere, and it seems to me that breakfast is a pretty good beginning. What do you say?”

For a long moment, Kit didn’t respond, then he gave an infinitesimal nod and said, “What happened to your eye?”

Once seated in the clean anonymity of the Little Chef, Kincaid and Kit ordered eggs, bacon, sausage, mushrooms, tomatoes, and fried bread, to be washed down with a pot of tea. They’d left Tess in the car with the small blanket Kit had found for her, and she settled down to wait with the resignation of a dog accustomed to it.

At the cottage Kit had washed his hands and brushed his hair, then gathered his things up without further complaint. When he was ready, he’d produced a spare key from the drawer in the kitchen.

“Did I not latch the window?” Kincaid had asked, still a bit concerned over his lapse.

“The lock doesn’t quite catch,” said Kit. “You wouldn’t have noticed. But I always get in that way when I forget my key. It makes Mum fur—” He’d stopped, stricken, and Kincaid had hustled him out of the cottage with an arm round his shoulders.

This time Kincaid kept the key, and they had driven to the Little Chef in silence.

Their tea arrived, hot and strong, and as they stirred their cups, Kincaid glanced at his watch and pulled his phone from his jacket pocket. “I’m going to ring Gemma and ask her to let your granddad know you’re all right. No, wait,” he added as Kit started to protest, “that’s all for now. We’re going to take this one step at a time. Fair enough?”

Kit gave him a nod, and Kincaid wished he were really as confident as he was attempting to sound. What he hadn’t told Kit was that he didn’t know what to do next. The only thing of which he felt sure was that returning Kit to his grandparents right now might mean losing him for good.

Dialing Gemma’s number, he filled her in briefly, then said, “Ring Kit’s grandfather and tell him he’s all right, that he’s safe with me. Nothing more. Then give Laura Miller a ring, too, would you, love?”

“What are you going to do?” asked Gemma. “You have no legal right to keep him with you without their permission.”

“I know,” he answered guardedly. “But I don’t see any alternative at the moment.”

There was a pause, then Gemma said, “Bring him here, then, until we figure something out. At least there’s a garden for the dog.”

“Will Hazel and Tim mind?”

“I’ll just go have a word. See you in an hour or two,” she added and rang off.

Kincaid eyed Kit, who had been listening intently in spite of the arrival of his breakfast. “We’re going to visit Gemma for a bit,” he said as he picked up his fork and tucked into his eggs. “Okay with you?”

Instead of answering Kit frowned and said, “I didn’t know you knew the Millers.”

“They were worried about you. Gemma and I were worried about you. And I imagine all the friends that Laura Miller rang were worried about you, too.”

Kit looked a bit sheepish. “I didn’t think of that. Honestly. I only thought—”

“I know. Sometimes we lose our perspective.” Kincaid waved his fork at Kit and grinned. “Eat up. All those hours without food probably stunted your growth.”

“You sound just like my mum,” Kit said, concentrating on cutting his sausage. He ate in silence for a few minutes, then looked up at Kincaid. “It wasn’t any good, you know. Going home, I mean. It didn’t bring her back.”