As I spoke, I sensed movement on the ground below. I looked over Luke’s shoulder in time to see Billy’s back as he walked away from the van, head down, hands thrust in his pockets. The words to call out to him caught in my throat. I let Luke go and we got back to work. When Billy didn’t come back, I found my phone in the footwell of the van and tapped out a message.
Gus: Luke paid the wages last night. Check your account
Billy didn’t reply.
Chapter Ten
Billy
Gus was expecting to find me AWOL. Or drunk as a skunk and passed out on his couch. He didn’t say it, of course, but his surprise when he walked in the door to find me cooking dinner gave him away. That, and he approached me as you might a caged bear.
“You’re cooking? Again?”
I shrugged. “Got your message about the wages. Figured I might as well while I’m here.”
Gus’s gaze flickered, but he covered it well, leaving me to contemplate what had made his brain catch. Was it the thought of me leaving? Or, more likely, the prospect of me outstaying my welcome and bringing him more grief than I already had.
He wandered off to dump his work gear and shower. I frowned at my cracked phone screen, scrutinising the recipe I’d found for cottage pie. The meat sauce I’d cobbled in a frying pan looked fairly edible, but the spuds were giving me a headache. I’d never mashed a potato in my life, and this crackpot TV chef wanted me to “rice” them? What the actual fuck?
I tossed my phone on the counter and abandoned the recipe. Gus had a potato masher. That’d do.
When I was done butchering supper, I left it in the oven, cleaned up, and ventured into the living room.
Gus was still upstairs, and I didn’t know how to watch TV without him, so I occupied myself playing with Grey on the rug. He had a thing for killing Gus’s socks, and I’d given up trying to take them off him. If the cat thought he was a Staffordshire bull terrier, who was I to argue? And it was fun. Grey was fast and agile, flipping his elegant body around like only cats could. We played until he decided he’d rather sit on my shoulder and stick his paw in my ear. “Dickhead.”
A deep—and decidedly un-feline—chuckle sounded behind me. If I’d been anywhere else, I might’ve jumped, but I knew Gus’s quiet ways by now, and I liked that I hadn’t heard him come downstairs. I liked being unaware of every sound around me without having to be drunkedy-drunk.
I liked the warm surprise of his presence even more.
Gus padded into the room, barefoot and dressed in sweats and a tee. He didn’t look like he had plans to go out, and didn’t that make my heart jump?
Twat.
I hid my face in Grey’s neck. Gus sank into the armchair and laughed again. “You and that cat.”
“What about us?”
“You’re a pair.”
“Pair of what?”
“Whatever you want to be.”
For the briefest moment, his gaze was so intense it took my breath away, but true to form, was fleeting enough for me to wonder if I’d imagined it.
I put Grey down and lay back on the rug, staring at Gus’s pristine white ceiling. It was nothing like any ceiling I’d found myself beneath in recent years: no cracks or yellow cigarette stains. No outright holes from my fist. He hadn’t mentioned me punching stuff since my confession in the GP waiting room. Was he storing it up? Or had it merely confirmed to him the loser he already knew me to be?
I was betting on the latter, and shame spread through me with a cold wave. I pictured myself driving my fist into the drystone wall at the end of the road, biting my lip as my skin broke and blood seeped out, welcoming the pain, latching onto it like it was a fucking life raft. As if the bruising sting could match the white-hot poker stabbing through my other arm.
On cue, a warning ripple of pain started deep in the bones of my battered shoulder. Anxiety reared, adding to the prickly heat. I had a prescription now: two drugs—an anti-inflammatory for every day, and nuclear painkillers for super bad days. The anti-inflammatory was slow acting, and I didn’t yet know if they worked. The painkillers were the same Gus had given me, hardcore shit that would put me to sleep. I craved that sweet oblivion, but I didn’t fancy dribbling in front of Gus again anytime soon, so I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes.
Beside me, Grey butted my head. I butted him back and tried to remember how long I was supposed to cook the pie for and if Gus liked baked beans. The combination of thoughts made my head a strange place to be, but I was used to that. Logical thought was for other people.
I heard Gus stand up. I figured his hunter-gatherer instincts would carry him to the kitchen to investigate the oven, so the sudden warmth down the sore side of my body surprised me.
Soft fingers brushed my hair off my forehead.
I opened my eyes.
Gus was stretched out next to me, head tilted sideways, curious and knowing all at the same time. “What’s up?”
“Hmm?”
He touched my face again. “You look uncomfortable. Does your shoulder hurt?”
Nothing hurt with him so close to me. My throbbing shoulder belonged to someone else and all that existed was his featherlight touch. “I’m okay.”
“You don’t have to be. It was a long day.”
“Only mentally. The rest of it was no worse than normal.”
Gus reclaimed his hand and I just about died of grief. “If it’s any consolation, we had a conversation after you left and he felt pretty bad about riding you so hard.”
“He didn’t ride me. He was his usual self and I wanted to push him off the roof. That’s how we are.”
“It
