But the memories wouldn’t come. My dad had been dead a long time. Sometimes it was hard to remember he’d ever been alive.
The front door opened. Gus appeared in the hallway, hair damp from the shower, cheeks flushed from whatever iron he’d pumped at the gym. He’d been gone for ages, but somehow the sight of him still shocked me, as if I’d forgotten he was ever coming back. He hung his bag on the hook and glanced into the living room. Blinked. Apparently my presence surprised him too.
His gaze flickered from the album in my hands to the one I’d left on the floor. He toed off his shoes and ventured into the room. “That’s my mum’s.”
“I figured. Do you still listen to it?”
“No.” Gus picked up the album and slipped it back where it had come from. Then he stood and left the room without another word.
Bemused, I sat up and debated following him. Since I’d come downstairs to hear him and Mia talking about me, my own brand of logic had made up my mind to give him a wide berth until I could put my life together enough to skip town, but seeing him rattled by something that was probably my fault made me feel sick.
For a big man, Gus was quiet. Sometimes he could go up and down the stairs twice before I noticed he was home, but as luck would have it, I found him in the kitchen, staring into the fridge. I considered offering him my cereal box, but we didn’t have the three pints of milk he’d need to go with the bowl big enough to satisfy him, so I dumped it on the side and peered over his shoulder. “Do you want a sandwich?”
“Hmm?”
“A sandwich. I’m good at those.”
“Yeah? How come you’ve never made me one?”
“Because I’ve never upset you enough to bang out my trump card.”
“Upset me? You haven’t upset me.”
“Uh-huh.” Truth be told, I’d pissed him off before he’d gone out, but I wasn’t quite self-absorbed enough to believe his troubled expression was all about me. “I’m sorry I messed with your mum’s vinyl. I was just being nosy about your taste in music.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“No. But I believe you.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I know that too.” Gus shut the fridge. “And thanks for the offer, but I’m not hungry.”
“Then I’m even more sorry I messed with the records, cos that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say that.” I reached around him and opened the fridge. There was leftover stir-fry on a plate with noodles hanging off it, but I couldn’t look at it without getting a boner, so I grabbed the cheese, the butter, and the Branston Pickle, and got the fuck out of there.
“Sit down,” I said.
Gus blinked at me again. “Why?”
“Why not?”
He didn’t seem to have an answer, so he sat and watched while I made him a doorstep sandwich and slid it in front of him. “I’m only eating that if you have one.”
“I ate already.”
“You ate dry Shreddies from the box.”
“I like dry Shreddies.”
“I like watching you eat real food.”
Whatever I’d been trying to do was backfiring. But I liked it when he got all earnest and shit, so I made another sandwich and ate some of it while he demolished his. It was a small victory. But I wanted to know why he kept his mum’s record collection if it upset him so much.
So, genius that I was, I asked him.
Gus pushed his plate away and slowly dusted his hands off onto the counter, which made no sense either. I flicked the crumbs onto the floor. He grinned a little. “We don’t have a dog to clean those up.”
“Grey’s a good boy. Answer the question, unless you don’t want to. I’m good at fucking off if you tell me to.”
“I don’t want that.”
“No?” Sounded like you did this morning.
Gus shook his head. “No. I just don’t know the answer, because I didn’t know it upset me until I saw it on the floor. I haven’t touched those records since she died. They’re only there because I never got round to moving them.”
“Where would you have put them?”
“I don’t know. The loft? Luke’s house so Mia could have them? She was always more into them than I was.”
Gus got up and filled two glasses with water. He passed one to me. I drank it for something to do while he drained his, and averted my gaze from how his throat worked as he swallowed. Sulking about this morning hadn’t changed the fact that every single thing he did was ridiculously attractive. That he transfixed me, in every way possible. The dude was a fucking sorcerer without even trying.
And he wasn’t trying, cos he had his mother on his mind, not me.
Definitely not me.
I put my empty glass in the sink and came back to where Gus was still hovering by the cupboard he’d pulled the glasses from. I shut the door and hopped up on the counter beside him. “My parents fought about music all the time. My dad loved the folk stuff you’ve got out there, but Fleetwood Mac was as mellow as it got for my mum. And then she went through her Bon Jovi phase, and I’m pretty sure he died to get away from that shit.”
Gus snorted out a laugh. “Only you could get away with a joke like that. Or maybe my mum could’ve done. She was wicked when she’d had a drink.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Not many people knew that, cos she had a hard face, you know? But she was nice really.”
I already knew his mum was nice. She’d found me off my rocker in the park once, and fed me bananas and coffee until I’d been straight enough to go home and not get caught
