“Is Aled there?”
“Yeah, he took a half-day at work. Meeting with the mortgage people. S’Chris,” Gabriel added in a muffled aside. Chris heard a brief kiss then something about the microwave.
“Put me on speaker?” Chris asked. “I don’t know any other rich fucks.”
Gabriel snorted with laughter. The odd echo of speakerphone clicked in, then Gabriel yelled, “Aled! Chris wants some financial advice!”
Background noise reigned for a short while—the trundle of their noisy washing machine, footsteps, the low chatter of a TV—then leather creaked and a sharp slap sounded. Chris surmised that Aled had sat down, and Gabriel had tried to put his feet in his lap before being rejected.
“What’s up, Chris?”
Chris bottled his confusion up into a few jumbled sentences, feeling simultaneously a touch foolish—who didn’t like getting told they had more money than they’d thought?—but also a little reassured. Aled had a calming presence, and Chris had let him into far more personal shit than his house valuation.
“Congratulations,” Aled said. “I guess the first thing is to decide what you actually want to do with it.”
“I was figuring I’d sell it.”
“To be honest, I’d say it’s the better move. Unless you can build a property portfolio, renting out one property isn’t usually worth it, with all the rules and regulations these days.”
Chris wondered what the hell a property portfolio was.
“What do you want to sell it for, then?” Aled asked. “I mean, do you want to buy somewhere else in cash, with no mortgage to pay off? Or are you wanting to use the funds for something else and get a mortgage or go back to renting?”
Well, at least he knew that bit.
“Can’t very well commute from Nailsea to Cornwall,” Chris remarked.
Aled coughed. “Gabriel’s told you the plan then?”
“Yeah. I mean, I know you’ve got your place and shit, but I figured—you know, I can do whatever. Get a job in a shop or something. I was thinking I could get myself set up sooner rather than later and then I’ll be there already by the time you guys arrive.”
“Aye,” Aled said. “But did he tell you what he wants about living arrangements?”
“Er—”
“Close!” Gabriel chipped in. “Next door or down the road!”
“Or, with two hundred grand to spare, an annexe,” Aled said.
“Eh?” Chris said. “Start over. Close what?”
“I want all three of us to live close together,” Gabriel said. “So I can just come home from work and be like, oh hey, let’s go to Chris’ and your front door is only a short walk from Aled’s. If that.”
“Um. No offence, but—”
“Don’t worry,” Gabriel said. “Aled already vetoed a big studio flat together.”
Chris laughed, relieved. “Good.”
“But I want you close by,” Gabriel insisted. “Really close.”
“Other option is a granny annexe,” Aled said. “Separate buildings, same plot of land.”
It clicked.
“Oh. Oh, I get it. You think we could find somewhere like that? And buy it together?”
“I can get four hundred grand on a mortgage,” Aled said. “You’re sitting on another two hundred. For that, we can try to find a house with a granny annexe, or one with enough land to build one. All we’d have to do is pool our financial resources. And, to be frank, I should make another seventy grand or so by selling this place, so between us, that’s a big budget. We’d have plenty of space from each other, but equal access to this demanding shit.”
Judging by the sudden grunt, the demanding shit in question had slugged him in the gut.
“Bastard,” Gabriel groused.
Chris ignored them, stuck on the maths. Two hundred and twenty for Mum’s bungalow. Four hundred that Aled could borrow. Seventy extra from the house in Newmillardam.
“That’s…that’s…um…seven hundred and ten?” he guessed.
“Six hundred and ninety,” Aled corrected gently.
“I was close.”
“Closer than this princess. Ow! Lay off!”
“Stop insulting me then!”
Chris snickered and waited for Aled to get control again. Another couple of smacks and a grumble later, peace was restored.
“I don’t know how much things cost in St Ives,” he said.
“I did a quick look. Six hundred and ninety can definitely get us somewhere decent, even in the posh areas of Cornwall. Just depends on availability. Whether anyone is selling what we want where we want it.”
“Wait,” Gabriel interrupted. “Are we agreeing to one plot of land, then? So Chris is right there?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it,” Chris admitted. “But it’s not a bad idea.”
He liked Aled fine, but living together might be a bit much. Chris was shy, and Aled was used to starting sex games wherever the hell he wanted. And much as Chris was discovering his own boundaries weren’t as solid and impassable as he’d thought, he wasn’t up for seeing Aled in the all-together too often.
Plus, he couldn’t imagine St Ives was full of thugs, but an annexe would keep Gabriel’s middle-of-the-night wanderings between boyfriends to a safer minimum. He said as much, and was threatened with a slap of his own.
“You’re both shits,” Gabriel complained.
“So you wouldn’t like to be able to just wander across the garden and let yourself into Chris’ house?” Aled mocked.
“I didn’t say that.”
Chris grinned, warming to the idea.
“Tell you what,” Aled said. “Get your place on the market, don’t accept anything less than two twenty for it, and let me know a Friday or Saturday you’re free. I’ll book some viewings at some likely properties, and we can meet up, go house shopping, have a few pints if this one’s working.”
Gabriel grumbled but didn’t raise a proper protest. Chris presumed he had a run of weekends at the gym. But—much as it would be odd to go somewhere with just Aled and no Gabriel—it might be fun, too.
“It’s a date,” he said. “How about the seventeenth?”
Chapter Ten
Aled didn’t get much sleep that night.
He wasn’t a natural risk-taker, and he’d lived his whole life in this tiny corner of West Yorkshire. He’d only moved out of his parents’ house to go to university, and even then he’d not gone further than Huddersfield.
But his parents were gone, their ashes long since scattered over their beloved Dales. Nan had slipped away quietly in her sleep, a gentle end to a long and loving life. His best friend and pseudo-sister was at the other end of this idea to move. And his biggest fear—that Gabriel would want to stay—had been cut out from under him.
Aled could handle the condition. He liked Chris. They’d essentially lived together for a while after Gabriel’s accident last year. He’d rather they had their own space, but an annexe or opposite sides of a street had a nice appeal. And house-sharing in the short term wasn’t a problem.
He ought to just accept the offer. The pay cut was significant, but it was still more than enough to live comfortably. Gabriel could easily find work in one of the hotels. Cornwall was beautiful.
Yet-yet-yet—
“Aled,” a voice grumbled from the vicinity of his armpit. “Turn your brain off or take it somewhere else.”
He rolled his eyes, but it was already ten past six. So he slipped out of bed and took his brain to the bathroom.
The hot water beating down on the back of his neck in the shower shook off the cobwebs and provided a little inspiration. He was being too Aled about it all. He needed to be a little more like Gabriel, who went with the flow of life rather than trying to really navigate it. And where would this current take him, if he just lay back in the water and floated?
A house in Cornwall with his partner, his sister and her family just up the road, a job and a smaller car.
He could sudd
enly see it. Gabriel faking that his knee hurt to avoid babysitting. Being forced into cycling to Lizard Point instead of driving like a normal person. A cottage. Flowers in the front garden. Resuming the birthday drinks tradition, and Gabriel coming back from Chris’ in the morning to make fun of his hangover.
The mental image played out in his head as he got ready for work. Gabriel put in a rumpled appearance once the toast popped, then vanished again for his own shower. He came into the bedroom, wet and tempting as always, while Aled was doing his tie, but they mutually ignored each other until the majority of skin on both sides of the bed was covered.
Then Gabriel crossed the divide, leaned up for a kiss, and said, “Call Tom.”
“You know me that well?”
“Yep. Already told Chris.”
“So what’s my answer?”
“Yes. Chris is going to look into moving to Penzance in the short term. Just a suggestion for you when it comes to locations.”
Aled chuckled, and offered another kiss.
“Last chance to object.”
“Nope.”
“Going once…”
“Still no.”
“Going twice…”
“I’m off work at four so I’ll start dinner. Lasagne sound good?”
“Sold to Cornwall, I guess. And yeah, sounds nice.”
Gabriel went off downstairs, and Aled unplugged his phone from the charger to call Tom before he set off—only to smirk at the waiting text message.
Kevin: Any plans with Gabriel tonight?
Probably not lasagne, if Kevin was up for some fun.
Me: Nope
Kevin: So he’s free for a kidnapping then?
Me: No objection on my part. He’s working eight four at the gym.
Kevin: On his bike?
“Want a lift to work?” Aled shouted.
“No thanks! Okay, I’m off.”
“See you later.”
“Later, love you!”
“Love you too.”
Me: Yup
Kevin: Cheers
Me: Let me know if you want to keep him overnight.
Kevin: Will do mate
Aled went down to take a pizza out to defrost before leaning up against the counter and calling Tom. His mobile rang out, so he tried the landline and got Suze, with a chatty background of Euan.
“Hey, Suze. Has Tom gone to work already?”
“No, he’s just getting out the shower. Is it about the job? Are you going to say yes?”
Aled cracked a smile, then held the phone at arm’s length and shouted, “Yes!”
She screamed. Even at a distance, it was deafening. Aled put the phone back to his ear with a laugh, just in time to hear her yelling the news at Tom up the stairs.
“What’s he say?” Aled asked.
“About fu—about time. And to text him your leaving date. Oh, and if accommodation is a problem then you can always use one of the hotels for a couple of weeks.”
“Thanks. Can you put out some feelers for Gabriel?”
“Has he done receptionist work before?”
“Does it at the gym twice a week.”
“Okay. There’s usually some temp stuff during the holiday season. No bar work, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Get him to send me his CV and I’ll see what I can find.”
“Thanks, Suze. You’re a star.”
“I’ll put in some calls about a short-term let, too. It’s pretty limited in St Ives—are you both okay with renting in Penzance or Plymouth for a little bit until you can do some proper house shopping?”
“Long as nobody gets gay-bashed, I don’t care. Though might just park Gabriel up with Chris. Nobody would dare.”
“Still looks like he stomps on kittens for fun?”
“Yup.”
“So he’s coming too?”
“Yeah but I think he’s sorting his own place to stay.”
“Fine, but you tell him, if he wants any help, give me a call.”
“You’re a star.”
“Of course I am! You’re coming home! You’ll be here in time for the baby.”
In the background, Euan made his opinion of the imminent baby clear, much as Aled doubted he understood any of it at his age.
“I doubt we’ll quite make it, but we’ll definitely be round the corner when you drop numbers three through five.”
“Good. We miss you. Both of you. Now go and tell Foster!”
Aled hung up with a laugh, then texted her some kisses before pushing off from the counter and grabbing his keys off the hook. For the first time since she’d left, he felt happy going to work. Christ. He’d call himself slow on the uptake, but then it had taken him over a year of not setting eyes on his wife to accept that his marriage was over. He’d never been so good at dealing with his issues.
But there was no denying he’d made the right choice. The air smelled better. The traffic wasn’t annoying. Having to do fifty-six adjustments to park beside Mitchell’s obviously abandoned car in the office car park was irrelevant.
He was going home.
West Yorkshire had been home for his whole life, like a worn jumper that smelled familiar. It wasn’t flattering or good-looking, but it fit just right and kept out the cold and the damp. But that had been with his grandmother, his parents, his best friend, his partner. It had been about the people in his life. Home was where they were.
And some were just memories, which he carried everywhere he went. Some were down south. And one would be coming with him.
“Morning, Frank.” He nodded to the security guard. “Mr Foster showed up yet?”
“Hey, Aled. Sure did, about twenty minutes ago. You’re in a good mood. Happy wife?”
“Happy life!”
He stopped off to drop his briefcase in his office before continuing up to the top floor and the corridor of power. Of course, most of the occupants didn’t waltz in until half eleven, then turned straight back round and went out for a three-hour working lunch. Aled had chased the final promotion to get him that lifestyle. Now it just seemed pathetic.
Arthur Foster’s office was lit like a beacon at the end of the gloomy corridor, though, and Aled rapped his knuckles on the door before poking his head around it.
“Got a minute, sir?”
Arthur Foster was ancient. A bald wisp of a man, it was well-known that he refused to retire because he and his wife hated each other but were too stuck in their ways to call it a day. Several thought he’d die in the job. Aled was one of them. And with him hunched behind the enormous desk, prodding the computer like it might explode…that day was probably not too far away.
“Come in, come in. Have a seat. You’ve not seen that bloody email from Mitchell, have you?”
“Not yet, sir. Haven’t logged on. I have some news and I wanted you to be the first to know.”
“Oh?”
“I’m resigning.”
Foster paused. He sat back. The chair groaned. He removed his glasses and squinted at Aled as though he’d never seen him before.
“Resigning.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Headhunted?”
“In a manner of speaking, sir.”
“Well, if it’s money and a benefits package, there’ll be no argument from the board about—”
“We don’t have an office in Cornwall, sir.”
“Ah. Location.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
“I want to be closer to my family, sir.”
Foster nodded. He steepled his fingers like a villain from one of Gabriel’s bad films, and kept nodding.
“I see.”
“I can send an official email.”
“Best for—for HR, yes.”
Aled clicked his tongue. “Well, uh, if you’ll excuse me—”
“Hold on a moment. The board won’t like it, you know. They were discussing you taking over Campbell’s post at the end of the year already.”
“My mind
is made up, sir.”
To his surprise, Foster’s reply was, “Good.”
“Er. Sir?”
“Life’s too damn short to waste time working and not seeing your family enough. Otherwise you wake up old with two strangers in your house for Christmas and you’ve no idea who your wife is.”
Ouch.
“Um—”
“Good on you. If you get too much bullshit from them, you let me know.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Send your official resignation to me and copy Linda in HR into it. Get the ball rolling before this afternoon’s nap with the accounting guys.”
“Will do.”
“And, Aled?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Congratulations.”
“Er—”
“The mood you’re in? I know baby news when I see it.”
Aled coughed a laugh, then decided to just go with it. “Thank you, sir.”
He fired off a text to Suze before he even reached the lifts, then another to Gabriel as he waited for one to arrive.
Me: Just resigned. And apparently I’m walking around looking giddy as a new father, so congratulations.
Chapter Eleven
As Gabriel slowed at the quiet junction, a grubby Transit van pulled up alongside him. Worn livery advertised Kevin’s Kit ens & Bat rooms in pink, maybe formerly red, lettering. The driver that leaned out of the open window was a tall, muscular black man with long dreads pulled back into a low ponytail. He grinned, and a gold tooth flashed.
“Help a brother out?” he said. “I’m looking for Henry Street.”
Gabriel raised his eyebrows. He used to live on Henry Street with Aled.
“Never heard of it.”
“I got a map.” The driver got out. The van rocked as he slammed the door, then he opened the back and waved shabby paper at Gabriel. “See? Only I’m no good at these.”
“Uh, okay,” Gabriel said. He propped his bike up against a garden wall and walked round to the back of the van. “So do you know roughly where—hey!”
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