Junkyard Heart (Porthkennack Book 7)

by Garrett Leigh

  Laura clicked her teeth like I was five years old again and refusing to tell her where I’d last seen my missing shoe, and then she sighed. “I’ll admit that I don’t know your mother that well, but sometimes, you’re just like her— So quick to speak your mind about everything except what matters.”

  “Is that your way of calling me an opinionated brat?”

  “No, dear. Quite the opposite.”

  I didn’t get it, but my best mystified scowl had no effect on Laura. She hugged me again, made more tea, and continued to study Kim’s designs until my father joined us a little while later.

  “Someone ‘ere for you, lad.”

  “Me?” I barely glanced up, too engrossed in a set of chairs that looked like they belonged in a Narnia film. “Not that bloke from the dairy is it?”

  My dad glared. My sexuality had been embraced by the whole Manning clan with open arms, but shagging the milkman’s son hadn’t gone down well, especially when my dad had caught us in the barn in question. “Dear Lord, Jasper. There’s five bedrooms in the house. Have you no self-control?” I eyed the brandy Laura kept by the stove for cooking. Apparently not. “If it’s not Carl, who is it?”

  “See for yourself,” my dad grumbled. “I’m having a brew.”

  Sighing, I tore myself away from Kim’s mastery and drifted outside, my mind still on the barn. I had few friends in Porthkennack outside of the ones I’d borrowed from Gaz and Nicky, and part of me wondered if this was another of my father’s attempts to coerce me into taking home one of the farm’s stray cats—his lifelong mission.

  Despite the fact that he’d been on my mind from the moment I’d met him, Kim was the last person I expected to see.

  “Fuck. It’s you. What are you doing here?”

  If Kim was offended by my greeting—or lack of—it didn’t show. He shrugged and turned away from the chicken run. “Found me, didn’t you? Thought I’d return the favour.” He kept his gaze on the chickens. “And I came to talk to your kin about the barn. I’ve just had some old dinghies dumped at the shop. I was considering making them into a couple of kitchen-island-type things, if you think they’d be interested? They could use them for display . . . serving counters, whatever.”

  The idea fit with the concept of bringing the outside in, but I couldn’t deny that it wasn’t what I’d hoped to hear from him. “You came to talk about the barn?”

  Silence, then a wry grin warmed Kim’s face. “I came to talk about the barn in the hope that you’d be here. That cool?”

  It was beyond cool. I nodded and inclined my head behind me. “Do you want to come in? My stepmum bakes, so there’s cake and shit.”

  “Actually, I’d like to see the barn, if that’s okay? I rode my bike past this place every day of my childhood, but I’ve never passed your gates.”

  A crude joke played on my tongue. I swallowed it and gestured forward. “Come on, then. I’ll show you around.”

  I gave Kim the grand tour of Belly Acre Farm—the animals, the fruit tunnels, the barley fields. The salad crop seemed to fascinate him. He stooped and fingered the pale leaves of the young round lettuces. “These are so much better than mine. Even the ones the slugs didn’t get are crap.”

  “My dad’s always had a way with greens. We lived off lettuce soup most summers to get rid of them.”

  “Yeah? Sounds delicious.”

  I pulled a face. “Not after six weeks of it, it wasn’t.”

  Kim chuckled. “Think yourself lucky. My mum can’t cook for shit. I grew up on tinned ravioli and crumpets.”

  “Are you close to your parents?”

  Kim stood and stretched his spine. “Not really. They love me, they just don’t get me.”

  “Outsider looking in?”

  “Nah, it’s not that. It’s more they wish I was someone else . . . someone they understood.”

  “Straight and sober?”

  Kim grimaced. “Straight and man enough to handle a few pints.”

  “Addiction doesn’t make you weak, Kim.”

  “I know that now. Took a while, though.”

  We started walking towards the barn. Our elbows bumped a few times and the urge to take his arm was strong. I didn’t, though, and it struck me as halfway to ridiculous that I’d had the patronising audacity to tell a recovering alcoholic what his addiction meant. Dickhead. “I’m sorry.”

  Kim slanted a glance at me. “What for?”

  “Anything. Everything. There’s bound to be something. I tend to speak—and act—before my tiny brain engages. I’m that bloke who’s forever cringing and apologising, you know?”

  “I don’t know you yet, Jas. But I’d like to, and believe me, I haven’t ever known anyone perfect. Flaws make us human. Wonderfully human.”

  Coming from me, the sentiment would’ve sounded like a Waitrose fortune cookie. From Kim, it was poetic and made me want to forget his girlfriend and drag him into the nearest outbuilding.

  But I couldn’t forget Red, and as the barn appeared in front of us, I knew that, sooner or later, the time to pretend I could would be over.

  I led Kim inside the barn. It was a mess of dust and tarpaulin, but the potential of the space was plain to see. At the back, Gaz and his builder mate—Bob, no joke—had begun to install the kitchen, and the roof was finally secure and leak-free.

  “This place is awesome,” Kim said.

  “It’s on its way,” I replied. “I keep changing my mind about whether we’ll pull it off, though.”

  “Why’s that? Apart from the décor, you seem to have a clear vision of what you want.”

  I shrugged. “I thought I did, but the more I think about it, the more I wonder if I’m looking at it the wrong way, like a Londoner, perhaps? Maybe Gaz does know best.”

  “He was wrong about the wicker.”

  “True, but what about the rest of it? I was thinking last night about a shoot I did last year for a company who are, like, the fucking masters of concept restaurants. Seriously, they open a new place every year, and each one is so crazy-amazing the whole city stops and takes notice.”

  “And that’s what you want to do here?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I thought we should, for a while, but I was wrong. Gaz and Nicky—all my family—have dedicated their whole lives to this. That should speak for itself.”

  Kim smiled. “It is the Porthkennack way.”

  His wisdom gave me a clarity I’d been lacking. I shelved the fancy plans I’d drawn up in my head and gazed around the barn, again imagining it filled with Kim’s original furniture, and the scents of a lifetime of my family’s best-loved recipes. Kim was right: this was Porthkennack, and the barn had a soul that couldn’t be moulded to fit whatever hipster lunacy I’d brought home from London.

  That settled, I couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room any longer. I drifted to a stray hay bale that seemed to keep finding its way back into the barn and sat down, absorbing the prickly texture that had horrified me so much as a young city boy. “So . . .”

  “So . . .”

  Kim trailed to a stop in front of me, his hands loosely at his sides, like he had these awkward conversations all the time. Perhaps he did. I regarded him through my fingers as I shielded my eyes from the stream of sunlight filtering through one of the new windows Gaz had installed. “Tell me about Red.”

  “‘Red’?”

  “Lena. Sorry. I called her Red when I was shooting her at the gig.”

  “And you still do?”

  “Well, not to her face, obviously.”

  Kim smirked a little. “Shame. I think she’d like that.”

  “You’d know, I suppose.”

  Kim’s humour faded. “I never lied to you, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  That Kim hadn’t lied to me, I couldn’t deny, and the first time we’d fucked at the gig—at Red’s gig—we hadn’t exactly stopped to ask each other any pertinent questions, like Any chance your girlfriend is gonna walk in on us? And, as my drunken in
ternet stalking had made me realise, it was actually Kim who was due an apology. “I’m sorry too. I made assumptions I shouldn’t have.”

  “Assumptions about what?”

  I shrugged. “The usual crap—that where you’re putting your dick at a particular moment defines your whole identity. I’m fucking mortified that it was in me to be something I’ve spent my whole life fighting.”

  Kim sat down beside me, stretching his long, biker-jean clad legs out in front of him. “So you thought I was gay? And single?”

  “It’s not like I bothered to ask, but yes. I kinda let myself assume.”

  “And now you think I’m straight and taken.”

  “Not quite.” I averted my gaze, unwilling to admit to my Facebook spying. “How wrong was I?”

  Kim shifted, perhaps knowing my fascination with him would force me to look at him. “Dude, I’m pansexual as fuck—I ain’t ever been straight. And I’ve been single for more than a year.”

  I let what I’d already known wash over me and absorbed the rest. “You’re single?”

  “Yup.”

  “But—” But what? How could he be single when the heat between him and Red had just about burned my retinas? I sighed. “There’s something between you and her, but she didn’t seem to mind catching you with me. Friends with benefits? Not that you have to explain yourself to me, or anything. I mean—”

  “Jas, it’s fine. I didn’t come here to bullshit you.”

  “Thought you came to look at the barn?”

  “Are you going to let me speak?”

  I pursed my lips and waved my hand. Kim looked like he might laugh, but he didn’t. His gaze remained fixed on mine as he leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. “Me and Lena go back. We met at an ink convention in Bristol a decade ago. She’s kinda my soul mate, but we ain’t together now, and that isn’t going to change.”

  “You split up?”

  “A year ago. I love her to bits, but there’s more out there for both of us.”

  “But you still have sex.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Kim nodded anyway. “Not often, just when she’s down these parts and we’re both single, or with folk who like to play too. She lives in Bristol, you see. She’s only in Porthkennack for a few weeks while her band tours Devon and Cornwall, and then she’s off to the States.”

  “. . . with folk who like to play too.”

  The way Kim’s gentle Cornish brogue wrapped around every word made me shiver in ways my brothers’ local accents never had. I rubbed my arms and tried to make sense of the whirling dervish in my mind. Kim wasn’t with Red after all, but what did that mean? As I stared at him, I suddenly realised that I had no clue. The idea that he’d cheated on Red with me had made me sick to my stomach, but the knowledge that he hadn’t—that he’d simply branched out from his usual brand of orgy— Jesus Christ. I didn’t know whether to be turned on as hell, or fucking terrified.

  Either way, I was grateful for his honesty, even if it did mean confronting the fact that my so-called liberal self was actually a judgemental bastard. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “So don’t say anything. I’m not asking for your approval, mate.”

  Of course he wasn’t. And why the hell should he? I shook my head, as much at myself as at him. “What really split you and Red up? Was it the drink?”

  “It didn’t help.” Kim dropped his arms and leaned forward, losing some of his nonchalance. “I hit rock-bottom, more than once, and I think that’s why she stayed with me so long. It took us both a while to believe I’d survive without her.”

  “But you manage, eh?”

  “Just about. Brix coming home helped for a while—before the drink took over again. Life can get pretty lonely around here when you’re the only bloke who likes cock.”

  I snorted. “You can’t be the only one.”

  “Course I’m not. It just felt like it when Brix left all them years ago, and I found myself lonely enough to go looking for mates on the sauce.”

  “I’m glad you’re not lonely anymore.”

  “Me too.”

  I chewed on my lip, my teeth gnawing at the chapped skin, a bad habit I’d developed in the throes of a mammoth photo-edit many years ago. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, and I welcomed it, glad of the distraction. Emo, much?

  Kim rescued my bottom lip with a swipe of his thumb. “I take it from your silence that you’re not interested in hooking up again? Get to know each other a little better?”

  Not interested? God, I was interested—too fucking interested, but after years of following my heart, my dick, and every other part of my anatomy except my brain, for once, common sense kicked in. “I’d love to get to know you better, but I haven’t got the head space for anything more. I just got out of a shit relationship and—”

  “Still reeling, eh?”

  “Something like that.” And that was putting it mildly. My own vague bisexuality meant the idea of Kim and Red together was hotter than I cared to admit, but I’d learned the hard way that crowded relationships brought nothing but trouble and heartache.

  Kim smiled. “Fair enough. Can’t blame me for asking, though. I really like you, Jas, and I was looking forward to seeing your work.”

  “That can still happen if you’ve got room for a mildly alcoholic, emotionally malfunctioning friend in your life.”

  My bad joke was out before I remembered I’d picked the wrong audience for my lousy brand of humour, but Kim’s grin remained.

  “I’ve always got time for my friends, mate. You’ve got my number. Give me a call sometime.”

  He unfolded his lean frame from the hay bale and stood. I thought for a moment that he might say more, but he didn’t. He put his hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently enough to set my bones on fire, and then turned away, disappearing through the barn doors and down the grassy path that led to the main road.

  I watched him go, entranced as ever by his slim shoulders and loping stride. It seemed like the end of the world when he disappeared. After all, I’d spent every summer in Porthkennack and never crossed his path. Chances were I’d never see him again.

  In the week that followed Kim’s visit to the farm, he called my father and committed to furnishing the barn while I wallowed in a pit of introspection. And then, as random deliveries of tables and chairs started arriving at the farm every few days, after years of not knowing he existed, I saw him everywhere: the shops, the bank—the pub, of all places.

  I even ran into him at the Truro train station on my way back to London to tie up some loose ends.

  “You stalking me?”

  His tone was light, his grin playful, but after a fortnight of trying to ignore how ridiculous his sudden presence in my world made me feel, I wasn’t in the mood. Or, rather, I wasn’t in the mood for trudging up to London to scrape together the remnants of the life I’d left behind, but the semantics didn’t matter. All I knew was the longer he stood in front of me, the more likely it was that I’d bite his beautiful head off.

  I sidestepped him, forcing a grin of my own. “Not my fault you’re everywhere I go, is it? Who’s the stalker?”

  “Today? Technically, it’s you, as I was here first.” Kim caught my arm. “What’s the matter? You look like you’re shitting a fridge.”

  Charming. I stopped and tried to gather the enthusiasm to reclaim my arm, but it was a tough ask as Kim’s scorching hold seeped into me, threatening to break through the bleak mood I’d woken up in that morning. “I’m fine. Just got a train to catch. What are you doing here?”

  “I sent one of my guys to Edinburgh with a bunch of aluminium crockery sets for a gastro-pub.”

  “Edinburgh? That’s some distance to go to deliver some plates. You couldn’t post them?”

  “I could’ve, but Jack’s nanna lives up there. Might as well let him go and save my tax bill, eh?”

  Couldn’t argue with that. How many hours had I lost to pouring over my own accounts and wishing I�
�d figured out better ways to spend my money? “Anyhow, I gotta go.”

  I started to move away, assuming Kim would let me go, but he didn’t. His grip on my arm tightened, and he pulled me back, turning me so I was facing him. “Seriously, what’s the matter? Is something wrong?”

  “Wrong? Nah.” I shook my head slightly, for some reason unable to look him square in the eyes. “Just got some shit to sort out.”

  “Bad shit?”

  “Not bad in the tragic sense, but it’s . . . uh, difficult.” That was one way of putting it, but I didn’t feel like explaining it to anyone, even now, months after the event.

  Shame Kim hadn’t picked up the unwritten Manning family rule that reticence was a sign to leave me the fuck alone. He put his arm around me and stared up at the big screens. “What train are you getting?”

  “The midday one.”

  “To London?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It doesn’t leave for fifteen minutes. I’ll wait with you, if you like?”

  For all my desire to wallow in a pit of solitary self-pity, I couldn’t bring myself to refuse. We drifted to the northbound platform and sat on the grey metal benches. Kim eyed my twisting hands. “No bags. Day trip?”

  “Hope so. I’m completing the sale of my flat tomorrow. Just got to sign some papers and pick up a few bits I left behind.”

  “Oh. Where’s the flat? Anywhere nice?”

  “Hoxton, so depends what you mean by ‘nice.’ You don’t strike me as the type of guy who appreciates grand-scale gentrification.”

  Kim pulled a face. “Charging people eight quid for a sarnie and all that hipster crap? No, thanks. My mate Calum says the studio would make three times the profit if we set up shop in the big smoke, but we’d all be fucking miserable, and I reckon he’s right.”

  “Probably. I’m a city boy, but those summers on the farm were the happiest I’d ever been.”

  “You’re not happy now?”

  “Is anyone?”

  Kim said nothing. I uncrossed my legs and my knee brushed his. He flinched and stared at me, his expression unreadable. Had he felt it too? The jolt of energy that seemed to grow in intensity every time we touched?