by Clare London
Maisie sobered for a moment. “It’s only because I’m happy for you. Things haven’t been great for a while, have they?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Maisie shifted to get more comfortable, using her sweater as a blanket, and munched into her egg salad sandwich. “The months it took before you could peel yourself away from all your family obligations, to start your own damn life. That shitty job with that pig of a manager you’ve put up with for months. All that work you did on Uncle Rick’s halfway house project, at all hours of the day and night.”
“It was worth it.” The property had been abandoned for months until the community turned it into a shelter for young adults who were, for some reason, temporarily homeless, or in need of a sanctuary before they found their way in the world. Rick wasn’t qualified to offer medical or psychiatric help, but he was the kind of man who got things done. He set up a network with health professionals, local businesses looking for employees, sponsors for the everyday living essentials that the young people needed to get back on their feet. The conversion hadn’t been one of those like-magic, well-funded projects you see on the TV: it had taken months of work, begging and borrowing help from local tradesmen, seemingly endless cake sales and raffles run to raise funds, hours of volunteer work to decorate and furnish, to make the building a proper home. Donnie had been happy to give his time and effort, but Maisie was right—it had been exhausting.
“Remember launch day?” Maisie’s eyes were a little damp. She wasn’t usually sentimental, yet neither of them could think about the day the first kids moved in without getting choked up. There’d been so many smiles, cries of pleasure, and hugs that day. “Rick put up that daft sign he’d made with wood and a blow torch, scorching the name Handfast House.”
“But he mis-spelled it.” Donnie chuckled. Maisie had begged some bites of his cheese and pickle wrap and he was still a bit hungry. He wondered if she’d share her choc chip cookie with him in return, but valued his balls too much to ask.
“Or slipped with the blowtorch,” Maisie scoffed.
Donnie didn’t scold her: really, he knew she was fiercely proud of her uncle’s work. “Handfart, it looked like.”
They glanced at each other, then bumped shoulders and snorted with laughter. A small terrier, racing past them after a ball, checked its stride and snuffled its nose in interest.
“He wants to convert another one,” Maisie said, a little quickly, as if she was worried about raising the subject with Donnie. “Uncle Rick, you know? He’s found another property on the other side of the community centre. He’s with estate agents now, and looking to raise the funds for another shelter.”
Donnie lay back on his jacket, sighed, and smiled. “That’s brilliant. There should be more of those places, everywhere. Count me in, whatever he needs.” He expected Maisie to whip out her phone and start listing out what she needed from him but, unusually, she was quiet for a moment.
“You’ve got a new job, Donnie. And a new boyfriend. Maybe you should take more time for yourself now.”
“You don’t need me?”
“Jesus, you berk, of course we do!” Maisie thumped him on the shoulder so he half spilled his crisps on the grass. He wondered how long it’d be before the terrier came racing back their way. He’d have to scoop them up quickly: they were chilli flavoured.
“If it wasn’t for your persistence,” she continued, “we’d never have got discount on the paint from the DIY store. And you persuaded the builder to donate extra hardcore for the garden rockery. And, of course, you kept everyone in cake, all through the project!”
Yes, Donnie suddenly recalled more clearly, with a sinking heart. It had been exhausting.
Maisie was chatting on, energised by the call to action. “I’m going to resurrect the project planning committee from last time. We all still live locally. Maybe we can use your place for meetings? We should start taking names for who can do what to help.”
Yes, she was back on bossy track. Maisie would make a marvellous Prime Minister, Donnie thought. She’d probably offend every diplomat within a thousand miles with her dogged determination in the face of anyone’s opposition, but she’d get things done.
Beside him, Maisie stood, brushing grass flakes off her jeans. “Anyway, it’s time to get back. I think your Will was sorry to let you out of his sight.”
“Don’t be daft.”
“Seriously, Donnie.” She gave him a sudden, awkward little hug. “I’m so pleased for you, you deserve some fun and true love at last.”
Donnie hugged her back. But he wasn’t sure what to say about the love comment.
CHAPTER 11
As Donnie and Maisie wandered back into the surgery, Donnie had another surprise.
“Henry?” It was a bit of a shock to see his friend—his perfectly groomed, fastidious friend who treated animals as if they were small, dangerous grenades about to go off in a flurry of noise and mess at any moment—in a vet’s practice. “Did you need me for something?”
Another shock: Henry blushed. Donnie hadn’t known embarrassment was an option in Henry’s emotional repertoire. He was far more likely in the face of challenge to whip out his scorching wit, as he called it. Maisie called it rude shit.
“No,” Henry said hurriedly. “Definitely not. I mean, that’s not to say you haven’t been the most giving and helpful friend I’ve got. Even when I’ve been…”
Words seemed to fail him, another first-time event. Donnie didn’t think he could take much more shock.
“Sit down,” he said gently. There was no sign of Will, so maybe he was in his consulting room. There was a ten minute break before the first appointment of the afternoon. “If you have time to catch up.”
“Of course I do. Abi’s running the bar for me, he’s a marvel, and everyone loves him. He’s not remotely like me.”
Donnie tried to hide his smile, he really did. Abi was also a friend, but when he’d taken a temporary job at the bar, Donnie had never for the wildest moment expected him to get together with Henry. Abi was a kind, gentle, very plain-speaking soul. Henry hadn’t been that since the cradle, though Donnie hadn’t known him then, so even that may be suspect.
Henry gestured limply around the waiting area. “So, this is your new fiefdom?”
“Hardly that. It’s just a job. Reception, admin, general dogsbody.”
Henry shifted restlessly on the seat: the plastic cushion gave a soft squelching noise. Donnie made a mental note to investigate cloth covers for the chairs.
“I heard you lost the factory job, and I thought I’d drop in and see… well, if you needed some help.”
Donnie blinked hard. He wondered if he’d breathed in some stray anaesthetic and was having hallucinations. Henry didn’t offer help. Henry scorned the incompetent way everyone else coped with life, and let them rise or fall by their own efforts. Usually fall, of course, because Henry’s standards were so much higher than the rest of the world. At least, that’s what he was usually like.
“Hm. Thanks. I think. I was going to ask for some sessions at the bar—”
“Anything you need!”
“Yes. Okay. Thanks again. But then Will offered me this job. I’m just trying it out.”
“And it looks a perfect fit for you,” Henry rushed on. “He’s a good man, Will. I’ve spoken to him a few times.”
“When?” God that sounded blunt, but Donnie was now sure he’d slipped through the space time continuum and was on an alternate universe. Henry knew everyone’s business on the parade—most people stopped in the bar at some time or another—but he didn’t often put himself out to chat with them outside of work.
“Here. At the practice.” Henry was even redder now. It clashed horribly with his purple neck scarf, even judged by Donnie’s exotic style chart. “Abi… I brought Abi’s dog in for a check up.”
“Abi has a dog? You brought it here? You?” Henry had once said that dogs were the con artists of the earth, hiding all their dem
onic plans to eat you out of house and home—and turn you out of your own bed—under a soppy grin, and owners were sad sacks if they fell for it. He would never, ever pet one. Donnie had seen the sneer on Henry’s face when one even came near.
There wasn’t a sneer on Henry’s face now. His expression could almost be called… fond.
Donnie wasn’t going to hold back the laugh any longer. Henry could be an arrogant and intolerant friend at his worst, but it was good to discover he had a softer side. “So, things are going well with Abi?”
“He’s… we’re… I’m very content.” Henry managed to make the simple statement sound like he was teasing out a 15 tog duvet through a narrow plastic straw. But there was a smile on his face at the same time.
“Really? I’m pleased to hear it. He certainly seems to have had an effect on you.”
“What do you mean by that? Are there dog hairs on my jacket?”
Yes, the cranky old Henry wasn’t completely lost, then. Donnie felt absurdly pleased, even though he’d suffered more than his fair share of Henry’s passive bullying over the years.
“Henry’s on the organising committee too,” Maisie said. She was browsing through some leaflets on animal dental care, and wincing exaggeratedly. Donnie was pretty sure she should have gone back to work by now.
“Yes, I’m in charge of fundraising,” Henry said. “For refurbishing the new halfway house. We’re going to hold the usual bake sales, but also competitions and open mic nights, and… well… possibly… a pet show. In the garden at Bar de Bijou.”
“At your bar?”
“Thank you, Donnie, I think I expressed myself clearly enough without you labouring the point,” Henry said primly.
“Oh, for God’s sake. Who are you and what have you done with my pet-hating friend Henry?”
“I know.” Henry pursed his lips. “I’m sorry.”
“What for? Not being a sarcastic, rude, dismissive tosser?” Maisie piped in from over by the counter.
“I see your tongue remains a weapon of mass destruction, Mais,” Henry said smartly. “Luckily, I have developed immunity over the long, arduous years of knowing you.”
Maisie snorted and Henry—wonders would never cease!—actually smirked in return. He turned back to Donnie, his jaw set firmly.
“Basically, I realise how often I’ve been a crap friend to you. You are a good man, Donnie, an even better friend to me, and all I’ve done is run you down over the years. Just for the sake of a cheap joke or two.”
“Or ten,” Maisie muttered, but she was staring at Henry with some admiration.
“Wow. Thanks.” Donnie didn’t know what else to say. His heart felt embarrassingly full. “I know it’s your way, Henry. You’re just… you.”
“Well, yes. But that doesn’t mean I can’t improve,” Henry said a little pompously, but his eyes looked suspiciously shiny. “Anyway, the fundraising campaign is live, and I’m on the case.”
“They’re all great ideas,” Donnie said encouragingly.
“Might you ask Will if he’d offer veterinarian support at the pet show?”
“What’s that? I’ll be pleased to help.” Will had wandered out from the consulting room where he’d obviously been catching up on paperwork: he had a pen behind his ear and a sheaf of notes in his hand. He now moved closer, to stand behind Donnie.
“I’ll take those,” Donnie said helpfully, lifting the notes from Will’s rather sweaty grip. “I know where they go.”
He bent to tuck them in a desk drawer, for his end-of-day filing, his arse poking almost into Will’s lap. He gave a totally unnecessary, but mischievous wiggle, and Will sucked in a soft breath. As Donnie straightened, he could feel the warmth from Will’s palm as his hand rested only a couple of inches from the small of Donnie’s back.
“And Donnie?” Henry said. “We’ve put you down for refreshments as usual. In fact, we’re thinking of running a kind of baking contest, which you of course will be entering.”
“I will?” Donnie blinked with surprise and delight. Henry usually asked him not to bake, well, not anything too ambitious. Funny, Henry’s attitude seemed to have shifted significantly since the day of Donnie’s Easter chocolate disaster. “That would be great. I’ve got an idea for some pride cupcakes, you know, in different colours of the rainbow? And then—”
Will chuckled behind him and put a hand on Donnie’s shoulder. “First appointment just came in the door, Donnie. We have to get to work.” Will turned his smiling, welcoming vet face to Donnie’s friends and said, “Donnie’s pretty busy now. You’ll have to find someone else to help out. There are plenty of commercial bakeries who will probably donate goods. In fact, I’ll get in touch with some of them I know from the local chamber of commerce. That will be a much better and more professional source.”
The warm prickle Donnie had felt at Will’s closeness felt suddenly chill.
“Any donations are very gratefully received, of course.” Henry’s attention was all on Will, he was glowing with pleasure. “I’ll put you on the circulation list for our sponsor requests, shall I?”
“No problem,” Will said easily.
No problem, Donnie’s thoughts echoed. Right.
It was obvious to everyone that Will had more money than Donnie. Even if you allowed for the fact that most of the people Donnie knew had more money than he did, Will would be a very welcome sponsor. He presumably had a network of similar professional, well off people who could contribute to the worthy cause of Rick’s new project. And so would his family. The community was very lucky to have him.
But Donnie didn’t know how he felt about Will speaking on his behalf.
CHAPTER 12
Donnie had been working at the surgery for two weeks, and Will couldn’t imagine how he’d managed without him. Yes, he’d had an admin assistant at his last place—at least, he’d shared one with the other vets in the practice—but Will had been far down the pecking order, and the help had been less than stellar.
Yet stellar was the only word to describe Donnie’s careful and thorough attention to his work.
“The list of today’s appointments is on your desk,” Donnie said, after they arrived together that morning. It was an easy routine, when they’d spent the night before at Donnie’s. Spent it kissing and teasing, and then Donnie had introduced Will to the amazing, astonishing, ecstatic practice of rimming, and Will had found it nigh on impossible to tear himself away from Donnie’s pert, wiggling arse, even when Donnie wailed—and laughed—that he was getting cramp in his thigh, and could he please get his hands and mouth on Will in return, some time before Christmas?
“Mr Cartwright? Are you ready for your ten o’clock appointment?” Donnie was smiling a little slyly at him, as if knowing Will’s mind was elsewhere, but the formal title meant there was a patient involved. Donnie ushered in a young man from the waiting area.
Will had to admit, the spiders were a bit of a shock.
The owner brought them carefully into the surgery in cardboard boxes. He carried two, Donnie brought the third one in to help out. Thank god Donnie wasn’t one of those guys who couldn’t cope with crawly things. That wasn’t to say these weren’t pretty large—and hairy—crawly things.
The young man also seemed calm enough with the tarantulas. He was slim, moved quite gracefully, and had a shock of lovely red hair. Will couldn’t help noticing he also had a smile to die for. He looked at Will very intently as he introduced himself, and with that flash of recognition that acknowledged at first glance they were both gay. But there was no hint of come-on, just a second breath of relaxation. Will wondered if the man had suffered discrimination before. That smile of his was gorgeous but could perhaps be misconstrued by less mature people.
The spiders were very still and were hunched over. For a worried moment, Will thought they might be dead, but then one leg twitched. “I think it’s just dehydration,” he said. “It’s easily cured. Have they been without water for any length of time?” He gently touched on
e of the spiders’ abdomen. It was shrivelled and seemed sunken,
“You mustn’t handle them too much,” the young man said. He was at least twenty, Will reckoned, but he had a simplistic manner that was more reminiscent of a teen.
Will nodded. “Thanks for reminding me,” he said carefully. He checked the boy’s name on the sheet Donnie had helpfully brought in with the boxes. “Eric. I don’t often get pets like this.”
“You don’t?” Eric looked delighted. “I always wanted something special. They’re good company. But I don’t think they’d been looked after properly before I found them.”
“Found them?”
Eric shrugged. “Tim left our house suddenly. I think his dad turned up, with a new job, and so he went to live with him. Snap, Crackle and Pop had been in Tim’s room, but they were left behind. Until I took them in.”
“Snap, Crackle and Pop?” Will laughed. “You’re too young to remember that advert!”
Eric tilted his head, his gaze steady but puzzled. “It was on the TV. One of the satellite channels.”
“It was an old advert for breakfast cereal,” Will said. Way to make him feel old.
“I liked the sound.” Eric looked at the spiders. “The names suit them.”
Will decided not to question such certainty. “You can feed them water with an eye dropper if you have one. Or I can get you some information on setting up a temporary container with a damp layer, so they can rehydrate.”
“Thank you,” Eric said with sweet politeness. “How much do I owe you?”
“You can see Donnie outside for that,” Will said. “He deals with the billing. Tell him…” He hesitated for a moment, gauging the way the boy had tensed, his hand tightly on his jeans pocket where his wallet must be. “Tell him you qualify for today’s special rate.”
“Special rate?”
“Yes.” Will was making this up on the hoof. He wondered how he could let Donnie know he wanted to charge this boy as little as possible? It didn’t look like he could afford very much at all. Something about his restraint, the awkward fit of his possibly secondhand clothes.