Unknown Number
Page 27
He passed an hour away, tinkering away on the computer until he heard his mum call up to him.
"Cavan! Dinner's ready!"
"Coming mum!" he called back. "Time to get this over with," he muttered to himself as he smoothed his hair down and traipsed downstairs.
~0~
Georg poured himself another glass of wine and directed his attention back to the plate of food before him. His circular glasses gleamed in the light as he conversed with Camilla, a thin smile on his lips. Cavan watched from across the table, his heart beating so hard in his chest he was sure he could hear his rib-cage cracking with every thump. His palms were sweating, and his knee was bruised from where his leg kept jiggling.
'I can do this,' he said for the umpteenth time. 'All I need to do is find the right opening.'
He continued to push the food around on his plate. It all tasted like cardboard. His dad must have noticed because he frowned over at his son. "Cavan, is there something on your mind?"
This was it.
"Um … why do you ask?"
"You haven't eaten properly all night and your leg is bouncing so hard the table is shaking."
Cavan bit down on his lip, his cheeks heating up. Damn, so he'd noticed then? Fuck.
"Um … I did have something I wanted to talk to you both about," he started. He didn't dare look up at them. The tension in the air grew thick as they looked at him, waiting for what came next. It did nothing to settle his nerves. His mouth suddenly felt dry, his tongue sticking to the sides and refusing to budge.
"Has something happened at Uni?" his mum asked.
Cavan shook his head, "No, school is fine just a little tiring. Studying with Arthur only helps so much."
"You just need to keep pushing, love."
"It's not Uni I wanted to talk about."
Georg frowned, "Is it the driving lessons? We already discussed this Cavan. It’s better to wait until you’ve finished your dissertation."
"Well I barely managed once a week anyway," Cavan groused, "but that's not what I wanted to talk about either."
"Well I'm sure whatever it is your dad and I can share some insight," his mum said brightly. "Anything to help take the weight of your mind."
"It's -see the thing is -it's about a guy."
"A guy?" Georg frowned.
Cavan nodded.
"Well what about this 'guy'?"
"Well … I've been talking to him for a while," he hedged. "It's not serious or anything but -I'd like it to be at some point."
"Cavan," Georg began, firmly. "Right now, you need to focus on your studies. Relationships can wait."
"I'm aware of that," Cavan stated tightly. "We've discussed it at length. He said he's fully prepared to wait and that he knows how hard Uni and dissertations are, especially for me, so he said we wouldn't be involved until after I graduate."
"Well at least he's sensible about your studying," his mum said.
Georg, however, narrowed his eyes. "What does this 'guy' do for a living? Is he studying too?"
"N-no," the lump was back in Cavan's throat. He tried to swallow past it, but it wouldn't budge. "See, that's one of the things I wanted to mention. He's a little bit older than me and already has a full-time job."
"Well, you're young Cavan," Camilla placated. "You're going to find all manner of people attractive; some are going to be a little older and some are going to be a little younger. What does he do for a living?"
"He's a teacher."
She frowned. "Not one of your own, I hope?"
"Oh no, no! He teaches secondary school kids."
Camilla pursed her lips. Clearly being a teacher in any school didn't bode well, but she kept her mouth shut about it. For now. There was a gleam in her eyes that told Cavan that matter would be revisited soon.
Georg looked as though he was sucking on a lemon. "How did you two meet?" he asked in a clipped tone.
"I … accidently messaged his number on Christmas day because of my new phone."
"So, all this time you've been texting a stranger? A teacher?" Georg barked out. Camilla and Cavan flinched but didn't look him in the eye. "For all you know he's fifty years old, Cavan! What were you thinking?!"
Cavan didn't get a chance to speak.
"No, I tell you what -you weren't thinking!" he snapped. "There is no way to know what sort of dangers you put yourself in contacting this man!"
"He's not dangerous!" Cavan snapped, clenching his fists on the table.
"How do you know?!" Georg yelled. "You're just a kid, Cavan!"
"No, I'm not! I'm twenty-one! I know how to handle my life, Dad!"
"You have been texting a stranger and -knowing you -giving personal information! Don't be stupid Cavan! You're putting yourself in danger!"
"He's not dangerous, Dad!"
"How do you know that, Cavan? How?!"
"Because I've met him!"
The silence dropped like a stone.
Camilla stared between them with wide eyes.
Georg had veins throbbing in his neck and temples. He ground his teeth together and stared down, cold, and hard, at his son. In a low, clipped tone he asked, "What do you mean you've 'met him'?"
"I … we …" Cavan fumbled, the words jarring and messing up in his head. His heart was drumming so loudly in his ears that he couldn't think straight. "I met him. Once. Up London. We -we spent the day together."
"Was this the day you said you were with Arthur?" Camilla asked with a frown. Cavan glanced at her before giving a nod. "Oh, Cavan ..."
"I … I didn't want you to worry," he admitted meekly. "I just had to meet him for myself. To know if … if it was all real."
"And?"
"It was … is ..." Camilla gave a fleeting, watery smile that quickly crumbled. "I'm sorry," Cavan said, "I didn't mean to lie to you."
"Nevertheless, you did," Georg snapped, his voice hard and cutting through the calming air. The tension immediately spiked through Cavan, making his head twitch to the side. "Have you seen him more than the once?"
"I … We meet up for brunch every Saturday."
"That's where you go?" Cavan bowed his head. "What do you do there? Let him touch you under the table?!"
"Dad, no! We study!"
"Ha! What do you study?"
"I work on my dissertation and he makes lesson plans. Then he … He offers to help me."
"That's dishonest, Cavan!"
"OH, FOR GODS SAKE DAD!" Cavan snapped, clawing his hands through his hair. "He doesn't give me answers or ideas, he just proofreads things for me! He takes an interest in me and what I study! Why is that so wrong?"
Georg narrowed his eyes. "You are not to see that man anymore."
Cavan's head snapped up. "I … What?!"
"You heard me. You are not to see him again."
"I -Dad -you can't stop me from seeing him! I'm not a little kid!"
"As long as you live under my roof, you'll obey my rules. Now go to your room. I don't want to look at you anymore."
Cavan was seething. Every muscle was throbbing with anger. He kicked his chair until it clattered against the kitchen counter. "You're an arsehole! You have no idea how much he means to me! How much he cares for me because he does care!"
"The matter is closed Cavan. Go to your room."
"Don't TREAT ME like one of your fucking patients!"
Tears were streaming down his red cheeks. He was hot, flustered and could barely see straight. In the end he glared at his parents as Georg settled back down at the table, effectively ignoring his son. There were no words. He left the kitchen but was stopped in the doorway by Georg snapping his fingers.
"Your phone, Cavan."
"Are you fucking serious?"
"Watch your mouth when you speak to me," came the measured reply. Georg barely looked up from his plate as he held out his hand. "Your phone, Cavan."
The matter was final. Cavan dug in his pocket and with a trembling hand, gave his phone to his dad. It was as though every second ha
mmered an extra nail into his heart.
He stormed up to his room, banging against every surface along the way. How dare they?! How was it any of their business who he talks to and who he meets up with? He was an adult -if he could afford to move-out he probably would have done so already.
He slammed his bedroom door shut.
His skull was burning up from the inside. His heart ached like a throbbing rock in his chest. He screwed his eyes up, breathing hard, as he paced back and forth, his blood roaring in his ears. They'd taken his phone away. Thank GOD it was password protected. As far as he'd seen he'd not had much battery left, either, so that was a plus.
As long as they didn't see any of his texts to Lucas, he could take some solace in it. It wasn't enough, though.
His chest felt tight. It was hard to breathe. He had no way of telling Lucas about what had happened. He hadn't been active online for weeks. He could e-mail the man, but did he even check his e-mails when he was away at his cottage? It hurt to think there was still so much Cavan didn't know about him.
'Just breathe!' he urged, 'Just breathe and try to think!'
It didn't work.
His head was spinning, and he felt like he was going to be sick. Snot and tears were staining his face. Exhaustion hit his body in waves, one after the other, crashing into him. He dropped back down onto his bed; arms thrown over his eyes as sobs ripped out of his raw throat. Tears leaked down into his hair.
He wished Sophie were here.
She'd have checked in on him and asked if he was okay. If he didn't want to speak, she'd have just sat with him, stroked his hair and been a calming presence to settle his mind. A tremor ran through his body. Drawing in deep breaths, he hiccoughed and sucked wet air into his lungs. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball under his bedclothes and cry himself to sleep.
That sounded like a plan.
~0~
Friday AM
Waking up, Lucas took his time to shower, dress and eat breakfast before doing something he rarely did and stretched out across the sofa with the newspaper opened in his lap. He had a mug of steaming tea on the coffee table within arm's reach. The TV was a mere hum in the background. He was calm; he had nowhere to be and nothing to do. All he had to do was read the newspaper.
Until his phone beeped.
'Just ignore it,' he thought, grinding his teeth. 'It can't be that important.'
Beep!
Beep!
Beep!
"Oh, for fuck's sake!" he sneered, tossing the paper to one side and grabbing his phone off the table. He swiped the screen open and scrolled through his messages; two from Arthur -a number he'd saved in case of emergencies -one from Bonnie, and another one from Eleanor which was unrelated to the others. To be expected.
Arthur:
(10:03) Hi Lucas it's Arthur. Cavan's friend. I was wondering if you'd heard from him in the last few days?
(10:06) Only his parents called asking where he was, and I don't know anything. Was hoping he was with you.
Bonbon:
(10:05) Hey Luc, just wondering if you'd heard from Cavan?
(10:07) He messaged me asking where your cottage was so … was hoping he'd gone to you?
Lucas felt his stomach drop.
Cavan was missing?
He dialled Cavan's number. His body heated up as he pressed the phone to his ear only to listen to Cavan's outgoing message;
'Hey this is Cavan! Sorry I can't come to the phone right now cause I'm studying so text me! I'm more likely to reply! BYE!'
"Fuck!" he cursed under his breath before ending the call. He dialled again. Same message. Again? Same message. After two more attempts he tossed his phone into the arm of the sofa. "Jesus fucking Christ!" He raked a hand through his immaculate hair before drawing in deep, soothing breaths. Pressing his lips together, he grabbed his phone and scrolled through it again, this time dialling Bonnie's number.
She answered on the third ring.
"Hey Lucas, did you get my text?"
"Yes, I've just tried to call his phone. It's going straight through to voicemail."
"Shit," she hissed. "Did he mention anything to you about going away with friends or something?"
"No. According to his friend, Arthur, he's just gone off without saying a word." Lucas sighed. He ran a hand over his mouth and sighed. "When did he message you?"
"Um let me see." There was the sound of keys being tapped. "He messaged me just after midnight. So, if nothing else it would have been just in time to get the last train if there was one. If not … He probably slept at the train station."
"Holy shit," Lucas had horrid images of Cavan huddled down like some tramp in one of the narrow, steel chairs that lined along most platforms. At the very least if it was a central station there was a chance of proper shelter. It was still frigid out most evenings. Lucas's insides cramped with panic. "Can you check for me? Were there any direct trains up here that late at night?"
"Let me see."
The sound of distant tapping keys echoed down the landline. 'Come on Bonnie,' he silently urged.
"It looks like the cheapest one-way ticket up to Lincoln would have been from half nine this morning."
"Right?"
"Well it should come in just before midday."
Lucas glanced down at his watch. "Okay that gives me half an hour to get to the station. If he doesn't have his phone, he's going to be vulnerable. I'll let you know how things go, okay? Maybe you could message Arthur or Sophie or something? Just let them know what's going on?"
"Got it covered, already sent messages to both. Hurry up, or he'll have half a mind to leave the station."
"I'll let you know if he comes through."
"Go!"
Lucas ended the call.
The drive to the train station took about thirty-five minutes thanks to the traffic. The holiday-makers wanting a week get-away always pissed him off, however now it was a matter of urgency. As he sat at a red light, his mind raced at all the possible horrors that could have befallen Cavan on the journey. It wasn't even a direct train -he'd have to have changed at some point.
It was nearly midday.
Lucas slammed his horn. "Move! The light's fucking green!" he yelled at no one in particular. The queue was horrendous, and it only served to irritate his nerves even more. He wanted to get to the station and see if Cavan was there. Then he could hug the kid and make sure he was alright. Or smack him. Whichever one was more appropriate at the time. Although he was more likely to get arrested for running over the tops of the cars in the traffic jam if he wasn't careful.
"Soon, Cavan. I'll be there soon."
He made it to the station car-park in the next eight minutes. The longest eight minutes of driving history. He parked in the short-stay lot which was right out front of the station. He pulled the collar of his coat up high and looked at the crowds milling around, straining his eyes for a sign of messy brown hair.
'Come on, kid,' he thought, frowning, 'You’re a half giant, I should be able to see you.'