His mother had no idea the effort it had taken him to decide to go out.
Too much had happened over the previous few months, culminating in Emma’s death. By the end, when everything was coming to a head, it had felt as if he were sliding into a deep, black pit. And now, after forcing himself to leave the house, he wasn’t sure it was the right decision. He was tempted to run back in and up the stairs, and close the door on the world outside.
He took a deep breath and told himself not to be a coward, that was no way to live life.
The club was fairly new, it had been open a few months, but he’d heard on the grapevine it was the place to go if you wanted some action. He wasn’t sure if he wanted action, but he was sure he wanted to check it out.
What had happened with Phil and Gus, in Teasers’ toilet, had been brutal and degrading. It made him doubt himself and his urges. But he was still drawn to attractive men in the same way others were attracted to beautiful women.
Ryan stood hesitantly in the doorway listening to the music seeping out from the bar into the street. He wore tight white trousers, and a silky black shirt, open at the neck to display a thick gold chain. His face was perfectly made up, but not overstated. His skin looked flawless with a dusting of face powder, his eyebrows had been plucked and pencilled, his mascara was discreet, and his lips were coloured with the merest touch of pink lipstick. While his hair, normally tied back in a ponytail, flowed over his shoulders and down his back in silky waves. His arm still ached from brushing it.
Pushing the thought of Phil out of his head, he opened the door and walked in. The pulse of music was louder inside, and the bar resounded with voices and laughter. Male couples and female couples swayed to the music on the tiny dance floor. Others propped up the bar or sat at tables over to the side of the room.
Ryan breathed a sigh of contentment. He knew, instinctively, this was a place where he fitted in, a place where he could be himself instead of hiding away. And maybe, just maybe, he might find a kindred spirit here.
* * * *
The house felt empty after Ryan left. Diane wished she’d commented on how nice he looked, but she hadn’t wanted to embarrass him. Poor Ryan, he’d experienced so much trouble coming to terms with how he was. She knew he’d taken Emma’s death badly, just as badly as he’d taken Jade’s disappearance, and she regretted not having given him more of her time.
She still hadn’t got over Emma. When she’d told her to go, she had no idea Emma would do something so extreme. But at least she was at peace now, although Diane had no daughters left.
The doorbell startled her out of her reverie, and she was surprised to see Bill Murphy on the doorstep.
‘What is it you want?’ She debated in her mind whether to invite him in, but decided not to.
‘I wondered how you were.’ His voice was hesitant. ‘I should have come to see you before . . . ’ He shuffled his feet. ‘If there’s anything I can do to help . . . ’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘But there’s nothing you can do to help me. Please don’t come back.’
She closed the door, walked down the hall, and into the living room. She meant to sit down and forget he’d been here, but something drew her to the window.
He was still standing at the door where she’d left him, but as she watched, he turned and walked down the path. The dejected droop of his shoulders increased her sadness, and she was unable to move away from the window until he drove off.
He’d been a nice man, she’d liked him and, although there had never been anything more between them, there had always been that slight frisson of electricity. The merest suggestion they could have built a relationship.
With tears in her eyes, she turned away from the window. It was time to scrub the kitchen floor.
<<<<>>>>
About the Author
Chris Longmuir was born in Wiltshire but now lives in Angus. Her family moved to Scotland when she was two. After leaving school at fifteen, Chris worked in shops, offices, mills and factories, and was a bus conductor for a spell, before working as a social worker for Angus council (latterly serving as Assistant Principal Officer for Adoption and Fostering).
Chris is an award winning novelist and has published three novels in her Dundee Crime Series. Night Watcher, the first book in the series, won the Scottish Association of Writers’ Pitlochry Award, and the sequel, Dead Wood, won the Dundee International Book Prize, as well as the Pitlochry Award. Missing Believed Dead is the third book in the series.
Chris also writes historical sagas, short stories and articles which have been published in America and Britain. She confesses to being a bit of a techno-geek, and builds computers in her spare time.
Chris is a member of the Society of Authors, the Crime Writers Association, and the Scottish Association of Writers.
Also by Chris Longmuir
Dundee Crime Series
Night Watcher
Dead Wood (paperback only)
Missing Believed Dead
Historical sagas
A Salt Splashed Cradle
Short Stories
Ghost train & Other Stories
Obsession & Other Stories
Missing Believed Dead Page 29