Cricket (28 page)

It seemed so easy, away from the village and the people who liked to whisper behind their backs, knowing that even if their friends could see them now they wouldn’t care. And it wouldn’t matter.

Henry was more comfortable being out and proud than Ryan was. He’d had years to develop a thick skin and had survived homophobic abuse in all its various forms. Loving Ryan meant wanting to protect him and to shield him from that abuse, if he could. The affection that Ryan gave so easily made Henry wary, but Ryan was always so sweet about it that Henry found it difficult to try and dissuade him.

After Jack discovered how to throw clumps of wet sand, Henry decided it was time to take the little boy back to his mother and washed his hands off in the sea before hefting him up onto his hip.

“Come on, trouble. Let’s go find your mommy,” Henry said.

He
ooof
ed as Jack wriggled in his arms, corrected himself, and gripped the toddler more securely. The almost-slip wasn’t much, but enough for Ryan to place his hand on Henry’s back to steady him.

A young mother—probably not much older than twenty—who had been playing with her own baby nearby, stopped to beam at him.

“He’s a cutie,” she said. “What’s his name?”

“Jack,” Ryan said and ruffled his hair. “Say hiya.”

Jack waved and said hello, playing along for smiles and attention.

“You look like great dads,” the girl told them.

“He’s not ours,” Ryan said, laughing. “He’s my nephew.”

“Oh! Well, he’s adorable,” she said, then turned back to her own child.

“Oh my God,” Henry murmured as they walked back up the beach.

“I’m sure she wasn’t the only one who thought that,” Ryan said, and Henry couldn’t quite be sure if he was teasing or not.

“I hate you.”

They transferred responsibility of Jack back to one of his real parents and announced that they were going for a walk. But only after Ryan had fished two ice creams out of the freezer tub and threatened not to share.

Once they were clear of the camp again, Henry licked a drip of his ice cream and reached for Ryan’s hand, then stopped himself.

“Can I hold your hand here without getting my head bashed?” he asked.

“Of course,” Ryan said. “You can handle stupid teenagers maybe calling you names, though, right?”

Henry rolled his eyes. “Yeah.”

In answer, Ryan slipped his hand into Henry’s and loosely swung his arm back and forth.

A
S
THE
day softened into evening, most of the families started to pack up and leave the beach. It didn’t take long for the music and bonfires to start up, giving their little corner of the world a bit more of a party atmosphere.

Stella gave Jack his dinner, then slipped back into the camper van to settle him down to sleep. They had a baby monitor that would sit next to her in case he woke up, and their own bonfire and barbeque was pitched right next to the van, meaning she was never more than a few yards away from her baby.

The young mother’s words from earlier had resonated with Henry more than he wanted to admit. He’d never aspired to be a father. It wasn’t something he or his former boyfriends had wanted, and he was happy with his vision of the future, one that didn’t have children in it.

It wasn’t something he wanted to reflect too deeply on tonight, not while Ryan’s hand was rarely straying from his back and he was drinking more than he normally would. Being slightly drunk and emotionally delicate was not a good state to be in while contemplating his hypothetical future children.

The night didn’t get all the way dark until after ten in the evening, and even then, under the blanket of bright stars and a full, low-hanging moon, and with the amber glow of the fire, there was plenty of light to see by.

No one had mentioned the casual intimacy between Ryan and Henry. Whether that was because they didn’t care or they did care and were too embarrassed to mention it, Henry wasn’t sure. He had a feeling it was because no one cared. These people were his friends now.

“I really don’t like camping,” Henry said as they finally crawled into Ryan’s tent. It was late—later than Henry wanted to think about, considering what time they were expecting the sun to rise in the morning. And, of course, Ryan always woke up disgustingly early, even when he wasn’t working.

“I know you don’t,” Ryan mumbled. It was only when he flicked on two flashlights that Henry realized what the other man had done for him.

There were no sleeping bags, like he’d been expecting. Instead, it looked like Ryan had brought Henry’s duvet and pillows on the trip and had set up an inflatable mattress in the middle of the tent, the bed neatly made. He’d also set two boxes to serve as nightstands, on which sat the flashlights, which had lampshades fixed to them. Even Henry’s alarm clock sat on Henry’s nightstand, on his side of the bed.

“You’re adorable,” Henry said, aware it would be too easy for him to say something more. Too much more, too many things he wasn’t really ready to say just yet.

“Come to bed,” Ryan said simply, and it was suddenly as easy as that.

Just like he would at home, Henry shed everything except his underwear and slid between the cool sheets, allowing Ryan to zip up the tent and join him, curving a warm body behind his own. Even though Henry had known in advance that he’d be sharing a tent with Ryan, the bed situation was unanticipated. It took very little time for him to decide he liked it.

When Ryan’s palm flattened on his stomach, Henry allowed the arousal to flutter, wondering if he was going to do anything about it. He thought probably not. These walls were thin. Too thin. They’d definitely hear outside if anything happened.

It turned out to be something of a blessing. With there being no chance of any sexy times, Henry allowed himself to be held, listened to the sound of Ryan’s deep breathing, and fell asleep.

N
OT
too much later, he was woken by light creeping through the seams of the tent. Even though it was made out of dark fabric, Henry had always been a light sleeper, and sunlight was one of the things sure to wake him.

And of course, Ryan was awake. Not doing much, just lying on his side, his back to Henry, reading a book on Henry’s iPad.

“Morning,” he mumbled sleepily.

“Good morning,” Ryan said and flipped the cover back on the iPad, rolling onto his back to allow Henry to snuggle into his side.

It was warm, so Henry kicked the duvet down to his waist and relished the feel of Ryan’s skin against his cheek, the steady thump of his heart and gentle fingertips that skimmed up and down his back.

“Did you sleep okay?”

“Mm,” Henry hummed, not willing to admit that, actually, he’d gone out like a light and not stirred all night. “What time is it?”

“A little after seven.”

“Oh,” he said, surprised.

“I know. You slept for at least six hours, maybe more,” Ryan teased. “Stella’s already up and about.”

“She came in?”

“No,” Ryan said, laughing now. “I can hear her chasing after Jack Jack, though.”

“Oh.” Henry paused. “Good.”

“She’ll be doing breakfast in a bit,” Ryan said. “You’ll want to get up for that.”

Henry hummed again and buried his face farther into Ryan’s neck. “Not yet.”

“Okay. Not yet.”

In the end, it was the smell of Stella’s cooking that convinced not only Ryan and Henry to emerge from their tent, but most of the rest of the cricket team too. They were reliably informed by Jack that breakfast would be “bacon and eggs!” something that he seemed to like repeating over and over until someone told him “yes, bacon and eggs!”

It was that and more. Stella had gone all out, setting up several barbecues in order to fry the now infamous bacon and eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, and baked beans, while Andy had a toaster set up in the camper van and was working on toasting two whole loaves of white bread.

They ate on paper plates with plastic knives and forks, huddled in sweatshirts until the sun got all the way up and started to warm the chilly sea air. There still weren’t enough seats for everyone, so people spilled out of cars, sat on bits of driftwood, or shared the folding deck chairs.

“I almost don’t want to go home,” Henry sighed, tilting his head so it rested on Ryan’s knee. He was sitting on the dewy grass and was surprised at how little he cared.

“Then let’s stay a few more days,” Ryan said.

Henry laughed. “I wish.”

“No, seriously,” Ryan said, tugging at Henry’s hair.

“I don’t have any more clothes with me.”

“We’ll go buy some more.”

The temptation was huge, but he had a responsibility back in Cheddar. “I’d love to…,” he said after some serious contemplation. “But I really don’t want to leave the builders on their own. Not this close to finishing the project.”

“Okay,” Ryan said easily.

“Don’t you try and tempt him away from that house,” Stella warned him. “He’s supposed to be planning my wedding as soon as it’s ready.”

“Really?” Ryan said, his head turning comically between Stella and Henry. “You never told me that.”

“I forgot,” Henry said. “I’m sorry. Do you have any objections to a winter wedding?”

Stella rolled her eyes. “No. If you can push it back to late December, it could be fun to do it on New Year’s Eve.”

“Ooh.” Henry’s eyes lit up. “We could make the theme all silver and sparkly. But tastefully silver and sparkly, of course.”

“That works for me,” Stella said with a grin.

“Don’t you want to be back in New York for New Year?” Ryan said, leaning in so no one else could overhear.

“No,” Henry said. “I want to be wherever you are.”

Nineteen

B
ACK
in the village, life returned to normal with depressing speed. The farm had been left in the capable hands of Ryan’s assistants, but he still insisted on going over the whole twelve acres himself before he was satisfied that everything was okay and in working order. That much attention to detail took time. A lot of time.

With Nell’s approval hanging over his head, the pressure to open the house to the public grew by the day, and Henry was suddenly thrust into the business of arranging employees to run the place. It was messy, involving agencies and newspapers and receiving resumes by e-mail, and he quickly learned why so many companies had departments dedicated to the entire process.

The nature of his work forced him to do most of it from Ryan’s kitchen again, rather than at the house, with its limited Wi-Fi connections and no phone line. Being cooped up inside made him itchy and annoyed, shortening his already short temper.

While the morning sunshine spilled into the kitchen and Henry fed Hulk scraps of Marmite on toast, his world shifted on its axis. He didn’t hear the phone ring at first, and ended up returning Shenal’s two missed calls.

“Hey,” he said as soon as she answered the phone. “I was meaning to call you later, about going down the Dog for lunch in the week sometime. I’m free on Thursday, I think, but I’ve got an inspection Friday, so I can’t do then—”

“Henry,” she interrupted, and he realized he hadn’t let her get a word in yet.

“Sorry,” he said, laughing. “Go on.”

“Henry.” She sounded terrible.

“What’s wrong?”

“Henry… Nell died last night. I’m so sorry.”

He took a deep breath and felt his stomach drop. “What?”

“I got a call first thing. She passed away in her sleep. They only found her this morning when she didn’t go down for breakfast.”

“No,” Henry said softly. “No, I’m supposed to be meeting her tomorrow. She was going to tell me more about the ballroom. We’re not done with the plans for the weddings, and she was going to tell me… she was going to tell me….”

“I’m so sorry,” Shenal said again, and he could hear the tears in her throat. “Is Ryan there?”

“He’s out on the farm somewhere,” Henry said. He tried to sort through the fog in his mind, to remember if Ryan had said where he was headed. He couldn’t remember.

“Call him. You shouldn’t be alone.” Even while he nodded, Henry knew she couldn’t see the gesture, but his mind was still reeling. Nell couldn’t be gone. She just couldn’t. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Yeah.”

It didn’t make any sense. It shouldn’t have been a shock. The whole reason why he’d made the trip to Somerset in the first place was because Nell was dying. She’d said so from the very first time they’d met. Pancreatic cancer.
It’s rotting me from the inside out.
He’d known, but that wasn’t going to make it any easier. She wasn’t just a distant relative, she was… he slid to the floor in a boneless heap, the tears falling freely now.

She was family.

A
FTER
he’d purged the first round of tears, Henry managed to send a text message to Ryan and hoped he’d get home soon. It didn’t take long, and Henry surmised he’d probably not gone much farther than the goats before turning back for the house. Hulk seemed to know that something was wrong and laid his furry head on Henry’s knee, allowing him to run his fingers through the soft down at the dog’s neck.