Oddly enough, I’ve been mulling over just that subject all the way back, and I have an idea. “How about The Glory Hole? My gran had a glory hole—it was a dark cupboard under the stairs. I thought fairies lived in there.”
His smile is brilliant, his teeth white and gleaming in the darkness of the car. “The Glory Hole? Sounds wonderfully decadent. Suggestive. Yes, I think that might do. See? You’re a natural. So, will you at least think about my offer?”
I’m not sure. Dreaming up a name’s one thing—deputy manager’s quite another. I’ve no experience. I can just about run a bath, what’s he thinking of? He can’t really mean to let me loose with a club? And what about Ange? She might have other ideas about who she wants to work with. I sign all that to Nick, convincing myself that it’s a non-starter.
“I already ran it past Ange. She’d be delighted to work with you. Train you.” Nick is not to be put off, it seems.
“What about if this, us, if we split up again? Would I lose my job?”
“No you fucking wouldn’t. What sort of operation do you think I run here? Your job, if you accept it, and your relationship with me are two separate matters. I’m offering you this because I see potential in you, like Ange does. Potential to run a club, a business. You said you wanted to get into some sort of enterprise, well, here’s a chance to learn some of the skills. You might not see yourself doing this sort of work forever, but I reckon it could suit you very well for now. And I’d benefit from having you working for me. So, like I say, think about it. Please.”
I nod. Thinking’s good, thinking costs nothing. I can do thinking. Satisfied he’s got as far as he’s going to get for now, Nick gets out of the car then comes around to open my door. We stroll slowly towards the front of the house, in no particular hurry. It’s a warm evening, and although I know we’ll be scening once we get inside, for now we’re just nicely companionable. I almost stumble over the shape huddled on the doorstep.
“Watch out, you nearly stood on me!” The shape starts to unfold, lengthen, grow.
I’m shocked, utterly terrified. I recoil against Nick.
“What the fuck—?” Nick shoves me behind him and grabs the figure now standing in front of us, his fist pulled back ready to land the first punch.
The shape speaks again. “Hello, Dad.”
Chapter Six
“What the fuck makes you think I’m your father? I’m no one’s father, for Christ’s sake.”
Nick rakes his fingers through his hair, glaring at the scruffy youth now huddled at our kitchen table, his hands clutching a cup of hot chocolate. I look from one to the other, and I can see quite clearly that he’s wrong, that he definitely
is
someone’s father and that someone is sitting right here. The family resemblance is uncanny.
Nick took some convincing to even allow the young man through the door, but it’s dark outside, cold, and after midnight. After my initial shock, I could see our unexpected visitor looked to be just about dead on his feet so I persuaded Nick that we should all go inside to discuss—whatever.
“My mum. She says it was you. Why would she lie about that?”
“How the fuck would I know?”
I shoot him a reproachful look. He really shouldn’t swear at the lad. Nick has the grace to look chastened and mumbles an apology before taking once more to pacing the room. The lad continues to drink his cocoa, seemingly unimpressed by the formidable Nick Hardisty in a foul mood. He’ll learn.
Meanwhile, I rap on the table to attract Nick’s attention, then sign the questions uppermost in my mind, “We need to know his name. And his mother’s name.”
“Right.” He turns back to our surprise guest. “So, what
is
your name then? And who’s this mother of yours who’s so sure I…” He breaks off, which is probably wise. Some sentences are better not completed.
The lad eyes both of us curiously, clearly wondering what the signing’s all about.
“Callum. Callum Lee. My mother’s called Astrid. You knew her in…” Evidently he’s opted to confine himself to answering Nick’s questions for now.
“Liverpool. Yes, I remember Astrid. We weren’t together long. I wasn’t her type, particularly.”
Callum shakes his head. “No, I expect you weren’t. But it must have been fun while it lasted, and here I am.”
“I’ll be wanting a DNA test…”
I rap the table again. Nick turns to me, one eyebrow raised.
“You really don’t need that. Look at him. He’s exactly like you. DNA testing won’t tell you anything that’s not already perfectly obvious.”
Nick stares at me, and paces some more. Then, “You believe him?” Unusually for Nick, he signs the question rather than verbalising it. It strikes me that he wants this part of our conversation to be private.
I nod. “I do.”
“What’s with all this hand waving? She dumb or what?” Callum’s ill-mannered and very indelicately phrased question hangs in the air.
Nick turns to him slowly, and I have an awful suspicion that he might be about to deliver that punch after all. This has to stop. I stand, rapping the table hard and moving round to position myself in front of Callum.
“He’s young, he doesn’t know what’s going on. He didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Don’t do something in anger that you’ll surely regret later.”
Nick stares at me, visibly reining in his temper. At last, “Okay, you’re right.” He lifts his hand, places his palm against my cheek. “Thank you, Freya. Now, sit down, please.”
I stand my ground a few moments longer. “I will if you will. We need to talk, all of us. And probably this Astrid, too. Work out what’s going on here and why Callum’s turned up out of the blue like this.”
With a last glower in the direction of his new-found offspring Nick subsides into a chair. He’s not quite done, though. He places his elbows on the table and fixes Callum with a glare I recognise, one that says do
not
provoke me further.
“Freya can’t speak. She uses sign language to communicate, and I understand it.” This is Nick in his sternest, ‘for the avoidance of doubt’ Dom mode, and Callum is getting both barrels. Nick continues, “So here’s the thing—Freya’s my girlfriend. She lives here with me, and I love her. And while you’re here you need to treat her with absolute respect. Is that clear? Is that absolutely clear? Because this is
not
negotiable.”
Wow. I’m stunned. Did I hear that right? The L word from Nick? Where was that lurking? I don’t have time to ponder it, though. Callum turns to me, his expression one of admiration now, tinged with perhaps a dash of curiosity.
“Hey, cool. Can you teach me that sign language stuff? And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by what I said. I didn’t mean you were stupid or nothing.”
I smile and hold out my hand by way of accepting his apology. He takes it, and we’re friends.
* * * *
Later that night, after wolfing down a mountain of ham sandwiches and four chocolate muffins—the best we could dredge up at a moment’s notice—Callum is safely installed in the spare bedroom down the hall. It’s the same room I vacated a few nights ago, though now my gear has been hastily and not so neatly stuffed into two drawers in Nick’s room—the best I could manage at such short notice. It’s been a long night and Nick and I are, at last, undressing for bed.
“So, what do you think?” Nick is sitting on the edge of the bed, in just his boxer shorts, as I take my time over removing my eye makeup at his dressing table. Our eyes meet, reflected in the mirror, and I shrug. Until we hear more, especially from the mysterious Astrid, I really don’t know what to make of any of this. Nick’s in the same boat, but despite our near total ignorance of all relevant facts he seems inclined to discuss the matter further.
“What the fuck’s he doing here? And do you suppose he’ll want to stay?”
Ah, the killer questions. Again I shrug, but I have a feeling he probably will. For a while, at least. I turn to Nick and sign that much. My signing is nowhere near as fast or as accurate as usual because the plaster cast hampers my movements, but Nick seems to get my gist perfectly well.
In the hour or so we spent together in the kitchen, watching Callum eat, and before Nick decided we all needed to get some sleep, we managed to establish a few things. Callum’s seventeen. He’s been living in Leicester with his mum and her partner, Charlotte. Nick insisted on having Astrid’s phone number, and Callum provided it but with a marked lack of enthusiasm.
Callum spent most of the last two days hitching here. I guess not that many motorists would be minded to stop and pick up a scruffy teenager in a dirty hoodie, ripped jeans and carrying a seriously disreputable-looking rucksack. He got lucky with a couple of lorry drivers, and was dropped off at junction thirty-six on the M6 at around eight o’clock this evening. From there he covered the rest of the distance on foot, about ten miles I’d say. No wonder he’d worked up an appetite. And I guess that speaks of determination, at least, and fortitude. And a decent pair of trainers. He’s gone to a lot of trouble to find his father and I doubt he’ll be minded to turn round and stroll out of here any time soon.
“Do you want him to stay?” It’s another killer question. Fundamental really. I don’t seriously expect Nick to have an answer. Two hours ago he didn’t even know the lad existed. I wait patiently while he considers the matter.
At last, “I really don’t know.”
Well, no surprise there. He hesitates. This really is completely uncharted territory he’s found himself in. He leans forward, his elbows braced on his knees as he rakes his fingers through his hair. He looks up, catches my gaze again in the mirror. “Just a matter of weeks ago I knew for sure I didn’t want anyone else to live here with me on a long-term basis, or I thought I did. I was wrong about that.” He smiles at me, his eyes warm, sexy.
My stomach flips over as his meaning is clear.
He continues, “I seem to have a family materialising in front of my eyes. First you, now—him. It’s a bit unnerving, to be honest. I can handle you, just about. Unruly subs are my speciality. But I’d be a crap father. What do I know about kids?”
He’s right about having the measure of me, and I’ll have to take Nick’s word for it about having no experience with kids, but the crap father bit I don’t accept. And I doubt that’s Callum’s view either—he’s gone to too much trouble to let Nick just reject him out of hand. But we still don’t know what our uninvited guest wants or what his plans are, so maybe Nick hasn’t all that much to worry about. I sign that, and he smiles.
“How come you’re always so calm? Whatever comes your way, you just shrug and accept it?”
Me, calm?
I think resilient might be a better description, or maybe just plain dim. I’m reminded of the beginning of a poem by Rudyard Kipling,
‘If you can keep your head while all around are losing theirs…’
I always thought the next line should have been
‘you haven’t properly understood the situation’
, but I keep that to myself for now. Things will no doubt be clearer tomorrow, once Nick has spoken to the lovely Astrid. And anyway, I have another fundamental question to throw into the mix.
“What you said to Callum earlier, when he was rude to me…”
He cocks his head, his smile sexy and warm. Intimate. He knows what’s coming. I turn on my stool, facing him directly now.
“Did you mean it? All of it?”
He takes his time again. “I did.” His response lacks any hint of his earlier hesitancy. “I’m not sure when the penny dropped, but I think it might have been when I found you in your apartment, injured, and thought for one crazy moment that someone had hurt you. I was ready to commit a murder. I’ve had people piss me off before, many times. Subs mostly—and you know all about that. But this was different, a white hot blast of searing anger. It was gone in an instant, as soon as I realised you’d hurt yourself by accident. Then I just wanted to take care of you. Protect you. Bring you back here where you belong. And once I got you here, I didn’t want you to leave me again. So yes, my little Freya, in answer to your question, I
do
love you.”
I gaze at him, my happiness bubbling and surely ready to overflow. I wonder what a pool of joy would look like, spilling onto Nick’s bedroom carpet. Bright gold and yellow and vivid pink probably, with sparkling lights and fizzy bubbles. Like a liquid Christmas tree. I’m lost for words to describe how I feel, so I settle for something ridiculously mundane.
“And you did all that. You did take care of me. You’ve been brilliant. Did I thank you properly?”
Again that sexy smile, the smile he keeps just for me now. “I think you may have. But do please feel free to thank me again, just in case.”
All in good time. For now I content myself by walking across the room to him and laying my right palm briefly against his cheek.
“You know I love you too. You accept that from me now?”
“Christ, yes.” He takes my hand, the one not encased in plaster, and turns it to kiss my palm. “Freya, isn’t it time we were in bed and you got set to on this thanking you might have missed?”
Soon. I’m still thinking about our house guest in the spare room. Nick is in his mid-thirties now, I guess, and if Callum’s already seventeen then Nick can’t have been much older when he fathered him. I wonder about the mysterious Astrid. Maybe she was just a kid too back then. And her Charlotte—at least I now understand why both Nick and Callum were so certain he was not her type. But I am, and it’s time he was reminded of that. We all have a lot of talking to do, and tomorrow will be soon enough for the next volley of questions. For now I need to remind him that while he may not have been Astrid’s type, he’s most definitely mine. I want my Dom.
“You promised me a spanking. I hope fatherhood isn’t going to make you forgetful.”
I smile at him, my hands stilling again, then on impulse I settle myself next to him and wrap my arms around him, nuzzling his chest with my nose. I flick his nipple with my tongue, and love the delightful little shiver that ripples under his skin. It’s slightly awkward, I’m not completely at ease with my plaster cast yet, but I manage. Nick tangles his fingers in my hair, turning my face up to his and kisses me, deepening the kiss quickly as my mouth opens under his. Long, tongue-tangling moments later he lifts his head.