Isle of Waves (10 page)

“No reason. I just didn’t feel like one today.”

Wig scowled. “I don’t believe you. You’re lying.”

Nibs expelled a sharp breath. “I’m not lying.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Don’t call me sweetheart. You only call me that when you want to distract me.” Wig was working himself into a fury.

“Wig….”

“Tell me!”

“The doc said I need to watch my blood sugar level.”

“What?”

“Doctor Cheeseman said my blood sugar is too high. I’m borderline diabetic, and I’ve got to watch my diet.”

“What did you see him for?
When
did you see him?”

“Three weeks ago. Steve had the kitchen. You were off somewhere, and I went to the quack’s. I’ve been feeling rough for a while, so the doc did some tests.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me? What the fuck did I say about keeping secrets?”

“What do you think? You’d have been fussing and worrying.”

“I do not fuss and worry.” Nibs raised an eyebrow. Wig huffed a breath before continuing. “Okay, so maybe I do fuss, but that’s my job. I’m your partner, and you didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t want to worry you. The doctor gave me some information and diet sheets and referred me to the diabetic clinic.”

“You’re a diabetic or borderline? Which is it?” Wig growled.

“I think they need to do some more tests.” Nibs looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but having this conversation.

Wig rubbed his temples. The headache that had been brewing all day now flared up with a sharp brilliance.

“Wig, I’m not dying or anything.” Nibs pulled him into a hug, and despite the awkward position, Wig leaned in as close as he could. “I just need to get tested and maybe some pills.”

“You think it’s as simple as that? Are you fucking stupid? You’ve got to change your whole diet and cut down on stress and the long hours and—” Wig cut off abruptly. “That’s why you’re ready to sell up, isn’t it? You knew, so you decided it’s time to sell.”

Nibs hesitated, but finally he said, “Yes.”

“I… fucking don’t know anything anymore. Take me home.”

“Wig….”

Wig leant his head against the cool glass of the window. “Take me home, please.”

Nibs put a hand out and then, apparently changing his mind, turned the key. The car sputtered into life, and he reversed back onto the road.

They reached home in silence, and Wig headed into the restaurant, looking for something stronger than the beer they had upstairs. He poured himself a double whiskey and threw it back in one gulp. He looked up to see Nibs waiting by the door to the back. “Want one?” Wig asked, lifting up the glass.

“No, thanks.”

“Of course you don’t.” Wig poured himself another. “You can’t drink now, can you? I thought you were just being nice, but you were avoiding alcohol.”

“I know you’re angry with me.”

Wig shook his head. “I’m not angry.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m disappointed. I thought after all this time we had a different sort of relationship.” Nibs took a step forward, but Wig held up his hand. “Don’t. Don’t come near me.”

“I can’t leave you alone. We need to talk.”

Of course he didn’t want to be left alone. The mere thought frightened him shitless. The thought of being left without Nibs as a constant presence in his life was something Wig couldn’t contemplate. But at this precise moment, when Wig could quite happily pound on Nibs’s face—yeah, he wanted to be left alone.

“Go away,” he mumbled into the whiskey glass. He filled it again.

“You’ve got to get up in the morning.”

The morning was a long way off.

Nibs sighed. “I love you, Wig.”

Wig ignored him.

Nibs moved close enough to stroke his hair, then left Wig alone with the whiskey bottle and his thoughts.

Nibs had diabetes. He was going to die early and leave Wig on his own. Yes, Wig knew he was being melodramatic. God, it was like a bad country and western song.

“He left me in the morning,

With the sunlight on the sea….”

Wig sang softly, laughing and sniffling as he thought of the corniest words he could.

“He promised me our love would be forever,

But it wasn’t long enough for me.”

Wig threw back the third whiskey, then gasped and sobbed as it burned down his throat. He knew he was being selfish, that he should be supporting Nibs, but he couldn’t get over the fact that Nibs hadn’t shared something this important with him. Again. What else was he hiding? Why didn’t he trust Wig?

He looked at the bottle of whiskey, tempted to pour another one, but he knew his limits and Nibs was right, he did have to get up tomorrow.

“Fuck it,” he said and poured a single. See, there, he was being good.

T
HE
DEAD
mouse had taken up residence in his mouth again, with a vengeance, and this time it had brought its siblings as well. Wig awoke to find he’d been sleeping on the bar, his head buried in his arms. Someone had covered him up with the red throw that usually lived on the sofa, so he wasn’t cold, but he was stiff and had a pounding headache along with the disgusting mouth.

He sat up, stretched his tired muscles, and squinted at the clock. Four thirty. He contemplated going to bed, but what was the point? He’d have to get up in an hour and a half. Mind you, that would be an hour and a half wrapped up cozy and warm next to Nibs.

Unsure what to do, Wig headed into the kitchen and filled the largest glass they had with ice-cold water and drank it in one go. Then he had to bolt for the disabled bathroom. After a disgusting half an hour, during which Wig pleaded to die many times as the whiskey burned just as much on the way up as it did on the way down, he was empty of everything, including his dignity. Wearily, Wig got to his feet and attempted to scrub the bathroom, but the smell of bleach and vomit made him heave again.

Wig left the bathroom only to jump out of his skin as he discovered Nibs standing outside the door.

“What the hell are you doing there?” Wig yelped.

“Seeing how you are.”

“Fine,” grumbled Wig.

Nibs snorted lightly. “Even I know that’s code for ‘I feel like shit.’”

“I shouldn’t have had that last whiskey,” Wig admitted.

“Babe, you should have come to bed with me,” Nibs said. “What the hell did you sleep down here for?”

“I didn’t intend to. I don’t remember going to sleep at all. Thanks for putting the throw around me.”

Nibs looked puzzled. “I didn’t, one of the others must have done. Come back to bed for the last hour.”

Wig grimaced. “I stink of vomit. I really need a shower and to clean my teeth. You go back to bed. I’ll clean myself up.”

“Wait there.”

Too tired to ask why, Wig leaned against the doorframe until Nibs came back. He handed Wig his toothbrush and toothpaste.

“Clean your mouth and wash your face. Anything else can wait until you get up later.”

Wig did as he was told, evicting the family of dead mice as he scrubbed at his tongue. He washed his face, then dried it with the towel Nibs handed him.

Nibs guided Wig out of the bathroom. “We’ll sleep together until seven.”

“What about the restaurant and Ben coming to help you set up?”

“Let me sort you out first, then I’ll sort out Ben.”

He was tired and stiff, and the thought of an hour’s sleep sounded awesome. Wig leant on him and yelped as Nibs swept him off his feet. “What are you doing?”

“Hush, you’ll wake the others. I’m taking you to bed. You look like death warmed up.”

Wig buried his face in Nibs’s warm neck and let his boyfriend look after him.

His bed was the most wonderful invention ever made, and he curled up under the soft covers. Nibs pulled him against his chest, his warm skin heating through Wig faster than any hot-water bottle could. Wig was asleep within a couple of minutes.

T
RUE
TO
his word, Nibs got him up at six thirty to shower before they opened up. Ben and Steve had done most of the work before he came downstairs, and they hugged him before Steve disappeared into the kitchen with Nibs.

Ben looked over at him quizzically as he cleared up the bottle and lone glass. “I’m judging by your face, it was you attacking the booze last night. I hope you feel better than you should do after drinking all the whiskey.”

Wig groaned. “I feel dreadful.”

“You can go back to bed, you know. I can handle the customers. Here, I’ll make you a coffee.”

“You check the tables. I’ll make the coffee,” Wig said. “I ought to scrub out the disabled loo as well.”

“I’ve already done that. Thanks for keeping it mainly in the pan.” Ben bit his bottom lip, then said, “The police spoke to Steve and me yesterday. It wasn’t us, you know. We didn’t break in or try and set the place on fire. Why would we? We like working here.”

Wig gave him a steady look. “Nibs and I didn’t think you did, but the police have to ask.”

“They were asking if we swapped partners and it was a lover’s tiff.”

Wig almost dropped the plates in his hands. “They did what?”

“I know.” Ben looked distressed. “I told them it was ridiculous, but I don’t think they believed me.”

“I’m going to kill them!” Wig actually spluttered, he was so angry.

“Going to kill who?” Steve asked as he came out of the kitchen.

“I told Wig about the comments the policemen made,” Ben said.

“Arseholes,” Steve said bluntly. “We told them they were talking bollocks. Ben was worried you’d think we were involved, but I told him that was nonsense.”

Wig gave them a wry smile. “Thanks for your honesty, guys.”

“We like working here, and we want it to go back to the way it was.”

“Nibs is thinking of selling up.”

“He’s doing what?” Steve looked horrified. “He’s bloody not.” He stormed off to the kitchen, and Wig could hear raised voices.

Ben looked at Wig. “That was unfair on Nibs.”

Wig shrugged. It was payback. “We might get more customers than we expect if Tigger gets involved again. Sunday was really busy.”

“Tigger?” Ben looked confused. “Who the hell’s Tigger?”

“Sam. He and Liam. They are asleep upstairs, by the way.”

“I thought Paul and the tall, silent guy were staying here.”

“They were. But the poor blokes have had no sleep since they’ve stayed here, so Liam and Sam gave them the hotel room to catch up.”

“Uh-huh,” Ben said because he knew Paul of old.

“I don’t want to know what they do with their time.” Wig winced as a family walked in with two squawking kids. The toddler looked as if he was working himself up to the mother of all tantrums.

“Can we get toast and boiled eggs here?” the young woman asked, an air of desperation in her eyes. “Everywhere we’ve been only does fried eggs, and he won’t eat fried eggs.”

“Of course we can,” Ben said, giving Wig a sympathetic look. “How would you like your egg?” he knelt down to talk to the toddler, who paused midscream to think about it.

“Wunny,” the boy said. “Wiv soldiers.”

Ben looked confused, but Wig, with years of experience of toddler orders, helped him out. “An egg with a runny yolk and toast cut into strips.”

“And lots and lots of coffee,” the man said.

“Coming right up,” Ben said. “Do you know what you two would like?”

They ordered the Full English and a vat of coffee. Ben produced paper and crayons, and as the place was empty, a box of Lego and Sticklebricks. His tantrum headed off, the toddler headed straight for the box, then tipped it on the floor and spread out all the bricks.

“Here’s your coffee and squash for the young man.” Ben served the customers and then Wig. “Just in case you thought I’d forgotten you.”

“Thank you.” The mother smiled gratefully. “Davey, don’t throw the bricks around.”

More customers came in, so Wig put down his coffee and looked after them. Later, Davey toddled over to Ben and Wig to thank them for the runny egg and soldiers. Wig smiled as the family left, pleased to have happy customers.

They were busy for a few hours, and when Sam and Liam came down, they started to help without being asked, Sam dealing with the customers and Liam in the kitchen. By the time the breakfast rush was over, Wig’s head was throbbing painfully.

“Can you hold the fort?” Wig asked. “I need some paracetamol.”

“And water,” Sam said. “Drink a pint of water, then you can have more coffee.”

Wig snorted. “I didn’t manage the first one. I’ll be five minutes.”

“No rush. When you come back, Liam and I can grab some breakfast.”

Sam shooed Wig in the direction of the back. Wondering when he’d lost control of his restaurant, Wig shook his head and then wished he hadn’t because the pain shot through his temples.

He remembered that they had paracetamol in the kitchen.

Nibs looked up as he came in. “Is everything okay?”

“Hangover,” he muttered.

Nibs came over and kissed his forehead. “Sit down there, and I’ll give you some pills.” He pointed to a stool and waited until Wig had sat down before he produced the first aid kit. “Open up.” Wig opened his mouth obediently, and Nibs popped the pills one at a time into his mouth, then made him wash it down with ice-cold water. “Finish that off, and I’ll get you some coffee.”