Love & Freedom (14 page)

Whoa. She actually felt her palms get hot.

It was ten awkward minutes before Martyn placed glasses, forks and a pepper grinder on the counter, then, from an impressive bank of stainless steel appliances on the far wall, brought out a bottle of chilled water. He dragged a stool up to the other side of the counter and began spooning out pasta on to square white plates.

‘Wicked. Thanks,’ mumbled Ru.

‘That looks great,’ agreed Honor, picking up her fork. The sauce was rich with chunks of chicken and studded with broccoli.

Silently, Martyn began to eat.

Ru gazed miserably at his plate. ‘I won’t say anything to her. I know how she’ll be if she knows I’ve been up here.’ He shot a glance at Martyn.

Slowly, Martyn nodded. ‘Thanks. That’s good to know.’

‘I know she’s weird,’ Ru rushed on. ‘I keep thinking that she’ll just get over you but she’s been weird since Tucker died – weirder. But you know what she’s like. She’s got this massive thing about you. If I knew how to stop her, I’d do it.’

Martyn forked up some pasta. ‘Thanks for understanding that she freaks me out,’ he said, ironically.

‘Yeah,’ Ru agreed, bleakly. ‘Freaky, that’s us.’

‘But it’s not Ru’s fault,’ Honor protested, hearing unwelcome echoes of Frog’s
‘freak!’
She looked at Martyn, lifting her eyebrows in elaborate expectation, trying to fry him with her stare.

After a few moments of the stare treatment, his eyes gleaming with amusement, he gave in. ‘It certainly would make my life easier if you said nothing about visiting me tonight, Rufus. I appreciate that you’re in a difficult situation.’ One corner of his mouth moved in something that might have been a smile.

Rufus went dark red. ‘’S’alright,’ he muttered.

The grin Martyn sent Honor under his dark brows suggested he was beginning to remember his company manners. And expected her approval. ‘Your pasta OK?’

But Ru, gazing into his plate that way, made Honor feel soft with sorrow. He was a good kid in a bad situation and Martyn Mayfair Superstar’s graciousness needed work, so she looked at Ru as if the question had been directed his way, obliging him to pick up his fork and taste the food so that he could say, ‘Yes. Thanks.’

When they’d eaten and Martyn had filled the coffee machine, he did finally make a proper attempt with Ru. ‘You ever taken any self-defence classes? Seems to me that you ought to.’

Ru gave his usual, fatalistic shrug. ‘Mum doesn’t like me going to classes.’ And then, at Martyn’s uncomprehending silence, ‘She doesn’t like me joining things. She says we’re free spirits.’

‘That’s true,’ Honor put in. ‘I heard her say that.’

‘She’d keep me out of school, if she could.’ His plate removed, Ru had returned his morose gaze to the granite. ‘She doesn’t like conforming. I’m probably the only kid you know who sneaks off in the morning to change
into
his uniform. I buy it from the school thrift shop and carry it round in my backpack.’

Honor struggled to understand the school uniform thing. ‘So all the kids in your school have to wear a certain thing, and she won’t let you?’

‘Black trousers and a burgundy sweatshirt,’ he agreed. ‘But she says a uniform is designed to strip me of my individuality and make me one of a herd. It’s important for each person to be valued for how they are and not forced into superficial conformity. She tells me not to be a clone.’ He laughed, humourlessly, and Honor thought she caught the glint of tears in his eyes. ‘She’s certainly made me an “individual”. It’s no wonder the kids at school call me “freak”. They think I live with a coven of witches.’

Martyn snorted. ‘It’s what comes of being brought up in a non-standard household. People start giving you a hard time for it, as if there’s something you could do about it. Your mother seemed OK with Tucker.’

‘Yeah.’ Ru glanced up. ‘It was better when Tucker was alive.’ His hair slid slowly over his eyes. ‘He was the most normal bloke Mum ever had.’

Honor’s heart ached. ‘So Tucker wasn’t your dad?’

‘No. Some bloke she used to be friends with did the business for her when she wanted a baby. He went off to work in South America. They didn’t keep in touch.’

Honor sighed. ‘At least she wanted you.’

Sliding off his stool to collect the steaming coffee jug and a carton of milk from the fridge, Martyn put out three mugs. His voice was softer, now. ‘There’ve been a lot of blokes, then?’

‘Yeah,’ Ru said, gruffly. ‘’Specially at festivals. She’s always sending me off “for a walk”, or pointing out what tent she’ll be in if I need her during the night.’

Honor’s anger bubbled over. ‘That just stinks! She’s a mom and she ought to know better than to embarrass you that way.’ But then she caught Martyn’s eye and subsided. She wasn’t helping, any more than when she’d antagonised Ru’s bullies. He was probably wishing her to hell.

Martyn sipped his coffee meditatively, and then, sighing as if making a tough decision, pulled out his phone and dialled with a few touches to the screen. ‘Hi, Clarissa,’ he said, into the flat, shiny instrument. ‘Do any of your mates do self-defence classes?’ He reached into a drawer for a pen and wrote a number on a scrap of paper. ‘No, not me. Just someone I know.’

Ending the call, he gave the number to Ru. ‘Call this number and say Clarissa gave it to you. It’s a guy called Hughie. His classes are pretty full but he went to school with Clarissa, so he’ll fit you in.’ He made a thoughtful face. ‘I’m not sure that he knows how to beat up three thugs with fish and chips, though.’

Honor blushed. ‘I thought I did a good job.’

His eyes smiled, even if his lips were late to the party. ‘You were heroic. By the time I opened the door, there you were, St Georgina taming a deeply unpleasant dragon with a takeaway and impressive American swearwords.’

They both looked around at a sudden squeaky, creaky noise. It came from Rufus, laughing almost soundlessly. ‘It was wicked,’ he gasped. ‘Frog dancing about trying to get hot fish out of his boxers. He looked such a tosser.’

Martyn actually began to laugh, too. ‘It’s the American hot-fish dance. Frog should be honoured that Honor came all the way from Connecticut to teach him.’

Rufus laughed harder, wiping under his eyes with the heels of his hands. There was something almost hysterical about it, as if he could tip over into sobs any moment. Honor patted his shoulder and Martyn poured more coffee.

When the creaking laugh wound down into hiccups, Honor dialled the phone number Martyn had got from Clarissa. She got through immediately and explained the situation. ‘Lucky to catch me! Just off to a class,’ Hughie boomed. ‘Clarissa gave you my number, did she? I don’t do any classes in the Deans but I do a Thursday evening in Kemptown, if that’s any good?’

‘It’s very good,’ she said, firmly. ‘Do you have enough space for two?’ Ru definitely needed support.

Chapter Thirteen

‘You’re going to the classes, too?’ Martyn said, slowly, wondering why he hadn’t seen that coming.

Honor nodded firmly, sliding her phone away. ‘Ru, the class is Thursday evening in Eastern Road in Brighton. I’ll find out where that is and look into the buses.’

Rufus slid off his stool to dump his coffee cup in the sink. He still looked dubious about the whole self-defence thing but offered, ‘Kemptown’s this side of Brighton. The bus that goes to the hospital will get us to Eastern Road.’

She hesitated. ‘What will you tell your mom?’

He quirked his eyebrows. ‘That I’m going out. She never bothers. It’s the upside of her thing about personal freedom.’

‘Great.’ Honor beamed and Martyn’s heart flipped. It was written across her fine, delicate features that she was set on helping the kid. It wasn’t the kid’s fault he had a mad mother; Martyn hadn’t needed Honor’s hard stares to tell him that – but that didn’t stop the mad mother making the kid a trouble magnet. Anyone allied to Rufus Gordon was going to attract some of that trouble and what possible reason could Honor have for making herself part of that? He sighed. Any moment now he was going to say something really stupid. He could feel it building in his gut – or somewhere south of that. There was something about Honor that made him come over all helpful.

‘So we could get a bus from Marine Drive?’ Honor was asking Rufus. ‘We could hang around in my front yard until we see it coming, because that way we’d be less likely to run into Frog.’

‘Suppose,’ said Ru.

Martyn knew what the stupid thing was going to be before he said it. Honor might have the heart of a lion in the body of a ballerina but she was a hell of lot smaller than Frog. ‘I’ll drive you,’ he said. ‘It’s only a few minutes along the coast road.’

‘But–’

He cut across her. ‘It’s no problem.’

‘Oh. Well then, thank you.’ Her smile was golden.

It wasn’t long before she began doing the polite thing, apologising for invading his home at no notice and insisting that it was time she and Ru left.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘As you have no fish-and-chip cloak of invincibility, we’ll walk Ru home then I’ll walk you home.’

She laughed as she flexed her feet neatly into her shoes but he noticed that suddenly she wasn’t meeting his gaze. He almost reassured her, ‘I won’t try and kiss you, this time. Even though, that day, I’d never wanted to kiss a woman so much in my life.’ To feel her body against his. Had been anticipating the rush of desire that would hit him as he explored the warmth of her mouth and the softness of her lips
 
… The connection had been that strong. Until he’d cut it.

‘Thank you. You’re sweet,’ she said.

‘No, I’m not.’ A sweet man would have listened when she wanted to tell him about her marriage. Let her talk out her problems, cry on his shoulder if necessary, and take the obligatory step back out of respect for the relationship with its prior claim. Well, he’d already taken the step back. It just hadn’t been respectful.

And now she was looking at him with laughter and reproof warring in her green eyes, as if she could read his thoughts. Because the connection
was
that strong.

The evening was clear, the kind of summer twilight that slides so slowly through the deepest shades of blue that it doesn’t meet black until really late. He noted Ru pause on the metal stairs to glance around before continuing nonchalantly on to solid ground. It didn’t sit well to see Ru enduring his teen years instead of enjoying them and he remembered how it felt to be different. He’d had the advantage of a wide circle of friends, which was more than Ru seemed to have, but he’d always been aware of the other kids talking about his weird family.

He watched Honor as she skipped alongside Ru on the narrow pavement, talking earnestly. His eyes fell to her round bottom, rolling perfectly. A row of tiny wispy curls had escaped her ponytail at her nape. He made himself look away. Then looked back.

When they’d seen Ru up the passage and into the door that would take him to the flat above the Teapot, they swung around and walked back down The Butts and into Marine Drive. ‘I feel real sorry for him,’ Honor observed.

‘I’d feel “real sorry” for anyone with Robina as a mother. She’s a pain in the arse.’

Turning the corner into Marine Drive was like stepping through a door to a new weather front. The wind slapped their hair around and rushed into their ears and they saved conversation until they reached the comparative shelter of the bungalow’s patio, tucked in the L of the building.

There, Honor paused, studying her door key. ‘So, what does “Wind your neck in” mean?’

‘Was that too English for you? “Get out of my face”, is the nearest translation, I suppose. Or “Back off”. It’s used when someone’s getting out of order.’

She nodded. The gathering dusk was taking the colour and detail out of her hair and eyes, gradually hiding her from him. ‘I saw you today.’ She cleared her throat. ‘You were on a bus.’

He nodded.

‘You’re a
model
.’

He frowned. ‘That a problem?’

She turned to lean against the door, crossing her arms. ‘Of course not. I just feel so stupid.’

‘Why?’ he asked, blankly.

‘Because when your sisters gave you a hard time about only working a few days each month, I assumed you were down on your luck.’

A laugh shook through him. ‘No. I do OK.’

‘“OK”! I guess you do. I’m
so
glad I didn’t offer you yard work. I nearly did, thinking you would maybe welcome a little extra in your pocket.’

‘Offer. I might do it.’ A picture flickered through his mind of working alongside her in the sunshine on the patch of sandy grass that constituted a lawn, rolling up his manly sleeves to tackle the jobs she couldn’t manage.

‘Not now I know! That was before you rode past me this afternoon, fifteen-foot tall, looking like the Dolce & Gabbana guy in your skivvies.’

He winced. ‘I’m not the face of Dolce & Gabbana, that contract belongs to a big name.’ She was looking at him as if he was suddenly speaking in tongues. He tried to explain. ‘Don’t mix le Dur up with Dolce & Gabbana or Hugo Boss. Le Dur isn’t a global brand. It’s a UK company with mass appeal – ie the product doesn’t cost that much. It’s cheerfully aimed at an unsophisticated consumer likely to be impressed by a French name that, literally translated, means “the hard”. I’m not “the face of” anything. I’m not those stratospheric guys. Le Dur’s campaigns are buses, not performance cars. Weekly magazines, not monthly glossies.’