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Zeph was only wearing his boxers. He’d wrapped himself around the dog.

At least Django was keeping him partially warm.

His heart had pounded fast from the moment Jack had issued his instructions, and it was still galloping.

Jack had looked and sounded so serious, Zeph had known he needed to do as he was told without question.

Of course, he had plenty of questions now.

He’d only ever heard gunshots on the TV and in films but he was pretty sure that’s what he’d heard in the house.

Along with sounds of fighting. He was scared for Jack, scared for himself.

And Thomas, even if the guy didn’t much like him.

How long was he supposed to wait before he came out?

What if Jack or Thomas needed help? Jack could be bleeding to death while he cowered in the attic.

Except…

What if the bad guys were still there? What if Zeph distracted Jack and made things worse?

What if…

Zeph wallowed in an agony of indecision. But Jack had told him to wait, so that’s what he did.

He didn’t believe in God. Well, not in some being who had the power to make things turn out the right way, because no amount of prayers had ever worked for him.

Nor did he believe that things happen for a reason .

That was a lame cop out when someone didn’t know what to say.

He did believe in action rather than inaction, but he was too scared to move. Please let Jack be okay .

Django’s ears perked up and several seconds later, Zeph heard footsteps in the room.

He stroked the dog. A bark would give them away but Django didn’t make a sound.

Zeph hoped that meant he knew who was there.

The door to the hiding place opened and to Zeph’s huge relief, Jack stared down at him.

Django went out first, Zeph crawled out after and Jack pulled him up into his arms. Zeph didn’t want to let him go.

Jack’s hair was wet. Zeph inhaled, then tensed.

“You’ve showered?” He didn’t try to hide his incredulity.

“That’s what you ask me?”

“Why didn’t you come straight away when you knew it was safe? You took time for a shower?” While I was freaking out thinking you were dying?

“I was wet, cold and dirty. I’m sorry. I brought your clothes.”

Zeph looked at the pile on the floor. Why couldn’t he go back to the bedroom to dress? But he pulled on his things and fastened his shoes.

“Is everything safe now?”

“Yes and no. We need to leave.”

“The bad guys found you?” Zeph straightened up.

Jack nodded.

“Where are they now?”

“They’ve gone. You don’t need to worry about them.”

Zeph followed Jack and Django down the stairs. In the hall, Zeph’s coat lay on top of his bag. No sign of Jack’s bag.

“Thomas’s going to drive you,” Jack said. “I have something I need to do.”

There was no point asking questions. No point in arguing. “Okay.”

Jack looked different. Cold, controlled, confident.

Not mine anymore. Had he ever been his? Zeph could almost feel himself shrinking, but then Jack pulled him into his arms and hugged him, and in that moment, Zeph felt wanted.

Jack pressed his face against Zeph’s hair and held him so tightly, Zeph understood what Jack couldn’t say. Again. This was it. Goodbye.

Thomas came out of the kitchen, swiftly closing the door behind him and grabbed his coat from the hook.

“Django! Come,” Thomas said.

When Thomas and the dog walked out, Zeph followed. He swallowed hard when he saw the mess outside the door. The snow was churned up and was that blood?

Thomas opened Jack’s car and put Django in the back. As Zeph sat in the front, the dog climbed through to sit on Zeph’s feet. Thomas tsked .

“It’s okay,” Zeph said. “He’ll keep my feet warm.”

“I hope I don’t need to tell you not to speak to anyone about this.”

“Of course.”

And that was all that was said.

A couple of miles later, Zeph realised where Thomas was taking him, and swallowed his groan. The car stopped about fifty yards from Zeph’s family home. Zeph stroked Django for the last time, picked up his bag and got out. Thomas drove away without saying a word.

And a merry Christmas to you, too, dickhead.

Zeph watched until the car’s tail lights had disappeared, then pulled on his coat.

He looked at his phone. Almost six in the morning.

What was he supposed to do? He assumed Jack hadn’t told Thomas about the way he’d been treated in the garden centre.

Why would he want to be brought here? Middleton town centre would have been better, though there was no public transport on Christmas Day, and a limited service on Boxing Day.

Even if he could find someone to drive him back to Cambridge today and he doubted it was possible, it would cost a fortune.

And was that wise if Thomas and Jack wanted this kept quiet?

If the police checked, and saw someone had booked a cab or an Uber at this time on Christmas morning, questions would be asked.

He wasn’t going to knock on the door of his former home, but something—curiosity, masochism or maybe a touch of nostalgia pulled him forward.

It started to snow again as he walked up the house, and Zeph put on his hat and gloves.

The tree in the front garden was lit up and strings of flashing icicles hung from the roofline.

No one would be awake yet so Zeph looked straight through the window.

A container of Quality Street chocolates sat on the coffee table.

Christmas cushions had replaced the usual ones on the couches.

Cards hung from ribbons. Presents were piled under the tree.

It all looked the same. He was surprised to find it hurt.

He’d not been home for Christmas for years. Of course it had gone on without him.

Was he to blame too, for not trying to make things right? But the turned backs at the garden centre had made his father’s position clear.

Not wanting to risk his luck, he walked away.

His only option was to head towards Middleton, though as he reached the main road, he rethought that.

There was one place he could go where he’d at least have a roof over his head until tomorrow.

If he walked to the beach hut at Wisby and found it was no longer owned by Bettina, or she’d changed the padlock combination, he’d have to think of something else but it was worth a try.

It was a very long walk and Zeph’s leg was aching badly by the time he reached the town.

He was hungry and thirsty but nowhere would be open.

Everyone was busy opening presents, drinking Bucks Fizz and eating croissant or bacon sandwiches or whatever Christmas morning tradition they had.

He used his phone to check on transport for the following day while he still had power and a connection.

Once he’d made a mental note of the buses and trains he’d need to catch, he walked along the line of beach huts.

Bettina’s was still yellow. He hoped that was a good sign.

When 9503 opened the padlock, Zeph could have cried.

He took the padlock inside, barred the door and put on the battery powered light.

Everything looked almost the same. There was a little camping stove with a small kettle on top.

If there was gas, he could have hot water, but Zeph found coffee and tea, sugar and biscuits. Now he did cry.

It wasn’t long before the hut had warmed up.

Not cosy warm but warm enough. Zeph found a pencil and piece of paper and wrote a message to Bettina, apologising for using the hut and eating all her biscuits.

He hadn’t yet, but he would. He lay on the day bed, covered himself with blankets and tried not to think about what had happened.

Impossible.

Jack had said the men had gone. If they had, why hadn’t Jack driven him back to Cambridge? He guessed the house in Middleton was no longer a safe place so presumably Thomas would go back to wherever he’d planned to be before he was lumbered with Zeph. Would Jack go with him? Zeph wasn’t sure.

Something wasn’t adding up.

He hadn’t forgotten about the blood. Or the gunshots. Or Jack showering.

Zeph gulped. Gone didn’t mean gone as in they were asked to leave and they left, did it? Gone meant dead. That’s why Zeph couldn’t go back into the bedroom and why Thomas had shut the kitchen door so quickly and why Jack had showered.

Fuck.

FUCK!

Thomas and Jack had killed them? Self-defence but…

Oh my God. Had the police come? Zeph didn’t think so.

Even if Jack and Thomas hadn’t wanted him to be seen, the police would still have been there when Jack had come upstairs.

So they’d called the police after Zeph had left.

That made sense. Jack was protecting him.

But then…that blood and messed up snow suggested someone had been hurt or killed there. They shouldn’t have been moved. Zeph had watched enough TV and films to know that. They weren’t going to call the police. Why not?

I need to stop thinking.

He wasn’t going to be able to forget any of this but going over what had happened wouldn’t make him feel better.

In any case, bad as today had been, worse was knowing Jack had disappeared again, and given the circumstances, Zeph didn’t think he’d ever see him again.