Page 18 of Gideon (Finding Home #3)

The words float out onto the breeze, and they sound full of conviction, but nevertheless half an hour later finds me walking the length of the boat looking for Constance to see if she’s heard anything from her nurse.

I look in the restaurant full of old people talking really loudly, and then the bars.

She isn’t in the gym or the shops or the library.

I poke my head around the spa to no avail, and she isn’t part of the group dancing on one of the decks.

I don’t even bother checking the running track that Eli makes me walk round every day while he talks incessantly.

She doesn’t strike me as a jogger, even without a broken foot.

Finally, I round the steps to the top deck and find her kicking back in a comfy lounger staring out to sea.

“Here you are,” I pant, and she smiles at me.

“Gideon, you’re very red in the face, darling. Been banging that nurse of yours?”

“Oh my God,” I hiss, falling into the chair beside her. “Keep your voice down.”

“Sweetie, there’s nobody here. Not many of them can manage the stairs, and even if they were all up here, the squealing from their hearing aids would drown out my words.”

“Are you not the same age?” I ask, accepting the water she pours me from the jug on the table. I promptly choke. “Fucking hell, that’s neat vodka.”

She smiles prettily. “Much better for you than boring old water.”

“You should really run the NHS. I’d certainly do as you say.”

“I’d be no good there. Far too many rules.”

I put the glass carefully down on the table. She eyes me. “Going teetotal?”

“No.” I hesitate. “Just not drinking at the moment. Eli’s like Betty Ford, but stricter.”

“Ah, your nurse. Has he disappeared into the same black hole that my personality desert of a companion has fallen into?”

“You’ve not heard from them either?” I ask, anger taken over by concern again.

She shakes her head. “No. He’ll turn up, especially if he wants his wages.”

“You don’t seem very concerned.”

“Darling, he’s a grown man and not a particularly nice one. I’m not in charge of him. Besides, you appear to have cornered the market in worry. Relax, Gideon, Eli will be fine.”

“I’m not bothered,” I say quickly, reaching out for the glass and sitting back before I can snag it. Dammit, I made a promise to him, and regardless of what promises he breaks, I won’t do the same.

She shoots me a sceptical look which is warranted because I couldn’t act my way out of a paper bag at the moment. Then she sits back and pats my knee. “I’m sure they’re fine, Gideon. The ship will dock soon and they’ll be waiting for it. You’ll see.”

“Hmm.” I stare out to sea. It’s dark, but there’s a silvery carpet from the moon making it look like a magic path.

“He’s a very nice boy,” she says suddenly.

“Who?” I ask startled. “Eli?”

“No, William Shatner. Of course I meant Eli.”

“Oh well, I’m sure he is,” I bluster only to be cut short when she taps on my knee.

“Don’t bother denying it, darling. I know attraction when I see it.” She shoots me a warm smile. “You don’t need to hide from me.”

I stare back at her, all the customary easy denials hovering on my lips.

They’ve tripped off my tongue so easily over the years.

No, he’s just a friend. Jacinta is my girlfriend.

And suddenly I’m sick of it. I’m sick of lying and hiding and just for once, out at sea with the wind in my face, I want to be honest and true to me.

“I’m gay,” I say loudly and clearly. “I’ve said for years to the public that I’m straight and to the people I was in bed with that I’m bisexual, but I’m not. I’m gay.”

She smiles at me placidly. “Lovely, darling. I like cock too. We have so much in common.”

My laughter catches me by surprise, and she grins impishly at me. “I like you when you’re honest,” she muses. “You look a lot younger somehow.”

“Not as young as my nurse,” I say grimly, honesty continuing to trip off my tongue.

“What utter claptrap,” she says firmly. “Age has nothing to do with anything. My third husband was thirty years older than me and he had more fun in his little finger than the fourth husband, who was thirty-five and a completely boring bastard.”

“You’ve led a wilder life than me,” I say wryly.

“I sincerely doubt that . You’ve got a very uncontained look about you. Like a wild horse with no owner.” She stares out to sea. “He might be younger, but he’s interested,” she murmurs. “It’s written all over his face.”

I laugh suddenly and harshly. “Not quite interested enough to return from his date with your nurse, who I may add is far prettier and younger than me.”

“Pish,” she says crossly. “He’s a little prick. There’s no way your Eli would be interested in him. His eyes fairly eat you up.”

“Sounds painful,” I mutter, feeling my heart patter and race at the thought of him being interested in me. I squelch that immediately. She’s just being kind. Eli is not interested in me and never would be. Today has proved that.

Silence falls and then she reaches out and grabs my hand, her fingers long and slender, the skin soft as silk. “Well done for telling me, darling,” she says softly. “First steps are always the hardest.” She pauses. “Unless you’re drinking gin and then all of them are pretty difficult.”

I burst into laughter, enjoying the respite from the heavy atmosphere, and she joins me.

“It must feel like you’ve been boxed in all these years,” she muses. “What a terrible feeling.”

“I can’t describe it.”

“No need. I once got boxed in at the Cheddar Gorge.”

“Sounds painful.”

She roars with laughter. “Some twat deliberately parked right up beside me so I couldn’t get out when I wanted to go. It was infuriating. Made my skin itch. Made me want to be naughty.”

She’s describing how I’ve felt for years. “What did you do?”

“Oh darling, I put a brick through his window.”

I start to laugh. “That’s a bit more than naughty.”

She shrugs. “I know, and the nice young policeman said exactly the same. For a few hours.” After a few seconds she stirs. “Fancy a joint?” she says casually, reaching into her Birkin bag and pulling out an old battered cigarette tin.

“What?” I gape at her.

She shrugs. “It’s medicinal, darling. For my arthritis.”

“You haven’t got arthritis.”

“Sweetie, I’m seventy. At some point I’m sure to have it.”

I start to laugh as she sparks up the blunt, inhaling lustily and holding it out to me.

“I shouldn’t,” I say. “Eli will kill me.” She looks at me unblinkingly and I square my shoulders. “I was always terrible with peer pressure,” I say sadly and grab the joint.

For a second I hesitate, but then I remember who I am.

I’m my own boss. There is no one to care for me apart from my brother and two close friends, and they’ve all got their own lives to lead.

The only person who I thought was concerned is paid to do that, and it’s blatantly obvious that the concern is surface deep because when he went off the clock he displayed his complete lack of interest by missing the boat and not checking in.

I’m on my own I remind myself. And I’m absolutely and utterly fine with that.

“Fuck him,” I say and take a long drag of the joint.

After all, he never banned dope is my last coherent thought.