Page 26 of Gideon (Finding Home #3)

Chapter

Ten

Until now you’ve just bobbed along on life’s stream like an oblivious and very grumpy cork

Gideon

It’s twilight when we pull up the long drive leading up to Chi an Mor . The great Elizabethan manor house glows in the last rays of sunlight like it’s been lit by spotlight.

I stir in the back seat. “Where am I staying?” I ask.

Milo glances back at me and smiles. “Oz and Silas have got a cottage on the estate. It’s lovely and private, so they thought it would be perfect for you.”

Niall looks at me in the rear-view mirror. “The house is still open to the public, so that’s no good for you. It would be like staying in a goldfish bowl.”

I wonder with a pang why they haven’t suggested me staying with them. Then I remember that I used to sleep with Niall. That’s probably a step too far even for Emily Post.

As if sensing my thoughts, Milo reaches back and squeezes my leg. “We’re at the main house at the moment because we’re having the patio done at the house and the hammering is driving me crazy.”

That twang eases, and I smile at my baby brother.

He looks well. He’s lightly tanned, and his hair is a crazy mess due to Niall’s habit of having the windows open in the car even while doing ninety miles an hour down the motorway.

It had made conversation impossible, but I’d been glad of that, as it gave me the opportunity to stare out of the window and think of my last glimpse of Eli.

He’d greeted Niall and Milo pleasantly and accepted their hugs of thanks for looking after me. Then he’d turned to me, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder.

“Well, this is it,” he’d said in a low voice.

“For now,” I’d reminded him, and he’d smiled.

“We’ll see.” For a second he’d hesitated and then had stuck out his hand. “It’s been an honour to look after you,” he’d said steadily.

I’d stared at him, accepting his handshake and trying to memorize the rough grasp. “A sentence which has never been said before.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” he’d said levelly and then, touching his fingers to his forehead in a mock salute, he’d turned and moved back through the crowd.

I’d watched as a tall, dark-haired young man came out of the throng to grab him in a hug and then they were gone, swallowed in the mass of people as if he’d never been in my life.

My fist had clenched in my pocket around the strip of card with his details as if it were made of gold.

Niall takes a side turn, dragging me from my thoughts. We follow a winding, almost overgrown, path with trees hanging over it until we emerge from the trees, and he pulls up outside a small cottage.

Built of a honey-coloured stone, it looks Georgian in origin, with sashed windows that have been painted a grey green, and wisteria climbing the stones, the purple looking almost psychedelic in this light.

Trees surround it and the air is full of the chattering song of the birds as they prepare to bed down for the night.

I climb out of the Land Rover and stretch, feeling my muscles pop. “It’s lovely,” I say, and Milo comes up next to me, taking my arm companionably.

“It’s pretty inside. Silas and Oz have had it done up so they can rent it out. You’re their guinea pig.”

“What would his guinea pig name have been?” Niall asks, hoisting my bags.

“I can do that,” I protest, but he shakes his head.

“I think Flossie,” he says happily.

I glare at him. “Why?”

He shrugs. “It suits you.”

“I’d have preferred something a bit more butch.”

Milo laughs. “You won’t like mine, then.” He snorts loudly. “I’d have called you Princess Sparkles. You’d have been my beloved guinea pig who met a sad end when he escaped his cage and got in the gin bottle.”

Niall starts to laugh, and I groan. “I know that’s sticking. I just know it.”

“Don’t be so touchy, Princess Sparkles,” Niall says, making Milo laugh harder.

I shake my head and hold out my hand for the intricate iron key. I fit it into the front door and push it open.

I find myself in a small hallway. A crooked-looking staircase climbs up and away, and to my right is a small lounge.

It has an open fireplace with a basket of logs next to it, giving out a woody sap smell.

Floor-to-ceiling bookcases that run on either side are stuffed with paperbacks.

A small sofa and armchair upholstered in a lavender-coloured cotton and an oak coffee table are the only other furniture.

I walk through to a small kitchen at the back.

The cupboards are painted a rich cream and it has an old wooden worktop that glows with age.

In one corner is a small round pine table and two chairs.

I move over to the back door and look out onto a wild-looking garden with a huge oak tree shading it.

At the bottom of the garden is an old stone wall, and, over it, I get a glimpse of fields undulating in shades of green like a fertile magic carpet. I turn as Milo walks in.

“Niall’s putting your bags upstairs,” he says, touching the basket that’s sitting on the countertop. “Oz had this made up for you. There’s coffee, tea, biscuits, and everything you need initially. Fresh milk and bread will be delivered to you every morning.” He winks at me. “No vodka, though.”

I shrug awkwardly. “I’m not drinking at the moment. I promised Eli.”

I break off, but his gaze sharpens. “Oh, you promised Eli. That’s lovely,” he says innocently.

I glare at him, and he smiles. “You look good, Gid,” he says, coming near and examining me with the same focus I’ve seen him apply to a three-hundred-year-old painting.

“You looked terrible last time I saw you. Now you look …”

He hesitates, and I stare at him. “What?”

“New,” he finishes somewhat uncertainly. “You look new.”

“No, still the same shop-soiled thirty-nine-year-old body,” I say flippantly, and he shakes his head.

“No, I don’t think so.” He hesitates. “I was going to keep your phone and laptop. But I don’t think I will now.”

“Why?”

“Because I think you’ll do what’s best for you this time without being forced into it.”

I shrug. “I won’t be rushing to get in touch with anyone,” I confess, sitting down on a chair at the table.

He settles down opposite me, his expression lively and interested. “Why?”

I shrug awkwardly. “I just don’t want to at the moment. I like being away from everyone. My head isn’t so cluttered.”

He looks as pleased as if I’ve just declared that Hogwarts is real.

“So, what will you do?” He gestures to the living room.

“Silas and Oz have filled the bookshelves, so there’s plenty to read.

And Oz found an old record player in the attic at the big house along with a box of old records. They might be fun to have a listen to.”

“That sounds good,” I say and huff. “It sounds good now. I don’t think I’d have been so receptive a few months ago.”

“Let’s focus on the now,” he says steadily, his eyes clear and filled with unspoken messages. “Forget about the past for a while.”

“Thank you,” I say, impulsively holding out my hand and squeezing his hard. “I love you.”

He looks startled, and his eyes glisten. “I love you too, Gid.”

Niall comes to the door, his eyes softening with approval as he looks at the two of us. He seems to have made it his mission for us to get over all the awkwardness and be family. It’s funny but somehow it doesn’t seem so impossible anymore.

“Alright, Sparkles?” he says, and Milo laughs.

I grin and sit back. “I think I’d like to take cooking lessons,” I say consideringly, and Niall chokes.

“Pardon?”

“Cooking lessons.”

“For meth?” he asks hesitantly.

Milo huffs indignantly. “It’s not Breaking Bad , Niall.”

I laugh. “No. I think I’d like to learn how to cook, read some books, and just relax.”

Niall stares at me for a long second before dismissing the retort that is quite obviously dying to come out. “How about asking Maggie, the cook up at the house? She loves teaching people how to do things.”

“Ooh, yes,” Milo says enthusiastically. “Her cooking is wonderful, Gid.” He grins. “This is going to be brilliant. I’m so glad you’re here.”

I sit back. “I think I’m going to like it here,” I say contemplatively.

ELI

My best friend, Jesse, hugs me and steps back. “Fucking hell, you look good,” he exclaims loudly, ignoring the glare of a middle-aged lady next to us.

I smile an apology at her and drag him away. “Where’s the car?”

“‘Wow, Jesse, how lovely to see you. Thank you so much for driving all this way only to turn round and drive back again.’ No really, Eli, you know how I live to get stuck behind fifteen caravans and a tractor for four hours.”

I look apologetically at my best friend.

Tall and slender, he has shiny mink-brown hair with a quiff that often threatens to collapse all over his high-boned face.

“I’m sorry,” I say immediately. “Thank you so much for doing all this driving. I could have caught the train, though. Are you too tired to drive?”

“Dreadfully,” he says soulfully and then grins. “Not really. I picked up a job in Newquay yesterday, so I stayed overnight.”

“What was it this time?”

“New boyfriend for a promotion party to honour the bloke’s ex.”

I blink. Jesse works for an agency that deals mainly with LGBT clients, supplying people for all sorts of needs.

In his time, he’s posed as an admirer to make an ex jealous, landscaped a garden for clients, walked dogs, and he once even babysat some goldfish while their owner was away.

But we still call him an escort, and Charlie, our other friend, calls him Vivian from Pretty Woman .

He’s a very beautiful man who, when he wants to, can be very charming, which accounts for his success rate.

However, he’s also quick-tempered and funny and my best friend since primary school.

“How did it go?” I ask, taking my jacket off and throwing it over the back seat.