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Chapter 3

Fanning himself with the Friday morning newspaper, Colin fought to catch his breath before entering the flat. The last thing he needed was Andrew worrying he’d exhausted himself with his midday run. He’d already threatened to lock Colin up to keep him from playing in tomorrow’s match.

To be fair, Colin knew he should rest today ahead of the game, as his teammates certainly were doing. His manager, Charlotte, would skelp him if she found out he’d gone for a run. But he’d needed to burn off this nervous energy or risk combusting.

When he opened his front door, he heard Andrew’s current favorite song blasting from the flat’s main room. Colin went down the hall to find him dancing his spectacular wee arse off.

“Looks like someone’s feeling better,” Colin said. The head cold that had plagued Andrew all week seemed to have vanished. He looked at the crystal glass in Andrew’s hand. “Is that champagne?”

“Obviously.” Andrew shimmied his hips in a way that made Colin want to yank those yoga pants down to his ankles and bend him over the table. “Come celebrate with me.”

“I’ve got a match tomorrow.” God, how he’d missed saying those words. Colin tossed aside the newspaper and caught Andrew around the waist. “So nae champagne, but I cannae resist a dance.”

“Ooh, you’re all sweaty.” Andrew’s free hand drifted up Colin’s nape to grip his hair. “Don’t you want to know what we’re celebrating?”

“I’m celebrating you rubbing your body against me.” It was a nice change after a week and a half of Andrew keeping him at arm’s length.

“Jeremy changed his plea.”

Colin stopped short. “What?”

“The Procurator Fiscal’s office phoned. My darling brother-in-law has decided to plead guilty after all. Which means there’ll be no trial in April, just a sentencing on Tuesday.” He tapped the rim of his champagne glass against Colin’s chin. “Which means it’s nearly over.”

Colin let go, his head spinning. “Why’s Jeremy changing his plea now, three months after the crime, which he swore he didnae commit?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Andrew kept dancing.

“Is there new evidence?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Andrew set the words to the song’s melody as he gyrated. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

This made no sense. Colin found the sound system’s remote control and paused the music. “Why don’t you care? It matters.”

“Perhaps Jeremy simply had a change of heart.” He bounced over and reached for the remote.

Colin crossed his arms, keeping the device off limits. “Did your family convince him to plead guilty?”

“I don’t think so. I phoned my parents after I talked to the fiscal’s office. They were ecstatic, obviously.” He began to twirl, arms raised. “But they’ve not spoken to Jeremy for weeks, apart from my sister sending him divorce papers.”

Colin scanned the reception room for a clue, as Andrew was being pure unhelpful. He spied the newspaper he’d tossed onto the table. Of course. “It must have been the Party.”

“What do you mean?”

“Here.” He tapped the headline. “Latest TNS poll shows a seven-percent Labour lead in the general election. Conservatives must be getting nervous.”

“Same margin as the last poll.” Andrew continued to dance without music. “Most surveys show the race a dead heat.”

“That’s exactly why the Tories are worried. Why would they risk the bad publicity of a trial so close to the election in May? ‘Conservative Party operative pays thug to kidnap gay brother-in-law, whose boyfriend nearly dies in the attack.’ It’s sordid as fuck.”

Andrew finally stopped, grabbing the back of a dining chair to steady himself. “Yes, it was a concern of the Tory leaders.” He set his champagne glass on the table, looking crestfallen. “You think they convinced Jeremy to fall on his sword for them?”

“He’s a loyal Tory. Maybe they made him realize he could hurt them in the election. Not to mention the fact he was likely to be convicted at trial, so pleading guilty now will reduce his sentence. But we can see to it he’s sent down for a long time.” Realizing Andrew had said the sentencing was Tuesday—an unusually fast progression by the court—Colin pulled out his phone. “I’ll get our victim statements from the Procurator Fiscal’s office so we can update them before the sentencing.”

“Whatever for? I’ve nothing to add.”

“Mind, we filled in those statements a few days after I got stabbed. I’ve gone through a world of shit since then.”

“Fine.” Andrew released an elegant burp. “Revise your statement, but I’ll not touch mine.”

“Don’t be daft.” Colin fought to focus on his phone screen as he searched his contacts. “You’ve been through the mill too. I lost track of how many uni lectures you missed cos of me. Fucking miracle you passed your exams.”

Andrew didn’t respond, so Colin dialed the number. While he discussed the matter with the fiscal’s office, he watched Andrew wander over to the giant aquarium to gaze at his fish. His shoulders were hunched now, like those of a child awaiting punishment. What was going on with him?

“Right,” Colin said as he hung up. “They’re sending a courier with copies of our original statements and new forms to—” He stopped when he saw Andrew pour the last of the champagne into his glass. “Did you drink that entire bottle?”

“Not yet.” Andrew turned back to the aquarium, where the bubbles rose in sync with those in his champagne glass.

Colin’s stomach lurched. Something wasn’t right. Over the past few months, he’d noticed Andrew’s fleeting moments of detachment, like the occasional flicker of a loose light bulb. But since their visit to Dunleven Castle, those moments had stretched longer and longer, until his aloofness seemed more the rule than the exception.

“You okay?” he asked Andrew, wanting to go to him but fearing he’d get the cold shoulder again.

“Never better,” Andrew said, his eyes following a blue damselfish darting along the front of the tank. “Or rather, I’ll be better than ever after Tuesday’s sentencing.”

“Right. Good.” Colin shifted his weight from foot to foot. “So…we need to finish our new victim statements by Monday morning so the judge has time to read them. Maybe we could fill them in today? Get it over and done with?”

Andrew snorted. “Seems a dismal way to celebrate our good news.” He flicked his hand as if shooing a gnat. “Also I’m quite drunk, so anything I write would be both illegible and incoherent.”

“My match is tomorrow, so we could do your statement Sunday.” Relieved he’d found a compromise to end the argument, Colin sat down at the dining table and opened his laptop. “I’m gonnae get my thoughts organized now, so when the form comes I can fill it in pronto.”

“Fine, I’ll copy what you write and change all the pronouns from ‘I’ to ‘he.’”

Colin snickered. “Aye, the judge’ll love that.” He opened a new document and started typing hard, anger flooding from his fingertips. When he filled in the form later, he would edit out phrases like slimy wee bawbag , Tory wankstain , and cocked-up life of mine . These victim statements were meant to be honest, but profanity wouldn’t help their cause—which was to see Jeremy behind bars for years and years and years.

“Why can’t you be happy for me?” Andrew asked.

Colin froze. “Sorry?”

“In four days, I’ll be getting my life back. This incident will finally be behind me. But all you can think about is how this affects the election.”

A wave of hot shame washed over Colin—an all-too-familiar sensation, yet one he’d never felt in the presence of this man. I’m sorry. Whatever I did, whatever I said, I’ll ? —

“Don’t pretend you’re not disappointed,” Andrew snapped. “You hoped Jeremy’s trial would become a three-ring circus for the Tories so the UK would fall back into the hands of the Labour Party.”

“Hang on.” Colin’s anger rose at this ridiculous accusation. “I’ll not deny I want Tories out of power—even if Labour are merely the lesser of two evils—but I was dreading that trial as much as you were.”

“I doubt that.”

“If I’m disappointed it’s only because Jeremy’s sentence could be cut to nearly nil. Think about it.” He counted off on his fingers. “It’s his first offense. He’s married to an aristocrat. He was never the one holding the weapon. There’s still nae proof of intent to harm you, just a reckless disregard for your safety. If he makes a statement saying how fucking sorry he is—which maybe is the truth—then the judge might be lenient.” He stopped when he saw Andrew staring at him in horror.

“She wouldn’t—” Andrew swallowed hard. “That’s not fair.”

“Of course it’s not fair.” Colin struggled to keep from yelling. How could Andrew be so clueless not to know how justice worked in this country? “Last month a lass from my tower block got the jail for shoplifting baby formula to feed her son. She got nae leniency. People like Jeremy never wonder what they’re gonnae eat the next day. They never worry about being chucked into the street.” He felt his blood pressure rise as he ranted. “Is it so wrong to hope that just once, those people get something taken from them? That for once they reap what they fucking sow?”

Andrew gave a haughty sniff. “‘Those people’? People like me?”

“Not you. Jeremy.” Colin rapped the side of his fist on the table. “I want him to pay for what he did to me. For what he was willing to do to you.”

Andrew shuddered. “So do I.”

“Then let’s give the judge everything she needs to know. I’ll help with your statement if you want.”

“Yes, yes, Sunday. Right now I must sleep off this champagne.” He set the empty glass on the edge of the worktop. As he moved away, it wobbled, then tipped over.

“Andrew!”

The glass hit the floor with a snap. Andrew twisted in the air to face the noise.

Colin jumped up. “Are you all right? Did you get cut?”

“Nothing happened to me. I’m just a clumsy oaf.” His hands swept over his face. “A clumsy drunk oaf.”

“Stand back. You’re barefoot.” Colin went to the cupboard under the sink to fetch the wee dustpan and brush. “Away to bed. I’ll get this.”

Andrew backed up toward the reception room door. “I’m sorry, Colin.”

“Nae bother.” He crouched down to sweep the shards of glass into the pan. “Christ, there’s a million pieces.”

“I know,” Andrew said softly behind him. “I know there are.”

Colin paused in his sweeping. Andrew’s voice sounded foreign, as though a smaller version of him had wandered in and taken his place.

He stood quickly and turned. “Andrew, are you?—”

But he was already gone.