Page 34 of No Kind Words (Calston Cove #3)

I don’t know how long we stayed on the floor, long enough for my bum to go dead and the robe to be as wet as my clothes were.

It doesn’t matter.

All that matters is that this young man realises he’s safe and won’t have to sleep outside another night.

Slowly the sobs subside, and Roddy relaxes into me. “I’m sorry,”

he says, his eyes cast down. “It got really bad. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Shh, you don’t have to talk, not yet. Just breathe.”

I pull the towel tighter around him. “Do you want food or sleep first?”

What have I got in the fridge I can cook up that won’t be too rich? It doesn’t look like he’s eaten much at all lately.

I can make him some porridge, bland enough not to upset his stomach but filling enough to satisfy his immediate hunger.

“I can make porridge. I’ve got brown sugar and honey if you want?” I remember him having it with me before.

“Soon. Sleep first, please. I don’t know when I last slept.”

His eyes are already drooping.

“Do you need to see a doctor? You’ve been hurt pretty bad.”

His entire body is marred with bruises and scrapes.

He goes rigid at the suggestion and shakes his head vehemently. “No! No doctors. It’s only bruises.”

“Okay, okay. No doctors, but you’re not going to get into trouble. Not here, I promise.”

I run my hand up and down his arm, soothing him gently. “Can you stand? I’ll get you some of my trackies and a T-shirt to sleep in.”

Something else flits into my head. “Are you in any trouble? With the police or anyone?”

He looks at me now, and a flash of fear flits across his face. “No, not the police. I’m not in trouble, I promise. I’ll explain later.”

“Then sleep now, food later,”

I say with finality, and we manage to get to our feet. Roddy uses the wall as support with one hand and hangs on to the towel around his body with the other. “Sit there. I’ll get the clothes.”

My clothes are huge on him, but he doesn’t care. I wait by the side of the bed as he pulls the covers back and climbs in. By the time his head hits the pillow, he’s fast asleep.

I dry off again for the second time and pull on some clean clothes. I pick up Roddy’s. Nothing is salvageable, but it’s not for me to throw his possessions away. When I get downstairs, the dogs look at me expectantly. I haven’t even fed them breakfast yet.

It’s now past ten o’clock. I hadn’t realised how long I’d been upstairs. I hurry to get their kibble, apologising for being such a bad daddy. When they’re racing to beat each other to the first empty bowl, I lean back on the counter and let out a long, shaky breath. How the hell did he get here? I doubt the trip was easy, but why is the biggest question, and if it’s not the police, what is he running from? For the first time since I left, I look up the headlines in the Edinburgh News, dating it back to December. When did I get the bizarre call from the hospital? Does that coincide with Roddy getting into trouble? Maybe I should wait until he wakes up, get the story from him rather than look through a haystack of possibilities. Yeah, I’ll do that.

I gather all the ingredients for porridge and get a pot on to cook slowly, letting it take its time. The poor kid could be out for the count for hours. It’s hard to think of anything but the reason and the way he got here. It’s obvious he’s scared of something and unwilling to see a doctor. Guilt for not thinking about him enough to check up on him burns in me. But who could I have asked? I could’ve asked any of my friends to seek him out. Or Maeve. I pull out my phone and call her.

After a few rings, she answers, but when I try to speak, I have a huge lump in my throat. “Roddy’s here,”

I croak out.

“Jet? What are you talking about?”

The concern in her voice, the worry is palpable. “Roddy? As in your homeless lad. How the hell has he turned up here?”

I swallow down another lump and try to make a coherent sentence. “Yes, that’s Roddy, but how or why, I haven’t a clue. Can you come over?”

“Of course. I’m on my way.”

It will take her at least five minutes to get here, but I pace in the kitchen, watching out the window every few seconds. She must have driven like a Formula One driver because after only three minutes, she speeds around the back of the surgery and comes to a sharp stop behind my Landrover.

As I open the front door, I put my finger to my lips, not wanting her to come storming in, asking a million questions a minute. “He’s asleep,”

I say softly. I’d never thought I’d have to be quiet for anyone here.

“What the hell is he doing here?”

She pushes her hand through her hair and looks around the room as if he’s hiding.

“I don’t know anything apart from finding him hunched up in front of the door this morning. I stayed at Ben’s last night. God knows how long Roddy had been here because he was soaked to the skin. He’s well bashed up, has a black eye, bruises all over his body, and he’s so thin. Like almost starved thin. He couldn’t hold himself upright. It’s bad, really bad. He won’t let me call the doctor. He was exhausted, so I’ve put him to bed.”

“In your bed?”

She arches her eyebrows. “What’s Benny going to say about that?”

“Of course in my bed. I only have one bed. What’s it got to do with Benny? Roddy’s a friend in desperate need of my help. I’m sure Ben won’t mind.”

I hadn’t even given it a thought. Why wouldn’t he be anything but compassionate?

“Sorry, you’re right. Tell me what Roddy said.”

I run through as much as I can, including the part where he said he’s not in trouble with the police. “It sounded like he was in trouble with someone else. What does that mean? He doesn’t do drugs, has no money to waste on alcohol. He has barely enough to feed himself.”

“No idea. Did he have any bad blood with anyone? Exes or people he’d come across in the past, like in the squats?”

She may have a point. I’m sure he’s hung out with some dodgy bastards, but his danger radar has been good in the past. He would walk away from any kind of trouble. He definitely isn’t a fighter, and right now, a slight breeze would knock him off his feet. “He said he’ll tell me more when he wakes, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s out for ten or twelve hours.”

“Yet you’ve made him porridge. You’re a good man, Jet Palmer.”

The dogs let out a volley of loud barks, but before I can stop them, Ben opens the door. They go quiet and rush up to him, all waggy tails and happy faces. I smile at him, walking over to give him a kiss. “It’s been a morning.”

He gives me a hug.

I chuckle drily. His morning has nothing on mine, but I don’t say anything. He should at least get his jacket off. Maeve gives me a look that I have no doubt Ben will see and gives him reason to question me.

“Oh, hi, Maeve. I didn’t know you were coming around. Is everything okay?”

Before she can answer, a deep, rasping cough, one that doesn’t sound good at all, reaches us from my room. Fear of an infection is foremost in my thoughts. Ben looks up the stairs and frowns. “Who’s that?”

Maeve pats my shoulder. “I’ll get going. If I can find out anything, I’ll call.”

“Yeah, thanks, Maeve. I’ll keep you updated.”

She leaves. Ben is still looking up as if he can see through the ceiling. “Jethro, who’s that?”

“That, my love, is Roddy. A friend from Edinburgh. I found him on my doorstep this morning.”

That’ll have to do for now. I’ll fill Ben in on the rest as soon as I’ve checked on Roddy. “Let me go and see if he’s okay, and I’ll tell you the rest.”

I take the stairs two at a time. Roddy is sitting up in bed, one arm around his ribs as he tries to control his coughing. “Hey, steady, mate.”

He stares at me with unfocused eyes. He’s sweating and pale-faced, even after his coughing fit. Damn, he must have got a temperature. I’m no human doctor, but I can still recognise an ill person when I see him. Roddy needs a doctor, and I don’t care what he says. I’m calling my GP. Fear crosses his face, and he turns his head violently from left to right as if he doesn’t know where he is. “It’s okay. You’re with me. Jet. Stay still. I’ll get you some water.”

After he’s taken a few sips, he relaxes a little, and I can get him settled again. I prop him up with more pillows so his chest is elevated. “Sleep. I’ll be back soon.”

When I’m downstairs, Ben is giving me a ‘what the fuck’ look, but any explanation can wait. I grab my phone from the counter and search for the doctor’s number. It’s his home number, and he answers on the second ring.

“Hi, George, I know this is a huge ask, but a friend of mine turned up, and he’s very ill. A chest infection for sure, but I’m worried about pneumonia. He’s been homeless for many years, and time takes its toll. Can you come and check him out, please?”

I look at Ben. His frustration has turned into worry, and he gives me a small smile.

“That’s wonderful, thank you. I’ll see you shortly.”