Page 35 of Oz (Finding Home #1)

Chapter

Fifteen

Why don’t you ever perform according to expectations?

Oz

The drive to London is relatively pain free. Silas has an appointment with his solicitors and I need to get a dinner suit, so we separate with a kiss and a promise to meet at a pub nearby in a few hours.

I walk off, my lips still feeling sensitive. I look back, but he’s gone, and for a second everything feels strange, like I’ve been set adrift on an unfamiliar sea.

I love London. It’s been my home since I was twelve and came over from Ireland with my mum.

I love the history, the bustle of the dirty streets, and the sudden quiet when you come into some backwater.

However, today I feel like my twelve-year-old self again.

Everything feels wrong, as if I’ve tried to put on someone else’s clothes.

There are just so many people. They shove past me, rude in their rush to get somewhere, and everyone seems to be en route to something important. And the noise. Buses and car engines. Horns blaring and the asthmatic wheeze as a bus drops another load of people off to join the throng.

At first, I can’t place the problem, but then I realise.

I’ve lost my edge. Before Cornwall I was one of this throng.

I was fast and impatient. I’d move quickly, coffee in hand, eyes on somewhere further along the road, elbows out and with that hip-swivelling strut of someone who knows that this is my home.

Now, I’m used to a slower pace in everything. I’m used to a wide-open space where the noise comes from the sea or the sheep in the field. The smells around me now are beeswax and lavender and salt, not car exhaust and someone’s perfume that’s choking in close proximity.

It’s lunchtime, and I remember my lunch the other day which was spent in the knot garden with Silas, who’d stolen some time in between calls.

We ate thick doorstep sandwiches of cheese and ham and drank fresh coffee while the sun beat down on us from a clear blue sky and bees buzzed busily and importantly.

We talked and laughed and it seemed like there was just us in the world.

Well, us and Sid, who was snoring behind an Elderberry bush.

For the first time I feel a shard of worry. What happens when I come back here? I’d thought that eventually Cornwall would just be a faraway place in my memory, but what if that doesn’t happen and instead London is the stranger and I’ll be trying to move through it without a map?

I shake my head at the silly thoughts and plough through the crowds, brightening as I see Shaun waiting outside John Lewis. He grins as soon as he spots me and wades through the shoppers to grab me in a big hug.

“How are you?” he mutters. “It seems almost strange to see you here.”

I jerk. “God, I was just thinking that. It feels weird being here.”

“Bound to,” he says comfortingly. “You’re used to something different now.”

“Well, that’s just silly. It took me ages to get used to London. I’ve only been in Cornwall for five fucking minutes.”

He looks at me thoughtfully. “Perhaps that’s because Cornwall feels more like home.

” I open my mouth, but he carries on talking.

“I remember when you first came here; you were a country boy through and through. Maybe that never left you. Maybe you’re more at home in the peace and quiet.

” He shrugs. “Or maybe it’s the company you’re keeping nowadays. ”

His words stick with me through the long, sweaty process of buying a dinner suit and they stay as I bitch and moan my way through the cramped underground journey.

I look around at the compartment stuffed as full of people as a tin of sardines.

Then I breathe in deeply and choke slightly at the odour that fills the area. It’s like fish left out in the sun.

Shaun shakes his head. “Rookie mistake.” I shoot him a finger and he laughs.

We push ourselves off the train, then fight our way up the stairs and through the ticket machines, but even when we’re out I feel itchy and grumpy.

I tug at my shirt irritably and look up at the pub we’ve arranged to meet Silas in.

It’s one of our old haunts, principally because the beer is cheap and Mick, the owner, turns a blind eye to everything going on.

It’s hard to care too much when you’re asleep at the end of your own bar.

Now, I look up at the dirty windows, the peeling paint, and the sign swinging in the slight breeze that would proclaim the pub’s name if anyone had a few buckets of soapy water.

“Why did I agree to meet him here?” I say faintly.

“Because it’s near home and you needed alcohol before you introduced him to your mum,” Shaun says placidly. “If you have too much to drink, you’re hoping that you won’t have to do it and we can just carry you home unconscious.”

“That sounds horrible,” I groan. “I love my mum. I’m not ashamed of her.”

“Of course you’re not,” he says simply. “You’re just a bit scarred by introducing her to some of the pricks that came before.”

“I don’t want him to look at me like they did,” I whisper.

He turns on me fiercely. “Stop it,” he says crossly.

“That’s not going to happen and there are two very good reasons for that.

” He holds up a finger. “One, he isn’t that type of bloke.

He’s real class and I don’t mean titles and posh houses.

I mean he’s decent and honest and he cares about people.

I felt at home with him instantly even in that big fucking house.

He’s got the ability to put people at ease because he cares about them.

That’s class and there aren’t too many people like that. ”

I feel a surge of warmth and smile at him as I wait. And wait. “Hang on, that’s only one reason.”

“What?” he says, turning to open the door and letting out a tide of air that combines stale beer and cigarette smoke because Mick persists in ignoring EU regulations. He acts like he’s fucking Robin Hood, but in reality he can’t pack up himself and he’s usually too lazy or pissed to go outside.

I persist. “That’s one reason. You said there were two reasons for why it wouldn’t happen with him.”

“Did I? What a forgetful little thing I am. I’ll probably remember later.”

I look around and groan. This place looks worse every second. What was I thinking?

A great roar of laughter and cheers comes from the bar. “Well, would you look at that?” Shaun says.

“Is Mick’s wife stripping again?” I ask idly, looking round for Silas and not seeing him. Did he take one look and run back to Sloane Street checking his Rolex on the way?

“No, but she looks like she’s thinking about it,” Shaun says cheerfully. “No. Look at that.”

He steps back and my mouth falls open. Silas is standing at the bar, apparently buying a round for a group of men he appears to be playing … darts with. I watch as they clap him on the back and he steps towards the dartboard, darts in one hand and a pint in the other. I look at the men and blink.

“When did Vic get out of prison?”

“Last week. Reckon he’s making the most of his time off before he goes back in.”

“He’s not an oil rig worker,” I snipe. “What the fuck is going on here?”

Silas throws his darts to more loud cheering. He turns around and Shaun whistles. Looking up, he sees us, and a huge grin crosses his face. “Hey,” he shouts. “Come here.”

I shake my head and rush over. He hugs me and gives me a quick kiss to many catcalls but luckily no abuse. Mick’s son is gay and it’s a sure way to see his baseball bat come out from behind the bar if you say anything homophobic.

“Alright, Ozzy?” Vic says, grabbing the darts from Silas. “How you doing?”

“Fine, mate. How about you?”

“Not so bad. Enjoying the freedom before I have to start again. You’ve got a fucking good bloke here.” He leans forward and whispers, “I can’t understand a word he says though. Is he German?”

He wheels off, bouncing off the side of the jukebox as he goes. I watch his progress. “You do know he doesn’t work on the cruise liners, don’t you?” I mutter and Silas laughs.

“I figured that out after a bit. I thought at first he was in the army.”

I laugh and he grins at me before giving Shaun a smile of thanks as he hands him a pint and gives me mine.

“Cheers,” Shaun says, clinking glasses with Silas. “I’ll be glad to hand Ozzy over to you, to be honest.”

“Why?” Silas looks startled.

“Because he’s turning into a whiny little bitch.”

I shove him. “Oh, fuck off. I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” He raises his voice in a terrible parody of mine. “Oh, London is so busy nowadays. How I long for my Cornish manor house and the peace and serenity of the Elizabethan knot garden. Blah blah wooden carvings blah blah.”

“Please don’t consider a career on the stage,” I say sourly as Silas throws his head back and laughs loudly.

He hugs me. “It’s a bit weird, isn’t it? I feel it every time I come here.”

I feel the weight of his arm on my shoulder and inhale the clean scent of him, and for the first time all day I feel centred and calm.

I smile. “Don’t let Shaun bang on too much.

He’ll be telling you about the day the local perv flashed him.

Shaun hadn’t got his glasses on and ran after the man, trying to tell him that his belt had fallen on the ground and his coat was open. ”

“Oh, fuck off,” Shaun mouths as Silas bursts into peals of laughter before persuading us into a few raucous rounds of darts.

It’s almost five o’clock when we emerge from the pub. Shaun reels off up the street towards home after promising to meet us for breakfast in the morning and after many long hugs with Silas, who he seems to have taken a real liking to.

Silas turns to me. “Alone at last,” he says, grinning and slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Did you get your legal stuff done?” I ask, grabbing my own backpack and gesturing for him to follow me.

“I did.”

He falls into step beside me but when we come to a florist, he stops. “Wait here. I just need to get something I ordered earlier.”