Masters & Lovers Box Set Three

Michael

James rolls the razor over the line of jaw to neck, angling in the mirror to see the result.

“You’ve got it all,” I say. “Bloody nuisance for you having to shave as often as you do.”

He harrumphs, then, “Maybe I should grow a beard.” He looks himself left then right in the mirror. “What do you think?”

“It’s not my opinion you should ask.” I cock my head towards the door.

“Mmmm.” He runs a finger from chin to ear, sucking in his cheeks. “How is she?”

“Pretty hyper. I’m beginning to wish I’d not told her about the address; checked it out first myself. I could easily have found a different Christmas gift if I tried… If we get there and don’t find anything. If her mother’s moved or died…”

“Worst scenario…” says James, “No-one’s heard of her at all. No-one knows anything. Anything else is at least a step forward.”

“Yes, but that’s really why I wanted you to come along too. If it’s bad news, I can’t drive and hold her hand too…”

Charlotte bounces into the room. “I’m ready when you are.”

I look her up and down. “Have you just changed your clothes?”

“Er… yes. First, I thought I should go dressed in my best. Then I thought it might look a bit odd, wandering around a strange neighbourhood like that. So I changed into jeans, then I thought, if we find my mother, I should look nice and then…”

I step forward, tug her to me by the waist. “Charlotte, you would look ‘nice’ if you dressed in an old carpet. If we find your mother, how you’re dressed is the least of what will be happening.”

Her eyes fall. “If…”

“Yes, it’s still ‘if’. The address was old. Even the police file made it clear that they didn’t know what had happened or where she might have gone from there.”

“I know.” Her words are tight, constricted. “But I’m just hoping that…”

I tilt up her chin. “I know what you’re hoping, but with the best will in the world, this is almost certainly just a fact-finding mission. I did a lot of searching through old files just to get as far as I did.”

She nods against the pressure of my finger then, “Michael?”

“Mmmm?”

“Whatever happens, whatever we find, thank you.”

I press my lips to hers. “My pleasure.”

*****

“My car?”

“If that’s alright with you.” James pats his thigh. “Given the distance, it would be easier if you were driving.”

“Fine.” I turn to check Charlotte’s not in earshot. “The pair of you sit in the back seat. I don’t need a navigator and I’d rather her be close by you.”

They sit together, he with an arm wrapped around her while she just stares out of the window. Occasionally our eyes meet in the mirror.

*****

“This is it?” Charlotte stands, staring around, looking lost.

To one side; a car park, huge, able to take hundreds, perhaps thousands of cars. To the other; a hypermarket, DIY and white goods stores, acres of sheet glass displaying computers, TVs, household goods, clothes…

The acreage is vast. The retail park perhaps ten years old. No trace remains of what it replaced.

James stands beside her, a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Charlotte,” I say. “But we won’t give up. We’ll keep looking.”

She nods, her face screwing up with suppressed tears, then she gets back in the car.

*****

gloves, Ben and I seat ourselves on a couple of old

Order…?

to visit our home any more after charging in and ruining Charlotte’s birthday, since he

I need

scrub, weeds and brambles awaits the bonfire, vibrating in the slight breeze. So

do noses go red

ever, the soup is excellent. My chef really knows how to turn out the right meal for the weather. Ben sniffs at steam fragrant with sage, thyme and who-knows-what-else, gulps down a mouthful and smacks his lips. “Good

Sally knows

just cleared, now hacked down to a few inches clear of the ground. His patchwork of a mongrel terrier, Scruffy, digs with industrial-grade ferocity in one corner. “What’s next? That need digging over? More

need demolishing. Some I want to fix up. Now I can get at

of dilapidated sheds, shacks and ramshackle stables by eye. “Any thoughts on

farm when she was younger. I know she was

rotted remains of the top half of a stable-door hanging by a single hinge, then twists to look up. “Stonework’s sound, but the roof timbers have had it. And the shingles.” He digs a thumbnail into

hotchpotch of buildings. “It reminds me of that old place at McAlister’s. You know,

rob apples from his orchard,

that day when he spotted us and

It was me

I’d brought you home covered in white-wash.” He laughs, shaking his head.

I was never sure why it was you that got the seat of

I was the older one. I’d taken you out and I was supposed to bring you back in one piece and without

didn’t even get any of the apples,” I chuckle. Cold air gusts over me and I down another mouthful of soup. “Wonder what that place is

house is falling apart. The old man died. The kids had moved

it for a hotel maybe? Like this place. Convert

in the will that it can’t be sold out of the family. So it’s just standing there, falling

Shame…

you

walk Scruffy.” He sucks down more soup. I do likewise. Then, “And… I

What’s going on?

direction and a shower of mud,

head down, ass up, his stub of a tail wags furiously as earth

Could easily be a

Mmmm….

have a dog or

the breeze. He trots over, sits by me and directs lasers

*sigh*

beef broth onto a flattish rock by my feet. Scruffy laps it up then moves to Ben, pointing snout, and the mole-hill now attached to the top, at Ben’s mug. He turns soft eyes on his junk-heap mutt, squatting down to offer his mug, with its

feels good, just sharing time with my bother.

Family…

apologising to Charlotte and James. It means a lot. She’s… she’s going

going to hang on to my brother? Since it was clear you were going to

“She's my wife, Ben.”

Change the subject…

it going

Despite the words, his tone is gloomy. “… at least I thought so.” And there’s an edge

Now what…?

push it too far, too

mug. “I won't, and

Here it comes…

boring. Needy. Always wants to ask me

failed

the feeling you wanted the kind of girl who’d put you in charge?”

what I thought too,

of woman you thought you wanted, suddenly you don't

doesn’t reply. The mug revolves between

Am I being dense?

Missing the sub-text…?

“So, what’s going wrong?”

... this time...

face tightens, lips pressed