Page 49 of The Missing Ingredient

“Yes. No.Shit!” said Marcus, looking out across the street, trying to find the strength to temper his thoughts and emotions. After a deep breath, he brought his gaze back to Tom, his voice softening. “Maybe it’s not what I want, but it’s what I need. I—I’m in love with you, Tom, I really am. If you don’t already know that, then you’re blind and deaf. I made a dreadful mistake investigating Damian Stone. Especially after you’d told me quite clearly to drop the idea. I admit that. So if you’re doing what you’re doing now because of that, then I sort of understand. But I also respect who I am. I’ve made a name for myself in a tough world. One where I am not only accepted but also—and yes, I know this sounds clichéd—out in the open, and proud of being gay. And I won’t live my life settling for the scraps of your life that you’re prepared to toss my way. I deserve better than that. And if it means I need to walk away from this, then so be it.”

This time Tom glared off into the distance, his eyes glazed. Marcus knew he should act on his words and leave, but he wanted to give Tom a chance to respond. After a few silent moments, he did, but not with anything Marcus wanted to hear. “I don’t think you’re being fair to Jeanette.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. And are you being fair to me?” cried Marcus. “You’ve got it all going for you now, haven’t you? But you know what? You can’t just pick the bits of me that you want and ignore the rest.”

“Does that mean the girls won’t see you anymore?”

“No,” said Marcus, softening his tone. “No, of course not. I said I made a mistake before, and I’m not going to do the same thing again. What I’ve committed to doing for the girls—helping with homework, taking them to school or picking them up, preparing meals, all of it, I’ll keep doing. But you and I need to go back to our previous arrangement, and most definitely stop seeing each other in private. It’ll be better that way. Give us both a chance to figure out exactly what we want.”

Once again they fell to silence. Even now Tom could not bring himself to look directly at Marcus, his focus on a hole-in-the-wall ATM across the street. Marcus hated seeing his friend appear so lost. His instinct was to pull him into a hug, but with the previous speech still fresh, he knew they had stepped beyond intimacy.

“Go back to the party, Tom. Your parents will be wondering where you are.”

Finally Tom folded his arms and swung his gaze back to Marcus. “What do you want, Marcus? Tell me what you want.”

“Wrong question, Tom. You need to ask yourself whatyouwant. And more importantly, wheremyplace is in that.”

With that, Marcus turned and walked away.

This time Tom didn’t follow.

Chapter Sixteen

TWOweeks later, as a late November chill hit the country, Marcus had seen nothing of Tom Bradford. Whether the man had been purposely avoiding him, he didn’t know. Marcus continued to help out and ferry the girls around, even baked a celebratory cake for them all when Katie showed him the B-plus she gained on her school numbers test. But each time, Moira was there to hand over duties. To make matters worse, work had been particularly troublesome, with a sudden wave of staff sickness and then the Birmingham refit, which had stalled because they’d found asbestos in one of the walls.

Add to that the fact that Marcus was no longer getting any sexual release from Tom and he felt as wound tight as the lid of a pickle jar. And what made things worse was that Tom hadn’t contacted him—not once. Not even a text message. Yes, Marcus had called the time-out, but the onus was on Tom to make the next move. Unfortunately Marcus had never been good at playing a waiting game—he needed to know where he stood—so that Thursday, he drove over to Tom’s to talk, knowing that Thursday was Tom’s night in with the girls.

His irritation level ramped up when he found nowhere to park outside the house or along the road, so Marcus finally locked up his car around the corner from the Bradford house. Strolling toward Tom’s gave him time to mull over what he wanted to say. Not a bad turn of events, actually, because the walk calmed him down and helped him think things through carefully. However, the minute he turned the corner and saw Jeanette standing at the garden gate, his composure evaporated. Until he realized something was seriously wrong by the way her gaze darted anxiously up and down the road.

As soon as she caught sight of him, her tense expression filled with relief.

“Oh, thank God, Marcus. It’s Katie,” she said, her face pale as she hurried back into the house. “She’s having trouble breathing. Tom had to go to an urgent site meeting, so I said I’d look after her for an hour. We tried her inhaler, but nothing seems to be working.”

“Have you called anyone?” said Marcus, striding through the house to the sofa where little Katie lay, her face a bluish tinge. Marcus went straight to her and knelt down. Bless her little soul, she fought to breathe, wheezing horribly, her little chest fighting to gasp for air, rising ridiculously large. Through eyes wide with fright, she momentarily appeared grateful to see Marcus. When Marcus smoothed the hair away from her damp face and propped her up, her body went limp in his hands. She had passed out.

“I called both Tom and Moira. She’s picking up Charlotte from ballet class, but neither of them are answering. I left a message,” she said.

“Call an ambulance.”

“Marcus, I didn’t know what to do, she just started—”

“Now, Jeanette! Please. Call them now. Tell them it’s an emergency. Tell them Katie’s asthmatic. And that she’s stopped breathing altogether.”

Shocked into action, Jeanette did as asked. For all her hesitation, she had the sense to react to the emergency. Marcus heard her speaking over the phone, cool and unemotional. No doubt she’d had to deal with her own fair share of difficulties with her son. Marcus leaned down and kissed Katie lightly on the forehead.

“Hang in there, baby. Help is on its way.”

To see his goddaughter lying there so vulnerable, so helpless, almost broke his heart. But he needed to be strong. For her.

“They’ll be here in a couple of minutes,” called Jeanette. “St. Mary’s is just around the corner.”

“How long has she been like this?”

“Just before I saw you. Five or ten minutes. She’d been complaining about being unable to breathe properly since just after I arrived, but said sometimes it just went away. Eventually I got her inhaler, but it didn’t seem to have any effect. And then she started gasping for air. So that’s when I phoned Moira and Tom. Oh God, Marcus. What’s happening?”

“Severe asthma attack. Maybe asthmaticus, I think it’s called. One of my kitchen staff in the Edgware Road restaurant has a son that suffers from the same thing. Let’s see what the ambulance medics say.”

“Should we try mouth-to-mouth?”

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