Page 49 of A Box of Wishes
He’d been unfailingly cheerful, just like Liam, Owen, and Colin. They’d shifted furniture and boxes, razzing each other to the nines. None of them had commented on Ryan’s low mood. Nor had they tried to make him join in the banter, and Ryan had been grateful for the respite.
He’d said little all day as he’d slung his possessions into boxes, taping and labelling as he went, feeling none of the excitement that usually came with moving house.
His landlord’s behaviour annoyed him more than he’d admitted to himself, and a heavy load of guilt topped his annoyance.
He was keeping something as significant as losing his flat a secret from his parents.
Keeping it from Ben felt even more of a betrayal.
His parents knew him. They’d forgive him.
Ben might not be so generous.
They’d packed up Ryan’s possessions and cleared his flat in under seven hours. The place already looked as forlorn as empty spaces often did.
“You build a house with walls and beams, you make a home from hopes and dreams,” Alastair recited their grandmother’s favourite saying. He sounded wistful, and Ryan wished he’d paid better attention, had asked the right questions when there’d still been a chance to help Alastair fix what had gone wrong. If his mistake lay six years in the past, how much of a chance was there to fix it now?
“I’m a crap cousin, aren’t I?”
“Don’t make me laugh or I’ll end up with another fucking coughing fit.”
“I’m not joking. I didn’t see that you were hurting.”
“Maybe there was nothing to see.”
“Now who’s trying to be funny?.” Ryan gave him a slow once-over. “You used to look like a birch tree in spring. Now there’s barely any green to your aura.”
“Yeah, well… You see more than most people and you look out for everyone. Why do you think we’re here today? Now stop being maudlin. That’s the cold talking, and your anger. You know that.” Alastair left the room, having dodged another conversation he wasn’t keen to have.
Ryan watched him go. Some things just never changed, and Alastair was one of those.
When the bells rang in the New Year, Ryan had wished for change, though losing his home only weeks later hadn’t been on his list.
“You make a home from hopes and dreams,” he whispered to himself. Alastair was right. This flat had been a house. He was still looking for a home.
He went from room to room, checking they hadn’t forgotten anything, and then he joined Alastair and his cousins out on the landing.
“I don’t feel homeless,” he said as he pulled the key from the lock for the last time.
“That’s because you aren’t.” Liam, the most demonstrative of his cousins, wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “You can stay with any of us, and I hope you will. Nobody makes breakfast like you do.”
Ryan laughed. “Nice to know what I’m valued for. But breakfast can wait. I want a drink. The beer and the curry are on me tonight, and if you tell anyone about this before I’m ready to let them know, I’ll end you.”
Rescue
Ben blinked, his eyes dry and gritty. Tarbert’s reminder that finding the truth was not the same as proving Ryan’s innocence had nagged at him all week. He had kept his interactions with Ryan shorter and shorter each night, while he reminded himself that Tarbert was right, however uncomfortable it made Ben feel.
“I like Ryan. You’ve noticed that, haven’t you, big boy? And that’s the problem.”
Instead of visiting the cafe or calling Ryan and chatting to him for hours, Ben had spent his weekend sifting through CCTV recordings from the shops in the courtyard and the camera monitoring the market square.
The recordings from the daytime hours were at least marginally entertaining, with traffic in the town and shoppers coming and going. But once the last shop had closed its doors, activity in the courtyard dwindled to passing wildlife and the odd householder sticking their head out of the window.
“It’s like I’m doing penance for losing my professional objectivity.” Ben ran his fingers through Morris’s soft fur. The tabby hadn’t minded Ben’s sojourn on the sofa. He’d settled on Ben’s lap and gone to sleep, unbothered by Ben talking to him, and even sometimes purring his support.
“I’m not expecting a breakthrough. Just hoping to spot the person leaving messages on Ryan’s bike. I wonder why he never mentioned that someone did that.”
Was it so common that it didn’t surprise him? Or was the report claiming that someone had left messages on Ryan’s bike just another red herring?
