Page 73 of A Box of Wishes
“What?”
“Don’t you remember how Ben found him on New Year’s Eve? He didn’t have a phone on him then, either. And when Ben spotted him, he was off his trolley.”
“Rats.” Ryan wished he could phone Ben. He had a knack for dealing with emergencies. And as a police officer, he’d know how to go about finding a missing man. But wishes weren’t helpful. Not here. Not now. “He was in Northampton when Ben found him, right? Maybe he’s gone there again. I’ll drive over and check.”
“That will take ages.”
She wasn’t wrong. Once they’d outgrown Rothcote, they’d made Northampton their place to hang out. It had everything from a rugby stadium to coffee shops and nightclubs. “Do you have a better idea?”
“Not really. Call me when you get there and I’ll stay on the phone with you,” she offered. “And drive carefully.”
Ryan drove. Carefully.
Slow traffic on the main road into town left him time to worry. About Alastair. About the pain in his chest, the clench in his gut, and his trouble drawing breath.
None of this should be happening.
It was past the time of year when his gift should respond to people’s needs. The box was in his safe, asleep until the autumn. Was he feeling Alastair’s anguish because they were cousins? Or was his gift escaping the shackles he’d made for it?
“I don’t want to imagine Alastair in so much pain,” he told whoever was listening.
But neither did he want the full force of his gift to return. Finding the box had been like finding middle ground. For the first time in his life, he’d been in control. And he didn’t want to give that up.
Blue flashing lights and sirens recalled him to the present. He passed under the M1 before turning right onto the ring road. Northampton was home to nearly a quarter million people, and Ryan desperately didn’t want to think of needles and haystacks.
“My cousin needs help,” he said aloud. “I’m here for him.”
The tug in his gut grew stronger. Ryan gritted his teeth, kept his focus on the road and the cars sharing the space with him. For no reason he could discern, he turned left at the next roundabout and followed the road down the hill.
He told his phone to dial Cara’s number.
It rang twice.
“Where are you?”
“Far Cotton. No idea why.”
“Just go with it. You know how this works.”
“Do I?” Ryan wasn’t at all sure. Handing someone a square of coloured paper and a pen and suggesting they write a wish was child’s play compared to driving through Northampton trying to spot one man.
The road into the town centre was lined with parked cars. Pedestrians moved along the pavement. And a shock of strawberry blond hair caught Ryan’s eye.
“I have him,” he said, voice high with disbelief. “I fucking have him. On the Nene Bridge!” He parked in the petrol station, never mind that he didn’t need to fill up, and ran back the way he’d come. “It’s him. I found him. The stupid sod. What is he thinking?”
“He doesn’t think. That’s the fucking trouble,” Cara reminded him. “Asking for help is weak. Remember that line of his?If I can’t fix it myself…”
“… it stays broken until I can,” Ryan finished one of Alastair’s favourite sayings. “Ben said he could be struggling with depression. That’s not something he can fix himself.”
“Tell me about it. And neither one of us can keep running around scraping his drunk arse off the pavement. What if he falls and hits his head? Or walks into traffic? He could get arrested and lose his job, for heaven’s sake!”
Ryan couldn’t answer. An invisible force had grabbed him by the throat the moment he’d stepped onto the bridge. The inferno in his chest grew hotter than anything he’d ever felt before. And the tug towards Alastair’s still form made it clear he had no choice in the matter.
The sensations were familiar and wrong at the same time. Between the autumn equinox and Christmas Day, he would have been reaching for a square of coloured paper and a marker. What was he to do now, three days from Valentine’s Day and without the box nearby?
“Alastair! Talk to me, you oaf!” Ryan grabbed his bicep and gave him a shake.
Alastair leaned against the parapet, eyes closed and face almost as grey as the stone behind him. He wasn’t unconscious. Ryan’s rough treatment made him open his eyes and mutter something Ryan couldn’t decipher.
