Kissed a sad goodbye - Deborah Crombie [121]
“I told Kit I was his dad,” Kincaid confessed reluctantly. “The night before Ian rang me up in London.”
“Oh, dear.” Laura looked aghast. “No wonder he came back in a royal funk.”
“I knew it might take a bit of getting used to, but I rather thought he liked me.… I suppose I’d even hoped he might be pleased.”
Laura shook her head. “You were Kit’s escape from his old life, someone unconnected except for those last few weeks, a friend.”
“But a father, surely—”
“I don’t think you understand, Duncan. To Kit, parents are the last people you can count on. They run away and leave you. Or die. I don’t think anything could have frightened him more.”
Kincaid stared at her, wondering how he could not have seen it. “Oh, Christ. I didn’t realize … How can I possibly sort things out with him after this?”
Frowning, Laura said, “I don’t know. I suppose you can try to reassure him that things between you won’t change.” She nodded towards the patio door. “He’s at the bottom of the garden.”
ABANDONED GARDENING TOOLS AND A SCATTERING of empty plastic pots near the house told him that Laura had been working in the perennial beds, which got full sun before several old oaks turned the bottom of the garden into a shady retreat. He whistled for Tess, who came up to greet him, tail wagging, but he didn’t see Kit until he’d rounded the first tree.
Kit sat with his back to the trunk, arms wrapped round his knees, regarding Kincaid with an expression of sullen wariness.
“Hullo, sport.” Kincaid squatted and scratched Tess behind the ears. “Where’s Colin?”
For a long moment Kit didn’t answer, then he said grudgingly, “Next door. He went to borrow some nails.”
In the grass, Kincaid saw what looked like the beginnings of a rudimentary platform at the end of a series of small trestles made with logs. “What’s it for?” he asked, nodding at the platform.
“Tess.” At the sound of her name, the dog left Kincaid and sat expectantly at Kit’s knee.
Kincaid squinted at the pieces of plywood. “Okay. But what’s it for?”
“It’s an obstacle course,” Kit said impatiently. “There’s supposed to be a ramp, and a dispenser for tennis balls, but we can’t figure out how to make the dispenser work.”
“I could probably come up with something,” Kincaid offered.
Kit shook his head. “It’s our project, Colin’s and mine. And besides, you haven’t the time.”
Kincaid ignored the dig. “I thought maybe we could get some sandwiches in Cambridge, take out a punt.”
“Punting’s stupid,” Kit said, looking away. “And Laura’s making beefburgers. I don’t want to go out.”
“Okay.” Kincaid sat down in the grass. “Maybe we could just talk, then.”
“I don’t want to talk, either.” Kit pressed his lips together and wrapped his arms tighter round his knees.
“How about if I talk, and you listen?” Kincaid suggested. “You don’t have to say anything.”
When Kit didn’t answer, he went on, picking his words carefully. “I’m sorry about what I said the other night. But it doesn’t change anything between us. It’s just a fact, like having blue eyes, or blonde hair. It doesn’t mean I’m not your friend, or that I’d have done anything differently if there weren’t that connection between us. It’s just extra, like icing on the cake.” When he paused, Kit blinked, but still didn’t look at him.
“I’m not going to stop being your friend, no matter what. You can still visit me in London, just like before, if it’s all right with Ian—”
“I’m not going back there! Not to the cottage.” Kit jumped up and turned his back on Kincaid, then kicked at the tree, but not before Kincaid had seen his eyes fill with tears. “You can’t make me!”
“Kit, I didn’t come here to make you do anything. But you can talk to me about it. Tell me why you don’t want to go back.”
Kit shook his head, but this time the gesture seemed anguished rather than stubborn.
“Is it because of your mum?” Kincaid asked very gently, praying that for once he had said the right thing.
“I can’t