13

13

Back at the shop, Fen started working on the valuations. He checked prices for similar items, made a judgement about condition, then came up with a total for everything. He wasn't sure whether Alistair and Charles would suggest buying it all to sell on, or putting things through an auction, so he worked out costs for both. Once he'd printed everything off, he gave the pages to Alistair who never liked to work on the computer.

"This looks very thorough," Alistair said.

"I've done it room by room so it will be easier to see if I've made some big mistake. Missed off the grand piano or something."

"Was there—?" Alistair's eyes widened.

"No." Fen rolled his eyes.

"Very funny. When I get Scott's list, I'll do a comparison. By the way, we're going to move your mum's stuff from her place to mine this weekend."

"Shall I come and give you a hand?"

Fen wondered why he'd bothered asking when he couldn't lift anything heavy, though he could bubble-wrap the fragile items.

"No, you're fine. Your mum won't want you exerting yourself. Scott's going to come. Well, I've paid him to help."

"I could sit at the table and wrap things."

"No, don't worry about it. Your mum wants to do that herself. She says she's going to go through everything and either throw, donate or keep. My money is on a very large pile for keep." He grimaced.

"She won't even throw away bits of sewing thread."

"I know. I'm going to let her have the garden room for all her sewing stuff. I've painted it. Don't tell her. It's a surprise."

"Okay."

"Sure you're all right about us marrying?"

"Of course I am. I'm happy for Mum. And you. You're lucky."

Alistair smiled. "I know."

Fen went back to the workshop.

Later that afternoon, Scott and Fen were both called into the office by Alistair.

"Want to bet on which of us has a total closest to my uncle's?" Scott asked.

"No. Just getting one item wrong throws that out."

"Ten quid says I'm closest."

"I'm not betting."

"Loser!"

Fen quietly sighed and followed Scott in.

When they emerged several minutes later, Fen made sure he hid his elation. Alistair had praised Fen's presentation and pointed out multiple errors in Scott's estimates. The downside was Scott was livid with him. Not for the first time. Neither Charles nor Alistair seemed to praise Scott for much. He had little interest in the business or in learning how to repair anything. Fen was surprised he'd stayed working there as long as he had, but then he also suspected Scott was paid more than him for doing a lot less work.

If Fen said yes to Ripley, he wasn't sure he could still do this job, not if Ripley wanted him to have a lot of time off. Maybe it was better to resign. In six months, he'd go travelling, maybe see where the wind took him and come back when he ran out of money. It would be the only chance he'd get before he ended up in a wheelchair. Oh fuck. Thinking that had hurt.He didn't let himself focus on what his future would be like. He already knew what it held, but no one could predict how quickly his BMD would progress.

Fen took a deep breath. Maybe Ripley's proposition was no longer on the table. Maybe he'd have to keep working here because there wasn't much else he could do. Except when Charles and Alistair retired, Scott was the heir apparent and there was no way on this earth Fen would work for him. The only reason Fen stayed was because he liked Alistair and was still learning from him.

That evening, Fen had arranged to see Seth and Morgan, his best friends, for a drink in Borough. Seth worked at a tailor's with dreams of breaking into the fashion industry and Morgan was a medical student. He was close to finishing now.

Fen had told them about the muscular dystrophy when he'd first met them. Not something he usually did. But they'd wanted to know where he'd been to school before and when he told them, they'd asked why on earth he'd left. Why give up ballet? was a question that would hurt forever. Fen couldn't bring himself to lie, even though he wasn't having many issues at the time. No need for a crutch, for a start.

The pair were already in The Bell when he arrived, and Fen made his way through to their table. A lemon and lime waited for him, along with a stranger with dirty blond hair, an ear full of piercings along with two nose studs and a bar in his eyebrow too. He really wished Seth would stop trying to set him up. Seth and Morgan hugged him.

"This is Daniel," Seth told him. "Daniel, this is Fen."

Daniel's hand was clammy and Fen had to fight not to wipe his fingers on his coat.

"I've heard so much about you," Daniel said as Fen sat down.

"That must have taken no more than two minutes," Fen said.

At least he laughed.

"Daniel's a graffiti artist," Seth said.

"Wow. Sounds interesting." Fen turned to him. "Is your real name Banksy?"

"I wish. Except he's nearly fifty."

"Morgan and I met Daniel when we went on a graffiti tour in the Spitalfields area. You ought to do it, Fen. It was fascinating."

"I don't know anything about graffiti," Fen said.

Which brought on an avalanche of information about the different terms used like tags, blowups and blockbusters, and how they varied city to city. Daniel showed him endless pictures on his phones. Fen quite liked him, and was interested in what he said, but there was no chemistry. Plus, Fen was a rule follower and Daniel sounded like a rule breaker.

Fen had been thinking of asking Seth and Morgan about Ripley's proposition and now he couldn't. Though he'd more or less decided it was bad idea to be completely truthful, because if by any fluke, and—oh look, there's a flying saucer—he and Ripley ended up a pair like Seth and Morgan—there's another flying saucer—then they'd think badly of Ripley. Though maybe Fen could get their opinion without looking obvious. Maybe it didn't matter that Daniel was there too if he talked hypothetically.

Fen's chance came when Seth was talking about money, and the difficulty he and Morgan would have in buying a flat.

"I used to think Morgan was allergic to the word commitment." Seth cuddled up to his boyfriend. "He came out in hives."

"I did not." Morgan elbowed him.

"If you had…" Fen hesitated then went with the actual amount, because why not? "…say, eighty thousand pounds handed to you, what would you do with it?"

"Have you won eighty thou?" Seth gaped at him. "Not sure we've told you recently how much we love you." He fluttered his eyelashes.

"Not recently." Fen grinned. "It got me thinking after someone won eighteen million on the Euromillions lottery. I wondered how much money is enough to really change your life. Wouldn't it be better to give eighteen people a million each than the whole amount to one person?"

"But then not enough people would buy tickets so the prize money would never get that high," Morgan said. "Everyone wants that huge sum even though they'd probably have a happier life with a million. Or eighty thousand."

"Eighty thousand is enough to change my life," Daniel said.

"Deposit for a flat," Seth said.

"Set you up with your own design business." Morgan pulled Seth in and ruffled his hair, which usually drove Seth mad and he mock-glared at Morgan.

"I'd get my own studio," Daniel said. "I want to run courses on how to graffiti. I could even go into schools and do classes with kids."

"You wouldn't worry you'd be encouraging them to spray paint where they shouldn't?" Fen asked. Oh damn, I sound like my mother.

Daniel shrugged. "I can explain where it's legal to spray and where it's not."

"What if there were conditions attached to you having the money?" Fen asked.

"Such as?" Morgan asked.

"Er… your parents said they'd give it you but you had to…buy a place next door to them. Or Seth had to keep working his other job while he set up his business. Or Daniel had to show people how to remove graffiti as well?"

"I'm never living next to mine," Seth said. "I'm fine next to Morgan's, though we couldn't afford to live on their street unless we won millions, and I know I'd have to keep working while I make a name for myself. That's what I'm doing now, as well as measuring a lot of inside legs."

"My mother would never leave us alone if we moved in next door. I'd live next to your mum," Morgan said to Fen. "She's lovely."

"I'd be down for showing what not to graffiti and how to get rid of it," Daniel said. "I could show you." He shot a smile at Fen.

Fen let the conversation run for a while before he said, "What if you were asked to do something you didn't really want to do in order to get the money?"

Morgan narrowed his eyes. "This is sounding like an actual situation now."

Shit. Fen shrugged, trying to look as if he didn't care if they answered or not. "It's not." Sorry for lying. "I'm wondering what I'd do for that sort of money. What lines I wouldn't cross."

"Would you kill someone?" Seth asked.

"What the hell?" Morgan gaped at him, and Daniel laughed.

"Course I wouldn't," Fen said. "I wasn't thinking of anything that bad. Maybe…steal something when you knew you wouldn't get caught?" His heart thumped.

"No to both," Morgan said. "Stealing is wrong. Full stop."

"Ditto," Daniel added.

"No to killing, but not sure about the stealing," Seth said. "It depends on what it was and from whom and being absolutely certain about not being caught."

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "Why didn't I know this about you?"

"What! I have a price. That's a lot of money when you only earn thirteen pounds fifty an hour."

Morgan hugged him. "You'll get your break, have your own designer label, get Fen to model your clothes, and you'll be earning more than me."

"You could easily be a model," Daniel said to Fen.

"I don't think so."

He felt Daniel's leg press against his under the table and Fen moved his away.

"Another scenario," Fen said quickly before the topic was lost. "If you weren't going out with Morgan, would you fuck someone for that amount of money?"

"One fuck for eighty thousand?" Seth laughed. "Who? A vampire?"

Morgan patted his hand. "I can't convince him they don't exist."

"Alexander Skarsg?rd makes me drool." Seth pretended to drool.

Morgan rolled his eyes. "How many years since he was a vampire?"

"He's the best." Seth shrugged.

"I'd do a year of fucks for eighty thousand," Daniel said. "How much would it be per fuck? Say four times a week, so two hundred and eight times over a year. How many times does that go into eighty thousand."

"Three hundred and eight-five or thereabouts," Morgan said.

Double it if it was six months and not a year. Fen had already done the calculation. Around seven hundred and seventy pounds. It was a crazy amount of money.

"Doesn't sound so much when you say it like that," Daniel said. "Especially if the guy's a sex maniac and wants you three times a night. Do the maths on that."

They all laughed. Even Fen.

"But for Alexander Skarsg?rd? How could I say no?" Seth whined. "But I would." He patted Morgan's cheeks.

When Fen glanced at Morgan, he wasn't looking at Seth, but at him. Fen's stomach sank. Had he been sussed?

"Has someone offered you that?" Morgan cocked his head.

"Alexander Skarsg?rd," Fen mock-whispered. "Don't tell Seth."

"Noooooo," Seth wailed. "He's mine. And yes, I know he's not gay but still…"

"Assuming I was unattached, I'd still like to think I'd say no," Morgan said. "But I don't know that I would. It would depend on the man. If he had bad breath or was really old or left his toenail clippings on the bathroom floor…" He glanced at Seth. "I am choosy—despite what's sitting next to me."

Seth growled. "One toenail clipping and it wasn't mine."

"I guess the question is—would anyone get hurt?" Morgan asked. "A wife? Kids? Things are not always as simple as they might seem."

"Good point." Fen nodded.

"If you can be sure no one gets hurt, then it would be hard to turn down that sort of money." Morgan was looking at him a little too carefully.

Fen was frantically trying to think of a distraction. "What about if you knew something no one else did? And you could sell the story?"

"For eighty thousand pounds?" Morgan shrugged. "I suppose the no one getting hurt still applies. No one innocent anyway. And who would determine that? Oh and no revealing official secrets or medical records. Are you going philosophical in your old age?"

"Just looking at life and choices and…"

Morgan stiffened and Fen tensed. Shit. That was a mistake.He knew what was coming from Morgan now.

"Another round?" Daniel asked.

"Not for me, thanks," Fen said, but the other two said yes.

"Crisps, nuts?" Daniel looked at Fen and he shook his head.

"Yes, please," Seth said. "Surprise me with the flavour."

Daniel went off to the bar and Seth turned to Fen. "He's nice, isn't he? I—"

"Shush a minute." Morgan put his hand on Seth's arm and turned to Fen. "Are you okay? And don't lie. I do not want to hear ‘I'm fine' because anyone who says that to a doctor is not fine."

"I'm okay."

Morgan huffed. "But?"

"My consultant mentioned my heart."

"That you have one?" Seth quipped.

"Shut up, Seth." Morgan didn't take his eyes off Fen. "Are you having trouble breathing? Feeling dizzy? Are—?"

"No symptoms." Fen interrupted him. "He wants me to go back for another check-up sooner than I would normally. I know what cardiomyopathy is and what it can result in. I really am all right."

Morgan sighed but to Fen's relief he let it drop.

"I'm on a new trial. I collected the prescription."

"That's great." Seth beamed at him.

"I might be in the control group."

"But you might not be," Morgan said.

"True. And Seth, Daniel's not my type."

Seth whined. "Why not?"

"Seth! Leave it," Morgan said. "Fen said no and that's it."

Daniel came back from the bar and Fen hoped he'd taken the hint. Ah no. The knee press returned. Fen moved away again.

He wanted to go home but felt he needed to strike up a different conversation to stop Morgan thinking there was something behind his questions. Talking about doctors' pay and long hours had the required effect.

When Fen eventually decided to leave, Daniel followed him out.

"Going to give me your number?" Daniel asked.

"No. Sorry." Though he wasn't.

The smile fell off his face. "Your loss." He glared, then stamped back into the pub.

By the time Fen was in bed, he was exhausted. Morgan had asked him to text when he was back safe and Fen had. Tired as he was, sleep eluded him. He kept thinking that if Ripley hadn't offered him the money and just asked him out, he'd have said yes in an instant. So why couldn't he say yes to this? Ripley was a messed-up guy and somehow that appealed to Fen because he was messed-up too. For different reasons but…

He fell asleep thinking he was going to say yes.

He woke intending to say no.

By the time he got into work, he was back to yes.

Fen was lonely. He could have six months of not being lonely and a chunk of money at the end of it.

What if he fell in love with Ripley? Then I'd end up with a broken heart. But at least he'd have known what love was like.

Fen had set the model ship aside to dry after he'd applied a coat of paint to the hull, and was busy cleaning a dirt-encrusted oil painting, when he heard raised voices coming from the office. Alistair was in there with Charles.

Fen's phone pinged with a message from Alistair asking him to go and help Tara and send Scott in to see them. Fen took off his apron and gloves and went into the shop.

"Alistair and your dad want you in the office," Fen told Scott.

"What for?"

"No idea."

As Fen helped Tara put up Christmas decorations, he could still hear loud voices and he wondered what the hell was going on.

"What's up, do you know?" Tara asked.

"No." Maybe Scott's father had registered how little work his son did and the only thing that interested him was online gambling. Maybe Scott had racked up a big debt and Charles had found out.

A few minutes later, Scott came back. "They want you now."

So Fen was wrong.

When he walked in, Charles sat behind the desk and Alistair leaned against the wall. Judging by the expressions on their faces, whatever this was, it was serious.

"Sit down," Charles snapped.

Fen hadn't done anything wrong, well not that he knew of. Even so his pulse was racing.

"A ring has gone missing," Charles said. "Know anything about it?"

"No. I've not shown anyone a ring for months."

"It didn't go missing from here," Alistair said. "The Belmont house."

Oh shit. "I didn't see any rings."

"It went missing from a bedroom we weren't supposed to go into," Alistair said.

"Are you accusing me of having taken it?" Fen tried to keep his voice even but he was upset.

"It was one of you," Charles snapped. "Obviously not Alistair. Or Scott. So…?"

Now Fen was furious. "What? Just because you don't want to believe your son could do it, it has to be me? What about another valuation company? An estate agent? A burglar? A neighbour? A visitor? Or it could have got lost down the side of the bed! Dropped down the plughole."

"They've done a thorough search. The other man who went to do a valuation was with Mr Belmont all the time." Alistair's face was grey.

"I didn't take it," Fen said. "I didn't go into any room I wasn't supposed to."

"Then you won't mind if we search you and your things?" Charles pushed to his feet.

"Of course not." Fen's heart was hammering. "Scott too?"

"Yes," Alistair said.

"Did you tell him that when he was in here?"

"Yes." Alistair gave a quiet sigh.

"So he's had time to plant it on me." Fen glowered.

Charles gasped. "What? How dare you. You're giving us an excuse for us finding it in your bag."

Fen's chest was hurting. He was sure that's what Scott had done.

"Ask Tara if Scott went into the workroom," Fen said.

Charles glared. "I want you and Scott in the workroom now."

The two of them had to turn out their pockets, then their coat pockets. Scott didn't have a backpack and when Alistair pulled a diamond ring from the front pocket of Fen's, Fen was appalled but not surprised.

"Tara!" Alistair called. "In here for a moment."

She came to the door of the workroom. "Yes?"

"Did Scott come into the workroom after he'd left the office?" Alistair asked.

"No. He was in the shop with me."

"Thank you. Back into the shop, Tara," Charles said.

Fen was disappointed Scott had been bright enough to make sure he had an alibi. Tara liked Scott. Of course she'd lie for him. Fen knew he'd been judged and found guilty.

"Christ!" Scott widened his eyes as he gaped at Fen. "You're an idiot."

Charles and Alistair should have spoken to them both at the same time. Now it was too late.

"Obviously, you're fired," Charles snapped.

"I didn't steal it."

"Charles," Alistair said. "Don't you—"

"Take your things and get out," Charles told Fen.

Fen saw no point in arguing or protesting his innocence. He went over to his bench and packed up all his tools in the holdall where he stored them.

"Is that yours? That chisel? That file?" Charles stood at his shoulder and kept snapping at him.

Fen was hurt Alistair wasn't standing up for him, but the ring had been found in his bag, what could Alistair do? When he had his coat and backpack on, he put the holdall over his shoulder and slotted his arm into his crutch.

One last statement and Fen would leave. "I didn't steal that ring. I think Tara is lying. Probably because Scott asked her to. Scott gambles on his phone when he's supposed to be working. He's probably in debt. I don't owe money to anyone and I'm not a thief."

Charles made a scoffing sound. "If Mr Belmont wants to inform the police, you'll have to answer to them. There is no evidence whatsoever that Scott was behind this. Now get out."

The moment Fen was outside, he turned his phone to silent.