I don’t. And anyway, I’m straight.’ Which was a lie, lie, lie. When he’d been alive, James had dated both men and women. Now he was… whatever he was.
Alone.
Gabriel, he finally noticed, was just as mortified. ‘No. Of course not. I’m not… I mean. No. It’s fine. Helene has a ridiculous sense of humour, pretty intrusive at times, and she…’ He swallowed hard. ‘Helene has known me since I was very young. She was my au pair, and she likes to tease,’ he ended awkwardly.
Until now, Gabriel had mainly spoken with a wry humour. James found this new flustered version quite appealing too.
‘Ah,’ said James, smiling mock-ruefully. ‘Perhaps hers is the first body we’ll dispose of together, eh?’
‘The second,’ replied Gabriel in a like tone. ‘I have a relative who tops my list.’
James had someone else entirely on the top of his, but since his was a real list, and if he ever got his hands on the bastard who’d turned him there’d be nothing but dust and no corpse to dispose of, he chose not to mention it. Instead, he reached for Gabriel’s suitcase – once more, just as Gabriel did – and their hands met. This time, James left his fingers on the handle.
‘I’ll take it,’ he said.
Gabriel resettled his rucksack over his shoulders and hefted the easel. ‘All right,’ he agreed. Then he followed James into the flat.
It had been a mistake, Gabriel thought, to walk behind James Sharpe upstairs into the flat, because the doctor did indeed have a lovely arse, and it was shown off very nicely in those formfitting dark jeans he wore. With James a few stairs ahead of him, too, the loveliness was at eye height. Also mouth height. Biteable height. Fortunately, Gabriel had excellent impulse control.
Stop, he told himself firmly. He’s not interested. He’s made that perfectly clear, even if he was lying about being straight. No straight man ever looks at another man’s mouth like that. It’s clear he doesn’t want an entanglement, and I’m not getting into another doomed relationship. It’s irrelevant that he’s smart and funny and has a killer smile and the voice of an angel and a biteable arse and beautiful arms and, god, those hands of his. I want to warm them up for him.
James smiled at him when they reached the door, and Gabriel, with that superb impulse control, simply offered him a bland smile in return.
James pushed the door open, took the suitcase through and turned again, amusement glimmering in his blue eyes. ‘Consider this a formal invitation to enter.’ James’s expression was fleetingly sad and then sardonic once more.
Gabriel stepped past James and walked to his new room. He flung the rucksack on the bed and propped the easel against the wall. He’d shop for bedding tomorrow. The sheets Baxter had left weren’t too clean, but Gabriel had slept on worse, and less. Then he’d get his art supplies from Helene’s place, and work out what else he needed.
James dropped Gabriel’s suitcase by the wall and withdrew again. ‘Tea?’
‘Ta, yeah.’
‘Right then. No milk, sorry.’
‘I’ll live.’
A melancholy smile greeted the comment. Soon after, they sat down to strong black tea. James sipped his slowly, as though every mouthful was elixir.
‘You Scottish, then?’ Gabriel asked.
‘Technically. I lived in Edinburgh with my mother and Granda until I was 15. We came to London after Granda died. Mum got a job at the London office of her insurance company. I lost most of the accent at school. How about yours?’
‘My what?’
‘Your accent. Though it’s not an accent as such, but the way you talk shifts about. Ah. Sore point?’
Gabriel poked moodily at his black tea with a spoon, even though the sugar was well dissolved. He put the spoon on the saucer with a clink. ‘Not everyone notices,’ he said.
‘It’s only sometimes. I’ve got a good ear.’
‘I’m out of practice, I suppose. I tried to get shot of the posh accent when I was at university.’ And after, when it could get him beaten up by people wondering why a posh kid was sleeping rough. Gabriel tried to be wry about it. ‘What gave me away?’
‘You mentioned Helene was your au pair. You have some grand turns of phrase, as well.’
‘And here was me thinking I was doing proper Estuary English, an’ all.’
‘Tell you what,’ said James, all seriousness, ‘I won’t tell anyone you’re secretly posh if you don’t tell anyone I’m secretly dour.’
‘Was that a secret?’
‘Aye. A right crabbit auld bastart, my Granda used to say.’ James’s mouth quirked. ‘But he used to call me a wee scunner as well.’
Gabriel didn’t know what a wee scunner was, but that nostalgic glimmer in James’s eye suggested it was fondly meant.
Talk was more businesslike after that, though James’s house rules were simple. After tea, James insisted on washing the tea things, so Gabriel retired to unpack his few belongings and choose the best place for his easel.
That done, he stood at his window and looked out across the patch of grass behind the flats; across red brick walls to tight-packed houses, ramshackle sheds, lights coming on in small windows in homes all across Plaistow and West Ham.
No ghosts here, he decided. I can be safe here. Everything’s going to be fine.
After living for the first few days on Tesco’s sandwiches – there was hardly any food in the house and Gabriel was responsible for his own groceries anyway – Gabriel did a proper shop. He returned with provisions to find James watching the news.
Gabriel stared at James sitting motionless in front of the screen, so devoid of movement and colour that Gabriel could have sworn the man was dead. Gabriel had seen dead people in his time, and he knew that nothing living was ever that still.
He’d seen other things that looked dead too, but he’d touched James when their hands had met over his suitcase. James was real, solid flesh, not a wisp of light or the product of a febrile mind. Other people had spoken to James. Baxter and Helene and the estate agent. No way was James a ghost.
Cautiously, Gabriel placed the bags on the floor, walked over and poked James in the shoulder.
James jerked away from him as though scalded.
‘Sorry,’ said Gabriel, keeping his tone level. ‘Just checking.’
‘Just checking what?’ snapped James.
‘That you’re real and still breathing.’
‘I…’
James’s expression tumbled through all kinds of reactions, none of which Gabriel had been expecting. Irritation. Horror. Distress. Shame. That last one made no sense.
