Stuff (The Bristol Collection) (25 page)

One way to find out, though.

“Let’s go,” he announced, jingling the big ring of keys.

Mas’s reaction to the jackalope was everything Perry could have hoped for. He practically squealed when Perry pulled the cover off the case. “Oh my God! This is so amazing. How come you never had this down in the shop? It’s like a museum piece or something. Bet you could charge a bloody fortune for it.”

“It’s not for sale.” That came out sounding sharper than he’d intended, and Mas shot him a wary look.

“How come?”

“It just isn’t.”

“Okay… Any reason why we couldn’t have it downstairs as a talking point, though? It deserves to be seen.”

“I suppose not.”

Mas peered around the room. “What about the others? Can I sell them?”

“I suppose so.”

“You sound reluctant. Not being funny or anything, but why the hell d’you buy them if you didn’t want to sell them on? I mean, I could understand if you had them in your home on display or something, but they’re just mouldering away in the dark here.”

“They’re not mouldering. I come to see them sometimes. Besides, it needs to stay dark. They’d fade in the sunshine.”

“Yeah, I s’pose. Still, just seems a bit like what Jasper used to be like. You sure you’re not a hoarder?”

“I only keep things I have a use for.”

“I’m struggling to see what you could use a stuffed squirrel for.”

“You wouldn’t understand. It’s art.” And sentimental, useless emotional attachment.

“Right. Of course. And I’m just an uneducated commoner.”

“Mas, I didn’t mean it like that.” But Mas was already stomping down the aisle of old crates and cabinets of curiosities. He stopped by the door to the front room, and Perry’s heart leapt up into his throat.

“And what’s in here, then? More stuff I wouldn’t understand, I suppose?”

“No, it’s just…”
Please don’t go in there.
Perry’s heart was blocking his larynx, making it impossible to speak. He could shake his head, and he was reasonably sure Mas wouldn’t persist. But then again, no doubt he’d never hear the end of the questions.

“What? Is this the secret room where you keep all your skeletons?” Mas’s hand rested lightly on the doorknob.

“Nothing like that. Well, kind of like that.” What the hell. He couldn’t have made any more of a hash of things. Now Mas really would think he was some kind of serial killer if he didn’t let him in there. “Why don’t you have a look?”

“You sure it’s okay?” Now the challenge had melted from Mas’s voice, replaced by something that sounded like trepidation.

Was it okay? Maybe it was better to just get it all out in the open. He didn’t have to admit what any of it was, after all.

He nodded.

“All right, then. But if it really is a heap of dead bodies, I’m warning you, they’ll hear me screaming all the way over in fucking Bath.” Mas opened the door and stepped into the room.

“Oh. My. God.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Mas wasn’t entirely sure what he’d been expecting. Not really a heap of dead bodies. He’d just been trying to wind Perry up in return for the barb about him not appreciating art. He’d thought it was more likely to be something really embarrassing, like a bunch of One Direction life-size cardboard cutouts, or whatever the equivalent boy band had been when Perry was younger.

He certainly hadn’t been expecting a full-blown nursery.

The room was bare compared to all the others he’d been into, but for once the shutters were open so the watery north light showed up every detail. There was very little furniture. Down one end of the room sat an old leather armchair and an ornate wooden cot, complete with fabric canopy. At the other, a child’s low bed with a patchwork quilt in blues and reds. The floor in between was covered with a few faded rugs and a bunch of old toys, like a train set and a rocking horse. But of course, like everything in Perry’s place, it was like the set of a period drama set in a posh country house. There couldn’t have been anything in here that was manufactured after about the fifties.

Mas turned round and round, trying to make sense of it all. The room had the feeling of a shrine, but what to?

“What is all this stuff? Have you got a kid or something?”

Perry’s face wasn’t giving anything much away, but he shook his head.

Oh God, he was being an idiot. Of course Perry didn’t have a kid. This room hadn’t been used in years. There were enough dust bunnies roaming the floor to feed a pack of ravenous dust wolves. Whoever had once lived here, they clearly didn’t anymore. Everything clicked into place, including Perry’s sadness and isolation. He must have had a family, and lost them.

Mas’s heart broke into pieces. “Perry, I’m so sorry. What happened to them?”

Perry frowned. “Them?”

“Your family.” Mas moved over to Perry, who seemed to have frozen to the spot, his gaze fixed at a spot on the floor in front of him. He was breathing heavily, like a man on the verge of tears. He laid a hand on Perry’s arm, ready to offer whatever comfort he could, but instead of breaking down like Mas was prepared for, Perry looked up with icy eyes.

“My family are a bunch of heartless bastards, and I’m much better off without them.” His voice dripped with venom.

Mas recoiled. “How could you say that about your child? I can understand about your wife, maybe, but not a kid. They’re innocent. Even the really naughty ones.” He knew, having been one himself.

“A child? A wife? What are you talking about?”

Now Mas was really confused. “The ones who lived here with you? Who the hell was this room for, then?”

“You thought it was for…” Perry began to laugh, but the sound grated harshly. “Oh no. If I’d had a wife and child like Father and Mother wanted me to, then everything would be just tickety-boo. But I’m not playing that game. I can’t pretend to be somebody I’m not. Used to think it was just that I wasn’t the marrying type. Couldn’t form an emotional attachment to anyone. But now I’m thinking maybe it’s just I was trying with the wrong gender. Maybe if I’d found someone like you years ago, it would all of been different. Not that they’d ever accept me marrying a man, of course. Not after the way they treated Aunt Betty.”

Mas could hardly breathe. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Was he finally going to get a proposal that wasn’t just to do with sex? Did Perry actually feel the same way about him?

“I’m saying this is my stuff. My childhood. Everything in this whole building is what I’ve inherited from the only member of my family I ever gave a damn about. My aunt.” Perry now really did look dangerously close to tears, and despite his disappointment at not getting a proposal, Mas knew when a hug was in order.

“Come on you. Let’s go upstairs and have a cuppa. You can tell me all about her.” Upstairs where it was bright and cheery, and the air didn’t smell of mothballs. “I’m betting she was quite a character. Am I right or am I right?”

Perry snuffle-laughed, which was a much more pleasant sound than the bitter laughter of a few minutes before. “There you go,” Mas soothed. “Come on, let’s get ourselves a nice cuppa or two. I’m bloody parched, I am. Think we’ve still got some custard creams too.”

Ten minutes later, they were both huddled up in the hammock chair with cups of tea cradled in their hands and the open packet of biscuits nestled between them. It had been a bugger getting in there without slopping anything, but Perry had insisted Mas join him, saying it was definitely strong enough for the two of them, as neither of them weighed all that much. Perry had one of his legs dangling out of the hammock, the other folded up, and Mas had somehow found space facing him, his own legs either side of Perry. “We’re like a couple of cats in here, all sprawled all over each other.”

Perry gave a faint smile, but at least it was genuine. “I don’t think cats drink tea.”

“I used to have one that did. Mr. Pickles, he was called. Loved the stuff, but only if we made it with full-fat milk. Turned his nose up at skimmed.”

“Aunt Betty had cats too. She let them have the run of the house. Some of them were pedigree, but she had moggies too. She wasn’t fussed about keeping up appearances.”

Mas studied Perry over the top of his cup. He looked awkward, like he wasn’t used to talking to anyone about this stuff. “She had a big house, did she? I’m guessing it must have been if everything in this building is from her place.”

“It was huge, but it seemed pretty cosy compared to my parent’s ancestral pile.” Perry snort-laughed. “I suppose I’ll just have to admit it. I’m one of those lazy old aristocrats you hate so much.”

“Hate? What gave you that idea?”

Perry looked uncertain. “Just things you’ve said. You know, just earlier when we were discussing sandwiches…”

“Oh come on. You don’t take anything I say seriously, do you? I’m a gobshite. Stuff just pours out of my mouth, and ninety-nine percent of it is utter rubbish. You shouldn’t pay too much attention to any of it. No one else does.”

“But I want to pay attention to you.”

“Can’t actually imagine why.” Most men were more interested in shutting him up.

“Because you’re smart, and you’re funny, and you make me smile.”

“Oh.” Warm fuzzies wrapped themselves around Mas’s heart. “I love you too.”

Perry’s eyes widened.

Bugger.

“See, just like I said. Ninety-nine percent crap. Just take everything with an extremely large pinch of salt—more like a barrelful, probably—and you’ll be fine.”

Perry’s mouth opened and closed a few times. Here it came. The old brush-off. The
it isn’t you, it’s me
line Mas had heard so many times before. He steeled himself.

“My father’s a baronet. Luckily my elder brother is next in line for that title. I’m just a spare son.”

Okay, not what he’d expected. “So, a baronet… What’s that when it’s at home? Sounds like something you’d buy in Homebase. Maybe something to do with curtain fixings or plumbing.”

Perry snorted another laugh, and this time the mirth sounded genuine. “That’s just perfect. You should tell him that when you meet him.”

“You want me to meet him?”

Perry twisted awkwardly and scrabbled around like he needed to scratch his bum. Tea slopped over Mas’s leg. “Gosh, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’ll survive. It’s not that hot. Here, let me help.” Mas held both mugs while Perry ransacked his jacket pockets.

“Ah, here it is. My sister’s wedding. I’m going to have to go, and I’d love it if you came with me.”

Oh shit. Mas stared at the posh piece of card and handed Perry back his tea. There was no way he was going to risk embarrassing Perry around people like that. He knew his place, and it wasn’t hobnobbing with the landed gentry. “Cheers. Appreciate the thought n’ all, but meeting the family isn’t really my bag. Don’t do all that cosy domestic stuff.”

“Oh. Well, there’s nothing particularly cosy or domestic about my family, I can assure you. They’re more like a nest of vipers.”

“You’re not exactly selling them to me, you know? And why d’you want to go anyway if you can’t stand them?”

“You want the long version or the short version?”

“I’ll go for the long, if it means getting to hear more of you. You know you sound extra posh when you’re talking about your folks.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“Yep. Turns out I have a bit of a kink for plummy vowels. Especially when you talk dirty.” Mas rubbed Perry’s inner thigh, but not with any real intent. He genuinely did want to find out more about Perry’s mysterious past, even if it did confirm that Mas would be totally out of place at that wedding. But that didn’t matter, did it? People moved on. Moved away. You didn’t have to have anything to do with your family if you didn’t want to, and if they were a bunch of arseholes? Yep, best avoided.

“Okay, well, I suppose if you want the long version, it starts before I was born…”

Mas settled back into the gently swinging hammock and made himself comfy. This sounded like it really was going to be a long ride.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Father was an only child, and he nearly died of pneumonia when he was a baby. I think that’s why he was so single-minded about carrying on the family line. He’d been spoilt rotten by his parents, and they were obsessed with keeping him safe so the line didn’t die out and the title go to one of their nephews.”

“What title does a baronet have? I mean, would I have to call him Lord Cavendish-Fiennes or what?”

“No, he’s just Sir Nigel, but the correct term to address my mother by is Lady Cavendish-Fiennes, and you’d better not get it wrong if you want to get in her good books.”

Mas raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like something off the telly. You know. A posh soap opera or one of those crazy old dramas. Or maybe if Jeremy Kyle could get the overprivileged on his show.”

“There was something Dickensian about the whole setup, I agree. Especially my childhood. I grew up in this huge old house full of antiques and draughts, with servants to do everything for me except love me. Don’t get me wrong, my nanny was lovely, but she died when I was five, so I got sent to live with Aunt Betty. Mother couldn’t be bothered with raising me. I was just a nuisance to her. I was always getting ill. Coughs, colds, fevers. Permanent runny nose. I’m not surprised she’d had enough.”