—robert louis stevenson, “The Family”
Kit walked aimlessly for hours, only vaguely aware of his surroundings, his mind playing and replaying the events of the morning. He had been finishing a last-minute piece of toast before school when the phone rang. Wesley had already left with Toby, and he’d assumed it was Wes calling from his mobile phone with a last-minute instruction.
When he’d heard Ian’s voice on the other end of the line he’d whooped with surprise.
“Dad! What are you doing ringing this time of morning? It must be the middle of the night in Canada.” He felt awkward now saying Dad, but what else could he call the man he’d thought of as his father for almost twelve years?
Absently, he tossed the dogs their ball and watched them scramble after it.
“It’s almost two,” said Ian, “a bit late for an old man
like me, I’ll admit.” Kit thought he sounded slightly tipsy.
“But I wanted to catch you before you left for school.”
Kit felt a little clutch of fear, and the last bit of his toast seemed to stick on the way down. “Why? Is something wrong? You know about the letter?”
“Yes, but that’s not why I called, Kit. And nothing’s wrong. In fact, I’ve got some rather good news to share with you. I wanted you to be the first to know.”
Kit’s heart leaped. “You’re coming home? Back to Cambridge?”
“Um, no.” Ian sounded suddenly hesitant. “It looks like I’ll be staying in Toronto permanently. There are two things I had to tell you, actually, Kit. The house in Grantchester finally sold.”
Kit’s throat tightened. It was all he could do to speak.
“That’s . . . good. That’s . . . that’s what you wanted.”
“I know the idea’s going to be a little bit of an adjust-ment for you, but it had to be done. You do understand that, don’t you, Kit?”
“Yeah, of course I do,” Kit said, trying very hard to sound as if he did. The dogs had come back to him, panting, Tess the proud possessor of the ball, but he ignored them.
“I’ve got to make a new life. We both do.” Ian paused again, clearing his throat. “That’s the other thing I was going to tell you. That’s why I was up so late. I’ve been at a party, celebrating my engagement.”
“Engagement?” Kit said blankly. In the moment’s silence, he heard the tick of the kitchen clock, and as he gazed at Gemma’s black and red teapot, the colors swam before his eyes.
“She’s a wonderful girl, Kit. I know you’ll like her.
Melinda—her name’s Melinda—is really looking forward to meeting you. Of course, she is a bit young for me.” Ian gave a chuckle. “But who am I to complain?”
“You’re getting married?”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you.” Ian’s patience sounded forced. “The first of July. Just a small ceremony—”
“How can you be getting married?” Kit shouted, taking it in at last. “Mum’s only been dead a year—”
“Kit! That’s enough,” snapped Ian. “Look,” he went on more gently, “I understand this is a shock, but you know your mother and I hadn’t been on good terms for a while before she . . . died. It’s time for me to move on, concentrate on the living. And this means you’ll have a new home, in Canada, when you come to visit.”
“I don’t want—”
“That’s the other thing, Kit. I know we’d talked about your coming at the end of June, when your term finishes, but Melinda and I will be on our honeymoon. I’m sure we can work something out later in the sum—”
Kit didn’t hear the rest of Ian’s plan because he had, for the first time in his life, hung up on an adult in the middle of a conversation. When the phone rang again, he was walking out the door. It was only after he turned the corner that the insistent burring faded away.
His feet had carried him along the familiar route to school of their own accord, but when he reached the gate he saw that the schoolyard was empty. The bell had rung, and it suddenly seemed to Kit as if walking into an already seated class and explaining his tardiness was a feat as far beyond him as walking on the moon.
He had turned round and gone the other way, back through the quiet streets until he’d reached Notting Hill Gate, and then into Bayswater Road. At some point, he’d taken off his school blazer and stuffed it into his back-pack, for it was warm, and he was aware of the stare of the occasional passerby wondering what a boy his age was doing out of school on a Monday morning.
He kept thinking of some other family living in the cottage in Grantchester, but even though he’d stayed there again with Ian for a few months before moving to London, he couldn’t get a picture in his head that didn’t include his mother.
For an instant, when he’d thought Ian might be coming back, he’d imagined living there again. Not that he wanted to leave Duncan and Gemma and Toby—not at all—but he missed his old school and his friends, especially Colin. He had belonged, and that belonging had been part of him, as were his memories of his life before his mum had died.
Now it seemed Ian meant to take even that away from him. Kit didn’t want another family; he couldn’t bear to see Ian with another woman, a replacement for his mother. Was that why Ian had suggested the paternity test? Did he intend to put the past behind him, so that he could start his new life—his new family—unencumbered by the child he had never thought of as his own?
Kit went on, putting one foot in front of the other automatically, and it was only when he looked up and saw Marble Arch that he realized he’d walked the whole length of Hyde Park. Turning, he looked back at the park, and the sight of the people walking their dogs made him think of Tess with a pang.
But Tess would be all right, he assured himself. Wes would take care of her. He missed her, and Geordie, Gemma’s cocker spaniel, but he could not face going back to the Notting Hill house. He couldn’t sit calmly at the kitchen table and tell Wesley that his dad was getting married again. And what would he say when Duncan called, or Gemma? Even if he didn’t tell them about Ian, he would have to explain why he had missed school, and what sort of excuse could he possibly invent?
A number seventy-three bus barreled by, turning the corner into Oxford Street, on its way to Euston and King’s Cross Station.
King’s Cross. Fumbling in his pocket, Kit pulled out the spending money Duncan had given him for the week and counted it. There was enough—at least for a single ticket, and just now he didn’t care about the return. He wanted only to be someplace familiar, someplace that felt right, someplace where he could think things through.
He set off after the bus at a run.
“It’s our son,” Kincaid explained to Ross. “He seems to have taken advantage of our absence to play truant from school,” he added, trying to make light of it.
“How old is the lad?” Ross asked.
“Twelve.”
“Och, I don’t envy ye, then,” Ross said sympatheti-cally. “It’s a difficult age. Weel, I’ll leave ye to get on with it. I’m sure you’ll turn him up—or he’ll come home of his own accord when he gets hungry.” He got into the car, but as his sergeant began to reverse, he called out to them. “I didna realize the two of you were married. It’s verra confusing these days, what with the women having different names.”
“Of all the—” began Gemma as Ross drove off, then she shook her head. “Never mind. Tell me exactly what Wesley said.”
“He started to get worried when Kit didn’t come home at the usual time. After an hour, he rang one of Kit’s mates at school, the boy he’d been partnering on his science project—his name’s Sean, I think.” He should know this, Kincaid told himself furiously. It was his business to know these things. He forced himself to go on. “Sean told Wes that Kit wasn’t in school today at all.”