His Horizon - Con Riley Page 0,74

he located the kitchen, the sound of a kettle filling drifting to where Jude now stood in a stranger’s hallway.

Only it wasn’t a stranger who said, “You do look just like him,” almost breathless. This was the same man Jude had scrutinised so closely just as often as he could manage, whenever his dad wasn’t around to notice. The same dimple Jude had seen in every photo deepened as Trevor smiled, laugh lines—like he’d imagined Rob wearing earlier—ploughed deep furrows when Trevor repeated, “Just like Simon. It’s uncanny. Same height, same build, same hair—” his hand rose to Jude’s face before dropping. “Even the same jawline. You’re his spitting image.”

“Everybody says that.”

“You sound like him as well.” He shook his head again and said, “Of course you do.” He drew in a deep breath, his hand extended. They shook as he said, “I’m Trevor Mirren, but I think you know that. And you have to be Jude Anstey. Come in. Come in, properly.” He opened the door to a living room, cosy and cluttered with framed photos along with so many objects Jude recognised from his own travels. “Please sit.”

Jude did just to rise to his feet again. Trevor was suddenly anguished, his “Oh!” as stricken as the sudden shift in his expression. “You’ve come because something happened,” he stated as Jude grasped his elbow, steadying him as Trevor deflated, saying, “That’s why Simon’s postcards stopped coming,” as if he’d solved a puzzle.

It was strange to brace a man he’d only ever imagined meeting. Rob carried in a tray of tea things, set it down, and took over. “Oh, no. Come here,” he said, offering easy embrace that Trevor accepted. “They’re only missing,” Rob said, like he didn’t know just as well as Jude that holding out hope had to be pointless by now, a charade Jude had played out for months while Lou had been much more pragmatic. Rob acting like he still had faith squeezed Jude’s heart. Him saying, “Jude’s going to keep searching for them,” as if he was sure he’d be successful, constricted it even tighter. Rob settled Trevor onto a couch and then crouched next to a side table crowded with framed photos. He touched one and offered his condolence. “I’m sorry for your loss, by the way.” He nodded at Jude. “We saw the obituary online.”

“That was how Simon got back in touch too.” Trevor acknowledged. “And thank you…?”

“It’s Rob. Rob Martin.” He poured tea, doing so much better than Jude at being a functioning human. Jude was glad then to have him with him, and to be already sitting—the wave of gratitude that hit would have knocked him off his feet if he’d still been standing. Rob nodded in Jude’s direction. “His business partner, along with his sister Louise, at their pub the Anchor.”

“He’s my boyfriend,” Jude said aloud for the first time.

“That too.” Rob’s smile was perfect. “For my sins.” He rolled his eyes at Trevor. “I must have been awful in a past life.”

Jude let the words lap around him, the two men interacting easily, just as inquisitive as each other. He sipped milkless tea that tasted perfect and wondered how the hell he’d ended up here, sitting next to a man he didn’t know firsthand, yet who’d played such a huge part in his make-up. It was overwhelming. Almost as overwhelming as when he’d first had to come to terms with being gay, with nothing but his dad’s silence whenever Trevor was mentioned to confirm that was a problem. His head throbbed, headache brewing as he asked, perhaps brusquely, “You said Dad sent you some postcards?”

Trevor didn’t seem offended. Instead, he patted Jude’s knee. “A man of few words, like your dad, I see.” It only took moments for Rob to go where Trevor directed, opening a drawer and returning with a clutch of colourful cards showing the progress of a journey that Jude had later followed—Pyramids and camels came first followed by temples and huge Buddhas—he’d stopped too in all those places. Jude rubbed at his forehead, skull feeling far too small to contain all his questions. Where to start wasn’t an issue. Rob spoke up for him.

“How did he know where to send them?”

“Simon? He added his email address to the end of the message he left online. I replied—just a quick thank you along with my address so we could meet up when I was feeling brighter. I wasn’t in the best place right then to rehash