Gods and Beasts by Denise Mina

Author:Denise Mina [Mina, Denise]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780316215237
Published: 2013-02-26T06:00:00+00:00

14

Martin had run for a full hour and a half. He had run through the burn in his legs; he had run past the rain and through the cold into a warm and safe rhythm. Rosie had been a really genuine connection, a genuine human connection, and the smell of her cigarette smoke lingered in his nose for the longest time, fading into memory as the wind and rain washed it from his skin. He felt refreshed, replenished, human.

He didn’t take the time for a cool-down walk, afraid his calves would seize up, but felt another burst of energy as he approached the incline towards his front door and went with it, enjoying it, conscious of his lack of self-care but not frightened by it.

It was in the midst of this conflict that he saw his mom standing in the window of the house, smiling hopefully, smoothing her hair as if he was her date and she had been there, waiting for him to come and approve of her.

Martin stalled at the sight, his throat tightening with dread.

The front door was opened by Philippe, a man who embodied the dignity they themselves should have had, as if he was trying to lead by example. Philippe stood waiting, keeping his eyes down but a smile twitching on his cheeks.

“Philippe,” said Martin, a sudden greasy sweat engulfing his body.

“Mr. Martin.”

Martin stepped over the threshold and his mother ran out into the hall.

“Oh, honey.” She was drawling slightly, not Xanax, something else. “Honey, honey.” She hurried up to him, cupped his face in both her hands. “You look terrible. What happened to you?”

Martin wrestled himself away from her and saw his dads standing in the kitchen.

“Marty.” Stepdad was drinking again. He wasn’t drunk now but he had that bitter air about him, the sort that preceded a vicious fight.

“Son.” His dad kind of smiled, secretly pleased to see him, but hiding it because he ought to look solemn.

They always traveled with a million suitcases but they weren’t in the hall. They must have put them in bedrooms already. They weren’t supposed to have a key to this house.

“Where’s the luggage?” said Martin, drying his face with the hem of his T-shirt.

It was too much for her, his mom began to cry. “We know, honey, you don’t want us turning up all the time, so we booked into a hotel.”

“Really?”

“Hon, really. You see? We’re trying to do it your way.”

Hooking arms with him she pulled him along towards the kitchen. “Let’s have a little breakfast together.”

They walked down the hall, past the breakfast room, down through the second dining room to the back kitchen. It looked out on a small courtyard and the servants’ quarters at the back: a mews cottage with small windows. It was not a nice view, not the Pacific or the Rockies.

His stepmom was sitting at the table. Even in the draining blue light of a Scottish winter she looked beautiful. She was the youngest of them, barely eight years older than Martin, Greek-Australian.

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