Chapter Eighteen
Tyler became aware he was being followed just before he got on the Tube. He’d caught sight of the guy three times, and if the man hadn’t been middle aged with pale skin and grey hair and a moustache, he might have panicked. It wasn’t the man who’d stabbed Jeremy, nor was it the man who’d followed him before. But that was only of marginal comfort. He stepped off the train onto the platform at the next station, messed around with his phone and then leapt back on board as the doors closed. The train pulled away and he watched the grey-haired man walk casually to the exit. Maybe I was wrong.
Instead of going straight back to Holland Park, he detoured via Oxford Street. If anyone still followed, he’d lose them in the crowds. While he was around the shops, he picked out Christmas presents for Haris, Wilson and Alcide using the fifty pounds he’d earned from the gig. By the time he’d finished, as far he could tell, no one was tailing him and he put his earlier worries down to paranoia.
He walked past a guy selling Christmas trees, and wondered if Haris would put one up. Tyler dimly remembered decorating a tree with his siblings and his mum. It had been really tall. Well, it had seemed it to him. Those had been the days of waking up on Christmas morning to a mountain of presents under the tree, a time when writing to Santa Claus brought the gifts he longed for, when cold winter evenings were spent cuddling on the couch with his brother and sister watching DVDs. None of that happened once he was in care.
He did remember the first Christmas after he’d been orphaned. He’d written his letter to Santa as usual, thinking he’d still get what he asked for. He’d bragged to the others in the home—big mistake. He’d insisted Santa was real—bigger mistake. He’d received the same as them—a selection box of chocolates, a board game and a book—and he still remembered their sniggers. It hurt thinking about it.
After that, Tyler neither asked for nor expected anything at Christmas or for his birthday. He changed, hardened up and turned awkward, and that resulted in him being hit on a regular basis, even though there were laws against it. Smacked around for his own good—yeah, right. All it did was make him certain he’d never hit a child of his own, if he ever had one. He hoped he did have a kid one day, maybe adopt a boy or girl no one else wanted and make them happy.
On his way to the house from Holland Park Tube station, Tyler passed another place selling Christmas trees. He used the last of his cash to buy the biggest, plus a set of lights, and persuaded the salesman to throw in a plastic stand. It helped that he was gay and clearly fancied him. But Tyler then had to refuse the offer of a drink and free delivery. He hoisted the tree onto his shoulder and staggered back to the house, hoping he hadn’t overstepped the mark, because Haris might have some giant, artificial tree stuffed in the loft ready to bring down on Christmas Eve.
He propped the tree just inside the door with his packages and kicked off his shoes.
“Wilson?” he called. “Alcide?”
There was no answer. Tyler took his bags upstairs, wrapped the presents and hid them in the wardrobe. Back downstairs, he carried the tree and holder into the room with the piano and set it up in front of the window. When he went to get scissors and water from the kitchen, he found a note from Wilson saying he’d taken Alcide to a dog park. Well, it was a whole page of writing but that was basically it. The guy didn’t do brief.
Tyler set the tree in the container, filled it with water and then cut away the netting. The branches fell into shape and he stood back and inhaled the scent of pine. It was a bit thin on the left side but overall it looked good. He wrapped it in lights, plugged them in and smiled when they started to twinkle. The tree was great. He hoped Haris agreed.
He turned off the main light, switched on a lamp and grabbed a pad of manuscript paper and his acoustic guitar. If the guy from Spot magazine did persuade anyone to come and see the band, they needed more material of their own. Tyler lounged on the couch and stared at the tree as he strummed.
Light up my life.
Light of my life.
Let me shine.
Haris discretely checked the caller ID on his phone and then tuned back in to what the two men in front of him were saying. He was intrigued by their idea of generating supplementary power on the underground system by utilizing the change in pressure as trains moved through tunnels and pushed air ahead of them, but he had no idea if the technology was sound.
“We could put our turbines on the top of the trains or in the tunnels,” one of them said.
Haris had already read their twenty-page business plan and he liked the prospective clients, though he remained to be convinced it was a lucrative investment. He needed independent advice on the technical aspects, but at least these two had passed the first hurdle. They listened, were focused and intelligent, and he could imagine working with them.
He wrapped up the meeting, told them what else he needed, what he was going to do and arranged to see them in the new year. Once they’d left, he returned Stan’s call.
“Sorry. I was busy. What’s up?”
“My guy lost him.”
Haris clenched his jaw.
“That’s the bad news. The good news is that he’s back in Holland Park, but for two hours we lost contact with him. Are you sure he doesn’t suspect he’s being followed?”
“What happened last night has probably made him wary.”
“You want me to keep watching?”
“Yes, but start again tomorrow. I’m going home soon and Wilson will be there anyway.” Even if he wasn’t, Tyler was safe at the house. He pushed to his feet and pulled his coat out of the closet. “Did you get anywhere with the other thing?”
“George Blunt was at a House of Commons’ banquet last night. I’ve nothing yet on Prescott. Saturday, I’ll have people watching the building. We should get a photograph of him at least.”
“Remember the police might be doing the same thing.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t step on any toes.”
As Haris ended the call, another came through from a colleague.
“Yes, Jake.”
“We have problems. I need you at Fleet Street right now.”
Haris sighed. “On my way.”
Tyler had been playing and scribbling melodies and lyrics for over an hour when the doorbell rang. He was halfway down the hall before he registered flinging open the door might not be the best plan, considering what had happened last night. He nipped back into the room he’d come from and peered out of the window from the cover of the Christmas tree. The guy that stood on the doorstep was in his fifties. He had salt-and-pepper hair, sculptured cheek bones and looked…familiar. He wore a long, dark, smart-looking coat with the collar turned up. A taxi stood at the curb behind him, its engine running.
The bell rang again and Tyler slid away from the window. Before he thought too much about it and changed his mind, he went to the front door and pulled it part open, ready to slam it in case of trouble.
“Good afternoon,” the man said. “Is Haris at home?”
“He’s at work.”
“Ah, I tried his office but they said he was out until tomorrow. I assumed…”
“You’re his father,” Tyler blurted.
The guy’s eyes widened.
Tyler opened the door fully. “Come in.”
The man waved the cab away and stepped inside. Tyler closed the door.
“I’m Kamil Abdul Al-Wadhi, and yes, Haris is my son.”
“I’m Tyler Bellamy. I’m…Haris’s friend.”
He held out his hand, Tyler shook it and they stood staring at each other.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” Tyler asked.
“I’d prefer coffee.”
“I think I can manage that. Like to take your coat off?”
Tyler hung the coat in the hall cupboard. When he turned, Haris’s father had removed his shoes. Tyler led him through to the kitchen and grabbed coffee from the freezer. This man didn’t seem like an out-of-a-jar type.
“Take a seat,” Tyler said. “Does Haris know you’re coming, Mr. Ab…Al…?” Shit.
“Call me Kamil. No. He doesn’t know.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have let him in.
“He told me you haven’t seen each other since he was seventeen.”
Kamil’s mouth twitched. “I’ve seen him. He hasn’t seen me.”
“Ah.” Haris is going to kill me.
Tyler loaded the machine with water and tipped the ground coffee into the filter paper.
“Was it you playing the guitar?”
“Could you hear me? I was just messing around.”
“One of my sons is musical. Adil plays the drums for hours. Fortunately, we have a large house. But Malik and Haris were only interested in listening to music, not playing.”
Tyler thought Kamil looked drawn and ill. His eyes were green like Haris’s but lacked sparkle and his skin was sallow.
“Milk, sugar?” Tyler asked.
“No, thank you.”
Tyler poured out two mugs and added sugar to his. “Shall we go and sit somewhere more comfortable?”
“As you wish.”
Tyler took him back to the room with the Christmas tree and they sat at opposite ends of the couch. He put his coffee on top of the pile of manuscript paper and muttered, “I’m not sure I should have let you in.”
“Why not?”
“Haris might not have wanted me to.”
“So why did you?” Kamil sipped his coffee.
“Because you’re his father and you haven’t talked to each other in a long time. You wouldn’t have come all this way if it wasn’t important. He ought to hear what you have to say.” I think.
Kamil smiled and Tyler’s heart clenched to see his lover’s smile on another man’s face.
“I hope you don’t want to hurt him,” Tyler said quietly.
“I’ve no wish to do so.”
“He’s been hurt enough.”
Kamil met Tyler’s gaze. “We have all been hurt.”
But I bet you don’t have scars on your back. “How were you hurt?”
“Haris brought shame on our family.”
A ball of anger swelled in Tyler’s gut. He opened his mouth and then thought better of it and pressed his lips together.
“Why did you think I was Haris’s father?”
“You look like him. Plus he has a photograph of you in his study.” When Tyler had been down to collect the watercolours, he noticed Haris had put it back in the same spot. A shot of smiling parents, and a teenage Haris, the tallest son, with his arms around his brothers.
“Does he?” Kamil looked surprised. “Could I see it?”
Tyler hadn’t expected Kamil to follow him and jerked away when he felt him reach to take the picture frame from his hand. Tyler collided with Haris’s desk, sending a pile of papers cascading to the floor. As he bent to scoop them up, a couple of photographs slipped from a brown envelope and as he registered what they were, he froze in horror.
For a couple of seconds he tried to convince himself he was mistaken, but he wasn’t. Tyler had guessed photos existed but he’d never seen them, never seen himself with his lips around a guy’s cock while someone took him from behind, never seen himself covered in come, never seen that look on his face. His cheeks burned.
He bent to scoop them up but Haris’s father beat him to it and picked up the envelope. Tyler tried to pull it out of his hand and it ripped, more photographs cascading to the floor together with photocopies of newspaper cuttings about his family’s murder. He crouched down and fumbled through the papers, careless now of the man watching—a police report, his father’s financial details, a list of every care home Tyler had been in and his fucking exam results. He struggled to draw air into his lungs.
“This…man is you,” Kamil muttered. “I thought…but you’re with other men…you let… What does my son want with a man like you?”
The disgust in his voice was clear. Tyler’s face flooded with heat. He was a man like that. All Haris wanted him for was four months of sex. That was the agreement. No point losing sight of that no matter how much he wanted to.
“What are these websites?” Kamil asked. “SeeHowTheyCum dot com? You do this too?” He thrust a sheet of paper in front of him.
Tyler’s shame and anger morphed to acute pain. Haris knew about the movies too?
“For money?” Kamil snapped. “Does my son pay you?”
Alcide barked and Tyler started.
I have to get out of here. A heavy weight pressed against his chest, crushing him. As he stumbled from the study to the hall, Wilson walked out of the kitchen and slammed to a halt.
“This is Haris’s father, Kamil Ab…something or other.”
“Kamil Abdul Al-Wadhi.” He held out his hand to Wilson.
Tyler’s mouth was so dry he could hardly speak. “This is Wilson, Haris’s right hand man.”
“How do you do, sir?” Wilson narrowed his eyes at Tyler.
Yeah, I wish I hadn’t let him in too.
“I apologize for arriving unannounced,” Kamil said. “I don’t want to cause any problems. I merely wished to speak to my son.”
“I have a few things to do.” Tyler ignored Wilson’s pointed cough and headed for the stairs.
Haris had known everything about his life. Tyler had finally opened his heart and Haris had already fucking known. It seemed like the worst sort of betrayal. He grabbed his bag from the closet and started to pack.
No wonder Haris hadn’t been shocked when he’d told him about the parties. Christ, the guy had probably known before he’d met him. Maybe he’d watched porn online, come across the movies Tyler had starred in and had him traced. Haris had manipulated everything. The fucking bastard. Tyler’s history was there for him to share, not for others to uncover. Oh fuck it.
He left everything Haris had bought him, anger and disappointment battling for control of his emotions. He crept downstairs and gave the piano a regretful glance before he retrieved his notes and guitar and zipped them into a soft case. He had no choice about taking the coat Haris had bought him. He no longer had another. Tyler shoved his feet into his boots, pulled on his hat and walked out.
A moment later, he dropped the key through the letter box.
By the time Haris arrived home, the snow was falling in fat flakes. He’d thought about asking Wilson to collect him, but he knew he didn’t like driving in the snow, or in heavy rain, or in the dark or when it was frosty. In fact, he wasn’t sure Wilson even liked driving. When he exited the taxi and spotted the lit Christmas tree in the window, Haris did a double take and assumed it was the wrong house, but no. It had to be Tyler’s doing. He smiled and took out his key.
As he locked the door on the inside, Wilson burst out of the kitchen and rushed into the hall. “Sir!”
“What—?” Haris’s coat slipped from his fingers when he spotted his father standing behind Wilson. Shock surged through his body, chilling him as effectively as a fall into an icy lake.
“Salam alaykum,” said his father. Peace be upon you.
“Wa-alaykum as-salam,” Haris automatically replied. And upon you be peace.
His father moved forward and held out his hand. Haris hesitated and then stepped to take it. He sensed his father on the point of embracing him and moved away before he could. What’s this about?
“Sir,” Wilson said. “I need—”
“That will be all,” Haris said.
“But—”
“Not now.”
“I—”
“Not now,” Haris snapped.
Wilson sighed dramatically but left. Haris gestured toward the drawing room. “I assume you have something important to tell me.”
“Yes.”
Haris kicked off his shoes then picked up his coat and hung it up before he followed his father into the room.
“Please sit,” Haris said and waited for his father to take a seat before he did. His heart pounded so hard in his chest he struggled to breathe. Not my brother. Don’t let anything have happened to Adil.
His father sat with his hands in his lap and stared at him. “You look well.”
Haris didn’t reply.
“I, however, am not. I’m informed by my doctors that I’m unlikely to live more than another six months.”
It took a moment for what his father had said to sink in. You don’t see me for all these years and expect me to be devastated by your news? Except, he was shocked.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“At least it gives me time to put my affairs in order.”
Haris doubted his father had come to terms with his eldest son’s sexuality so he wondered how much order the guy expected to achieve by contacting him after all this time.
“After paying debts and funeral expenses, the estate will be split equally between my three sons in accordance with Sharia.”
“I don’t—” Haris started to speak and his father held up his hand.
“This is what will happen.”
Haris neither needed nor wanted his father’s money.
“But…” his father said.
This is why he’s come. Haris waited. Was he going to ask him to give the money back to his brothers? Adil could have it, but not Malik.
“Malik doesn’t wish you to have anything. And his vehement insistence upon that has made me wonder why.”
The bastard. Haris chewed the inside of his cheeks. Sharia was quite clear. Unless Haris murdered his father, he inherited. Period. But Malik had a bloody nerve considering what… He swallowed hard. Adil, his youngest brother, had only been eleven when Haris left Saudi for the last time. He was the one he most regretted leaving behind. But he had no choice. If he’d stayed, he’d have been imprisoned for years. He might not have survived.
There was a knock on the door and Wilson walked in. “I’m sorry, sir, but I really must insist on speaking to you.”
“Excuse me,” Haris said to his father and bundled Wilson out into the hall. “What is it?”
“Look on the floor of your study.”
“I don’t have time for games. What’s on the floor and why on earth did you let him in?”
“I didn’t. Tyler did.”
Haris pushed open the door of his study. “Where is—? Oh Christ.” He picked up one of the photos.
“Tyler’s gone,” Wilson said.
Haris spun to look at him and saw his father in the doorway behind. “Gone where?” he asked. He let the photo fall onto his desk.
“He put his key through the letter box,” Wilson said. “He’s taken his clothes and guitar.”
Haris clenched his fists.
His father cleared his throat. “The young man was reaching for the photograph of the four of us to show me and I surprised him. He knocked a pile of papers from your desk and those fell from an envelope.”
When his father moved to pick up one of the items, Haris blocked him. “Don’t touch anything.”
“I’ve seen enough to know he’s a whore.”
Haris glared. “You know nothing about Tyler. Don’t you dare judge him.” He turned to Wilson. “How long has he been gone?”
“About thirty minutes.”
Haris pulled out his mobile. Tyler’s number went straight to voicemail. “Tyler. Come back. I can explain. Please.” He sucked in a breath. “If you don’t want to come back, at least call and let me know you’re okay.”
“Is there anything I can do, sir?” Wilson asked.
Haris shook his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen. Thank you for persisting.”
Wilson nodded and left the room. Haris was so furious with his father that he could barely keep from yelling at him. Yet he knew it wasn’t his fault. The envelope shouldn’t have been left there. Why hadn’t he destroyed it? He tried to think where Tyler might go.
“There are plenty of decent men out there. Discreet men,” his father said. “Why would you want anyone who does that?” He gestured toward the photographs.
“Tyler’s a good, kind guy. He’s had a lot to deal with in his life.”
“So have you.”
“Not like Tyler.”
“Was he whipped? Separated from his family? Does he have scars on his back?” his father snapped.
“His scars are inside.”
“That doesn’t compare. You—”
“When Tyler was seven, his brother, sister and mother were brutally killed by his father. Think that scarred him?”
“Haris. I’m—”
“Tyler would have died too, but his father couldn’t find him. Tyler lay under his mother’s blood-soaked body for hours before the police discovered him. He had no other family and went into care, passed around from place to place. For the rest of his childhood, he never had a home, was never loved.”
Haris felt bad that he took pleasure in the shock on his father’s face. “Why would his father do such a thing?”
“Shame. Something you have in common with him. But his shame was over money. He was heavily in debt. Maybe he was trying to spare his family the disgrace of losing the lifestyle they’d grown accustomed to, or maybe it was his final act of defiance, the destruction of the last things he felt belonged to him. He shot himself and left Tyler on his own. Tyler might not have died that day, but what his father did badly damaged him. He’s afraid of owing money and that fear pushed him into doing things he shouldn’t have had to. Maybe I should be grateful your offended sense of honour about my sexuality only resulted in you excising me from the family. Or maybe you wished I’d died.”
“Never.” His father shot the answer back and then sighed. “I just wish you’d been…more careful.”
Haris gave a short laugh. “Careful? I was seventeen years old and different in a country where you’re not allowed to be different. I felt I didn’t belong and then a man smiled at me over a coffee and I smiled back. It was that simple and I was being careful. We left the café separately. We entered the hotel separately. We booked two rooms on different floors. How do you think the police knew we were together?”
“They followed you from the café.”
Haris suddenly wanted to hurt him. If his father hadn’t come, Tyler would still be there. “No, the police didn’t follow me.”
“What do you mean?”
And just as quickly, Haris couldn’t do it and he lied. “They followed Rashid.”
His father backed to a chair and sat heavily. “I did everything I could to save you.”
Haris believed him. But whatever he did wouldn’t have been enough.
His father looked up at him. “It broke your mother’s heart. And mine too.”
Haris struggled under his own burden of guilt and shame. All this because a horny seventeen-year-old couldn’t keep his cock under control. But he’d paid in full. He didn’t want it raking up again.
“The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you,” Haris murmured. “I can’t help the way I am.”
“What you are is irrelevant. I’ve grown to understand it’s not something you can help. You are what you are. My eldest son and a successful businessman. I’ve taken pleasure in following your progress. Your mother would have been as proud of you as I am. I wish I could have done something all those years ago. But what?”
Haris knew his father had done as much as he could, but to not keep in touch…
“The only thing I could do was arrange for you to leave Saudi. If you’d stayed, it would have…”
Ruined his business? Wrecked his father’s life and that of his brothers? Haris knew that could easily have happened. Would his mother have still died? Would their lives have been destroyed anyway?
“It would have made the lives of your brothers impossible,” his father said. “At times, it was difficult for them anyway.”
“No visit, no telephone call, no emails?”
“I thought it was better that we severed contact. Better for all of us. Adil was desperate to see you. Malik wanted to pretend you didn’t exist. And after your mother died, a light went out in our lives.”
Haris swallowed hard.
“Did you blame yourself for her accident?” his father asked. “I expect you do. As I blame myself. Was she not concentrating? Was it just a simple mistake? Or did she walk out into traffic deliberately? We won’t know until we meet again in the next life.”
Haris wouldn’t be there. He didn’t want to be there. Not even to see his mother.
His father gave a heavy sigh. “I was angry with you. I felt you’d let me down.”
“I could echo those words back to you.”
A slight nod was his answer. “I don’t want to die without us being reconciled. I want you to have your share of my money.”
Didn’t he get it? This wasn’t about money. “I don’t want it.”
“There is no choice here, Haris. The money will be left to you.”
“I’ll give it to Adil.”
“Not Malik?” His father’s eyes narrowed.
“No.”
“And make more trouble?”
Haris sank his teeth into his cheeks.
“What is there between you two?” his father asked. “Something more…”
Don’t tell him.
His father coughed. “Malik is in London.”
Haris straightened. “Malik’s here?”
“He flew from Saudi a few weeks ago. He told me he was going via London to America. Adil discovered he’d not travelled on from here and I wondered if he’d come to see you, to tell you about me.”
Had it been Malik who’d followed him these past weeks? “I’ve not seen him.”
“I suspected not.” His father gave a heavy sigh. “Adil told me something else too. Malik has been in touch with Rashid Al-Dakhil after he was released from prison.”
Haris swallowed hard.
“I can’t understand why Malik would want to associate with the man you were…caught with.”
Haris could.