on those. Eddie would think he had taken the stuff to sell. But even as he shoved the computer into his leather backpack, the thought of Eddie waking up and seeing his laptop gone, believing him to be a common thief was untenable. He was such a lovely man, Fox wanted Eddie to think well of him. In the same instant a picture of what his father would do to him and the twins if he returned without it bloomed in his mind’s eye as he headed for the door.
Without knowing why, he crept back to the bedroom door to take one last look at Eddie. Naked, his lean body lay sprawled across the bed on his side; Eddie was really long and thin, almost as bony as Fox. And he was right; his nose was long and narrow, hawk-like, but it suited him.
Sorry, Eddie.
Quiet even in big boots, Fox made his way across the wood floor and left quickly. The house was silent. He went carefully down the staircase and let himself out into the pitch-black street. In the distance Big Ben chimed five o’clock.
I can’t go home yet. I hate being there. The twins will still be asleep, so they’ll be safe.
Fox walked away from the oasis of Eddie’s little flat, wondering how he could finish college, take care of the twins, keep a roof over their heads, and keep them all fed. There were two choices. Spend the next couple of years in constant fear of the next beating, worrying that the twins were being hurt, watching his mother drink herself into a coma, or kill the fucking bastard who was the cause of all their troubles.
* * * *
Outside St. Pancras Station a mobile tea wagon gave free tea and sandwiches to homeless people. There was always a lineup. Fox joined the end behind an elderly woman who smelled worse than the alley off Tisbury Court. When he got to the front, he looked up at the curly-haired man in the black shirt and white dog collar. “Can I have a cup of tea, no milk?”
The man handed him a mug of strong tea. “Spam or cheese sarnie”
“I don’t want a sandwich, thanks. Anyway, I’m a vegan.”
“A what?” The man looked dumbfounded. “You’re too thin. You should eat something.”
“The tea is great. Thanks.” Fox walked away and sat on a bench to drink from the heavy, chipped mug. “That’s builder’s tea, that is,” his mum always said when the tea was too strong and she was still sober enough to notice. There was a time when she had made him laugh, when she had tucked him into bed at night and kissed him and made nice meals. Now she spent her days like Fox and the twins, trying to avoid William Baillie’s fists.
“Are you homeless?”
Fox looked up from the depths of the mug as the man sat beside him on the bench. “I’m not Catholic.”
“Neither am I. I’m an Anglican.” The vicar’s brown eyes were really kind, reminding Fox for a minute of Eddie, but the man was much heavier built than Eddie, and older, probably midthirties. “Church of England, not Rome. Are you homeless, because to be honest, you don’t look it. You’re too clean.”
Had Eddie thought that too? “I suppose you see homeless people all the time.”
“Yes. And I’ve seen you around Tisbury Court a few times just lately. Prostitution is never the answer. There is always a way out of your problems.”
“I was just trying to decide what it is.” Kill William Baillie or kill William Baillie.
“Do you have an answer yet? I can pray with you if you’d like.”
Fox met his gaze. “Are you, you know, sworn to secrecy like a Catholic priest?”
“Yes. I can hear a confession, and it is sacrosanct.”
“Good. Well, here it is. My confession. I’m going to kill my dad.”
Horror registered in the vicar’s eyes as his mouth dropped open. “What? You can’t do that.”
“I’ve got no choice, mate. It’s him or us.” Fox handed him the empty mug and walked away.
* * * *
At the front door Fox removed his boots. A quick look in the living room told him his mum was already in bed, either chased upstairs by his father or