The Bones of Summer by Anne Brooke Read Free Book Online

nice,” Paul said. “Is this your old home?”
    “No,” Craig said, realizing from the question how little he'd explained on the journey down and wondering why Paul hadn't asked. “This is my neighbor. My old neighbor, I mean. Andrea Trowbridge. She was the one who sent me the letter.”
    By the time he'd got out of the car into the afternoon sunshine, they'd already been spotted.
    A short, slight, gray-haired woman dressed in green appeared at the cottage door and gave a cry of what he took to be joy. She ran the four or five paces over the gravel and enveloped Craig in her arms. He could smell lemon and cooking on her skin.
    “Daniel!” she exclaimed. “It's lovely to see you again.”
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    Chapter Five
    Damn. Of course, his old name. Paul wouldn't know that he'd changed it. But when Craig looked at him over the top of Andrea's head, only a slight flicker across his companion's expression gave away any confusion.
    The woman he'd come to see let him go and stretched out her hand to Paul. “And you must be...?”
    “Paul.” Craig's boyfriend jolted himself into action as if he'd been a long way away. “Paul Maloney. A friend of ... Daniel's. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Trowbridge.”
    “Please, call me Andrea,” Craig's old neighbor said with a smile. “No one stands on ceremony here.”
    As Andrea led the way indoors, still talking, Craig mouthed “sorry” at Paul, but got no response. Great, he thought. Just great. He was really messing things up now. Before he'd even ruddy begun.
    Inside the living room, the two men shed their jackets and sat down on the pale blue sofa, while Andrea sat opposite and poured tea. The cups and saucers were already laid out on the coffee table, together with a plate of chocolate digestives and Garibaldis. Craig gazed around the room, aware more than anything of Paul's proximity on the sofa, but trying to work out when he'd last been here. The only items he recognized were the bookshelves from floor to ceiling—although the ceiling wasn't that high anyway—and the framed photographs of Andrea's son.
    He frowned, and then the name came to him. “John. It's John, isn't it? Is he still living in...?”
    “Australia? Yes. I'm afraid so, though at least I get to go over there for a long break at Christmas, which is lovely. He's got two children, you know. I'm a grandmother now.”
    “Congratulations,” he said. “I'm pleased for you. Apart from the books, I think John was the only thing I recognized.”
    Andrea nodded. “Yes, I've redecorated. Twice. And I'm afraid also that John is the reason I didn't respond to your letter. There were ... family problems and I was in Australia when you wrote.”
    “I'm sorry,” Craig began to say, but Andrea shook her head.
    “It's all right,” she said. “Things are sorted now. They're fine. Marriages seem to be under so much pressure these days, but they're fine. As far as I know. Anyway, when I got back, I read your letter. It was lovely to hear from you and I'd intended to reply, but your father.... Well, your father discovered it and took it away.”
    “Oh,” Craig said, aware now more than ever of Paul's still frame next to him. “Didn't you ask for it back? I sent it to you, not him.”
    “Yes, of course,” she replied. “But you remember what your father is like. He got upset, said you were his son, his business, not mine. He wouldn't even give me your address when I asked him. I thought then he might have contacted you, but I assume he didn't, or you didn't reply?”
    “No.” Craig found he was digging his nails into the palms of his hands and sat back, folding his arms instead. “No, he didn't get in touch. And I'm not sure what I would have done if he had, to be honest. We didn't part on the best of terms. But now ... well, he's gone missing. What happened, Andrea?”
    The air around her seemed to pause, as if waiting for her answer. From nowhere, Craig felt Paul's fingers touch