Rentboy

undies. Sometimes they both wore girls’
    undies. Fox bought both in the hopes that one day they would figure out they were opposite sexes, but
    neither seemed to know it yet.
    “Come here.” He held out his arms. The twins crowded in beside him but kept glancing at the
    door. “Don’t worry about him. He’s gone for a while,” Fox assured them. “We’re safe. He’s in
    another country. We’ll get the globe out later, and I’ll show you how far away he is.”
    “I love all of you,” Tara said.
    “Yeah, we love you too, Mum,” Fox said. It was true, even if most of the time all he felt for her
    was impatience. “Give your mum a hug, aliens.”
    The twins crawled onto the bed on either side of their mother. She gathered them into her arms,
    and for a few moments they all looked normal, as if the twins would start speaking in full sentences
    any minute and his mum didn’t stink of drink.
    “What’s the matter, Afton?” she asked.
    “My boyfriend is in danger,” he said. Why he was telling her, he did not know. She’d forget it
    with her next drink anyway.
    “You’ve got a boyfriend? I didn’t know you were like that.”
    “Yeah, I am.”
    “Why is he in danger?”
    “Because of Dad,” he said.
    A look of understanding swept over her face. “I suppose your dad wants to smack him one. He
    was upset when you wouldn’t go into the army. Being a poof wouldn’t go down well at all with him.”
    “Poof? That is very politically incorrect,” Fox said.
    “Sorry, luv. Should it be homo?” she asked.
    Fox started to giggle, though it could have been hysteria. “What about ginger beer or bum boy or
    shirt lifter? How about pillow biter?”
    Tara started to laugh, and the twins joined in. Fox hadn’t seen his mum laugh in years. The twins
    laughed occasionally but only when he was laughing. Either he set them off or they were mimicking
    him; he never knew. The silent house was filled for a moment with genuine merriment.
    When they were calm again, Fox said, “Mum, I have to go and talk to someone. I’m really
    worried about Eddie. Can you get up and make some dinner for them?”
    Tara looked doubtful. “With your father out of the house we should all be safe. Yes, I can
    manage it.” She tried to get up but faltered. Over the next ten minutes, Fox and the twins got her on her
    feet and helped her downstairs.
    In the kitchen he realized she would be unable to stand for any length of time. Her swollen liver
    and general ill health had drained her stamina.
    “Right, you sit there.” He pulled a chair up to the island. “Give the twins instructions, and they’ll
    do it. They can do quite a lot as long as you supervise them.” Fox looked into the twins’ beautiful
    faces. “I want you to listen to Mum and do as she tells you. You make some dinner for the three of
    you. I’ve got to go out. I’ll be back later.” They looked intently at him. He never knew how much they
    understood. “You can make beans on toast.” He grabbed a tin from the cupboard as he spoke. “Or in
    your case, beans beside toast but not touching it.”
    His mum laughed again. If only they could always be like this, just the four of them, a normal
    family who were not afraid to laugh or speak too loudly. Fox kissed the twins quickly, then kissed his
    mum on the cheek. “It’s going to get better, Mum, I promise. Please try not to drink till I get back.”
    “All right, son. I’ll do my best.” She smiled, but it was not at all convincing.

    * * * *
    The rectory where Godfrey Rooke lived was a tall, narrow house attached directly to the church

    of St. Luke the Apostle. Fox grabbed the knocker and rapped hard on the door. The woman who
    answered had to be Gemma. She was as plump as Godfrey with an equally congenial smile.
    “Yes?”
    “I’d like to see Godfrey, please,” Fox said.
    “We’re about to have our dinner. Come in and join us. There’s plenty.”
    The house was old and dark, the interior pleasantly cool. Gemma led the way into a large old-
    fashioned kitchen. Dinner? They were about to have a feast, and it was mostly meat, chicken,
    sausages, and ham.
    “Fox!” Godfrey smiled broadly as he rose from the table. He wore a worn old black T-shirt
    bearing a picture of the Cure, and a pair of baggy shorts.
    “Godfrey”—Fox pointed at the shirt—“you are a dark horse.”
    Godfrey chuckled. “I’m so glad you’ve come. I was worried about you.”
    He didn’t look worried, but Fox