Rentboy

were gay, though his
    dad would kill him. Fox just wished she’d shut the fuck up. All he wanted was to see Eddie, to know
    Eddie was safe until whoever Godfrey talked to at MI6 came to save him. Even thinking about MI6
    and international kidnappers seemed crazy. Like the world had gone mad. If it seemed that way to
    him, who lived in the war zone of their house in Finchley with a father who threatened his family with
    guns, then what the hell were Eddie save-the-world Atherton and Godfrey feed-the-poor Rooke going
    through? Especially Eddie, who was running for his life. Fox did not believe the story about his
    joining his parents in Paris. He had gone to the farm even though the bad guys knew about the place.
    Like an ostrich, Eddie would hide his head in the sand and think no one could see him.
    The woman dropped him off at a deserted BP station on the A603 where she had to make the turn
    to Aylesbury. “Someone will come along soon, luv. You’ll be fine.”
    “Thanks.” Fox waved her off, glad not to have to listen to her anymore but worried that he
    wouldn’t get another lift. What was happening to Eddie at that moment? Had the Men in Black found
    him, and what would they do to him when they did?
    The little variety shop at the petrol station was in darkness. Fox walked over to find that the sign
    read CLOSE 9:00 p.m. OPEN 5:00 a.m. He pulled out his mobile to check the time. It was coming up
    to eleven o’clock.
    It had been raining steadily for the last hour, but suddenly it began in earnest. For a couple of
    minutes he tried plastering himself against the building, but the wind carried the rain into his face.
    There was no shelter, and anyway, he’d never get a ride by hiding. Perhaps someone would feel sorry
    for him standing in the downpour.
    They didn’t.
    Waiting by the side of the road, soaking wet, makeup running until he must look like Brandon
    Lee in The Crow , he was not attracting another lift. Cars sped by without stopping. The few that
    slowed down sped up again when they saw him up close.
    When a vehicle finally did stop, it was a frigging great articulated lorry with a driver who
    looked like a serial killer from one of those road films. He had a shaved head with the hair just
    beginning to grow back, a day’s growth of beard on his face, and a plaid shirt that needed a good
    wash. His jeans looked greasy. “Hop in, kid.”
    Fox hesitated just long enough for the driver to say loudly, “Get the fuck in, or close the door.
    The seats are getting wet.”
    The man reminded him of William Baillie sufficiently to make him obey. Better the devil you
    know.
    Climbing up into the rig was like climbing a tree. It was incredibly high and felt unsafe. While
    he fastened his seat belt the driver watched him, half smiling. “You a queer?”
    “I am, actually. Do you want me to get out?” The scared side of him hoped the man would say
    yes, but the desperate-to-see-Eddie side prayed he would say no.
    “Nah. You can stay.” With a looked over his shoulder the driver pulled the lorry back into the
    sporadic traffic. With one hand he reached between the seats and produced a roll of kitchen paper.
    “Where you going, kid?”
    “Mitton. How close can you get me?” Fox pulled off several sheets of paper and began to dry his
    face. The paper came away black with his eye makeup. With another wad of paper he wiped away the
    remaining makeup and rubbed his hair.
    “I’m going right by, but I can’t drive through. They have a no big hauls regulation that prohibits
    lorries driving through the village. I’ll drop you on the nearest ring road; then I can go on to the
    coast.”
    “Thanks, mate,” Fox said gratefully. The bloke seemed kinder every minute.
    “So what do queers get up to?”
    Here we go again. The endless curiosity of boring heterosexuals about what gays do in
    private. “Same as you lot: eat, sleep, fart, go to school, go to work. We just choose to do it with
    members of the same sex.”
    The man looked sideways at him while Fox wished he would keep his eyes on the road. He was
    as bad as Eddie on that trip to Mitton. Eddie. Everything was Eddie now. Eddie had become his
    reference point. The center from which all else extended. For so many years it had been the twins,
    and he was still circling in their orbit, but Eddie had become his satellite without his even realizing
    it. Now Eddie hated him, and Fox couldn’t blame him, but he wouldn’t let anyone hurt him if he