Rentboy

having so much trouble breathing since the assault that he was light-headed most
    of the time. Knowing it was all due to panic and stress did not improve it.
    “Afton?” It was his mum.
    “They’re ready for bed. I’m going to get them some Ovaltine.”
    He’s home , she mouthed.
    Fox nodded. I know , he mouthed back. They looked at each other with all the apprehension and
    horror they felt. Tara’s face, pretty these last few days as she tried her hardest to cut down on the
    drink and take part in their lives, was tense and filled with fear again. She would be falling down
    drunk before midnight. “Is he in his office?”
    “He’s in the living room. He says we all have to go down and sit with him.”
    Fox looked at the twins, who stood frozen, gripping each other’s hands. The deer-in-headlights
    analogy described them perfectly. “We have to go downstairs and see him,” he told them gently. As if
    released from bonds, they threw themselves at him and began to whimper.
    Hugging the twins, Fox said over their shoulders, “Let’s play it as cool as we can, Mum. I’m
    going to take care of this tonight.” He forced as much meaning into the words as he could, and she
    knew what he meant. “Come on, it’ll be fine.” Whimpering like abandoned puppies, the twins refused
    to move, clutching Fox and each other.
    “Come on, luvs,” Tara said. “Just for a few minutes. If you don’t come down, he’ll come up and
    get us. We don’t want that.”
    As if they were going to the gallows, they all walked very slowly down the stairs, Fox holding
    the twins by the hands, Tara behind them. At the bottom of the stairs they could see into the living
    room through the wide arched doorway. William Baillie, dressed in camo trousers and a green T-
    shirt, sat on the couch watching them. Overhead the ceiling fan hummed softly. He took a long swig
    from the beer in his hand, then waved them into the living room.
    Alder and Arden tugged on Fox’s hands, wanting to leave. He led them to the couch farthest
    away from their father, and all three sat down. Tara sat with them, lined up like children before an
    angry father.
    “Fox, get me another beer.”
    “Yes, sir.” When he stood, the twins got up with him.
    “Sit down, you fucking morons,” Baillie shouted at them. They sat down again while Fox ran to
    the kitchen. The knife block absorbed his gaze for a long moment, and he stood caressing the handles.
    A knife would not work. He had to shoot him. When everyone was in bed, he would look for his
    father’s guns.
    With a can of Newcastle Brown taken from the box on the floor, he hurried back. Not a sound
    came from anyone in the living room. The twins were holding hands and staring at the ceiling fan,
    their heads tilted back. Fox held out the can while Baillie looked him steadily in the eyes. He reached
    for the beer but instead gripped Fox’s wrist painfully in his much larger, stronger hand. “No hard
    feelings?” he said quietly.
    “No, sir,” Fox said.
    “It was business, nothing else.”
    “I know.”
    He released Fox’s wrist, and Fox quickly joined the others on the couch. Their bodies were so
    rigidly tense with fear and apprehension that they were like twigs in a fierce wind, ready to break at
    any moment.
    “Arden,” Baillie said, “come and sit here with me.” The girl did not move and appeared not to
    have heard. “Get the fuck over here, girl.” Still she didn’t move. His face twisting with anger, Baillie
    said, “I want her dressed like a girl every day from now on, and I want his hair cut. No one knows
    he’s a boy. You see to it in the morning, Fox. Do you hear me?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Does she have any dresses?”
    “A few, sir.”
    “Take her shopping, and get her something pretty.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    He looked at the twins, his face contorted with anger. “Hey, morons, get to bed!”
    They did not move until Fox said, “Go.” Then they ran from the room and up the stairs.
    “And you’d better start looking nicer too,” Baillie said to Tara.
    “Yes, Billy, I’ve been meaning to.”
    “You look like a filthy old slag most of the time. I’m sick of it. Now go upstairs.” With the same
    relief the twins had displayed, she left the room. At the foot of the stairs she made brief eye contact
    with Fox, pleading with him to do something.
    “Who came?” Baillie asked.
    “Sir?” Fox asked.
    “Was it MI6? MI5 only deals with domestic situations.”
    “Haven’t a