Last Chance Read Free Page B

way -- heedless of the beer soaking into the carpet -- and was on my knees between his legs. I feasted on Steve like he was a pepperoni pizza and I was famished, doing my best to cram myself full of him and fill up all the empty places inside. And when he was done, when my mouth was full of the salty-sweet taste of him, I climbed up to kiss him hard. It only took a few pumps of my fist before I shot my load all over him, the jizz striping his tie and soaking through his shirt.
    Steve slumped there with his eyes still closed, and I thought I was going to have to wake him up. Either that or attempt to carry him through to the bed, and he’s not that much smaller than me. But then he raised his lids and gave a sleepy smile.
    “You know there’s nothing your dad can say that will change the way I feel about you, don’t you?”
    I nodded, but up until that point I hadn’t known that at all. I let the realization filter through me, easing the residual tension the sex hadn’t been able to deal with.
    “Okay, big day tomorrow,” Steve murmured. “Let’s get to bed.”
    ***
    The taxi ride from the train station took us right through the heart of Slough, and Steve got a good look at the dump I’d grown up in. He didn’t make any rude comments about it, though I was half expecting him to start quoting that famous Betjeman poem about it not being fit for humans now. Instead of invoking “friendly bombs,” to fall on the place, he kept his eyes on me and squeezed my hand.
    The hospice itself was in a more salubrious village location outside the town, reminding me of what a fine line there was between the haves and the have-nots. It was no wonder Dad had been obsessed with me getting on in the world, with all these riches so tantalizingly close.
    “Wow, nice place for a hospice,” Steve said when we finally uncurled ourselves from the back of the minicab. I handed the driver a twenty before turning to get a proper look.
    “Bloody hell,” I agreed. When Mum had told me Dad was in a posh place, courtesy of the National Health Service, I’d never imagined she meant a stately home. I mean, compared to the neighborhood they lived in, pretty much anything was high class in comparison. But this place? This would be posh by anyone’s standards, what with the imposing Georgian facade and landscaped gardens.
    Inside, it was obvious that the place had been adapted to its new purpose, although the proliferation of Health and Safety signs and access ramps couldn’t hide the fact we were in a mansion. Then I saw a hunched figure on one of the lobby chairs, and everything else could have blinked out of existence for all the attention I paid it.
    “Mum?”
    She’d sounded old and tired on the phone, but I’d figured that was only to be expected what with all the stress of Dad’s illness, so it still came as a shock to see her. I realized I’d been carrying around a mental image of her that was ten years out of date. Her hair was whiter, her skin lined and sallow, her body thinner and stooped. She didn’t look sixty -- she looked about eighty. The comparison with Steve’s groomed and glamorous mother was stark, and I couldn’t help wondering if he’d notice Mum’s cheap supermarket own-brand clothing and ugly old-lady shoes.
    “Jeremy? Oh, my love, you came!” And then I was enveloped in a hug that smelled of roses, and I could have been eight years old again, being comforted after yet another crappy school day fending off the kids who thought scholarship students were easy targets. Except this time, it was me being the grown-up.
    Mum cried into my chest, and I held her awkwardly, not knowing quite what to say or do. But then I caught Steve’s gaze and I saw only compassion there. I patted her back, making soothing noises like she used to with me. Eventually she pulled herself together enough to sniffle to a halt.
    “Here, Mrs. Smith, please.” Steve held out a handkerchief to her and Mum took it, sniffing loudly