Page 41 of Fireworks


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He wasn’t here. He’d left, and she hadn’t even noticed. She checked the stockroom, and then the hallway up to the flat just in case.

In case he’d wanted to go home.

“Sky!” Panic shook through her as she found every room, every nook, empty apart from the repair supplies that cluttered each corner. She raced back downstairs to find Cam equally as bewildered, tray of drinks set down on the coffee table over a paper full of Sky and Saffron’s wax crayon scribbles.

“He’s probably just gone to look around. Maybe to find Fraser round the corner?” Cam suggested.

It didn’t matter. He was four years old. She should have been watching him. He’d just always been so sensible, and more than that, keen to shy away from crowds.

God, what if he was scared? A bagpiper wailed outside of the tavern, and it was so busy that the visitors were clustered together like sardines. Somebody could have snatched him up. Or he could have a meltdown and run off somewhere she wouldn’t be able to find him. And there was the river. And the roads …

She didn’t know when she set off into a sprint, only that the stiff October air was suddenly suffocating as she weaved through shoppers.

“Sky!” she shouted – and then, as she whirled onto Main Street, she heard him cry.

18

“What a riveting way to spend our Saturday,” Warren grumbled, dabbing the sweat on his brow. He and Nate had been sentenced to autumn festival duties – code for standing around and impressing sugar-fuelled kiddies with the fire engine – which wouldn’t have been too bad if not for the fact that they were roasting alive in their turnouts, midday sun beating down on them.

Nate, on the other hand, was having a whale of a time, munching on shortbread kindly given to them from Morag at the tearoom while socialising with anybody who walked past. He smirked at Warren’s foul mood. “You’re just sad to be public enemy number one.”

Also true. He’d been chastised by several disgruntled parents this morning; they hadn’t been impressed to hear about his fire safety talk, much to Nate’s amusement.

“I think they’re building an army against me. Maybe there’s anI Hate Warrenclub.” And Eiley was no doubt the leader. Really, did he deservethisamount of vitriol for doing his job? When Bonfire Night came around and he was there to keep them safe, they’d be bloody thanking him. Or should be.

Nate brushed the biscuit crumbs from his palms. “Don’t let it bother you, aye? They’re not a bad bunch.”

“Are they?” Warren spat out. If he wasn’t in the middle of his big project, he would have fled already. He didn’t linger where he wasn’t welcome, and almost everybody had made it clear that was the case.

“Jeez, if you think this is bad, you wouldn’t have lasted an hour in my old village.” Nate leaned against the truck, looking out at the town with unexpected melancholy.

Warren frowned. “It was that bad?”

A shrug. “It was survivable until I came out as trans. After that, half of them wouldn’t talk to me and the other half pretended it hadn’t happened. Even after I started transitioning, they’d misgender me.”

Warren pursed his lips. Nate probably thought he was a right arsehole, complaining about a bit of flak from overprotective parents when he’d grown up without the acceptance and understanding every person deserved. “I’m really sorry, mate. I didn’t know.”

“I wasn’t saying it to make you feel bad. Just to put things into perspective,” Nate said. “As far as communities go, this one could be a lot worse. They’ll get over your wee blunder as long as you don’t traumatise their kids again anytime soon.”

“I don’t think the chief would dare let me back into the school after this.” He gave Nate a friendly nudge. “I’m glad you could get out of there, find a place where you can be yourself. I bet the rest of Belbarrow is, too.”

“Cheers, Warren.” Nate’s cheeks swelled with a grateful smile, the kind that made Warren hate the people who hadmade his journey harder than it needed to be. The aunt he’d lived with in his teens was queer, so he’d seen firsthand how ignorant people could be, even in the city. But he’d never witnessed the problem here. Pride flags were still tacked in half of the shop windows on Main Street, long after the annual summer celebrations were over.

Maybe, then,hewas the problem. Maybe hehadgone too far at school. Again. Why did he always have to say what he thought? Maybe he’d better start working on his apologies, or better yet, improving his filter.

He lifted his chin, hoping to look a wee bit more approachable as the festival goers wended up and down the stall-lined road. The town was a bustling stream of colour, a dozen or so wooden cabins selling everything from cheeses to hand-carved figurines. The latter, he’d pointedly avoided, as the man behind the table was none other than Eiley’s surly brother, who had already flashed him a warning glare. He placed his helmet on the scarecrow strung to the nearest lamppost, an attempt to get into the spirit of the day.

“Weren’t you on a night shift last night, anyway?” Nate enquired, offering out another shortbread from the Tupperware container.

He pinched a slice, powdery sugar clinging to his fingertips. “Aye, and?”

“Do you ever, like, sleep?”

Warren plopped the biscuit into his mouth, the sugar lifting his mood. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” he said through a spray of crumbs.

“You sound like my dad.”

“There’s not much else to do round here, is there?” He pinched two more biscuits. Maybe he’d been wrong to favour Bel’s Brews and Pam’s Pies when Morag’s baking was this good.