Page 26 of In at the Deep End

As they walked on, Owen glanced sideways. “You’re good with kids.”

Matt shrugged. “They usually just want someone to listen.”

Owen said nothing, but filed it away in the mental compartment where he was already building up a file on Matt.

He’d assumed Matt was a carefree twenty-five-year-old. Instead Owen kept seeing flashes of someone thoughtful, patient and kind.

Someone he enjoyed being around.

Owen pulled out of IKEA’s car park, and dead ahead of them were three huge cruise ships, docked.

Matt whistled. “Look at the size of those things.”

“Have you ever wanted to go on a cruise?”

“I can’t say I’ve ever given it much thought.”

When the thought hit him, Owen almost hesitated to voice it. The idea was a good one, but it seemed a bit presumptuous.

“Have you ever visited the Isle of Wight?” He pointed off to the left. “The ferry goes there from here.”

“No, never. Why do you ask?”

“Well, you like gardens and history. The island had Osborne House, the summer palace created by Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. It has gardens. Then there’s Carisbrooke Castle, where Charles I was imprisoned. Plus there’s the botanical gardens near Ventnor.”

Matt chuckled. “Did you ever work for the Isle of Wight Tourist board? You seem to know a lot about it.”

“We used to go there a lot when I was little. Summer holidays by the sea. Later holidays too, when Callum was little.” He paused. “We could go there one day, if you like. Think of it as research. Or even better, as a break from the dissertation—or a reward for when you finish it.”

Matt’s face glowed. “I love that idea. You could show me all the places you remember as a kid.” He grinned. “Although you had me at the history bits.”

Owen joined the flow of traffic heading towards the A33. It was only then that he realised what he’d done.

The trip to the island had nothing to do with the garden or IKEA, or even the dissertation.

Twenty-four hours ago, Matt had been Jeff’s son.

Somewhere between B&Q and IKEA, he’d quietly become Matt.

And I offered to take him to what could only be described as my sanctuary.

Chapter Seven

Matt stared at the line on the laptop screen.

British cinema repeatedly framed emotional restraint as masculine virtue.

He deleted virtue. Typed necessity. Deleted it.

Concentrate. Because any second now, the peace and quiet of this tranquil morning will be shattered.

He glanced towards the window. The early morning sunlight had already touched the tops of the trees and was slowly making its way over the garden, transforming the lawn into something much greener and more vibrant. It sparkled on the pool’s surface, tiny diamond points of dancing light.

Fuck.

The siren call of outdoors grew too loud to ignore.

Matt poured himself another coffee, closed the laptop, and opened the patio door leading to the garden. He took his phone with him, already mentally going through Eric’s typical work day routine.