Page 20 of The Other Side

“Why? How?”

“It’s complicated.”

Drum clenched his fists, then blew out a harsh breath. He glanced toward his patrol vehicle, then back at Osian.

“How did you know I’d be here tonight?”

“I didn’t. I was shocked. I can’t believe luck has finally turned my way.”

“You’ve been waiting all this time for a boy you last saw when you were ten? That makes no sense. How old are you?”

“We’re the same age. Nearly thirty.”

Drum sucked in a breath.

“Your birthday is the ninth of September,” Osian added.

“It’s not. It’s the third of May.” He looked relieved as though that solved everything.

“It is the ninth of September. I’m guessing that when you turned up out of nowhere, age ten, the system gave you a new birthday.”

Drum let out a shaky breath. “Oh my God. What the hell is happening? Who are you? What are you actually doing here?”

“I don’t live here all year round. I stay for a month, and then I go home. I didn’t know you were the PCSO for this district. There was another officer here when I last came. Matthew Green.”

“Do you know what happened to him?”

“Other than him disappearing? No.”

Drum’s shoulders snapped rigid. “He disappeared? Why wasn’t I told that?”

“I don’t know. How long have you been on the job?”

“A matter of days.” Drum stared at the dark ground, processing.

Osian could guess how confused he had to be feeling.

Then, entirely unexpectedly, Drum looked up. “Do you need a lift somewhere?”

Osian blinked, caught off guard, though deep down it was what he’d hoped for. “A lift?”

“Yeah.” Drum shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets.

The gesture hit Osian with the force of a physical blow. Whenever Drum was nervous as a boy, he’d hidden his hands the exact same way.

“It’s late,” Drum muttered. “I can run you home.”

And find out where I live. But that’s fine. Osian wanted him to know. “Thank you.”

The drive was quiet, punctuated only by Osian softly giving directions. He sat with his violin case balanced across his knees, watching Drum navigate the narrow country lanes. The sky had cleared and the dry-stone walls flanking the road were painted silver in the moonlight.

Every few minutes, Drum glanced over at him. Searching, but not recognising. Every single unknowing glance made Osian’s heart ache even more.

Eventually, Drum cleared his throat. “So, where exactly are we going?”

“A few miles from Sparlow. Blackthorne Farm.”

The vehicle swerved as Drum’s head whipped toward him, before he fixed his eyes firmly back on the road. “Sparlow?”