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After lunch, Ambrose’s brain churned with thoughts as he trudged out to the machinery shed over muddy ground with Liam and Grandad Billy to see the tractor. Should he just tell Liam what he’d seen and leave it to him to sort out? Or should he say something to Neve? The trouble was, he didn’t know Neve well enough to know how she’d react to something like that. He didn’t know any of them, really, only that they were decent people and they didn’t deserve the shit he was pulling on them. But then again, they didn’t deserve the sort of shit Marcus was maybe pulling, either.
Grandad Billy wrenched the shed door open and grinned. “There now. Isn’t she a beauty?”
Ambrose blinked at the orange tractor.
“She’s a 1936 Allis Chalmers,” Grandad Billy said. “Model U.”
“It’s very shiny,” Ambrose said, and Grandad Billy puffed out his chest proudly. “And it still goes?”
Grandad Billy beamed. “She still purrs like a kitten.”
Ambrose stepped forward and ran his hand over the gleaming metal. “I like how you can see right through it,” he decided, peering into the engine. “You can see all its bits.”
“That’s because you had to be able to fix them on the go,” Grandad Billy said. “With a couple of bootlaces and a bit of elbow grease. Machines were simpler back then. These days you can open up the bonnet of a car and it’s all computerised. Dig around in there with a screwdriver, and who knows what you’ll mess up?”
“I can’t even change a washer in a tap,” Ambrose admitted. “And I’ve watched YouTube tutorials and everything.”
Grandad Billy laughed. “Ah, you’d be surprised what you can do when you need to.”
Ambrose was pretty sure he knew his limitations. But, as he listened to Grandad Billy talk lovingly about his tractor, he thought that no, he really wouldn’t be surprised by what he was capable of when it was a matter of necessity. And he didn’t mean that in a good way. Bad Boyfriend had started out as half a joke, half a public service to girls who were being hassled by dickheads, but Ambrose wasn’t sure where the line was now. It was being tested by the Connellys, that was for sure, and Ambrose wasn’t liking what it was showing him about himself, and about how far he’d go for money. Asking where Orhan was really from? He hated himself for that. Having to pretend he didn’t see Fi’s worried expression when she looked at him and wondered if he was good enough for Liam? That hurt a little. And what had Harry said back home? That he should try being an escort like Ambrose? Just because there was no sex didn’t mean that Ambrose didn’t feel more and more like he was selling a part of himself he couldn’t get back. His dignity, maybe.
He wanted this weekend to be real, was the problem. He wanted him and Liam to be real. Just for once, he wanted to be the kind of guy whose boyfriend took him home to meet the parents.
And just maybe, pretending to be a shitty person all the time was starting to make him a shitty person, or at least cloud his judgement when it came to others. Wanting Marcus to be a shitheel of a boyfriend? Ambrose felt like those American evangelists who spent all their time railing against infidelity and it turned out they’d had three mistresses and two rent boys on the side all along—it was all projection.
Maybe Marcus was a perfectly harmless guy whose only crime was being a bit up himself, and Ambrose just wanted him to be a bad guy so he could feel better about himself and his actions—after all, he was only being an arsehole because Liam had asked him to, right? It was all an act, and just because Ambrose happened to be a totally convincing arsehole, that was in no way at all a reflection on who he actually was. Right?
Yeah, nah.
“Penny for them, Ambrose?” Grandad said. “You’re miles away, lad.”
Ambrose looked up with a start and shoved all thoughts of Marcus away. He was here to be all wrong for Liam, so that’s what he was going to do, even if he hated every minute of it. You took the jobs you didn’t want. He curled his mouth into what he hoped was a convincing smile, and asked, “Can I drive it?”
The way Liam’s eyes widened with shock told him that this was definitely a step too far. Grandad stepped protectively in front of the tractor and folded his arms across his chest. “You cannot.”
“You may as well have asked for his firstborn,” Liam murmured, and bumped their shoulders together.
“But I’m a great driver,” Ambrose said, hitting his stride. “You should see me play GTA!”
“What’s GTA?” Grandad Billy asked.
“It’s a video game,” Liam told him. “Ambrose, do you even have a licence?”
“No,” Ambrose lied. “Since when do you need a licence to drive? I mean, all a licence says is that you’re allowed to, not that you’re able to.” That’s what his mum had said when they’d taken hers off her, anyway. “I’ve driven a car before. A tractor can’t be that different. Especially not an old one like this. I bet it couldn’t even go fast enough to hit anything.”
“She has a top speed of seven miles per hour. That’s all she needs,” Grandad said.
“Jesus, could you imagine getting stuck behind it on the highway, though?” Ambrose said. He could almost hear Grandad’s hackles rising.
“She’s a grand old lady, and she’s retired,” he said stiffly. “She doesn’t leave the property.”
“Why do you even have it then?” Ambrose asked. “Why waste time and money restoring it? What’s the point?” he asked partly to be obnoxious, but partly because he genuinely wanted to know. In his experience, once something was past its prime, people tended to move on and forget it as they chased greener pastures, brighter stars. He thought briefly of his mum, the way her career had stalled just because she’d committed the crime of having kids and being out of the public eye for too long.
He’d expected to rile Grandad Billy up, but Grandad Billy only studied him carefully for a moment. Then he ran a gnarled old hand over the tractor’s fender.
“Because she makes me happy,” he said at last. “And she’s not useless if she makes me happy. Now, I’m a very lucky man, Ambrose. My life is full of things that bring me happiness. My family, my vineyard, my dog, my wines and even my old tractor here. And I cherish every single one of them, because I know how important they are, and because I dread the thought of living a life entirely without joy.”
Ambrose thought it would have been easier to handle if Grandad Billy had lost his temper. This strange softness? He wasn’t sure how to react.
