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Chapter Two

Gareth

"Who would you rather shag, Ralph Rivers or Ryan Reynolds?"

"Shag? In my case it'd be get shagged."

"Mate, I don't want to know!"

"Hey, you asked the question, and the answer is Ralph Rivers, but I do like Ryan Reynolds. Actually both as a threesome!"

The two teenagers rolled about on the grass laughing. Even as his sides hurt, Gareth couldn't help but appreciate that he was having this conversation with his straight best friend.

"Oliver, you seriously make me question your sexuality sometimes," he teased.

"Sod off," Oliver laughed. "I expect you to ask me who I'd shag next, Anne Hathaway or Penelope Cruz?"

"Well, you just asked the question for me. Which one then?"

"Hmm, Penelope Cruz, you'd even go straight for her!"

"Ew, vagina!" Gareth said, sticking his tongue out before sighing. "I wish Little Hartbrook had some gay eye candy."

He gazed down the hill from where they were sitting. They had perched themselves on the top of the valley that overlooked the village. From their vantage point, they could see over all the roads and buildings. People of various species were walking or driving about. The church spire stood regally against the afternoon sun while the sea sparkled in the distance.

"Eh, this place isn't so bad, it's pretty," Oliver said.

Gareth glanced over at his best friend. Oliver was a stocky Border Collie with nice blue eyes. At that moment he was wearing a tight shirt with the Rolling Stones logo on the front. Gareth sighed, wishing Oliver was also gay.

"It's pretty for a location, but it's the bumhole of the universe if you want to meet nice guys," he huffed.

"The bumhole of the universe? That sounds like your dream location!"

"Oh shut up," Gareth replied, rolling his eyes.

"Besides we're both going to uni once the summer is over," Oliver shrugged. "I'm sure you'll meet someone there."

Gareth looked down at himself and wondered if he would attract a hot boyfriend at university. He was a husky, lean and tall, with brown and white fur, and hazel eyes. Not exactly movie star standards. Gareth retreated into his mind's eye as he pictured his number one crush; Ralph Rivers, the Doberman actor.

Oh if only I could have his looks!

He closed his eyes as he thought of Ralph's body in all the movies he'd seen him in; perfect six pack, pecs and that firm jaw line.

"Do you think I'd ever stand a chance with Ralph Rivers?"

"Huh?"

"I mean he's gay, at least he said so once in an interview, but he's so fucking muscular and hot. I mean, that scene when he plays the bad guy The Fast & Ferocious 2 when he takes his shirt off. "

"You're an eighteen year old from Little Hartbrook," Oliver laughed.

"He's not that much older than me," Gareth shrugged as he began to picture Ralph shirtless again.

"Look at that!"

Gareth was shaken from his thoughts and followed Oliver's paw as the Border Collie pointed down into the village. A long line of trucks and what looked like RVs were driving along the main road.

"Wow, something interesting is happening in Little Hartbrook," Gareth chuckled.

"Oh, I know what it is, my mum said they were filming something up at Threapleton Manor," Oliver explained. "I bet that's them arriving."

"What movie is it?"

"Eh, a period drama of some kind, the sort my Gran likes to watch."

"Hmm," Gareth mused as he watched the procession drive through the village before it disappeared behind the crest of the hill.

"Hey look, there's also a new car in the village!" Oliver exclaimed, pointing down towards the main road.

Gareth followed his paw and saw a red Audi driving along.

"It's a pretty nice car," he reasoned. "I wonder who that is."

"Probably a tourist," Oliver shrugged. "Can't be anyone from around here, I mean I can name two nice cars in the village; your dad's Bentley, that old sports car Frank drives, a Jaguar?"

"I think it's a Morgan roadster, what about Mr Hobson, he drives a nice car."

"Eh, it's an old Morris Minor that produces black smoke and probably melts the arctic," Oliver laughed. "You should get your dad to leave you his Bentley in his will."

"He's my stepdad, and he's a wanker," Gareth corrected. "That's why I haven't taken his surname."

"You should, and then you can take over the cider company."

"That would never happen," Gareth sighed. "My step-sister will do that. She doesn't drink but she's older, has a business degree from Durham and she's a snob, so naturally it'll go to her. Plus my step-dad, urgh I just want to call him Anthony as he's not my dad in any shape or form, anyway, Anthony doesn't want me around. That's why he sent me to boarding school, makes me do that community outreach work with you, and he can't wait to pack me off to university so he can have my mum to himself, or the women he does behind her back."

"Community outreach isn't too bad," Oliver shrugged. "It's just chatting to old ladies."

"Really? We get to spend an hour sitting in Mrs Wilkinson's cottage as she moans about how wagging her tail sets her arthritis off and how she misses the war, while she farts uncontrollably."

"I know, but she gives us tea and as many KitKats as we can eat."

Gareth opened his mouth to reply but Oliver cut him off.

"Look, it's pulling up by the pub," he said, pointing down at the red Audi.

Gareth watched as it came to a stop outside the Rose & Crown. He found himself sitting up as the Audi's door opened and he saw the distant figure of a fox stepping out. Even from a distance he could tell the fox was good looking.

"It's a fox," he murmured out loud.

"Oh, that must be Marcus."

"Who?"

"He's a celebrity author, he writes those Detective Forrest books. His parents used to live in the Honeysuckle house, the cottage with the garden that backs onto our place. My mum was telling me all of this," Oliver explained.

"Wait, Marcus Lane?" Gareth replied as his muzzle dropped open. "Here, in Little Hartbrook? Bloody hell, I love Detective Forrest, it's one of the first mainstream books to have a gay guy as the lead, and Netflix are supposed to be making a TV adaption. I didn't know he lived here?"

"Not anymore," Oliver said. "He used to, I mean I remember him when I was little. My mum used to say hi to him when he walked past and he washed my parents' car for money a couple of times."

"Marcus Lane washed your parents' car!" Gareth repeated in an awe-struck voice.

"Yup."

"He's my second favourite crush after Ralph Rivers. He used to write a gay column in New Century where he answered questions, I once wrote to him and he answered me!"

"What did you ask, how much lube do you have to use?"

"Fuck off did I," Gareth retorted. "I asked him how can I date someone when I'm living in an area where there's no other gay people?"

"And what did he say?"

"Bide my time and keep my options open."

"I see."

"Man, I wish I'd grown up here so I could have met Marcus and run away with him," Gareth sighed. "I only moved here five years ago when my mum married Arseny."

"Arseny?"

"My latest name for Anthony, my not-dad."

"Oh."

Gareth watched as Marcus struggled to pull his suitcase out of the Audi before wheeling it into the pub.

"He's staying at the Rose & Crown," he mused. "We should go and say hi, I want to tell him how much I love his books and thank him for his advice."

"We could do that, or..." Oliver trailed off with a dramatic flourish.

"Or what?" Gareth asked. "Nothing would be better than meeting Marcus Lane."

"You know we complain we can never find a good drug dealer around here," Oliver grinned.

"There wouldn't be," Gareth grumbled. "We live in the middle of nowhere."

"Well, I swiped something from Mrs Wilkinson's," Oliver announced, pulling a small glass bottle from his pocket. "It's called Mirtzsoltab. Side-effects include strange dreams, dizziness, weight fluctuation and an increased appetite. Let's try it!"

"You're a nutcase," Gareth sighed as Oliver put one of the pills in his mouth.

"Go on, you take one."

"How does it taste?"

"Like sawdust," Oliver said, pulling a face.

"I'm not taking it," Gareth sighed.

"I'm waiting for the weird dreams to kick in."

"It's proscription medicine for an old lady, not LSD," Gareth sighed. "I want to go and find Marcus Lane in the pub."

"But I can't drink alcohol now, I've taken medication," Oliver moaned.

"Just order a coke or something," Gareth said as he jumped to his hind-paws. "Come on, I can't wait to ask him what happens in the next book."

Oliver grumbled something before standing up and following Gareth.

The two teenage canines made their way to a stony path that led down into the village. The sun was getting lower and a couple of seagulls flew overhead, screeching to themselves.

"Urgh, those things are like rats of the sky," Gareth sighed. "Ice cream thieves and bin bag raiders."

"Hey, cheer up. We're off to see a gay celebrity, I mean how many times does Tom Daley visit our village?" Oliver said.

"True."

They reached the bottom of the path which cut between two cottages. A badger in a knitted sweater was tending to her front garden outside one of the cottages.

"Hello boys," she said, glancing up.

"Hello," they replied in unison.

"How does Mrs Hinchcliffe wear sweaters when it's this warm outside," Oliver whispered as they walked away.

"I know, I'd die."

"Old people are weird."

The pub was only a short walk away and Gareth felt his heart skip a beat as he eyed up Marcus' red Audi.

"He must sell a lot of books to afford a car like that," Oliver mused.

"I know, man I wonder if he'll take me out for a ride in it," Gareth said. "That would be bloody amazing, going out for a drive into the country, taking a picnic, we find a quiet place and ..."

"I don't need to know the rest," Oliver cut in.

Gareth ignored him as he walked up to the pub and dramatically pushed both of the double doors open. He glanced around but could not see any sign of Marcus.

Fuck.

"Where is he?" Gareth whispered to Oliver.

"Evening fellas, can I help you?"

They both turned to see Don behind the bar.

"Um, we were looking for someone," Gareth said sheepishly.

"Anyone in particular?"

"I don't think he's here, sorry to bother you," Gareth replied with a defeated sigh.

"No worries boys, you take care."

Gareth slunk towards the door of the pub with Oliver in tow.

"Well that was a failure," he huffed as they reached the street.

"What do you mean?" Oliver replied. "You didn't even look! And it's not like the Australian guy who works there will throw us out."

"Don? I know he wouldn't, but still I felt awkward," Gareth sighed. "I couldn't see him anywhere."

An idea popped into his mind and he pulled out his phone. He snapped a couple of photos of the Audi's licence plate.

"What are you doing?" Oliver asked.

"It's so I can spot it again."

"How many red Audi sports cars are there in Little Hartbrook?" Oliver laughed. "It can't be that hard to spot."

"True," Gareth said, splaying his ears with embarrassment.

"I know, why don't you go back in there and tell the Australian guy you nicked Marcus' car with yours?"

"I don't have a car though. Arseny bought my step-sister a VW convertible for her eighteenth birthday but predictably didn't buy me anything."

"We could try stealing it?" Oliver suggested.

"Or I could use my bicycle? Yes, that could work, if I run home and get it," Gareth replied, feeling his ears perk back up.

"I'll wait around here, you run back and get your bike, don't _actually_bump his car though!"

"Of course not," Gareth said, rolling his eyes. "We'll just pretend. You wait here and make sure Marcus doesn't drive away. Stop him if he does."

Oliver was about to reply when he frowned and patted the back pocket of his shorts. Gareth watched as the Border Collie pulled his phone out and read a message.

"Shit," he gasped, slapping his forehead. "I know my mum is worried, she's used my full name; Oliver Richard Durrence. That's always a sign she's freaking out over something, and I have a missed call from her too."

"What is it?"

"Probably has tea ready," Oliver sighed. "Man, I can't wait for uni and not bother with this anymore. Sorry mate, I'd better run or she'll keep sending messages. We'll try the plan tomorrow, eh?"

"Sounds good," Gareth said, trying to force a casual tone, although inside he was disappointed. "Great, I have to have dinner with Arseny. Oliver give me those pills!"

"Why?" Oliver said as he frowned and handed the bottle over.

Gareth didn't reply as he stuffed three into his mouth.

"What are you doing?" Oliver asked, looking alarmed.

"Because I want to take drugs to take my misery away over having dinner with my not-dad."

"But three could be dangerous, you might die and then you won't meet Marcus."

Gareth spat one out as the other two travelled down his throat.

"Ack!" he choked. "Is two dangerous?"

"Probably not. Well, catch you tomorrow," Oliver said in a concerned tone as he took the bottle back. "I'll text you and we can come to the pub first thing and you can pretend to ride into his car," he added, giving Gareth a quick hug before running off.

Gareth watched his friend hurry away before turning dejectedly and giving Marcus' car one last glance. Pretending to have possibly damaged someone's property had never felt like such a wonderful idea.

There was no reason to hang around outside the pub and Gareth knew he should probably head home too.

That meant putting up with Arseny.

The thought made Gareth grumble out loud, but he began dragging his hind-paws along in the direction of his not-dad's house.

The walk took him about ten minutes and he reached the iron gates to the house which were on the outskirts of the village. The gates were set into a high stone fence with an intercom next to it. Thankfully, both the gates were open which meant not having to press the intercom and hope Arseny wouldn't answer it.

Gareth walked up the winding driveway which was lined with apple trees; the empire of the Higgins-Pearidge cider company. The sun shining through the trees did look pretty, but as the branches thinned out and the house came into view and Gareth felt his paw-pads grow clammy.

The house itself was grand, yellow stone like much of the village, with a sloping roof and gothic chimney pots. However, the side was (in Gareth's opinion) ruined with a modern glass and steel extension that contained a monogrammed swimming pool.

His not-dad's blue Bentley Continental was parked outside.

Gareth looked around, hoping that not-dad wasn't lurking around somewhere. The coast seemed clear. He grinned to himself as he reached for the door handle.

"Ah, Gareth!" a drawling voice called.

Fuck.

Gareth turned to see his not-dad standing on the driveway, a cigar was in his paw. Anthony Higgins-Pearidge was a short and slightly plump black puma. He was wearing a sports jacket and a shirt with half the buttons undone.

"Hey," Gareth said in a flat tone.

"Where have you been?" not-dad drawled before taking a puff on his cigar. "Out with friends?"

"Yes."

"You'd better get inside, your poor mother has been slaving in a hot kitchen to get dinner ready for us, I'm sure she'd be disappointed in you if you missed it."

"That's her business, not yours," Gareth muttered.

"I have a business client coming from Japan tomorrow, you remember don't you?"

"Yes," Gareth replied, although that piece of information had slipped his mind.

I'll be plotting to meet Marcus tomorrow anyway.

"Which is giving me a headache with all those bloody crews arriving in town to film up at Threapleton Manor," not-dad continued. "So to minimise any stress I might be feeling, promise me that you won't be causing any trouble?"

Gareth simply responded with something between a grunt and growl as he reached for the door to let himself in.

The inside of the house was just as imposing as the outside, with marble floors, wood-panelled walls and thick carpets. Ancestral portraits lined the staircase. The scent of cooking hit Gareth's nose and he wondered towards the kitchen.

As not-dad had predicted, his mum was standing over a large stove.

"Hi mum," Gareth called.

"Gareth Andrew Lyons!"

"You used my full name, that's the mum code to say I'm in trouble," Gareth grinned.

"You've made it back just in time," the older husky replied, turning to face her son and fixing him a smile over her shoulder. "What have you been up to?"

"Just hanging out with Oliver," Gareth explained, taking a seat at the table.

"Not getting into trouble I hope?" his mum chuckled.

"Nope."

"That's good, oh if you're here you don't mind setting the table?" mum asked.

"Sure, what are we having?" Gareth asked, getting back to his hind-paws.

"Lentil curry, it's from that recipe book you gave me last Christmas," mum explained.

"I'm glad you're using it," Gareth said as he retrieved the plates from the cupboard. "Curry on a warm day, I'm sure that'll be interesting."

"I'm experimenting with new recipes," mum explained. "I've never cooked this one before."

"I'm sure it'll be great," Gareth said, pausing to give his mum a hug before opening the silverware drawer. "Oh, and thanks for using my real name, not the one he wanted me to use."

"Well, you've just turned eighteen so it's your choice to keep it," mum said in a slightly terse tone.

"I'm not adopting his," Gareth mumbled.

And I'm sad you did, he thought but knew better of saying that out loud.

"Gareth, why don't you give him a chance?" his mum sighed.

Oh no, here we go.

"Because he doesn't like me," Gareth grumbled. "He only wanted you, not a step-son, and I don't trust him to be good to you. I mean, you've seen the way he eyes up that new vixen PA he has, and how he chats up the Dalmatian in the shop."

"He lets us live in his beautiful house, keeps us fed, especially when we struggled alone," his mother continued, seemingly oblivious to what Gareth had said. "You've never tried getting to know him."

"It's hard to get to know him when he sent me off to school and forces me to do these community things," Gareth growled.

"He believes in helping out the community," mum replied. "That's a good thing."

"He does it to keep me out of the way, because he knows I know he gets up to no good, and he never helps out himself, just sends others to do it. He just wants to get a knighthood to go with his OBE," Gareth retorted.

"Gareth, that's enough!" mum snapped.

Gareth splayed his ears and felt a pang of guilt. He hated upsetting his mother.

Even though I know not-dad is a sack of shit.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly, walking over to give his mum another hug.

Mum simply responded with a sigh.

"Why don't the two of you organise a father/son activity together? I'm sure once the two of you get closer you'll become friends," she said.

"Hmm," Gareth grunted as he turned to set the knives and forks out.

"Where's that glamourous wife of mine. Claire!" a voice boomed.

"I might go upstairs until dinner is ready," Gareth said, setting down the last set of silverware and hurrying from the kitchen out the other door before his mum could respond.

Gareth's heart felt heavy in his chest, but his mind was already scheming.

I'll get to know Marcus tomorrow, and then maybe he'll help me get out of here. What if he took me away with him!

The thought caused a smile to spread across Gareth's muzzle.