Chapter 20 – Simo
‘They sent a limousine,’ Luca murmurs for the sixth or seventh time. Minutes ago, he opened the apartment door to a driver in suit and tie, who announced that the car was ready and waiting to take us to Hidden House.
The three of us are squished into the back seat of the car like overdressed chickens on a roosting bar.
Maz’s face is a mask devoid of emotion. Luca alternates between gliding his hands over the car’s smooth leather interiors and stroking the ribbed corsage and flayed suit trousers of his off-white custom clothes.
I struggle to take my eyes off him. Not because of the expensive clothes, but because he wears that wonderstruck expression of a toddler on Christmas morning.
It’s so fucking enchanting; I have to fight the urge to text my parents that I’m not flying to Granada with them tomorrow, I’m staying right here, with him.
The limousine isn’t the only thing the Brandenburgs sent.
A couple of weeks after they invited me, I found one of those oversized gift boxes on our front step, to the puzzlement of my parents.
When I untied the silk bow and opened the box, my fingers trembling as my parents watched with wide eyes, I discovered several items tagged with a designer label, as per the dress code stated on the invitation: strictly white and gold formal attire.
Despite my telling her she didn’t have to, Luca’s grandmother went out of her way to organise us outfits.
At first, Mum refused to let me even touch the clothes, demanding I return them immediately.
Once I’d explained that I couldn’t insult Luca’s grandparents like that, she gave in, but only on condition that I do not eat or drink or touch anything that could stain, tear, burn or otherwise harm the outfit.
In fact, I wasn’t even to sweat into the clothes, so I could send them back after the party in the exact same state they arrived.
When the car comes to a halt and the driver opens the door, I check repeatedly that my ankle-length trench coat doesn’t touch the ground. It’s white with gold buttons and made from the softest material I’ve ever touched. I never want to take it off.
‘Shit,’ I say, when I look up and discover what’s in front of me.
Darkness has fallen but cutting through the ink-black night are six giant baubles, some as big as me.
They seem to float in mid-air and emit a faint glow, forming an archway that beckons us deeper into the gardens of Hidden House.
Faint piano music reaches my ears, and I’m half convinced that rather than dropping us off at the Brandenburg manor, the driver has brought us to a faerie realm.
I only snap out of my daze when Maz steps in front of us. He’s in a sharp tailcoat over a snow-white shirt and waistcoat, plus bow tie. His parents also sent a gold watch and a top hat, which he is refusing to wear. Still, he looks impeccable.
‘Before we go in, promise me two things,’ he says in a serious tone. ‘Stick together, and don’t accept anything from anyone you don’t know.’
Luca snorts. I can’t disagree. Maz is acting like the White Witch from Narnia is about to appear behind the giant baubles and ensnare us with Turkish delight.
‘You think I’m kidding now, but you didn’t share a house with these .
. . people for sixteen years. I’ve seen things at their parties I’d rather forget.
So just to be clear: if someone offers you drugs, you’re going to refuse.
In fact, you’re coming straight to me and we’re getting out of here. Have I made myself clear?’
In all the years I’ve known Maz, he’s never sounded so much like my mother, stern and unyielding. I nod.
‘Good. Let’s do this,’ he declares, but he doesn’t move.
In the end it’s Luca who takes the first step.
His hand finds mine and he pulls me forward.
My only thought is that it feels right. Maz follows us through the archway and down a path marked by more floating baubles.
They sway in a breeze, and I can only gawp at them, because surely this is an illusion.
Luca tugs me gently ahead, past a bar decked out with thousands of pearlescent holly berries, until we reach an open-air ballroom.
I’m glad of Luca’s hand in mine because gravity has lost its hold on me.
My brain fails to compute what it sees. Spanning the entire space is a canopy of shimmering spheres that move like a single body, their languid up-and-down sway forming a single wave a few metres above our heads.
I don’t know how long the three of us stare, mesmerised, at the kinetic entity rippling in the air.
We might stand there still, were it not for Anna Brandenburg.
Clad in a scarlet suit, like a ruby in a sea of gold, she lifts her arms. It’s the gesture of a magician orchestrating the stunt of the century.
‘Shall we start the party?’
An hour later, I’m standing in a patch of dark night just beyond the dance floor.
My gaze follows the couples who, guided by the live music and the dancing spheres above, sway to their own rhythm.
Joni and Daniel attempt an imperfect but spirited mother–son waltz, and Louise, Jacob and Mairi twirl around each other while also indulging in the variety of snacks offered by waiters circling the ballroom.
There are whispers that Adele is due to appear, which, at this point, wouldn’t surprise me.
I have seen what the Brandenburgs are capable of.
As the first guests trickled in, Anna and Graham whisked Luca and Maz away for a ‘family thing’.
Separated from Luca, I felt like Alice abandoned in Wonderland, a stranger in a world that defies the laws of logic.
So I stepped out from under the rippling canopy and found myself on a normal lawn, surrounded by normal trees.
The cold sea breeze stung my skin, but I welcomed its touch on my burning cheeks and the soothing sound of the waves lapping the shore.
I flex my hand. Though everything that I’ve just experienced feels unreal, Luca does not.
I can still feel the ghost imprint of his fingers pressing against my skin.
It makes me wonder what my parents would say, if they saw us like that, holding hands.
Nothing, is the likely answer. In the same way they have said nothing about the gossip that’s been doing the rounds for months.
The coal, that tight knot of frustration, still burns in my gut, fed by the stubbornness with which they refuse to have conversations that matter.
Not just about me and Luca. About Hamza too. No one has said his name in years.
In the past few weeks, I’ve woken up to the realisation that I don’t want silence to define me the way it defines my parents.
I don’t want it to come between me and the people that matter to me.
It’s a thought that fills me with a kind of soaring sensation, like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff, and though I know I’m strapped into a security harness, the reality of the drop is as scary as it is liberating.
If I jump, there is no turning back. The question is which I’ll regret more: if I speak or keep my mouth shut.
What will happen if I say Hamza’s name out loud in front of my parents?
What will happen if I ask Luca for a dance?
I picture myself and Luca on the dance floor, and for a couple of peaceful seconds a pleasant shiver rolls across my body, making my fingertips tingle with possibility. Then I remember everyone else, all the eyes on us, and the tingling turns into panic. The feeling tells me all I need to know.
The fantasy fades, leaving me standing alone on a cold December night. I step back into the light and the warmth of the heat lamps, seeking a drink that will remove the taste of fear from my tongue. I notice too late that I’ve run straight into a group of familiar faces.
‘Wow, Simo, you look . . .’ Mairi starts, but can’t seem to settle on a word.
‘Hot,’ Louise finishes, a wide grin across her face. ‘What she means to say is, you look hot.’ Mairi punches her in the arm, while heat blooms on my cheeks. ‘I’m only stating facts,’ Louise adds with a giggle that makes her curls bounce.
Jacob, who’s been watching the exchange with an amused expression, catches my eye and nods a hello.
‘You all look good too,’ I reply, taking in Mairi’s sequinned dress and Louise’s miniskirt. And yes, even Jacob manages not to be outshone by them. Barely.
‘Just good or . . . hot?’ he asks with a raised eyebrow, then moves to dodge a punch from Mairi.
Suddenly, Jacob straightens, and awe softens the hard edges of his face.
I brace myself for another of Anna’s otherworldly surprises, but the second I turn, my eyes lock on to Luca.
And something stirs. It’s not the haunting spheres above, or the heads in the crowd as they turn.
It’s a well in my chest, a dark mirror lying still until the very moment when the moon is revealed and touches a fingertip to the water’s surface.
A single ripple, and the darkness fractures, revealing what lies at the bottom.
I see what they see: a beautiful boy, wearing beautiful clothes like a second skin, looking like a true Brandenburg.
But unlike them, I would find Luca in any crowd.
Strip him of the name and the expensive clothes and he’d remain the same to me.
Strip me of sight and touch, and I’d sense him regardless.
He comes to a stop before me, and I almost look away, because maybe it’s all too much, maybe it’s best to stay drowned. It might be dark at the bottom of that well, but it’s safe too. In the end, I have little say in the matter. Now I’m drowning in the blue of Luca’s eyes.