Chapter 27 – Luca
It’s the last Sunday of spring and dolphins have been spotted in the waters off Clifford Island.
Every year, their arrival brings the first wave of tourists to Lombard, and you’d think Dad would be happy about the uptick in business, but he only complains.
Are we all ignoring the sharp teeth? Dolphins are killers, not puppies, he says, and yet I know he’d far rather be chasing dolphins than having lunch with his parents.
Whenever Anna invites us over, Dad plans a trip to a theme park or suggests finally following Mum to New Zealand, then calls me a killjoy when I turn him down. I tell him he doesn’t need to come, but he does anyway, like he still doesn’t trust his parents enough to leave them alone with me.
‘I don’t know how you can taste anything with all that Parmesan,’ Anna comments.
Dad’s buried his food beneath a mountain of cheese, and while I, too, am a Parmesan fan, he has taken things a bit far.
‘Gotta stifle the truffle taste somehow,’ Dad says, and pulls a face. ‘And I despise asparagus, so I used the cheese to hide it and now I can pretend it’s no longer there, see?’
‘Our chef’s Michelin stars are wasted on you,’ Graham says, sounding resigned.
Dad looks pleased with himself.
‘I have an announcement to make,’ Anna begins. ‘I spoke to that Jacob boy, the little photographer, and he’s agreed to let me buy your portraits.’
The smile slides off Dad’s face. ‘You can’t have our portraits.’
‘Of course I can. They’re good portraits, and I don’t have any recent pictures of you.’
‘You bullied a seventeen-year-old boy into selling his first exhibition?’
‘Your mother did not bully anyone,’ Graham intervenes. ‘She simply made him an offer, a very generous one, and he accepted. For a young artist so early in his career, that’s quite the feat, you know.’
Dad looks to me, as if he expects me to take his side, but I don’t see the problem. I think it’s sweet of her, and great for Jacob, but I know Dad won’t want to hear that.
‘The exhibition made me remember something about you, Matthew,’ Anna starts.
‘It did?’ Dad raises an eyebrow.
‘Before Luca, before you left, you and Polly, you were always around that handsome boy from down the street. What was his name?’
While I perk up, Dad goes still. A muscle in his jaw twitches.
‘You mean the Harper boy,’ Graham confirms. ‘Nice family, good breeding.’
‘Rollo Harper, yes! I don’t know how I didn’t see it then, but you were quite smitten with him, no?’
‘Just because you no longer live under the misapprehension that your son is straight, it does not mean you get to poke around my love life. I’ve told you, it’s off limits.’ Dad’s voice wavers, and though he tries to keep his emotions contained, I can tell something has upset him.
‘Where do you think you’ll hang our portraits?’ I ask, to try to take the heat off Dad.
We manage to keep things civil even during the dessert course, mostly because Dad seems too caught up in his thoughts to speak.
‘Come on, boys. We have something else to show you,’ Anna declares once our plates are cleared and she leads us into the entrance hall. Beneath an arched skylight with a chandelier stands a massive table made from marble. On it rests a velvet box that she opens with dramatic flair.
‘We want you to have these.’ Graham nods to the two sturdy metal keys in the box. ‘They’re for the house.’
Dad looks puzzled. ‘I thought you used face recognition.’
‘They’re symbolic, Matthew!’ Anna scolds, like that should be obvious.
‘We’re off to Mauritius for the next month, so you may come and go as you please. We’ve designated a room for you upstairs, Luca,’ Graham explains.
‘It’s blue, the same colour as your eyes,’ Anna adds proudly.
Dad pouts. ‘He gets a room the colour of his eyes and I get a rusty key?’
‘Did you want a room, Matthew?’ Grahams asks with a voice like he’s speaking to a toddler.
‘No, thanks, Father,’ Dad replies, honey-sweet, ‘I just like to complain.’
May Day arrives, and despite school being closed for the holiday, I’m up early on my usual mission to report the week’s noticeboard message to Miss M.
I woke early to beat the crowds, because I’m not showing my face in town today. I’ve come up with a plan. They can appoint us May Couple, but they can’t stop nature.
Though things have quietened down in the past couple months, Simo and I are still keeping a low profile.
Everything about our friendship had become so public that we decided not to tell anyone that we’re boyfriends.
It’s not like much has changed, except that we make out now.
Which, admittedly, is hard to resist, so we’ve come up with a system where we leave our respective classes at the same time and shut ourselves in an empty classroom or a cubicle of the boys’ toilets. Anywhere private will do.
As much as I like being a boy of many (one) secrets, I find it hard to keep a lid on my feelings, now that I’m no longer hiding them from Simo.
I’m not denying my part in the whole mess, but that’s why I won’t be the one to bring up a potential soft launch.
This town is so truly starved for excitement that a day later we’d be a headline again.
The good news is that the shipping has stopped.
Mostly. The rumours are still rumouring, only more quietly.
I suspect that Mairi put an end to the love hearts all over town, once she realised the pressure it put on Simo.
I can’t say that I had a blast with it exactly.
But if you make a mess, you can only complain about it quietly, in your own head.
Now that it’s spring, Paul is back in his kiosk by the promenade. He salutes me as I walk past. It’s 7.16 a.m., and I can hear the clatter of Heloise’s trolley before I reach the square. When she spots me, she winks. I immediately fear the worst. Heloise is not a winker.
With slow steps and dread in my chest, I approach the noticeboard, but I don’t need to get close before the words rise above me.
SIMO AND LUCA ARE
IN LOVE
‘It wasn’t me!’ I say when Simo picks up on the first ring.
‘Luca—’
‘I did not submit our names for the noticeboard!’
‘I kno—’
‘I say we find the town council ASAP and wring them out until they tell us who it was!’
‘Luca, it was me!’
‘What?’
‘It was me. I went to the town council. I asked them to put it up.’
I gawp up at the noticeboard. The panic melts away and is quickly replaced with so much adoration for the boy I love that it makes my knees wobble. I decide to give up on standing for the moment and land on my bum. ‘For real?’
‘I was tired of kissing you in a toilet,’ he says, and I’m glad I’m already sitting down.
‘Was a bit smelly,’ I agree.
‘But also, kind of hot.’
I’m not going to deny it. ‘But what about the May Couple?’
‘What about it?’
‘I thought we didn’t want to be part of that.’
‘Yeah, I stand by that.’
‘OK, phew. Good. So we’re still meeting at ten?’ I ask.
‘We’re meeting at ten.’
‘Don’t get caught. They won’t let you get away otherwise. Not after the stunt you’ve just pulled.’
‘Don’t forget to send Miss M the pic,’ he says with a smile and hangs up.
Three hours later, we lock up our bikes and cross the causeway.
Clifford Island rises out of the mudflats in front of us, and I hope to reach it without slipping or getting my shoes muddy.
Simo has brought the parasol and picnic blanket, I’m responsible for the snacks.
The May Day celebrations start at midday with a parade through town, but unfortunately we’re not going to make it.
We will be cut off from the mainland all day. Gotta love the ocean for its tides.
We find our spot by the remains of the stone wall, and I watch Simo wedge the parasol into the ground.
A couple days of sun and already the freckles are popping up on his nose.
When we’re set up, I hand out the muffins I made this morning.
Simo takes a bite and reveals not one but three books he has brought.
‘Scared you’ll run out?’ I laugh.
‘I like to be prepared,’ he says. ‘If I don’t feel like a novel, I’ll read the memoir. And if I don’t want non-fiction, I switch to poetry. And if you get bored, you can borrow one.’
I decide not to comment, because he’s cute when he tries to turn me into a reader.
But I won’t get bored. Not with a view of the sea and Simo in front of it, lost in a book.
The wind pulls at his hair and a curl falls into his eyes.
His dark brows are slightly furrowed, and the vein draws a line across his forehead.
It’s the most beautiful picture. I’m so lost in him that it takes me a while to notice he’s stopped reading.
Though the book remains open, his gaze is blank.
I tap him with my toes. He looks up, and whatever world he was in is fading from his eyes.
‘Where did you go?’ I ask softly.
‘I was wondering . . .’ he begins, but seems unsure how to continue. ‘It’s not a very nice thought.’
‘Few thoughts are. But sometimes we have to let the bad ones out, to keep them from haunting us.’
He pulls on the threads of the picnic blanket. With his shoulders bent, he looks gloomy. ‘Do you think we would’ve met if Hamza hadn’t died?’
I’m glad Simo isn’t looking at me, because for a moment my face slips. I keep my breath even, despite the wave of grief that comes out of nowhere. Grief for a boy I’ve never met. Grief for another that I couldn’t bear to be without.
‘I think so,’ I say, after a while.
‘You do?’ he asks, looking up. I read surprise and sorrow in his light brown eyes.
‘There are two things I’m sure of: you, and my dad. I’m not sure what else I believe in, but I know I’d find you anywhere in the world. So, yes. We would’ve found each other, if not at seven years old, then at uni or later in life.’
He nods but stays quiet. We watch the waves pull in and out.
‘I’m glad we met at seven,’ he says eventually.
‘I am too.’ And then, because it feels right: ‘I would’ve loved to meet Hamza.’ It’s the first time I’ve said his name. With my heart beating hard, I watch a smile appear on Simo’s lips.
‘You would’ve fancied him so much.’
‘I would not.’
‘All the girls at school did. He had a stack of badly spelled love letters.’
‘Maybe they did. But I would’ve fancied you.’
He drops the threads he was picking apart and rests his head in my lap.
We spend most of the day like this, barely moving as the clouds speed across a blindingly blue sky.
Neither of us checks our phone, because we have all we need right here.
I almost forget that there’s a party going on without us, until the wind carries tunes of a brass band across the stretch of water.
Simo is dozing, until I tickle him awake with a blade of grass.
‘Why’d you do it?’ I ask him.
He snatches the leaf from my hand. ‘I told you, I didn’t want to hide us away any longer.’
‘Yeah, but if that was all, you could’ve just kissed me in the cafeteria.’
‘I don’t know – it doesn’t smell much better there than in the loos.
’ I pluck a fresh blade of grass and flick it at his nose, because if he isn’t giving me an answer, I’m going to be annoying.
He grabs my hand and holds it tight. ‘I wanted to take back what’s mine.
Change the narrative to what I want it to be, not what others have twisted it into. ’
‘Despite the reaction that will surely follow.’
‘We know the reaction already. But this time, I’m the one who caused it.’
‘I get that,’ I say. ‘People kept telling me how I felt. About you, about boys in general. Like they could see inside my head, when they had no idea.’
‘Is that part of why you did it?’
‘No, when I did it, it was all feels and no thought. I had a fat crush and no self-control.’
‘That’s pretty cute.’
‘You were there that Monday. It was not cute! I was terrified of what I’d done.’
‘I was terrified too,’ he says, and my gut twists from the shame that I scared him so. ‘But it also woke me up. I’d suppressed my feelings for so long.’
‘We were silly,’ I say.
‘We were afraid,’ he corrects, ‘and alone. It’s still a little scary. I mean, I’m glad we’re here and I don’t have to face the consequences of my actions for another eight hours.’
‘Hmm. I can steal us more time.’
‘Oh?’
‘If you want more alone time with me, far away from the consequences you speak of, I can make that happen.’
He leans in and begins to kiss me, only to stop again.
‘I want you to make it happen.’ Then his lips are back on mine.
Between the flowers tickling my neck, the sky above, and Simo on my tongue, I forget everything else.
I only come back to my senses when he props himself up.
His head blocks out the sun, but as long as I get to look at him every day, I have no need for it any more.
‘This, though, is the main reason why I put the message on the noticeboard,’ he says, a little breathless.
‘What is?’
‘You. I wanted to tell you that I love you.’
As the words fall from his lips, my world tips. My brain gives out for a second, and all the blood rushes from my head.
‘Oh my god,’ I groan, and press my fingertips against my eyelids, trying to keep everything from spinning.
‘What?’ Simo asks, suddenly panicked.
‘I . . . nothing.’
‘No, tell me! You can’t act like you’re having a stroke when I tell you I love you for the first time!
‘I just – I just got an instant boner.’
Simo is silent for several beats, and I open one eye to check on him. He is grinning. ‘You did?’
‘Stop laughing, Simo, it’s not funny!’ It’s not that I’m not used to this happening, it’s kind of an unavoidable side-effect of kissing Simo. But this is different. It’s so much more intense.
‘I gave you a love boner.’
I open the other eye too. ‘Don’t call it that. Don’t call it anything. We’re just going to ignore it until it goes away.’
‘But it’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.’
‘Leave me alone.’
‘As you wish,’ he says, and sits up.
‘No, don’t go!’ I say, and pull him on to me. His silent laugh reverberates in my chest. We lie like this for so long I can’t tell if he’s nodded off again.
‘Simo?’
‘Hmm?’
‘Before all this, before my grandparents and the noticeboard, I had dreams about this.’
‘’Bout what?’
‘About being in love with you. I mean, that part was real, but I was so afraid of the truth I didn’t allow it when I was awake. But asleep, I was defenceless.’
He winds his arms tighter around my waist. ‘And now? Are you still afraid?’
With my thumb I trace the arc of his eyebrow, then I sink my hand into the waves of his hair. It’s warm and soft beneath my touch.
‘No. Now it’s just fact.’