Jack Kennington Park Road
JACK
Kennington Park Road
I’m still floating somewhere between sleep and waking, wrapped in a delicious cocoon of warmth, when the inviting smell of eggs and bacon teases my nose.
For a moment, I convince myself it must be a dream, far too good to be real, because normally, the only thing that greets me in the mornings on Broadwick Street, aside from a healthy bowl of porridge and fruit I make myself, is the more or less discreet coming and going of whatever boys Ian or Ollie had over the night before.
Kit, at least, is far more private. If he ever invites someone into his room, he makes sure no one else is home.
Casual hook-ups, which seem to be just part of everyday life for a lot of people, are so far removed from how I function that even witnessing them tends to make me deeply uncomfortable.
It’s not a moral thing, absolutely not. It’s just that, for me, feeling attracted to someone I don’t know is simply impossible. And even with people I do know well, I need a deep emotional connection before even the faintest hint of physical interest has a chance of appearing.
Given all this, the sudden urge I’ve been having lately to touch Francis is… completely beyond me. And maybe that’s exactly why it’s so unsettling.
The inviting smell of food still lingers in the air, and I’m starting to suspect it’s not just a dream. That suspicion turns into certainty when I feel a light touch on my shoulder, followed by a low, familiar chuckle that drags me fully awake.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty! Sleep well?”
I jolt upright, still dazed, blinking rapidly as I try to piece things together. It takes me a few seconds longer than I’d like, but then I realise where I am.
“Fran… Francis?” I mumble, still trying to shake off the haze.
“In the flesh, little fox,” he replies, wearing that smug, self-satisfied look that suits him far too well.
And fair enough, I suppose. He’s barefoot, hair still damp, dressed in nothing but grey joggers and a plain white T-shirt, and somehow manages to look so effortlessly good it nearly knocks the breath out of me.
“How dare you? Don’t call me that!” I snap, indignant, which only makes him laugh even more.
“Why not? With that messy auburn mop of yours, I’d say it suits you perfectly,” replies the infuriating doctor.
My hands instantly go to my hair, which, like every morning, is sticking out in all directions.
“What am I doing here?” I ask again, still groggy, as I try to flatten the wild bush on my head and pull the blanket tighter around me. It smells like Francis, just like the clothes I’m wearing, actually.
I wish that bothered me. Instead, it feels oddly comforting. Intimate, even.
“You passed out on the sofa last night. I didn’t have the heart to wake you,” he finally explains.
Then, in a more serious tone, he adds, “I called your brother, don’t worry. Told him what happened and promised I’d drive you home this morning.”
“Th-thanks...” I mumble, still slightly annoyed at being teased, but admittedly grateful that at least he had the sense to let Ian know.
“If I didn’t come home last night, he probably did start to panic a little. But there’s really no need for you to take me back,” I add firmly. “I can easily get the Tube.”
Francis looks like he’s about to argue, but I’m not about to let him win this one. “How’s Adele? I hope the little hurricane got some proper rest. I think she was just overtired last night, she’s still adjusting to the nursery schedule…”
I get up, still half-asleep, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders like some kind of makeshift cloak, while Francis heads into the kitchen to start dishing up our breakfast.
“She slept like a log, luckily,” he replies. “Actually, if she doesn’t start making noise soon, I might have to go and wake her myself. We’ve got brunch at the Elliot Arnetts’ in a bit.”
Francis turns to look at me, probably catching the flicker of hesitation in my expression. He watches me for a second, then silently reaches out a hand, gesturing for me to come sit at the table.
As I meet his deep, dark gaze, something twists in my stomach, and I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with breakfast…
“Come eat something, Jack. I hope eggs, tomatoes and bacon are all right.”
Technically, as a professional dancer, I’m supposed to follow a much healthier diet, but I doubt one indulgence will ruin my life, so I nod, genuinely grateful for the thought.
“Yeah, that’s perfect. Thanks, Francis…” I reply carefully, already bracing myself for one of his sarcastic jabs. It’s impossible to predict what the target will be, but it always feels like I need to have my guard up, ready to dodge the next blow.
This time, though, I notice straight away that there’s no need.
As I tuck into my food, the infuriating doctor watches me with his head resting in his hand and an oddly gentle look in his eyes, one that completely throws me off balance.
I’m starting to wonder what kinds of thoughts run through his head behind those dark, unreadable eyes, when Adele’s voice suddenly chirps through the baby monitor sitting on the kitchen counter, unmistakably calling out for her dad.
“Fan!” she squeals cheerfully, and he instantly pushes back his chair to go to her.
“I’ve got it!” I say automatically. “You’ve barely touched your breakfast and I’ve basically finished…”
“Don’t worry, Jack. Just enjoy your meal…”
“Stay,” I blurt out, barely thinking, as I rest my hand lightly over his, silently asking him not to move.
The touch is brief, ordinary even, but it jolts me like a surge of electricity.
I have no idea if he felt it too, but we lock eyes at the exact same moment.
“Please,” I add quietly, and Francis gives the faintest nod.
“All right… I’ll go make her bottle, then.”
I head upstairs and the moment I step into Adele’s room, she pops up, standing in her cot and gripping the wooden bars with her chubby little hands, her eyes wide in surprise.
And then, for the very first time, she says my name.
“Heck,” she announces in her tiny voice, melting me on the spot.
“Oh my God!” I squeal, overwhelmed. “You clever little princess!”
Still beaming, I scoop her up into my arms and make my way back downstairs, where Francis is waiting in the living room with a worried look on his face.
“What is it? Is everything alright?”
“Yes!” I nod, swallowing hard. “She said my name! Adele said my name!”
The infuriating Dr Starkey stares at us, eyes wide, before breaking into a proud smile.
“Well done, sweetheart, that’s a tricky word too,” he says, clearly impressed.
And before I can even register what’s happening, Francis leans in to hug her, pulling me into the embrace as well.
We stay like that for a moment, caught in some kind of strange, magical bubble… just the three of us.
Then Francis suddenly seems to realise what he’s doing and pulls away as if the brief moment of closeness has shocked him.
“Sorry, I didn’t even think. I just… got a bit carried away and didn’t realise…”
“It’s fine,” I cut in, before he says something that might make it worse.
Because clearly, that hug wasn’t meant for me, but I didn’t mind. Not at all. And even though I know he wasn’t trying to offend me, I still feel… rejected.
“Maybe I should head home,” I mutter, as I settle Adele into her highchair and fasten the safety straps.
Somewhere deep down, I wish he’d ask me to stay.
But Francis doesn’t say a word to stop me. He simply hands over a bottle of warm milk, and Adele starts drinking like her life depends on it, gripping it tightly in both hands.
“My clothes…” I say, my voice quiet, the air between us suddenly awkward and unfamiliar.
“I washed them and put them in the dryer last night… You’ll find them in the laundry room, if you want to get changed. In the meantime, I’ll load the dishwasher and get Adele dressed, so we can take you home afterwards…”
“I said no!” I snap, before I can stop myself. But the look of surprise on Francis’s face, and Adele’s, too, makes me catch myself instantly. It’s not fair to lash out just because I’m feeling irrationally hurt.
“Sorry…” I backtrack quickly. “I mean, thank you for the offer, but I really don’t want to cause you any trouble.”
For once, Francis looks genuinely taken aback. “It’s no trouble, Jack. Honestly. Like I said, I’m due at Seb and Remi’s for brunch, and Broadwick Street is on the way.”
That’s not entirely true, but I let it go. “Okay… Thanks. But at least let me help you tidy the kitchen first…”
“You already did more than enough last night, little fox…” he says, giving me a warm wink. “Go get dressed, I’ve got this.”
Without further delay, I head to the laundry room, grab my clean clothes, and make a beeline for the guest bathroom to get changed.
When I come back into the living room, with Francis’s clothes from last night neatly folded and tucked under one arm, I find him and Adele already waiting by the door, all set to head out.
She’s wearing an adorable little yellow coat, which, let’s be honest, could only have come from Seb, paired with a green woolly hat that somehow makes her red curls look even more ridiculously cute.
“What are you doing with my clothes? You’re not actually planning on taking them home to wash, are you?” Francis asks, raising a suspicious eyebrow.
I feel a flush creep up my neck, all the way to the tips of my ears, but quickly try to reassure him.
“Obviously. I wore them, so I’ll take care of it. I’ll get them back to you as soon as I can.”
He doesn’t look entirely convinced, but it’s time to go, so he just shrugs and, after settling Adele into her buggy, leads the way down to his car.
The new dad has pretty much mastered all the complicated clicking and unclipping it takes to transport a baby anywhere, and before I know it, we’re weaving through the chaos of Saturday morning traffic.
With everything going on lately, I haven’t really had the chance to explore my new city properly, and at some point, I catch myself with my face practically pressed against the window.
“London’s quite something, huh?” the doctor says out of nowhere, making me jump slightly.
I hear him chuckle, that usual low laugh of his, and when I glance over at him, he goes on, “I wasn’t born here, but I honestly love this city…”
“I couldn’t live anywhere else in the world,” he adds, with a confidence I almost envy.
“I’m… not sure yet,” I reply honestly.
“What do you mean?” he asks, eyes still fixed on the road, giving me the chance to take in the sharp line of his jaw, already shaded with stubble even though he shaved just a few hours ago.
I glance over my shoulder to check on Adele, who, thankfully, is happily humming, well, sort of, to some ridiculous tune coming from her toy radio.
“I don’t know…” I go on, trying to untangle the mess in my head.
“I’ve only just moved to London, and I haven’t had time to figure it all out yet. But beyond that... I get this strange feeling that my life is only just beginning. Like everything’s wide open. Every possibility, every choice. And yeah, that’s kind of exhilarating, but also terrifying.
I don’t want to downplay the years I spent in Stratford.
Without those, I wouldn’t be here, but ever since I started at the academy, it’s like something shifted.
Like the door to a thousand different lives just flew open, and I have no idea which one I’ll walk through.
I just hope I’ll know how to choose the right one when the time comes. ”
I realise Francis has been quietly listening the whole time, and I honestly don’t know how I ended up saying all this to him, of all people, things I’ve never even admitted out loud to anyone.
He keeps his eyes on the road, looking oddly thoughtful, and suddenly I feel the urge to ask, “It sounds a bit ridiculous, doesn’t it?”
“No,” he replies immediately, and he actually means it. “Not at all. It sounds… wonderful. And perfectly normal at your age.”
“You’re not that much older than me,” I remind him.
But he just smiles, entirely unbothered.
“Not by much, true, but I’ve already made those choices.”
“And are you happy?” I can’t help asking. “How do you know you made the right ones?”
Francis’s smile turns a little wistful. “I don’t,” he replies, his voice faintly unsteady, before quickly adding, “But something tells me you won’t get it wrong, Jack. I get the feeling that, deep down, you already know exactly what you want.”
The infuriating doctor might actually be right. But that doesn’t mean I’ll manage to get it, not everything I want, anyway.
By now, we’ve pulled up outside Broadwick Street, and Adele has fallen asleep.
There’s a strange kind of tension between us, something neither of us quite seems able to name.
Before I say something completely inappropriate, I thank him for the lift, unclip my seatbelt, and make a hasty escape towards the relative safety of home, his clothes clutched tightly under my arm.
I’m almost at the front door when something suddenly pops into my head. “Francis!” I wave a hand to catch his attention before he can drive off toward Maida Vale.
Luckily, he notices and lowers the window, giving me a questioning look.
“What is it? Everything alright?”
“Yeah, yeah…” I reply quickly, not wanting to hold him up, “I just forgot to ask if I can bring a friend tonight. Everyone else already said it’s fine in the chat, but I know the whole group needs to agree, and you were the only one who hadn’t answered yet…”
“A friend?” he echoes, like he didn’t quite catch that right.
“Um, yeah!” I nod. “Ludovico Visconti. He’s in my course at the academy. You’ll like him, I promise. He’s Italian and seriously lovely.”
Francis stares at me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, just as he starts rolling the window back up, he gives a small nod.
“Alright, little fox. Bring your friend.”