Chapter 20
Max
I only have to wait a few minutes before I’m summoned myself.
My officer is a man in his forties with a head of tight curls and a tie covered in roses, who looks like he’s suppressing the urge to tap dance.
I’m expecting to be shown to one of those interrogation rooms you see on a police procedural, but this office is warm and cosy.
On the desk are a large number of snow globes.
‘Have a play,’ the man says, gesturing at the snow globes. ‘That one’s actually a sand globe, and look at this one! Confetti.’ He picks up a globe containing a bride and groom and shakes confetti all over them.
‘Very topical,’ he grins. ‘My name is Malcolm Lovejoy, and I’m here to make this experience as comfy as possible for you. Can I offer you some tea and bickies?’
This is a trap. This has to be a trap. They can’t possibly have hired someone called Malcolm Lovejoy to interrogate me. But if he’s being played by an actor, Malcolm is giving the performance of a lifetime. He pulls out my file and skims it.
‘Just reminding myself of the basics,’ says Malcolm. ‘Ooh, Pisces! Snap.’
He offers me another grin. ‘Right, here’s the deal. I love love. I’m a right old romantic, me. But we just have to make sure everything is hunky-dory with you and, er—’
‘Hunter.’
Was that a test? Hunter and I debated this question, since there’s no getting around the fact that some people out there know him as Hunter and others as Edwin.
In the end, we decided to tell people that his names are used interchangeably, as that avoids the risk of any slip-ups.
Thankfully, Malcolm doesn’t seem bothered.
‘Now,’ says Malcolm. ‘Why don’t you tell me the story of your relationship?’
I’d be delighted, Malcolm Lovejoy. I didn’t realise I was going to be given such free rein.
I thought I was going to be tested on how many birthmarks Hunter has on his left butt cheek, which come to think of it, I probably should have asked to verify.
I start to talk effusively about how Hunter and I met, then stop myself.
The more I go off on a tangent, the more chance there is of mine and Hunter’s stories diverging.
I reel myself in and stick to the facts that Hunter and I agreed on.
Malcolm listens, smiling and occasionally chuckling with delight, as if he’s tuned into his favourite podcast on a Sunday morning.
‘And what do you two do for each other?’ Malcolm asks.
Shit. We didn’t prepare for this one. But the first part of the answer is easy.
‘Hunter is incredibly supportive of my career,’ I say. ‘I’m applying for a new position, and he has made it clear that he’ll help me any way he can.’
‘Aww, bless. And what do you do for him?’
For a moment, I’m stumped. There’s no way of spinning the fact that my main use to Hunter is helping him stay in the country. But I have to say something. Then it hits me.
‘I cook for him!’
‘Ooh, scrummy. What do you cook?’
I visualise the lumpy pancake that Hunter so valiantly ate.
‘Mainly pancakes.’
Malcolm makes a note of this. I guess that lumpy pancake is now part of my official government record, but hopefully Hunter said the same thing if they asked him.
‘That’s all fabby dabby,’ says Malcolm. ‘One last question.’
He leans forward on his desk as if particularly curious. ‘Why haven’t you been in a relationship before?’
I pause. ‘I, er, what?’
‘You say in your application that this is your first serious relationship. Why haven’t you been in one before now?’
There’s no hint of menace in Malcolm’s question.
He’s just trying to make sure everything adds up.
He’s not even the first person to ask me this.
A couple of men I’ve dated in the past have posed the question, always with a note of suspicion, and while I brushed them off at the time, it prompted me to reflect on the answer.
I look at Malcolm and my first instinct is to lie. Make up some excuse, tell him I’ve been too busy with work. But I don’t want to do that. I want to commit to the new path I’ve been taking with Hunter. I lean forward.
‘To be perfectly honest, Malcolm, I think I’ve been scared of letting people see the real me. Sharing how I feel deep down. But I’m starting to change, and it’s all thanks to one man. It’s all thanks to Hunter.’