Chapter 24
Max
The work day turns out to be surprisingly busy, keeping me in the office until late. This trade deal being signed was supposed to be a moment of triumph, but now everyone is preparing the long-form agreement that will be released to the public, and it’s throwing up all sorts of complications.
When I get home, the lights are dimmed and Hunter is on the living room sofa, a glass of red wine on the side.
Mr Peanut is curled into the nook of Hunter’s legs, snoring softly against Hunter’s bare thigh.
It’s only then that I notice what Hunter is wearing – a pair of boxer shorts and my old university hoodie.
I can’t remember the last time I wore that old thing, but on Hunter, it’s painfully hot.
I feel a surge of desire that catches in my throat.
Mr Peanut wakes up and sees me. He leaps up and runs over.
On any other day, I would fall to the floor and writhe around manically with him, but I want to show Hunter I can be responsible.
Strange as it feels, I reach down and pat Mr Peanut on the head as if we’re meeting for the first time.
‘That’s more like it,’ says Hunter.
I shoot him a wry look. ‘Coming from someone I just caught snuggling him.’
‘I was very strict with him on his walk! We did some training.’
He looks down at Mr Peanut.
‘But yes,’ Hunter says. ‘I will admit that we bonded.’
It shocks me how much I adore the image of the two of them spending the day together, Hunter trying to be strict while secretly falling for Mr Peanut.
Hunter asks me how my day was, and I inform him that I’ve been shortlisted for the Athens job. He congratulates me, but he’s subdued, and it’s clear there’s something on his mind.
‘How was your day?’ I ask.
Hunter sighs and tells me about the Hamlet audition.
As he walks me through what they’ve asked for and how much he’s been struggling with it, I see what it means to him.
I can imagine few things more exposing than having to constantly put yourself on the line in auditions.
Yet Hunter is so talented and self-assured that seeing him this vulnerable is a surprise.
‘I really want this one, Max,’ Hunter says. ‘I don’t want to make the same mistakes I’ve made in the past.’
I frown at him. ‘What mistakes?’
Hunter’s expression darkens. ‘I think I have a tendency to take these things a bit too seriously.’
‘Then do something fun.’
‘It’s Shakespeare.’
‘Shakespeare’s fun.’
‘Not his tragedies.’
‘Doesn’t matter. What’s the most fun you’ve ever had on stage?’
Hunter stops to think. ‘Probably Rizzo.’
‘Then do something from Grease.’
‘How is that thematically related to Hamlet?’
Fair point. I pause to think. ‘What about The Lion King? Isn’t that based on Hamlet?’
‘Kind of, yeah.’
‘That’s it! It’s perfect.’
‘What is?’
‘“I Just Can’t Wait To Be King”.’
Hunter bursts out laughing, but I’m serious. I make my case. Hunter is already an outsider. If they want to cast a celebrity, they will. He needs to take a risk. More than that, he needs to have some fun with it. What’s the point of any of this if he’s not enjoying it?
Eventually Hunter agrees to try it. I’m grinning like a stage mum as I prop my phone on a chair and cue up the karaoke track.
The music swells. The lyrics tumble out.
And instantly it’s wrong. I stand in the corner reading Zazu’s lines from my phone in a ridiculous posh accent which isn’t helping.
Hunter tries again. And again. Each time it feels thinner, more hollow.
Soon the laughter’s gone, and I can see his shoulders slumping.
I step forward and place a hand on his arm. ‘What’s the matter?’
Hunter looks up, surprised by my gesture but comforted. He sighs. ‘It’s just not working. It’s a nice idea, but . . . Hamlet never wanted to be king.’
I pause to think. ‘So sing it ironically.’
Hunter’s eyes flicker with inspiration. We roll again.
This time, he sinks into the lyrics. Every grin is brittle, every ‘I just can’t wait’ hysterical.
The joy teeters into mania. He claws at the words, letting them spiral into something unhinged.
His performance at the Menier Chocolate Factory was stunning, but this? This is inspired.
When the track cuts out, the room hangs silent. Hunter is panting, his chest heaving, dizzy from the effort. I’m no longer laughing.
‘Was that OK?’ Hunter asks tentatively.
‘OK?! That was incredible!’
Hunter doesn’t dare believe it. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Yes,’ I say earnestly. ‘I’m so proud of you.’
It’s only a throwaway comment, but Hunter looks like my words have knocked the breath out of him. He glances away, then looks back, disarmed.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask.
‘Yeah. Thanks, Max.’
‘Any time.’
Hunter hesitates, collecting his thoughts.
‘I’m serious. Thank you. You really pushed me.’
I hold his gaze. Something unsaid hangs in the air. I’m unnerved by the intensity of feeling between us.
‘I’m sure you’d do the same for me,’ I say. ‘It’s nothing, really.’
But it’s not nothing. We both know it.
The job assessment is not until next weekend, but we decide to go ask Doily if she’s free to look after Mr Peanut while we’re away.
Doily always tells us to treat the whole of her house as if it’s our own, but Hunter insists on knocking.
When there’s no answer, we let ourselves in, Hunter announcing our presence loudly. Doily calls us into her office.
We enter and find her crouched on the floor, attempting to put a binder of crumpled invoices in order. The room is littered with half-drunk cups of tea in Doily’s finest china. Standing over her like a drill sergeant and clutching his trusty Thermos is my dad.
‘Hello Max,’ he says casually.
‘Dad? What are you doing here?’
My dad looks surprised by my bemusement.
‘I’m helping Doily digitise her files.’
Doily sighs, resigned. ‘Not that I think it’s necessary, but HMRC is on my back, and your father insists I don’t want to mess with them.’
Hunter and I share a look of intrigue. Mr Peanut wanders over and nibbles on some leftover custard creams.
‘That’s a great idea,’ I say to Doily. I turn to my dad. ‘When were you going to tell me you were here?’
‘At some point,’ my dad says, completely unapologetic. ‘I got distracted. There’s a lot to be getting on with. Look at this mess!’
‘Oh stop it,’ says Doily. ‘It’s just a bit of clutter.’
‘It’s carnage,’ says my dad. ‘Total and utter carnage.’
As he surveys it, he looks gleeful. Bringing order to chaos is what he lives for. He picks up a random piece of paper. ‘Is it really necessary to keep the receipt for an animatronic rat?’
‘It certainly is,’ says Doily. ‘I brought that so my client Gerald Boswell could audition for the new Bubonic Plague 4D experience at the London Dungeon, but I shall be returning it if he doesn’t get the role. He’s not very good. And that rat was expensive.’
My dad tuts, but I can tell he’s enjoying the back and forth.
‘Are you boys all right?’ asks Doily.
‘We’re going away next weekend,’ says Hunter. ‘Max has a job interview.’
‘Oh!’ says Doily, turning to my dad. ‘That’s wonderful.’
‘Yes,’ he says, which trust me, is the most we’re going to get out of him.
‘We were hoping you could look after Mr Peanut while we’re gone,’ I say.
‘Of course. You don’t mind, do you, Alan?’ Doily asks my dad.
‘It’s next weekend,’ I say. ‘You won’t still be here, will you?’
‘I’ll be here every weekend until Christmas at this rate,’ scoffs my dad.
I share another glance with Hunter. I suddenly feel like Mr Peanut is going to be interrupting something.
‘You know what?’ I say. ‘Don’t worry about it. I can get a dog-sitter.’
I could swear that my dad and Doily both look pleased.
‘I’m surprised you’re not taking him with you,’ my dad says, raising an eyebrow at Doily. ‘Didn’t I tell you he’s attached at the hip to that dog?’
Doily gives us a pointed look. ‘Alan was asking how you coped, Hunter.’
Hunter frowns. ‘With what?’
‘With sharing a bed, all three of you.’
I notice the smallest glimmer of panic flash across Hunter’s face, but he recovers quickly.
‘We don’t,’ he says smoothly. ‘Max and I sleep in separate beds.’
‘Oh,’ says my dad, flushing as if he’s intruded on an intimacy. ‘Fair enough.’
He turns to Doily. ‘Secret to a long-lasting marriage, I’ve heard!’
Hunter and I leave my dad and Doily to their business and head back to our flat. As soon as we shut the door, we turn to each other excitedly.
‘Did you have any idea about this?’ Hunter asks.
‘No! My dad doesn’t tell me anything.’
‘Do you think—’
‘I mean . . . that’s what it looks like.’
‘Right? I thought it was just me.’
‘No. I think we might get back from the Cotswolds and find them married too.’
Hunter laughs and starts making our dinner, but I feel a flash of fear as I’m reminded of my dad’s question.
‘Do you think he suspects something about us not sharing a bed?’
‘No,’ says Hunter. ‘I think he was curious and bought my explanation.’
‘You really just . . . told him the truth.’
‘Yes, Max, I hate lying. Do you not hate lying to your dad?’
His question hits a wound that I’m in no mood to pick at.
‘It’s just . . . what we do.’
The truth is I’d love to be honest with my dad, but I don’t know what I’d say.
This situation with Hunter is complicated.
We’ve agreed not to have sex, but if anything that’s only increased the tension.
And it’s starting to get to me. My instinct is to keep it to myself, but I know it’s better out than in.
I turn to Hunter. ‘Do you think we should share a bed?’
Hunter looks surprised.
‘I don’t mean . . . I mean literally just sleep together. We’re going to have to do it at Chevening, and it might be a good idea not to do it there for the first time.’ I hesitate. ‘But also . . . it just might be good for us.’
Hunter pauses, thinking it over. I know there’s a risk of this looking like I’m trying to get him into bed with me, so I need to be clear, however awkward it is.
‘Seeing you cuddling up with Mr Peanut,’ I say.
‘Those are the kind of moments that really bond you. And yes, we’ve managed to convince people this is real so far.
But we’re going to come under a lot of scrutiny next weekend.
They don’t need to know we’re not having sex.
But I don’t want them to pick up on any distance between us. ’
Wow. That felt surprisingly good to get off my chest. I wait for Hunter’s reaction.
‘You might be right,’ he says. ‘But so is your dad.’
I frown in confusion.
‘There’s not room for three of us.’
Hunter points at Mr Peanut. ‘If I’m in, he’s out.’
I feel it like a blow to my chest.
‘But . . . I’ve always shared a bed with him.’
‘Exactly. It’s time to change it up.’
I look at Mr Peanut. I hate the idea of not having him to cuddle all night. But if I have to choose between him and Hunter . . .
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘Let’s try it.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Why wait?’
‘I’m ready if you are.’
‘Let’s do it.’
I turn to leave, but I see Hunter hesitate. ‘What?’ I ask.
‘Nothing.’
‘Yes there is. Tell me.’
Hunter shakes his head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
I fold my arms. I’ve never seen Hunter so awkward.
‘It’s just . . . I sleep naked. Always have.’
A shiver runs down my spine. Why did I suggest this? How am I going to cope with having Hunter naked in my bed? I should say no. Tell him that’s too much.
Hunter frowns. ‘But, I mean, if you’re not comfortable—’
‘I’m fine with it.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
I don’t think either of us believes me. But this isn’t going to work unless we both commit to the idea that we can handle it.
‘Seriously,’ I say, doing my best to sound casual. ‘Let it all hang out.’