Chapter 31
Max
What was I thinking? Why did I allow him to get in my head? Yes, Hunter came to my rescue that one time in the British Museum. But that doesn’t mean his approach was the right one here. I don’t know how I come back from this.
We break for lunch, and I walk out of the assessment, desperate for some fresh air. But as soon as I step into the corridor, I spot Hunter.
‘Max!’ he cries. ‘Did I just see Gerald Pope?’
I ignore him, too upset to respond.
‘What the hell is he doing here?’ Hunter asks. ‘How did it go?’
I say nothing, striding out towards the gardens.
‘Where are you going?’ Hunter asks.
I glare at him. ‘I just need some air.’
Hunter is confused but follows me outside. I don’t want to explain what just happened. It won’t come out well.
‘Hey, I have good news,’ Hunter says.
I continue to ignore him.
‘I’ve just been speaking to Flora,’ Hunter says. ‘There’s trouble in paradise.’
I don’t want to hear it. None of it matters any more.
‘Max, what’s going on?’
‘Nothing,’ I say, finally turning to him. ‘Please, I need some space.’
I assume that’s the end of it, but I hear his footsteps continuing to crunch along the gravel behind me. I turn round, infuriated.
‘What are you doing? I just said—’
‘Max, I’m giving you some space. I’m going to walk a step or two behind you. But you’re in the middle of a job assessment and you’re storming off into the countryside. You don’t seem in a good place. I’m not going to lose sight of you.’
His comments hit me in a way I wasn’t expecting.
How can I stay mad at him when he’s being this considerate?
At the same time, I don’t have it in me to vocalise any kind of gratitude.
Now I’m annoyed at him for making me less annoyed at him, which is not the kind of sentiment I can share without sounding ridiculous. Still, I’m too mad to stay quiet.
‘I don’t need you, Hunter.’
Hunter remains calm. ‘I didn’t say you did.’
I turn and continue to walk. I can hear him following behind, but he’s giving me space like he promised. Gradually, my annoyance at him fades. I want to let him help me, but I don’t know how, so I just slow down until he’s walking beside me.
‘Come on,’ Hunter says gently. ‘Tell me what the matter is.’
I look around. We’re far enough from the house that nobody can see or hear us. I turn to face him.
‘Why did you encourage me to be honest?’
Hunter looks confused. ‘What?’
‘On the train here. You told me no more lies.’
‘No I didn’t. I mean, yes, but I was talking generally. What happened in the assessment?’
I let out a sigh. ‘I tried to be like you. Like you were at the British Museum. But I completely misjudged the situation. It was a disaster.’
Hunter looks at me, thinking it over. ‘So you’re not mad at me. You’re mad it didn’t go well.’
‘No!’
Hunter jolts in surprise.
‘No,’ I repeat more softly. ‘Well, yes. But I don’t think it’s just that.’
Now that he’s forcing me to articulate it, I’m not sure why I’m so mad.
And mad at Hunter specifically. Maybe it’s because I don’t believe I could ever have a moment like he did.
I don’t have his conviction. I don’t have that cut-throat edge.
But is that what’s upset me? I’m not sure I want to be like that.
I like it when Hunter takes the lead for me. But no way am I ready to tell him that.
‘Max, can I ask a question?’ Hunter says eventually.
I tense, but I don’t say no.
‘Why does this job matter so much to you?’
The question surprises me. This has been a settled assumption for as long as I can remember. But I guess I’ve never explained it to Hunter.
‘I want to see the world,’ I say. ‘I want to make a difference.’
I repeat all the statements I made in my recent job application. But none of them ring true, or at least feel like enough. Hunter listens, but I sense he has the exact same feeling I do. That I’m not telling the whole truth.
‘How long have you wanted this?’ Hunter asks.
I don’t have to pause to answer that one.
It was the one-two punch of my mum dying, then receiving that letter from her.
Until then, I’d been working in the Department of Education, but reading what my mum said about seeing the world and knowing the kind of conflict that resulted in her losing her life, I wanted to honour that.
Build bridges in the way she tried to do.
I tell Hunter about the letter. I’ve only told a handful of people over the years. It’s brought more than one person to tears, but when I finish, Hunter doesn’t look touched. He looks angry.
‘What?’ I ask, confused.
Hunter chooses his words carefully.
‘I’m sure your mum meant well.’
I’m flushed red hot with anger. ‘What are you talking about?’
Hunter doesn’t flinch. ‘I just . . . I think that’s a lot to put on anyone.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Think about it, Max. Those were your mum’s parting words. Don’t you think you felt some pressure to live up to them?’
His words hit a nerve so raw, it’s physically painful.
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about! You haven’t even read the letter.’
Hunter holds my gaze calmly. ‘All I’m asking is if this is what you really want, or what you think she wanted for you?’
It’s a reasonable question, but I can’t take it. It’s too much all at once, and it comes bubbling to the surface in the worst possible way.
‘Fuck you, Hunter. I don’t have to listen to this.’
I storm off ahead of him. We’re a long way from the house, but I don’t care. I thought I was upset because I screwed up the assessment, but now I feel like my whole world is falling apart. How can he talk about my mum like that? She wrote that letter with love.
But as I walk on through the fields, past ancient hedgerows, Hunter’s words nag at me.
It’s true that what my mum wrote in that letter has echoed through the years since.
Not only the lines about seeing the world, but the ones about looking after my dad.
How could they not, when that was all I had to cling to?
I read and reread that letter until I had it memorised.
I have no doubt the last thing my mum intended was to put pressure on me.
But maybe it was unavoidable. I wonder what state she was in when she wrote it.
She can’t have truly believed she was going to die or she wouldn’t have gone. She wouldn’t have written it.
Then it hits me. It’s right there in the letter. My dad made her write it. This all came out of his fears, not hers. I feel a flash of anger, but this time, it’s not towards Hunter.
I turn round and see that he’s still following at a safe distance.
We’ve arrived at a copse of trees on the edge of a stretch of woodland.
A vast oak tree is lying felled and covered in ivy and moss.
I take a seat on the tree, and when Hunter catches up, he sits next to me. We’re both quiet for a bit.
‘Sorry for saying fuck you,’ I say eventually.
Hunter smiles. ‘I’ve heard worse.’
I let out a blunt laugh.
‘I might be wrong, Max,’ Hunter says. ‘I haven’t read the letter, I didn’t know your mum. I’m just telling you how it comes across.’
I glance down and pick at a loose piece of bark.
‘I know. I’m grateful, honestly. And you might be right. I definitely always felt like I was doing what would make my mum happy.’
Hunter smiles in sympathy. ‘I’m pretty sure you being happy is what would make her happy. I doubt she felt like she was giving you instructions.’
I’m suddenly overwhelmed with sadness at the thought that Hunter and my mum will never meet. I’m not sure why. He’s not even my real partner. But right now, he’s exactly what I need. I tell him the source of my sadness.
‘I’m sorry too, Max. She sounds like an amazing woman.’
‘She was.’
I smile as I recall the two of us racing along a country lane in Norfolk on our bikes, her scarf flapping in the wind, as my dad cycled behind us and screamed that we were breaking the Highway Code.
‘She just . . . loved being alive. You’re right, she would never have given me instructions like that. I’m pretty sure the letter was my dad’s idea.’
Hunter frowns. ‘That makes sense.’
‘What does?’
‘That she was writing it for him, not you.’
I go quiet. It’s unnerving to think that those words I have given so much weight came from a woman who was trying to calm down her husband, not someone who truly believed her son would ever read them. But in an unexpected way, it’s also freeing.
Without either of us saying anything, Hunter and I get up and walk into the woods. I’m aware that I have to get back for the second part of the assessment and I can’t keep running away indefinitely, but I feel like the deeper I go into the wilderness, the more I’ll unearth.
‘You’re pretty good at this,’ I say to Hunter. ‘Better than my therapist managed in a year.’
‘You’ve had therapy?’ Hunter asks.
I shoot him an insulted look, only to see him grin mischievously.
‘Sorry,’ says Hunter. ‘Couldn’t resist.’
‘No, you’re right,’ I say. ‘She told me when I started that I would get as much out of it as I put in. So I was like cool, no need to put in anything.’
Hunter laughs out loud. ‘At least you know.’
I frown in confusion.
‘Oh come on, Max. From what I’ve witnessed, you’re not great at being honest about how you’re feeling.’
I walk on in silence, but in my mind, I go back to where this conversation started.
Hunter is right. I didn’t want to shout at him.
I didn’t want to have it out. I shut down.
I wanted to get away from it all and sulk.
I can’t think of any feeling more familiar.
Growing up, I knew there was no point in voicing sentiments like that.
It’s not that my dad would get annoyed. It was worse.
He’d panic. Make it about him. I learned not to discuss my feelings at all, knowing that any negative emotions would get turned into my dad’s problems. I don’t know how to say any of this to Hunter, but I do my best to explain it.
‘It’s not too late,’ says Hunter.
I furrow my brow.
‘To have that conversation with your dad.’
The mere suggestion fills me with fear. My dad and I don’t talk. Not like that.
‘I don’t think that would go well.’
‘That’s not a reason not to try. You didn’t want to have this conversation.’
‘You’re not my dad.’
‘Forget about how he’s going to react. There are things you need to say to him.’
I’m overcome with gratitude that I embarked on this crazy adventure with Hunter. Even if nothing else comes out of it, even if I don’t get the job, I needed this conversation. I needed someone to push me like only Hunter could. I look him in the eye.
‘Hunter . . . thank you.’
Hunter looks surprised. ‘For what?’
‘For not letting me get away with anything.’
Hunter shrugs. ‘I just say what I see.’
‘Easier said than done.’
Hunter smiles. ‘You’ve done pretty well today.’
I feel a surge of affection that almost knocks me off my feet.
It’s going to take me days to process everything that has happened in the last hour.
But as I think back to the assessment, I realise I still want the job.
Yes, I may be chasing a diplomatic career for sentimental reasons.
No, I may not be the ideal candidate. But admitting that hasn’t diminished my desire to achieve it.
‘Shit,’ I say to Hunter. ‘We’d better head back. We must be miles from the house.’
‘Nope,’ Hunter says with a smile.
I frown. ‘But we’ve been walking further and further away from it.’
‘We’ve done a big loop,’ says Hunter. ‘I made sure.’
Damn him. Just when I thought I couldn’t appreciate him any more.
I look at him sincerely. ‘Hunter, I still really want this job.’
Hunter smiles back at me. ‘Then go get it.’