CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Six years earlier:
"Dad, for the last time, I don't want to work in the bakery," he fumed. "I told you years ago that I wanted to go to York to study astronomy."
"Xeno, just think about what'll happen to you. University's risky business, why don't you just stay here? You're already plenty qualified." His father replied gruffly. "Besides, it's too late to apply now; you said it yourself."
He stood up from where he was sitting on the armchair in his living room. "I applied three months ago. I got three As, and they liked my personal statement. I'm in."
Fear shot across his father's face, though it was quickly hidden under a mask of sternness. "What, you wouldn't even study it at Willowheath? Where you can be near us? After I've raised you for years?"
"No." He was almost shaking with anger. Echoes of the same conversation played over and over again in his head. "I'm going to York. I'm studying astrophysics. Willowheath doesn't even offer the course I want."
"What's the difference?" His father shouted, standing up from his chair. "Why would you go to all that trouble to get some useless degree? It's not like you'd get a job, anyway. You're being so selfish. Who's going to inherit the bakery?"
"Give it to Shane. Or Robin, when they're older. I'm sure they'd be happy for it."
His father's jaw dropped. "You ungrateful little.."
"You can't call me ungrateful when you're trying to force this on me!" Xeno exclaimed, slightly louder than he meant to. "I've never wanted to work in the bakery; this is your dream, not mine."
"Go on then, leave me like your good for nothing mother!" He shouted, the veins in his neck popping out. "If you walk out that door, don't expect me to let you back in." He looked at him through narrow slits.
Xeno tried to suppress the trembling in his hands.
"Whatever. My bags have been packed for the last week, and I'll find someone to stay with for the next one before term starts.
" He left the room, stalking upstairs. The suitcase under his bed had all the essentials he would need: clothes, toiletries, his calculator and maths books, and a few CDs for the road.
He'd been through York's recommended packing list, and he'd covered all the bases, albeit lightly.
Anger gave him strength as he pulled his suitcase down the stairs, swiping his car keys from the windowsill. Rounding the corner to the door, he came face to face with his stepbrother.
"Don't try to stop me." He spat, though he knew his anger was misdirected. A small wave of guilt made its way over the dam of rage he had built.
Wordlessly, he produced a small container of laundry detergent from a bag. "Here. I knew you'd forget."
"Thank you, Shane." He half-smiled before remembering why he was so keen to leave. "You'll.. be okay, right?"
"I'll be all right."
Leaving his stepbrothers behind had long since been one of his biggest regrets, but they couldn't come with him, and he couldn't stay. "Goodbye, Dad." he thought, as the house became smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. From small to tiny to microscopic.
And then it was gone.