Chapter 12
William
The cuckoo clock cuckooed midnight. I sank back into my father’s old armchair, and the dents and tea stains that had outlived him, intending to read for a half an hour before falling asleep.
It was strange, being in here without him.
I picked up my beaten old copy of The Page’s Quest and dug my elbows into the threadbare fabric of the armrests, but my mind soon drifted to the television industry’s sexiest animated hair ribbon.
Petey Boy had seemed so in control at work, but he was at his cutest when he was flustered and wrong-footed.
I smiled, happy to have evened our score.
The book fell open, and my makeshift bookmark, the unopened letter from His Majesty’s Revenue and Customs, slithered out onto my lap.
Sensing danger, the dinosaur part of my brain sent a shot of adrenaline through my chest. I closed my eyes—if I didn’t see the tax bill, I could ignore the tax bill—took a couple of deep breaths, and tried to calm my body.
It’s what I used to do before taking a penalty kick.
And it might have worked but for the knock from downstairs.
I nearly soiled the red satin boxer shorts that served as my jimmy-jams.
“Bramley, is that you?” He was supposed to be lodging at the Dower House with Mum.
The knock came again, this time more insistent.
I tucked the envelope back into the book and tossed it onto the coffee table.
“Are you missing me already? Or are you annoyed because she’s beating you at Scrabble?
” I donned my robe and padded down the stairs.
“She cheats, you know. Keeps extra letters Blu-Tacked under the table.”
I flung open the door to be greeted by a face significantly younger than the withered old walnut of my faithful retainer.
“Dub-Dub!”
Jonty’s arms flew wide, and I found myself wrapped in them before I knew what was happening.
“Marvellous to see you,” he said, grabbing my elbows. “How are you, dear fellow?”
“What a pleasant surprise.” And while I meant it, a new sense of dread washed over me. I adopted a conspiratorially hushed tone. “But what are you doing here?”
“Didn’t seem right, sleeping under the old Buckford lead without saying a proper hello.” He released me and began wafting around the room, inspecting everything from the floorboards to the rafters.
“Golly, I haven’t been in here in years! Looks the same.” He sniffed the air. “Smells the same. Should we open a window?”
Apart from the bathroom being along the hall, the folly functioned as its own apartment.
This level, the downstairs room, was on the third floor of the house and served as a small bedroom.
There wasn’t much there, only an old wire-framed double bed and a gas ring so you could make tea or boil an egg.
It felt quite a lot like my old dorm at Petersham—doubly so, now my old school friend was standing in it.
“We’ll get in trouble for this,” I said, closing the door as gently as possible, as if someone might hear it click and we’d be sent to see the headmaster for a flogging.
“Remember all those nights we used to sneak out of dorms to go to the cinema in Richmond?” Jonty said, making himself comfortable on my bed.
“We only did that once.”
“Did we?”
“You abandoned me halfway through to go hang out by the towpath and fondle Laura Pettigrew’s tits.”
“Ah yes! Good old Heavy Pettigrew.” Jonty disappeared into memory. “Collected virginities like Pokémon. Absolutely relentless. Did she track you down in the end?”
I shuddered. “Mercifully not.”
“Oh, shame. Who punched your V-card, then? I know her brother was sweet on you.”
I winced. I wasn’t ashamed of being a virgin, but I wasn’t going to admit my status to Jonty or he’d take it up like a charitable cause. I’d end up as part of an Instagram campaign. Fortunately, Jonty was easy to distract.
“Tea?” I pointed to the kettle on the gas ring.
“Splendid suggestion, Dub-Dub! Don’t mind if I do. Have you got oat milk? Lactose intolerant these days. If I get so much as a whiff of an unwashed cow creamer, I’m shitting for Britain. Still, keeps you slim.” He flopped back onto the bed. “So, Bunny Winters cheats at Scrabble, hey? Escándalo!”
I’d forgotten how completely overwhelming Jonty’s presence could be.
While the kettle boiled, I listened to him catching up on old times.
The entire time I was terrified either Petey Boy or, God forbid, Indira might burst through the door to make an arrest. There were cameras throughout the house.
Surely it was only a matter of minutes before someone noticed Jonty Boche was missing and came to collect their errant schoolboy?
I didn’t fancy opening the door to either of them with Jonty sprawled across my bed, so I suggested we take our tea up to the study.
As Jonty padded up the stairs, wittering on about his beloved dormice, I quickly snuck open the door to check the hall for any sign of rampaging producers.
The coast was clear, but the little robot camera mounted in the corner of the hall turned its eye towards me, its red LED blinking. I slammed the door shut.
Upstairs, Jonty was flopped in Dad’s old armchair like he owned it, my copy of The Page’s Quest in his lap, the envelope in his hands.
“I think you’re meant to open these,” he said, waving it about.
I snatched the letter out of his hand and tossed it onto my father’s desk, nearly spilling my tea.
“It looks kind of angry. All those red letters.”
“It’s nothing.”
I perched on the edge of the other chair. Fortunately, Jonty had the attention span of a lobotomised squirrel.
“I adored your old man,” he said, looking around a room.
“A true British eccentric. I remember he used to go up to the roof to do yoga first thing in the morning. Stark bollock naked. Arse up, saluting the sun, dangly old scrotum visible from space. Must have been astronauts chundering their cornflakes up all over the International Space Station.”
He tossed my book onto the coffee table and reached for his tea. “You’ll never guess who I bumped into earlier.”
I shrugged. “Oscar-winning actor Dame Judi Dench?”
He frowned. “No, Petey Boy. The producer. Chum of Ludo’s, dresses like a garage mechanic, looks like he was assembled from a flat-pack.
And he was asking me questions about you.
” Jonty’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’m telling you now, Dub-Dub, he’s hot for you.
Absolutely roasting. Oiled up, generously salted, and slapping his rump with buttered rosemary. You should get in there.”
My pulse broke into a light canter. I couldn’t stop it. Not wanting to look too keen, I scoffed loudly.
“Don’t be ridiculous. If Petey Boy thinks of me at all, he thinks I’m a nuisance.”
Now Jonty scoffed. “Noooooo! No, no, no, no, no, noooooo. Perish the thought!” He batted the idea away with his hand. “He’s into you all right. Made a point of asking me what your ‘deal’ was. If that’s not a sure sign his old tip’s tingling for you, I don’t know what is.”
I fidgeted on my chair, feeling uncomfortable. “And what did you tell him?”
“I bigged you up, old chap. Pointed out all your finest qualities! Level six human paladin with an oath of devotion. Brain so remarkable it should be studied by science. So impressively hung the lads all call you the National Gallery. That sort of thing.”
I laughed. “Well, he’s under no illusions there. He burst into my bathroom uninvited about half an hour ago and saw the whole exhibition for free.”
Jonty’s hand shot up into his loose black curls. “My God, he moves fast! I can’t have left him more than a few minutes earlier. Imagine if the British government had that kind of efficiency. We’d still have an empire.” Jonty kicked his feet up onto the coffee table. “So, what happened?”
“He was so flustered he couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”
Jonty frowned. “This is the same Petey Boy we’re talking about?”
“Yes.”
“Tall bloke? Bleached hair? Built like a biro?”
I nodded.
“And there you were, all chiselled and as naked as Michaelangelo’s David, and you say he couldn’t get out of there fast enough?”
I shrugged. “Yes. It’s hard to believe it could be the same guy who runs around with a clipboard putting the fear of God into people all day.”
“We all contain multitudes.” Jonty shook his head. “Petey has certainly contained multitudes. Often in the course of a single evening.”
I had no idea what Jonty meant and I didn’t really care to ask in case I looked stupid. We sat there in silence for a moment.
“So, what’s his ‘deal,’ then?” I asked.
Jonty sipped his tea.
“Well, he’s the black sheep of a massively overachieving family—the affliction of so many of us—so he’s got a huge chip on his shoulder.
He’s cursed to spend forever trying to prove himself.
He trawls all the wrong places looking for love when what he’s really looking for is approval.
But he has the brains, drive, and energy of a border collie, and he’s every bit as smart, loving, and loyal.
No idea if he’s any good with sheep, mind you. ”
I don’t think I’d taken a breath the whole time Jonty was speaking. “Golly, that’s quite the review.”
“Plus, he’s widely regarded as the best two-door ride Vauxhall has produced in a century.”
I spat my tea out across the coffee table.
Jonty’s eyebrows waggled in a disconcerting manner. “Shall I tell him you’re interested, then?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not? You are. It’s as plain as the tea running down your face.”
I wiped my chin with my wrist and shook my head.
“Come on, Dub-Dub, a little summer fling would do you good. Throw your leg over a few times and give the old glutes a workout.”
“I don’t want a fling, I wan—”
There was an angry thump at the door, and a Scottish voice boomed from beyond it.
“If this meeting of the Incompetent Nepo Baby Society is finished, I’d quite like a fucking word.”