Chapter 9
9
JOE
I leave the library and hurry to join the padre, who leads me to a room with his name on a sign outside along with the job I once had my sights set on: Head of Pastoral Care.
It’s a cosy space, warm and welcoming, just like the room I had at the last school I worked in. The only difference is the view. This window doesn’t overlook bleak concrete. It offers a clear view of that grassy courtyard full of children working around picnic benches, and I back away in a hurry.
“Sorry.” I hover in the doorway, neither inside nor out, not willing to put myself on view where I won’t be wanted. “Isaac really doesn’t want his brother to see me.”
“Ah.” The padre crosses to that window. “That’s a shame. It sounded as if Lenny appreciated your support, but he won’t see you through this glass. It’s reflective. For privacy.”
I get it. Students need to believe they can share some of their worst moments without an audience. So do my courtroom clients, although securing that for them takes some arguing with court officials.
The padre reassures me. “He won’t know you’re in here, I promise.” He also colours a little. “My husband took it as a personal challenge to test whether anything that happens in here could be seen from outside.” He crosses himself, and I hope to fuck this room is soundproof; I can’t help laughing.
“Padre!”
“Hugo,” he insists, and just like that, he’s a different person. Not that he hasn’t been friendly since our first meeting. This version is helpless. Happy, even if only one side of his mouth shows it. Both sides of his face turn rosy. “I could apologise for Charles, but I won’t. More people could stand to feel as wanted as my husband makes me. As supported, like it sounds you made Isaac feel too.”
I join the padre and watch Isaac find his brother. I can’t tell exactly what he whispers into Lenny’s ear, and I didn’t have witnessing joy or relief on my scorecard for today, but I’ll take this snapshot of both home with me.
“Bless him. Bless them both,” Hugo says as if I spoke aloud. “I guessed Isaac had walked a difficult road to get here. A lonely one, perhaps, without you.” He doesn’t ask why, and that’s good. I’m not certain right now that I could speak clearly, especially when he adds, “If he needs community, he’s found one.”
I’m aware Hugo looks at me next, and I bet he sees a mirror image of the relief visible outside this window. I don’t even try to stop myself from voicing what I’ve already confessed to myself once today. “Killed me to walk away.”
His hand lands on my shoulder, and then we sit together and talk for ages.
Not about the family of two I watch gradually relax outside this window. I see Isaac yawn, and I also notice more exhausted children and teachers in photos lining this cosy space built for safe confessions.
Hugo studies them with me. “The school is aligned with several refugee projects across the channel. Our teaching staff rotate through a few months there and here.” He points out a man playing beach football in one photo. “Ruth’s husband.” He finds another teacher, this one reading a story that could look normal if not for the sea of tents behind him. “Luke’s partner, Nathan.”
Perhaps he spots a reaction I’m unaware of making. He’s wry. “It is possible that we’re the queerest school in Cornwall. All I can tell you is that Luke has made it his mission to recruit diversely. And to make sure our student body is supported by dynamic men and women who model an outreach ethos. One the students can recreate when they leave us to build networks of their own.” He nods at the photos of absent teachers. “It has left us a little stretched lately.” He yawns, and behind him, I see Isaac do the same again outside. So does Lenny, as if it’s contagious.
A ringing bell signals home time. It also makes me jump, suggesting I’ve lost some time to staring.
Hugo lands a hand on my shoulder again. “I predict early bedtimes all around. I have a few more resources back at the Rectory I’d hoped to talk through with you. Would you have time to take a look before leaving?”
I walk away from Isaac again then. Not that he realises. I do catch a last glimpse of him scooping up an action figure and the book I gave his brother, fingers trailing across its rough and bumpy title as if he’s done that often.
My own fingers find a rough and bumpy reminder that I’d be the last person Isaac would choose if stress didn’t cloud his vision. At least, that’s what I’ve told myself all year. But after that kiss…
I pass that tall willow on the way out with Hugo. We pass a school chapel next, where he tells me he first met his husband. He keeps walking, keeps talking, keeps not demanding answers from me, but I know what he’s doing. This running commentary about everything and nothing gives me the headspace to tell him, “Nothing unprofessional happened back then.”
“With Isaac, when you supported his brother? But it could have?”
All those long nights of wishful thinking come home to roost like pigeons do in these woods around us. I sigh a long and low-pitched, “Yeah,” and they coo, as if they listen closely. So does Hugo. He must have to circle back to this detail.
“But you left them both before that could happen.” He stops at the edge of woodland. “Turn around, Joseph. What do you see?”
I stare at greenery. At leaves and branches. “Trees.” So, so many of them.
I’m a world away from London. A whole galaxy from the city’s bass-line thrum and perpetual lights and sirens.
Hugo orders, “Hold that thought.” He walks uphill with me until we reach the Rectory, where he lets us both into a silent building and then cocks an ear. All I hear is peace and quiet until he shows me to an upstairs study and opens a window. Birdsong floods in. “Now, take another look.”
I do, and fuck me, what a vista.
The school is below us, nestled at the bottom of this sheltered valley. Tors stand sentry in the distance, granite grey and glinting, and further away, the sea is another sparkling border.
I inhale, breathing in pine and salt and late spring warmth, while Hugo adds to this crystal clear Cornish vision.
“All you could see were trees, Joseph. Can you see more from this perspective?”
I nod.
“You’re out of the woods now. You, Isaac, and Lenny.” He makes us sound like a unit. A trio. A family of three. “How about you give yourself some grace. Some space. A little distance. You could also give yourself the gift of not rushing away.”
“I promised my brother that I would.” I’ve never been more tempted to put off Josh. To upset our often still-tense reunion. “Besides, Isaac doesn’t want to rock the boat.”
“For Lenny? Well, should that change?—”
A door slams downstairs followed by the sound of babies bawling. A cut-glass accent bawls too.
“Hugo? If you aren’t already on your knees praying, get down on them right now and put in an urgent request for me, will you, gorgeous?”
Steps thump up the stairs.
“I need a massive gin and tonic the minute these maggots are in bed. And if God could send me an extra pair of hands for the witching hour, I might actually become a believer. Bonus points if they’re a twin-wrangling expert by day and interested in worshiping my body by night.”
I guess it’s Hugo’s husband who pushes the door open. He’s hampered by a crying toddler who clings to his leg and an armful of wailing babies, and he looks about to join in with all three of them until he sees me.
Just like that, he’s sunny.
“Oh, hello, handsome stranger.” He looks upward. Not atthis study ceiling. He sends these thanks for a prayer answered straight to heaven. “Well done, Lord. You do listen.” He laughs and staggers closer to his husband to plant a kiss square on his scarred cheek.
“Prayer isn’t the same as ordering groceries, Charles,” Hugo grumbles. “Meet Joseph.”
“Hi.” I shake his husband’s free hand. “Sorry, I didn’t bring any gin with me.” And the only body I’m interested in worshipping is off-limits. Was off-limits. I’m still uncertain about that. At least there’s one thing I can swear on a Bible. “But I do happen to be a twin-wrangling expert.”
“Really?” This smile is almost as bright as the glitter in his beard.
“If almost thirty years’ experience of being one counts, then yeah. The trick is to never let your twins know you’re outnumbered. And to accept help when it’s offered.” I hold out my hands. “This is me volunteering.”
Having a crying baby thrust into my arms might not be everyone’s idea of a warm welcome.
I have to confess, I like it.
Charles makes a confession of his own when it’s time for me to hit the road after a noisy supper. “The only way to get this gruesome twosome to sleep after a visit with their mum is to pop them in their pram and walk them until they conk out. Mind if we walk down to the car park with you? These home visits always leave them unsettled. Especially when Mum can only manage one of them at a time.”
I jiggle acrying baby. “You’re fostering them?”
“Yes, for months now.”
“And this is the first time they’ve been apart from each other?”
He nods. “Their Mum has been so poorly. Splitting them up so as not to overwhelm her during her recovery seemed like a good plan, but now I’m not so certain. How about you and your twin? Did you like a chance to be alone instead of constantly together?”
For a split second, I’m back in that pain-filled space when my wounds were fresh and Josh couldn’t stand to be around me. That shame in his expression? Never want to see it again.
Did I like being alone?
“No.”
But without Josh as a constant mirror, I had to face myself. Had to confront my mistakes on my own, then try to fix them.
“Yes.”
Now I scrub one-handed at my face.
“It’s complicated.”
“I bet,” Charles says with feeling. “Now these two have got great big, complicated feelings racing around their teeny-tiny noggins with no way to express them. Apart from yelling at me, that is. Hopefully, they’ll process it overnight and wake up happy. Such a shame you’re seeing them like this. Milly and Tilly really are a perfect pair of little sweethearts, just like their lovely mummy.”
He jiggles one unhappy baby before popping her into a pram. “Walking them to sleep is the only way I’ll get some quiet time with Adam this evening.” He crouches, and a break in the crying means I hear this quieter murmur to his toddler. “Then we’ll have a chat about what happened at playgroup. No it wasn’t kind of that little girl to poke you. She was interested, that’s all, like people are interested when they first see Daddy.” He kisses the pad of his thumb and presses it above his toddler’s top lip, kissing better the faint pink line of a healed incision. “You’re both impossibly handsome, but I’m sorry I didn’t notice right away that she was bothering you.”
Here’s something else I can help with.
I nudge at the cuff of my shirt to show off the lesser of what acid gifted. “People want to touch my scars sometimes, Adam.”
He peels himself from Charles, and I crouch too, baby pressed to my shoulder as Adam takes a good long look. “I can’t stop people from staring. That’s what you’re doing right now, because you’re interested, right? Maybe wondering if it hurts me? That’s called concern, and it’s okay. I can say no to touching if I want to. It’s always okay to do that too.” It really is, and being honest pays off—Adam stops clinging when we escape the Rectory.
“Thank you,” Charles says quietly as Adam holds my hand to take an unconventional detour. I add following a toddler around a graveyard at twilight to my mental scorecard of this increasingly weird and wonderful Cornish visit. “I don’t even think about his repair.” Charles touches his own top lip. “So it catches me out when people act like it means something is wrong with him, you know? That little line through his lip means everything is right with Adam. Same with Hugo. I’m grateful someone sewed them back together.”
It’s another of those different perspectives his husband mentioned.
I don’t have much time to ponder—Adam keeps me busy by handing me dandelions and daisies that are a vivid yellow and white against the deepening dusk. Then I hand them back one by one as he deposits a flower at each gravestone.
“He likes to say goodnight to everybody, which isn’t at all spooky. Nighty night.” Charles echoes his son, and there’s just enough light left to see that he’s about as worn out as I last saw Isaac.
That’s who is on my mind when we leave the graveyard behind and follow a path down to the car park where Charles says, “Come back anytime. There’s always room at our inn. Just bring gin!” He also calls a warning. “Adam, don’t run?—”
Too late.
Adam takes off, and I run after him to see that he hasn’t only found the car park. He’s found Isaac.
Thankfully, he’s alone, and even more thankfully, Charles reads the lay of the land as soon as Isaac turns from his van.
My noggin must be as teeny-tiny as those babies. It takes me way too long to process that a surprised smile flickers like the fairy lights around this car park, but that first reaction must be telling to Charles. He gathers up Adam and leaves me to put my foot straight in my mouth with my first question.
“Where’s Lenny?”
A different smile flickers across Isaac’s face then, and it’s been so long since I saw real humour from him that it takes me way too long to hear that he’s teasing. “I dunno, Joe. Playing in traffic or stealing a car, maybe? I bet he’s fucked off down to the beach for a skinny dip all on his own. I hear that’s what all the really tough Wintergreen kids do?—”
I hold up both hands, but not in a fighting stance. “Okay, okay. I just didn’t want to upset him, that’s all, like you said.”
“Oh.” Isaac still wears a suit and tie. He yanks at the knot as if it has tightened, and just like that, I stop hanging back and join him.
He doesn’t bat away my hand, doesn’t stop me from loosening what I last tightened for him yesterday. Silky fabric slips through my fingers. I can’t let him do the same, so I hold the very ends instead of letting go completely. “How is he?”
“Good. Settled. Already asleep.” His snort is soft. “It’s the second time I haven’t been needed for a bedtime story.” He tilts his head at the pathway. “Ruth did it for me. Said she’d ring if he woke.” Isaac still checks his phone. He slips it back into his pocket, his eyes averted, and him focussing on anything but me is a sign I should back off. I can’t when he all but whispers, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For today. For yesterday. For before then.” He still doesn’t meet my eyes. “I don’t know what to do now.”
He said that to me the day his mother was arrested.
Tonight, he isn’t talking about his family.
“About you, Joe.” The lowering sun shows confusion. And the softness I never forgot wars with a seriousness I can’t look away from. Silk wraps my fists the same way Dad used to wrap my and Josh’s knuckles for sparring matches where I always disappointed. Now I use that necktie to draw Isaac close enough to hear his whisper.
“I was angry with you all this time. Fucking raged for so long.” He rubs his chest. “Kept it all in here, burning, even though I knew…” His gaze is still averted, but this sounds honest. “I knew what you told me is actually what happened. Me wanting to stop thinking for an evening cost Lenny. And it cost me.”
He rubs his chest again, then stares up at a pink- and gold-streaked sky, still not making eye contact for long moments until I prompt, “What did it cost you?”
He finally meets my eyes. For a second time in two days, his are glossy. Or for a third if I count what a full moon showed me on a beach after Isaac swore that someone would miss me if I kept walking into the water. Tonight they shine with determination.
“You, Joe.”
Maybe time and a different perspective was all we both needed. I’m as gravelly as this car park. “I’d stick around for longer if I could.” The sunset paints our second goodbye with gold. With amber. With the same smouldering embers in the gaze that meets mine. “Believe that I’d want to, yeah? Stick around for both of you. I still could from a distance, if you wanted? Be on the end of the phone. If you called, I’d always pick up.”
I let go of his tie, setting him free with a final promise. “You can believe in me. Wish more people did.” I don’t only mean Noah Luxton, who still seems convinced I’m bad news for him instead of a shoulder to lean on. My phone pinging with another don’t forget message from my brother is another example of mistrust that means I’m gruffer than I intended. “Can’t make them want to. Can only keep turning up like you have for Len. Can only keep trying to do the right thing. I’ve seen what happens when people give up. You haven’t. That story you told? So fucking proud of what you made happen today.”
Who knows why that makes a difference. All I know is that Isaac is in my space, in my arms, which isn’t new. We’ve been chest-to-chest already.
This kiss feels like our first as equals. And when he slides the side door to his van and climbs in, I have a first of my own.
I mute my phone.
My brother can wait.
Right now I follow Isaac again and let him slide the van door closed behind us.