Chapter 7 #2
Xavier’s eyes edge with frost. “Of course. I’ve read my fairy tales.
Once upon a time, a young man found out that he was the heir to a kingdom and went there to find his father.
The exceedingly ancient king said he was a lying little cunt and was only after his money before demanding three rounds of blood tests because apparently there’s a percentage of deniability in paternity tests and he wanted to be completely sure. ”
“What the fuck?” I say slowly.
Jez’s face has become crimson. “You could have been anyone.”
“And I was.” Xavier shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. I know how it is.”
Jez nods, looking relieved, but I stare at Xavier, feeling troubled.
Does Jez not see the vulnerability in his son’s face?
It’s covered by several layers of snark but is still completely obvious to me.
How did he feel? His mum died, and years later he discovers a few things about his father.
How much courage did it take for him to reach out?
And what must he have thought of Jez when he treated him like a criminal?
“I’m sorry about your mum,” I say quietly. Jez had found out that she’d died in a car accident. Her boyfriend at the time had been driving, losing control of the car and ploughing into a tree. Apparently, Xavier was very young when it happened, and his grandparents had taken over his care.
He examines my face, but his expression is inscrutable. Finally, he nods, his eyes warming. “Thank you,” he says softly. “I didn’t have her for long, and I know she was wild, but she was also funny and very kind.”
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, then,” I say. Our gazes meet and hold, and for the life of me I can’t look away.
Jez shifts, clearing his throat, and I drag my eyes away from Xavier.
“Yeah,” Jez says. “I’m sorry too,” he mutters.
Xavier inclines his head, and I feel a surge of admiration for him. He’s so young, but there’s something dauntless and brave about him.
Jez motions at me. “Reuben can sympathise, anyway. He didn’t know his dad.”
“I actually didn’t know that, but how absolutely super of you to tell me that private detail,” Xavier says.
Jez nods as if he’s done a good job, completely missing the sarcasm.
Xavier turns to me. “I’m sorry.”
I look up, smiling my thanks as the waiters remove our plates. Xavier hasn’t touched his. “It’s fine. He walked out on us when I was only a few weeks old. I’m pretty sure it’s a case of what I don’t know can’t hurt me.”
He stares at me with a look of surprise and sudden understanding on his face. “Yeah, I can see that. What was your mum like?”
I hesitate, looking at Jez. Shouldn’t they be discussing their own connection?
When Jez picks up his phone and scowls at it, I exhale slowly and smile at Xavier. “She was wonderful. Very beautiful, but also funny. She died when I was five.”
“So, who brought you up?”
“My godmother. She lives in the South of France, so I grew up there.” I shrug. “Well, spent the holidays there. I went to boarding school in Scotland because she didn’t want me to lose track of my roots.”
Jez puts his phone away. “That fucking school,” he says, signalling for more drinks.
Xavier doesn’t even look at him. “Was it nice? My grandparents bought me a lot of books about boarding schools when I was little.” He leans closer, his eyes dancing. “Looking back, I think it might have been a teeny, little hint at what they saw in my future.”
I laugh and run my hand through my hair. “It was fine,” I say.
Jez blows a raspberry. “It was fucking dreadful. A godforsaken place in the middle of nowhere.”
I roll my eyes. “Otherwise known as the Scottish Highlands.”
“Whatever. It had been a monastery, and I don’t think they ever updated the heating in the place.”
I nod. “They could have set up as a sanatorium in their off time.”
Xavier laughs. Our meals arrive, and after a few minutes of passing the salt and pepper and sampling the food, I pick up the conversation.
“Anyway, it was a school that aimed to turn boys into men—men who should be preparing for the army. There were rather a lot of ice-cold showers and beatings. The teachers could have moonlighted as interrogators.”
“It was Lord of the Flies with the addition of treacle pudding and cross-country,” Jez mutters.
Xavier laughs. It’s a loud laugh, unrestrained and full of amusement, and I see Jez look at him with new eyes. He’s always liked an audience, and performs in order to draw people in. It’s what makes him such a good journalist.
“God, that cross-country,” I mutter. “I think the SAS use that path for training missions now.”
“So, is that where the two of you met?” Xavier asks.
“It was,” I say. I look up to find Jez watching me. We smile at each other. “I was a dreamer,” I admit. “It didn’t go down well there.”
“Oh no. I went to a school that taught you to express yourself.”
I repress a smile. “Well, they obviously succeeded.”
He shrugs. “After a while, everyone expressing themselves can get a bit tedious.” He adopts a pious expression. “Why didn’t they just want to listen to me?”
“I cannot begin to imagine.” He grins at me.
“Well, we weren’t encouraged to do that unless it was the older boys expressing their dissatisfaction with the younger boys through the medium of violence.
” I shrug. “And then I met Jez, and he loved the same music and films as I did. It was a lifeline in a dark time.”
Jez smiles at me. “I never quite got the art bit, though. You’re on your own with that, Reuben.”
“You like art?” Xavier asks, his face suddenly open and eager.
“Yeah, I do,” I say slowly.
He leans over, nearly putting his elbow in his food. “Who are your favourite artists?”
“Well, I love early modernism. So Matisse, Braque, and Picasso, but I’ve also got a real fondness for David Hockney.”
“Oh my god, I love Hockney.” His face is full of an ardent enthusiasm, his snarkiness giving way to something he’s obviously passionate about. “I got a ticket to a retrospective of his work.”
“At the Sphere Gallery?” I ask.
He nods.
“Wow. I was there too. Small world.”
“What did you think?”
“It was amazing to see the works close up. Although the lighting was completely wrong.”
“Tell me about it. It was so dark I thought they’d forgotten to pay their electricity bill.”
I laugh, and then we’re off talking about artists we like. I only remember Jez when he clears his throat a while later. I look over, and my heart sinks. His face is sulky and cross.
“I’m so sorry,” I mutter. “We’re being rude.”
“Oh, you think?” he snaps.
He hates being ignored by me more than anyone, and I should have remembered that. I shoot Xavier an apologetic look and bite my lip when he just rolls his eyes, his unconcern stunningly obvious.
Jez nods at Xavier. “Well, I think we’ll see you tomorrow, then. It’s been a nice night.”
“Jez,” I gasp.
He looks at me. “Aren’t we going into Cirencester?”
It’s news to me, but I just murmur, “We’ll see.”
He turns back to Xavier. “So, we’ll see you in the morning. Don’t worry. I’ll get the bill.”
Xavier studies him for a long few seconds, and something in that clear, focused regard must make Jez uncomfortable because he squirms a little. Xavier inclines his head. “Yes, I should go to bed. It’s very late for little old me.”
He assumes an angelic expression, which is so blatantly false that I wonder why Jez can’t see it. Instead, Jez nods as if he’s won a battle and makes a gesture towards the lifts.
Xavier offers him a little salute, which makes Jez’s lips thin. “Goodnight then,” he says, standing up. “Thanks for the chat, Reuben.”
“You’re very welcome,” I say awkwardly.
He drops his napkin in an insolent gesture in front of Jez and saunters off. When my gaze drifts to his arse, I wrench my eyes away and turn my attention to Jez.
He’s staring at his phone, his lips pressed into a thin line. “What a little shit,” he mutters, pocketing his phone.
“Jez.”
“Oh, chill out for fuck’s sake. You can see it too.”
“See what?”
“He reminds me far too much of her.”
“Who?”
“His mother. Now my memory’s coming back, I’m pretty sure she was as boring as he is.”
“Boring?” I gape at him. “How can you say that? He’s clever and very funny.”
“Oh, leave it out.”
“So, let me get this straight. You were just incredibly rude to your only son, whom you’ve met today for the first time, and cut a meal short so you could go off to a club and get your balls drained?”
“Should have done that before I met his mother.”
“That’s enough,” I snap, standing up.
His mouth slackens in astonishment. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“You are what’s wrong with me. I’ll always be your friend, but sometimes I really question why.”
“Don’t be like that.”
I stalk across the room, but he calls after me as he hastily follows. “Come on, Reuben. We’re going clubbing. I’ve booked the taxi.”
“Then go on your own. I’m going to bed.”
He stops in his tracks. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m really not. I don’t like you very much right now, and I’m actually ashamed of you. I never thought I’d say that.”
His expression flickers, and for a second, I think I’ve got through to him, but then his face hardens. “Suit yourself,” he snaps and strides out of the hotel.
I watch him go and then sigh. Despite what I said, I don’t want to go to bed. The sooner I do that, the faster the bad dreams will haunt me.
I drift to the bar, grab a beer, and then head outside to the patio I’d spotted earlier.
It’s deserted now, lit only by the strings of patio lights.
They bob in the breeze, sending patterns of light over the old stones.
I can smell the cut grass and the sweet fragrance of lilac from the bushes nearby.