Chapter 8 #3
We fall into step and head for the exit, making our way back through the exhibits.
Xavier stops and looks back at the hall’s largest space.
It’s been decorated with giant banners containing images from famous graphic novels, and a light show has been projected onto the white walls all around us, so it feels like you’re inside a book.
To reinforce the suggestion, the images flicker every few seconds, like a page turning to reveal a new graphic.
“It was so good,” he says quietly. “Thank you, Reuben.”
“Thank your dad,” I say quickly. “He brought you.”
He smiles at Jez, and I see Jez unbend under the regard. “Thank you, Papi.”
I groan, and Jez looks at me. “Papi?”
“Never mind. Here’s the gift shop.”
Jez rolls his eyes. “After our years at school, I know it is genetically impossible for you to ignore art show gift shops.”
I shrug. “You can pick up some great books in them that you can’t find elsewhere.” Xavier wanders in, and I lag behind. “It’d be nice if you could buy him something,” I whisper.
He blinks. “Who?”
“Your son,” I say through gritted teeth. “Isn’t that what this whole fucking day is about?”
“Never mind that. I just spoke to Jack again.” He beckons me closer. “He’s done some calculations and he reckons he can get us into Afghanistan sooner than we thought.”
My heart starts to thud against my chest. “When?”
He consults his phone. “Monday, if you like. He’s given me three other dates later in the week when we can get in.”
Sweat erupts in cold beads down my spine, and a sudden wave of dizziness has me leaning against a nearby wall. “Monday’s too soon,” I snap.
He stares at me. “What the fuck? Why?”
“I want a break. I’ve told you this several times.”
“I thought you were joking.”
“Why would I joke about something like needing a break?” I say, striving for patience and failing.
“Okay, keep your hair on. Shall I tell him yes to Monday?”
“But what about the funeral? We wouldn’t be able to make it.”
He rolls his eyes. “What is with you lately? It’s just Sean. He’s dead and won’t know the difference. We’re alive, and this is about us. We need to get back to Afghanistan as soon as possible.”
I stare at him. “Wow. Just Sean, who mentored both of us.”
He frowns. “Are you honestly saying you’d hold off on getting to a job early just for someone who’s dead and won’t appreciate it?”
“I want to pay my respects,” I say through gritted teeth. “And so should you. I seem to remember Sean doing some pretty smart talking to get you out of that mess in Egypt.”
He holds up his hand. “Okay. Chill for fuck’s sake. I’ll tell Jack the day after the funeral, yes?”
I glance towards the gift shop and inhale sharply when I look straight into Xavier’s eyes.
He’s standing by a table full of art materials, but his attention is all on me, and I can read concern in his eyes like it’s printed in two-hundred-point font.
I have the sudden desire to stay here with him.
The hours I’ve spent with him have felt free of worry and fear, and God, I crave that right now.
I let out my breath. I’m being absurd. I barely know the kid and getting as far away from the trouble he represents would be the smartest option for my long-term health.
I lick my lips, knowing Jez is waiting for a response. The thought of going back to Afghanistan makes me want to drop to my knees and scream. But I’ve learned that fear is something I must face head-on. Avoidance will become a form of slow death and misery if I linger forever in indecision.
“Okay,” I tell Jez. “The day after Sean’s funeral.” I’m waiting for a thunderclap of doom and lightning to strike me, but nothing happens. Outside the hall, the day remains incongruously sunny and warm.
Jez grins widely. “Our contact is Farzad.”
“Have we used him before?”
“No. He comes recommended by Britt at The Telegraph.”
“I wouldn’t trust Britt to recommend coffee to a coffee bean.”
“Jesus, stop being such a fucking killjoy.”
I shake my head and push past him, making my way into the gift shop. Xavier’s still standing by the book display. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“What’s the matter?” he immediately asks, making no effort to hide his concern.
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Just work shit.” I look around the colourful gift shop. “Seen anything nice?”
His eyes kindle with irritation. “Well, I saw a nice three-piece jigsaw and a toy microphone, but I’ve put them to one side because I’m not three.”
I blow out a breath. “Sorry,” I say honestly, and he relaxes a little, but his eyes are still busy. I look at the stands. “Did you see any books you’d like?”
His face lights. “Look at this.” He drags me over, his hand so warm on my arm, and I wonder when I’d started to feel cold down to my bones.
He gestures to a rack of books on comic book art.
I pull one down, fascinated already. “This looks good.”
“I know.” He leans over me and flicks through the pages. This close, I can feel the hard press of his body against mine. He gazes down at the pages, his eyelashes outrageously long, seemingly casting shadows onto his tanned cheeks. “Look at this chapter.”
I whistle at the picture he points to. “I’d love to be able to draw like this.”
“You can’t draw?” He glances up at me. His attention is heady, his ocean eyes bright and warm.
“Nope. Photography is my art.”
“I love art. It’s my favourite lesson at college.”
“Really?”
He nods. “Art and languages.”
“Well, you can do a lot with both of those.”
“Not according to my grandmother. You can’t draw when you’re a banker.”
“Is being a banker what you want to do?”
He draws himself up and gestures down at the beautiful lines of his body. “Reuben, does this look like a banker to you?”
“Exchange the first letter of the word for another one, and it would.”
His laughter is loud and ribald, and I find myself joining in. My hand twitches with the desire to pull him close. It’s happened a few times this afternoon, and I’ve only just stopped myself.
“What are you two laughing about?” Jez asks, coming up to us and pocketing his phone.
“Just the books,” Xavier says quickly.
Jez looks at the racks of colourful books with disinterest. “Yeah, you’re in good company with Reuben. He’s a massive nerd about comic books.”
“I am an average nerd,” I say mildly.
He chuckles. “He was obsessed with them when he was at school,” he tells Xavier.
“Really?” Xavier is gazing at Jez like he holds the secrets of the universe. “What do you mean?”
“His godmother used to send him a box of all the latest ones at the start of every term.”
“The godmother who brought you up?” he says, turning to me.
I nod, setting the book on a table. It makes something in my chest feel warm that he’s remembered such a small detail about me. “Monique.”
“She’s a character,” Jez says.
“She certainly is. She was immensely kind to a grief-stricken child. She’s always been in my corner.”
“Not so much kind to other people, though,” Jez adds.
“You’re just bitter because she doesn’t like you,” I say.
He chuckles but can’t quite conceal the edge. “Yeah, she likes all the men.”
I straighten. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I say slowly.
Xavier’s head is moving between us like he’s watching a ping pong match.
Jez puts up his hand. “Nothing. God, what is the matter with you today? Taking offence and acting like a bloody twat.” He turns to Xavier. “He’s far too sentimental.”
“Is there such a thing?” Xavier asks.
Jez ignores him, intent on getting his story out. “Monique used to send books to Reuben, and after reading them, he could have traded them for anything, because the school library was dreadful, but he wouldn’t ever consider a trade.”
Xavier looks at me. “Why?”
I shrug. “Because they were a gift from her and I love her, so I didn’t want to cheapen the gift by giving them away. Probably ridiculous, because she wouldn’t have minded. She’s never cared about things like that.”
“She had enough money not to,” Jez says idly. “She had the old man wrapped around her finger.”
“Jez,” I say softly.
“She was the mistress of a married billionaire,” Jez continues, ignoring me.
His voice has taken on the spiteful edge which I’ve heard more and more lately.
“He bought her the house in the South of France where Reuben grew up. The old man left her a lot of money, too. Reuben will be rich when she dies.”
“I don’t care about that,” I say immediately. “It’s not my business what Monique does with that money and it’s certainly not yours. Jean loved her because she’s amazing.”
“You didn’t mind that he was married?” Xavier asks curiously.
I immediately shake my head. “Nope. Not my business. Love and happiness are so rare in this world. Who am I to begrudge pleasure?”
His eyes shine as he looks at me, as if I’ve done something amazing, and I wonder which of my ridiculous statements has pleased him.
“Ready to go?” Jez prompts.
I nod. “I’ll catch you up in a second.”
“Don’t be long. Come on, Xavier.”
Xavier trails behind him, offering me a liquid look of interest. “Go,” I say, making a shooing motion.
When they’ve disappeared, I step out of the way of customers and lean against a wall, needing a moment to stand quietly.
Jez’s demands about scheduling work replay in my head.
Returning to Afghanistan had seemed a distant prospect last week, but the reality is a matter of days.
I take a deep breath and finally admit the truth.
The thought of my job doesn’t excite me anymore.
It just leaves me feeling wary and worried and besieged by fractured images of deserted villages, crying women, and dead bodies.
I shove my shaking hands into my pockets.
At one time in my life, I felt confident about making choices.
If I were still that man, I’d know for certain that returning to Afghanistan with Jez is the right thing for my career.
And in my personal life, I’d know it would be a much better choice to call Grey and spend the evening with him rather than yearning for more time with Xavier.
More hours tracing the long length of his body, kissing his freckles and adorning every inch of him with suckling kisses that stir up faint bruises.
But apparently, my life has changed in the past couple days, because instead of calling Grey, I stride over to the book racks and gather handfuls of books, including the one Xavier was admiring.
After slinging them into a basket, I toss in expensive sketchbooks and as many art supplies as I can find.
The new me might be the stupidest man to walk this earth.