8

8

Ripley was relying on Fen's interest in Japanese ceramics to pull him to the Tate, but the way they'd parted might have scuppered any second chances. Maybe Fen wouldn't even turn up. He accepted a glass of champagne and wandered round, looking for him. When Ripley finally spotted him, his heart leapt. Fen was wearing skinny jeans and a dark-blue sweater, and was deep in conversation with a young Japanese man. The pair were chuckling and Ripley was shocked by the surge of… What? Whatever it was, it hit him like a punch in the gut.

He walked over clutching his champagne flute—the stem would snap if he squeezed it any harder—and waited for Fen to notice him. Fen turned his head while Ripley was still heading towards him. How had he even sensed his approach? Fen's smile came more slowly than he'd hoped for. So I'm not forgiven. Fen said something to the guy he was with, then moved forwards with a broader smile on his face, and for that moment at least, all was well in Ripley's world.

Ripley took a risk. "What on earth are you doing here?"

Fen laughed.

Am I forgiven for being a dick? For not having contacted you? For not having given you the invite in person?

"I had worked out it must have been you. Thank you."

"Who were you talking to?"

"Jiro Furukawa. He's from the Toguri Museum of Art in Tokyo. They lent some of the pieces on display. The exhibition is fabulous. Thank you so much for the invite."

"I'm sorry." Ripley was amazed he got the words out.

"For what?"

"Well… I…er…"

Fen waited and Ripley tried to pull himself together. This was not him. He was confident, self-assured, always knew what to say. But Fen…stole the words from his head.

Fen frowned. "If you don't know why you're sorry, I'm not sure there's any point in continuing this conversation."

"The kiss…" Ripley mumbled. He never mumbled. Bloody hell.

"What about it? Why are you sorry for the kiss? What was wrong with it?" Fen looked stricken. "I thought…"

"Nothing was wrong with the kiss."

"So there's something wrong with me." Fen's voice had dropped along with his shoulders.

"No. I should have explained."

"Yeah, well, after you pulled away from the kiss and left your driver to take me home, I sort of assumed it was the last time I'd see you. Hard to ignore your rejection followed on from me telling you about my muscular dystrophy, which you really can't catch, by the way. I'd have thought you'd have known that."

"Of course I do. It wasn't that!" Ripley wondered when he'd ever messed up this badly. "Fuck it, Fen! It wasn't that! My place was closer, the only reason Harry went there first. I…" He took a deep breath.

Well, at least Fen was still standing there listening.

"I looked up Becker muscular dystrophy. I wanted to know exactly what it was, to understand what you were going through and if there was anything I could do to help. I saw there was a trial with some new treatment. Are you eligible for that?"

Fen gave a quiet sigh. "I have my name down. So why did you pull away?"

"Things are complicated. Not things. Me. I'm complicated."

"Are you going to tell me why?"

"Yes, but not right now. Not here. Will you show me round?" Give me time to get my head together.

"Are you interested in Japanese ceramics?"

"Apparently, I am. Though not until I bought that globe."

"You paid a lot of money."

"You loved it. I liked what you said about it. I'd have paid more."

Fen chewed his lip. "And do you love it now?"

"Every time I walk past it, I think of you. Imperfect perfection." Ripley sucked in a breath. "That sounds patronising. I'm sorry. I mean, obviously I wish you didn't have to walk with a crutch. I don't mean—"

"I don't mind being thought of as a piece of kintsugi. Broken but still useful."

"I don't see you as broken. You're beautiful."

He saw Fen's Adam's apple shift in his throat and the way his dark-lined eyes widened. The raw hope he saw there almost took Ripley out at the knees.

"That's such a lovely thing to say," Fen whispered. "I think maybe the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Now I feel like I have to ask you to keep your mouth shut in case you ruin the moment." He took a deep breath. "Let me ruin it. Do you like penguins?"

"Yes."

Fen beamed. "I just read a book called The Penguin Lessons by Tom Mitchell. It's really good. I'll lend it to you."

"Okay."

"Great. The moment has passed, you can be horrible now."

"Am I usually horrible?"

Fen shook his head.

They stared at each other for a long moment before Ripley took a breath. Don't rush this. "Tell me about the exhibition."

"The exhibition. Right. Well, we should start over there."

Ripley followed him across the room.

"This piece is the oldest pottery in Japan and some of the oldest known to mankind. From the Jomon period. 10,000 years B.C. Jomon means rope-patterned." Fen took a picture. "It's hard to believe something has survived for so long. Isn't it amazing?"

You're amazing.

Fen kept walking. "Japan was isolated from the world until the 18th century. Once trading ports were opened, artists began to make pottery for Europe and North America. Their taste was for blue and white ceramics in particular. Like these." Fen gestured to the ones on display, then glanced around, and said in a lower voice, "After World War II, no one wanted Japanese pottery. A man called Yanagi Soetsu started an arts and crafts movement like the one we had in the UK. He saved Japanese pottery with the Mingei theory—it means arts of the people—and potters started up their wheels again."

"How old is the globe I bought?"

"17th century. So don't drop it."

"I'd just have it mended."

"With gold?"

"I was thinking of super glue."

Fen laughed. Ripley liked making him laugh.

"How did kintsugi start? Who came up with the idea of using gold?"

"The story goes that a 15th century ruler, Ashikaga Yoshimasa, broke one of his favourite tea bowls and sent it back to China for repair. When it was returned, he wasn't happy with it and asked a local craftsman to find a more pleasing way to repair it. I guess, gold always pleases. But then there was no super glue in those days."

Ripley followed Fen round enjoying his enthusiasm. Is he taking pictures of me too? Maybe.

A waiter held out a tray of smoked salmon blinis. Ripley took one, Fen didn't. The waiter moved on.

"Have you eaten?" Ripley asked.

Fen nodded.

"Do you want to go round again or have you seen enough?"

"I wouldn't mind going round again. If that's okay."

"Take as much time as you like." Ripley enjoyed looking at him.

"Excuse me."

They both turned to see a tall slender woman in a red dress smiling at them. Well, smiling at Fen.

"You have the look," she said to Fen.

Fen frowned. "Excuse me?"

She offered a card. Ripley read it before Fen took it. Alicia Dupont. Her email and phone number below.

"I'm a scout for Elite Models."

Fen let out a snort of laughter.

"I'm not joking. There's something about you…"

"My just-got-out-of-bed look?" Fen was still smiling.

"Exactly. Is the crutch temporary or permanent?"

"Does it matter?"

"Not really. It's kind of sweet. Different. And yet irrelevant. Sorry."

Ripley was desperate to intervene but he kept quiet.

"You're the sort of face we're looking for. Give me a call. You can come in and see if the camera loves you as much as I do. What do you think? No obligation. We'll even pay travel expenses."

"What's the catch?" Ripley couldn't keep quiet any longer.

She turned to him. "I'm not asking for any money."

"Not now maybe, but somewhere down the line there'll be a request for payment for professional photographs, training courses."

She shook her head. "No, there won't. We're not that sort of agency. If the camera loves you, then we can talk. If…what's your name?"

"Fen."

"If you make the cut, Fen, you make money. Our agency puts together a portfolio we present to clients. We take a commission for any jobs you'd get. No upfront fee. What do you say?"

"No thanks." Fen held out the card.

But she didn't take it. "Keep it. Think about it."

She walked off.

"Not tempted?" Ripley asked.

"It's a scam."

Ripley wasn't so sure. "If it wasn't?"

"She thinks it's sweet I walk with a crutch. Different and yet irrelevant." Fen rolled his eyes. "Do I want to be the token…differently-abled model? Fuck no."

Anger blazed in Fen's eyes, only to morph into something that looked like horror. What the hell?

"I need to leave," Fen blurted.

His face had paled. Ripley glanced around to see what had brought that on but Fen was already heading to the cloakroom and Ripley followed.

Once they were outside with coats on, Fen let out a heavy sigh.

"Who were you trying to avoid?"

"You didn't spot the T-rex?"

"Try again."

"Someone I didn't want to see."

"So all's good?"

Fen nodded. "Thank you again for the invite. My bus stop is this way, so…"

"I don't want to say goodbye yet."

"I don't want to invite you to my place. You'd take one look and recoil."

Ripley blinked. "I'm not that shallow." Actually, he probably was.

"The rats are quite friendly."

"I'm transparent and shallow? My days as a barrister are numbered."

He thought Fen would smile, but he didn't.

"Let me take you back," Ripley said. "You don't have to invite me in. You look…a bit shaken. I'd like to make sure you get home safely."

It took Fen a moment or two to answer. Ripley thought he was going to say no. They didn't live in an age where people saw others home without an ulterior motive. Especially not men.

"All right." Fen started to walk. "No driver tonight?"

"No. I came straight from work."

"What's a typical day like for you?"

"If I'm not in court attending hearings, I'm in meetings, or in chambers drafting written work. Sometimes I handle several cases a day, at different courts. The more complex cases can take several months to conclude. I have early starts, do paperwork over the weekend and spend too much of my time waiting, whether it's for judge, jury, witnesses, police, trains, cabs, lunch… The entire system falters regularly. Technology breaks down and causes delays, one case takes priority because children are involved, the new date set isn't one that works for everyone. The issues are endless and frustrating."

"Is…chambers like…your office?"

"Yes, with a senior clerk as the office manager. We're a group of twelve barristers with clerks. The clerks receive cases from solicitors, agree fees, and do everything connected with office management, hopefully ensuring we're not overworked."

"I'm guessing it's not like it is in films."

"Sometimes it is. But it's not very interesting showing us getting up at the crack of dawn to catch early morning trains to places we'd usually have no interest in visiting, or buying packets of sandwiches at the station we end up eating too quickly in small windowless rooms. Assuming there's even time to eat if we have to fit in seeing a client before court sits again."

"Does that get better the more senior you are?"

"It can, but I can't pick and choose which case I take."

Fen glanced at him. "Really?"

"If I'm instructed to take a case within my competence, and it's in a place feasible for me to get to, and set at a fee that can't be deemed unreasonable, then unless there's a conflict of interest, or my calendar is full, I have to take it. It's called the cab rank rule."

"Because taxi drivers can only refuse a fare if they have a reasonable excuse or the passenger wants to travel outside of the controlled district."

"Exactly."

"I suppose if you made a habit of saying you were too busy, you'd get into trouble."

"I would. I rely on my clerk to make sure the cases I get are ones I'll like. He does his best."

"Does he get a huge Christmas bonus?"

"Clerks are not people we wish to piss off. But they need us to be successful to pay their salary, so it's in their interests to match us to cases carefully."

"Do you defend or prosecute?"

"Both. We're guns-for-hire."

"I didn't know that. It sounds stressful."

"It can be. Much of what I do has nothing to do with the law. I've had to learn how to recognise mental health issues, signs of domestic abuse both physical and emotional, addiction to drugs or alcohol. Sometimes it's hard not to overstep your role, but you need to be a psychiatrist, counsellor, social worker and occasionally a parent, as well as speak on your client's behalf. Every client deserves the best I can do for them. Some cases suck my time, others don't. Some clients cry with gratitude, others walk off without saying a word. I had one young man…"

"What?"

"He tried to kill himself the night the trial ended."

"Oh God."

"He was a victim of rape. I was working for the Crown Prosecution Service so presenting the case against his attacker. The rapist was found guilty. Unfortunately, I hadn't seen that winning the court case wasn't enough, that it didn't mitigate what the young man had been through. I look more carefully now for those who might go home and try to end their life. But I can only do so much."

Ripley looked down when he felt Fen's hand settle on his. Fen gave his fingers a quick squeeze, then let go. Ripley felt relieved Fen had released him before he'd pulled away. He'd never held hands with anyone since he was a toddler. And yet he'd felt comfort even from that brief moment of connection.

"It's a difficult job," Fen said quietly.

"Yes."

"Do you ever get time off?"

"If I book it. Or sometimes when I don't book it but something goes wrong and a case evaporates."

Fen came to a halt by a bus stop. "We catch the bus here."

"I think the thing most people don't realise is that barristers don't get cases until a few days before the hearing date. Sometimes the day before."

"Wow. That seems crazy. So, a lot of late nights?"

"A fair few. Is this our bus coming?"

"Yes."

Ripley took out his card.

"When did you last catch a bus?" Fen asked.

"I can't remember."

"Let's sit upstairs."

Ripley almost asked if Fen could manage the stairs. But he wouldn't have said that if he couldn't. He touched his card to the reader and followed Fen.

"Front seat is free." Fen turned at the top and grinned.

The bus started off as they were still making their way forward and Fen toppled onto the seat.

"Couldn't he have waited?" Ripley was ready to help but Fen righted himself and shifted over to make room for Ripley.

Fen shrugged. "They have a timetable so…"

Ripley pressed his leg against Fen's.

Fen smiled at him. "I've always liked sitting upstairs. You get a different view of the world."

Ripley's view was perfect.

"Pretend you're driving the bus. Pose for me."

"No."

"Spoilsport." Fen took his picture anyway. "Once, I was sitting upstairs at the front and a boy from school held his phone up to the mirror in the corner so when the driver glanced at it, he saw a naked woman getting railed. The boy buggered off to the back and the driver came storming up and blamed me. I had to give him my name. Transport for London called my school and I got into trouble. I don't know what my mum said when she went in, but school backed down. Force of nature, my mum."

Ripley chuckled.

"She told me yesterday she's getting married to Alistair Winn, one of the brothers who run the place where I work."

"Are you pleased?"

"Yes. Alistair's kind. They're moving in together, so the little flat where I spent most of my life will be occupied by someone new."

"My mother's moving home too. She's finally accepted she needs to downsize. Do you think Winn Brothers would like to value the house contents? Advise on how to dispose of them?"

"Definitely. Alistair is fair. Ask for him. I wouldn't trust Charles as far as I could throw him. Or his son Scott."

"I'll give them a call. The box you repaired, thanks by the way, I can't see where it was mended."

"Well, that was the point."

"I might need you to open it again."

"I didn't open the bottom. But I can have a go. We're nearly there. Want to ring the bell?"

Ripley looked round.

"It's on the post."

He pressed the button.

"When you get to the bottom of the stairs, don't let the driver take off before I'm down, please."

When they were both safely on the pavement, Ripley turned to him. "Like to go for a drink?"

"Okay."

"Where's good?"

"I don't go out drinking. I meet my friends sometimes but usually in Borough or Shad Thames."

Ripley fiddled with his phone. "Baddies Bar?"

"Sounds enticing."