Twenty-two

It was the middle of March when Ellie asked me what I had planned for summer. We were all lying on blankets; it was an unusually hot day for March, the sort of day that made me lazy and tired and made the earth seem like it was inside a huge greenhouse, airless and stuffy.

Alfie and Josh had come over, and we’d kicked the ball around on the stretch of grass on the other side of the lake until it got too hot even for that. Josh had gone to meet some rugby friends, so the four of us were lying on the grass, half-dozing. Ellie was on her stomach, freckledshouldersexposedandpinked withapairofwhite-rimmed sunglasses perched onthe endofhernose.

“Are you guys going anywhere on holiday this year?” She said without looking up from her phone.

“They haven’t mentioned it. Doubt it.” I was reading an article about a movie adaptation of All Quiet on The Western Front. I wasn’t particularly paying attention. Not enough to have been prepared for what came next.

“You could come with us to Bergamo,” she said, turning to me. This got my attention. I looked over at her. Whatever she saw on my face had her saying, “I already asked my dad.”

There was a quick flutter of panic inside my chest. I had already spent a lot of time daydreaming about summer, about Caspien and me this summer. I’d dreamt of sweltering afternoons like this one, lounging right here by the lake, reading on the western patio, cooling off inside Deveraux. Other nameless things which I’d never utter aloud. In any case, none of my daydreams had involved Ellie. And they should have, if we were boyfriend and girlfriend then they would have to.

I realised it then: Ellie would need to feature in every daydream I had forever unless I ended things. It wasn’t arrogance to say that I was certain that I was a prominent feature in Ellie’s daydreams of summer in northern Italy.

“I don’t know if Beth would say yes,” I said, though it was a lie. Beth had been far more lenient and far less intractable with this stuff. “The money,” I explained.

“Well, you wouldn’t need much, just pocket money, really. The house is always fully stocked when we get there, and we drive from Cherbourg, so there are no flights to pay for.” She was sitting up now, excited by the idea.

I glanced at Alfie and Georgia, who were sharing AirPods and watching something on Alfie’s phone screen. I bit my lip and glanced over her shoulder at the big house.

“I’ll ask,” I said, smiling nervously.

She misread it for something more like enthusiasm because she squealed, fell on top of me and began babbling about all the things we would do in Bergamo.

That night, when I called Caspien, he didn’t answer. I couldn’t imagine where he’d be on a Saturday night. I already knew he had no friends there; he’d told me often enough how much he loathed everyone at that school. How they were rich and boring and stupid. How no one there had a single interesting thing to say.

It didn’t stop me from thinking of him with Hannes Meier, though. Of Caspien on his back with Hannes Meier above him, thrusting his pretty cock into his open and willing throat.

I was eating toast and making tea the following morning when Luke strolled in, whistling happily along to some pop song on the radio.

“Morning, Judey,” he sang.

“Morning,” I mumbled around a mouthful of hot toast.

“Don’t suppose you fancy helping me out for a bit at the big house today? Ged’s on holiday.”

I groaned. “It’s going to be boiling – do I have to?”

“Well, no. You don’t have to, but there might be some cash in it for you if you do. Which I hear you might need for a little Italian trip you’re thinking of taking this summer.” He winked.

“How did you hear about that?” I asked, far sharper than was appropriate.

Luke frowned. “Scott mentioned it last night when he came to pick El up. What? Why is your face like that?”

“Nothing. So what did Beth say?”

“She said we’d speak to you about it. But she’s not completely against the idea. Figures you deserve a holiday, same as us, and we were thinking that if you’re with the Walsh’s for a few weeks, then me and her can get away somewhere for a break. You know, change of scenery.”

“You could still do that even if I don’t go. I’m sixteen, which is old enough to be at home on my own.”

He was still frowning, like there was a complicated maths equation on my head he didn’t understand.

“What’s going on here? Thought you’d be begging and pleading us to let you go to Italy?”

I had nothing. There was nothing I could think of to say that would make any sense. He was right; I should be begging. Why wouldn’t I want to go to Italy with my girlfriend for the summer? I swallowed. Behind me, the kettle popped off the boil, so I spun around and busied myself with making tea instead.

“Judey, you know you can talk to me about anything, right?” Luke was closer to me, and his voice careful. He laid a hand on my shoulder.

I tried to imagine how I might say it, how I might tell him what was going on inside my mind. But I wasn’t sure what words I would use to explain something I didn’t really understand myself.

There was something I could say, though, something he might be able to offer some advice on. Something that didn’t need to mean anything more than just what it was.

“I’m thinking of breaking up with Ellie,” I said so quietly I didn’t think he could hear it over the stirring of the teaspoon.

“You are?” Luke asked, sounding confused.

I nodded. “I just don’t think...I mean...I think maybe that she...” I turned to Luke and picked my way through the tangle of thoughts in my head. “I’m sure she likes me more than I like her. I feel like I’m lying to her; I mean, I have lied to her, and every time we’re together, it’s like I’m lying to her over and over again.”

The words, once they were out, wouldn’t stop. I didn’t know how to stop talking, and so on and on I went. Luke listened intently, soft eyes rounded with concern.

“But I told her I loved her, and I didn’t mean to; it sort of just came out the first time. Which I know is wrong, but I didn’t know how to take it back either. And I’ve told her a few times now so she thinks I love her, and I don’t think I do. And like, if I did I’d be more certain about it, right? I mean, I care about her, and I think she’s great and funny and pretty, but I don’t think I love her. Because I don’t think about her all the time and have daydreams about her and stuff, which I think maybe I should. But now she’s asked about Italy and I didn’t know how to say no to that either because if I had, then she’d want to know why, and then I’d have to tell her about how I don’t think I love her. And I’m so scared of hurting her, Luke, and of everyone hating me for it. I mean, Georgia would hate me, and then maybe Alfie would too because he likes her so much, and so instead of all that, I just said I’d ask you guys about Italy. So now it’s like it’s too late and...”

Luke had pulled me into him and wrapped his arms around me. I understood it was because I was crying. I’d somehow broken down and was breathing quick and panicked breaths into his shoulder as he rubbed comforting circles into my back.

“Hey, it’s fine, buddy. Everything’s going to be okay. Shhhh, it’s fine; don’t worry about it.”

“I think there might be something wrong with me, Luke,” I mumbled against him.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, mate. Nothing at all.”

After, Luke sent me upstairs to get changed into work clothes, and we headed up to the big house. It was planting that was to be done, which I didn’t mind half as much as weeding or pruning. I liked seeing the fresh soil turned over, soft and new; the earthy scent of it was always grounding to me. In a way, that reminded me distinctly of Luke. We were laying a row of new pink and white rose bushes along the front of the house to compliment the turquoise Festuca Luke had planted there already. I could already imagine the end result. The intense blue grass shrub would burst up along the upper level, and the pale pink roses sprouting up and around the lower tier to make it look like icing around the base of a large stone cake.

“She’ll be hurt no matter what you do, you know,” he said when we were elbow-deep in the third trench. “I reckon you’re right about her caring a lot about you, and the longer this goes on the more hurt she’ll be when it does end. Especially if you could have ended it a lot sooner.”

“I know,” I said gloomily.

“But she will be okay.” He reached out to pat my shoulder. “I know everything feels like a life-changing event when you’re young, but most things aren’t.”

“I’m sixteen,” I pointed out.

He held his hands up. “Well, my point stands. Both points.”

And he had been right. I rarely think about Ellie now, not with any deep sentiment, at least. Memories of her, fleeting and faded, would pass through my mind every now and then. A girl I’d see in a cafe who reminded me of her, a stranger’s laugh I’d hear that sounded like hers, and a soundless blurry memory would rise to the surface before sinking back down again. Come and gone in a fraction of a moment.

But some things were life-changing. I knew that, too.

My parents’ deaths had changed everything about my life.

And I knew, even then, that Caspien, too, was one of those things.

I’d thought then about telling Luke. Soil scattered about our knees, the sun beating down on our necks, and the scent of not yet sprung flowers blooming around us. It would be easy to tell him. To give voice to the thing blooming inside me; he’d take it and treat it with care, I knew that. I couldn’t tell him about what Caspien and I now did on those calls late at night, but I could trust him with the rest, I was sure of it. The thoughts that went everywhere with me, the reason I suspected I didn’t love Ellie, the reason I spent more and more time in Gideon’s library skimming books by Wilde and the works of Sassoon—Gideon had, as it turned out, had a lot of queer literature on his shelves. My most secret hope was that Luke had similar thoughts at my age. That he’d reassure me this was just some by-product of adolescence, the forming of our sexual minds and desires.

But all I said was, “I’ll talk to her soon. I promise.”

“It’s not a promise you need to make me, Judey,” Luke said gently. “It’s to yourself. You’re not the kind of person who leads girls on and hurts them, that much I know.” The smile he gave me was encouraging and it sent a spiral of guilt through me because as I’d known for months, I was exactly that kind of person.

The following Tuesday evening, I was in Gideon’s library – Elspeth had told me he’d been in his study when I arrived, meeting with someone important from London– and so I settled in and made an attempt at an old A-Level English paper: ‘Censorship of the arts can never be justified – discuss.’

I was going rather well when the door to the library burst open, and Gideon strode in with another man at his back.

“…copy is rather old. And I think the fourth edition has a preface by Isherwood. Jude! I hadn’t known you were here.” He was beaming at me, warm and pleasant, but my whole body had turned to stone as though I’d looked at Medusa herself. “Xavier, this is our neighbour, Jude. He and Caspien are quite close. Jude’s studying for his A-levels; he’s an exceptionally bright boy.” He said this last part as though it were something of a novelty.

Xavier Blackwell stood about a meter away from me, so close I could smell his aftershave. Rich and woodsy. Sickening. He wore a three-piece suit, though he was carrying the jacket in large loose fingers. The waistcoat showed off a broad chest and wide shoulders but a trim, well-defined waist.

He held out his hand to me. “Hi. Xavier Blackwell,” he said. His eyes were so dark they were almost black; I could see the flickering gold light of the wall lights in them. He was tanned with a perfect smile and a haircut I guessed was more expensive than my entire wardrobe. “Nice to meet you, Jude.”

Though the pictures I’d seen of him online captured his good looks, there was something else to him. An energy, charisma, which I suppose what some would call it, that gave him the air of a celebrity almost. Though maybe this was just what my mind had done to him.

I didn’t stand but stretched my hand up to meet his.

“Nice to meet you,” I managed, though I was certain my voice sounded half-strangled.

“Xavier is my lawyer,” Gideon explained. “He’s looking to borrow a book, which I am certain is right here...”

I couldn’t stop staring at him. His hair was dark like his eyes, but there were copper touches in it where the light touched. He was almost violently handsome, like some Spartan had wandered out of The Iliad and into Gideon’s library. He was good-looking in the opposite way Caspien was; where Caspien was all pale fragility and dusky pinks, Xavier was black eyes and sharp jaw. Hades and Persephone.

He hadn’t moved, but he alternated between watching Gideon rummage through his shelves and darting glances back at me, curious.

“So, you and Caspien are friends?” he asked.

There was something in the way he said ‘friends’– a tiny inflection – which I thought changed its entire meaning. I’m certain no one else would have noticed it, but I was fixated on him so closely that I could probably tell how many eyelashes he had on each eye.

My instinct told me to pretend I hadn’t noticed. So I shrugged and said, as nonchalantly as I could, “We’ve hung out a few times.”

He breathed a soft little smile and nodded.

“Here it is!” Gideon exclaimed. “Oh, this is the second edition. I was certain it was the third. Still a great read,” he said.

Blackwell took the book and leafed through its pages. “I’ll give it a go,” he said, patting the book with his palm.

Gideon was staring at him with a weird mooning sort of look.

“Do, do, I’d love to discuss it with you. Now, can I get you a drink before your car arrives? You know you are welcome to stay, there’s more than enough room.”

“I hate to put you out, Gid, really the hotel is fine.”

“Nonsense. You know I’m always happy to have you.” The undercurrent in his words made my cheeks feel hot.

Blackwell looked at me. “Nice to meet you, Jude.”

I nodded, wordlessly.

“Sorry to disturb your studies, we’ll try and keep the noise down.” Gideon giggled like a girl.

Blackwell smiled indulgently and shook his head. Before the door closed behind them I saw, very distinctly, Gideon throw a longing stare at Xavier Blackwell’s arse.

I’d thought hard about whether I would bring it up to Caspien that night. Did I want to remind him that Blackwell existed? That I suspected Gideon had a crush on him? That I’d met him? He’d never been particularly open to any conversation that involved Xavier Blackwell, and part of me wanted to be the one to tell him that Gideon was very clearly into his pervert, and would, in my view, make a far more palatable lover for him. Another part of me was terrified about what his reaction might be. Would he be jealous? Furious? Or worse, would it cause Caspien to run back to him?

I was still debating on whether to mention it when he video-called me just after ten. I was in bed, reading with just my booklight. The window was open and the moon shone a bright sheet of white onto the wooden floor.

He started with, “You know I’m convinced the reason Switzerland was never attacked during either war was because it is quite simply the most boring country on earth and no one wanted to set foot in it.”

“I’ve always thought it looked quite nice there.”

“Nice? Is that how you choose your holiday destinations? On how nice they look? Are you someone’s grandmother?”

He was in a mood, I could tell.

“I don’t choose holiday destinations at all. I’ve never been abroad.”

He looked positively horrified. “What? Never?”

I shook my head.

“Christ,” he said. “Quite the little homebody, aren’t we.”

“Not by choice,” I said what I said next because I wanted to see his reaction. “Ellie’s invited me to Italy with her this summer. Her family spend a few weeks there every year.”

I could see no discernible reaction on his face, and my stomach sank.

But then he asked, “What did you tell her?

I shrugged. “I said I’d ask Beth and Luke.”

“And what, you haven’t yet?”

I hadn’t thought this all the way through. I shrugged again.

“Italy is beautiful in summer, though it depends where you are. I’d avoid Rome entirely, and Florence. Unless you like the sensation of being boiled alive in a human soup.”

“What are you doing this summer?” I asked in what I hoped was a nonchalant tone.

“I haven’t given it much thought.”

“Right.”

There was a stretch of silence before he said, “I suppose I’ll be at Deveraux. I miss my horse. And my books.” Now, this was said nonchalantly, but the way he avoided looking at me entirely made something hopeful bubble up in my chest. “Gideon mentioned something about taking a cruise on the Nile, I think, but I couldn’t think of anything I’d want to do less.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound all that fun, to be honest.”

“Exactly.”

“I called you on Saturday night,” I said. “You didn’t answer.”

He gave me a hard look. “I was busy.”

“With Hannes Meier?”

He didn’t react. “And if I was?”

“Were you?”

“I actually don’t think that’s any of your business, do you?”

I wanted to say that yes, it was, but I didn’t dare. It was on the tip of my tongue then to mention Blackwell, to tell him that he and Gideon looked rather cosy when I left and that I wouldn’t be surprised if he were busy with him right now. But apart from some hollow momentary satisfaction, I couldn’t really see what good it would do.

“I was at a double feature in town,” Caspien said, though he sounded a little embarrassed by it. “They’re doing a week of Studio Ghibli films.”

I had to bite back the smile that threatened to spread across my heating face.

We spent the rest of the call talking about The Cat Returns and Tales from Earthsea.