Twenty-nine

Ididn’t dare tell Caspien about the talk with Gideon. Even at that point, their relationship and the boundaries of it, were far beyond my understanding, and I was terrified about what he might say or do if he knew I’d been discussing him with Gideon at all.

Over the years that followed, my feelings about Gideon have metamorphosed. Though I knew that Caspien thought him a liar and that their relationship was fractious and twisted, he had never been anything more than kind and generous with me. He was eccentric and odd in waysIcouldneverputmyfingeron,buthe’dnever been cruel to me – not overtly, at least. Then, he felt like the only person in the world who knew and understood me fully.

He knew the deep parts of me I’d never shown anyone else. Parts of me that I’d never even admitted existed to myself. In those weeks leading up to summer, I saw him as a confidant and confessed my sins to him like he was my priest.

At first, I’d been worried that Gideon might tell Caspien about our long talks about the nature of love, about Caspien, and about the future I saw for us far from this tiny island. But now I know that he wouldn’t have dared. Because for everything he was, Caspien did not always play the game by Gideon’s rules, and Gideon could not win a game unless he were in complete control of it.

I came to understand that they trusted each other as far as two snakes in a basket might.

Caspien was due home the last week of May, and I’d already decided I would tell him I loved him. I suspected he was already aware of it – I look back now and think that almost everyone around me was aware of it. I wore my heart on the outside of my body, bright as a beacon. It was no wonder it was pierced right through.

My love for Cas was too big to contain then, and I didn’t want to contain it any longer; I wouldn’t. I’d tell him. I’d show him. I didn’t need him to say it back, but I did need him to know that I was here, that I always would be, and that I’d love him unconditionally no matter what.

I wasn’t stupid enough to think that he loved me back, and that wasn’t only because Gideon thought he was incapable. It was because I hadn’t yet shown him that love was something achievable, something that could exist between us. I knew he’d likely meet other more interesting people at Oxford next year, but those sorts of people he’d known and been around all his life, and he’d never loved any of them.

I was unique in this alone. I was happy to be the orphaned boy from his hometown because it was what connected us. This house connected us: the library, the arboretum, and the birdwatcher’s hut. We’d make more memories this summer so that if I couldn’t follow when he left for Oxford, then at least he’d remember how happy I’d made him here. We’d always have this, no matter what happened next.

I’d gotten rid of Blackwell, and I’d do the same with anyone else who thought they could love him better than I could. It was an embarrassingly childish notion, but I believed it in the marrow of my bones.

I’d be his constant. This summer, I’d show him that. I’d be everything and anything he needed me to be.

He was capable of love, and I’d prove it.

It was the Saturday the week before Cas was due home, and I was in the garden helping Beth hang up the washing. Luke was home for lunch, pottering about loudly in the kitchen behind us. It went quiet, and a few minutes later, he stuck his head out of the back door.

“Judey, can you come inside a minute? Beth, you too.”

Both of us looked over at the same time. The tone of his voice had pricked my attention – serious and polite, like the tone he used with my teachers or at the bank. I looked at Beth.

“Bit busy, Luke,” she huffed before going back to the pegs. She hadn’t picked up on the tone.

“I know, babe, but there’s a solicitor here to see us.”

This got her attention. She froze, looking back at him.

“What?”

“Can you come inside, please?”

There was a tilt of panic in his voice now. He usually deferred to my sister when dealing with professionals: doctors, police officers, solicitors. She dropped the pillowcase in the basket and started toward the house.

“You too, Judey,” Luke said.

Bewildered, I followed.

The solicitor’s name was Francis Moreland. He was from Moreland and Wright, a London-based legal firm that specialised in trusts and estates. After apologising for coming on a Saturday without warning – he hadn’t had a contact number for us – he said he’d been approached by a client who wished to remain anonymous but had asked them to set up a trust for a third party. Here he looked at me.

“In the name of Mr. Jude Alcott.”

Moreland was a tall, long-limbed man with big hands, so he looked almost doubled over in the loveseat by the window. He had a rather large mole on his temple that I was staring at so hard I momentarily didn’t hear him say my name.

“Jude’s?” said Beth, looking at me.

“Yes,” Moreland confirmed. He lifted his briefcase onto his lap and flipped it open, pulling out a sheaf of papers held together with a thick paperclip. “I can’t say it’s something we’ve ever handled before, might be a first actually, but all within the letter of the law. This…” He searched for the word. “…benefactor has deposited quite a generous sum into an ancillary account set up in the name of Moreland and Wright, but which is to be for the sole use of Mr. Alcott. There are some conditions to the trust which I must advise you of. There will—”

Beth cut in. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about. What trust fund? Is this to do with our parents’ life insurance?”

Moreland blinked, then looked at the papers as though he may have missed something. Then he shook his head. “Ah, no. Not at all.”

Beth looked at me and then at Luke. Luke was as confused as I’d ever seen him about anything.

“You’ll need to explain this properly, so I understand it,” Beth said.

“Of course, my apologies, Mrs. Alcott.”

“Green,” she said. “Jude’s my brother.”

“Of course, of course, my apologies. Mrs. Green.” Moreland was more or less calm, but there was a sliver of impatience as he explained the thing for a second time. “A benefactor has instructed Moreland and Wright to set up a trust in which Mr. Jude Alcott of The Groundsman Cottage, Deveraux Estate, St. Ouen, Jersey, The Channel Islands, is the sole beneficiary.”

It was after this that Luke finally spoke.

“Gideon,” he gasped. “It has to be. Gideon! Of course.”

I glanced at Moreland, who remained stoic and expressionless. If it was Gideon, then he either didn’t have that information in front of him or was an exceptional poker player.

“If I might go on to explain the conditions of the trust to Mr. Alcott?” he asked mildly.

The generous sum he’d spoken of was to cover my university fees so I wouldn’t need to apply for any loans, all three years and a fourth if I chose it. There’d be a monthly amount deposited into an account of which I alone had to be the sole holder. A ridiculous amount for an 18-year-old. There was a separate sum, apportioned off and to be used for things like private health care (including dental), gym memberships, and any extra study costs I might incur. I could access a portion of the trust from the date I received my provisional driver’s licence for driving lessons and a car.

I listened to it all without saying a word. I felt like I was in a dream or some weird reality show where the host would jump out at any moment with a camera laughing his head off at me.

“Do you have any questions, Mr. Alcott?” Moreland asked when he was finished.

“Um, so, you really can’t tell me who this person is?” I asked.

“I am afraid not; the confidentiality clause is wrapped up pretty tightly.”

“Can I say no?” I asked. “Refuse it?”

Beth was coiled tight as a spring beside me. She almost went off at that but held herself still.

Moreland looked at me as though I’d lost my mind. “I mean, yes, of course you could. No condition of law would force you to take it. And I should have mentioned this earlier, but this is in no way a loan of any kind. There is no requirement for this to be repaid. Ever.”

I nodded. My mind was a quiet chaos as I tried to organise my thoughts. Who would do such a thing for me? Gideon was the obvious answer; we’d grown close these last few weeks since Cas’s departure. Since I’d told him about how I felt. Gideon alone understood what I wanted from my life and what I needed in order to get those things.

But why keep it a secret? Was it that he didn’t want Caspien to know? Did he think I’d refuse it if he offered, not wanting to be a charity case? I knew Gideon could be generous, and he had been to both Luke and me in the time I’d known him. But something about this made me uneasy, something I couldn’t quite see or understand yet.

“Can I think about it?” I said.

Moreland blinked behind his thick glasses.

“Yes, yes, of course. And it wouldn’t do any harm to have your own solicitor look it over.” He reached into his briefcase again. “I’ll give you my business card. I am flying back to London this evening, so there’s no rush. Please take your time.”

Beth shot me a look which I resolutely ignored. Luke stood, and we all followed. Moreland shook all of our hands before handing me a copy of the document, his business card slid under the paperclip on top.

“I think this is the most altruistic thing I’ve ever seen in all my years working as a solicitor,” he said, the layer of professionalism rubbed away slightly now. “All the way over on the flight, I thought about what I would do were I offered this.”

“And what would you do?” I asked.

He smiled, small and kind, and I saw a glimpse of the man behind the suit and the glasses. “Sign it in a heartbeat.”