Nineteen

The following day was a Saturday and to avoid the even busier Saturday crowds the city was famous for, we decided to stay at the house. I woke late, having slept well, to find Cas already showered and dressed, sitting in front of his laptop in the nook again and watching something with earphones in.

As I crossed into the kitchen, he slid them out.

“I made pancakes,” he said. “There are some in the fridge for you if you want to heat them up.”

I looked at him, impressed. “Is there anything you can’t do one-handed?”

“Play piano.” He slid one ear back in.

“You want a refill?”

I pointed at his coffee cup. He nodded and moved to stand, but I crossed the kitchen to take it from him, and he sat down again. On the screen of his laptop was a guy playing piano energetically in front of an audience. Cas appeared to be laser-focused on it, the fingers of his uninjured hand air-tapping the keys on the table. I felt a stab of pity in my chest for him. I imagined it would be like going blind and unable to read Braille.

I grilled myself some bacon, reheated the pancakes, and filled his coffee cup before sitting down next to him.

“You still don’t drink it?” he asked as he lifted his cup. He’d closed the laptop and was focused on me instead.

I shook my head. I loved the smell of coffee but found the taste repulsive. At some point in my third year, among the late nights and deadlines, this changed. I consider myself now to have a worryingly dependent, low-level addiction to it.

I lifted my sweetened tea and sipped. “Can you go into the pool with that?” I nodded at his hand. There wasn’t a cast on it, just a splint, cushioned with white padding, his finely shaped fingers wrapped up tight inside it.

“I think so.”

“But I probably shouldn’t, like, throw you in?” I smiled around a mouthful of perfectly cooked pancake.

“Not if you value your life, no.”

I chuckled. “Finals of the swimming are tonight. Shall we watch?”

“If you like.”

“They’re on late, so we can have dinner first.”

“Do you want to go out, or shall I cook?”

“You’ve cooked a lot since you got here.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t mind it; I do it at home. I enjoy it.”

Home.I hated the sound of that. Of the idea of him cooking for Blackwell after a hard day of being a despicable prick. I looked down at my plate. “Where would we go if we went out?” I asked

“Well, what would you like to eat? I could ask Ken to make reservations at Isabel or Scott’s.” He was already lifting up his phone. I didn’t know who Isabel or Scott were.

“I’m not fussy. I’ll eat anything.”

“The last time we went to Scott’s, we saw Ryan Foster, the actor, not the MP,” Cas said. “Isabel isn’t as good as it used to be since Jean-Georges poached their head chef.” I was beginning to get a picture of the sort of places Cas was used to eating with the prick.

“Okay, well, maybe we can order some takeout and stay home?” I suggested. “I really don’t feel comfortable in those kinds of places anyway.”

He paused his scrolling and looked up at me. “Why ever not?”

“I just...don’t. They’re not my kind of place, Cas.”

This seemed to confuse him, but after a moment he said, “Then you choose somewhere, I’m happy to go wherever you like.”

“I’m honestly more than happy to stay in. But I don’t want you to cook again, so let’s order in.”

“I really don’t mind cooking, Jude.”

“I know you don’t, but tonight I fancy something disgustingly unhealthy, like pizza or kebab.”

“Kebab?”

The horrified look on his face made me laugh.

“Pizza then.”

“Pizza.” He nodded. “Okay, then.

We spent the day by the pool, sun burning and tanning our water-stippled bodies. He wore blue and white striped Ralph Lauren trunks that sat high on his thighs, reminding me of how soft the skin was there.

I spent more time in the water than he did, jumping in to cool off when the heat got too intense. He sat, cautious and careful at the edge, before slipping in up to his waist and keeping his hand on the side. I knew he could swim, I’d seen him that day at the beach, but now he floated along the side like a child who couldn’t might.

I was happy to fetch and carry our snacks and water for the day while he sat under the large parasol and read his book. (A biography of Jean-Paul Sartre he’d bought at the British Library gift shop.) Later, when the sun had dropped behind the buildings opposite, we went to our rooms to shower and change. He was in there so long that I went to check on him and found him fast asleep on top of the bed, a bath towel draped over his hips.

I watched him sleep for longer than I should have. The golden flick of his eyelashes resting on his sun-browned cheek. The slight part of his lips, the small frown on his face as though angry at something or someone, even asleep.

The intensity of my feelings for him in that moment, so acute and unyielding, transcended everything that had come before. He was still the boy I’d loved three, four summers ago, but that love had matured inside me like wine in a barrel, and it was more robust and vinous than it had ever been.

I’d learned so much in the years we’d been apart. I’d studied in one of the greatest institutions in the world, I’d met friends and lovers who had changed me inexorably with their wisdom, generosity, and kindness, and yet, in the loving of this person who had never offered me any of these things, I was still unchanged. Nothing existed when Caspien was next to me; it had always been that way. I needed nothing else, wanted nothing else, and I never felt as whole or as completely alive in the world as I did when he was with me.

I didn’t understand it, I’m not sure I wanted to. But there could be no other person for me, now or in the future. He was it. For better or worse, he was it. But as much as I loved him, as much as I wanted him, I was frightened of him, too. Of the power he had over me and how completely I belonged to him. For longer than I’d had him, I’d been without him: yearning and longing for him so fiercely I could barely think past it. I couldn’t remember what it felt like to have him in my arms, which scared me too. I was sure – I’d always suspected – that he’d been created and put solely on this earth to torture me with what I could never have.

I couldn’t understand where Blackwell was, why he hadn’t rung him or why Cas hadn’t mentioned him, and I hated the see-saw of hope and despair that yawned within me from this. They were fighting; I’d gathered that much. But I couldn’t understand why Blackwell hadn’t been calling and begging him to come back to him; how had he even let him go across an ocean without him? Because I was sure if he were mine, I wouldn’t.

I closed the door and let him sleep. Then I went to order pizza.

The following day, Bast called me. He was in London. He had seen a few pictures I’d posted on Instagram and called to check how long I was in town. He was in town with his girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend, or however he was defining her this month. It was difficult to keep track. I knew they were open, slept with other people through university, but were also very committed to each other. (They’d settled down, married after university, and were still happily married.)

Cas and I were heading toward the Tate when he called, but I’d told him I’d be free in a couple of hours if he wanted to meet up for a drink then.

“A friend from Oxford’s in town,” I said as we moved down the queue toward the entrance. “He wants to meet for drinks after.”

“Oh,” Cas said. “No problem. I can drop you off on the way home. Where?”

We still hadn’t used the Tube. Cas had used Wilton Place’s chauffeur service each time we’d gone out. If I didn’t know better I’d think he had agoraphobia. But no, just very specific standards of public transport.

“Um, not sure yet. I’m to let him know when we’re done here. But I thought you’d come?”

Here, he turned to me. “You want me to come with you? To meet your friend?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“In Jersey, the idea of me hanging out with your friends was the worst thing you could imagine.”

“Yeah, well, you were pretty awful then. I don’t mind you as much now.” I grinned as I nudged his shoulder.

A strange expression flickered over his face. “I’m fine to go home by myself, Jude. I’m not depressed or anything.”

I made a face. “I didn’t think you were? What?”

“I just mean, if you want to go meet a guy, then, I’m fine with it.”

“Bast is a mate,” I said, trying to gauge if he really would be fine if I went to meet a guy. “It’s nothing like that. He’s got a girlfriend. She’s with him, and I haven’t met her before, so it won’t be weird or anything.”

I saw some muscle in his jaw relax. “Oh, alright, then,” he said again.

They’d been at Buckingham Palace, so we met them in the middle at an ale pub in Westminster called, imaginatively, The Buckingham. The inside was one of those dark, wood-panelled places where they sold an extensive range of craft beer and over-priced fish and chips and boasted of being ‘A traditional London pub’ on their website.

Cas looked about the place like a cat might, alert and wholly unimpressed, before we made our way to the bar.

“What are you drinking?” I asked Cas as I scanned the craft beer.

“Gin and tonic.” It was posed almost as a question.

After ordering our drinks, we made our way toward the back of the pub and the beer garden, towards where the sunlight was pouring in through the open doors. I spotted Bast immediately, tall as a poppy, head and shoulders above everyone else. He stood up when he saw me, a huge grin on his face as though it had been years since he saw me, not weeks.

“You made it!” he beamed, pulling me into a hug. “This is Emmy, Emmy, this is Jude.” His girlfriend waved and smiled but didn’t stand. I turned to Cas.

“This is Bastian, Bast. We were in a dorm together our first year.”

Bast put out a hand to Caspien, which he shook politely.

“Hello. Caspien, nice to meet you.”

Bast’s reaction was immediate. I saw his eyes widen as he looked at me, then Caspien and then back again, abject delight moving over his face.

“Caspien? Wait, are you two—”

“Cas’s partner is in Boston,” I said, cutting him off with a look. “We’ve just been catching up. I’m staying at his uncle’s place for a couple weeks. I didn’t know Cas was going to be around.”

I was over-explaining, I knew. Bast’s wide-eyed look turned to one of mischief. He’d been drinking, his eyes with that glazed, sparkled look they’d get after a single beer. He was infamous for being unable to handle his drink despite being bigger than all of us. I wondered suddenly if this was a good idea. Bast knew a lot about Cas and me. Too much.

We sat down, and Bast introduced us again to Emmeline, a pretty blonde with distinctly Germanic features. Emmy told us about what they’d done since arriving on Friday: a few gigs, a theatre show, and a couple of comedy clubs. Caspien drank his gin and tonic quietly and quickly before ordering another from a passing server. I was certain it wasn’t table service, but a few minutes later, a GT appeared next to him.

“So this isn’t your first time in London?” I asked.

“No, we’ve been a few times, we love it here,” said Emmy. “We were talking actually about how we would like to live here after our studies. But it is so expensive for property that I don’t know if it’s possible.”

I glanced at Bast because I knew he wanted to move to northern France after Oxford, where all the best cycling routes were.

“Yeah, I reckon I could live here,” I said instead. “But the prices are definitely crazy. You should see Gideon’s place. Christ, it’s insane. There’s five bedrooms, a concierge, and a pool. I’m actually dreading going back to my dorm at Longhall.”

“Hey, maybe you’ll get New Buildings this time.”

“Ah, one can dream.” I lifted my glass.

“To no bin lorries,” Bast said, touching his pint to mine. “So it’s just the two of you at this huge house with a pool?” Bast had a pointed gleam in his eye.

“Yeah, just us. You could have stayed if I’d known I was going to be here, actually. I’m sure Gideon wouldn’t have minded.” I glanced at Cas for confirmation. He said nothing, and I couldn’t read his expression. He wore his sunglasses as he drank his GT with his good hand.

“Are you at Oxford too, Caspien?” Emmeline asked.

“No, I go to school in the States.”

“Really, how cool. Where?”

“Lervairè Conservatory of Music.”

“He’s a pianist,” I said.

They both looked at his hand. Emmeline’s mouth rounded.

“Not at this precise moment, obviously,” Cas said dryly.

“What happened?” she said, sounding and looking devastated for him.

“A fall.”

“And your partner? American? From Boston?”

I felt Cas go very stiff next to me. “He’s from London, but has a law firm in Boston. We moved there a couple of years ago.”

“Ah, how lovely.” Emmeline smiled as though it really was the loveliest thing she’d ever heard. Bast flicked me a look, knowing it wasn’t.

Just then, someone tried to squeeze past us, a little too forcefully, so that Cas was pushed into the table. Where he’d positioned his hand meant it was thrust between his body and the table. He gasped in pain, his drink tipping over across the wooden picnic table.

“Hey, would you bloody watch it?” I rose to my feet, saying a little too loudly, a little too aggressively: “He’s fucking injured.”

“Shit, sorry man, sorry bud,” the guy said to me and then to Cas. “Sorry, man.”

“Are you okay?” I sat down again and looked at his hand.

“I’m fine.” Caspien hadn’t even looked at the guy; he was just staring at me from behind his dark wayfarers.

I offered to get him another drink, but he stood and announced he’d get it himself as he needed the toilet. I watched him pick his way through the crowd before Emmeline took our order and slipped off to the bar. When we were alone Bast levelled a long look at me from across the table.

“Don’t even bother, Bast.”

He threw his hands up. “I never said anything.”

“Okay, good, don’t.”

He waited a few beats. “So, have you fucked him yet?”

I rolled my eyes as I downed the last of my pint. “No. Of course not.”

He made a thoughtful noise. “Fuck, he is pretty, isn’t he? I see it, Jude, I get it.”

“Get what?” I frowned. “You’re not even a little bit into men?”

“Hey, I’ve always said I could be for the right man. And he has the look.”

“What look?” I was curious despite myself.

He shrugged. “Pretty, rich, English. It’s a shame you’re only two out of three. Or you could have been the right man for me.”

I laughed.

“Will you make a move on him?” he asked after a moment.

“No of course not, he’s with someone.”

“And if he makes a move on you?”

My heart lurched. “He won’t.”

“But if he did? Maybe he’s lonely, maybe he’s in a sexually unfulfilling relationship with his lawyer – they are bad lovers, I hear. What then?”

“He’s not going to try to fuck me, Bast. The last time was...” I shook my head. “A mess.”

“You were just a boy! You can’t be too hard on yourself. Next time will be better,” he said jovially.

I didn’t even know what part of that to argue against. I’d told no one about the night in Oxford, so for all Bast knew, the last time we’d been together was before he’d broken my heart. That night in Oxford lived somewhere deep inside me that I’d never shown to anyone – anyone but Cas. Partly as I was ashamed, but mostly because it was ours: Cas’s and mine. And I wanted to keep it that way. And he’d never mentioned it, hadn’t even made reference to it in the last seven days we’d spent together.

It was as if he’d completely forgotten about it.

To Bast, I said, “He isn’t going to make a move.”

Before he could refute this, he gestured with his eyes over my shoulder. Cas sat down next to me with a fresh GT in his hand. Over the next two hours, I watched him, quietly impressed, as he sunk another five without showing a single hint of drunkenness.

Until, that is, we got up to leave.