One

Eight Years Later

Iwoke early and found Jasper already in the kitchen, stirring a pot of porridge on the stove.

“Sleep well?” he asked cheerily.

“Not particularly,” I admitted before slipping out the back door to go for a run.

Running, I’d found some particular kind of solace in over the last couple of years. It was my only form of exercise. In London, I’d do it late at night or very early in the morning, before the pavements were filled with commuters, and let my legs move as though completely separate from my conscious brain. I could plot and plan entire chapters and scenes like this, deconstruct books I’d read or films I’d watched, or some days, like today, I’d play out what my life might have looked like had Caspien chosen me that rainy night on the pavement of a street in Holland Park. I did this rarely these days, but when I did, I gave myself over to the fantasy utterly.

I’d play out an endless variety of futures we’d never gotten to live together. We were happy. Our lives were always happy, and filled with contented days like those we’d spent in London that summer.

I ran to the cottage, which was shut up and long empty. It was locked, but I peered in through the living room window to find the couch where Cas had first used his mouth on me left behind. A small TV cabinet was barren and dust-covered. I rounded to the back and found the garden overgrown and abandoned. The clothing line was bare but for a few wooden pegs aged and bleached by the sun swinging gently in the wind.

It wouldn’t take much to bring it back, I thought. It could be lived in again. I still dreamt of it frequently. Its old brick walls, thick window ledges, the scent of the forest that blew in when the back door was open, and the gulls flying overhead towards the cliffs. I’d had moments of happiness here, bittersweet and fleeting, but still, I yearned for the place like a lover yearns for their beloved.

Next, I ran to the birdwatcher hut, a harder route through the trees and over small hills and a hazardous forest floor. It was in worse condition than the cottage, certainly. A corner of its tin roof lifted up like a dog-eared book page. Moss collecting along its surfaces like lesions. I had to prise open the door to get inside, its frame swollen from rain, but once I did, I wanted to leave almost immediately. I couldn’t bear its smell or the way the shadows on its walls reminded me of heartache and loss.

Had anyone ever been inside it since I’d last been here?

Had he ever come here? Thought of me here? Yearned for me here?

I pushed my way back out and ran a different route back to the house, thirsty and breathing hard. The kitchen was empty, and I poured myself a glass of water and took it back upstairs. As I passed the music room, I could hear the TV, the sound of American accents, something that sounded like a true crime show.

Upstairs, I showered and dressed, and went down to see about some breakfast. It was still early, just after nine, according to the kitchen clock. I was toasting some bread to have with jam when Jasper appeared, carrying a food tray.

“Coffee’s still warm. I can make you something if you want?” He offered, setting the tray down. “We’ve eaten.”

“Toast is fine, don’t worry about it.”

He shrugged and proceeded to wash up the two porridge bowls and rinse out the cups.

“How is he this morning?” I asked as I sat down at the dining table and took a bite of toast.

“Same as usual. He was asking about you, thought he’d dreamed you being here.”

“He said he’s only got a few weeks left. That true?”

Jasper dried his hands on the dish towel and came toward me, taking a seat opposite.

“To be honest, he should probably be dead already. He was given a few months at the start of the year.”

We were in October.

I nodded, grim.

“He never visits either, you know,” said Jasper. “Caspien.”

The sound of his name felt like a scar being prodded at. An echo, a phantom pain. I didn’t know what to say to that, so I took a sip of coffee.

Jasper continued. “He calls. I’ve spoken to him on the phone a few times, asks a lot of details about his treatment and condition, but I’ve never seen him in person.”

This could mean everything or nothing: I’d never understood Gideon and Cas’s relationship then and I wasn’t going to attempt to understand what it was now.

“Does anyone else visit him?” I asked.

“Um, his old housekeeper, Elspeth. And Luke. Shit, that’s your uncle, isn’t it?”

I nodded. Luke was how I’d first heard about the cancer. Because I’d ignored Gideon’s emails, deleting them without reading, which had come suddenly again at the beginning of the year. Then Luke had confirmed it. The handwritten letter had come via my agent a few weeks ago. On Deveraux House stationery, in a gorgeously swishing hand.

“Nice guy, Luke,” said Jasper.

“The best.”

We sat drinking our coffee in easy silence, but I could feel Jasper’s eyes straying to me every now and again.

Finally, he said. “Was it about him then?”

I looked at him.

“The Sacrifice. I read it. Was it about Gideon?”

I took another sip of my coffee and considered how to answer that.

“It was about a soldier who went to war for someone he loved. Gideon’s never loved anyone.”

I could tell it wasn’t the answer he expected. Or wanted.

“Sounds like he never knew love. How would he have been able to give it?” Jasper said almost defensively. “Maybe he’d have liked to have been loved. Imagine dying without knowing what it feels like to be loved or to love someone. He’s just a sad old man who’s going to die alone.”

“He’s not alone. He has you.”

Jasper smiled a sad smile. “I don’t love him.”

I hated how his words made me feel. Pity again. Pity for Gideon. I didn’t come here for this. I stood and dumped my plate and cup in the sink. I came here for what he promised me: answers.

And I was going to get them.

Then I was going to leave him to die alone and unloved just like he deserved.

He was sitting up in bed watching something on TV. He brightened when he saw me, but the look on my face gave something away, and he reached for the remote and switched the thing off.

“Jude, good morning; how did you sleep?”

“Fine,” I said as I took a seat on the same chair I’d sat on last night. “Now, why am I here, Gideon? What is it you have to say to me?”

His expression faltered as he moved to sit up a little. As he shifted, one of his pillows slipped out and tumbled to the floor. I moved to pick it up, and helped him rearrange himself into a more comfortable position. I could feel him staring at me as I did this. From here, he smelled like rotting flowers.

“Thank you,” he whispered gratefully.

I sat back down. Waited.

“You never answered me last night when I asked when was the last time you’d seen him,” Gideon asked carefully.

I studied him, wondering why he cared, wondering whether to tell him. In the end, I didn’t see what harm it would do.

“Surely he’s told you that?”

He shook his head. “He will not let me utter your name. It’s the only condition he has when he calls. The first time I asked about you, I did not hear from him for an entire year.”

My body was clenched so tightly it trembled. “The last time I saw him was in London. Eight years ago.”

Gideon’s mouth fell open.

“We had nothing left to say to each other. Besides, I told him it was done, we were over. Then, to let me know just how done we were, he married his abuser.”

“So then you do not know?”

“Know what?”

“That he left him. Two years ago. They divorced, quite messily. Caspien was ruthless with him – he had an exceptional lawyer, a far better one than Xavier. Caspien has been living in London; he has a role with the London Symphony.” Gideon sounded proud.

I couldn’t breathe.

He’d left him. Two years ago. He was living in London. Where I lived. He was living in the UK, and he hadn’t contacted me?

I’d not given him conditions. I’d been absolute: don’t call me again. It’s over. We’re done.

I felt a terrible heaviness in my chest.

“It doesn’t change anything,” I managed, though I knew it did.

“Of course it does, Jude,” said Gideon.

I wanted to change the subject. “If he’s been living in London, why does he never visit? Jasper said he’s not seen you in years.”

Gideon’s mouth flattened. “Because he refuses to come here.”

“The house?”

“Yes. And the island. It has too many memories for him. When I was still well enough to travel I saw him in London, but he hasn’t been back here since...well years. In truth, things have been strained since...” He looked at me. “Since you, Jude.”

“Oh, it’s my fault is it?” I said. “Let’s not kid ourselves. You two had a messed up relationship long before I came along. I’ve fuck all to do with it.”

“True. But what I…he…what we did to you was the breaking of us.” He sank deeper into the pillow. “We were never the same after you left us. It was too great a thing for us to move past.”

“Well, thank god for that,” I scoffed. “At least you two weren’t able to fuck anyone else up the way you did me. That’s something.”

He gave me an agonised look. “I’ve so many regrets, Jude. How I looked at the world then, how cruelly I used you. Both of you.”

And so now we had it. The reason I was here. To absolve a dying man of his sins. But I wasn’t a fucking priest and I’d long ago been cured of my bleeding fucking heart syndrome.

“Yeah? Well, I wish it was as simple as that, Gideon. But it’s not.”

He nodded, magnanimously. “I know. I know a few words aren’t going to magic away the pain I put upon you for my own ends.”

He turned, pulling open the second drawer of the tall chest by his bed. From it, he pulled a brown envelope and closed the drawer again. He pulled out a couple of wads of paper and rifled through until he found what he was looking for. Then he held it out to me, gesturing for me to take it.

I had to get off the seat to reach it. Sitting back down, I scanned the page. I had guessed what it was; Gideon’s apology.

“I hope you’ll agree it’s generous. Of course, Caspien will own the house, but he has expressed his desire to have it entrusted to the history and culture department.”

“Money,” I said when I’d finished reading. Of course, he was giving me money. A lot of it, too.

“I’m dying, Jude. And I cannot take it with me. I have very little family to speak of, and I have accounted for them in the same way they’ve accounted for me these last few months. Elspeth and Luke shall have something, Jasper too, of course, but I’d like the majority of my estate to be shared between you and Caspien. Since Caspien has his own money, he shall be seen to regardless, so I wanted to make sure you were comfortable after my passing.”

That word struck like a blade inside me.

“Comfortable,” I echoed.

“I should like you not to have to worry about money, to be able to write for as long as you want to without living costs being any kind of burden to your art. You have an incredible talent, Jude. I’m so proud of what you’ve achieved.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I stood from the chair, walked toward him and threw the copy of his will onto the bed.

“I don’t want your money, Gideon.”

He’d expected this. Was calm as he said, “Jude, I understand how proud you are, but when I die I should like to know that you are com—”

“If you say comfortable to me one more fucking time, I will burn this mausoleum to the ground with you inside it.”

He closed his mouth. Looking up at me with pitiful eyes full of death.

“Money isn’t comfort to me, Gideon. Comfort is going to sleep with the person you love wrapped up in your arms. It’s knowing the people you love are safe and happy. Comfort’s not choosing a piece of shit grooming abuser over someone who would have spent every day trying to make you happy. Comfort is knowing you deserve happiness and to be loved. That’s my comfort, Gideon. He was my comfort, and I would have been his, and you’re part of the reason neither of us has it. So keep your fucking money. I’m not interested in it.”

I turned on my heel, determined to leave this house and never come back. There was nothing new to be learned here.

I was done. Finally done.

“He chose you,” Gideon said.

I turned, furious. “No, he didn’t. You messed him up so royally that he thought a violent relationship with his fucking abuser was what he deserved.”

“You don’t understand,” he said, sounding tired. “Though neither did I at the time. Even though it was right in front of me.”

He broke into a fit of terrible, wracking coughs. Concern dragged me back to him, and I helped him drink a few shallow mouthfuls from his water cup through the straw.

When it was over, he was still breathing hard, but his eyes were as focused and determined as ever.

“He chose you, Jude. Over Xavier and over himself. He chose you.”

“Gideon, let’s leave this alone,” I said calmly. I felt guilty now for my outburst. He was bloody dying. Couldn’t I show some empathy for Christ sake?

“No, Jude, you need to understand. You’re right to hate me, because it was my fault he had to choose at all. But he chose you, Cas chose you.”

“Gideon,” I said again.

“You were never to know. He didn’t want you to know,” Gideon said, coughing. “But he wanted you to have it, to have Oxford, to be happy without him.”

Everything around me, and in me, ground to a sudden terrifying halt.

“What are you talking about?” My voice was dangerously thin. An almost whisper.

“It’s right that you hate me, Jude, it is, but I cannot leave this place without telling you what he did. What he did for you, because he chose you, because he loved you.”

I staggered back from him, from the bed, reeling. My head was both very loud and very quiet at the same time.

“No, no, that couldn’t have been...” I’d spent years trying to figure out who had done it. Who’d cared so fucking much about my life, my future, my expectations of myself, to have done that for me. Three years ago I’d even hired a private investigator. He’d said it was a dead end. There was nothing, not a trace of this mysterious altruist who had ensured I’d gotten to Oxford. Oxford is your dream, Jude, he’d said that day in the hut.

“Who else?” Gideon asked raspily. “Who else, Jude?”

At some point, I’d thought maybe it had been the person who’d killed my parents. Some great epiphany had caused him to attempt to make up for it. But if that was so, why hadn’t he done the same for Beth? I’d thought, even after everything I’d seen to the contrary, it had indeed been Gideon. I’d thought about Luke too – that he’d hidden some money away from my sister just so he could do this.

But not once, not in any scenario, had I thought it was Cas.

Cas was cruel and capricious. He cared about no one. He was heartless and selfish. I’d meant nothing to him.

“I don’t understand.” I was shaking my head, refusing even now to believe it. “How? It doesn’t make any sense. He had no money; he didn’t inherit until he turned twenty-five. He told me this. It’s why he couldn’t come to Oxford. It’s why…”

“His father,” Gideon said. His voice was solid now, the gaspiness from his coughing fit gone. “Some time after his sixteenth birthday, he was contacted by a lawyer. His father wanted to meet him, begin some kind of relationship with him, pass to him some paternal endowment; I was not party to the details. There was a DNA test, Caspien insisted, and when the provenance of the claim was verified, Caspien agreed to meet with the man.”

I’d sat down on the chair again, but my legs still felt weak, my heart thumping like a drum in my chest.

“I asked Xavier to facilitate the meeting, to represent Caspien’s interests.” At this, he looked guilty again. “I was told the meeting did not go well. That Caspien said he had no desire to speak with the man again. I was also told that the endowment was refused.”

Here, he looked at me. Here, I understood. Here, the truths I had always accepted as fact, rearranged themselves entirely.

“I was later given to understand that Caspien had, in fact, accepted the money. That he had set up a trust fund to be administered by a third-party firm to cover the cost of an Oxford education, a car, private dental and health care and the general living costs of a student for the duration of that education.”

“It can’t be true.”

“Why not? Because you’ve convinced yourself he never cared for you.”

I had. I had convinced myself of that. But only because it made things easier to bear.

“It’s a theory, one you’ve made up in your head.”

“Yes. That I then put to him and had him confirm,” said Gideon. “He threatened that if I ever told you, he would have Xavier destroy me and take every penny I had. Cas knew how you would feel if you ever learned the truth.”

“Did Blackwell know?”

“Of course, he did. He knew exactly how Cas felt about you.”

How Cas felt about me. I felt scraped out and raw, hollow. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with this. How to feel.

Then I remembered.

“You said he left Blackwell two years ago.”

Gideon knew what I was asking, what I now understood. “As soon as he turned twenty-five.”

I won’t ask Gideon for a single penny and I have not a penny to my name until I turn twenty-five.

“He stayed with him until he inherited his own money,” I said as everything slid into place.

“He married him so he could take half of what he owned,” Gideon supplied. “Six years. Any marriage under five makes the splitting of assets a little trickier.”

Cas. What the hell did you fucking do?

I wanted to cry. Hit something.

“He loved you, Jude,” said Gideon. “He chose you. He chose you when he was sixteen, in the only way that made sense to him. He thought Xavier was a different kind of man then, yes, but when he knew that he wasn’t, he chose to protect you instead of himself.”

I shook my head. “No. He could have left with me then, Gideon. In London. He didn’t have to go back to him. I would have forgiven him for anything, I’d have loved him through anything. He didn’t choose me then.”

“Xavier would have ruined you, Jude,” Gideon said. “He wanted to keep you safe and happy. That was in Oxford, far away from Xavier. And him. He wanted you to live your dream...”

“He was my fucking dream, Gideon!” I shouted. “Him! He made himself miserable, forced himself into a life with that piece of shit for what? For what?” I tore at my hair and scrubbed a hand over my mouth.

Gideon looked sadder than I’d ever seen him.

“For you, Jude. For you.”