In Defiance - 4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

No-one wanted to be the bearer of bad news, least of all Simon. With Matt coming up that afternoon for the weekend, though, Simon couldn’t put off telling him about the engagement. From the moment Matt had met Luce he’d been in love; it was just a shame that Luce hadn’t been equally struck. She liked Matt, enough to tell him plainly and early that they were never going to be a thing, and she cared about him enough to avoid mixed messages like helping herself to his clothes and his body heat; she was good to him and for him, and Simon had believed almost from the beginning that they could have been amazing together. He sighed and began typing carefully on his phone’s tiny screen. Luce has got engaged to James. He tapped send and watched the little bar progress until it whooped and there was nothing he could do to take it back. Matt wouldn’t reply. He’d probably find some sort of heavy lifting to do for a while and find a way to be happy for her. It would be easier for him than Simon was finding it for himself: Matt and James hadn’t actually met, and Simon didn’t talk about him – which was probably just as well, since there was no way in hell that Matt would in any way approve of the nit.

Having done his fraternal duty, Simon headed to the village to buy some beer and more food; Simon and Luce ate enough on their own, but Matt could eat twice as much and still want more. It was his last resting weekend before beginning training for the team again; one last hurrah of beer and chips and everything else that the nutritionists took off the menu seemed appropriate. There never was enough time for them to play video games and drink and talk about rugby, and let Luce boss them around. Simon planned to make it brilliant; it always was.

***

Simon glowered at the hot-pink alarm clock on the bedside table, wondering blearily how the tractor had got in. Three in the morning stared back at him like a bad day and he realised that the noise was Matt snoring on the floor of the sitting room. Luce kicked his shin and grumbled something about Disneyland Paris. Simon grunted. How’n th’ hell doe’she kick the same fucking spot every time? Inevitably, she wrapped herself up in him even further as soon as he moved, like he was the blanket. He was warm, that was always what she said when he asked, but he was hot and had a thunder storm on his sitting room floor. He closed his eyes, wrapping Luce back up; she hummed happily. A haze crept over him, heat and the smell of beer, Luce against him, dragging him back into sleep.

At a more reasonable hour, he untangled himself from Luce and headed to the loo. Matt had managed to take up half the floor, stretched out and still snoring. Beer cans and bottles were scattered around the coffee table and TV unit in uneven clumps and stacks. Simon sighed and decided he would clean it up after he had a shower and a wank. If he got lucky, Matt wouldn’t wake up and come in, or Luce. She still watched sometimes, but had at least stopped making helpful suggestions. She liked to watch, always had. Simon managed to ignore Matt most of the time, unless he had to take a shit; that was a completely different sort of revulsion.

Simon was relieved when he had the shower to himself, managing to clean up and wrap his towel around his waist, without company. He cleaned his teeth, then lathered shaving cream in his hands, rubbing it over his stubble. A few swipes down his cheek and Luce wandered through the open door like a zombie and plonked down on the toilet. She yawned, looking at him: her greeting for the time being.

“Sleep alright?”

“Mm.”

Simon carried on shaving. “Dreams about Disneyland?”

“I don’t remember.” She yawned again. “Do you have any more of those sausages?”

“Aye, Matt brought some.”

“Brilliant.”

“You always perk up around food,” Simon said with amusement. She was no better than him or Matt.

“Food is good.”

“Mm. You seen Alexander this week?” Simon tilted his head back and looked at himself in the mirror. Alexander hadn’t been at dinner last night in the dining hall, but he had been every other night that week. Simon, out of respect for the Headmistress, dined on a light meal with the students and staff as head of his department during the first week of term. Then he’d come back to his own room and make a proper meal that didn’t consist of whatever oppressively gourmet dish the kitchen decided to feed everyone. The school’s garden at least was useful for him sometimes: he could get some fresh veg if he didn’t have it to hand already. The gardeners and cooks reckoned that the odd cauliflower or bunch of carrots was more than a fair trade for the help with digging over, planting and harvesting, and the school couldn’t go through all of it, anyway. “I think I’m going to go check on him.”

“Matt?”

“No, Alexander.”

“Why?”

“He’s been at dinner all week, but he wasn’t last night. Then I overheard some of the girls talking about how snappy he was being with them.” Before breakfast... too early. Simon washed the shaving cream off his face and patted it dry. The bottle of Cool Water that Luce had given him had become his favourite over the years: he splashed some on and made up his mind. “I’ll go after breakfast.” He made sure his face was dry and looked at Luce. “Sorry. I’ll get out of your way, now.”

She didn’t respond – then again, Luce could sleep for England and somewhere in her still half-asleep brain, was probably contemplating the warmest spot to settle into for the duration. He began pulling out eggs, bacon, sausages, beans – a proper breakfast – and heard the shower start. Before long, she came out of the bathroom in one of his t-shirts from the washing basket and he shook his head, chuckling. It wasn’t like there weren’t actual clean t-shirts in his room, or even her own clothes. It was part of her charm, the ritual theft of clothing still warm or recently worn.

“Fancy waking Matt up? That snoring is seriously getting old.”

She ambled across to where Matt lay in a large, moored ship sort of way, and began to poke him until he grabbed hold of her ankle and rumbled a lot. She giggled and freed herself from his huge paw of a hand and joined Simon as Matt began to heave himself to his feet.

“Maybe he just thinks they’re flighty,” Luce said, as though there hadn’t been a break in the conversation about Alexander. Sliding past Simon in his place at the hob, she reached for her cherished cafetiere. Unlike everyone else Simon knew, Luce preferred coffee to tea; he kept a bag of the ground stuff in his freezer, and knew better than to defile her Felicity Wishes mug with anything else.

“Maybe.”

“I mean, let’s face it: most of them are. None them’s exactly super-brain material.”

“Well, no, but I don’t really see him as someone who treats his students like that, even if they are flighty.”

“What, just getting a bit snappy? Have you never walked past Miss Drage’s classroom when the windows are open?”

“I reckon not.” Self-preservation kept him close to his comfort zones.

“Huh.”

Simon scraped the eggs in the pan before they burnt.

“I tend to stay out of other teachers’ classrooms; they stay out of mine, that way.”

“Who’s talking about going in?” She gave him an accusatory look; her tone was the same when she said,

“Are you not listening to me again?”

“No, I’m listening. I don’t go through the building for a reason, and I walk around the back for a reason.”

“So you don’t have to listen to the other teachers barking at the girls?”

“Aye. I don’t think that’s really the way to get their attention.”

“I mean, I don’t just randomly wander into classrooms. That’d be rude, and then they’d bark at me.

Simon chuckled. “Aye.”

“But I do walk round the outside of the school sometimes. It’s not like these women are exactly whispering shrinking violets.”

Now that he thought about it, a lot of the teachers were like the women in his family. “Mm. I know. Like I said, I don’t really agree with it. Ever notice how they stop listening and get worse with that sort of attitude?”

“Not really. You could hear a pin drop in a lot of those classrooms most of the time.”

Singing filled the room, interrupting Simon’s train of thought, Matt’s deep voice carrying from the bathroom where he had taken himself for his morning ablutions. Simon chuckled and listened. He was the only one who couldn’t carry a tune in a kit bag; Matt and Dan were both decent singers. Luce joined in with the song, some folk thing that Simon barely remembered the words for. It didn’t escape Simon that more words came out of Matt when he was singing than in a year of conversations combined.

Matt stopped, and Luce did, too. Simon smiled, wishing again that his brother’s attraction and attachment had been reciprocated. If it had been, if Luce were marrying Matt instead of James, she’d get to stop at the school, because Matt would leave her under Simon’s safe supervision and let her stop where she wanted to be, where she was happy. Singing started again from Matt, closely followed by Luce, who leaned against the fridge with a dreamy look on her face, lit up from the inside by simple pleasure, coffee clasped loosely in her hands. Simon didn’t understand why she didn’t fancy him: everything about them seemed to be compatible. Once upon a time, she’d have grabbed him with both hands purely to spite her family – Simon had only met her mother once, but he could imagine the woman’s expression if her wayward daughter took home a rough, burly farm-lad-turned-rugby-player with no connections, title, or family money. Simon wouldn’t wish a discontented marriage on anyone, though. He shied away from thinking too hard about the sort of marriage she would have with James.

The song carried on long enough that the water must have gone cold, but they seemed to be having fun with their duet.

“Alright, Pavarotti, breakfast’s ready,” Simon shouted.

Luce stopped singing and chuckled into her coffee.

Simon turned back to the food. Something thwapped him on the back of the head at painful speed and thudded on the floor like one of Matt’s steps. He looked at the towel that had been chucked at his head and cussed goodnaturedly under his breath.

“Wanker,” Simon said lightly.

Matt rumbled amiably, lumbering up behind Simon. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the salt and something else in Matt’s hand. “Oi! Your own plate. Get out of the kitchen.”

“Bossy little bugger.”

“Not everybody likes as much salt as you do.” Simon stood firmly.

“Not everybody like it as bland as you do.”

“You can muck about with your own plate,” Simon said, more gutturally than he’d meant.

“I love the jostling for position!” Luce added brightly. “It’s like watching a couple of lions trying to work out which is the alpha.”

Simon looked at Luce flatly.

“Neither of you ever marks territory, though. Which is probably just as well. The domestics would royally kick off.”

“Mm. That and he knows this is my room. I don’t muck around in his kitchen.” Simon took everything to the table in a few rounds and sat down. Luce’s face had taken on a expression he’d only ever remembered seeing once. It had been the time she had walked into Simon’s room when he and Mick had been shagging. Simon hadn’t noticed her immediately, but he didn’t have to: he was just as bad as Luce. He liked to be watched as much as she did. He could see the wheels turning toward something that was better left unspoken – and probably better left un-thought, if truth be told. Whatever she was thinking, it had made her eyes go glassy, distant, as though in another time and place or reality; quite a lot could be going on. It was probably something to do with Simon shagging in the kitchen, or even worse, something to do with Matt and Simon shagging each other in the kitchen. That sort of thinking needed to be put to rest – quickly.

“Luce, get your mind out of the gutter.”

She huffed. “My fiancé is in Zurich.”

Simon wanted to point out that that didn’t mean it was appropriate to have insanely twisted thoughts and wear them written all over her face, but restrained himself: he would be the last person to chide someone for having a visual of two hot blokes together, and if he tried hard enough to be objective, he could acknowledge that he could see how people would say that Matt fell into that category, but still… Matt was his brother.

Matt’s forehead wrinkled in honest confusion.

Simon shook his head. “You really don’t want to know.” He started eating and watched Matt sour his eggs with more salt and pepper than anyone should ever inhale. He sighed inwardly.

Magical being that she was, Luce started talking about rugby, which drew Matt into an actual conversation that consisted of more than rumbles and grunts. It was just the normal talk of two enthusiasts sharing their love of a thing. Though he couldn’t take his eyes off her, Luce ate and carried on wolfing down her meal as though it was the only one she was bound to have for a week, not even a hint of the flirt about her. She could turn that charm on and off as she liked, and it wasn’t on now: she was having a simple conversation with a mate. It was nice to listen to Matt talk, for once. Luce kept him going like the coal for a train, and he chugged along, sometimes ponderously, eventually reaching the words that were on their shelves, just waiting to be pulled down. Matt thought he had nothing to contribute, but he always did, especially about rugby. The dark surface of the table slowly became visible as food disappeared into stomachs. Simon listened, but he had other things on his mind, things he had to do alone.

Leaving them to their relatively spirited debate about the merits of sequential binding in a scrum, Simon headed across the hall. He knocked on Number Seven; the door was slightly ajar and swung wider at his touch. There was no answer.

Simon frowned and pushed it open. “Alexander?” He looked round and saw the other man slumped at an odd angle in his chair, with a book face-down on the floor, its pages crumpled where it had fallen. Simon approached Alexander and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Alexander.”

The sleeping man jolted awake as if stung, elbow hitting the tea tray beside him on the table, and it clattered to the floor scattering its contents wide.

Simon held his hands up. “Alexander, it’s okay. It’s just Simon.”

“Er.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Simon crouched and began gathering up the scattered porcelain and the tray.

“I did not hear you.” Alexander helped, mostly taking over. Simon let him.

“Your door opened when I knocked.”

“I was reading,” Alexander said. The conversation was now in a tangle and Simon realised he was still explaining why he hadn’t heard him – or at least he thought that was what Alexander was trying to do.

“And fell asleep in the chair?” Simon watched Alexander take the collection of shattered crockery to the kitchenette. Alexander looked at him blankly, almost as if he hadn’t understood the question and had never seen Simon – or anything else in the room, for that matter – before. It was a massive change from the man he’d met earlier in the week, more than disconcerting.

Spilt tea had pooled around the unfortunate book on the floor beside the armchair: Simon crouched and picked it up, letting droplets hit the rug and trying not to let the pages stick together. He carried it with him to find a tea towel; the nearest one was beside the sink, unused and pristine. It was about to save one of Alexander’s books, he hoped, from complete destruction.

“I don’t think it’s got too wet.”

Simon began wiping carefully with the tea towel, but Alexander’s blankness had given way, the wreckage on the tray apparently forgotten, and his fingers were moving as if he wanted to make for the book but was too polite to do so.

“Er.”

Simon handed it over; Alexander retreated to his living room-cum-library with it, and started dabbing at it with his handkerchief. Simon found himself thinking that it was like an injured animal; it had to be among the other books just to be reassured of its safety, as if the other volumes formed a kind of family to help the lone book regain its life after having been drowned in tea. He frowned to himself and did a quick mental assessment of the likely level of residual alcohol in his bloodstream.

“Are you alright?”

“Er, yes. Thank you. But my book is damp. It is not good for books to become waterlogged.”

The hesitance in his speech, his obsessive dedication to the book’s care and his apparent obliviousness to anything outside that narrow focus, even the change in his posture, made Simon feel like he was in some alternate reality. The man seemed to have undergone a total personality switch, or maybe a partial shut-down; it was like nothing Simon had ever seen or heard of before. He understood dementia and Alzheimer’s in general terms, he had acquired a basic working knowledge of schizophrenia when one of the sixth formers had been diagnosed with it, and his great uncle Wesley was acknowledged to be completely barmy, but this, the way Alexander was acting, was something else entirely. Even Alexander’s speech came out in an unusual precision. Every word seemed carefully chosen, examined, then given its position like a coach deciding which player had the best skills for the match ahead of them; and when he’d fielded his men, he sat back in his chair, thinking ‘job well done’.

“Nay, I reckon not.” Simon continued to watch. “Did you have a good evening?”

Alexander looked at him blankly. “Evening?” It sounded like he had no idea what day it was, let alone what time.

“Mm. Last night. Friday?”

“Was it?” Still unnervingly clueless, was Alexander. “I, er. I was reading my book. It is a very good book.”

I’m sure it is... Simon thought as Alexander gave him a synopsis of his now-soaked book of ancient poetry, like Simon knew anything about the wider subject at all. It was halting and erratic, more confusing than enlightening, and Alexander’s expression became more and more worried as he went on. He looked like nothing so much as a small boy reciting his lesson and hoping against hope that his audience would be satisfied with his performance.

Steps needed taking. “Aye, sounds good.” Simon hoped he sounded reassuring; the immediate – if minute - relaxation in Alexander’s posture told him that he’d succeeded.

“It is very interesting.”

Aye, you said that already... Simon cleared his throat. “You didn’t come to dinner last night.” I worried about you, since you’d been there all week. Even Matt had braved the dining hall, for about a quarter of a meal, because the Headmistress liked him and felt that Matt was a good example for the young ladies. The hormones of every girl old enough to have reached puberty also thought Matt was a good example, but not in quite the same way.

Alexander blinked several times. “I developed a headache. I had to take my tablets.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Do you have headaches a lot?”

“Er, no. I do not usually develop headaches. Christopher feels that I have been working too hard. I develop headaches when I work too hard.”

“Mm. I know that feeling.” Simon smiled and looked at Alexander’s messy hair. He wanted to reach out and run his fingers through it, see if it felt as good as it looked. “Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better. I reckon you haven’t eaten. Are you hungry? I just made breakfast.”

“Er.” Alexander glanced at the wall of books, a broad shield from the outside world, or possibly a flock that was his to guard; either way, something that he would apparently prefer not to leave.

“I could bring you a plate,” Simon suggested, hoping that this time, Alexander would accept without fuss.

“Er, yes?” The expression on Alexander’s face read: that sounds lovely. “I would not wish to put you to any trouble.”

“I offered, remember. It’s no trouble.”

“You are very kind.”

Simon beamed. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

Simon went straight to the kitchenette in his room and began piling a plate full of what Matt had earmarked for his second breakfast; he could make more, if he really had to.

He crossed the hallway again to take the food to Alexander. The man was back in the kitchenette, making fresh tea in what Simon had to assume was his back-up tea service, but his attention seemed to flicker on and off. He started to put leaves in for steeping, then he stopped for a few moments before beginning again. Simon frowned. This man was intriguing and strange, like no one he’d met before; the mind, that massive intellect, was clearly still there: he’d demonstrated it when he had talked about his book, but it was as if it had somehow become distant from him, and he had to wait for a response from another planet before he could relay it. At least he seemed to have lost that edge of nervousness. Simon lifted his tray and took it to the table. “Here we are.” He smiled. “Still warm and everything.”

Alexander tensed and dropped a spoon. “Thank you.” The response sounded reflexive.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It is alright. I was not listening.” He bent down and picked up the spoon, then placed it with undue care in the sink. Simon was puzzled, but relieved: Alexander had been startled, but the generalised anxiety did not seem to have returned.

“Here, come sit. I’ll finish the tea.”

“It is alright, thank you. I can manage.”

There was no doubt that he could manage; Simon smiled. “Just didn’t want the food to go cold.”

“Er, no. Thank you.” He brought the tray, with everything a formal tea would require, and fussed with it as though absolute perfection was needed. He poured each of them a cup and looked at the food Simon had brought. The wheels turned, Simon could see that, but no comment was immediately forthcoming. He waited.

In due course, his patience was rewarded. “Won’t you...?”

“Hm?” Simon took a sip of his tea.

“Have some food.” His tone was worried.

Simon didn’t sigh at the relapse. “Mm.” He could always eat more. Alexander seemed to relax again, which Simon appreciated. He dished out some of the eggs, bacon and other things onto Alexander’s own plate and then gave himself a healthy portion. “How was your first week?”

Alexander’s face went blank, but he wasn’t tuned out, not in the same way as he had been all morning. It was more like he was retrieving the memory of the last week and conducting a measured review.

“Very interesting. Adolescent girls are not the same as postgraduates.”

Simon laughed. “No, I’d imagine not.”

“They do not pay attention.”

It wasn’t a complaint, as far as Simon could tell. He wasn’t sure. “They’re probably distracted by you.”

“I do not understand.”

Simon quirked his mouth. “You’re good-looking; they’re not used to having a good-looking bloke teach them.”

Pink spread like wildfire across Alexander’s face. “I do not see why that is significant.”

“Because they’re a bunch of young ladies whose hormones are just starting to be highly active?” The blank-slate look was back. Simon was going to have to explain himself. “You’re an attractive man. Most of them are...being educated to marry someone a bit like you. I mean, looks and education-wise.”

Alexander’s eyes cut across to Simon, then back to his food; the notion apparently displeased him. “I have no interest in marriage.”

Simon blinked, raising his eyebrows. This wasn’t a direction of conversation he had been going for, but if it would tell him more about Alexander, he’d stick with it. “No? Why not?”

“I have my work.”

“You don’t think you could be married and still work?”

“Wives require a great deal of attention.”

Simon blinked, surprised by the vague and yet somehow incredibly definite statement. He wondered if sex was the problem or if there he had something else in mind. Maybe Luce had been right and he was gay. Either way, it was a strange comment. “Oh, aye?”

Alexander nodded vaguely.

“And ladies are terribly, er, firm in their views.”

Note to self – Alexander and Luce may not get on.

He nodded again like a child disappointed. “Aunt Jane was a very independent lady of strong views.”

“You don’t want someone who has strong views, then. Or just not a woman?”

Alexander looked like an indignant, concussed duck. “I am quite happy with my work. I do not understand why people insist that I should marry.”

Simon felt sorry for Alexander. “I don’t. I mean, I’m not. No, I don’t think someone should have to get married. I mean I’ll never be able to get married anyway...” He trailed off, aware that the train of conversation had derailed itself.

“That must be very nice.”

“What must be very nice?”

“Not being expected to be married,” Alexander said and sipped his tea.

“I reckon. If you don’t want a family and things, yeah.”

“I do not want to be married. Wives require far too much attention.”

And there was that bizarre assertion again. Alexander had never been anything but courteous to the multitude of women in the school, so it seemed unlikely to be anything as objectionable as general misogyny; nonetheless, Simon elected to leave it alone until he understood the man a little better.

“I don’t want a wife, either. But I would like a family.”

“You have got a family.” Alexander was so matter-of-fact that Simon looked at him for a moment. He’d missed the point.

“No, I mean my own children and partner.”

“It is possible to adopt children.”

“I know,” Simon said. “But I want my own. S’not the same. I mean, if I never find a decent partner, yeah, I reckon I’ll adopt.”

Alexander nodded vaguely. “I have thought about adopting.”

“Have you?” Simon was surprised, given Alexander’s views on the attention required by wives.

“I should like to adopt a boy when I am older.”

“Aye?” Simon wondered if the conversation could get any more peculiar.

Alexander nodded.

“I want my own children, though, if I can manage it. Maybe I can find a surrogate or something. I’ve always wanted kids.”

“I have always wanted a dog.”

Simon smiled. “Got loads of them at the farm. I could take you to meet Bess one weekend. She’s mine.”

“You are very fortunate,” Alexander said seriously. “Aunt Jane did not like dogs. She said that they were dirty.”

He’d missed the whole point, Simon thought. “Well, she’s an old sheep dog. My nephew Jamie looks after her; she doesn’t get dirty any more, but I reckon she did when she was working the flock. It’s easy enough to brush the mud off, any road, and they don’t walk any more muck in than we do. Can’t really have a dog here, sadly. How’s your breakfast?”

Alexander looked down at his plate and gave the matter his consideration. “It is very nice, thank you.”

Warmth spread through Simon. He continued to shovel up his second breakfast and watched Alexander’s meticulous progress through his first.

His company was comfortable, once Simon got used to the quiet. Simon relaxed into his chair and drank his tea like he’d been doing so his entire life. It wasn’t chewy like he and Matt made, but it was very good. Guilt and worry melted away like ice in the summer from his shoulders, and he smiled, for no reason other than how much he liked being there.

Out of the blue, Alexander said, “You have a visitor. I heard the singing.”

“Aye. It’s my brother. He was bringing me my car. Well, his car, but he gave it to me.”

“That is very kind of him.”

“It is. He likes his old one, so he brings me the newer model.” Simon was surprised that he got away with it: the car was part of the sponsorship deal. It would probably have been different if Matt’s beloved old monster hadn’t been the same make.

Alexander nodded. “I have not got a car. I cannot drive. Christopher can drive.”

“Would you like to go for a ride sometime?”

Alexander looked blank.

“Would you like to go for a drive sometime?”

“You want me to drive your car?” He asked as though Simon had asked him the secret to the universe.

“Well, no, I was going to invite you to ride with me in the car...”

Alexander’s eyebrows moved up and his mouth opened slightly. “What for?”

“Er...I dunno. To show you around the area... Cardiff isn’t far away.”

The statement received due consideration, and Simon caught himself wondering why he found it endearing. “I have not been to Cardiff.”

“We should go sometimes, then. I like getting away at the week end.”

Alexander smiled. “That would be very nice.”

“Brilliant.” Simon returned the smile. “Do you have lunch or dinner plans?”

The question seemed to be alarming, and was answered cautiously. “Er, no.”

“I was just offering to bring you something. I always cook too much. Matt’s leaving tomorrow... I dunno. I think I like your company. It’s very relaxing.”

“Is it?” His eyes and eyebrows went up again. “Aunt Jane said that I was the most exasperating boy ever to have tried her patience.”

“I think she was wrong.”

Pink flooded Alexander’s face. “You are very kind.”

“You don’t have to keep saying that. I might actually blush.” Simon grinned.

Alexander’s expression went blank again. “But you are.”

“No one ever tells me, as such. It’s nice. Thank you.”

Alexander’s lips quirked and his brow furrowed as he relapsed into thought. When they were out of tea, Alexander got up.

“Would you like me to go?”

“No.”

Simon smiled and settled back into his chair while Alexander refreshed the tea and stacked the dirty breakfast things neatly in his sink. Matt had Luce to keep him company, and Simon was sure he was enjoying every second.

“So, how often do you get to see your brother?” Simon asked. Alexander mentioned him often enough, but actually said very little about their relationship; he was curious. He loved his brothers dearly, but knew himself to be very, very different from them: he wondered how their relationship compared to that between twins.

“Quite often, thank you. We go on holidays together.”

“Where was the last place you went?”

“China.”

“Aye? I’ve been to Turkey once, and Spain a few times, and France... never that far, though.” Only ever a short flight, and usually with Luce, because she liked her beach holidays, or as part of a school skiing trip.

Alexander started talking about China in the same erratic way he’d talked about everything else. He listed the places he had been, and gave Simon little facts about them – the key cultural and historic points of interest, until he ground to a halt, apparently having run out of sufficiently scintillating information.

“You’ve been all over, haven’t you?”

“I have travelled extensively.”

“Sounds nice.” Simon smiled.

“Er, yes. I like to travel.”

That much was obvious. “What’s your favourite place?”

Alexander’s expression changed. Simon could see the wheels turning as he thought – in the same pausing way as he spoke, perhaps – about how to answer the question. “England.”

“Why’s that?”

“It is home. Other places are nice to visit, but I like to come home.”

“I can understand that. Is home and family important to you?”

Alexander blinked at Simon perplexedly. “What do you mean?”

“Dunno. Just asking.”

“I am very fond of my brother. I am very fond of my home.”

Simon smiled. “Aye. Where’s your brother now?”

“He is still in Syria. He is teaching and studying.”

“Will he be coming back soon?”

Alexander nodded. “He will come home for half-term.”

“That’s a long time to wait to see him. The two of you are welcome to join me at the farm.”

“You are very kind. But we could not intrude.”

“You wouldn’t be. I promise.”

“Truly?”

“Yeah, it’s a farm.” Simon laughed. There were always people around.

“One may still be in the way on a farm.”

“There’s a cottage that you two can stop in, if you feel like you’re underfoot. Loads of land, through, and there are dogs.” Simon smiled.

Alexander smiled, too, a warm, lovely smile that lit up his eyes, but he wasn’t looking at Simon. His eyes were on the table, pink around his ears and neck. Simon wanted to kiss it, run his fingers across the change in Alexander’s pale skin.

“We’d be happy to have you.”

“Then I shall ask him if he would like to visit you.”

Simon nodded. The sunlight slanted across the room as the day progressed. His stomach growled, but he ignored it while Alexander showed him photos and told him stories about him and his brother. He couldn’t remember feeling so relaxed in his life. No worries, no troubles – nothing. He looked down at the stack of photos Alexander had picked up and was just holding in mid-air like he’d paused in the middle of the thought.

“Tell me about the tortoise,” Simon said, looking at the top photo.

Alexander blinked. “Tortoise?”

“Mm. You’ve got a photo of a tortoise in your hand.”

“Er, yes. His name was Herman. Mrs Bishop gave him to us when we were children, but he ran away.”

It was hard not to laugh and feel bad simultaneously. How did a tortoise ‘run’ away? He would bet Aunt Jane had something to do with the poor creature’s disappearance, but he didn’t dare tell Alexander that.

“Ran away?”

“Tortoises can move quite quickly.” It seemed to be a sore point: Alexander had spoken almost defensively.

“That’s too bad.”

“We were very upset. I wish that he had not run away. We looked after him well.”

“Are you sure he ran away? I mean, could he have been let out of the garden or something?”

“He ran away.”

“Sorry to hear that. You were very fond on him, weren’t you?”

Alexander nodded. “He was our pet.”

Simon nodded, too. He wasn’t sure what to say. He smiled and reached for a different subject. “Shall I make us some dinner this evening?”

Alexander demurred instantly. “But you brother is visiting you.” He blinked. “Er. I am sorry. I should not have kept you here. You must go back to your brother.”

“Nay, it’s alright. I was enjoying myself.”

“But your brother is visiting you.”

“I can still enjoy myself with you. But you’re right. I should go back to him. He won’t have any free weekends for a while.”

Alexander nodded. “It has been very nice.”

“I promise I’ll come back.” Simon grinned. “How’s that?”

Alexander went pink and smiled shyly again.

“See you later, Alexander.” He smiled. “I enjoyed myself.”

Alexander nodded. “Er, yes.”

Simon opened the door and looked back at the shy, happy expression on Alexander’s face, pleased with himself. He couldn’t remember having been this happy in a long time. Even if Alexander wasn’t gay, he was special. Simon wanted him as a friend, even if they never became lovers; he knew that for certain. He smiled wider and closed the door and went to his own room. Matt and Luce were waiting for him, but he didn’t know what to say. His only thought was Alexander.

It wasn’t long before he started up one of the game consoles on auto-pilot and ended up getting his arse handed to him by Luce. She always managed to out-wit him and Matt, even when they played teams, unless it was rugby. Then Matt and Simon managed to wreak havoc on whatever team Luce chose. Even if Matt was playing against his game-self because she got to choose first. Simon chuckled as Matt won a line-out, playing as That Prat. He stared at the screen, his big fingers navigating a play the game wouldn’t even allow.

Simon got up and brought everyone a beer, even though it was just after breakfast. They had no other plans, and if Simon got too drunk, they could always go to the pub later to eat. Matt was not mucking around in his little kitchen and ruining food.

When he wasn’t playing, his mind wandered across the hall to Number Seven like a sonic frequency. His brain became zombified and h believed he belonged there with Alexander.

He shuddered. He reckoned he knew what Matt had felt like when he’d met Luce, now. He felt off-balance and couldn’t work out how to stop feeling as though he’d lost an arm, or perhaps a piece of his heart.