“OK, ready to impress?” I pull my T-shirt off over my head and turn to Theo, squinting against the late morning sun. Beyond him, the sea stretches out like a sleeping monster, tranquil and vast. The barest breeze ruffles the surface of the water and takes the edge off the heat. Terrible surfing conditions, but ideal for teaching Theo the basics.
He grimaces. “Think I’m still hungover.”
“Not making excuses already, I hope.” Sprawled on the blanket in her bikini, Zara pushes herself up on her elbows to watch us, eyes shielded behind dark glasses.
“Why?” Theo asks. “You up for showing us what you’re made of?”
“Hardly. I’ll leave it to you to make a fool of yourself.”
“Hey, have some faith,” I say. “He’s learning from a master, don’t forget.”
Theo shakes his head with a smile. “Still, somehow I don’t think I’ll be impressing anyone. Not after that display of surfing prowess yesterday.”
“Trust me, you’ll be an expert in no time.”
Theo looks sceptical, but crosses to dump his T-shirt on the blanket and retrieve the longboard we unearthed in the shed. His stomach muscles, tanned the same pale gold as the rest of him, ripple as he straightens and lopes to join me. My cheeks warm. I glance away, gesturing for him to lay the board on the sand.
To begin with, I show Theo the correct way to stand, left foot centred in front, right foot at an angle towards the back. Then I lie flat on the board and demonstrate propelling myself to my feet in a single fluid motion. The first time Theo tries it, I laugh.
“What?” He shoots me a quizzical glance. “Did I do it wrong?”
“No, that was fine. It’s just…you’re goofy footed. You put your right foot forward instead of your left.”
“Oh, is that bad?”
“Never did me any harm. Seriously, that was great for a first try. Have another go.”
I make him practise a dozen more times. Once I’m satisfied he has it down, I clap him on the back. “Knew you’d be a natural. Ready to try it on the water?”
“As I’ll ever be.” With a thumbs-up to Zara, who returns the gesture from behind her magazine, Theo hefts the board and we plunge into the waves.
Being a strong swimmer, he masters the art of paddling with ease, and his upper body strength helps him keep the board stable.
“You’re doing brilliantly,” I tell him. “But now for the tricky part.”
I get him to turn and head a little inland. With the water lapping around my chest, I hold the board as steady as I can on the swell while Theo attempts the same manoeuvre we practised on the beach. He powers to his feet, struggling to find his equilibrium, before toppling away from me into the water.
He emerges, grin rueful, and pushes the sopping hair out of his eyes. “That went well.”
“Hey, you almost had it there. No one does it first time.”
“Not even you?”
“Not even me. Give it another go.”
This time, he manages to stay upright for a few seconds before losing his balance, almost collapsing on top of me. I reach out to catch him, and for a split second the leanness of his chest grazes mine. Something hot, embarrassment spiked with a reaction I can’t define, jolts through me.
“Sorry.” Theo hooks an arm over the board and pulls himself upright, his smile sheepish.
I let out a long breath. “S’all right. You did really well then. You’re picking it up much quicker than I did.”
“Right, and you were how old? Twelve?”
“Ten.”
Theo laughs. “Wow, I’m officially a faster learner than a ten-year-old. So who taught you? Your Dad?”
“My dad’s dead.” Grateful for the reprieve, I rest my forearms on the board and stare into the distance. A faint haze shimmers on the horizon, the sea blending into the paler blue of the sky.
“Gosh, I’m sorry. What happened?”
“Motorbike accident. He died before I was born, so I never knew him.”
“I’m really sorry.” Theo’s silent for a few moments. Then he says, “My mum, too, four years ago. Breast cancer.”
“Shit.” I hadn’t known. Something else Zara conveniently forgot to tell me. And there I was the other night, asking about his parents. I look sideways at him. “You must miss her.”
Theo nods. He leans on the board beside me, his expression faraway. “Dad and I get on all right, but Clemmy’s his favourite. I was always closer to Mum. She understood me better than Dad ever has.”
“That must’ve been tough.” I try to imagine losing my own mum, the one person in the world who has been there for me my entire life. It’s unthinkable.
“It was. Still is, but I have a lot of good memories.” Theo’s gaze shifts to me. “Must be hard for you, too, never to have known your dad.”
I drop my eyes to my hands where they rest on the board. No one has ever said anything like that to me. People are always nice when I tell them about Dad, but their sympathy is somehow detached. They assume it’s easier on me because I never had a relationship with him, didn’t have to suffer through the loss. It isn’t easier, just different. I might not have grieved for my dad the way I would if I’d been alive, but often I think the pain would have been worth it to have a single memory to hold on to.
And Theo gets it.
I swallow against the lump in my throat. “Sometimes. Harder for Mum, though. She’s had to bring me up on her own.”
“What about her parents? Your grandparents.”
“They’ve never wanted anything to do with me. Mum comes from this respectable middle-class family. They never approved of my dad, thought he was a bad influence. After Dad was killed and Mum discovered she was pregnant, her parents gave her an ultimatum—get rid of the baby or be cut off from the family.”
“They disowned her, after she’d just lost your dad?”
I shrug. I try not to think about it too much; it makes me too mad.
“So,” Theo can’t mask his shock, “what about your dad’s family?”
“Wasters, apparently. Mum wouldn’t have let them anywhere near me even if they were interested, which they weren’t. They’re probably in prison by now, or dead of an overdose.”
Theo opens his mouth, but seems at a loss. Horror and empathy battle each other across his face.
For reasons I can’t explain, I have the urge to reassure him. “It hasn’t been all bad. I’ve had Dean and his family. Brian, that’s Dean’s dad, was the one who taught me to surf. He and Sue have always treated me like a second son.”
It’s true. To begin with, I think they felt sorry for me for being without a dad and because Mum worked such long hours. As I got older, they invited me on day trips with them, and away on holiday. In short, they’ve been the family I never had.
We’re quiet for a while. I rest my chin on my folded arms, letting the waves push and tug at my body. I’m not generally so open about myself, and never with people I barely know. Yet, Theo puts me at ease in a way that makes talking to him feel like the most natural thing in the world.
I rouse myself and turn to him. “Break over. Ready to have another go?”
Again and again I get Theo up on the board, and each time he stays on for longer. Finally, he grins down at me, face alight with triumph. “Think I’ve got it.”
“You sure about that?” I smirk, tilting the board, and he crashes into the water.
The lesson deteriorates after that. We take it in turns to stand on the board, the other waiting to tip us off when we least expect it.
Resurfacing for what must have been the tenth time, Theo blinks the water from his vision. “Looks like we’re being summoned.”
I follow the direction of his gaze. Zara has wandered to the water’s edge and is gesturing for our attention. “Well, we’ve probably done enough for one day. We can carry on tomorrow, if you like. We’ll get you riding some actual waves.”
“You think so? Thanks for this, Luke. It’s been great.”
“You’re welcome. Just don’t forget you owe me some fudge.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
We smile at each other. A shyness that wasn’t there a moment ago trembles between us. Then it’s gone, and we splash our way back to shore.
As soon as we’re within shouting distance, Zara throws us each a towel. “Nice of you to remember my existence. You’ve been out there for hours.”
“We have?” I’d completely lost track of time.
Zara rolls her eyes. “Yes, and I’m starving. You’re taking me out to lunch to make up for ignoring me all morning.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Theo salutes, and catches my eye with a complicit grin.
***
Theo drives us into a local fishing village for lunch. We sit at a table that overlooks the bustling harbour, eating golden fries and cod in crispy batter. I feed mine to the seagulls, having left my appetite out on the water.
Zara does most of the talking. Oblivious to the fact that Theo and I are quieter than usual, she amuses herself, inventing increasingly sleazy stories about our fellow diners.
“You see her?” She points a chip in the direction of a mousy young woman who is nodding earnestly as she listens to the stern-looking couple seated across from her. Her parents, I assume. “She pretends to be the good little daughter, while all the time conducting a secret life as a dominatrix.”
“Um, Zara, I know I’m not exactly an expert,” Theo says, “but come on.”
“Appearances can be deceptive. She might not look like much, but dress her up in leather and put a whip in her hand, and she’s a slave driver in the bedroom.”
“Luke?” Theo appeals to me, eyebrows raised.
“Just tie me down,” I drawl, and he chokes on his Sprite.
“And that guy over there,” Zara indicates a sneering, bald man perspiring a table with his sour-faced wife and two taciturn children, “he plays the part of the dutiful husband and father, but he’s actually pining for his gay lover.”
“How’d you work that one out?” Theo asks.
“Easy. He keeps eyeing you up whenever he thinks no one’s watching.”
Theo shudders. “Don’t. You’re making me feel contaminated.”
***
Back at the cottage, Theo and I take shelter from the heat on the under-cover terrace, but Zara insists she needs to do some more work on her tan.
“You’ll get sunstroke,” Theo warns.
Zara pokes her tongue out at him, and spreads a blanket over the grass by the pool.
Stretched out on a lounger, I open my copy of A Game of Thrones. Somehow, though, I’m not in the mood. A drowsy contentment drags at my body, so that I have no desire to do anything other than lie here and drift.
I find myself watching Theo. He’s hunched over the table, pencil making a faint scratching sound against his sketchpad. “What’re you drawing?”
“Oh,” his arm shifts to block the page from view, “nothing really. Just doodles.” He glances at the book propped on my chest. “You enjoying that?”
I grin. “Haven’t started it yet.”
Theo laughs, returning his attention to his doodles, and I pick up my book with renewed determination. I start over from the beginning, but hanging on to my concentration is like trying to hold back the tide. I end up staring at the opening line, smiling without caring why, letting my thoughts wander.
***
When I open my eyes, I’m alone on the terrace. I roll off the lounger, stretching, and pad inside in search of the others.
Theo’s just entering the kitchen from the hall, his hair damp from the shower. He smiles at me. “Lightweight.”
“Hey, this teaching lark is hard work. Zara upstairs?”
“Yeah. Washing her hair, I think.”
In fact, I find her retching over the toilet bowl in the en suite. I hover in the doorway, at a loss as to what to do, until she straightens, supporting herself against the sink.
“You OK?” Stupid question, since she clearly isn’t.
She grimaces. “Sunstroke. Theo was right.”
“Anything I can do?”
“You could get me a drink of water, and there are some paracetamol in my case, inside pocket.”
“Be right back.” I make a hasty exit. Doling out painkillers—I can handle that.
“She does this every year without fail.” Theo sighs, passing me a glass to fill from the tap. “She never learns.”
When I return to our room, the curtains have been drawn against the evening light and Zara’s huddled in bed, shivering as though she has a fever. I unearth the painkillers, watching her gulp them down with the water. “Will you be OK? Anything else you want?”
“No, I just need to sleep it off.” She collapses onto the pillows and gives me a weak smile. “Thanks, Luke.”
“You’re welcome.” I smooth her hair away from her hot forehead, overcome with a surge of affection, and leave her to rest while I shower.
In the short time it takes to rid my body of its coating of sweat, sand and salt, Zara has fallen asleep. Careful not to disturb her, I pull on jeans and a clean T-shirt and close the door behind me.
In the kitchen, Theo’s crouched on the floor inspecting the contents of the fridge. I lean against the table and peer over his shoulder. “She’s asleep.”
“That’s good. She’ll feel better after some rest.” He glances up at me. “So, looks like it’s just us for dinner. How’re you at wielding sharp knives?”
I hold up my fingers. “All present and correct. I can’t vouch for the state of my co-chefs, though.”
“I’ll risk it.” Theo gets to his feet, a bottle of beer in each hand. He flips the top off one and passes it to me. “You’re on salad duty.”
I take a swig of my beer. “No problem. Just stay out of slicing range and you’ll be fine.”
“Thanks for the warning.” Theo lowers his bottle to study my T-shirt. “Is that some kind of political statement?”
“Lamb of God? You have to be kidding me. You’re talking about one of the best metal bands of all time.”
“News to me. You’ll have to play me some of their stuff.”
“Somehow I doubt it’ll be your thing.”
“No? What’s my thing?”
“I dunno.” I pretend to consider him. “Mozart, something poncy like that.”
Theo laughs. Seizing a knife from the wooden block behind him, he thrusts it at me. “Get chopping, surfer boy, and stop making assumptions.”
While I slice tomatoes, Theo sets about making a dressing—actually making one from scratch, which impresses the hell out of me. It’s easy, companionable, as if we’ve known each other far longer than forty-eight hours.
“So,” I say, as Theo sets a pan of oil on to heat, “if you don’t like Mozart, what music do you like?”
He grins. “I never said I didn’t like Mozart, just that you shouldn’t make assumptions. I prefer Handel, though. How do you want your steak?”
“Bloody.”
“Good to know you’re not a complete philistine. Zara always makes me burn hers to a crisp.”
We take our food onto the terrace to eat, washing it down with a steady flow of beer. After we’ve demolished a tub of Rocky Road ice cream, Theo heads indoors and reappears with a bottle of Bourbon and two glasses. I lose all sense of time passing. Only the sky, darkening as the sun slips below the treetops and a velvety night closes around us, bears witness to how long we sit there.
And we talk. We talk about anything and everything and nothing at all. We debate England’s performance in the Six Nations, the arguments for legalising cannabis, and whether Sam or Aragorn is the true hero of The Lord of the Rings. Once we start, we can’t stop. We throw subjects back and forth, exchanging smiles of comradeship when our views coincide, challenging one another when they don’t. And all the while I’m conscious of being on the edge of something, something new, unknown.
Theo reaches for the bottle to refill our glasses. “Any idea what you want to do? After school, I mean.”
“Not really.” The whisky trails a fiery path down my throat to my stomach. When I lean back in my chair, the stars twinkle down at me, fuzzy around the edges. “I’ve been wondering about sports journalism. How about you?”
“That’s easy. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to run my own gallery, discover the next Hockney or Constable. Wouldn’t that be a legacy to leave behind?”
“Yeah, I suppose it would.” I smile at him. Art means about as much to me as Chinese, but his passion touches me.
“Of course,” he adds, “I’ve always known it would never happen.”
“Why not, if that’s what you want?”
“Because I’m expected to take over running our estate, as well as the family business. My dad breeds and trains racehorses, owns one of the top yards in the country, and it’ll be mine one day.”
I mull this over. Many people, most even, would envy Theo his life, his wealth and privilege, but I doubt any of them would stop to consider the sense of duty and responsibility that goes along with it. Despite everything, I feel lucky.
“Mind you,” Theo’s tone is thoughtful, “that may not be the case anymore.”
“How come?”
He stares into the contents of his glass. “You asked me the other night whether I’d be going home over the holidays. Well, I’d like to. The problem is, my dad doesn’t want to see me, not now he knows about me being gay.”
“Shit.” There doesn’t seem to be anything else to say to that.
“Yeah.” Theo glances at me, then away again. “I told him last summer, a couple of weeks before I left for Oxford. Now I wish I’d done it earlier, when Mum was alive. Maybe it would have been easier on Dad. It just never felt like the right moment. It isn’t exactly something you bring up over dinner, is it? Or maybe it is. Maybe that’s what I should’ve done, got it out of the way years ago, put an end to their hopes for me before they took root. I don’t know.” He pushes the hair out of his eyes. “Anyway, I finally plucked up the courage. I had to. Dad kept going on about all the great opportunities for meeting ‘nice young ladies’ and I couldn’t take any more. I couldn’t face the idea of going away under false pretences. So I sat him down after lunch one day and told him.”
“And he took it badly?”
“That’s one way of putting it. At first, he tried to brazen it out. ‘It’s just a phase,’ he said. ‘You’ll grow out of it.’ Then, when I explained this is how I am, how I always will be, he shut down. He said he’d speak to me once I came to my senses and decided to be a real man.” Theo winces. “I’ve called home a few times, just to check he’s OK, but after establishing I haven’t abandoned ‘this gay nonsense’ he hangs up.”
“He’ll come round,” I say. “In time.”
“I hope so.” The look he flashes me is part gratitude, part sadness. “I’m just not sure he’ll ever forgive me.”
“What do you mean, forgive you? You haven’t done anything wrong here.”
“To Dad, I have. Rowanleigh has been in the Scott-Palmer family for generations. It’s vital to him that the line continues, and now I’ve told him this isn’t going to happen. At least, not in the way he wants.”
“There’s still your sister, right?”
“Yeah, there’s still Clemmy, and if Dad can’t learn to accept me, she’ll have to take over. She’s more than capable, better with the horses. Still, there’s no getting away from the fact that, regardless of whether she marries or not, the family name will die out. That’s a massive blow for my dad. As far as he’s concerned, I’ve failed him as a son.”
I set down my empty glass and rest an elbow on the table, propping my chin on my hand. I suppose I can see why Theo’s Dad might be gutted, but that doesn’t give him the right to basically disown him. Theo’s already lost his Mum; now it must feel like he’s lost his dad, too. “So, you haven’t been home since you told him?”
“Nope. I spent Christmas with my aunt and uncle, Zara’s parents, and over Easter I stayed at the flat in Oxford. It’s easier that way, for both of us.”
I hesitate, wanting to ask, unsure whether it’s off limits. “So, your dad never met… He didn’t know about…” I realise I don’t know the guy’s name.
“Francis?” Theo averts his gaze. “No, he didn’t.”
Immediately, I wish I’d kept my mouth shut. Theo sort of hunches in on himself, his body language the equivalent of a ‘no trespassing’ sign.
“Look,” I fiddle with my glass, “I’m sorry. None of my business.”
At once, Theo turns back to me. “No, Luke, I’m sorry. You must think I’m pathetic, the poor little rich boy, complaining because his bed of roses turned out to have a few thorns in it.”
“No.” I meet his eyes. “No, I don’t think that.”
“Thanks, that means a lot.” Theo rests his elbows on the table, studying me. “Things can’t have been easy for you, though, not having your dad around.”
I shrug, conscious of Theo’s forearm mere inches from mine. “I haven’t had it bad. Mum’s the one working fourteen-hour shifts to feed me and keep a roof over our heads.”
“And there’s never been anyone else? No stepfather?”
“Honestly, I don’t think Mum’s ever got over losing my dad, although she claims she’s just too busy to meet anyone. She works so hard to make sure I have everything I need, but I know she feels it isn’t enough.”
“You don’t see it like that, though,” Theo says, “I can tell.”
I shake my head. “Mum’s never been able to buy me the latest iPhone or whatever, but she’s always there. Even when she comes in after being on her feet all day, she’s never too tired to listen to what I have to say. That means more than whether my clothes come from Pardo’s or Jack Wills.”
“Your mum sounds great.”
“She is. I’m lucky to have her, I guess.”
“And I bet she’d say the same about you.”
I contemplate my empty glass. It isn’t that I think Mum regrets having me; I know she doesn’t. All the same, if she’d done what her parents wanted and got rid of me, her life would have been very different. She might have gone to university, had a career, been free of the daily grind of stock-takes and money worries.
“Trust me,” Theo says. His eyes, when I glance up at him, are warm and full of something I don’t dare put a name to. I meet his gaze. For an instant, it’s as if I’m riding the crest of a wave, suspended in that halfway state, where time simultaneously stands still and stretches into eternity. The darkness closes in around us, settling like a fleecy blanket over our shoulders.
Theo looks away first. He pushes back his chair and gets to his feet. “Think I’ll go up. OK?”
“OK.” My voice sounds strange, scratchy, as though I’m coming down with a cold.
Theo scuffs the ground with his toe. “You staying out here?”
“Think I will, yeah.”
Still he stalls. “Night, then.”
“Night.”
Finally, Theo turns and makes for the glass doors, stumbling a little up the step. I watch him go. It’s only once he’s disappeared inside and I let out a long sigh that I realise I’d been holding my breath.
* * * * *