“That’s because you finished your dad’s eggnog off.” We both shudder at the thought, because that stuff is heinous, and then he carries on talking. “You ranted about private school parents and how demonic small children are and then told me very seriously that Steven was a complete wanker, and I could do better.”
“Oh,” I say faintly. “Well, I wasn’t wrong. Although my delivery sounds less than ideal.”
He stares out of the window, and I watch him, rather than the planes. “You weren’t,” he says. “You actually made me think about what I was doing, Arlo.”
“Obviously, I didn’t make you think very hard. You lasted another year.”
He shrugs. “Only because Steven’s been out of the country on a job for six months.”
“What exactly is it that he does?” I ask sweetly. “Contract assassin?”
“Telecommunications.”
“Well, bless him, he’s never lacked the ability to get his thoughts across,” I say with a shudder.
“I should say thank you, Arlo.” He throws his arm over my shoulder. It’s warm and heavy, and being this close I can smell his woody Guerlain cologne. It always makes me want to sniff him.
I swallow hard. “I must say I’m a little concerned about that,” I say honestly. “What if in twenty years you’re still bemoaning your lost love and howling my name in anguish?”
He blinks. “Wasn’t that Miss Haversham? I don’t think I’m temperamentally suited to wearing the same clothes for twenty years.”
I laugh. “There is that. How did your parents take it?”
He grimaces. “As you’d expect.”
“I try not to have expectations of your parents,” I say earnestly. “Other than not to move too quickly near them, lest it activate their hunt and kill settings.”
He laughs, but it fades quickly, leaving him looking a bit sad. “They were very disappointed in me, actually.”
“Really?” I ask, startled. “I thought they viewed the male part of your bisexuality as something to be hidden in the attic with all the pesky dust collectors like books and art.”
He smiles. “Ah well, they liked Steven. He appealed to them because he was so focused and goal-driven.”
“That’s one way to put it,” I say sourly. “As soon as they met, I bet they all got their calculators out and worked out their capital allowances for the year.”
Steven was far too driven for Jack. In my opinion, Jack needs someone a lot more relaxed. Someone who will make him feel comfortable rather than trying to wind him up even tighter the way Steven did. I steer my mind away from the thought that I’d be good for him, but it’s a damn truth that he’s more relaxed with me.
He laughs. “Well, they liked him.” He looks thoughtful. “Which really, when you look at it, should have been a warning for me. The equivalent of a code red in a nuclear reactor.”
“Steven hated me, anyway,” I say. “He always treated me like I was five years old, and at the last barbeque, he told me I was flippant in the same tone that most people use to call someone a cunt.”
Jack bites his lip but doesn’t correct me. I knew it.
He changes the subject adroitly. “Anyway, I stayed the night and thought I’d fly with you.” He smiles at me, his eyes as warm and rich as a packet of chocolate digestives. “I thought it’d be nice to have you all to myself before the madness starts.”
My heartbeat picks up speed, and I remind it to pipe down. It misbehaves so badly around him some days that I’m glad I’m not hooked up to monitors.
“And it’s not because I’m freaked out by flying?” I ask.
“I didn’t like leaving you to fly on your own,” he says in a serious tone.
My heart achieves lift-off without my permission. “Really? That’s so lovely.”
He looks up at the Departures screen. “We’re boarding,” he says, standing up and gathering his bag in his usual hyper-efficient manner.
I swallow hard. “Oh, are we really? How super.”
He grins down at me. “Come on. Ninety minutes and it’ll all be over.”
I pause. “What? Life?”
He blanches. “No, I meant the flight.”
My stomach immediately springs a nest of baby birds. “Oh absolutely,” I say heartily. I get to my feet and look out of the window at my fate. “Well, it could be worse. At least we’re not flying in that old banger.” I point to a small plane sitting on the tarmac.
He looks beyond me and bites his lip. “Oh no, of course not.”
I stare at him. “Oh my God,” I say faintly. “We are flying on that, aren’t we?”
He holds his hands up to forestall my almost certain attack of the vapours. “They’re excellent planes, Arlo. We’ll be absolutely fine.”
“It’s got propellers,” I say far too loudly.
He grabs my bag, hanging it from my shoulder, and wraps my coat around my shoulders as if caping a superhero. “It’ll be fine,” he says firmly. “You want to go to Amsterdam at Christmas, don’t you?”
“Yes, but is it possible to walk there?”
“It’d be hell on your shoe leather, and you wouldn’t be back in time for the new school term.”
“You think you’re dissuading me with that, but you’re not,” I inform him, obeying his guiding hand and joining the queue of people waiting to get on the grimy death trap. Everyone looks far too perky and happy. I look around for a fellow sufferer and find one in the form of the woman in front of me who is visibly shaking.
“Yes, but what if a bird flies into one of those propellers?” she says too loudly, judging by the glare that she’s receiving from an air hostess.
The people around us shift uneasily, but I nod approvingly. And then her question sinks in. “Oh God,” I say faintly, fumbling in my messenger bag and retrieving my pills.
“What are you taking?” Jack asks immediately, a look of concern on his face like he thinks I’m throwing a handful of ecstasy tablets down my throat. Not that I wouldn’t be tempted if I thought they’d do the trick.
“Valium,” I say, popping one from the blister pack and swallowing it dry. “The doctor prescribed them.”
“Couldn’t you try something else? Like hypnosis?”
“Only if you fancy trying to calm down hysterics at fifty billion feet in the air.”
“Thirty-one thousand feet. We’d be in space, otherwise.”
“Oh, fuck. Now you tell me that.” I shake my head. “We’re going to be flying too low. Can this day get any worse?”
The woman in front of us moans in agreement.
The air hostess takes our boarding passes and passports, and I watch her with an eagle eye to make sure she obeys all security procedures.
“Arlo, come on.” I can tell Jack’s trying not to laugh. He puts his arm around my shoulder and guides me out onto the concourse. The wind hits us icy cold and fierce. “You’ll be fine.”
“Touch wood.”
“It’s a bit early in the morning for that, and we’re in public.”