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Chapter Two

NOVEMBER 2083 - TWELVE YEARS EARLIER

Alex

“Shh!” Alex giggled as he fumbled with the keypad to his flat. Leo, the pretty blond man he’d picked up at the club, was licking the back of his neck brazenly, making him giggle even more.

“C’mon… I’m horny,” Leo complained, as Alex messed up the code to the keypad and had to start again.

Laughing, Alex turned and grabbed him, pulling him in close for a drunken kiss. Leo pushed him back against the door, which suddenly gave way, depositing them both on the floor of his flat in a heap of entangled limbs.

“Shh!” Alex whispered again, theatrically, as they rolled around.

“Why?” Leo pouted. “Don’t wanna shh! Wanna fuck.”

Alex pulled his head down and kissed him hard, silencing him. The wooden floor was uncomfortable, and after another long, drunken kiss, he scrambled to his feet.

“C’mon… bedroom.” He reached out to pull Leo up, and they both fell against the wall. Leo leaned into him, his breath reeking of booze. Then, with a salacious grin, he sank to his knees in front of him. Alex threw back his head and moaned loudly as Leo gave him a sloppy, uncoordinated blowjob.

He was close, so close… when light suddenly flooded the room, and hi s flatmate, Neil, was standing there, blinking at them. At that precise moment, he came in Leo’s mouth.

“Oops! Hi, Neil.” He gave a stupid little wave.

Leo drew back, wiping his hand across his lips. “Is this your boyfriend?” he asked, leering at Neil. “We could have a threesome.”

Alex laughed. “Nah. He’s not my boyfriend, and he’s also not a threesome kind of guy, are you, Neil?”

Neil folded his arms over his chest disapprovingly. He was a tall, solid young man of nineteen, with thick brown hair, deep-set eyes, and a pair of startlingly dark, bushy eyebrows that slanted ferociously across his forehead.

“Shame.” Leo got to his feet. “He’s sorta cute.”

“Not as cute as me,” Alex said with a pout.

Leo grinned. “Nobody’s as cute as you, baby. You’re a beauty, but you know that, dontcha?”

He ran a finger over Alex’s lips, and Alex opened his mouth, sucking down teasingly.

Neil was still standing there, with a wounded look in his eyes that made Alex feel both guilty and irritable at the same time; Neil’s hopeless crush on him wasn’t his responsibility.

“You’d better go,” he told Leo, his mood changing.

“But the party’s only just started,” Leo protested.

Alex zipped up his jeans. “And now it’s over. Here.” He found a spare cash card and tucked it into Leo’s pocket. “Take a taxi home.”

“You’re such a shit.” Leo pouted.

“Yeah, that’s me, I’m a shit – takes one to know one.” Alex saluted him. “Now, get the fuck out.”

“That stuff they say about you is all true – you are a spoilt brat.”

“Fuck off.” Alex lurched over to the kitchen sink and threw up in it, spectacularly.

Between retches, he saw Neil ushering Leo towards the door. When Leo launched into a tirade of abuse, Neil grasped his arm firmly and threw him out, then slammed the door shut behind him and locked it. Leo kicked at it a few times, growling obscenities, and then there was silence .

“You do know it’s three a.m., don’t you?” Neil demanded, turning back to Alex.

“So what?” He turned on the tap and put his head under it, the cool water clearing away some of the fog.

He drew back, shook the droplets out of his hair, and gave his flatmate his best puppy-dog smile. “I’m a student, Neil. Staying out ’til three a.m. and bringing home rubbish one-night stands is what we’re supposed to do. Well, not you, obviously.” He pushed away from the sink and stood there, wondering if it was the room swaying or him.

“You’re too busy being a good little uni boy, aren’t you? Studying hard, making Daddy proud, hmm? My daddy, that is, not yours. Still, at least one of us is making him happy.”

He gave a sly grin, but apparently, he was the one swaying, because Neil caught him just before he fell. Neil grabbed hold of his arm, threw it over his shoulder, and walked him into his bedroom.

“Mmm… bed… good.” Alex sighed happily as Neil dumped him on it, then bent down and began untying his shoelaces. “You gonna tell Dad I was kissing boys?” he asked as Neil pulled off his shoes and slung them to one side.

“Not just kissing,” Neil said reprovingly.

“Nah.” He grinned. “Not just kissing.” He gave a loud hiccup. “You gonna tell him? That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? Daddy’s little spy.”

Neil stripped his jacket from his shoulders, and a small white packet fell onto the floor.

“Oops,” he said as Neil bent to pick it up.

“You shouldn’t be taking this shit,” Neil told him sternly, placing it on the bedside table.

“Aw, relax – it’s just crocodile tears.” Croc was the drug of choice in the clubs, and all the students were taking it – except Neil. Alex had been using it for years. It made him feel mellow, with no bad trips. The only side effect was the painless, free-flowing tears it caused, hence the name. “You gonna tell Dad about the croc?” he pressed, gripping Neil’s arm.

“I’m not the spy you think I am,” Neil replied stiffly, pulling his arm away. “I’m your friend.”

Alex laughed incredulously as Neil unbuttoned his shirt .

“My friend? You’re Daddy’s paid spy – the indie he’s putting through university.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. After I’ve finished my degree, I’ll work in your father’s company for ten years to pay him back. You know I couldn’t afford to go to university without his help, let alone Oxford. I’m on a standard indentured servitude contract, nothing to be ashamed of – and I’m not,” he announced stiffly.

“Aw, come now – don’t be coy,” Alex snorted. “You don’t have to wait until you’ve finished your degree before going to work for Daddy – you’re already working for him, aren’t you? Your job is to spy on me, isn’t it?”

Neil removed his shirt and threw it in the direction of his shoes.

“How much does he pay you?” Alex demanded curiously. “How much for reporting all my bad ways to Daddy? What’s the going rate for a Judas these days?”

“Shut up, Alex,” Neil snapped, kneeling down to undo his fly.

Alex leaned back with a grin. “Are you enjoying this, Neil? I think you are.” He thrust his groin up into Neil’s face. “Do you want this? Mmm?”

Neil drew back. “That guy was right – you really are a shit.”

“Yeah, I am. Now fuck off, there’s a good little serf. You’ve done your duty – Daddy will be pleased with you. You’ll get a pat on the head and the money for another term’s tuition.”

Neil hauled himself up stiffly, then walked silently towards the door. Alex attempted to remove his jeans, but was so drunk they became tangled around his ankles, so it took him a few tries before he finally managed it. Glancing up, he saw Neil still standing by the door, hesitating.

“Did you want something, spy boy?”

“I just wanted to say… Look, you don’t have to go out and find trash to bring back home.” Neil returned to his side, reaching out to gently touch his face. “I mean, you don’t have to sleep with any bloke you find in a club.” He took a deep breath. “Because if that’s what you want – need – then I can do it for you.”

“Is that so?” Alex grinned, wetting his lips with his tongue .

“Yes. You know it is.” Neil’s gaze was fixed on his lips as he moved his head closer, and closer, and…

“Oh shit.” Rolling over, Alex heaved up a steaming pile of vomit onto Neil’s bare feet. “Sorry.” He looked up pathetically. “You were saying?”

“Never mind.” Neil picked his way gingerly towards the door, the puke sliding off his feet as he went.

“You gonna clear up my mess, indie?” Alex called after him.

Neil paused by the door. “Yes, Alex,” he said quietly. “Always.”

When Neil returned with a cloth and bucket, Alex pretended to be asleep. He was glad when the indie was done, and hoped he’d leave, but instead Neil sat down on the side of the bed and stroked his hair.

“You poor baby,” he whispered. “I wish you’d let me help.” He pressed a kiss to Alex’s head and then left.

Alex opened his eyes and gazed blankly at the ceiling, hating himself for being such a shit. He reached for the croc Neil had rescued from his jacket, took a pinch, spread it out on his hand, and inhaled.

Then he turned onto his side, clasped his knees to his chest, and zoned out as the drug kicked in. It worked its usual magic, gently wrapping him in its mellow embrace and taking the edge off his guilt.

Tears began running down his face, but he let them fall without wiping them away; they were only crocodile tears.

“Wakey wakey, birthday boy!”

Alex blinked as Neil whisked open the curtains and sunlight flooded into his bedroom.

“It’s nine. I let you sleep in for as long as I could, but we really need to get moving by nine-thirty in case the roads are bad,” Neil said, placing a steaming cup of tea on his bedside table.

“Mnnmm.” He pulled his pillow over his head to shut out the blinding light.

“Alex – come on, you have to get up,” Neil insisted. “Your father is expecting us for lunch at one.”

“Don’t wanna go,” he mumbled into the mattress .

Neil pulled the pillow off, and he opened one eye, glaring.

“It’s a birthday lunch, and you’re the birthday boy, so you have to,” Neil told him firmly. “Now get up, get in the shower, and get dressed. You have half an hour.”

“Yes, sir,” he said sarcastically.

“And don’t forget to shave,” Neil added as he left the room.

Alex emerged from his bedroom forty-five minutes later, dressed in a pair of skinny black jeans, a white shirt he couldn’t be bothered to tuck in, a maroon suede waistcoat, long thin purple scarf, and a tight brown leather jacket. He wore his trademark silver rings on both thumbs… and was sporting a thick layer of stubble on his jaw.

He ignored Neil’s tut of disapproval, shoved his sunglasses on his face, and ambled behind his flatmate towards the duck.

Neil was wearing the kind of utilitarian clothes that had been in fashion for men ever since the Rising; all Eco-Dry, water-resistant fabrics, which weren’t remotely necessary these days unless you lived in a lost zone. Eco-Dry had a slightly shiny quality, and Neil only seemed to select the dullest, drabbest colours to wear.

“One for me, one for you,” Neil announced, pulling two small cases behind him. “I packed for you while you were in the shower.”

“Well, that’s what good indies are for.” Alex made a face at Neil’s back.

After putting the cases in the back of the duck, Neil slid into the driver’s seat. Alex climbed in beside him, pushed his seat back, and put his feet up on the dashboard. He hated not being able to drive, but his ban didn’t end for another couple of years, so he was reliant on lifts until then.

Neil liked to listen to trashy music as he drove. Alex tried to block it out; his own tastes ran more to Pre-R rock, but he couldn’t be bothered with an argument, so he leaned back in his seat and gazed out of the window, watching the world go by.

They soon left Oxford far behind. Cambridge had disappeared beneath the water decades ago, but Oxford had remained. It was still as prestigious as ever, but, like the rest of the world, had been forced to adapt. Further education was a luxury few could afford, so Oxford now offered degrees in subjects it had never troubled with before, simply to attract students.

“Did you hear they’re building floating cities now?” Neil said as the duck splashed through a lost zone. “Next step will be floating roads, and one day we won’t need ducks at all. We’ll be able to drive everywhere on dry land, like they did before the Rising.”

“I like driving through the water,” Alex said moodily, staring out of the window.

It was a beautiful autumn day, and the trees were a riot of orange and brown. They drove alongside a lost zone for several miles, the water gleaming silvery-grey in the bright sunlight, fallen leaves floating on the surface, dotting it with different warm hues.

“Do you ever wonder what it was like?” Alex asked suddenly.

“What was what like?” Neil glanced at him.

“Life in the old days – before the Rising.”

“Not really.”

“I like watching old movies – the really old ones, from before – just so I can imagine what it was like to live back then.”

“Why?” Neil asked blankly.

“Did you never think how different your life would have been if the Rising hadn’t happened?” Alex asked. “I mean, there were no indentured servants before the floods.”

“It was a long time ago,” Neil dismissed, missing the point entirely.

“What’s your history?” Alex glanced sideways at him. “Where did your family come from? Were they displaced in the Rising?”

“My grandmother’s family lived in Great Yarmouth, which of course was one of those coastal towns that completely disappeared. A nice woman took her whole family in – mother, father, and two sisters.”

“It seems like there was a good feeling back then, at the start,” Alex said. “Everyone mucked in to help out.”

“Maybe, but you couldn’t expect it to last. It’s all very well putting up with homeless people in your house for a few weeks, but when the whole world is falling to pieces and there’s no prospect of them ever leaving because the refugee camps are full to bursting, and the government can’t provide enough housing… well, you can see why they had to come up with a different solution.”

Neil had a point. After a while, people’s goodwill had worn thin, and they’d demanded assistance with their unwanted burden. Anxious to avoid the kind of warfare that was tearing Europe apart, the government had created the indentured servant system. Refugees provided services such as cooking, cleaning, and childcare – anything to help out – and in return, they received accommodation, food, clothing, and medical insurance from those who took them in. It was only supposed to be temporary, but over time the system had developed to become an entrenched part of society.

Now, there was an Indentured Servant Agency to oversee their welfare, and a separate court system devoted solely to them. Servitude became an acceptable penalty for most non-violent crimes – the government was delighted not to have to house criminals when land was at a premium and money was in short supply.

People frequently sold themselves into service to escape terrible living conditions, or to provide a lump sum for family members, and the economy had grown to rely on them. A new type of fraud had emerged where servants took a signing fee and then absconded, so now they were required by law to wear identification necklaces and be implanted with microchips. Slowly but surely, the system had become embedded in all aspects of everyday life.

They passed alongside another lost zone. The buildings rising up out of the water were a greenish-brown, covered in moss. Their windows were dark, the glass long since gone, making them look like gaping mouths, wide open and begging for food. Dozens of rope ladders covered them like scars, stretching between the buildings, linking them and dipping down into the water beneath, where a number of rafts bobbed. Raw sewage was clearly visible floating on the top of the water, turning it into stinking brown sludge.

“Quarterlands,” Neil said with a shudder, locking the duck doors.

Those who refused to become indentured servants had taken refuge in the thousands of abandoned high-rise housing estates. There was no electricity, fresh water, or sanitation; they were violent, disease- ridden places, but they had become a sanctuary, of sorts, for the lost and dispossessed.

“I don’t know why you locked the doors,” Alex said. “Anyone living there would have to scale down the side of their building and paddle their way over here on a raft – we’ll be long gone by then.”

“All Quarterlanders are scum,” Neil said firmly. “You can’t be too careful in areas like this.”

Nevertheless, Alex felt the crumbling old buildings had an air of forlorn majesty. He took out his notebook and sketched a few in passing, adding wings so they could fly, free of their flooded earthly prison.

“I love your drawings,” Neil said. Alex glanced at him in surprise. “I pick up the ones you leave around the flat and keep them in a little folder, because I’m sure one day you’re going to be a famous artist, and then they’ll be worth something.”

Alex snorted. “I doubt it. They’re just doodles.”

“No – they’re good. You’re really talented. I’ve often wondered why you aren’t doing an art degree. I mean, why business? It seems like such a dry subject for someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” He lowered his sunglasses and arched an eyebrow.

His ruddy skin suffused with a violent blush, Neil ploughed on regardless. “You’re a free spirit, Alex, a bohemian – an artist. Just look at how you dress.” He waved his hand at Alex’s outfit. “I’d feel stupid dressed like that.” He glanced down at his own brown Eco-Dry trousers and green sweater ruefully. “But on you, it looks right. I mean, anyone looking at me would guess I’m studying a dull subject like accountancy.” He gave a self-deprecating smile. “But you don’t look like someone studying business.”

“And yet I am,” Alex retorted flatly. “Lucky old me.”

“But if you really want to do art, then why?—”

“You’ve met my father,” Alex interrupted. “Do you seriously think that Noah Lytton, owner and CEO of Lytton AV, would pay for me to do anything other than a business degree?”

“I think he just wants you to be happy.”

“Is that why he sent you to spy on me?” Alex asked tightly. “Does that sound like a father who just wants his son to be happy? ”

Neil sighed. “Yes, I think it does. He’s worried about you, that’s all, and it’s hardly surprising after what happened. He just wants to make sure you’re okay. That you’re not falling into old ways, bad habits…” He trailed off with a wince.

“He doesn’t trust me.” Alex folded his arms over his chest and leaned back in his seat.

“Can you blame him?” Neil asked quietly.

Alex had known Neil for five weeks, and his unwanted flatmate had never spoken to him like this before. “You don’t know anything,” he snapped.

“I know that last night you were drunk, or stoned, or both – and that you had croc in your pocket.”

“And I’m sure you’ll be telling Daddy all about it when we get home. Isn’t that what this weekend is really all about? It’s dressed up as some stupid birthday celebration, but really it’s a progress report on how Alex Lytton is handling his first term at university, and if he’s still rotten to the core or has transformed miraculously into a good boy overnight.”

“I think this weekend is about your father wanting to see you in person, to make sure you’re handling it okay. You’ve been through a lot in the last year, Alex.”

“Whatever.”

“I’ve been wondering if you behave this way because it’s your personality, or as an act of rebellion against your father,” Neil said suddenly. “Because I’ve seen a different Alex at times, when you think nobody is looking – there’s someone much nicer inside.”

“Is that so?” Alex shot him a withering glance.

“I didn’t mean…” Neil broke off, flushing.

“No, go ahead. Patronise me some more, why don’t you? Tell me again – what’s your degree in? Is it psychology? No, wait – it’s accountancy. I can see why that would definitely give you some insight into what makes me tick.”

“I’m just saying – you’re only hurting yourself with the drugs, and the drink, and all the pretty faces.”

“The bodies are pretty, too,” he shot back snidely. “And it’s none of your business, Neil. You’ve known me for a few weeks and suddenly you’re an expert? You’re just the indie my father employed to be my flatmate at university. That doesn’t mean you and I are friends now, or that we ever will be. We’re not. You’re just the hired help. Now shut the fuck up, so I can get some sleep.”

There was blessed silence for an hour as they continued to travel alongside the vast lost zone. During the Rising, land had been lost slowly, inch by inch. People had fought with all their might to keep what was theirs, constructing new flood defences as fast as the old ones failed, yet the implacable power of the sea had driven them out of cities, towns, villages, and hamlets, forcing them to abandon their homes. Each time an area became submerged, the government had zoned it as “lost”, sacrificed to the water.

Alex tried to imagine what it must have been like to live in a city disappearing every day – to wake up and anxiously examine the government postings and read that the place where you lived and worked, which you loved, was being swallowed up, street by street, until one day it was your turn to flee.

An hour later, Neil pulled up at a motorway service station. “I need to piss. Plus, I could do with a coffee,” he said, climbing out of the duck. “You coming?”

Alex wanted to decline, but he was in the mood for a good, strong cup of tea. Heads turned when they walked into the building, making him wonder if there would ever come a time when he wasn’t looked at and talked about. It had been over a year since the accident, but still people turned to stare wherever he went. He pushed his sunglasses on and did his best to block out all the judgemental glances and snide whispers.

They took their drinks outside, to a dirty but secluded garden area, so that he could smoke. Years ago, before the Rising, the government had brought in a law that raised the smoking age every year. Now, it was technically illegal for anyone to smoke, but that was just one of many Pre-R laws that people ignored these days.

“Are you going to tell my father about the bloke I brought back last night?” he asked. “I’m not sure if casual sex is in your brief, or if it’s just the drugs and drink he’s interested in.” Taking a long drag on his cigarette, he blew out a plume of smoke .

A pretty girl at a nearby table waved it away irritably until she realised who he was. Then she looked torn between glaring at him and flirting with him. He was used to that. She made her decision and shot him an inviting smile, which he ignored.

“I assume your father doesn’t know that you’re bisexual, then?” Neil asked.

“No.” Alex took another moody puff on his cigarette.

“Would he care? I mean, gay marriage has been legal since Pre-R times, and nobody really gives much of a shit about it anymore.”

“They do if they’re Floodites,” Alex retorted. “Dad’s a Floodite, and you know how they’re always banging on about how God sent the Rising as punishment for our many sins.”

“Oh.” Neil made a face.

“Yeah – and I don’t want this to be yet another way I’m a disappointment to him. Before Charles’s accident, at least he had one red-blooded, heterosexual son, but now he’s only got me to carry on the family line.”

“So, your brother can’t…?” Neil’s ruddy skin went bright pink. “I mean, I know he’s been in a wheelchair since the crash, but I didn’t know if, well, um…” Neil waved his hand to disperse the mouthful of smoke Alex had blown in his direction.

“Charles has a complete spinal cord injury,” Alex said flatly, stubbing out his cigarette on the dirty wooden table in front of them. “It’s not impossible, but it’s unlikely.”

“Is there a chance he’ll ever walk again?”

“Who knows?” Alex shrugged. “Repairing spinal cord injuries is kind of the holy grail of medical science precisely because it’s so hard. If the Rising hadn’t happened, I’m sure they’d have cracked it by now, but progress is slow. Charles has had some experimental therapies, but nothing has worked so far. We’re still hopeful, though.”

“He’s lucky that your family can afford the treatment. Most people can’t. Will he be there today?” Neil asked eagerly.

“Aw, you want to see the famous Olympic gold medallist – maybe get a selfie?” Alex mocked. “Oh, don’t look so embarrassed, Neil. Everyone always wants a selfie with the great Charles Lytton, and yes, he’ll be there. ”

“I can still remember where I was when he won that gold medal.” Neil’s eyes shone. “It was such a great moment, with so much meaning. I mean, there were no Olympics for years because of the Rising, and then no gold medals for the UK for more years after the Games started again. Then Charles comes along and finally we’re winning again.”

“Yup. He’s a regular national hero all right,” Alex snapped.

“You miss him, don’t you?” Neil asked unexpectedly. “You’re close. I read that he doesn’t blame you for the accident. He says that you’re his little brother, and he still loves you very much, despite what happened.”

“Yeah. Well.” Alex stuck his hands into his pockets and gazed at the floor. “The press do get some stuff right.”

“This feels like the first real conversation we’ve had,” Neil said, fiddling with the ID tag he wore on a plain leather thong on his wrist. “I wish we could be friends. Yes, your father hired me to keep an eye on you, but we’ll be sharing a flat for the next three years, and I could be a good friend to you, I really could. I know I’m not the kind of person someone like you would normally be friends with – I’m not rich, or glamorous, or good-looking, or even particularly interesting. But I’m loyal – more loyal than you think,” he added meaningfully.

Alex raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“Well, you should know that I speak to your father every week to tell him how you’re getting on.”

Alex hunched his shoulders. “I suspected as much.”

“And there honestly wasn’t much to report at first – then, for this past week, you’ve been all over the place.”

“Yeah, well, the press hung around town for my first few weeks at Oxford, trying to get shots of me disgracing myself, so I had to keep my nose clean until they got bored and went away.”

“Why couldn’t you keep it that way? Why run the risk of a story breaking about you taking drugs, or falling out of clubs drunk, or sleeping with everything that moves?”

Alex laughed. “Hello! Where have you been this past year – hiding under a rock? Haven’t you read the news? Alex Lytton is a giant fuck- up. One big, self-destructing disaster zone. Everyone agrees on that. What does it matter to you, anyway?”

“Because, regardless of what you think, I’m not your enemy. I’d like to help.”

Alex snorted. “How the hell can you help me?”

Neil took a deep breath and stared straight ahead. “By not telling your father what you get up to – about the boys and the croc.”

“You’d lie to my father for me?” He took off his sunglasses in surprise.

“Yes. I don’t see there’s any need for him to know about the croc, in particular. You and I both know that if he did, there’s a good chance he’d pull you out of Oxford.”

“And if I’m not at Oxford, then you’re not there, either?” he guessed.

Neil shook his head. “No, that’s not the case. My IS contract states that I can continue with my studies whatever the outcome of your own university career.”

“So, what’s in it for you?” Alex demanded? “Why the hell would you lie for me? Doesn’t it compromise your own position? I bet my father has a clause in your contract that it can be dissolved if you don’t uphold your side of the bargain – and then you’ll be liable to pay back all your tuition fees, plus interest.”

“That’s true.” Neil nodded.

“Which you can’t afford.”

“No.”

“Then why?—”

“Because I’m in love with you,” Neil blurted, his face flushing a beetroot red. “I’m completely, insanely in love with you and have been since I first saw you.” Neil gazed at him anxiously, awaiting a response to this totally obvious revelation.

Alex laughed. “Yeah, I’m used to that. It happens a lot. All the gay boys at Oxford are in love with me, and half the straight boys, too.”

“This isn’t some passing fancy or phase,” Neil said stiffly. “I mean it. I love you.”

Alex picked up his cup of tea and took a sip – it was strong and milky, just the way he liked it .

“I know you think you’re in love with me,” he said quietly. “And I wasn’t kidding – people get crushes on me all the time: the looks, the clothes, the money – and let’s not forget the reputation.” He gave a twisted smile. “Alex Lytton – black sheep brother of the nation’s beloved gold medallist.” He moved his hand through the air to mimic a media headline. “The spoilt rich kid who killed his mother and crippled his famous brother by wrapping an AV around a tree while high on croc. Alex Lytton – famous bad boy and all-round shit.”

He leaned back in his chair and put his feet on the table. “I find that people either want to fuck me or fix me. Which is it for you, Neil?”

“Neither,” Neil said firmly. “I want to love you. I know you think you don’t deserve to be loved, but you’re wrong. You do.” His face was so comically earnest it made Alex laugh. “I mean it,” Neil carried on doggedly, “and I’ll prove it to you, too. I’ll lie to your father today when he asks for my report, and I’ll keep on lying to him. I’ll be here for you, Alex. Always.”

“My devoted servant.” Alex grinned, mirthlessly.

“Yes.” Neil stood up. “Give me a chance – you’ll see.” He carried his coffee cup over to the bin and threw it away. “I’ll be waiting back at the duck when you’re ready.”

Alex took a thoughtful sip of his tea as he watched Neil go. People fell in love with him all the time, seeing him as a fragile butterfly, broken and beautiful, teetering on the edge of self-destruction. It seemed to be an aphrodisiac, and there was never any shortage of idiots throwing themselves at him, hoping to win his undying love and gratitude by fixing him.

Neil wasn’t any different, except in one vital respect – he actually had something to offer. He’d lie to his father, which would give Alex the freedom to live his life at university the way he wanted. The only downside was that he’d have to live with Neil’s unwanted devotion, but he was pretty much stuck with that anyway.

He finished his tea slowly. Then he pulled his jacket tight around his body, shoved his sunglasses back on his nose, and, with hunched shoulders, made his way back to the duck.