Page 6

Chapter Four

NOVEMBER 2083

Alex

They arrived at The Orchard, in the pretty Kent countryside, at 1.15p.m. The house was a rambling old mansion near Sevenoaks, pre-dating the Rising by over a hundred years, its mellow yellow bricks and ivy-covered walls giving it a warm, friendly feel.

Alex wasn’t sure he really viewed it as “home”, as he’d spent much of his childhood in various boarding schools, but he’d always returned here during school holidays and when he was serving out various suspensions and expulsions.

Lighting up a cigarette, he stepped lazily from the duck. A swarm of indentured servants immediately flurried out of the house to squabble over who should take their cases inside.

“Your father is a good man to take in so many ISs,” Neil said approvingly.

“I suppose.” He blew out a nonchalant ring of smoke. His father hated him smoking, which was all the more reason to do it. “He views it as his religious duty to be a good man. Felt to me like we never had a moment to ourselves when I was a kid. There were always dozens of servants around, getting in the way.”

“The Orchard is a big house – your father is giving these people a home, and paying for their food and medical insurance. It’s an act of generosity,” Neil told him sternly.

Alex glanced at him, momentarily intrigued out of his boredom. “How did you end up indentured to him, Neil?”

Neil looked delighted to be asked. “My mum was an IS at Lytton AV. She died a couple of years ago, and your father was kind enough to allow me to stay on in Lytton Village to finish my schooling – he even appointed a mentor for me, to make sure I was looked after.”

“Good old Dad,” Alex said tightly.

“I knew I couldn’t stay there forever, though. I always studied hard at school, but I needed to get an IS sponsorship so I could go to university. I didn’t want to risk ending up in the Quarterlands.” Neil shuddered. “I must have contacted hundreds of big companies and wealthy individuals but only a handful bothered to reply – and that was just to say no.” He seemed happy Alex was showing an interest in him. “Luckily, your father followed my progress at school and thought of me when he was looking for a companion for you at Oxford.”

“Spy,” Alex corrected him. “Not a companion – a spy.”

“Companion,” Neil repeated doggedly. “I met him for an interview, and he granted me the indenture. I think he was proud of the fact I came from Lytton Village.”

“So, you grew up just down the road?” Alex leaned against the side of the duck and watched six servants trundle their two small cases away. They looked ridiculous.

“Yes. It was lovely in the village – everyone was kind and friendly, and your father used to walk around and wave at us every so often. I, uh, also used to see you riding your motorbike,” Neil added, with a shy smile. “You always looked so cool, like you owned the world and didn’t need to share it with anyone. I wanted to be your friend, even then,” he said wistfully.

Alex threw his cigarette onto the ground and stomped on it with his boot. “Careful, Neil – your inner stalker is showing,” he drawled.

Neil flushed and buttoned up his jacket against a non-existent wind. Suddenly, there was a commotion at the house, and Charles wheeled out onto the driveway. A handful of servants followed, clearly wanting to be useful in some way, but he brushed them aside .

“Alex!” he called, his face alight with joy. Alex ran across the driveway, crouched down in front of the wheelchair, took Charles’s face in his hands, and bestowed a kiss on his forehead. Then he drew back to study him. Charles looked like their mother, with his golden hair, bright blue eyes, and the deep dimples in his cheeks that gave him the appearance of being the happiest person alive.

“Happy birthday, Alex. I can’t believe you’re nineteen. My little brother, all grown up. How are you? How’s Oxford?” Charles asked eagerly. “I want to hear all about it.”

“I’ve only been there a few weeks, so there’s not much to tell. More importantly – how are you? Are you okay?” Alex asked, studying Charles anxiously. It had been a year and two months since the accident; his legs had wasted a little in that time, but his shoulders were still broad and strong, and he looked in good health.

“I’m fine.”

“I worry about you, locked up here with only the old man for company.”

Charles laughed. “We get on well – I’m not always winding him up on purpose, like you do. Besides, I’m busy with stuff – after-dinner speeches, charity events, that kind of thing.” His days as a world-class rower might be over, but Charles was starting to carve out a new niche for himself.

“Aw, still milking that gold medal for all it’s worth, then?” Alex teased. Charles swatted his arm, and he laughed.

“Is that…?” Charles glanced over his shoulder, and Alex sighed as he realised that Neil was hovering. It was bad enough having the indie foisted on him as a flatmate, without having to put up with the guy following him around like a lovesick puppy, too.

“The IS that Daddy dearest sent to spy on me at university? Yes, it is,” Alex said brightly. “Charles – this is Neil Grant. Neil, this is my brother, Charles, the famous Olympic rower. You might have heard of him,” he added dryly.

Charles shot Neil a mega-watt smile, his dimples coming out in full force. Neil melted, and Alex couldn’t blame him. Charles had become a symbol of hope and pride for the new Britain, which had risen proud and strong from the water after losing a quarter of its landmass .

The press had painted Charles’s rowing victory as a sign of a nation paddling itself out of disaster to triumph, against the odds. One news site dubbed him Charles the Great , and the entire nation had instantly adopted him as their new national hero.

Less than a month later, the AV carrying him, Alex, and their mother crashed into a tree a few miles down the road, leaving him a paraplegic. The nation wept for him, but he was assured of his place in history and his country’s undying love – unlike his bad little brother, whose history of teenage rebellion, expulsions from three different schools, and out-of-control croc habit became tabloid fodder.

Alex had spent most of the following year holed up in The Orchard, reading countless articles about how tests had revealed a huge amount of croc in his blood, how his drugged state had caused him to crash the duck, and how unfair it was that his brother and mother had suffered for his sins while he’d walked away with nothing more than a few cuts and bruises.

He’d been banned from driving for three years and given a huge fine, which his father had paid. At seventeen, he was too young to be sentenced to indentured servitude, but the tabloids felt he’d got off far too lightly owing to his family’s wealth and high profile. There were even insinuations that his father had paid off the judge, which anyone remotely acquainted with his father would know wasn’t true; Noah Lytton was strictly a “by the book” kind of man.

The ensuing press witch hunt had kept Alex more or less confined to the house for many months, apart from regular trips to the hospital to visit Charles.

It had taken a long time for it all to blow over, but the notoriety still clung to him like a bad smell. He almost wished he had received a harsher sentence.

Worst of all had been enduring his father’s bottomless disappointment. Charles had always been the good son, and Alex the black sheep – and their father could barely bring himself to look at his youngest after the accident. The silent void of his mother’s funeral, where his father had completely ignored him, still made his heart ache. Having to share the house with his dad while Charles recuperated in hospital had resulted in a kind of truce, but without his brother or mother as buffers between them, it was an uneasy one at best.

Alex’s saving grace in his father’s estimation was the sharp intelligence that had won him a place at Oxford. The question was whether he could keep it – which was where Neil came in.

He wandered towards the house and almost bumped into his father coming out.

“Alex… Happy birthday, son. It’s good to see you.”

Noah Lytton gave a strained smile, and they faced the usual tortured choice of going in for a hug or offering a hand. Alex opted for the hug and opened his arms, but Noah held out his hand instead. Alex felt an old anger rise up inside and settle around him like a cloak.

Noah was in his late forties but looked ten years older with his paunch, thinning hair, and permanently haggard expression. Alex had always wished he looked like his mother, as Charles did, but his dark hair, grey eyes, and pale skin placed him firmly on his father’s side of the family.

“Good journey?” Noah asked, studying him closely.

“Ask Neil – that’s what you pay him for, isn’t it?” Alex lit another cigarette, drew on it heavily, and then blew a cloud of smoke into his father’s face.

“I can see you haven’t changed,” Noah snapped, waving the smoke away.

“And neither have you, Daddy darling.” Alex gave a sweet smile, leaned forward, and planted a sarcastic peck of a kiss on his father’s cheek before pushing past him into the house. He jogged up the stairs to his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

This room felt safe and confining at the same time, the way it had during the time he’d spent hiding away after the accident. He opened his suitcase, which the servants had placed in his room, and immediately pulled out the long green chiffon scarf he took wherever he went. It had belonged to his mother – she’d loved scarfs, as colourful and dramatic as possible.

He wondered, not for the first time, how she and his father had ever fallen in love. He found his father rigid, conventional, and devoid of imagination, but Noah Lytton had loved his vivacious wife to bits. His grief at her loss was still etched on his face.

Alex opened the window so he could flick out cigarette ash. Then he sat down on the window seat, leaned back, and wrapped the scarf around his neck, pulling the free end over his nose and inhaling his mother’s scent. He knew she would have hated to be the cause of all this anguish – she’d been so much fun and had always disliked anyone moping around her.

There was a tentative knock on the door, which he ignored. It opened anyway, and Neil stepped inside.

“Charles sent me to tell you that lunch is ready,” he announced.

Alex remained seated, still gazing at the achingly familiar view from the window.

“Uh, are you okay? It must be hard, being back here again,” Neil said softly.

“You think?” Alex snorted. “I wish I was back in Oxford. I can at least pretend I’m free there, even with you spying on me all the time. The past lives here like a fog, so thick and heavy that I can barely breathe.”

“I like it here,” Neil said. “The rooms are huge compared to what I was used to growing up, and there’s so much space. I suppose it must feel different for you, though, because of… you know.” He took a step back, towards the door. “Come on – you’ll feel better after some lunch.”

“Don’t tell him,” Alex blurted. Neil turned, questioningly. “Don’t tell my father about the drugs and the boys. What you said earlier, about lying to him for me – please do it. I can’t stand the thought of having to come back here to live again. I didn’t realise how much it mattered until just now, when I arrived.” He took a deep breath. “I can’t live here again. Please… lie to him for me.”

Neil’s face lit up. “I will. Now, come down to lunch.” He turned and left.

Alex finished his cigarette slowly, then closed the window, unwrapped the scarf from around his neck, and went downstairs.

Charles, his father, and Neil were all assembled in the dining room, and he could sense his dad’s rising tide of anger at being kept waiting. The fact that the black sheep son made no effort to atone for his many sins was both infuriating and inexplicable to a man like Noah.

He took his seat at the table, and his mood lifted a fraction when Charles shot him a dimpled grin; it was always impossible to resist his brother’s smiles.

“So, how is everything at Lytton AV, sir?” Neil asked, as one of the servants served them bowls of soup.

“All ticking along.” Noah gave a tight smile. “How do you like the duck I gave you?”

“She’s great, sir – runs really well. I try to avoid the lost zones as much as possible, but when I do have to take her through the water, she’s pretty fast, and she hasn’t broken down on me once.”

“Excellent!” Noah beamed. “That was the upgraded Lytton Classic design that we invested in heavily a couple of years ago, and I’ve been very pleased with how it turned out.”

“You shouldn’t be – it’s crap,” Alex snapped. They all turned to look at him. “Well, it is.” He shrugged. “Look, I know AVs had to be cheap and utilitarian in the dark old days after the Rising, but that was years ago. You have to shake that off and make them beautiful and not just functional. The world is bouncing back, the economy is on the move, and they’ve started building these new floating cities. People have money again – and they want to spend it on something luxurious, not some chugging piece of metal.”

His father took a sip of his wine. “Ah, how kind of you to give us the benefit of your many years of experience in the AV industry, Alex,” he said tersely.

“I might not have atrophied in a boardroom for the past twenty-odd years, like you, but I’ve driven Lytton ducks – I know what they’re like.”

“You used to drive them,” his father snapped. “Until you got pumped up on drugs, drove one into a tree, and destroyed this family. So, I don’t think anyone needs to hear your opinion on this subject, do you?”

Alex sat back in his chair and a tense silence fell around the table.

“So, are you going to work in the family business, Charles?” Neil asked eventually .

“Me? Not bloody likely. All that stuff is beyond me.” Charles gave a self-deprecating smile. “I’m not the clever one – that was always Alex.” He winked at his little brother. “He’s the one destined to take over at Lytton AV, once he finishes at uni.”

“If he’s good enough,” Noah said with a grunt. “He’ll start off at the bottom, like my father made me do. If he shows promise, he can work his way up to the boardroom, but he’ll have to drop the attitude and commit to some hard work.”

Alex made a face into his soup, but said nothing.

“Do you know the history of Lytton AV, Neil?” Charles asked, ever the peacemaker. This was a subject that was guaranteed to make their father puff out his chest with pride.

“Bits and pieces – my mother worked for Lytton AV for many years, but I don’t know much about the early days. I’d love to hear it,” Neil said eagerly.

Alex swirled his spoon noisily in his soup.

“In those terrible times after the Rising many roads were impassable, millions of homeless refugees were housed in schools and churches, and the economy collapsed – as did law and order,” Noah said, recounting the story with the ease of repeated telling. “The military were the only ones who could get around the country, distributing aid via helicopters and amphibious vehicles. The Orchard is a big house, so my father, Theodore Lytton, took in a number of families who’d lost their homes.”

“It sounds like he was a good man,” Neil said approvingly.

Alex glanced meaningfully at Charles, because their memories of Theo were of a mean old tyrant who yelled at them for playing too noisily in the upstairs corridors when they were small. Charles shot him a little wink in return.

“He was,” Noah said. “He was also a businessman, and one of the people he took in was an engineer called William Tyler. My father and Will got talking one evening about how everyone’s lives would be much easier if they could get around the way they used to, and Will suggested building a little amphibious vehicle – not the big AVs the army used, or those fancy Pre-R AVs that nobody could afford to make or buy anymore, but something smaller, for ordinary people – cheap, no frills, just to get everyone moving again.”

“And that, my dear Neil, is how Lytton AV was born,” Alex interjected in a bored tone.

Noah ignored him and carried on. “My father saw the possibilities, so he set up Lytton AV and took on Will Tyler as its first indentured servant. It was Will who designed the Lytton Classic – the first duck.” He gave a proud smile. “It wasn’t easy to source the capital to begin production back then. You have to understand how unstable and chaotic the world was for years after the Rising. Many countries were bankrupt, and Europe was at war. Agriculture was decimated, and even when there was food, there might be no way to distribute it. Millions starved to death. Previously successful companies had disappeared under water, all their plants, factories, and know-how vanished in the Rising. Finance, trade routes, and supply lines had to be rebuilt from scratch. When we started, Lytton AV was just a tiny, ramshackle business, trying to make people’s lives a little better. It’s a miracle it survived and prospered as it did.”

“Praise be,” Alex muttered sourly.

Noah shot him a glare. “My father took a massive risk and used all his savings, as well as mortgaging this house. It was a hugely worrying time for him and my mother – they could have lost everything.”

“Surely not,” Alex said. “They led such virtuous lives. As a Floodite, didn’t Granddad believe that God would save them?”

Noah threw down his soup spoon with a loud clatter. “He believed that being a good person and leading a worthy life is the key to building a better world. You could learn from that.”

“He also believed that God wiped out millions of people in the Rising as punishment for their sins, so I think I’ll pass on revering his religious views, thanks.”

“Ignore him,” Noah told Neil. “My father was a man of strong faith, but he was hardly the religious bigot Alex is making him out to be.”

“He named you Noah,” Alex pointed out. “Did he see you as a saviour, building arks at Lytton AV to help people navigate the flood?”

“Half the male babies in the world were called Noah in the years after the Rising. My father believed in hard work.” Noah shot Alex a withering look. “And he put everything into Lytton AV for the first few years, working eighteen-hour days, non-stop, for months on end.”

“It paid off,” Neil said.

“It certainly did.” Noah shot Neil an approving smile. “Thanks to my father’s drive and ambition.”

“Lytton AV might have been the first to offer affordable ducks, but it’s not the best – not these days anyway, Neil,” Alex pointed out maliciously. “That honour goes to Tyler Tech, with their Aquacruise range. If the name’s familiar, it’s because it’s owned by George Tyler – Will Tyler’s son.”

“I’ve heard of George Tyler,” Neil said.

“You should – he’s one of the UK’s most successful entrepreneurs. Like my grandfather, George Tyler built his business from nothing to become one of the biggest tech companies in the world. Now, I don’t know George personally, but I’d say he was a bit pissed off that our family got rich off the back of his father’s designs, wouldn’t you?”

Noah’s expression darkened, and Alex felt a sense of perverse satisfaction. He always knew which of his father’s buttons to press.

“Will Tyler wasn’t the one who took the financial risk – my father did,” Noah snapped. “And George Tyler is a nasty piece of work.”

Another awkward silence fell around the table.

“Uh, so, what about you?” Neil asked, glancing at Charles. “You hinted that you have a new career path in mind when we were outside earlier.”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Charles replied. “Dad and Alex don’t know this yet, but…” He paused for dramatic effect, grinning broadly. “I’ve decided to start training for the Paralympics.”

Alex dropped his soup spoon into his bowl with a loud clatter.

“I might have lost the use of my legs, but there’s nothing wrong with the rest of me, so I can compete in the single sculls, arms-only event. The doctors have given me the all-clear, and it’ll be good to have a purpose again.” He beamed.

“That’s great news, son.” Noah gave Charles the kind of genuinely delighted look that Alex hadn’t received in a very long time. Charles always had been everyone’s favourite .

“Wonderful! You’ll be an inspiration to a generation of disabled people,” Neil enthused sycophantically. “I think that’s fantastic.”

“I think it’s insane,” Alex said witheringly. His father glared at him, and there was another tense silence. “What’s the matter, Charles? Are you worried the public will stop adoring you if you’re out of sight for too long?” Alex demanded. “Christ, hasn’t this family had enough publicity to last a lifetime?”

“Alex – that’s enough,” Noah roared.

Charles put his hand on Alex’s wrist. “I’m sorry. I know they put you through hell over the accident, and I can understand why you’re apprehensive, but I honestly think we can move beyond that now.”

Alex gazed at him imploringly, but Charles had a dreamy, happy look in his eyes, and he knew it was pointless. “Excuse me,” he said quietly. “Suddenly I’m not hungry anymore.” He pushed the bowl of soup away, threw down his napkin, and strode out of the room.

“Alex.” He heard the low hum of Charles’s wheelchair behind him, and paused at the foot of the staircase. “Alex, please.” Charles reached out to touch his arm.

Alex glanced down at him. “I can’t believe you’re doing this, Charles.”

“I just want some part of my old life back,” Charles said pleadingly. “You can understand that, can’t you? I have to compete. I want to hear the crowd cheering me on. I want to be someone again.”

“You already have all those charity events and speeches.”

“They’ll start drying up soon. If you don’t achieve anything for a while, then people stop caring. It doesn’t take them long to forget.”

“Then why bother? Isn’t it an endless treadmill, a mountain you’ll always be climbing without ever reaching the top?”

Charles sighed. “I’m not clever like you, Alex. I was always the sporty one. There’s nothing else for me. I can’t stand the idea of ending up at Lytton AV – I’ve made that quite clear to Dad, and he knows I’d be useless at it, anyway. But sport, competing at the highest level – it’s who I am, and all I ever wanted to do.”

“It’s a bad idea,” Alex hissed, glancing over Charles’s shoulder to where his father and Neil were making small talk in the dining room .

“It doesn’t have to be. It could be our chance to move on, to put the past behind us.”

Alex snorted. “The media will never let that happen, Charles. They’ll dredge it up again – the crash, Mum’s death, and my drug use… I don’t think I can go through all that again.”

“They’ll forget about it, in time, if we give them a new story to focus on. If I compete in the Paralympics, if I win… it’ll wipe all the bad stuff away.”

“The nation already loves you – it’s me they won’t forgive. I don’t see how you winning another gold medal will make that happen.”

Charles squeezed his arm. “Please – I need this, Alex. I can’t sit around here all day, doing nothing. I must have something to focus on, and I’ve really only ever been good at this one thing. Please be happy for me.”

Alex pulled his arm away. “I’ll try,” he said as he began climbing the stairs. He turned to glance back at his brother’s hopeful face. “I’m not making any promises, but I will try.”

He returned to his bedroom and took out the little packet of croc he’d brought with him. He inhaled it and then threw himself onto the bed, clutching his mum’s scarf. The smell of her perfume swirled around him, taking him back to the last time he’d been with her.

It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon and the top of the duck was folded back. They were hurtling down a winding country lane, his mother’s golden hair blowing around her face in the warm breeze. Charles was telling a story which Alex interrupted sarcastically, making them all laugh.

If he could, he would hang on to that moment and make it last forever, but he couldn’t. The duck, with its happy, laughing inhabitants, kept on driving down that lane towards its inescapable final destination.

Alex slowed down the vision, so he could watch it frame by frame, delaying the inevitable. He savoured every little detail: Charles’s cheerful voice; his mother’s throaty laugh, and the way her red-painted lips closed around her cigarette.

She and Charles were on a high. It had only been a few weeks since he’d won his gold medal; all their hard work had paid off, so they could finally relax. They were roaring with laughter, and Alex basked in their company. They had been so busy working towards the Olympics that he’d barely seen them for months, but now he felt like an honorary member of their exclusive little club.

He glanced ahead – just down the lane lay darkness, but right here, right now, they were all safe. If only he could freeze them in this moment, and they could stay here forever… but that wasn’t how it ended.

They were going too fast and laughing too much. Tears were pouring down his cheeks because of the large quantity of croc he’d taken when they’d stopped at a pub for lunch earlier. He felt mellow, happy, and high.

Suddenly, there was a sickening lurch, and the world tumbled over and over. Crashing, crunching, wrenching sounds reverberated all around him until finally they came to rest – amidst a horrible silence.

His leg felt strange. It didn’t hurt – it just felt strange. He looked down and saw blood streaming from a deep cut in his thigh. It was only then that the pain kicked in. He opened his mouth and screamed.

Nobody answered, nobody came to help. He kicked his way out of the remains of the vehicle and saw his mother lying on the side of the road, her face at an impossible angle to her body, her neck twisted grotesquely, and her eyes open, staring at nothing. A thin stream of blood, as red as her lips, trickled from her mouth. A few feet away, back down the road, he heard a low whimper, and turned to look for Charles.

Alex blinked. He would give anything to turn back the clock, but it was too late. Croc had helped take the edge off the pain since. Sex helped, too. Sex with strangers in clubs and bars – an endless succession of one-night stands with men and women – he didn’t care which.

He wiped away his crocodile tears on the scarf, then looked around for his case. The indies had unpacked everything while he’d been at lunch and put most of his belongings away, but he soon located his sketchpad and pencil case lying on the desk in the corner of the room. He picked them up and went over to the window seat. Then he wrapped the scarf around his neck and began to draw.

He drew AVs, dozens of them, the way they should be, with sharp, sleek lines – objects of beauty in their own right, not the clumsy, functional, duck-shaped vehicles his father’s factory churned out.

His pencil skimmed across the paper at great speed, calming him. He was so lost in the drawings that he didn’t notice the time until there was a little knock at the door. He glanced up and saw that it was starting to get dark outside.

Neil came into the room and shut the door behind him. His face was shiny and happy, his chest puffed out.

“I did it!” he proclaimed triumphantly.

“Did what?” Alex tried to drag his mind away from the peaceful world of his sketches.

“I was just in a meeting with your father. He was asking about you – how it was going at university, and whether you were taking drugs and getting drunk, or had settled down and were working hard, like he asked you to.”

“Oh.” Alex stared at him. He’d been so caught up in his reaction to Charles’s big announcement that he’d forgotten Neil would be discussing him with his dad.

“I recorded it. Listen.” Neil took out his nanopad and clicked.

“So, Neil – how’s it going? How is he doing?” His father’s voice.

Alex stiffened. He knew, logically, that this was why his father had sent Neil to university with him, but the reality of it still stung.

“He’s doing really well, sir. He’s a pleasure to be with.”

“Really? Because judging by the way he behaved today, he’s still the same old Alex.”

“I think he’s just nervous at being home again, sir, that’s all,” Neil said.

Noah was heard giving a weary grunt. “This is important, Neil. Alex was right about one thing, at least – this family can’t handle another scandal. I can’t have him running amok at Oxford and having his exploits plastered all over the internet. If you think that might happen, then you must tell me, and I’ll call him home immediately.

“I will, sir. You know you can trust me. I really value the opportunity you’ve given me. I won’t let you down.”

“You’re a good boy, Neil. I’d hate to see Alex waste his potential. This past year has damn near destroyed us all – we can’t go through anything like it again. You must make sure he stays out of trouble.”

“I will,” Neil assured him. “We get on really well. We’ve become friends. Good friends.”

Neil clicked off the recording and shot Alex a sly smile. “Friends. That’s right, isn’t it, Alex?”

“Yes, that’s right, Neil,” Alex said quietly. “Friends.”

“ Good friends,” Neil said sharply.

“Yes. Good friends.” Alex loosened the scarf around his neck, which suddenly felt too tight.

Neil came over to stand beside him. “They’re beautiful,” he said, glancing at the page of sleek AVs Alex had drawn.

“It’s how our AVs should look. If my father listened to me, he’d make a fortune. Lytton AV isn’t exactly doing well at the moment. He has no imagination or creativity. He’s stifling the company.”

Neil ran his hand down Alex’s cheek. “ Very good friends,” he said.

Alex glanced up at him with a weary smile. “Yes. Very.” He put the sketchpad aside and stood up.

Neil was facing him, his gaze fixed on Alex’s mouth. His lips were slightly parted and his tongue darted out to wet them, making them glisten. His chest was heaving, rising and falling with the harsh, guttural sound of his desire.

Alex felt as if he was watching all this from a long way away. He knew what came next, and the part he was supposed to play. Neil had provided a service, and now he was calling in the payment; Alex had always known the price.

They stood there for a long time, gazing at each other, and then Neil lunged. He grabbed Alex, pulled him close, and kissed him hard on the mouth. His tongue was insistent, demanding entry. Alex opened up and let him in. Neil groaned and pushed his groin against Alex’s thigh; Alex could feel the hardness there.

Guiding him over to the bed, and still kissing him, Neil pushed him onto it.

“God, I love you. I love you so much,” he breathed. He straddled Alex’s body and began unbuttoning his shirt. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you. Christ…” He pulled Alex’s shirt open. “I didn’t think I could have you. I didn’t think you’d even look at me.”

He stroked Alex’s nipples, then dipped his head and sucked down hard, making Alex gasp. His hands grabbed Alex’s jeans, and he tore them open, then he hesitated, his fingers poised over his boxers.

“Can I?” he whispered.

“Yeah.” Alex moved his hips. It was just sex. It didn’t matter. His mind was already starting to wander elsewhere.

Neil’s hands were shaking with excitement as he peeled Alex’s shorts down. Then he lowered his head and began sucking.

It was dark outside, and Alex wondered what his father would say if he knew what his trusted servant was doing to his son right now.

His mother’s scent wafted up from the scarf, washing over him, soothing and familiar, while Neil’s mouth moved clumsily on his cock. It was easy enough to give Neil this. It cost him nothing. His mother would have understood.

He threw back his head, surrendering to Neil’s unwanted advances, a mirthless smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Happy bloody birthday,” he muttered.