Page 108 of Home Grown Talent

Lewis—who had been watching Owen—sighed. “You did your brick wall thing, didn’t you?”

Owen blinked, taken aback by that. Even more taken aback when he caught a look on Aaron’s face that suggested he knew exactly what Lewis meant. This was something they’d talked about, Owen realised. Something about him.

Feeling stupidly hurt, he said, “What do you mean by that?”

Lewis eyed him for a moment, as though deciding whether to continue. “I’m talking about that thing you do, Owen. You know.”

“What thing?” Owen blurted defensively.

Lewis looked away. “Okay, fine. Whatever.”

“No, it’s not fine. What are you talking about?"

Lewis was scowling now. “That thing you do when you switch off and there’s no reaching you. You started doing it after Mum died.”

“Started doing what?”

Lewis scowled harder. “You know. I’d get angry about some stupid thing, like us not being able to afford breakfast cereal that week or having to be home for the social worker coming round, and you’d just get that closed-up look on your face, and I’d know there was no point saying any more.”

Owen stared at him, feeling faintly sick—this was a reference to the Stoic Owen routine, as Mac had called it.

“Oh God,” he breathed. “I’m sorry, Lew. That’s—that’s really bad.”

Lewis shook his head dismissively. “I’m only saying it now because”—he paused, eyeing Owen—“you still do that, you know? When bad stuff happens. You shut down, and I just have to wait till you’re ready to talk. Like when Michelle left. I was really worried about you—I knew you weren’t okay, but you kept putting me off, and even when you finally let me come and see you, it was like she’d never lived at your place. You didn’t even mention her.”

Owen’s stomach clenched painfully. He didn’t like the picture Lewis was painting of him. In his mind, he was the grounded one, comfortable in his caring, nurturing role. He was the man who could tell his younger brother “I love you” without embarrassment. Who could freely hug and show affection. Lewis was the one who was emotionally stunted and unable to share his feelings. Fuck, was that all Owen’s fault? Had he damaged his brother with his behaviour?

Lewis leaned over the table and gripped Owen’s wrist. “Hey!” he said sharply. “Don’t you start beating yourself up.” He glanced at Aaron, a panicky look on his face. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. Look at him.”

Aaron looked thoughtful. “You know, I used to think you two were chalk and cheese, but I’m beginning to think you’re not so different after all.” He turned to Owen. “Listen, you did an amazing job looking after Lewis when you were kids. And honestly? Yeah, you probably have a few communication issues, but don’t we all? Nobody’s perfect—not even you, though to hear Lewis, you’d think you were a canonised saint.”

“Maybe not a saint,” Lewis murmured, looking embarrassed.

“But right now, the point is this,” Aaron continued, as though Lewis hadn’t spoken. “Yes, Mason fucked up, no question about that. But did you actually give him a chance to explain himself? I mean, maybe you won’t feel any different once you hear him out, but doesn’t he at least deserve to be heard? It is possible, right, that the footage was edited in a way he didn't expect?”

Owen rubbed his hands over his face. “Maybe, but why was he even filming that stuff in the first place? He’s not stupid. It’s obvious that the reason Misty wanted more footage was because what she’d already shot with me didn’t suit her narrative.” He shook his head. “He must have known.”

“Except,” Lewis put in hesitantly, “you don’t actually know what Misty said to him or what he claims was edited out by her. Aren’t you at least curious to know what he has to say about all this?”

Owen groaned. “I don’t know. The simple truth is, he did what he did for the show and his own career. And he’d probably do the same again because creating content is how he earns his living. He always needs new content. Hell, his life is his content. But I”—he paused before admitting the embarrassing truth—“I want to be more to him than that.”

The pity in his brother’s gaze was too painful to look at. Owen let out a long breath and pushed himself up from his chair. “Listen, thanks for tonight. For everything. You’ve both been incredible. I’m really grateful that you’ve got my back with this.” He offered a tiny smile. “I promise I’ll be on that call with Kushal tomorrow, but right now, I’m beat, and I need to crash. So I’m going to head off, okay?”

Lewis eyed him warily for a few moments; then he rose to his feet. “Okay. You know where we are if you need anything.”

“I do,” Owen said. “Thanks.”

Later, as he drove back to his little house in Beckenham, he thought about all the stuff they’d talked about that night, not just Mason and the fucking pineapple thing, but their own family history. He thought about the way Lewis had opened up about his feelings, maybe for the first time ever. The way he’d made himself vulnerable. Was it strange that, somehow, that made Owen believe Lewis had his back in a way that a show of unassailable strength could never have done?

And that made him think about Mason again. He wondered who had Mason’s back right now.

Did anyone?

Did anyone else even see past the glittering armour of Mason’s beauty? The seeming perfection of his much-photographed life?

Owen thought about all those selfies with glamorous people at parties. All those friends that Mason didn’t really know all that well. All those plates of beautiful food he didn’t really eat.

All those perfect smiles.