Page 69 of Home Grown Talent
He couldn’t deal with this, not again. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair. He was sick of Frieda’s feebleness, but he was even more sick of Kurt’s fucking selfishness and the fact that things only ever got sorted out when Mason gave him shit about it.
He began striding towards the nearest tube station and texted Kurt. Are you in?
Kurt worked from home most days, home being a tiny flat in Tufnell Park that he shared with his bloody awful, whiny girlfriend, Regan. They worked for the same charity, Kurt in a senior policy role and Regan in the communications team. Regan was only a few years older than Mason and one of the worst people Mason had ever met, but she looked a bit like his mum twenty years ago, which seemed to be the main qualifying criterion for becoming one of Kurt’s serial live-in girlfriends.
A minute later, he got a reply. Yup. Bit busy tho.
Just need 5 mins, Mason texted back. Be there soon.
He called Frieda then, who immediately started sniffling down the phone again. He let her talk for a while, but as he got closer to the tube station, he cut her off. “Listen. I’m on my way to Kurt’s just now. I’ll talk to him, okay?”
She let out a big, shaky breath, and he felt a complicated pang that mingled sympathy, anxiety, irritation and love. His mother’s emotional dependency drove him round the bend sometimes, but he knew the years since Kurt had left hadn’t been easy on her.
“What would I do without you, Angel?” she said, still sniffing. “Can you call me again after? I’m supposed to send the money for the girls’ school trip tomorrow and—”
“I know,” Mason said soothingly. “Mel told me. Just—look, don’t worry about that. I already told you I’d cover it, didn’t I?”
She made a pained noise, then mumbled, “You’ve already given me the money for that. I shouldn’t have to ask you for more. I just want Kurt to pay what he owes me.”
Mason wanted that too, but he knew chances were high he’d have to sub Frieda till Kurt’s money came through. And it wasn’t like he’d ask for the money back.
After the tube ride, it was a ten-minute walk to Kurt’s flat. By the time he got there, he’d had half an hour to work himself up into a spectacularly bad mood over the whole debacle, so he leaned obnoxiously on the doorbell till Kurt let him in, then pounded up the three flights of stairs to Kurt’s floor. He was ready to pound on the door too, but it was open for him to walk right in. Kurt was nowhere to be seen. Plainly, he already had the measure of Mason’s mood.
Mason stepped inside and slammed the door closed behind him.
“I’m in the bedroom,” Kurt called out in a tight voice.
Mason followed his voice, and when he poked his head round the door, it was to find his dad standing over two open, half-packed carry-on suitcases. Kurt didn’t look up as Mason walked in, just continued with his task of folding up a shirt.
“I presume Frieda called you,” Kurt said tightly.
“It was Mel who called first, actually,” Mason said and had the satisfaction of seeing Kurt wince. He did look up then, his expression wary.
Mason was going to look a lot like Kurt when he was older. Mason had an inch or two on his dad, but other than that, they were very similar. They had the same lean, fit physique, the same fair hair—though Kurt’s was mostly silver now—the same green eyes. The same blessedly symmetrical features.
It was probably why Kurt, despite being far from loaded, had managed to land a succession of young and beautiful women after walking out on Frieda. And the idea that he and Mason might be alike in that way too, that Mason might one day turn into his dad, sickened him.
“Why did Mel call?”
“Has she mentioned a French school trip to you?” Mason asked in a hard voice. “The girls are signed up, and the balance is due Monday.”
Kurt groaned and dropped his head into his hands.
“Frieda told Mel this morning she can’t pay it—because you’ve fucking failed to pay up again, and now Frieda’s having a breakdown over it.”
Kurt scrubbed his hands up and down his face, saying nothing.
“Jesus Christ, Kurt. You do fuck all for this family. The only thing, the one thing, you’re asked to do is pay that monthly money to Frieda, and you can’t even be relied on to do that.” Mason slammed the heel of his hand against the door frame. “Jesus.”
“Hey, that’s not fair!” Kurt exclaimed, dropping his hands. “I’m just a bit late sometimes.”
“You’re regularly late, and you missed January completely! Probably because you had to pay off your credit card after using that month’s money to buy Christmas presents for Regan. You certainly didn’t spend it on the girls!”
Kurt scowled at his suitcase. “I gave Frieda extra in February.”
“An extra hundred quid? Didn’t exactly make up the deficit, did it? And I should know because I had to make it up. Just like I do every time you’re late. And that’s on top of the extra rent money I already give her, not to mention paying for all the other stuff the girls need because, apparently, you can’t afford another penny.”
“I can’t!” Kurt yelled. “Bloody hell, Angel, I’m barely scraping by as it is!”