Page 70 of Home Grown Talent
“Yeah?” Mason yelled back, gesturing at the suitcases on the bed. “So, what’s this? You and Regan off for another little mini-break, are you?”
Kurt flushed. “It’s her birthday.”
“Oh, how nice!” Mason said sarcastically. “Where are you going?”
Kurt squirmed. “Rome.”
Mason laughed, a bitter, angry sound. “Rome, right. Of course. So, you need Frieda’s child maintenance money to wine and dine Regan for her birthday. Have I got that right?”
Kurt’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. Mason gave a snort of disbelief, and Kurt looked up. “I am sorry—but I only do it because I know you’re there for them. If they didn’t have a safety net, I wouldn’t leave them in the lurch.”
A familiar feeling of angry hurt churned in Mason’s gut. “Safety net,” he repeated flatly. “That’s how you see me? The family safety net?”
Kurt gave a harsh laugh of his own then. “Well, let’s face it. You earn a damn sight more than I ever will. And don’t forget that Frieda doesn’t earn a—”
“Leave her out of it!” Mason snarled. “You left her to bring up twin toddlers and a thirteen-year-old on her own—you’re in no fucking position to criticise!”
“I know. I know I screwed up with your mother. I know I made a big mistake, and I’m sorry. You’ve no idea how much I regret my actions. I just—” Kurt broke off, swallowing hard, his eyes glittering with what looked like real tears. “I think Regan’s seeing someone else. I think she’s going to—”
Mason held up a hand and stepped back. “Stop,” he said. “I really don’t want to hear this.”
Kurt screwed up his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please, Angel, I just need to talk to someone.”
And now his dad was doing the Poor Old Me act. Christ, this was exhausting.
Mason ran an impatient hand through his hair. He wanted to hold on to his anger, but despite everything, it was difficult when his dad was standing there looking crushed. “Kurt, trust me on this one,” he said firmly. “You don’t want to have a conversation about Regan with me. I know you think the sun shines out of her arse, but I really don’t feel the same way, and if you insist on talking about her, I’m not going to be able to hold back.”
Kurt nodded. “Okay,” he whispered. “Can we—can we maybe sit down and have this talk over a cuppa?”
“So long as talking about it results in you paying up,” Mason said bluntly. “I’ve got to phone Frieda after this and tell her what you’re going to do to sort it out.”
“Yeah,” Kurt said. “Yeah, I know. And you’re right.” He tossed the shirt, which he’d balled up between his hands, onto the bed. “Come on, I’ll put the kettle on.”
By the time Mason left the flat an hour later, they had an agreed plan. Kurt was going to pay half this month’s payment now, and half in two weeks, once his salary came through. In the meantime, Mason would cover the girls’ French trip and give Frieda what she needed to tide her over until the end of the month. Kurt had also promised that next month’s payment would be made in full and on time—that seemed pretty unlikely to be honest, and Mason was already resigned to repeating this scene again in a few weeks.
As he was leaving the flat, Kurt caught his arm. “I forgot to ask how you are,” he said, flushing a little. “Sorry. Whenever I see you, we always seem to talk about me and Frieda and our problems.”
Mason paused in the doorway. He honestly couldn’t be bothered with this, after parenting his own father for the last hour. “I’m fine,” he said woodenly.
“I see you’ve been doing some television—that’s great.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
They stared at one another.
“It’s good to see you making a success of things,” Kurt persisted, adding a tentative smile. “You’ve achieved a lot.”
“I don’t know about that. I’m a model, not a brain surgeon.”
“Don’t put yourself down. You’ve made a good career out of this, and you’re developing into TV now. It’s impressive. I know it may not seem like it, sometimes, but I’m really proud of you.”
And maybe that should have meant something to Mason, but the sad truth was, it didn’t.
It was only later, as he was sitting on the train going back to his own flat—after phoning Frieda and reassuring her he’d sorted everything out—that he realised why that was. The sad fact was that what Kurt valued most about him, what his whole family valued most about him, was his earning power. His dad had made that very clear with his safety net comment.
And God, was Mason sick of being a safety net.
Being a safety net was exhausting and thankless, and worst of all, it was fucking unfair. And he couldn’t escape it. His dad was unreliable. His mum was fragile and dependent. The girls needed stuff, and why should they suffer when Mason could help them? He wanted them to go to university. He wanted them to have chances he’d missed out on. But at the same time, he wanted to shove the heavy yoke of responsibility off his own shoulders.