Page 41 of Kiln Me Softly

Jonathan hadn’t changed a bit since the last time Aiden had seen him. He sat at his usual restaurant table by the tall, arched windows, his flinty features carved deeper by the light of his laptop screen while Deansgate hurtled into the lunchtime rush hour behind him.

Aiden wrung the pins and needles from his hands, glad he hadn’t yet been noticed. It allowed him a moment to get his bearings, remember who he was supposed to be, and how this was supposed to go. He wouldn’t show weakness if he could help it, even if he felt it all over.

The soles of his trainers squeaked against the restaurant’s glossy teak floorboards as he approached, finally alerting his father to his presence.

With a disdainful glance, Jonathan shut his laptop and pushed it away to replace it with his cappuccino.

As always, his dark hair was combed away from the harsh lines of his temples, revealing more threads of silver than before.

He wore his usual pristine navy suit and tie, as though he was here for a client meeting rather than a chat with his son.

He’d always been that way: businessman first, father when convenient, which was almost never.

Wordlessly, Aiden took the seat opposite, digging his elbows into the table. He didn’t dare speak first, as though staying quiet would delay Jonathan’s inevitable criticisms. He’d learned early on that there was even a wrong way to say hello if he was ill-tempered enough that day.

‘You’re late,’ Jonathan stated finally.

Well, there went that hope. ‘Am I?’

Hardly. It was barely two minutes past noon, according to the clock above the bar.

Jonathan pursed his thin lips. ‘I’d imagine your mother has some things to say about your haircut, or lack thereof.’

Aiden scraped his waves back. He’d been letting it grow again, partly because he liked it long and partly because he knew Juniper did, too, but it was still not nearly as untamed as he’d kept it before Christmas.

‘Trying something new.’ He fiddled with the clasp on his wristwatch. Beneath the table, his knee bounced up and down.

‘How adventurous you are these days.’ Jonathan’s tone was all sourness, punctuated by an audible slurp of his coffee.

Thankfully, he was saved by the approach of the server, who took their orders.

He grimaced when Jonathan ordered a starter of roasted scallops; that meant he planned to stay, possibly for three torturous courses.

Aiden picked the first thing he could find on the menu, a prawn salad, and requested a coffee.

He should have asked questions, ordered something with more than two words just to keep putting this off, but the waiter was gone too soon and then the thick silence returned.

Jonathan was the one to break it. ‘How was your Christmas?’ He asked it in a way that showed he didn’t actually want to know, his voice monotone and vacant.

‘Fine. Yours?’

‘Busy. I was in Edinburgh for work.’

‘Of course.’ Aiden couldn’t remember the last Christmas his father had spent at home, which he was glad for.

Childhood holidays, pre-divorce, had been filled with passive-aggressive micromanaging in the kitchen and meals eaten in silence.

He’d never blamed Mum for leaving, though he resented that she hadn’t taken him with her. ‘How is work?’

‘You might already know the answer to that if you weren’t faffing around in ceramics.’

And there it was. Aiden’s coffee was placed in front of him, another welcome reprieve that lasted not nearly long enough. He counted to five in his head, one breath in, one breath out, and when that did nothing to help, he went to ten. ‘Not faffing, Father. Studying.’

‘What does your mother think of it?’

She didn’t think of it. The second Aiden had finished high school, he’d no longer been much of her concern.

She checked in now and then out of what was probably a sense of obligation, but otherwise, they were strangers save for birthdays and Christmases.

The lesser of two evils. ‘She’s fine with it. ’

‘Hm. Well, she’s as bad as you when it comes to throwing good things away.

’ Jonathan raised a brow, green eyes turning translucent in the midday sun.

He would have been handsome if he wasn’t so miserable and stern, with a long, slightly upturned nose he’d passed on to Aiden and a similar square jaw.

Aiden prayed he wasn’t looking at a future version of himself.

He had no idea when or why Jonathan had become this way.

Whether it was because he begrudged being a father at all, or if he’d always had a heart full of spite.

That steely presence had always made Aiden want to run the opposite way, even as a kid.

As soon as his dad had gotten home from work, Aiden would disappear to his room, left to entertain himself until it was time to tread eggshells at the dinner table.

‘I’m not sure she’d agree,’ Aiden replied quietly, taking special care in stirring his coffee.

It was brave, braver than he’d usually be, if the good thing Jonathan was referring to was himself.

He must have been around Juniper for long enough to forget his filter, which might have been freeing if he wasn’t here to save her future.

‘So, what is it?’ Jonathan leaned back, unbuttoning his blazer. ‘What trouble have you gotten yourself into? Another college dropped out of, or another internship offer wasted?’ Judgement seeped out of his every word, leaving Aiden’s blood to broil beneath his skin.

‘No, nothing like that.’ His retort was strained as he fought to keep aloof, in control, two things he’d never really been. ‘It’s my friend who needs help. RACA have cut some bursary funds this year, and she’s not able to keep studying without hers.’

‘Oh, I see. A girl. How novel.’ Jonathan tutted. ‘And how is that anything to do with me?’

‘I know you have contacts who work with RACA. They’d listen to you if you asked.

’ Aiden sounded so desperate, so pathetic, just as he’d dreaded, heat crawling up his neck like spider legs.

‘It isn’t fair, what they’ve done to her.

I wouldn’t ask if there was another way, but I know you could have them reconsider.

In fact, you could fund a dozen bursaries yourself if you wanted to. ’

‘And yet I don’t. Ceramics is hardly connected to my field of interest, and I can’t say I’m eager to provide charity to that school, nor this struggling friend of yours.’

Aiden bowed his head, crumpling a napkin in his palm and tearing at the corners. ‘For someone who claims to love art, you don’t seem to know much about what it means to be an artist.’

Iron fingers gripped around his wrist suddenly, Jonathan hissing out, ‘Don’t try to manipulate me, Son. I paved my own way, worked for my own career. Your girlfriend should try doing the same.’

It wasn’t a lie, but Jonathan seemed to have forgotten that he’d been working class once.

He’d been the first Whittaker to earn a degree, the first to work in the arts sector, the first to own more than one car, one property.

Both Aiden and his mother had been born into money, but his father hadn’t – and yet he seemed to do everything in his power to make sure nobody knew that, Aiden included.

Until it suited him, at least. Until he wanted to reinforce just how lucky Aiden was to have a hard-working father.

Aiden shook his head. ‘She’s hanging on by a thread.

She’s done everything she possibly can to keep her place at RACA, but she can’t magic money out of thin air; they went back on their plan.

That isn’t her fault.’ He tipped his chin, refusing to cower this time.

For her. ‘I’m not asking for your money, or your care, or anything that most people ask of their parents.

I know that I’m lucky to come from money, and I’m thankful for the doors you’ve opened for me.

Now I’m trying to help someone who really, really deserves the same security.

And all it would take is one conversation.

You’ve done it before for colleagues and friends.

It’s far within your capabilities. If you need something in return, then ask me. I’m all ears.’

Slowly, Jonathan’s fingers loosened, and Aiden let out a breath of relief, snatching his hands back.

‘And what about in a year’s time,’ asked Jonathan, readjusting his cuffs, ‘when you’ve moved onto the next pretty thing?’

‘It isn’t about my feelings for her,’ he gritted out, though it was only half the truth.

Of course he wouldn’t go to these lengths for a stranger.

But even if he’d never kissed her, never fallen for her, he was certain he would want to help her anyway.

She was too talented, too good of a person, to not deserve it.

He would have done it for Luc if they’d needed it.

Tilly. Any of his classmates, bar perhaps Tom. ‘I’m trying to make something right.’

Jonathan’s eyes rolled as though he couldn’t possibly believe Aiden.

Bitterness flooded Aiden’s tongue. The man sitting in front of him had no idea who he was.

He had no idea why Aiden had dropped out of Elmington, or that he wasn’t a fickle child anymore.

Even when Juniper had seen the worst in him, it had never been to this extent.

He’d never felt more hated than when he was in front of Jonathan, not even by himself. And, fuck, he had hated himself plenty.

There must have been something in Aiden’s gaze that called to Jonathan, because his resolve melted away, drip by drip, until the creases in his forehead finally smoothed.

He adjusted his tie, scraping his tongue across his teeth.

‘All right. I’ll make a few calls. But you’re correct in thinking that I expect something from you in return. ’

Aiden scraped at the scab on the edge of his thumbnail, pink and peeling from months of picking. ‘What?’

‘You’ll come back to work with me next summer,’ Jonathan said. ‘Remind our clientele that this is a family business. That I raised my son properly.’

It was ridiculous, and the thought alone left him nauseous, but…

But he had to. For Juniper. He could survive one more summer with his father, couldn’t he? ‘If that’s what you want.’

‘It should be what you want. This is your last chance to prove yourself, Aiden.’ Jonathan’s nostrils flared.

‘If your venture into pottery, of all things, turns out to be just another failed whimsy of yours, I refuse to be embarrassed by you again. My support isn’t unconditional, and it’s my name you drag through the mud when you lark around in London. ’

Aiden’s tucked his fists under the table to hide his white knuckles, working to keep his breaths even. My support isn’t unconditional. Wasn’t it supposed to be? Wasn’t that what family was?

Not his.

He would just have to take the win, even if it meant enduring this humiliation.

‘I understand, Dad,’ he uttered tightly, each word feeling like another serrated slice against his tongue. ‘Thank you.’

He hoped to god it was all worth it.