Page 160 of Oleander

“Pizza then.”

“Pizza.” He nodded. “Okay, then.

We spent the day by the pool, sun burning and tanning our water-stippled bodies. He wore blue and white striped Ralph Lauren trunks that sat high on his thighs, reminding me of how soft the skin was there.

I spent more time in the water than he did, jumping in to cool off when the heat got too intense. He sat, cautious and careful at the edge, before slipping in up to his waist and keeping his hand on the side. I knew he could swim, I’d seen him that day at the beach, but now he floated along the side like a child who couldn’t might.

I was happy to fetch and carry our snacks and water for the day while he sat under the large parasol and read his book. (A biography of Jean-Paul Sartre he’d bought at the British Library gift shop.) Later, when the sun had dropped behind the buildings opposite, we went to our rooms to shower and change. He was in there so long that I went to check on him and found him fast asleep on top of the bed, a bath towel draped over his hips.

I watched him sleep for longer than I should have. The golden flick of his eyelashes resting on his sun-browned cheek. The slight part of his lips, the small frown on his face as though angry at something or someone, even asleep.

The intensity of my feelings for him in that moment, so acute and unyielding, transcended everything that had come before. He was still the boy I’d loved three, four summers ago, but that love had matured inside me like wine in a barrel, and it was more robust and vinous than it had ever been.

I’d learned so much in the years we’d been apart. I’d studied in one of the greatest institutions in the world, I’d met friends and lovers who had changed me inexorably with their wisdom, generosity, and kindness, and yet, in the loving of this person who had never offered me any of these things, I was still unchanged. Nothing existed when Caspien was next to me; it had always been that way. I needed nothing else, wanted nothing else, and I never felt as whole or as completely alive in the world as I did when he was with me.

I didn’t understand it, I’m not sure I wanted to. But there could be no other person for me, now or in the future. He was it. For better or worse, he was it. But as much as I loved him, as much as I wanted him, I was frightened of him, too. Of the power he had over me and how completely I belonged to him. For longer than I’d had him, I’d been without him: yearning and longing for him so fiercely I could barely think past it. I couldn’t remember what it felt like to have him in my arms, which scared me too. I was sure – I’d always suspected – that he’d been created and put solely on this earth to torture me with what I could never have.

I couldn’t understand where Blackwell was, why he hadn’t rung him or why Cas hadn’t mentioned him, and I hated the see-saw of hope and despair that yawned within me from this. They were fighting; I’d gathered that much. But I couldn’t understand why Blackwell hadn’t been calling and begging him to come back to him; how had he even let him go across an ocean without him? Because I was sure if he were mine, I wouldn’t.

I closed the door and let him sleep. Then I went to order pizza.

The following day, Bast called me. He was in London. He had seen a few pictures I’d posted on Instagram and called to check how long I was in town. He was in town with his girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend, or however he was defining her this month. It was difficult to keep track. I knew they were open, slept with other people through university, but were also very committed to each other. (They’d settled down, married after university, and were still happily married.)

Cas and I were heading toward the Tate when he called, but I’d told him I’d be free in a couple of hours if he wanted to meet up for a drink then.

“A friend from Oxford’s in town,” I said as we moved down the queue toward the entrance. “He wants to meet for drinks after.”

“Oh,” Cas said. “No problem. I can drop you off on the way home. Where?”

We still hadn’t used the Tube. Cas had used Wilton Place’s chauffeur service each time we’d gone out. If I didn’t know better I’d think he had agoraphobia. But no, just very specific standards of public transport.

“Um, not sure yet. I’m to let him know when we’re done here. But I thought you’d come?”

Here, he turned to me. “You want me to come with you? To meet your friend?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“In Jersey, the idea of me hanging out with your friends was the worst thing you could imagine.”

“Yeah, well, you were pretty awful then. I don’t mind you as much now.” I grinned as I nudged his shoulder.

A strange expression flickered over his face. “I’m fine to go home by myself, Jude. I’m not depressed or anything.”

I made a face. “I didn’t think you were? What?”

“I just mean, if you want to go meet a guy, then, I’m fine with it.”

“Bast is a mate,” I said, trying to gauge if he really would be fine if I went to meet a guy. “It’s nothing like that. He’s got a girlfriend. She’s with him, and I haven’t met her before, so it won’t be weird or anything.”

I saw some muscle in his jaw relax. “Oh, alright, then,” he said again.

They’d been at Buckingham Palace, so we met them in the middle at an ale pub in Westminster called, imaginatively, The Buckingham. The inside was one of those dark, wood-panelled places where they sold an extensive range of craft beer and over-priced fish and chips and boasted of being ‘A traditional London pub’ on their website.

Cas looked about the place like a cat might, alert and wholly unimpressed, before we made our way to the bar.

“What are you drinking?” I asked Cas as I scanned the craft beer.

“Gin and tonic.” It was posed almost as a question.