Page 81 of Oleander

There was something in the way he said ‘friends’– a tiny inflection – which I thought changed its entire meaning. I’m certain no one else would have noticed it, but I was fixated on him so closely that I could probably tell how many eyelashes he had on each eye.

My instinct told me to pretend I hadn’t noticed. So I shrugged and said, as nonchalantly as I could, “We’ve hung out a few times.”

He breathed a soft little smile and nodded.

“Here it is!” Gideon exclaimed. “Oh, this is the second edition. I was certain it was the third. Still a great read,” he said.

Blackwell took the book and leafed through its pages. “I’ll give it a go,” he said, patting the book with his palm.

Gideon was staring at him with a weird mooning sort of look.

“Do, do, I’d love to discuss it with you. Now, can I get you a drink before your car arrives? You know you are welcome to stay, there’s more than enough room.”

“I hate to put you out, Gid, really the hotel is fine.”

“Nonsense. You know I’m always happy to have you.” The undercurrent in his words made my cheeks feel hot.

Blackwell looked at me. “Nice to meet you, Jude.”

I nodded, wordlessly.

“Sorry to disturb your studies, we’ll try and keep the noise down.” Gideon giggled like a girl.

Blackwell smiled indulgently and shook his head. Before the door closed behind them I saw, very distinctly, Gideon throw a longing stare at Xavier Blackwell’s arse.

I’d thought hard about whether I would bring it up to Caspien that night. Did I want to remind him that Blackwell existed? That I suspected Gideon had a crush on him? That I’d met him? He’d never been particularly open to any conversation that involved Xavier Blackwell, and part of me wanted to be the one to tell him that Gideon was very clearly into his pervert, and would, in my view, make a far more palatable lover for him. Another part of me was terrified about what his reaction might be. Would he be jealous? Furious? Or worse, would it cause Caspien to run back to him?

I was still debating on whether to mention it when he video-called me just after ten. I was in bed, reading with just my booklight. The window was open and the moon shone a bright sheet of white onto the wooden floor.

He started with, “You know I’m convinced the reason Switzerland was never attacked during either war was because it is quite simply the most boring country on earth and no one wanted to set foot in it.”

“I’ve always thought it looked quite nice there.”

“Nice? Is that how you choose your holiday destinations? On how nice they look? Are you someone’s grandmother?”

He was in a mood, I could tell.

“I don’t choose holiday destinations at all. I’ve never been abroad.”

He looked positively horrified. “What? Never?”

I shook my head.

“Christ,” he said. “Quite the little homebody, aren’t we.”

“Not by choice,” I said what I said next because I wanted to see his reaction. “Ellie’s invited me to Italy with her this summer. Her family spend a few weeks there every year.”

I could see no discernible reaction on his face, and my stomach sank.

But then he asked, “What did you tell her?

I shrugged. “I said I’d ask Beth and Luke.”

“And what, you haven’t yet?”

I hadn’t thought this all the way through. I shrugged again.

“Italy is beautiful in summer, though it depends where you are. I’d avoid Rome entirely, and Florence. Unless you like the sensation of being boiled alive in a human soup.”