“Hope you don’t mind me saying this, Jeff, having only just met you. But I sense that all he ever wanted from you was your approval.”
“Sounds to me as though he doesn’t need it, or that it’d be too late, anyway.”
Kieran tilted his head back and stared into the night sky.
“I had this English Lit teacher at school, tough as nails and as straight as they came, teaching my least favourite topic. But I needed to get a good grade to get into my university of choice. For me, Shakespeare was like trying to understand a foreign language, and kept dragging my overall grade in the subject down. I could never get past a B minus. Didn’t help that I thought she didn’t like me, but at least she was consistent, because everyone else in my class thought she hated them, too. So I threw myself at the main problem—Hamlet, of all bloody plays—read everything I could get my hands on, studied weekends, evenings, saw multiple remakes of the film and even sat through a couple of performances at the Old Vic. Kind of got to love the story in the end, got to see so many human flaws in Hamlet, the man, and so many subtle themes running through the play. And when she read out the class results of the mock exam, announced that not only had I got an A, but that my essay was something everyone in the class should aspire to, I almost burst with pride. Managed to get A-stars in four other subjects, but that was the one I was most proud of. What I’m trying to say is, it’s the people we least expect to hear praise from whose praise we value the most. Does that make sense?”
Jeff stared at Kieran for a moment before his gaze dropped to Kieran’s shoulder and became unfocused.
“For someone so young, you are wise beyond your years. Yes, what you say makes perfect sense. My father preferred to point out our shortcomings and ignore our successes—said that’s what makes a man—and I suppose I adopted the same method with my children. Looking back now, I almost feel as though they’ve both succeeded in their own way in spite of me, not because of anything I said or did.”
“You’re proud of them both?”
“Of course I am.”
“So I guess the only question you need to ask yourself is, do they know?”
After one final puff, Jeff stubbed his cigar out repeatedly, his gaze trained on the saucer. Even though he said nothing, Kieran could tell he’d processed the question. Maybe Kieran had gone too far.
“On that note, young man, I’m heading back to bed. See if I can grab a couple more hours before breakfast. I suggest you do the same.”
“I will. After I’ve dried off a little.”
Jeff stood and went to leave, but then hesitated and turned back.
“I never asked about your own father. What does he do?”
“No idea. He walked out on us when I was seven, just before my brother was born.”
Jeff said nothing then, but gazed up at the stars, gently shaking his head. “What kind of man would do that to his children?”
“You see, Jeff? You’re already better than you think in the fatherhood stakes.”
Jeff sighed deeply and began to walk away, but faltered once again.
“Kieran?”
“Jeff?”
“I’m glad you’re here. Good see my boy finally finding someone sociable and genuine. And I get the feeling he needs that right now. To bring a little sunshine back into his life. Good night, son.”
“‘Night, Jeff.”
After Jeff departed, Kieran sat staring at the ash-filled saucer, feeling like a total fraud.
Chapter Eleven
Kennedy
Kennedy stood hidden from view inside the shade of the open-air kitchen, a mug of fresh coffee held against his chest, watching in wonderment as his family and Kieran chatted amiably around the breakfast table.
Over the past few days, Reagan had rearranged her plans. Sunday, she had booked them all into the St Regis for a champagne brunch—much to his mother’s delight. On Monday, a public holiday, she had taken Kieran and her kids to Universal Studios, while his mother and father had gone off to play golf. Kennedy had declined the theme park, needing time to catch up on work and make some urgent calls.
Just as well, too, because he’d heard from Karl how, just that morning, Milletto had once again requested a change of dates for the meeting, now in the middle of the last week of Kennedy’s holiday, when he would be in Bali. More worryingly, Karl had an urgent meeting with their financial auditors that particular day, one he could not shrug off. At ten in the morning GMT, Kennedy had arranged a team conference call to find out more, and ended by telling them he would most likely be dialling in for the meeting and to please use their main conference room. He had his reasons. But he also wanted to know what Sloan’s next move would be. When he put the phone down, he checked his private email to see if Tim had sent him anything, but nothing had yet arrived. Determined not to let this development spoil his holiday, he finished his work and went for a punishing swim.
Now, Tuesday, their last morning together, Reagan had turned up alone for breakfast to see them off, having dropped the boys off at school. Four days into the holiday and Kieran had already proven his worth. Kennedy watched Kieran talking animatedly, envied his easy nature, the way he comfortably chatted to anyone. Reagan’s kids, who rarely engaged Kennedy, already referred to him as Uncle Kieran. What the hell was he supposed to do with that when all this was over?
Something in Kennedy had changed, too. He could feel as much deep down. Rarely had he enjoyed visiting his parents. Most other times he would have ended up arguing with his father about one thing or another—or with Patrick—and usually couldn’t wait to get the fuck out. Maybe they had all mellowed with age, but seeing his sister laughing now reminded him how much he loved and missed her.
“Your friend. He very nice man,” came Matty’s voice beside him. When Kennedy turned, Matty was holding a tray with toast, butter and assorted pots of Maya’s homemade fruit jam. “He come this morning to thank me and my wife for everything, said she is very, very good wife and cook—and probably much too good for me.”
Matty’s laughter had Kennedy grinning, too. Yes, that sounded like Kieran.
“I tell him, sorry, she not understand English.”
Kennedy laughed along with Matty, which had Kieran and his sister looking over and smiling at them. Today they embarked on the next part of their journey, and he wondered how Kieran would fare with his friends.
“Here, let me take that,” said Kennedy, putting his mug on a countertop and taking the tray. “I need to be the good son and join them. I’ll come and say goodbye before we leave.”
As he approached the table, his mother singled him out.
“Your father’s offered to drive you to the port.”
Kennedy placed the tray in the middle of the table and gave his sister a quizzical look. All of them knew only too well not to arrange things for his father on Tuesdays, when he attended his old boys’ club—held sacrosanct in his retirement, the one day of the week he spent with his ex-consulate and other male buddies.
“There’s no need. We can call a taxi.”
“I’ll take you. No point wasting money,” said his father, turning a page of his newspaper.
“What about club day?”
“There’ll be plenty more of those. Family comes first.”
Kennedy sat down heavily. Had he shifted into another dimension overnight? When he looked at Reagan she shrugged, also looking bewildered.
“In which case,” said Reagan, standing, “I need to go home, tidy up and do some urgent chores.”
She came around the table, giving each of her parents a hug, before stopping at Kieran. He stood up from his seat and hugged her. Kennedy had no idea what she said, but she whispered something in his ear that had him grinning broadly and nodding. When she reached Kennedy, she grabbed his arm and pulled him up.
“Come on. You can walk me to the car.”
In comfortable silence, arms linked, they strolled towards the car canopy and stopped to face each other at the front grille
of her black SUV.
“It was great to see you and the boys, Reagan. Send my love to Bernie when he gets back. Tell him I’m sorry we missed him.”
When they hugged, she clung on tightly and when she did let go, an odd expression transformed her face, part affection, part sadness. Maybe she had enjoyed having him back in her part of the world, but there seemed something more.
“What’s going on?”
She looked away for a moment, appearing to collect herself, then met his gaze with a more stoic expression.
“Bernie’s having an affair.”
“What? Are you sure?”
Finally, the undercurrent of sadness he had observed in her made sense.
“The night before he left for Cape Town, while he was in the shower, a couple of pretty explicit text messages popped up on his phone. From someone called Shirl. I think it’s his secretary in Melbourne, Shirlene.”
“Did you confront him?”
“Honestly, I was too stunned at the time. Didn’t know what to say.”
“Shit, Reagan. Why didn’t you call me? What are you going to do?”
At that, a small, sad smile crept onto her face.
“I know I’m a Bennett now—by marriage—but I’m also still a Grey at heart. And we don’t take things lying down. So I’m not going to ignore this. But I also have the boys to think about. Fortunately, I had the sense to snap a photo of the display on my phone, in case he tries to deny anything. He’s due back on Friday, so I’ve asked Mum to take the boys that night so Bernie and I can go out for dinner together. Haven’t told her anything else. But anyway, I’ll confront him then.”
“If there’s anything you need from me, I mean anything, let me know.”
“I don’t like to worry you—”
“But you must, Reagan. Something that’s hit home for me this visit is that I’ve been absent from your lives for too long. And that’s not healthy for any of us. Of course, I can’t be physically here to babysit the boys for you or hold your hand, but I can offer both emotional and financial support, if that’s what you need. I’m your brother. I promise I’ll be there for you, okay?”
“Okay, thank you,” she said, grinning broadly. “Hey, Kieran’s a catch. You fell on your feet with that one. Do you think you’ve finally found a keeper?”
“We’ll see,” said Kennedy, thrown off guard by the change of subject, and he looked away.
“Come on, Kennedy, he’s nice,” she said, before tugging on his sleeve and getting his full attention. “What’s wrong with him?”
Kennedy sighed and shook his head. How the hell did he explain to his sister that Kieran was nothing more than paid help—straight help, come to that?
“Nothing’s wrong with him, I just—”
“You think you’re not good enough, think he’ll leave you, too, don’t you?”
“Eventually.”
“That bastard ex well and truly messed you up, didn’t he? If I ever run into him, so help me, I’ll—”
Kennedy started laughing then, stopping his sister in her tracks.
“What?”
“You remember what Dad always told us? One battle at a time. Take on too many, you dilute your attention and are more likely to lose them all. Sort your own shit out first.”
They laughed together then, his sister pulling him into a farewell hug.
“Talking of which, are you going to say anything to them, Mum and Dad?” he asked.
“Let’s see what happens first. I’ll keep you posted, too. Enjoy the rest of your holiday. I know you don’t do social media, but email or text me some photos.”
“Will do.”
After she had driven away, he and Kieran spent the rest of their morning packing and readying themselves for the next leg of the trip. Bang on ten, Matty arrived at his bedroom door, insisting once again on taking his bags down to the car. After his mother bade them both a teary farewell, they drove out to the port, where the Diamond Princess towered over every other vessel.
Impressive did not even begin to describe the sheer size and structure of the cruise liner. Seven stories of cabin balconies sat between other floors of restaurants or cafes or gyms—they were difficult to discern from the exterior. Kennedy had almost become immune to the sight, having taken cruises so many times, but in the rear-view mirror he could see Kieran sitting open-mouthed and enchanted.
“Good heavens,” said Jeff, pulling up at the drop-off point. “Looks like a floating city.”
“She pretty much is,” said Kennedy. “Built to accommodate up to around four thousand passengers, not including crew.”
“And they’re all—you know—like you? The passengers?”
“More or less, yes,” said Kennedy. He decided not to try to explain that the organisers aimed the cruise at the full range of the LGBTQ+ community, as well as welcoming older guests, thin or more full-bodied, and all races, which made for a far more friendly crowd. One of the other cruise lines his friends had researched had been more exclusive, just for men, but if a person wasn’t ripped, in their twenties, and hot as hell, they were essentially invisible.
Without too much ceremony, Jeff helped them get their bags out of the trunk. This time around, however, instead of the formal handshake, he pulled Kieran into a hug and, just like his sister had, said something to him that Kennedy couldn’t hear. Finally he turned his attention to Kennedy.
“Come and see us again soon, son. Your mother and I aren’t getting any younger.”
“You know, you can always jump on a plane and come see me.”
“With your work schedule? Would we ever get to see you?”
“Fair point. But I’d make the time.”
“Let me talk to your mother. You know how she feels about travelling and especially about cold weather. But it might be nice to spend Christmas in England.”
Kennedy fully expected his father to shake his hand in farewell, and was surprised when he almost pulled him off his feet into a fierce hug.
“Look, son,” he said, still holding tight, “I know we don’t always see eye to eye, but I want you to know how immensely proud I am of you, of everything you’ve accomplished. I see now that you’ve done everything single-handedly, which can be very hard on a person. So take time out for yourself every now and then. And take care of that lovely boy. He’s…he’s very special. I’d be honoured to have him as a part of our family.”
When his father finally let them go, turning and quickly getting in the car so Kennedy could not see his face, he realised his own eyes had misted over. Something that hadn’t happened for years.
Yes, he thought, things had definitely changed.
Chapter Twelve
Kieran
Inside the bowels of the Diamond Princess, despite the spotlessness and attempt at wood-panelling-and-plush-carpet opulence, the corridors felt oppressive. Kieran kept having flashbacks to the scenes in the movie Titanic where Kate and Leo tried desperately to escape the sinking through one identical corridor after another. Kennedy walked in front, trailing behind the white-suited Asian steward who had insisted on carrying his bags. Kieran had been left to bring his own. Stopping outside a large white double-door, the steward brought out a small cardboard pocket containing key cards. Before he had a chance to step inside, Kennedy put a hand on the man’s shoulder to get his attention. Taking the cards with one hand, he stuffed a banknote in the steward’s top pocket with the other.
“Thanks, Simeon. We can take it from here. I’ve stayed in this room before. I know my way around.”
“As you wish, Mr Grey,” he said, his smile beaming. “Everything is arranged for tonight as requested. They’ll come by at five-thirty to set up. But if there’s anything you need, sir. And I mean anything, day or night, just call. I’ll be your personal attendant for the whole journey. Have a wonderful voyage with us.”
His gaze barely skimmed Kieran as he backed away from them. When Kennedy returned his attention to the open door, Kieran felt sure he rolled his ey
es. Without a second thought, he followed Kennedy’s footsteps across the cabin threshold and moved inside, but then immediately stopped, a gasp escaping him.
“Yeah, nice, isn’t it? One of the ship’s six loft suites. Had to book this baby up early,” said Kennedy, dropping his bag at the door and critically assessing the space.
Opening into a two-level space, the cabin had stately hardwood panels lining three of the interior walls with floor-to-ceiling windows running along the ocean side. On the mezzanine level, a bedroom with a huge, super king-sized bed—the loft, Kieran supposed—sat overlooking the spacious living area. Standing in the middle of the room, he did a quick three-sixty. Wall-to-wall bookcases, three double settees, a fully stocked bar in walnut, an eight-seater dining table and—
“No fucking way. A baby grand? Are you yanking my chain?”
“Comes with the cabin. And tonight, we’re having a cocktail party. Complete with drinks waiter and piano player. Friends only.”
Kieran didn’t want to think how much this lot had set Kennedy back.
“Am I going to have to put out for all of this?”
Kennedy laughed aloud, a sound Kieran was really starting to enjoy. The man didn’t laugh nearly enough, according to his father and sister. He still found it funny how both had whispered parting words with almost the same intent, to come back soon with Kennedy, because he brought out the best in him.
“Nope,” came Kennedy’s voice, bringing him back to the scene. “A deal’s a deal. And although I may be a ruthless bastard when it comes to business, I am an honest one. But there is one drawback. Only one bedroom and only one bed,” said Kennedy, turning and scrutinizing Kieran. “Now, I’m happy to get the settee here made up for you each night, but upstairs will be a lot more comfortable and I promise to be a complete gentleman. And apart from me sleeping in sweatpants and a tee, that mattress is huge, so there’ll be no accidental rolling over and brushing up against each other in the night. So I suggest we give it a try and, if you’re not happy, you can have the couch. Unless, of course, I get lucky, in which case those curtains will be nailed shut and you’ll be on the couch anyway.”
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