Theo

by Amanda Prowse

  Theo pictured them sitting exactly like this during the phone call yesterday. How they must have laughed while he stood in Twitcher’s study, waiting.

  ‘Evening, everyone!’ Freddie appeared, looking lovely in a white strappy summer dress and with her hair wet around her shoulders.

  ‘Ah yes, do come and join us, darling!’ his mother called. ‘This is Frederica, our guardian angel who gathered up Theo and brought him safely to my side.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind being gathered up by Frederica!’ Pepe yelled.

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, Pepe! Poor girl!’ the group chorused, as Jemima, his wife, covered her eyes in mock shame.

  The whole conversation made Theo’s stomach flip with unease. He looked at his father, noting the way his eyes ran the length of Freddie’s dress from over the rim of his champagne glass. Freddie, however, seemed unflustered and reached for her own glass of champagne before taking a seat next to his mother.

  ‘What would you like to do, darling?’ his mother asked loudly. It took him a second to realise it was him she was speaking to. He stared at her, not having the confidence to mention that he had thought he might like to sit at the table and join in. ‘You could go and watch a bit of TV, might help your French?’ She smiled. ‘Or there’s a whole stack of videos. There are snacks in the kitchen. Or you could have a play in the pool, it’s still lovely and warm!’

  Theo felt reduced. Dismissed. It bothered him that she didn’t realise that not only was he too old to play in the pool but that there was no one to play with. He looked at the people seated around the table and wondered how it was that no matter where he was in the world or who he was with, he always felt like an intruder, a late arrival for whom no place had been set. And it felt horrible.

  *

  It was four days into the holiday and close to midnight when Theo was woken by shouts in the hallway. It took a beat for him to remember where he was. He heard his mother’s voice and recognised the slight slur to her speech that meant she’d been drinking.

  ‘Don’t you give me that bollocks! I fucking saw you!’

  His heart hammered at her words. He sat up in the bed, aware that his parents’ fight would be heard by all of their friends. He closed his eyes at the thought, feeling the hot prickle of shame on her behalf.

  ‘She’s a kid, for God’s sake!’ his father barked. ‘Give me some bloody credit!’

  Theo hugged the white bolster to his chest.

  ‘Give you credit? You make me laugh! I don’t forget, Perry. I wish I could, but I don’t bloody forget!’ she yelled. ‘You know what they say, that the clearest conscience is held by those who have the shortest memory! And that’s you. You are like a fucking goldfish! But I’m not! I don’t forget, ever!’

  He heard his father make ‘sssshhh’ sounds, trying to contain his mum’s outburst. Theo sensed the enforced silence in all the other rooms, as if, like him, everyone was listening with bated breath and ears cocked to see what would come next. And what came next tore at his heart: it was the sound of his mother weeping and howling with raw, animal-like distress, followed by the closing of their bedroom door.

  And then nothing.

  He lay awake, looking up at the dark, starry sky through the open balcony window and trying to quiet the nagging voice in his head that told him things were only going to get worse. Hopping out of bed, he grabbed his pen torch. It had gone through numerous batteries over the years and now sported a hairline crack, having been dropped onto the flagstones of the school bathroom in the dead of night. Mr Porter had fixed it with a well-placed spot of glue. Theo thought of him now, as he shone the beam up onto the ceiling of his grand bedroom. He pictured him asleep under the rafters of the cosy crooked cottage. ‘Night, night, Mr Porter,’ he whispered as he turned onto his side.

  *

  The days at La Grande Belle were bearable, pleasant even. Theo spent a lot of time alone, but unlike in Barnes, the weather was glorious and there was always plenty of food in the house. Fresh bread and croissants arrived every morning, pots of jam and chutneys lined the larder walls, and the fridge was packed with fragrant cheeses, cold cuts of ham and roasted chicken wings. He liked to eat his breakfast with the gang, listening to their chatter before setting himself swimming challenges throughout the day, seeing how far he could swim underwater and then how fast. He was a good swimmer and he enjoyed it. The solitude suited him and he liked the feeling of his body growing stronger every day. He noted new definition to his stomach and a broadening of his shoulders.

  Freddie sometimes joined him, throwing coins or objects to the bottom of the pool, which they would race to retrieve. Occasionally she took him in the Deux Chevaux down to the harbourside for ice cream, or to the market, where they bought punnets of fat, soft peaches and brown paper bags full of fresh, sweet cherries. She was quieter in his company now than she had been on that first day; she kept her sunglasses on and smoked angrily, throwing the butts out of the car window, acting more like she had when she’d mentioned her arsehole boyfriend. He didn’t blame her. Now that she’d got to know him, she probably realised what everyone else knew: that he was weird, and not funny after all.

  The nights, however, were very different. When darkness fell, the tension rose as the wine flowed and the candles flickered. The air tasted the same as it did at school in the seconds before a fight and Theo didn’t like it one bit, unable to fully explain the hostility he sensed lurking behind the humour. He spent most nights in his room with the balcony doors open, listening to the raucous chat and salacious gossip that was bandied back and forth across the table. At least he hadn’t heard his mother crying again, and for that he was grateful.

  That was until the night before he left for England. That night, all hell broke loose.

  Theo had been in a deep sleep but woke to the sound of smashing glass. He sat up in the bed, fearing a break-in, but then realised he was at La Grande Belle and not at home in Barnes. The smash was followed by the deafening wail of his mother’s sobbing, and then her loud shouts in a voice he hardly recognised.

  ‘You fucking pig! This is it! This is it! I have put up with Shawna or whatever the hell her name was from the office and the horse woman from Crewe, and the bloody air hostess, all of them bitches! But this! This is the last straw, Peregrine. This is worse even than you cheating on me just after we got married, worse than you fathering that bastard boy, Alexander, worse than all of it!’

  Theo’s heart jumped into his throat and a massive roaring filled his ears. It was so loud that for a minute or so he couldn’t hear anything else but his own blood pumping through his head. A bastard boy? His dad had another son? This fact ripped his heart, as tears began streaming down his face.

  ‘I can’t stand it!’ His mum was shouting now. ‘You’re destroying me! We’re here with our friends and she is just a kid!’

  ‘Darling, you’re overreacting. Keep your voice down, please!’

  ‘Why should I? I will not keep my voice down! And don’t you dare smile! Don’t you dare! I will stop payments to Alexander, I will take the house and I will take your beloved cars and I will take Rollo and you will be out on your ear. I mean it. This is it. You can fuck off. I am done! It’s over! It is really over, Perry.’

  With his heart still hammering and his thoughts racing, Theo jumped up and watched from behind the shutter as his mother grabbed another bottle of champagne and threw it onto the marble by the side of the pool. It shattered. The green glass scattered like irregularly shaped marbles and the foaming liquid slithered into the pool. Looking to the left, he spied Freddie lying on a lounger, wearing her pants and what looked to be his father’s dinner jacket. His mother continued her rant, lunging in Freddie’s direction.

  ‘And you – you little whore! You can guess again if you think I am flying you home. You are stuck here, but not in this house! Get out! Grab your nasty clothes and get out!’ She was screaming now. ‘I don’t give a fuck if you have to walk home!’ And she lunged forward again, seemi
ngly intent on lynching Freddie.

  Theo watched, horrified, as his father grabbed his mother roughly around the waist and manhandled her back inside. She shrieked and clawed at him, her hair falling over her face and her arms outstretched. Just before they disappeared into the house, she shouted, ‘There are only two types of people, Perry: those who cheat and those who don’t. The number of times is irrelevant! The tenth time cuts just like the first.’

  Theo sat on his bed and listened to the sound of his parents stumbling into their bedroom. He waited until silence fell and the night took on a new shade of darkness, the quiet broken only by the cicadas chirruping in the trees. It was hard to think straight. He had a brother, a half-brother who his mum hated. Alexander! That was a proper name, not like Theo. Why did his mum pay for him? What did she buy him? Did they take him home for weekends while Theo was safely away at school? There were kids at Theo’s school who had complicated home lives, whose parents had gone off and had children with other people. But they didn’t make a secret of it. What was he supposed to do with this information? His dislike for his father flared. What a horrible thing to do to his mum.

  And suddenly it was as if a fog lifted. It was obvious! This was his chance to change his life! Theo now knew with certainty that his mum was unhappy. And so was he. The prospect of going back to school brought nothing but dread. He tightened the rope of his dressing gown over his pyjamas, took a deep breath and crept down the hallway and into his parents’ bedroom.

  His father was snoring lightly. His feet were sticking out of one end of the sheet and he was clasping the other end to the chest of his coffee-coloured silk pyjamas. Theo crouched down quietly and gently tapped his mother on the shoulder. She sat up and narrowed her eyes at him.

  ‘What is it?’ she whispered, looking to her right at her husband’s slumbering form.

  ‘I need to talk to you, Mum.’ He reached for her arm and guided her from the bed and out onto the landing.

  ‘What is it, Theo?’ she asked again. Her gait was unsteady and her breath putrid with the odour of stale cigarettes and booze.

  Theo gazed into her red, puffy eyes. His heart swelled with sadness that she had been made to feel this way. It took every ounce of his confidence and courage, but he looked her in the eye and in a lowered voice he told her, ‘It’s okay, I agree you should send Dad away, and you and I can stay in the house in Barnes and I can go to a local school and I will look after you, Mum. I will always look after you.’ Theo had never meant anything more sincerely than these words, whispered on the landing of La Grande Belle.

  His mother looked over the galleried landing and towards the great window. Moonlight streamed through it. She screwed up her face and he waited for the tears he expected would follow. But instead of crying, she burst out laughing. And once she began laughing, she couldn’t stop. With her face all scrunched up, she tittered as if Theo’s suggestion was the most bizarre, ridiculous and abhorrent idea she had ever heard. She looked at her son with a shake of her head and delivered the words that would lodge in his consciousness for the rest of his life. ‘I love Peregrine! He is my heart, my soul, my life! And there is no one on this planet I would rather spend my days with!’

  ‘But... But what about Alexander?’ he managed.

  With whip-like crispness his mother made herself abundantly clear. ‘Do not ever, ever mention that name to me or anyone else again. Is that understood?’

  Theo stepped backwards as if he’d been physically struck. Her words confirmed what he’d always dreaded: that he had no place there, not with her and not with them, not really. He realised then that no matter how bad things got between his parents or what foul infidelities his father committed, they were a couple, bound together through good and bad, and he was... He was alone and adrift. He swallowed and was overtaken by a great wave of sadness. He was nothing more than an inconvenience, a burden, so forgettable that they hadn’t even registered when his school holidays had started.

  He left his mother on the landing and shuffled back to his room, weighed down by embarrassment and tears. Walking over to the window he saw that Freddie was now sitting up on the sun lounger crying. Two long snakes of black make-up streaked her face. She looked up and they locked eyes. He stared at her and realised that his first hunch had been right after all: she was the worst companion in the world.

  5

  Theo walked across the quadrangle with his suitcase under his arm. His trousers were a little high on his ankle and his blazer was tight across his back. A month of vigorous daily swimming at La Grande Belle had been good for his physique.

  It had been a relief to travel back to the UK alone, leaving his parents to wallow in the unpleasant soup of their own making. He had said his goodbyes over breakfast, watching with barely disguised astonishment as his mother, her face hidden behind oversized sunglasses, sipped coffee and laughed at a remark Nancy made, while his father bit into a hot croissant and flicked through a copy of Le Monde. It was as if the previous night had not occurred, as if he’d dreamt the whole thing. Whereas he’d lain awake until dawn, replaying the row in his head like a movie, his gut twisting with anxiety. His parents seemed to have forgiven and forgotten and were now simply looking forward to another fun day on the Riviera. He realised that for them this was almost routine – the booze, the row, the hurt, the forgiveness – and it changed nothing. But for Theo, everything had changed. He’d made the extraordinary discovery that he had an illegitimate brother, Alexander. And, even more shattering, he’d learnt that his mother would choose his philandering father over him every time. That was a very bitter pill to swallow.

  He thought of Kitty, wondering how they could possibly chat about the summer and how he might phrase the horror of his experience. She’d be full of the pleasures of having spent her holidays with her mum and dad. He thought of Freddie, who’d disappeared completely, and wondered if she was literally walking home. He couldn’t help the flicker of concern for her wellbeing, despite what she’d done. Knowing now what he did about his father and recalling the way his dad had looked at Freddie on that first day, Theo saw her as a victim; troublesome, but a victim nonetheless.

  Keeping his head low, he made his way towards the dorm with dread in his stomach and a head full of the events of La Grande Belle.

  ‘There you are, sonofabitch.’

  Theo stopped at the sound of Wilson’s voice over his shoulder. Oh please, no! Not now, not today.

  ‘Well, look at you with your lovely tan. Been sunning yourself, have you?’

  Theo ignored him, hoping, though not believing, that if he stayed still and quiet, Wilson might leave him alone.

  ‘I know you can hear me. Not so cocky now, are you, without a mouthy little whore to stick up for you. I thought not. Told you, boys.’ Wilson laughed. ‘Helmsley filled us in on how you gobbed off at him in the airport. Sonofabitch, who do you think you are?’

  Who do I think I am? Good question. Theo’s thoughts raced with images of his bulging-eyed dad and the cruel laughter of his mum. He turned slowly, preparing to reason with Wilson.

  ‘What’s that on your mouth? A caterpillar?’ Again the boys guffawed into their hands.

  Theo ran his index finger over his top lip and cursed that he’d forgotten to ask his parents for a razor and find out what exactly to do with it. He would ask Mr Porter.

  ‘Is that all the rage in the gay clubs? Is that why you’ve grown it? To make your boyfriend happy?’

  Theo shook his head. Tears of frustration threatened, which he concentrated on holding back; letting them flow would be the very worst thing.

  Wilson dropped his sports bag at the feet of his chums and sauntered over, pushing his sleeves over his elbows. Theo knew what came next, but he couldn’t think what to do. Ridiculously, his mother’s advice came to mind. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Theo! You’re being a wee bit silly! You know what to talk about! Sport? School subjects? Good God, the weather? Anything!’

  He opened his mouth to speak
, to try and use his smarts to defuse the situation. But Wilson’s speed denied him the chance. He was fast. His first blow glanced off Theo’s cheekbone, sending a searing pain whistling from one side of his brain to the other. It hurt. Theo’s fingers curled into his palms.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Wilson bounced on the balls of his feet with his fists raised, as if he was observing the Queensberry Rules rather than brawling in the schoolyard. ‘Too scared to hit me, faggot?’ He rocked his head from side to side and jabbed a couple of mock blows before landing the third on Theo’s left eye socket.

  Theo winced and held a cupped palm over his face, cursing the tears that now spilled, as much in response to the pain as in frustration.

  Helmsley and Dinesh skittered about like excitable pups. They darted around the two of them, shouting their approval and whooping and hollering as they cheered their leader on. ‘Poof!’ Dinesh yelled for good measure.

  Theo tried to stand up straight, thinking that he should now speak, try to reason... The next blow caught him on the side of the head and for a second or two his vision blurred.

  ‘What sort of bloke doesn’t fight back? What the fuck is wrong with you?’ Wilson spat. ‘Is it like the homo code?’

  Theo would have had difficulty describing the exact order of what followed. His fogged brain, a preoccupation with his injuries and a sense of disbelief made him a less than perfect witness.

  He saw Wilson’s head jerk sideways as something struck him on the side of the face with force.

  ‘What the fuck?’ Wilson yelled, in a high-pitched voice that Theo hadn’t heard before.

  What had struck him was a palm on the end of a brawny arm, belonging to none other than Cyrus Porter.

  Wilson turned to face the groundsman and laughed, his face puce. ‘I see how it is. Come to defend your boyfriend! So it is a homo code!’

  Mr Porter slapped him again. His knuckle made contact with Wilson’s mouth, whose lower lip split like an overripe tomato. Blood trickled over his chin and down his shirtfront.