His father dropped his hand. “You’ve grown.”
You look older.
“How are you? Anything you need?” his father asked.
“I’d like to talk to you about—”
“Later. Come along. Let’s eat.”
When Caspian walked into the dining room, he drew in a breath. The table was laid with all the best china, glasses and silverware. Two ice buckets held bottles of champagne and there were flower arrangements the length of the table. Christmas without a tree. His mother beckoned him to the seat next to her. The twins and Lachlan were opposite. When everyone had a glass of champagne, his father stood.
“Tonight, the family is once again complete. Welcome home, Caspian.” His father held up his glass then sipped the champagne.
Caspian wasn’t sure if he wanted him to say anything else or not, but when his father sat down, he found himself feeling disappointed. The food was great but much as he’d looked forward to eating something other than the repetitive prison diet, he found himself struggling to swallow. Feeling his mother watching every mouthful he took, didn’t help. He left half of his smoked salmon starter. He made himself eat all the steak because he knew he needed to eat something, but he couldn’t face the potatoes or any of the vegetables.
Conversation had flowed, probably because he wasn’t talking. His mother was still doing lots of charity work and currently arranging a summer ball for a cancer charity that would be held in a marquee in the grounds. It was the biggest event she’d ever arranged and apparently a couple of royals were coming.
Then Lachlan surprised him. Caspian had assumed his brother would be a hotshot corporate lawyer working long hours and earning a lot of money. That might still be true, but Lachlan was also part of a scheme called Lawyers in Schools that partnered lawyers with students in economically and socially disadvantaged communities. Judging by the scowl on their father’s face, he didn’t approve.
Betsy had made Eton mess for dessert. Caspian’s favourite. He managed half of what had been put in the dish.
I don’t belong here anymore. This had been his life, but it wasn’t now. He felt as though he was in a kind of limbo. He didn’t want to be here, but he had nowhere else to go.
When the meal was done, he followed his father to his study. Caspian had removed the four plans from his notebooks that he wanted to show him. He took them from his pocket and unfolded them. His father sat behind his desk and pointed to the chair in front of it.
“I’ve sorted things out,” his father said.
Caspian tensed.
“Obviously you need a job. A suitable job. I’ve had a word with a friend of mine. You remember Malcolm Dennison? He owns FunKit. He has stores all over the place including one on Oxford Street. I think even you could manage to sell clothing and accessories. You never know, you might possibly work your way up to become a store manager.”
Fuck you. He slipped his hand into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the marble.
“His daughter Poppy works in the Oxford Street branch. She was a bit of a wayward child too.”
A goth who never said a word whenever Caspian had met her. She hid behind her long straight black hair.
“Her father and I think you and she would make a good match.”
Caspian almost missed that. “What?”
“She’s a… nice girl.”
So she wasn’t nice. Caspian opened his mouth to remind his father he was gay, then shut it again. Timing. He got up and laid the four sheets of paper on the desk.
“This is what I want to do. A business of my own. I’ve come up with a number of ideas and I selected these four. I’d like you to back me on one of them.”
His father picked up the first sheet.
“That’s a use for 3D printing,” Caspian said. “I saw a programme about it on the TV and I was thinking of ways to use the technology and came up with something to help children with cerebral palsy who have to walk with sticks or crutches. They could have tailor made supports constructed for a reasonable sum so…”
His father tossed the drawing aside and picked up another.
“Tattoo ink that’s not permanent,” Caspian said. “Something that would last maybe a year and then fade. By then the person would know if—”
“You know nothing about biology and chemistry.”
“But I have the ideas, that’s—”
“Caspian. You’re not bright enough to follow these through. What’s this one?” He picked up another sheet of paper. “A hot tub?”
“No, it’s a water treadmill. You exercise in it. Everyday exercise or physical therapy. It takes up a lot less room than a pool. Though you could use it as a hot tub after. It generates electricity too.”
His father rolled his eyes and Caspian felt as if he was sinking in quicksand.
“The last one is a gadget you put on your tap that saves water. It turns the flow into a spiral. It’s attractive and practical.”
“How do you know it saves water?”
“Because the shape of the spiral means less water is flowing than if you just had the tap turned on.” Caspian took a deep breath. “This is what I want to do, not work in a clothes shop. I want you to provide the funding for me to get a prototype made of one of my ideas. Please.” The last word stuck in his throat, but… “I have other sketches too if you—”
“No. I’m not throwing money away on ridiculous ideas. I’ll give you a couple of weeks for you to get used to life and then I’ll buy you a rail card. You can come on the train with me to London. Work in Malcolm’s shop. Prove you can hold down a job and then we’ll talk again. I’ve invited the Dennisons over for lunch next weekend.”
Caspian’s despair was a physical pain in his chest, a gnawing agony that blocked his throat and shrivelled his lungs. Breathing became impossible let alone speaking. He grabbed his drawings and rushed out.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Only after all the graduates of a particular department had crossed the stage were the audience expected to applaud, but as Zed shook hands with the dean, he heard Jonas’s loud whoops and bit back his smile. Zed hadn’t even wanted to come to the ceremony, but Jonas and Henry had insisted and when Henry told him his plans for the rest of the day and asked for his help, Zed had given in.
Once Zed had returned his hired gown, he made his way out of the Royal Albert Hall, and headed for where he’d arranged to meet the pair. They weren’t looking his way and Zed stopped for a moment and took in the two of them, dressed in dark suits, heads together as they chattered and felt a jolt of love so powerful it made him well up.
Jonas was the first to spot him and rushed over to wrap his arms around him. “Congratulations!”
“Thank you for embarrassing me.”
Jonas laughed. “Henry elbowed me so hard I’m pretty sure he broke a rib.”
“I can’t take my whooper swan anywhere. Congratulations, Zed. A first in Computer Science and Maths. Fantastic. We couldn’t be prouder.”
“Thanks for not whooping.”
Henry chuckled. “I only whoop in private.”
“So where are we going for my birthday lunch?” Jonas asked.
“Wait and see.” Henry moved to the kerb, put up his hand and waved, and within moments a cab had pulled up.
“Good grief. That never works for me,” Jonas said.
“I have the magic touch.”
Jonas sniggered and Zed put his hands over his ears which made Jonas laugh out loud.
They piled into the black cab which transported them a few miles to Trafalgar Square.
When they were out of the cab, Henry checked his watch. “We’re a little early for the reservation. We’re eating at the Portrait Restaurant inside the National Gallery. Zed, would you go and see if they’ll take us now?”
“Can’t you just call them?” Jonas asked.
“They’re more likely to respond favourably to someone in person.” Henry smoothly turned Jonas to face the other way and Zed went to get
his cello.
The instrument was already set up and tuned. Zed sat on the edge of the fountain, raised his bow and began playing Beethoven’s Ode to Joy. Jonas instantly turned and gave him a bemused smile.
Zed played his heart out. People stopped to listen. Another cellist joined him, then another and the double basses. One by one most of the members of the London Symphony Orchestra joined in and Jonas’s jaw dropped. Everyone that could come, was here to celebrate Jonas’s fortieth birthday with a flash mob. Violinists and wind players played as they wove through the crowds to congregate in front of Jonas and Henry. The timpani were there and the brass section stood on the raised area next to the steps leading to the National Gallery. Zed hadn’t had much trouble persuading them. He’d been to so many rehearsals with Jonas that Zed knew almost all of the orchestra members.
Beethoven’s powerful music rolled around the square and soared into the air. Tourists were gaping and smiling, holding up phones, taking pictures and videos, and then the choir joined in, people jumping as those around them burst into song. The sound was electrifying. Jonas stood wide-eyed in shock as Henry moved from his side over to a small group of singers and sang in German with them.
The music was an invitation to sing for joy and that’s what everyone did, voice and instruments combined. The line Diesen Kuß der ganzen Welt—this kiss is for all the world was the perfect way to describe what was happening, but for two men, it was going to be more than that.
When the last note faded, everyone clapped and as instruments were put away and players dispersed, Zed was given his guitar and the other members of his band joined him in front of Jonas and Henry.
Zed sang a verse of a new song he’d written.
“Thank you for loving me
I may not say the words as often as I should
But you’re the one that I love
Thank you for loving me
I never dared to dream that someone like you
Would ever want someone like me
Thank you for loving me
You lift me up when I fall down
There’s nothing I wouldn’t do
To spend the rest of my life with you
Thank you for loving me
When others turn away
You’ve never let me fail
You raise me up and fly with me
Thank you for loving me”
Henry dropped on one knee in front of Jonas and held out a ring. “Will you please marry me?”
Zed had never seen Jonas so shocked. Never. He looked as stone-like as the Trafalgar lions, his puppyish charm for a moment stilled.
“I need an answer,” Henry said. “My knee is killing me.”
Jonas hauled him to his feet. “Yes.”
Henry put the ring on his finger and they kissed. The orchestra members who’d sneaked back clapped and whistled. Zed thought the moment was just perfect. Life was made up of moments. Some good, some bad, some like this one that swept everyone up in a burst of sunshine. This was a moment you wanted to swallow whole so you could absorb every second of it.
Finally, the pair broke apart. Jonas beckoned Zed over and flung his arms around him and Henry.
“I get the birthday lunch as well, right?” Jonas asked.
Zed laughed and left them to it. He had things to do.
Jonas and Henry arrived home around six. There was no sign of anything different, but when Jonas opened the door, everyone cheered and Jonas fell back into Henry’s arms. Henry and Zed had arranged a surprise party. Caterers had been employed along with wait staff, and the house was full of people. Zed had invited the members of his band and they were going to play.
“There’s nothing else going to happen, is there?” Jonas asked. “No naked guys jumping out of cakes? No pole dancers? Only my heart can’t take much more. Er… Actually, it could take the pole dancers.”
“I’ve cancelled the strippers.” Henry took hold of his hand. “Let’s get changed into something more comfortable.”
“Don’t take too long,” someone shouted. “We know what you two are like.”
Zed helped himself to a glass of champagne from a waiter’s tray and joined his band. Electric Ice. There were four of them. Jonesie on drums, Akash on bass, Zed and Fin on guitar. Fin was the one in charge. He and Zed wrote the songs and did most of the singing. Only Zed had been at Imperial. Jonesie was a plumber. Akash had just graduated from the London School of Economics and Fin had studied music at Royal Holloway and graduated three years ago. A chance meeting with Fin at a concert had led to Zed being asked to audition after their other guitarist walked out.
Plans for working fulltime for MI5 were sort of on-hold. The band had been playing small gigs all over London and putting their music on YouTube had attracted the attention of a guy who wanted to work as their manager. Pete Corrigan found them a booking agent and everything suddenly seemed to be moving lightning fast. Jonas and Henry had told him to follow his heart. Except Zed didn’t know where his heart was taking him.
“I like the suit,” Fin said in his ear. “Very sexy. Maybe we should all wear them.”
“It’s been done before. The Jam, The Clash, The Beatles.”
“Even so. It would give us an identity.”
Zed felt Fin’s arm slide under his jacket onto his back and he pulled away. “I’m going to get changed.”
“Can I help?”
“No.”
Zed made his way upstairs to his room. Fin wouldn’t take the hint that he wasn’t interested. Zed wasn’t sure if it was going to cause problems with the band if he kept saying no, but that was always going to be his answer.
The party was great. After the band had finished, Jonas persuaded Zed to play the piano and Zed played and sang whatever people asked for—choices that ranged between You’re Welcome from Moana to Adele’s Make You Feel My love, Hosier’s Take Me To Church and The Boogie Woogie Stomp. The furniture had been moved back so that people could dance and they’d have had Zed playing all night if Henry hadn’t insisted someone else took over.
Zed was on his way to get another drink when Jonas threw his arm over his shoulder. “You are so good. Really good. You have no idea how good you are. You’re as good as…”
You’re drunk. “You?”
Jonas laughed. “You’re a lot better than me. You come alive when people are listening and you do something so special that… I wish… No, I don’t wish, I know. You’re our son in every way that matters, you know that, right? The best we could have ever hoped for. I wish we’d had you sooner. I wish you hadn’t ever been hurt. You’ve got to be our best man at the wedding. Oh shit, I wasn’t supposed to ask you yet. Pretend I haven’t. Fuck, he’ll guess. You know I can’t hide a thing. Still try though.”
Zed hugged him. “Okay.”
Jonas was whisked away by someone Zed didn’t know. A hand landed on Zed’s shoulder and he turned to see Jackson. Zed had spotted him earlier but they’d not had the chance to speak.
“Congratulations,” Jackson said. “A first from Imperial is quite an achievement.”
“Thanks.”
“Can we go outside and have a chat?”
Zed nodded. He hoped Jackson didn’t want a decision about the job. Zed had passed on a few pieces of information during his time at university. They ranged from observations on students who seemed slightly off-kilter, about others who were brilliant in their field and might be useful to MI5, plus comments about mosques he’d visited, imams he’d met. He found nothing suspect about Imperial’s Islamic Society. But they hadn’t known he was gay. Zed had stayed firmly in the closet.
Jackson ushered Zed deeper into the garden. “I wasn’t sure whether to tell you tonight but there’s no good time to give this sort of news.”
Oh fuck. “Tamaz?” Zed whispered.
“He’s left Pakistan but we don’t know where he went. It’s not him I need to talk to you about.” He looked Zed in the face. “Your father died this morning.”
Zed sw
allowed. He waited for it to sink in but when he felt nothing wondered if it had. I don’t care. I should but I don’t. He hated me. What am I supposed to feel? He struggled to find memories of a time when he’d been loved, when his father had held him and smiled, when he’d praised him, laughed with him and not at him. Zed found nothing. That made him sad.
“How did he die?”
“He was undergoing surgery for bowel cancer in Maidstone hospital and there were complications. His heart stopped and they couldn’t get it started again.”
Oh, so he had a heart?
“We’ve been keeping an eye on him, in case Tamaz got in touch. We don’t think he has.”
Zed felt himself crumbling, the weight of responsibility suddenly heavy on his shoulders. “I’ll have to arrange everything. The funeral. The house. Tell his family in Iran but I don’t know how. I don’t know what to do.”
“We can ask people to sort out the funeral.”
“I can pay for it. I have money.”
“He can pay for it. He must have money.”
“I don’t want to go to the funeral. Shit, do you think I should?”
“It’s entirely up to you.”
“Yeah, I should go. Okay. I’ll go.”
“You might see if anyone at the mosque he attended knows how to contact Tamaz.”
Zed nodded. Oh no, don’t ask me to do that to my brother.
Jackson sighed. “If he’s joined Isis…”
Fuck. He won’t have. But if he has… “I’ll ask, okay?”
“Right.”
“Don’t tell Jonas or Henry about this. Not today. I don’t want them to be upset. I’m not upset. I’m just…nothing.”
“All right. I feel I should say I’m sorry, but I’d be lying. Was he ever a good father?”
“Not to me.”
“Will he have made a will?”
“Very likely. One thing I remember from the summer school from hell is that it’s the duty of a Muslim who has anything to bequest not to let two nights pass without writing a will about it.”
“And will you get anything?”
Zed shrugged. “Islamic law states it’s absolutely prohibited to deny an heir his share. Once a person dies, they have no rights over their assets. Their wealth passes to Allah and it’s distributed according to His will as stated in the Quran. So even if my father didn’t want me to have a penny because I was a disobedient, disrespectful, bad son, he can’t stop it happening. But, as I no longer practise the Muslim faith, I’m pretty sure that means I don’t inherit.”
The Story of Us Page 29
