Ship of Fools

by Sophia Soames

  “Lip gloss.” He giggles. “I bet you looked pretty with lip gloss.”

  “I did, and by the way, I’m going to tell you all my dirty little secrets.” I say back. “Because you and I are going to talk. We are going to find out everything, all the good and all the bad. I want to know the whole bloody story about this Connor, and you are going to tell me exactly what went wrong. I already hate him, because he cheated on you, but that’s beside the point. You need to kick him out of your life for good, because now you have a boyfriend.”

  “I have a boyfriend?” he says, as he makes a perfect U-turn out of the parking space.

  “Yup. You have me. I’m planning on being an exceptionally good boyfriend. I’ve decided on the term boyfriend. We can always change it to partner, you know when we are old and retired.”

  “I thought this was just a Christmas hookup.”

  “Bastard!” I mock him, swatting his arm as he smiles.

  “You really want to be with me?”

  “Only for the fantastic sex, and of course, because your flat is nicer than mine. I’m still not sure about your car. She might be a dealbreaker in this.”

  “Don’t mock my Phoebe.”

  “Bring her up to Lambert and Gloss one day and I will give her a complimentary valet.” I snort.

  “Never.” He laughs. Then he goes quiet as we make our way out on the A road towards the industrial estate. Quiet buildings, and empty car parks, with the odd glittering light and festive decoration greeting us along the way. A few housing estates where people are quietly milling about in their front rooms, with Christmas trees and cheer, as I look over at the man I am trying to figure out.

  I can see myself with him, that is the frightening part. Frightening and exciting, in other ways, because I never thought I would meet someone like him. Someone who would be... in a way... just like me. Because I think he is.

  “I think, if I am being honest.” I have to stop and breathe, because this one is a hard thought to bear. He looks over and strokes my leg with his fingers, before changing gears as we turn into the hospital car park.

  “I think if this doesn’t work out, if we end up going our separate ways, I will still remember this as the most amazing Christmas fling. Because things like this? Meeting someone I actually like, as much as I like you? Well, apart from that you have a giant dick and fuck like a god, and you like topping, major bonus, by the way, since I don’t top... Ever.” I laugh nervously, and he puts the car into reverse, backing into an empty bay in one swift motion. Then he just sits there, staring awkwardly out over the car park. Grey concrete buildings completing the depressed view of the tired hospital building.

  “It’s Christmas… You should be with your family.” He says. It’s not a demand for an answer, just an open question, as he reaches over and squeezes my hand. I love that he does that. Those little gestures. His skin against mine. Changing the subject just in time. “Yet here you are, with me.”

  It’s not something I fancy talking about, but I do, because he deserves the truth. The good, bad and the ugly. “I’m not quite what my father expected. To my mother I am a disappointment. I won’t own my own company at the age of thirty like my father did. I don’t have a portfolio of shares, and I don’t belong to any fancy clubs. I don't ski in Verbier, and I don’t rate Spain as the ultimate place to retire. Those are just some of the things my father and I agree to disagree on. My mother still has hopes that I will marry Marielle Broomwood-Carter, the daughter of her good friend Adele. It was apparently a done deal from when we were small. Adele and Marielle are spending the holiday season in Nice this year. My mother is very disappointed that they are not joining them in Spain. She secretly blames me, as I am always so cold to poor Marielle.”

  “But they love you? You’re their kid!”

  “Yeah, they do, in their own way. But when I swan out in my dressing gown on Christmas morning, and their friends are sipping champagne on the patio, and my mother gets all embarrassed and makes excuses why I’m not dressed, and still a single man? I want to scream and shout and behave like a child. I don’t, but biting my tongue for a week straight is exhausting.”

  “I can’t imagine you biting your tongue for a week straight,” he laughs. “I bet you don’t.”

  “That’s why Mum didn’t bother arguing when I said I was spending the holidays here. Working. As always. And it’s the reason my sister disappears whenever there is talk of a family meetup, just so Dad won’t force her take up an internship at one of his companies.”

  “So, your family are a bit messy. Every family is. We just have to live with it, and make the best out of what we have.”

  “Suppose every family has their own messes. Nothing is ever perfect, despite what it looks like from the outside.”

  “To me, you are kind of perfect.”

  He smiles and I bury my head in my hands. “I’m not perfect. I’m an ungrateful son. I got expelled from two different private schools and I barely scraped through University, which my father refused to fund. I had to take a student loan like everyone else. I was spoilt and ungrateful and stupid.”

  “You graduated? Got a good job and you are doing well. You are also kind of stunning, and you know, your body is flawless, your mouth is a menace, and you are the cutest thing ever. I think I’m bloody lucky you are even considering me for the boyfriend job.”

  “It’s not a job, being with me is a complete lifestyle.” I giggle.

  “So, you…”

  “When I first discovered sex, I thought I would like topping as much as bottoming.” I start. Way to go Andreas. I’m embarrassed I even went along with the whole family conversation. Bringing up the past is never good. So instead I talk about sex. Much safer.

  “But you didn’t?” He doesn’t look surprised. I suppose I wasn’t either.

  “All that work and it’s messy and awkward and not very dignified. I’d rather just lay back and enjoy the ride.” I smirk.

  “Connor hated penetration.” He says, looking pained at his choice of words. “He always said I was hurting him, that I was too big, and too rough, and he preferred if he could just blow me and go to sleep. I thought, well, I didn’t know what I was doing. I suppose he was probably right. Twenty-one-year-old me had no fucking clue.”

  “Practice makes perfect.” I say softly. “Fuck Connor.”

  “Fuck it.” He spits. “Enough therapy for now.” Then he smiles. “We’re here, shall we go and see my sister? If they’ll let us?”

  I laugh out loud, because we are both so bloody absurd. “We’re sitting here talking about sex, when it’s Christmas morning, and your sister has just had a baby. Sorry, I get carried away. It’s not often I find someone I can talk about things like that with. It’s not like I can sit down in the staff room with Laura from accounts and discuss lube, and the advantage of a heavier butt plug.

  “What are the advantages of a heavier butt plug?” He says across the car roof as we step out in the bleak winter weather, a harsh wind threatening to blow us away as I slam the car door shut.

  “Training your anal muscles. It’s extremely important to keep your anal muscles well-trained.” I say with a serious face, as he reaches out for my hand, and walks me towards the Maternity entrance.

  We smile. Giggle like kids. Smile again as he kisses my cheek before we enter through the doors.

  Luca

  I see my mum, and I have to bite my cheek not to burst into tears again. How many times have I cried in the last twenty-four hours? Well, way to go Luca, and I think I win all the awards for most awkward introduction of your mother to your new boyfriend. I shiver even thinking the word out loud in my head. Boyfriend. What the hell am I doing? But Mum shrieks and grabs Andreas, and kisses his cheeks the way my Nonna kisses everyone. She suddenly feels more Italian than any of us, despite not having a single drop of Italian blood in her veins.

  I suppose I understand her better now, having grown up a little bit from when I was a teen, and everything was embar
rassing and stupid. My mother had a horrible upbringing, and she learnt from a young age to fend for herself. She also learned to fight or flight, and to adapt like a chameleon, sometimes being timid and shy, and other times being the heart and soul of the party. I met my maternal grandmother a few times when I was a child. Awkward encounters, where Mum kept us behind her at all times, and told us to be quiet. Her mother was an imposing stern woman with a violent streak. Her father? She never knew him, and was told not to ask.

  I remember the funeral, where my Mother buried her only living relative. Mum didn’t shed a single tear, and I remember wondering why. I understand now. I know more of the story, and I think I understand how she functions, how she has brought us up to always feel safe and protected, whatever the circumstances. She nursed me through the years after Connor, the years I now look back at with bewildered confusion. She let me hurt, as I scared the living daylights out of her, and then I hurt even more. Yet, she told me to let it take its course, and that one day I would look back and wonder why I ever let anyone hurt me that bad. I can see the point now, as I look at Andreas chatting excitedly with my mum, making her laugh and holding her hands as he giggles about something she says.

  I’ve completely zoned out watching them, my chest feeling tight with all kinds of anxious thoughts.

  “Where’s Bea?” I say, interrupting their chatter.

  “Oh, she’s good. She lost some blood, and needed stitches, but that’s all under control. Anna was amazing, she was with her all the time. Dad and I sat out here in the waiting room, they would only allow one person in, how crazy is that? But then Bea didn’t want us there anyway, she said she only wanted Anna. The baby is beautiful, you’ll see. Oh my god, he’s perfect.”

  “Of course, the baby is perfect, Mum, but weren’t you and Dad supposed to stay at home?”

  “Oh, darling, we couldn’t stay at home, we had to be here. I’m a granny, how crazy is that? I’m too young to be a granny. Oh, darling, where is that nice nurse? Let’s tell her that Bea needs to see her brother.”

  “They won’t let us in.” I say, the pessimist, as always, as Andreas follows my mother who is charging for the reception desk with determination in her step. She must be exhausted, and I have no idea where my dad is. Or Anna.

  So, I stand there and check the million messages on my phone to figure my life out. Dad has taken Anna home. She’s gone to bed. Dad has put the oven on for the meat. I’m supposed to cook it, well, after I bring Mum home from the hospital, see the new baby, check that Bea has food and drink, and…

  I can barely get my head around that. Nor can I grasp the fact that Andreas Mitchell is giggling away with my mother, talking excitedly with his hands, and the nurse behind the desk? Apparently, his new best friend.

  “Luca, Luca!” He shouts across the empty waiting area. “Come meet Francine, she’s Arthur Benning’s daughter.”

  Who? I feel like asking as I shake Francine’s hand. Whoever she is.

  “Arthur has that big farm out on Hill Road, the one with the huge storage sheds. He collects vintage Bentleys, and I have had the honour of being shown round his collection. I will take you one day. They are absolutely beautiful.”

  Francine blushes, and I join her, squirming slightly as Andreas takes my hand.

  “Luca is my boyfriend. He’s the best with cars. He’s Don Germano’s son.”

  Francine nods, looking totally bewildered. I blush awkwardly. Again.

  “Francine, we just need to see our lovely Bea, because it’s Christmas. You understand,” he says softly.

  “Visiting hours are 3 – 5 p.m. today, and then 7 – 9 p.m.,” Francine says, nodding apologetically.

  “But it’s our first nephew.” Andreas pleads, “...and Luca and I missed the birth. We will be very discreet.”

  “We would normally only allow the father, as Miss Germano is still on the labour ward.”

  “I could be the father.” Andreas winks.

  The gasp out of my mouth is too loud, and my mum laughs hysterically, grabbing my arm. She’s no doubt in sleep-deprived hysterics too.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” Mum laughs. “You are the father.” She snorts. Howls. Wipes tears out of her eyes. “I need to go to bed. I can’t pull these all-nighters anymore. Shall I just get one of those Uber things?”

  “No way.” Andreas is clearly the one in charge here. “It’s Christmas Day and no Uber driver in their right mind will be working. We’ll take you home, just as long as I get to see my new son. Please, Francine. We will be very discreet. It’s Christmas.”

  Francine looks half shell-shocked, half sputtering out held-back laughter. “You guys are... insane.” She giggles.

  “No, I promise you, we are perfectly sane.” Andreas reassures her.

  “Just hang on a second, and I will ring through to the ward. I’ll ask. No promises.” Francine says, trying to compose herself as another nurse appears behind her.

  I don’t know how he does it, but a few minutes later, Mum has a cup of tea and is playing candy crush on Andreas’ phone, because her own phone has run out of battery and nobody has a charger. Apparently. And, Andreas and I are being led through the corridors towards a locked door screaming Labour Ward. No visitors. No unauthorised personnel. IDs must be displayed at all times.

  We shouldn’t be here, but Andreas is happily whistling away, clutching my hand, as I’m squeezing the life out of his fingers.

  “Are you the father? I’m so sorry you missed the birth.” A friendly looking nurse asks, as the door mysteriously falls open, letting us into the ward. It’s surprisingly quiet, and she whispers, ‘’Congratulations,” as we are whisked through another door, where my baby sister is curled up on the bed.

  I don’t think I have any more tears to burst into, yet I let out a little sob. Because I’m me and she’s my little sister, and again, I feel so overwhelmed that I don’t know what to do. I have no idea what to say. Instead, I stand there. Staring. Like I always seem to do.

  “I’m never doing that again.” Bea says from the bed, as she reaches her hand out for me to come and give her the clumsiest hug known to man. I don’t know where I can touch her, drip wires attached to her arm, and a scary looking cannula stuck in her hand.

  “Was it bad?” I stutter out, as she laughs.

  “It was worse than hell. Anyone doing that more than once needs to be committed to a straitjacket. Seriously, Luc, it was awful. But look! Baby! I have a baby!” She’s probably still off her head on painkillers, and I hope there are all kinds of goodies in that drip, looking at her sleep-deprived state, and obvious pain as she tries to sit up.

  “Hand him to me, will you?” She begs. “I need another cuddle.”

  “I’m Andreas.” Andreas says from behind me. I had almost forgotten he was there, which makes me feel even more of a fool.

  “Are you alright in there, honey?”

  That’s the nurse, again. Smiling at Andreas who is expertly lifting the baby out of the cot on the side. I hadn’t even looked at it, the baby. What kind of human am I? One that can’t behave like a human at all, as Andreas smiles like all his Christmases have come, at once.

  “Congratulations, Daddy,” the nurse says, and Andreas squeals, and Bea bursts out laughing as the nurse looks pained.

  “I’m not really the Daddy,” Andreas says, looking apologetic.

  “I thought so.” The nurse laughs. “Mummy, are you alright with these two in here?”

  “The big oaf is my brother. The pretty oaf is his boyfriend. It’s all good.” Bea laughs. “Stop hogging my baby, and come here.” She demands of Andreas, who obeys her order, with a nod. Because Bea is the queen bee here. She always is.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you.” Andreas says, placing the baby in Bea’s arms.

  The baby is tiny, but so very obviously one of us. He’s got the Germano nose, and tiny little lips pursed into a smirk, before launching into a full-blown yawn.

  “He’s beautiful,” Andreas sighs. “Well done
you.”

  “And you are just as pretty as Luca said you were. You got on well then, last night? I hope Luca was a gentleman.” Bea giggles.

  “Luca was a perfect gentleman.” Andreas laughs. “I can barely walk, let alone sit down.” He winks.

  “Tell me about it,” Bea moans. “It felt like I had to pass a bloody pineapple, and now my foo-foo is covered in stitches. I will never have sex again. Ever.”

  “No stitches here. But I won’t be sitting down for a week.” Andreas counters, giving his backside an overdramatic rub.

  I die a little. Then I die again, as Bea’s raw laughter fills the air.

  “Good boy,” she says, turning back to me. “Now, look after your boyfriend, Luca, because I am not getting you another one. I like this one,” she says, patting Andreas' arm. “So, we’re keeping him, whatever you say.”

  “I’m happy with that.” Andreas smiles, wrapping his arms around my back, breathing into my hair. Kissing my neck.

  “That’s enough public displays of affection for now,” Bea rules. “There is a tiny innocent infant present in the room. Now, Uncle Luca, meet Baby Bob.”

  “Bob!” I shout, “What the hell, Bea? You named him Bob?”

  “I’m his mother, and Bob is a perfectly respectable name. Look, I couldn’t even write my own name until I was nine, being cursed with some long-arse name like Beatrice, so Bob here will have an easy ride. Three letters. Also, it goes with Bea. Bea and Bob. I might start a company called that.”

  “Bob.” Andreas says, smiling into my ear. “I like it. Very cool. Uncle Andreas approves.”

  “Uncle Andreas will be expected to brush up on babysitting duties, nappy changes and long walks with the pram. I will need my beauty sleep,” Bea declares, waving her drip-free arm around like she is using an invisible fairy wand to justify her demands.

  “We can do that,” I say. We can. I can’t wait. Long walks with Andreas and a pram, up in the park. I can see us pushing a more-grown-up toddler version of Bob on the swings in the park. Taking him swimming. Eating cake down at the cafe on the square. My head is again, overwhelmed with daydreams. Fantasies. Things that are not real.