The Dinner Guest

by B P Walter

  He then turned his back on us and walked out of the kitchen. Further thuds from the stairs then the slam of a door suggested this was exactly what he was doing.

  ‘What the hell was that?’ I said, turning to Matthew.

  Matthew was staring into the distance. He looked worried and deep in thought. Even without him, I could answer my own question. That was Titus showing he gave zero fucks about our normal happy-families Saturday-morning routine. At least, on this morning he did.

  ‘I think,’ Matthew said slowly, ‘we should probably leave him to work through this himself today.’

  I looked at him. This was rather a reversal of roles from last night, when I’d been trying to calm him down at the thought of his son being seduced by a predatory older student. He still looked deep in thought as he turned back to the coffee machine and poured us both a cup. ‘It looks like we’re fending for ourselves for breakfast,’ he said, opening up the cupboards. ‘So … muesli or cornflakes?’

  Things later in the day didn’t get much better with Titus. In fact, they got worse before they got better. Matthew had been reading up on the balcony garden and I was doing some research online for a new car when the sound of raised voices disturbed me. I left my iPad on the sofa and went out into the hallway to find Titus coming down the stairs, Matthew closely following, both of them in the middle of a clearly tense conversation.

  ‘You’re not going; this isn’t negotiable.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Titus shrugged. ‘Imprison me in my room all day?’

  ‘If we have to. But I really hope it won’t come to that.’

  Titus bent down by the door to pull on his shoes. He had an overnight bag with him – the sort of thing he’d take if he was going to stay with my parents or we went up to Scotland to visit Matthew’s mother.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m going to stay at Melanie’s.’

  ‘You are not,’ Matthew said forcefully. ‘You are fourteen years old. You’re not ready for … for whatever it is you think you’re ready for.’

  Titus scoffed and began to lace up his shoes furiously. I bent down so I was on his level and said, in a calm voice, ‘Maybe you could just come through to the lounge. Let’s just sit down and have a chat. After that, if you still want to go, we won’t stop you.’

  I heard Matthew take a strong intake of breath through his nose as an unspoken way of saying, We’ll see about that, but he didn’t interrupt. And, to my surprise, Titus looked up at me and his expression softened. ‘OK.’

  He led the way into the lounge and sat down with a thump on one of the sofas. Matthew and I took the two-seater opposite him and I started to speak before the argument had time to restart.

  ‘Titus, as I’m sure you can understand, we have some … well, concerns. Concerns about the age difference between you and…’

  ‘Melanie.’

  ‘Yes, Melanie. The fact remains that you are fourteen years old, and although you think you know how you feel about … intimate things and relationships and love and the like, the truth is you’re still so young. And it’s easy to get things wrong or confused when you’re young.’

  He stared back at me, his eyes becoming stern and cold once more. ‘I think all that could apply to adults too. I think adults can get things wrong. Do stupid things. I don’t think it’s just to do with age.’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, of course. But can you at least see where we’re coming from? Even if we thought you were old enough to know your own mind on … things of this nature…’

  ‘You can say “sex”, you know. I’m not a child.’

  ‘Well, that’s kind of the point. You are. And, as I was saying, even if you feel ready to …’

  ‘Fuck someone.’

  Matthew took a sharp intake of breath at this and cracked his knuckles – something he does when he’s stressed. I laid a hand on his knee, silently asking him not to start raging.

  ‘… be intimate with someone,’ I said firmly, still finding his use of strong language more than a little unsettling, ‘the law doesn’t agree. You know the age of consent is sixteen.’

  ‘There’s only three and a half years between us.’

  I shook my head. ‘It doesn’t matter. She’s an adult. You’re not. What you’re both doing is still illegal.’

  He made another noise of disbelief. ‘I don’t think any judge or jury is going to fling me in jail for getting a blowjob after school.’

  Another crack of Matthew’s knuckles cut through the air.

  ‘No, I’m sure you wouldn’t be punished. But she might. In the eyes of the law, she’s having sex with a child.’

  ‘Oh, come on. There are things called Romeo and Juliet laws, aren’t there? I’m fairly sure I’ve read about them.’

  I winced at this. It was one of the few instances of Titus doing his research poorly. He’s usually keen on getting facts right. It’s what makes him such a good student. But here, he’d got things very wrong.

  ‘I actually did some reading on this earlier this morning,’ I replied, trying to keep up my calm, measured tone of voice. ‘The laws you refer to are controversial laws in the United States, sometimes known as a “close in age exemption”. In the UK, there is no “close in age exemption”. While there would be no rush to prosecute two underage sixteen-year-olds, the law isn’t cast aside for people over the age of sixteen having sex with someone below the age of consent. Even if the other was just a couple of years older.’ While I was reasonably sure this was true, I hadn’t found out how frequent such cases were – or if they even happened at all. All of this was uncharted territory for both Matthew and me. I knew at some point we’d have to deal with teenage crushes and broken hearts and discuss things like sex and relationships with our boy, but I didn’t ever imagine the topic would manifest itself in a form as thorny and difficult as this.

  ‘Titus, we just want you to be safe,’ I said less firmly, laying my hands open in front of me. ‘We want you to be happy, and of course we know you’ll be … well, experimenting and trying things like this during your teen years. But really, I think what your dad and I are saying is, there’s no rush. You’re still so young. So, maybe you could just think about that and, perhaps, if this girl Melanie hasn’t quite thought through the difficult situation she’s putting both of you in, maybe she isn’t the right girl for you. At least, not at this moment in time.’

  I watched as he computed this. I was worried that criticising Melanie, even though I’d tried to sound as kind and diplomatic as possible, would prove a bad move. But to my surprise, he diverted his gaze to his hands which were bunched in his lap, spent a few more seconds deliberating, then eventually gave a short nod. ‘Yes. You’re right. I’m sorry.’

  I felt the tension in Matthew ease, heard the rush of his breath being let out, as if he’d been holding it ever since we’d been sitting down. Progress had been made, and suddenly the air around us was less tight, less likely to develop into a thunderstorm.

  ‘It’s OK. You don’t have to be sorry,’ Matthew said now, getting up and going to sit next to Titus. He put his arm around the boy’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry for flipping off a little about the whole thing. This is all a bit new to us. I just don’t want to fail you. And … and I don’t want to fail your mum.’

  This rare reference to Matthew’s sister made me start a little. I examined Matthew’s face for any warning signs. He was prone to get tearful on the occasions he did discuss Colette. He was biting his lip a little, but seemed to have a handle on himself. Titus, meanwhile, gave another little nod and allowed himself to be hugged. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. I saw his hand rise and scratch the cut on his chin, which seemed to have a bruise developing underneath it. He was probably still shaken up about the whole experience, and part of his acting out this morning was no doubt a symptom of that.

  ‘We were thinking of asking Rachel to dinner,’ Matthew said to Titus. ‘Perhaps next weekend. Just to say thank you for being such a
help yesterday.’

  I saw him smile at this. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I really like her. She was just … well, she was brilliant.’

  I felt a flicker of irritation at hearing Rachel described as ‘brilliant’, making me feel bad that neither me nor Matthew were first on the scene after Titus’s attack. But I said nothing. The truth was, she had been amazing.

  Looking back now, this whole thing with Titus should have been a warning sign. I didn’t spot the clues, didn’t take heed of some things that seem plain now, with hindsight. Things about Matthew. Things about Titus. And the way Rachel managed to find her way into our lives.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Charlie

  Ten months to go

  It was decided the following weekend would be a good one for Rachel to come over. Matthew and Titus would cook and I … well, I would spend the first part of the day playing tennis with my friend Archie. When Matthew said he was going out shopping to get food (unnecessary, in my view – the larder and fridge were more than well stocked, but apparently there was a ‘certain kind of pasta’ he and Titus really felt would go with the sauce they were putting together), I made a few oh-should-I-cancel-tennis-and-help remarks that I didn’t really mean, but Matthew seemed to think it was better I was out of their way. And besides, I thought it would be good for him and Titus to spend some time together. Maybe they could talk about the state of Titus’s illegal love life, which was, as far as we could gather, on a tentative hiatus.

  At the tennis court, Archie spent so much time in the changing rooms showing me pictures of his two new cars, I was half tempted to suggest we ditch the tennis game altogether and just head out for lunch. ‘Goes like a fucking dream, mate,’ Archie said to me, swiping through photos that alternated between showroom-glossy exterior shots of the bright green Lamborghini Huracán Evo Spyder and interiors that looked like something from Star Trek. I went through a phase of these types of cars when I was in my twenties, but a decade later I can’t help but think they just look a bit childish. Impractical for the clogged-up roads of Central London and they have a show-off value that wears off the more people you show them to. Still, I thought to myself as I nodded and tried to look interested, if it made him happy to see a futuristic-looking slab of metal parked outside his house, who was I to argue?

  After tennis, once we were settled at a table at The Roseberry in Knightsbridge, we started chatting about how things were going with work, at home, the usual stuff. Archie moaned a bit about one of his friends Dominic, who I only knew vaguely, who was apparently cheating on his wife with two mums from his children’s school. ‘He’s becoming a bit of a prick, to be honest,’ Archie said. ‘Plus, he tried to convince me a ball was within the line when we grabbed a quick tennis game the other day when it clearly wasn’t. You’re a much better player than him, I must say. I should have treated him to your old tactics and knocked his teeth into the shower walls afterwards.’

  I rolled my eyes, attempting to make light of his words. He was referring to an incident when I was fifteen and furious with another boy at school, Jasper King, when we were playing cricket. He’d stepped out of position, put me off my game, and then lied about it to everyone else after, making out I was the one at fault. I was rather hurt, to be honest, since I’d always regarded him as a friend. Our scuffle in the changing rooms later put an end to that though, and he walked away with a bleeding lip and me with a strict telling off and a call home to my parents, where phrases like ‘zero-tolerance policy’ and ‘never happen again’ were used.

  Once off the subject of my past misdemeanours, Archie did his best to convince me to accompany him to some ghastly art exhibition launch in the evening. I took a sip of my ‘Gorgeous Greens’ smoothie and shook my head. ‘Can’t, I’m sorry. We’ve got a friend coming round.’

  Archie rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, is it one of those book-club affairs Matthew’s finally dragged you into?’

  I gave a half laugh to this. ‘No, no. Well, actually, sort of. It’s this Rachel woman Matthew’s become rather taken with. I’m probably being unfair, as she did come to Titus’s assistance during an attempted mugging…’

  Archie’s eyes widened. ‘An attempted mugging? What did she do, fight them off?’

  ‘Well, something like that. Told them to fuck off and leave the boy alone. And it worked, according to Titus. They left. So I suppose we do owe her a dinner at least. Matthew and Titus are home preparing it now.’

  Another eyeroll from Archie. ‘It’s only just gone twelve. Surely they don’t need, what, seven hours?’

  I waited a moment, nudging a bit of flaxseed out of my teeth before I responded. ‘Matthew seems to be a bit … I don’t know, a bit taken with her.’

  Archie noticed the pause, and the way my voice had got a little quieter and more serious. ‘You’re not suggesting…’

  I batted his unfinished question away with my hand. ‘No, no. I know he never would. It’s her I’m worried about. I think he’s always super-friendly and keen to make friends and she’s taking advantage of that. I’m just not thrilled with the idea of her coming over for supper … dinner … whatever.’

  This earned another odd look from Archie.

  ‘Matthew doesn’t like the word “supper”,’ I explained. ‘Thinks it makes us sound too upper class.’

  Archie nodded with understanding. ‘Delia can’t abide what she calls “poshisms”. Did you know she grew up partly on a council estate in Rainham? Her father was from, in her words, a “traditional East London working-class family”. It was her mother who turned her into one of us. She was in a different circle. Probably why she ended up divorcing Delia’s father, hence the Rainham flat. When she stayed with him, it was in some ghastly high-rise on some estate built in the 60s to hold Dagenham Ford workers – the Mardyke Estate or something.’

  Something Archie said reminded me of our impending dinner guest. ‘Rachel lives on the Churchill Gardens Estate.’

  ‘That’s Westminster, isn’t it? I think I remember hearing about it getting some lottery grant or something similar.’

  ‘Yes, it’s in Pimlico,’ I said. ‘I grew up right near it; it’s practically next to St George’s Square. I dare say it has its fair share of troubles, but I never had any issue, although Mother never liked me walking through there. Rachel’s just moved in. I think that’s why Matthew wanted to take her under his wing.’

  Archie raised one eyebrow, then took a sip of his drink.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Archie said, turning a bit red. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t trying to say anything…’

  I leaned in. ‘Oh, come on, I saw that weird expression. What were you thinking?’

  Archie looked pained all of a sudden, and I was struck how old he was getting – how old we both were getting. Still only thirty-six, but it was a long way from the sixteen-year-old boys we used to be, happily playing rugby and moaning about our schoolwork.

  ‘Well,’ he said, slowly, ‘I … I’ve never known whether to mention this… I’m probably speaking out of turn, here…’

  ‘Now I’m terrified,’ I said. ‘Please, spit it out.’

  He let out a heavy sigh. ‘This isn’t my place to say, but you know Jeremy was at St Andrews when Matthew was there?’

  I vaguely knew Matthew had known Archie’s brother Jeremy at university, but they weren’t very close, so it rarely came up.

  ‘Well, Matthew … um, according to Jeremy, in his final year of his Master’s, Matthew had sex with his housemate.’

  I shrugged. ‘So?’

  ‘His housemate Megan.’

  A small bud of foreboding started to bloom within me. Matthew had slept with a woman at university. This fact itself shouldn’t really have concerned me. Of course, it’s normal for gay men to have dabbled with the opposite sex in the past, the same way it’s not uncommon for heterosexual guys to experiment with other boys. I wouldn’t have minded a jot if I’d known about it before. But this was the type of thing Matthew
would normally have told me. We’d chatted about past relationships, past dates gone wrong, past screw-ups and successes. Never once had he mentioned sleeping with a girl when he was at St Andrews. When he was twenty-two. That was relatively old – not an experimental fling when you’re a teenager. He was a man. An adult. And, learning it now, from Archie rather than from Matthew himself was – there was no other word for it – hurtful. The secrecy, the borderline lying-by-omission … it hurt me.

  ‘I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.’ Archie was looking pained, then leant back so the waiter could serve us our food. I wasn’t a bit hungry anymore. I just wanted to leave.

  ‘It’s … it’s fine,’ I said, trying to pretend I couldn’t hear the pounding of my own heart in my ear. ‘I … well, I guess we’ve all got our wild pasts.’

  He laughed and nodded. ‘You can say that again. But honestly, mate, I didn’t mean to imply Matthew was, I don’t know, having it off with this book-club woman of yours just because he bedded a girl over a decade ago. As I said, it was foolish of me to bring it up.’

  Archie did his best to change the subject for the rest of the meal, telling me about how he and Delia planned to holiday in Alaska over Christmas, but it didn’t help alter my mood. None of it worked. My mind was still on my husband.

  Back at home, I tried to show some enthusiasm for the food Matthew and Titus were in the middle of preparing. The sight of Titus baking a cake – one of his frequent weekend activities – cheered me somewhat. At least he was no longer giving a grunting monotone impression of a moody teenager anymore. Matthew too was in his element, going between sorting out vegetables to making sure the dining room was tidy (a pointless task; thanks to Jane, it was always immaculate).

  I made myself look busy by adding their paper Wholefoods bags to the recycling and taking a disproportionately long time choosing what music we should have playing gently in the background. I instinctively selected some Max Richter from Spotify, but Matthew shouted out in protest from the kitchen (‘We’ll all be in need of Prozac by the end of the first course!’). In the end, I went with The Best of Lang Lang; some of the tracks weren’t that much cheerier, but at least there was a bit more variety in tone.