Seven Days of Us(27)

He’s our dad, thought Phoebe. Why d’you have to call him Andrew? After a moment of nobody saying anything, she gathered her lists and went upstairs. She knew it must have been stressful in Africa. But everything was so much easier, and nicer, when Olivia wasn’t around.





Jesse


THE WOOLMAKERS ARMS, BLAKENHAM, 9:16 P.M.

? ? ?

It was Dana who told Jesse that staying in wasn’t an option on Christmas Eve. He had called in a nostalgic mood, seeking sympathy, after catching It’s a Wonderful Life on TV. They used to watch it together, eating Mom’s spiced shortbread, he’d reminded Dana. But she hadn’t indulged him. “Jesse, you made this decision—you need to own it. Go make some new memories,” had been her exact words. So he had showered, cologned, and stepped into the cold to see how the locals celebrated.

Now, sipping a self-conscious pint, he couldn’t tell if the Woolmakers Arms was playing tricks on him. It seemed to be pure Ye Olde England—close and carpeted, with tiny, diamond-paned windows and such a low-beamed ceiling that he had to stoop. The seats were dark as church pews, and the beers had crazy names like Woodforde’s and Bullards. Back home this would have been a replica—like the dude ranch in Montana where he’d stayed with his ex, Cameron. He didn’t want to be the gullible tourist, taken in by a sham, but something about the Woolmakers suggested it was the real deal. He half regretted not bringing his camera, but he felt conspicuous enough as it was.

The bar was packed. Christmas Eve was clearly a big party night in Blakenham. Jesse wondered if this was the kind of topsy-turvy evening when lords and peasants mingled, like in Titanic. A group of three young guys with posh accents dominated the room. With them were two blond girls, giggling uncontrollably. They were all sitting by the fire, braying with laughter at an anecdote Jesse couldn’t catch. The men reminded him of frat boys at college, but their bodies were different—with bigger necks and barreled thighs. Two wore striped shirts, sleeves rolled up to show meaty forearms; the other had on a V-neck that just stretched over his broad chest. Their table was covered with empty glasses. The one with his back to Jesse stood and turned, and Jesse saw it was the guy who had jogged past him that morning. Their eyes met, fleetingly. Jesse watched him walk to the bathroom and resisted the impulse to follow, to see if he would acknowledge him were it just the two of them under strip lighting. Moments later he reappeared right beside Jesse at the bar, looking straight ahead. He had a preppy little snub nose and a fine, almost feminine jawline—at odds with his athlete’s beat-up ears. His hairline was wet—he must have smoothed it back in the bathroom. Jesse looked at his wrist, the hairs blond against his tan, muscles twitching as he fiddled with two notes. A gold ring shone on his pinkie, and beside his Hublot watch was a string of pale green prayer beads. Funny to see that the L.A. influence even made it here. “’Nother three Woodforde’s and two G-and-Ts, please, mate,” he said to the barman. He had a deep, garbled voice that reminded Jesse of Prince Harry—top of the “celebrities I am allowed to sleep with” list he’d had with Cameron. The guy turned to Jesse and raised his eyebrows.

“You were out running this morning, right?” said Jesse, before he could stop himself.

“Ha, yeah. Unsuccessfully,” he said.

“How come?”

The guy seemed confused. His cheeks colored slightly.

“Oh, uh, y’know. Suboptimal terrain,” he said, and Jesse could hear the air quotes in his voice, but wasn’t sure what he was alluding to. This must be the famous British sense of irony.

“Sure,” said Jesse.

“You on holiday? Sorry—vay-cation,” said the guy, in a twangy New York accent.

“Kind of. I’m also working.”

He could feel his adoption story about to spill out again, like in the airport, and stopped himself.

“Doing what?”

“Research,” he said. “I’m making a short film.”

“Cool,” said the guy.

Jesse waited for him to ask what it was about, or to question why he was working over Christmas, but he said nothing.

“Are you from around here?” said Jesse, fearing the conversation might end.

“We have a house here.”

“Cool. Must be a nice place to relax.”

“Yah. So beautiful. I love it here, the sea, the air. Awesome.”

“It’s beautiful, right?”

The barman set down the drinks. “And a pint for this fine gentleman,” said the guy, gesturing to Jesse.

“Hey, cheers—I appreciate it,” said Jesse. His “cheers” still sounded off.

The guy mock bowed, but said nothing as he put the two notes on the bar and tried to pick up all the drinks at once.

“Let me help you,” said Jesse, taking the gin and tonics.

“Thanks—George, by the way,” said the guy.

“Jesse.”

“Jesse. Good to meet you, mate.”

He followed George through the crowd, feeling the fizz of being invited to the popular table in high school.

Putting down the gin and tonics, he was unsure if he was expected to join the group or go back to the bar. They all seemed too drunk to notice either way. One of the men, who appeared to be the alpha male, was mid-story.