The Last of the Stanfields(83)

“So, you’re a fan of The Little Prince, too. It was the first book I ever really fell in love with,” I confided.

“You and a lot of people, I’m sure.”

“I know; it’s very unoriginal. And how about you?”

“Hmm . . . maybe Charlie and the Chocolate Factory? I have to say, I had quite a thing for Willy Wonka. But if I had to choose, I’d say Kipling’s poem ‘If’ was what really floored me when I was a kid.”

Of course that poem would strike a nerve with George-Harrison as a child. What boy wouldn’t dream of his father reading him those words? I hadn’t forgotten my promise to him, but I had so many other things on my mind at that moment.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re finally taking a stab at being friends, and I’m not really making it very easy on you, am I?”

“Who said that’s what I was doing?” I said, lying through my teeth.

“Honestly, I’m sorry,” he sighed. “Ever since we met, all we’ve talked about is our parents and the past. I was wrong to thwart your efforts to change the subject. Do you feel like maybe getting some air? I could go for a walk; I’m really feeling that sandwich.”

The normal Eleanor-Rigby would have said that’s exactly what you get when you stuff your face so fast. But I didn’t. Truth was, I was feeling anything but normal. Being with him was throwing me way off-balance. I grabbed my bag and followed him outside.

We walked the streets in silence, then ducked into a souvenir shop in search of a gift for Michel, but I couldn’t find anything my brother would like. Next, I saw a T-shirt shop and wondered if I could still pull that look off even though I wasn’t in my twenties anymore. When George-Harrison saw me hesitating in the doorway, he dragged me inside, scouring through rack after rack until he found a couple of options for me to try. I didn’t want to shoot him down right away, so I tried them on over the top I was wearing. He shook his head and ducked off to find a few more.

We must have looked like a happy couple out shopping. Back out on the street a bit later, I thought he might even try to take my hand. I don’t think I would have minded if he had, to be honest. It had been a very long time since I had gone walking down the street holding hands with a man. The fact in and of itself didn’t mean much. But when that kind of thought crosses your mind, you suddenly become convinced that there is something wrong with your life, and perhaps, even something wrong with you. Farther ahead, we came to a junction, just up the road from where we had parked the pickup. George-Harrison took a deep breath and turned to me.

“I’m having a really nice time,” he said. “I may be an idiot for telling you that, but I just felt like I had to say it.”

“You’d be an idiot if you didn’t tell me. I’m . . . having a really nice time myself.”

I took stock of the situation. There was a one-in-ten chance that he’d gaze into my eyes and go in for a kiss right then . . .

But he didn’t. The odds were against me, and it was high time to put an end to the masquerade. I had even gone as far as to buy one of the T-shirts he had picked out for me. I knew I’d end up wearing it back in London, all alone in front of the TV, wine in hand, raising my glass to my damned freedom.

As soon as my mind drifted to London, I thought of my father. The time had come to question him in earnest. I had a creeping feeling that he knew a lot more than he was letting on. He had to. So, I wandered away from George-Harrison and found some privacy on a nearby bench.

It was only eight o’clock in the evening in Croydon, so there was no risk of waking him up. But after five rings and no answer, I started to worry. When at last my father answered, I could hear boisterous, jolly voices in the background.

“Ray Donovan speaking,” my father said, clearing his throat.

“Are you watching TV? I can barely hear you, it’s so noisy.”

“Nope, I’ve got company!” he replied. “Maggie and Fred dropped by to see me. It must sound like a bit of a madhouse in here. They brought a couple of friends and some excellent wine—more than one bottle, if you catch my meaning.”

“Really? Which friends?”

“A very nice couple. He’s in the restaurant business like Fred, and she works in advertising. I don’t think you know them. Care to say hello to your sister?”

Maggie hadn’t shown even an ounce of interest in my quest since I got to Baltimore. It seemed like she couldn’t care less, or at least not enough to merit an international phone call in any event. I had no desire to feign casual conversation with my sister at that moment. Especially since these friends I had never heard of were suddenly making me feel shut out of her life. Who were they anyway? Fred’s buddies? Of course, the truth was that I was jealous of my sister for having a social life at all, something I was sorely lacking. The jealousy went hand in hand with shame. Maggie wasn’t responsible for my life choices, and it was up to me to live with the consequences. Someday, I’d have to apologize to her for being so mean and unfair. Why should I care if Dad was helping her out here and there? Money never meant a thing to me, and I would swear on all that was Absolutely Fabulous and holy, on Saints Edina and Patsy, that I was as selfless a sister as they come.

“Elby? Are you there?” he said.

“Actually, I was hoping to talk to you alone,” I finally said. “Would you be able to get somewhere quiet?”