Boyfriend Material(117)

Miriam huffed. “I understand. People your age think people our age can’t know anything.”

“That’s not what I… Oh, forget it.”

“In any case,” murmured Oliver, “I am looking for more senior positions but they’d probably involve leaving London.”

This was news to me. But now was probably not the time to bring that up. Also it was weirdly jarring to think of Oliver being anywhere but, well, where he was. In that absurdly pretty house in Clerkenwell, which always felt like it smelled of French toast, even when it didn’t.

David folded his arms. “Didn’t think I raised you to be a quitter, Oliver.”

Pretty much at the same time his wife said, “What will we do if both our sons move away? You’re going up north, aren’t you? You always said you wanted to go up north.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Oliver tried desperately.

If David’s sigh of disappointment had been any more exaggerated, he would have passed out from lack of oxygen. “Yes, we’re aware of that, son. That’s exactly the problem.”

“For God’s sake. Stop it.” Oh help. That was me and I really wished it hadn’t been. But everyone was staring so I was kind of committed. “Can’t you see you’re upsetting him?”

There was one of those silences that made you miss screaming.

Then Miriam was glaring at me with what I was shocked to realise was actual contempt. “How dare you try to tell us how to speak to our own son?”

“I’m not. I’m just pointing out the blindingly fucking obvious. Which is, you’re making Oliver feel bad for no reason.”

“Step down, Lucien.” David stood up, which lacked a certain amount of impact because he was nearly a foot shorter than me. “We’ve known him a lot longer than you have.”

No use turning back now. “Yeah, that doesn’t change the fact that you’re being arseholes.”

Miriam did that you-have-nearly-made-me-cry look again. “Oliver, what on earth possessed you to bring this man into our home?”

There was no answer from Oliver. Which was fair enough because, honestly, I was asking myself the same question.

“Leave him alone.” I…shit…I might actually have roared. “Fine, you don’t like me. Well, guess what? I don’t care. I care about the fact you’ve invited my boyfriend to a garden party and seem to be getting off on torturing him. And clearly he’s too nice or too beaten down from years of this shit to tell you to go fuck yourselves, but I’m not. So…um. Go fuck yourselves.”

I’m not sure what reaction I’d been expecting. I mean, obviously it would have nice if they’d turned round and said, “Gosh, you’re right, we’ll go away and rethink our entire value system,” but I think that ship had sailed at around the point I told them to go fuck themselves.

“Get out of my house” was David’s predicable and, in context, not unreasonable reply.

I ignored him, and slid off the arm of the bench to plant myself in front of Oliver. He wouldn’t look at me. “I’m sorry I’ve fucked this up. And I’m sorry I’ve said ‘fuck’ so many times. Especially when you’ve been so amazing whenever I’ve needed you. It’s just”—I pulled in a shaky breath—“you’re the best man I’ve ever met. And I can’t sit by and watch other people make you doubt that. Even if they’re your parents.”

Finally, he looked up, his eyes pale and unreadable in the summer sunlight. “Lucien…”

“It’s okay. I’m going. And you don’t have to come with me. But I want you to know that…that you’re great. And I don’t know how anyone could think you’re not, y’know, great. And…like…” This was impossible. It would have been impossible if we’d been alone in a dark room. And here we were with a half-dozen people staring at us “…your job is…great and you’re really…great at it. And you look great in blue. And…” I was getting the feeling this could have gone better. “…I know I’m not your family and I know I’m just some guy but I hope you can believe that I care about you enough that…you can believe…what I’m saying about you now. Because it’s…true.”

I fully intended to say my piece and walk out of there with my head held high and whatever was left of my dignity. But, yeah. Didn’t happen.

I panicked.

And ran like hell.





Chapter 47


I hadn’t got very far—not even to the point of having to worry how I was going to get out of Milton Keynes—when I heard footsteps. I turned to see Oliver gaining on me rapidly. Seriously, it was embarrassing how fit he was and I wasn’t. I had no idea what he was thinking, partly because everyone has the same face while they’re running, but mainly because there was no way to tell how he was going to have taken that. The fact he’d come after me was a good sign, right? Well, unless he wanted to have a go at me for being rude to his parents.

“Oliver, I—” I started.

“Let’s go home.”

Did that mean “let’s go home because you’ve made me see my parents are emotionally abusive and I don’t have to stand for it” or “let’s go home because you’ve embarrassed me so much we literally have to leave town”? Even his nonrunning face wasn’t helping.