Boyfriend Material(73)

“Thankfully, you do have a fake boyfriend who can drive.”

I cast him a sidelong glance. “I know. And I’d offer to make it up to you, but you keep turning me down.”

“Just an observation, Lucien. There are other ways to make things up to people than sex.”

“So you say. I remain sceptical.”

He gave a little cough. “How are you feeling about seeing your father?”

“Inconvenienced.”

And, ever the epitome of tact, Oliver didn’t push it. “Would you mind if I put on a podcast?” he asked.

Obviously Oliver was a podcast person. “Okay, but if it’s a TED Talk or the New Yorker fiction podcast, I’m walking to Lancashire.”

“What’s wrong with the New Yorker fiction podcast?”

“It’s the New Yorker fiction podcast.”

He plugged his phone into the dock, and the car filled up with Twilight-Zoney music and the weirdly sonorous voice of an American man.

“Okay,” I told him, “can we add This American Life to the no-fucking-way list?”

“Welcome to Night Vale,” said the weirdly sonorous American man.

I stared at Oliver’s serene profile. “What is happening?”

“It’s Welcome to Night Vale.”

“Yeah, I got that from the guy using the words ‘welcome to Night Vale.’ Why are you listening to it?”

He gave a little shrug. “I like it?”

“I figured that on account of you choosing to play it in the car for what will be a four-hour journey. I just didn’t think it was the kind of thing you’d even have heard of.”

“Clearly I have hidden depths. Also I’m rather invested in Cecil and Carlos.”

“Genuinely? Do you ship them? Do you have a Tumblr as well?”

“I don’t know what any of those words mean.”

“I’d have believed that, right up until the point I discovered you’re into Welcome to Night Vale.”

“What can I say? I sometimes need a break from listening to documentaries about current affairs and looking down on people.”

I was about to retort but something held me back. “Did I do the bad teasing again?”

“Maybe. I just didn’t realise you’d find it so shocking that I had an interest outside the law and the news.”

“I’m sorry. I…I like seeing other sides of you.”

“Is the side you normally see so objectionable?”

“No,” I grumbled. “I like that too. Is this why you don’t have casual sex?”

He blinked. “Because of Welcome to Night Vale?”

“Because you’re waiting for someone with perfect hair.”

“Yes. That is the reason.” He paused. “That, and instructions from the Glow Cloud.”





Chapter 29


Between Cecil’s honeyed tones and the fact I’d got up at seven, I might have fallen asleep. Oliver shook me gently awake, and I peeled myself out the car somewhere round the back of Dad’s insultingly idyllic rock-star farmhouse. To my complete lack of surprise, the parking area where we’d stashed the rental was very, very full of what looked an awful lot like a working film crew. I mean, there was even a motherfucking food truck, from which a bald man in a leather jacket was getting a baked potato.

“Well,” I said, “I’m really looking forward to spending some quality time with my emotionally distant father.”

Oliver’s arm went round my waist. It was worrying how natural that was beginning to feel. “I’m sure this will all be wrapped up soon.”

“It should have been wrapped up yesterday.”

“Then I suspect it’s overrun, which is hardly his fault.”

“I’ll blame him if I want to.”

We crunched over the gravel and between some outbuildings—all thatched and charming, although at least one of them had obviously soundproofed windows—and managed to nearly reach the front door before we were accosted by security.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

I sighed. “I’ve been asking myself that since we left London.”

“Sorry, mate.” The man put up a hand. “You can’t be here.”

“We were invited,” said Oliver. “This is Luc O’Donnell.”

“If you’re not on the show, you can’t be here.”

I half managed to turn away, but Oliver’s arm was making it difficult. “Oh, what a shame. Let’s go. If we hurry, we can make that lovely service station in time for dinner.”

“Luc”—Oliver wheeled me back around—“you’ve come a long way. Don’t give up now.”

“But I like giving up. It’s my single biggest talent.”

Sadly, Oliver wasn’t having any of it. He fixed the security guard with his best lawyer look. “Mr… I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Briggs,” offered the security guard.

“Mr. Briggs, this is Jon Fleming’s son. He has been invited and, therefore, has a right to be here. While I appreciate that it is your job to tell us to go away, we aren’t going to. If you try to physically prevent us from seeing Mr. Fleming, that will be assault. Now I’m going to walk past you into the house, and I recommend you go and speak to your manager.”