Field Notes on Love(58)

Hugo frowns. “Why?”

“To tell them that it’s one for all and all for one,” George says, and when Hugo just stares at him, uncomprehending, he shrugs. “If they won’t let you take a gap year, then none of us will go.”

“What?” Hugo says, too stunned to think of anything else. He adjusts his grip on the phone and turns his focus on Alfie, who looks rather pleased with himself. “I thought I told you not to say anything.”

“I thought you knew I had a big mouth,” Alfie says with a shrug. “Besides, it was George’s idea.”

George smiles ruefully. “Listen, if this family were a cake—”

“Seriously?” Poppy says, rolling her eyes.

“Do I get to be the sugar in this metaphor?” asks Alfie.

“Well, now I’m feeling a bit peckish,” says Oscar.

“All I’m saying,” George continues, “is that I like it when we’re all together. But I also want you to be happy. And I can see that you are. So we want to help.”

Hugo blinks a few times, dangerously close to tears. “That’s…” He shakes his head. “That’s incredibly generous. But I can’t let you do it.”

“It’s okay,” Oscar says. “We’ll only be bluffing.”

“Yeah, if they say no, we’ll back off,” Isla tells him. “It’s not like we have any other options at this point, and the rest of us still want to go. But we figured a show of solidarity might help with your situation.”

    Hugo shakes his head. “What if they call your bluff?”

“We’ll sort it out,” says Alfie. “It’s worth a shot, though, yeah?”

Hugo tries to picture it, the five of them trooping into the university council’s office, laying out their demands, arguing on his behalf. They’re all looking at him with different expressions—Poppy is determined, and George is protective; Isla is concerned, and Oscar is interested, which for Oscar is a massive compliment. Alfie, of course, is just puffed up with pride at the good deed he’s currently doing. Hugo has always been able to read them better than anyone, and with each of them, he knows this is a show of love. But he also knows he can’t let them do it.

“You’re all amazing,” he says, his voice filled with sincerity. The truth is, he feels a bit undone by all this. “And it means the world to me. But it’s not your job to sort this out.”

“It’s no trouble,” Isla says. “Honestly.”

Poppy nods. “We just want you to be happy.”

“I will be,” Hugo says. “I don’t mind coming home. Not really. I’ll travel next summer instead. Or on holidays. It’ll be fine.”

“That’s rubbish,” Alfie says. “You want to go. I know you do. So why not let us try?”

“No,” Hugo says a bit more firmly. “Just—please don’t do anything. I love you guys for offering, but it’s fine.”

Isla looks at him skeptically. “I think that must be a record for the most times anyone has ever said fine in a conversation.”

The connection wavers, their faces going frozen on the screen. Then, just as quickly, they’re back.

“Hugo?” Poppy says. “I think we’re losing you.”

    He manages a grin. “Never.”

“I think she meant the connection, mate,” Alfie says, and both Poppy and George reach over to punch him.

“I know,” Hugo says as the image flickers again. “Look, I should go. The service is a bit dodgy between stops. But thank you again. Really. You’re the best.”

“Who, me?” Alfie says.

Hugo laughs. “All of you. I’ll see you in a few days.”

“It won’t be so bad, Hugo,” says Poppy, but before he has a chance to find out which part she’s talking about—the apology to Mae or the end of the trip, the return home or the start of uni—the video cuts out.

There’s a speck of dirt on the window, and Hugo watches it move up and down as they pass fields of horses and cattle, sheep and goats. At a crossing, a rancher leans out of his pickup truck to watch them rumble by, and beyond him a field of wildflowers ripples in the wind.

After a few minutes, he slips his phone into his pocket and stands up.

Mae is in the observation car, sitting alone at one of the tables. Her head is bent over her camera as he slides into the booth across from her.

“That’s Mr. Bernstein’s seat.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Bernstein,” she says. “We’re in the middle of an interview. He was just telling me about proposing to his wife before he went off to Vietnam.”

“For the war?”

“No, for vacation.” She looks up at him. “I’m kidding.”

“Listen,” he says, “I’m sorry about before.”

    She gives him a steady look. “Which part?”

“All of it,” he says.

“You don’t have to be sorry about Margaret, you know,” she says, fiddling with the lens of her camera. “You have every right to see her. There’s a lot of history there, and—”

“I know,” he says. “But I am sorry about the film. I shouldn’t have watched it. Full stop. I betrayed your trust, which was an awful thing to do. And I’m also sorry about—”