“We’re close now.” Devan glanced at him. “Then we can finish what you’d started before the police turned up.”
“While we’re sitting at the bottom of the driveway?”
“No.”
“Halfway up the driveway?”
“No.”
“You are no fun at all. If you’re mean, I’ll take your Christmas present back to Help the Aged.”
Jonty stared out of the window and suddenly shrieked. “Wow, that road’s called Big Bottom Lane.” He chuckled. “Is there a Little Bottom Lane? I’d love to have my picture taken there.”
“There’s a place called Scratchy Bottom in Dorset.”
Jonty laughed and pulled the map book out again. “I’m checking.”
“I’m offended you don’t believe me.”
“I do. I just want to see what else there is. Oh now I feel sick.”
“That’s because you’re trying to read.”
Jonty thought it was more likely down to his increasing anxiety.
As they passed the sign telling them they were entering Lower Wotton, the roads became darker as trees arched over them. Jonty’s heart started to beat faster and his stomach churned more violently. He was used to desperately wanting things ever since his mother had walked out and left him with his father when he was a young boy. He was equally used to not getting them, though Devan was always trying to please him. Which made it even more important that Jonty did this and didn’t mess up. It was Devan’s family and Jonty’s first family Christmas since he was seven. He just had to conquer his nerves and be careful what he said.
Doomed then.
“I need you to do something for me,” Jonty said. “Memorise what I’m going to tell you and repeat it when I ask you to.”
“Okay.”
“He began the day as he always did, by counting how many shades of green he could see through the window of his prison.”
“What?”
“Just remember it, please. Need me to say it again?”
“No, I got it.”
Devan turned off the road onto a narrow lane, then made a left through tall wrought iron gates onto a gravel drive lined with bare trees whose branches reached across the road towards each other making a skeletal tunnel. If there were gargoyles, he was going to make Devan drive home. Up ahead he could see…Oh God.
“You lied. You are a prince. You live in a castle.”
“It’s not a castle. It’s just a big house.”
“With turrets.”
“Yes.”
“A moat?”
“No.”
“Do I have to curtsy?”
Devan laughed. “Do you know how?” He pulled up in a gap between two BMWs.
Jonty peered out of the window. Stone steps led up to a large oak door festooned with a Christmas wreath. “How old is this place?”
“Few hundred years. It was built as a gift for one of Charles I’s favourite generals. A chunk of it was lost in a fire, then it was rebuilt at the beginning of the last century, eventually bought by my grandparents who had more work done on it, then it was passed on to my father.”
Jonty turned to look at him. “Were you happy here?”
Devan nodded and Jonty smiled. “I want you to show me everywhere you played, where you jerked off…”
Devan groaned. “Come on. Let’s get it over with. Leave everything in the car and we’ll get it later.”
Jonty followed Devan up the steps. He’d managed two by the time Devan had reached the top and turned to look at him.
“My legs,” Jonty wailed.
“Are still attached.” Devan held out his hand and Jonty forced his feet the rest of the way up Everest.
“Not enough oxygen,” he panted. “Thin air. Unconsciousness beckons. I’m in the death zone.”
Devan grasped his fingers. “Stop worrying. They’re going to love you.”
“As long as I don’t open my mouth.”
“Just be you.”
“You mean when your mother asks if we had a good journey, I can tell her we were stopped by the police and why?”
“You can tell Cato. He’ll find it immensely amusing.”
Devan pushed open the door and the smell of cooking rushed over them like a rogue wave. Christmas. Spices, fruit, pine, something cooking… There was a huge, real Christmas tree in the hall, smothered in big red and silver baubles, dangling icicles and thousands of white lights. It was bigger and more impressive than the one they had at the hotel. Stairs curved up behind it with a tall stained-glass window on the half-landing. Devan pushed the door closed, took a tighter grip on Jonty’s hand and tugged him over a rug-covered flagstone floor and into a kitchen, which was such an assault on his senses that Jonty faltered.
He was scarcely aware if anyone was in the room. His gaze flittered over cluttered granite work surfaces, a vast red couch strewn with cross stitch Christmas cushions, a red Aga, and a room of glass at the far end where there was a wooden table big enough for a football team. Nothing was tidy. That was what amazed him the most. There were books everywhere, old newspapers, unopened post, piles of Christmas cards, bottles of booze, toys, plates of mince pies, another Christmas tree in the corner and the sound of someone playing the violin in a room nearby.
Devan slung his arm over Jonty’s shoulder and mumbled something to him that Jonty didn’t catch. The room was too overwhelming, too… Family. Home. A painful lump formed in his throat.
“Jonty!”
Jonty came back to his senses. “What? I’m just having a moment of awe. You never let me have—”
“This is my mother. Mum, this is Jonty.”
Jonty turned to see a woman about his height with grey hair curled into a loose bun. She had Devan’s eyes, but wasn’t smiling. Jonty plastered a smile on his face and thrust out his hand. “Hello. I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs Smith… Doctor Smith. Sorry. Or are you a professor? Sorry.” Shut up!
“Georgina will be fine.” She shook his hand once and let it go.
“You have a lovely home. It smells fantastic.” Oh God. How lame can I get?
Devan gave his mother a hug and Jonty felt a pang of longing when he caught the genuine smile on her face.
“Lovely to see you,” she said to her son.
But not me.
“Where is everyone?” Devan asked.
“That’s Cato playing his violin. Venice and Ellen and their husbands are out with the children, trying to tire them out. Your father has escaped to the pub with the dogs. Everyone will be back for lunch at one. Why don’t you take your bags up and get settled in, then come down for a drink? We might snatch a moment of peace before the invasion. Coffee or champagne?” She looked at Devan.
“Coffee is fine, thanks.”
Devan bustled him back outside. It took them two trips to carry everything up to what had been Devan’s room when he was a child.
“What the hell have you bought?” Devan grumbled. “What’s in this big box?”
“Something I wish I hadn’t bought.”
Devan paled. “Not a sex swing.”
“I definitely wouldn’t wish I hadn’t bought that. No, that box is for your dad.”