“You’re asking that in front of my future boss? I adore it. I wake up every morning desperate to deal with grumpy guests who expect to check in at nine o’clock and help comfort those who found the beds lumpy, the windows dirty, the seagulls too noisy and the whales unresponsive. I can’t imagine a more fulfilling occupation outside of Devan’s bed. I work very hard when I’m in that. He’s a slavedriver but he doesn’t use a whip.”
“God, Jonty!”
“I like you,” Cato said. “What do you like to do in your spare time?”
“Apart from your brother?”
Cato howled and Devan groaned.
“Well,” Jonty said, and Devan knew he was going to lie.
“I’m fascinated by the use of gravitational lensing to characterise the dark matter environments of galaxies and galaxy clusters, and statistical properties of the cosmic mass distribution. The interstellar medium is like MI5, it holds so many secrets. I mean, how brilliant that all this material is held and recycled between tenuous, diffuse regions and dense molecular clouds, from where it can be converted into stars, then tied up for long periods before being ejected back into the area from which it came through stellar winds or other outflows.” Jonty said all that at speed, barely pausing.
Cato was looking at him as if he’d never seen anyone like Jonty before. Devan was pretty sure he wouldn’t have.
“Do you actually understand what you said?” Cato asked.
“Of course I do.” Jonty put on his offended face. “I also like neuro surgery, the law, haematology, nuclear physics, Lego, Transformers and banking, but not literary fiction. Yuck.”
Cato laughed and Devan sagged.
“And do you have one impressive mouthful for each of my family?” Cato asked.
“I might have. I just hope I don’t muddle up banking and wanking.”
“You are a treasure.” Cato’s eyes twinkled.
“And mine.” Devan reached for Jonty’s hand, but he skipped away.
“I am, but I need the bathroom. Want to come and wipe my bum, Daddy?”
Both Devan and Cato stared at the closed bathroom door.
“Dad—”
“Don’t.” Devan cut Cato off at the pass. “We do not play those games. He knows better than to call me that, but push him and Christ knows what will come out his mouth. Hopefully not at the dinner table. But…”
“He’s fun.”
“Yeah, he is.”
“You know I was only flirting, right?”
Devan nodded.
“Though if he wasn’t yours, I’d make him mine. Cute and funny? He’s a keeper.” Cato moved towards him. “I wanted to warn you.” He lowered his voice. “Griff’s coming later today.”
Devan’s lungs locked.
“It was a last-minute thing. Mum doesn’t know. Dad does. He could hardly say don’t come when it’s Christmas. He knows how much Mum worries about him. Try to…” He gave a heavy sigh. “How come the least-suited person has to be the fucking peacemaker in this family?” Cato looked toward the bathroom door. “You have someone now. He’s nothing like Ravi, which is a really good thing. Stay cool.”
Devan straightened his spine as Jonty emerged.
“Let’s go down and have a lot of alcohol,” Cato said.
Devan and Jonty followed him. “I want to show Jonty around the ground floor.”
“In case I need to make a quick escape?”
“Obviously.”
“I’ll come too.” Cato completely ignored Devan’s pointed glare.
Jonty clung to Devan’s hand.
Devan went first to the music room. “This is where that awful sound was coming from earlier. Cato strangling yet another cat.”
“You’re just jealous because you didn’t learn to strangle one.”
Devan rolled his eyes. Not much had changed in this room since he’d left home. It was dominated by a grand piano and two oversized couches. All sorts of musical instruments hung on one wall—guitars, violins, saxophones, an oboe, French horn, while the other held ceiling-to-floor shelves crammed with books his parents had collected over the years. The ones that didn’t fit had been piled in teetering columns. Because it was Christmas, decorated pine boughs had been laid along the windowsills.
“Do you play an instrument?” Jonty squeezed his fingers.
Devan stared at the piano. What he played was hidden behind it. “Piano,” he muttered.
“We all had to learn the piano.” Cato shrugged. “But Devan plays—”
“Shut up,” Devan snapped.
“He’s going to find out. You know mum will make you play tonight. Christmas Eve is fixed in stone. Music before the film.”
“What do you play?” Jonty looked at Devan. “Mouthorgan?”
“No.”
“Triangle?”
“No.”
“Castanets?”
“No, stop trying to guess. Wait and see.”
“What about you, Jonty?” Cato asked. “Do you play anything?”
“Possibly.”
He’d told Devan he’d never learnt to play an instrument.
“I could pick one and you could teach me this afternoon, yeah?” Jonty smiled up at Devan. “Just well enough to play Baby Shark doo doo, doo doo doo doo. There’s only… four notes. Maybe I can do it already.”
He went over to the piano and Devan followed.
“Start here. This is D,” Devan said.
Jonty hit the note with his middle finger, then E.
“Now miss one,” Devan said.
Jonty played the rest up to the word Shark then pressed F instead of F#. But without Devan telling him, he worked it out and then started again. Jonty was so happy, his face wreathed in smiles, that Devan’s heart hurt with a combination of sadness that Jonty had missed so much and longing to give him the fucking world.
Cato clapped and Jonty took a little bow.
“A natural,” Cato said.
“A bullshitter.” Jonty grinned. “I’ll make up Christmas words by tonight then I can play and sing. Devan’s leg doo doo, doo doo doo doo. Devan’s arm… Devan’s mouth… Devan’s arse. You get the picture.”
“All too clearly,” Devan said. “Do not volunteer to perform if asked.”
“Now you’ve hurt my feelings.”
Devan sighed. “Fine. Play the shark song. The kids will like it.”
They moved from the music room to the dining room, panelled in oak complete with initials he and Griff had carved under the window. Well, Griff had carved his name and Devan had added his so that his brother didn’t get into so much trouble. He’d taken the blame for a lot of things when Griff had been small.
The long table was already set for Christmas Day’s meal. They’d eat tonight in the orangery next to the kitchen.
“Wow,” Jonty muttered. “It looks amazing. Just missing some plastic finger bowls. I told you your mother would love them. You should have let me buy them.”
Devan sniggered and Cato frowned.
“Jonty insisted on buying his own gifts.”
“You didn’t let him get finger bowls, particularly not plastic ones.” Cato looked horrified.