Page 89 of Going Solo

“It’s fine! Do you know what the ducks do in that water?”

Cole waggled his hand. I shook my head. “Not until I know what the ducks do in that water.”

Cole laughed, turned around, and walked into the water. His arse was spectacular in the sunlight. His buttocks bobbed against the surface like a sexy floatation device, and I wanted to cling onto it like I was Kate Winslet and inTitanic. I watched Cole washing himself, rinsing away the evidence of the afternoon’s exertions. The water glistened as it ran down his body. You could paint this and hang it in the National Gallery, too, I thought. But the real prize was not the aesthetic beauty of the man in front of me but the privilege of seeingthisversion of him. This wasn’t Cole the pop star, Cole the showman, or even the Cole that secretly visited hospitals in his spare time. This farm was the one place where even Cole let Cole be Cole. This was his happy place, the place he knew he absolutely belonged. I recognised it because the salon was that place for me. It was the place where I grew up, where I was most comfortable, my most complete self, my most honest self. I understood why Cole had done so much to keep the farm private and to cling to his childhood home. I was honoured to be here. I stood and joined him in the water.

Cole started singing “The Flame.” Softly, at first, but as I added the harmonies, he grew louder. He stood in the shallows, water up to his thighs, sun shining on his magnificent body. He held out a hand, encouraging me to come deeper. I reached for it, and he guided me towards him. We held each other, naked in the water, with the summer sun beating down on us.

* * *

The dairy smelt like someone had made a smoothie using yogurt that had been left in the fridge for a week too long, and poop that had been left in the cow for a week too long. Cole told me the cows that looked like Genevieve were Jerseys and the black-and-white ones were Holsteins. Andy opened the dairy gate, and the cows wandered in. A dozen at a time would line up along each side of the shed and put their heads down to enjoy their dinner. Cole ran up and down the lines, washing the cows’ udders with a rag, and Andy ran along after him, putting on the “teat cups” that would extract the milk. I’m not going to lie, they looked like four Fleshlights strapped to a Pokémon ball by hosepipe. They bounced up and down on the cows’ nipples as the suction turned on and off, and you could watch the milk spurt into the Pokémon ball through the little round window. How had no one told the enterprising filmmakers from Raging Stallion about this?

After a while, Andy started singing “Hit the Road Jack,” the old Ray Charles song. It was wonderful to watch Cole and his dad, bouncing on their heels to the music in their heads. It took me a shamefully long time to realise it, but the percussive sound of the milking machine provided the perfect beat for the song. I pointed this out to Cole.

“Eighty-six beats per minute, but with the suction cycle it sounds like a hundred and seventy-two beats,” he said, over the sound of the machine. “Watch this.” Cole stuck a finger in the air and said loudly: “One shot!”

Andy replied, call-and-response-style, with the opening lines to Eminem’s “Lose Yourself”—and father and son bounced around the dairy in perfect unison, rapping together. I couldn’t believe it. I’d expect it from Cole, maybe, but Andy knew every word to the whole song. I sat on a stool in the corner, watching father and son singing and working together, absolutely in sync. I wondered how Cole’s news would change their relationship and, suddenly, understood why Cole hadn’t said anything at lunch. He needed this—this touchstone moment that symbolised being at home. He needed this time with his dad. One more afternoon of togetherness before sharing the news that he’d always feared might upset his parents and change his relationship with them forever.

* * *

That evening, Cole and I had dinner with the family up the big house. June put the kids to bed, and we all sat on the couch watchingBritain’s Cake Off, which was always a bit weird for me because the host, Raluca, had hostedPop Reviewbefore me. The judges were sampling the contestant’s Battenbergs when Cole lifted my hand to his mouth, kissed it, stood up, and disappeared from the room. I looked at Fiona, wondering what was going on. She shook her head gently. A moment later, Cole reappeared in the doorway with a bottle of liquor. I looked at Fiona again, more panicked this time. She shook her head again.

“Dad,” Cole said. “You got a minute?”

Everyone looked at Andy. Andy looked up at his son, then at the bottle. He took a deep breath, but his eyes shone with nothing but love and compassion.

“Bad enough to pull out your mum’s bottle of Teeling single malt,” Andy said, leveraging himself out of his armchair. “It must be serious.”

Cole turned and walked up the hall. As Andy followed him, he said: “If you’ve got that boy pregnant, Cole, so help me God…”

They’d been gone about half an hour when my phone pinged.

Denzil:Hey lovebirds.Deal with Sentinel looking shaky. Could use your help.

Toby:If this is wot I think it is the answer is no! We r not going public. Eva.

Denzil:Just one little picture together. Come on. He’s right there. Your phone is already in your hand. We need the publicity, bruv.

Toby:U dont own my private life. Im doing my bit.

Denzil:Big talk from an employee who’s currently absent without leave, Toby. Help a brother out?

I turned my phone off. I was starting to prefer being out in the fields, where there was no phone reception and Denzil couldn’t find me.

It was another hour and a half before Andy and Cole reappeared in the living room doorway, both red-eyed, Andy swaying lightly on his feet.

Later that night, back at the cottage, Cole snuggled in beside me in the bed and coiled his body around mine. There was no smell of alcohol on him.

“I take it you told him they found your birth parents,” I said.

I felt Cole nod against the pillow.

“How’d it go?”

“Surprisingly well.” Cole stifled a yawn. “He didn’t even bat an eyelid.”

I kissed him on the forehead. “You were gone a long time. I was worried.”

“We had a lot to talk about,” Cole said, one finger circling my nipple absently.

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