Page 23 of The Fete of Summer

Australia

Nathan asked Jaymes to wait in the corridor while he returned to the dining room to find Clifton and explain why they needed to leave. His old friend was nothing short of magnanimous—probably used to getting calls at all times of the day and night—and told Nathan not to worry, to scoot off, but remember to keep the following Saturday night free. After a tight hug and a lingering kiss on Nathan’s cheek that brought up old memories, Nathan excused himself quickly. Before leaving, he made a point of seeking out Martin and Gallagher, who were understandably disappointed to see them go and insisted they stay in touch.

On their stroll to the Land Rover, Jaymes explained the reason for his sour mood. One of Clifton’s actor guests—he didn’t care to remember the name—had poked his head out of a small room across from the toilet and invited Jaymes into Clifton’s so-called recreation room. Apparently, the actor's pupils had appeared like black holes and Jaymes had spotted traces of white powder on one cheek. Nathan had no idea whether Jaymes was looking for justification for his earlier damnation of Clifton. Right then, he had other things on his mind, including the lingering scent of Clifton’s aftershave on his skin.

“Melbourne?” asked Jaymes, breaking the silence a good five minutes into the drive. “That’s where my sister lives. Who do you know in Australia?”

“Nobody. Although…” said Nathan, staring at the silhouette of hedgerows out of the side window. Something niggled, a memory of something he had packed away in a bottom drawer in the back of his mind.

“Although?”

Jaymes took his eyes from the road a moment to stare at Nathan. Incredible how they had only known each other a short while, and already Jaymes could read him.

“Just a feeling. But I think it might have something to do with my mother.”

“Your mother’s in Australia?”

“My mother died when I was a kid. Cancer. I’m surprised Polly didn’t tell you.”

“No,” came Jaymes’ subdued voice. “She told me about your father but not your mum. Shit, Nate. Both parents. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. It was a long time ago.”

Jaymes kept driving, lost in his thoughts.

“How well do you remember her?”

Since his father’s death, Nathan had often thought about his mother. Even as a preteen he’d sensed a distance in her, something internalised, the free-spiritedness of her Caribbean heritage caged by the mundanity of shop and village life. In his mind, he’d blamed the dull routine created by the shared responsibilities of running the bakery and bringing up a child for her illness, not that he remembered her ever complaining about her lot. If anything, she’d brought her sunshine into an otherwise dull day when serving customers. One thing he remembered vividly was the aftermath of her death. Life became monochromatic. For months, he’d woken from happy dreams to mute shock—like paralysis—at the loss of her. His father had turned distant and morose, too. Despite kind words from countless people, their routine had become shuttered.

“Pretty well. I was ten when she died. And we really enjoyed each other’s company. Clifton and I got to hang out so much because our mothers were best friends. Then I came back from school one day and Dad sat me down and told me she’d been taken to a special hospital. Needed extra-special care, he said. I only saw her once after that. Even with her colourful turban, her make-up and her joy at seeing me, I knew. Her cheekbones were too prominent, her hands almost skeletal. After that, whenever I asked Dad when I could see her again or when she was coming home he would tell me that we’d see. Clifton’s mum came by the shop a number of times and talked privately to Dad, and once told me how much my mother adored me. Two weeks later she was gone. I was so angry. In my head, I argued that if you love someone, you don’t just give up on life and leave them. You fight.”

Beside him, Jaymes breathed out a sigh.

“That’s hard at any age. But as a young boy, you must have been devastated.”

“Pretty much.”

“What makes you think there’s a connection between her and Australia? Family? Friends?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe something she said,” said Nathan, before letting out a sigh of his own. “You know, it may not even be about her. I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”

Jaymes pulled a hand from the steering wheel, gripped the back of Nathan’s neck and massaged. The strength and affection felt so incredible that he almost lost his composure. For all his joking around and flippant remarks, Nathan had begun to warm to Jaymes.

“I gave our contact details to Gallagher. Hope that’s okay?” said Jaymes.

“Fine by me. I wouldn’t mind catching up with them again.”

“Real people. Who have managed to stay the course. They’re an inspiration.”

Nathan sat quietly for a few seconds, considering how to articulate what he wanted to say next.

“For the record, Jaymes, a five-week relationship is a lot more than I’ve ever managed.”

When Jaymes pulled his hand away, concentrating once again on driving, Nathan missed the warmth and connection, and wondered if he’d messed up. Wary of pushing the matter, he fell silent again. Both concentrated on the Rover’s headlights as they picked out silvery raindrops starting to fall along the country lane. Eventually, Jaymes spoke.

“Everything happened a long time ago, when I shared a flat with my first serious partner.” Jaymes peered sideways at Nathan, waiting for him to respond. “Go on, you can say it. Jaymes and the word serious should never be used in the same sentence. Kind of brings things to a head, though, when you come home from a field trip abroad a week early, arriving in the early hours of the morning, an airport gift in hand, hoping to surprise your better half. Only to find them in the bedroom, off their face on recreational drugs, bound and gagged and tied to the bedposts and getting fucked by your next-door neighbour.”

“Oh.”

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