Page 44 of Gideon
“Do I?” He looks puzzled. “I don’t think I’ve ever fitted in anywhere.” He immediately looks profoundly uncomfortable, as I’ve found he tends to do when he’s admitted anything personal.
I take pity on him and pull him into a bakery. “I’m still starving,” I say. “Shall we get something?”
“When aren’t you hungry?” he muses. “You’re like a bottomless pit.”
It’s true, but I do have an ulterior motive. He’s still too thin and genuinely doesn’t spare much thought to food beyond a need to fuel. I’ve found, though, that if I say I’m hungry he’s too well-mannered to let me eat alone.
“I need more than peaches,” I say in a sad voice and he immediately capitulates, digging in his pockets.
“Of course. Let me get some change.”
I grab his arm, and we both still as a charge runs between us. I breathe in, hopefully unobtrusively. “No, it’s my treat.”
He hesitates before gracefully complying, and I order us both an almond croissant to take away as well as a couple of milky coffees.
“I don’t take sugar,” Gideon says, wrinkling his nose.
“You do until you’ve fattened up a bit.”
“Lovely. That’ll get me lots of jobs.”
“Are you worried by your weight?” I ask, astonished.
He shakes his head immediately. “No, that’s the last thing I’m bothered about. I usually do an intensive gym course for a month or so before a film, but apart from that I can usually eat what I want and not gain weight.”
We leave the bakery and meander past colourful shop windows. Flowers are everywhere, glowing in terracotta pots and hanging from the walls, making the air heavy with the scent of flowers and the sea. He throws out observations, and it intrigues me to see the workings of his mind and watch those clever eyes of his. For a supposed hellraiser, he notices the smallest, most charming things.
I don’t know how to do this. I’m so attracted to him that it makes my stomach hurt, but it’s more than that. I just want to be with him. Just talking and wandering like this makes me as happy as I’ve ever been. I’ve never felt like this about another man before, and it’s so fucking typical that it’s the one man I can’t have.
We finally make our way to a beach, and as if by mutual accord we settle down on a bench to eat our croissants. He finishes first, tossing the last of the pastry to a waiting bird who sits with his head cocked to one side appraising us curiously. I look at his long, slender fingers and imagine them round my cock and immediately launch into speech.
“Can I ask you something?”
He smiles and looks at me. “I’m sure you will.”
“What was home like?” He stills and I look at him. “You said you never fit in anywhere. Was that the same for home?” I stop. “I’m so sorry,” I burst out. “That was bloody rude.”
I just want to know everything about him and the time is seeping away for me to find it out.
“No, it doesn’t matter,” he says quickly. “I don’t mind telling you stuff.” He pauses, looking out to sea, and I turn in the same direction, hoping to relax him as it’s horrible to talk with someone making an X-ray of your face.
“I’m not sure my home was what everyone else had,” he finally says slowly. “I went to boarding school when I was seven.”
“That’s early,” I murmur, and Gideon shrugs.
“Not really. Not for the people my parents knew. It’s about average.” He pauses. “I didn’t want to go. I’d have loved to stay at home. I wanted to be with my mother, but she was very busy with charity commitments, so it wasn’t to be.”
“Did it get better when Milo came to the school too?”
He stares ahead, sitting very still. “Milo didn’t go to boarding school. My mother wanted him at home and my father does as my mother wants.”
A silence falls as I grapple with what he just said. “And she didn’t have you come back too?”
His long, thin fingers tighten on his coffee cup. “No,” he finally says slowly and wearily. “She didn’t. I was older anyway by then, but I stayed where I was.”
“I’m sorry.” My stomach feels like it’s full of snakes, writhing and making me feel sick at how rejected he must have felt.
Incredibly, he laughs. “It was slightly awkward sometimes because I had friends who were boarding because their parents lived abroad. Mine only lived about ten miles away from the school. I used to pretend that my mother was a mountain climber and my father a mountain guide. I told some incredibly elaborate stories about their daring adventures when I was ten, but they were slightly spoilt when my mother and father actually came to a swimming gala. She had a panic attack because of the height of the stands, and he made a fuss when he got tomato sauce on his jacket.”
