Page 47 of The Bright and Hungry Future of Hawks

He couldn’t decide if he ought to feel an ominous sense that they’d reached a place of perfection, this family life, from which it was all soon about to crumble—hawks crashing bloodied to the ground, proving, when all was said and done, to be little more than fragile, vaunting bundles of feather and bone.

Sure, something had shaken loose in Nikolas over the last year. Ben couldn’t entirely put his finger on where the change lay, identify one alteration in their eventful lives; he only knew it was real, substantial and whole.

It seemed to Ben that Nikolas was entirely at peace with himself for the first time since Ben had known him.

It wasn’t only his unnatural focus on Nikolas that allowed these insights either. The others agreed they sensed it too. Only a few weeks ago, Tim and Nikolas had gone together to a lecture in the Queen Margaret Rooms in Exeter. This was startling enough in itself. They had presumably discussed the outing, made plans, met up, gone, and no killing had occurred. More astounding was that they returned clearly pleased with each other and the content of the lecture—Psychopathology and Unifying Theory—and had, over a few bottles of an excellent vintage, tried to engage Ben and Squeezy in a discussion of this fascinating topic.

The next day, apparently more put out by not being invited to this soiree than Ben had been, or perhaps more annoyed that he hadn’t been able to contribute much to the ensuing discussion other than drinking most of the wine, Squeezy began claiming that given all thisbeing normal, Wassock must have found God—possibly Ben’s now forgotten one. Road to Damascus in a Devon lane.

Nikolas had replied unruffled that that was as likely as Squeezy discovering his missing brain cells there.

Ben, always trying to be helpful but also slightly put out by the accuracy of Squeezy’s observations on his religious life, had added that it was just Nikolas getting in touch with hisfeminineside—that he was, after all, fulfilling the role of Molly’s missing mother…

Nikolas had responded to that (later) by reminding Ben (extremely forcefully and for some hours) exactly what the definition of being masculine was—their definition, which Ben had tried to tell him (with face pressed hard into a pillow) hadn’t yet been included in any dictionary he’d consulted.

Once or twice at suitable moments during the planning for the holiday, when Nikolas was showing a hint of the man of the bad times, Ben slipped in the tried and trusted jibe that Nikolas was just getting old—the big five-O so close now they could almost taste the cake. Ageing had been refuted in the same way as the feminine insult. And just as vigorously.

That they could all tease Nikolas and get away with it so lightly only proved to Ben that something very fundamental had changed in the way Nikolas now perceived the world.

So, yes, some elemental changes had occurred that should wash away Ben’s always-present fears that the better his life got, the more likely it was to simply crash and burn around him.

But on the flip side of this, however, Ben knew only too well that Nikolas changed personas and even names, but fundamentally he always stayed the same. Change for Nikolas, even that which appeared real progress, was merely Nikolas adding a facet to a fractured whole. All the other cracks remained. It had not escaped Ben’s notice that Nikolas habitually skated serenely over the day-to-day detritus of their lives by not seeing it, leaving it to others to deal with. Sure, this currently meant only such things as planning food, carrying bags, or organising Molly’s routines with Sarah. But all of these minor yet important domestic issues Nikolas absented himself from as king of his tiny fiefdom. And as unimportant as this might be in the scheme of things, given some of the events of their lives, Ben did have the foresight to realise that Nikolas might also be applying this tactic to bigger things in his life.

It wasn’t necessarily the case therefore that Nikolas had at last entered a Zen phase of his life. It could be that he was just applying theignore it and it will go awaystrategy to his past too.

And although remembering Nik’s past never worked out too well for them, one thing Ben did know—ignoring it so it would go away was definitely worse.

“Stop it.”

Ben glanced over at the annoying comment. “Stop telling me to stop doing things. I’m thinking. I have told you before: I’m allowed to think. And don’t wake the children.”

Nikolas glanced behind, his gaze roving over the two droolers before he commented wryly, “It’s the subject of your thoughts when you have that particular expression on your face that I’m never so keen on. I think Barton Combe, I thinkBen is thinking…things. And then, yes, that expression appears. It is Timothy Watson’s disapproval glare on steroids.”

"Well I think this expression is justifiable."

"In your own warped imagination, possibly."

“Kristina?”

A small, indefinable huff.

“The Russianwifeyou never told me about? The woman who turned up at the scho—“

“I know who she is. Was. I merely meant—“

“Maybe Charlie will turn up demanding that insemination you denied her the last time.”

Nikolas made no response at all.

“Your American fiancé? Who tracked you down to—“

“I know who she is too, Benjamin!” This appeared to be forced somewhat through gritted teeth. After a moment though, he added with a private smirk, “And she was my brother’s fiancé. A small, yet significant fact you deliberately overlooked in your let’s attack Nikolas game. But if you want to play—perhapsyouwill lose your memory again, but actually retain enough this time to recall where babies come from.”

Ben turned fully to him. “Seriously?”

Nikolas held his hands up in mock surrender. “I have warned Sarah that if you suggest skinny—” He rubbed his arm thoughtfully where Ben had hit him. Although they were speaking in Danish, that exasperated punch was made in a fairly universal language, and Nikolas didn’t tolerate public displays of affection. Even when they were on their own except for the three encumbrances in the back, two of whom were asleep and one who didn't care.

“Unlike yours, my past is an open book, Nikolas.”

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