House of Windows (12 page)

The neighbours’ cat was curled on the fence again, green glare fixed on Nick as he sat at the kitchen table, wading through his last assignment of the term, having already finished writing up his scruffy notes from the last two lectures. He tried not to think about how he would fill the holidays with so much of his work already done.

At least it’s better than the school holidays.
He’d invariably spent those in the clinical emptiness of his father’s law firm offices, sitting in deserted conference rooms, all slick black leather, white walls and abstract grey and blue prints. Working through his homework and coursework and anything extra he could find to keep himself busy was how he’d ended up so far ahead at school. ‘Change the things you can,’ he’d kept telling himself. Only work seemed to be the one thing he knew how to change.

Where books had been a comfort before at Roger’s, at his dad’s they had become a necessity, old books best of all: thick heavy tomes with stories that spread and twisted through other worlds, where he could walk like a ghost in the footsteps of other lives. The first holiday after he’d moved in with his dad, he’d fallen headlong into
Nicholas Nickleby
, letting the soft creased pages sweep the office away, replacing the cold chrome and plastic seats with a deep leather armchair beside a fire and, outside, a narrow cobbled street between wood and stone buildings. It had felt safer to ache for the characters’ misery than his own. A clean sort of sadness instead of the sticky unpleasantness of self-pity.

‘I thought you said you were going to get light bulbs?’ Tim snapped, slamming into the kitchen and practically punching the kettle on.

Nick looked up from the mess of papers spread across the table. ‘So glad to see you’re in a good mood,’ he snapped back.

‘How many times do we have to have this conversation?’ Tim slumped back against the counter, shading his eyes with a hand. ‘Either we just agree that I do the shopping all the time or you actually
do
it when it’s your turn.’

‘I’ll do it tomorrow, OK?’

‘So I get to work in the dark tonight?’

‘Just take a bulb from Dad’s study.’

‘And what if he decides to stay for the weekend after all, instead of going up first thing tomorrow?’

‘When has he done that since you’ve moved in? Use the bulb from the hall for now.’

‘So we can all fall over the mat when we get back later, after Gosswin’s Christmas party?’

‘Look, I’ve got to go out in a bit anyway. Dad asked me to pick up a present to take tonight. I’ll get the light bulbs then.’

Tim sank into a chair with a sigh. ‘Let’s just do both on the walk down.’ He slowly leaned forwards until he could rest his forehead against the table.

Nick grinned. ‘So I guess you’re not going to be able to enjoy all the free alcohol tonight.’

Tim turned his face to glare at Nick. ‘You wait till you’re old enough to drink.’ He pushed himself up as the kettle growled to a boil.

‘Hey!’ Nick said, when Tim took his mug away to the sink.

‘Nick, this tea is some hours cold and dead.’ He swilled the dregs out and tossed in a fresh teabag. ‘And as for tonight, here’s a lesson for you: almost all good hangover cures have alcohol in them.’

‘Please tell me you’re going to get drunk in front of Gosswin.’

‘I said I wanted to cure my hangover, not get myself defenestrated, thank you
very
much.’ He thumped a fresh tea clumsily down on Nick’s coaster then groaned. ‘Please tell me you’re not going to study every day during the holidays too.’

Nick cradled his tea between his hands, slurping a sip. ‘What else would I do? Get a job? Oh, right. I’m
fifteen
. Or I suppose I could get drunk and then sit about all day, moaning.’

Tim, who’d pillowed his head on his arms, lifted one hand to flip him the finger.

‘Do you know what I should get Gosswin from Dad? He’s never very specific when he wants a present for someone. Usually Secretary Sandy takes care of it. I think he said to get some brandy or Scotch but—’

‘You know they’re not going to let you buy alcohol, right? If we walk down together instead of you haring off early for an hour in the library, you can pick something out and I’ll be the responsible adult. Well, let’s not stretch a point. I’ll buy: you pay. And in return for my being totally magnanimous and even-tempered in the face of great provocation over the light-bulb situation, you will clear the laundry racks and do some of that ever-growing mountain by the machine. Or do I have to play nanny and start telling you that you’re forbidden to do your homework until you’ve done your chores?’

‘Give me a break. It’s Dad’s laundry.’

‘Then tell him to do it. Come to that, why do you have to pick up Gosswin’s present anyway? You going to start buying your own next?’

Nick shoved away from the table and poured the rest of his tea down the sink. ‘What’s wrong with helping out when he’s so busy?’ He stomped towards the stairs.

Tim dragged himself to his feet and started upstairs as Nick’s door slammed above him. ‘I am far, far too young to be even partially responsible for a teenager in full strop,’ he told his bedroom door, resting his forehead against the wood for
a moment while the stamping crescendoed in the attic. ‘This was
not
part of the deal.’

Nick was toeing at the doormat when Tim came back down, pulling on his gloves and trying not to wince as his eyeballs protested the descent from one step to the next. Nick’s face brightened considerably when he saw Tim’s distress.

‘You are a cold and unfeeling human being,’ Tim told him.

‘Why did you get so trashed anyway?’ Nick asked.

‘Tough week to forget, friend’s birthday to celebrate. I would say you know how it is but—’

‘Is it worth forgetting for an hour or two when you’ll have even more time to remember the day after while you’re feeling rough?’

‘That,’ said Tim, yanking Nick’s hat down over his eyes, ‘is an astute and grown-up question. Please refrain from wisdom while I am in this fragile state. And stop mocking me: my hangover is not that funny.’

‘Says you,’ Nick answered, hunkering down into his coat.

The pavement glinted like broken black glass, catching the light in sullen orange and vicious silver-white glints. Nick heaved a sigh of relief as he pushed his way into the warmth of the off-licence. He flinched out of the way as Tim moved him a step to the side so he could get past.

‘Chill,’ Tim said. ‘I’m too cold to chuck you through a window.’

Nick made a sound that was probably meant to be a laugh, ducking away to prowl down the next aisle.

‘Give me strength,’ Tim whispered to the ceiling. ‘And now I’m doing it too. I’m talking to myself, and the furniture and the walls. I bet Gosswin knew this would happen.’

‘What are you mumbling about?’ Nick asked, popping his head around the corner of the aisle. ‘Aren’t you always telling me it gets up your nose when I do it?’

‘It does.’
Especially since you say all the important stuff under your breath
, Tim added, under his. ‘Now, please, for the love of all that is good and decent in this world, Moderate Your Volume as you tell me how much your dad wants to spend.’

Nick shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter.’

Well, it’s all right for some
, Tim muttered.

‘Mumbler,’ replied Nick.

‘Pest!’ groused Tim, picking a bottle off the shelf. ‘Come on. This’ll please her.’

Outside Tim shoved the bottle into Nick’s arms. ‘Your present, you carry.’

‘Why are you
running
?’ Nick panted, trotting to keep up. ‘And why’s it been such a bad week that you needed to blitz yourself? The coffee shop can’t be that bad with Ange there, but you said you had a “tough week to forget”. I know we’re not best mates or anything, but what’s the big secret?’

‘Broke up with my girlfriend.’

‘Oh. Sorry.’ Nick frowned up at him for a few paces. ‘Um … I thought you broke up with your girlfriend weeks ago. Isn’t that why Ange was cross with you the day you moved in? Or was there someone else and that
other
break-up
was the reason for the argument you had that time I found Ange camped out on the sofa while you sulked upstairs?’

‘Does my pointed silence not give you the sense that I’d rather not talk about it?’

‘Sorry. Forgot we don’t actually talk to each other. I’ll stick to the snipe-and-banter.’

‘I like the snipe-and-banter,’ Tim said.

Nick looked up at him solemnly, no humour in his sharp little face. ‘Don’t you ever get tired of it?’ he asked, then shouldered past Tim into the p’lodge before he could answer.

Tim caught up with him at the bottom of the stairs to Gosswin’s rooms only for Nick to let go of the heavy wooden door before he was properly through it. At the top of the stairs, he snatched Nick’s hat from his head so that his hair stood up in all directions, grinning beatifically at Nick’s growl.

‘Already torturing each other like feuding siblings, I see,’ Professor Gosswin said, handing them each a glass of sherry.

‘The very thought causes me physical pain,’ groaned Tim.

‘Back atcha,’ Nick snarled. He held the bottle of brandy out to Professor Gosswin. ‘From Dad.’

‘And will your troublesome parent be gracing us with his presence?’

‘Bill’s bringing him … Or not,’ he added as Bill, but only Bill, appeared in the doorway and gave them an apologetic wave.

‘Should you be having that?’ Bill asked, eyeing the glass in Nick’s hand.

Professor Gosswin fixed Bill with a look. ‘One very small glass of College sherry is
de rigueur
for all my guests, Mr Morrison. Go and find one for yourself
forthwith
.’

Bill saluted.

‘Tim’s got a hangover. Make sure you speak loudly to him,’ Nick told Gosswin, as he followed his godfather.

‘Mr Morrison visits quite regularly, I hope,’ Professor Gosswin said, watching Nick and Bill bickering amiably over the drinks table.

‘He’s been once since I moved in,’ Tim said.

‘I suppose it is a start. And how are you finding life in the Derran household?’

Tim shrugged. ‘Michael’s hardly there. Nick and I get on all right, I guess.’

Professor Gosswin’s eyes narrowed.

‘I mean,’ Tim hurried on, ‘Nick can be touchy, but we rub along. I know you hoped I’d develop some sort of weird big-brother complex and take him under my wing but I told you I’m not up for that. And it turns out he isn’t either. He doesn’t ask me for anything, and I don’t boss him about. It seems to work. Anyway, Nick’s hard to get to know: he says all the important stuff in mumbles.’

‘He doesn’t mumble with
me
,’ Professor Gosswin said. ‘Not only do I refuse to tolerate it, I have brought Mr Derran to understand that I want to hear what he has to say.’

‘Look, it’s complicated. I can’t help knowing stuff Nick would rather I didn’t. I see how much time he spends alone. I know that even when Michael is around, he scurries into his
study at the first available opportunity and barely emerges for meals – and even then he’s more focused on his phone than talking to me or Nick. Nick’s scarily patient with him: I know it’s not how
I
’d be if my dad told me he was coming home for dinner then showed up three days later. I don’t think it’s that they feel I’m intruding on their family life.’ He let the
because there’s no family life to intrude on
remain unspoken, though something in Professor Gosswin’s eyes told him she understood. ‘Nick’s … He’s just so … composed. Self-reliant. I figured maybe he’d be a bit freaked out underneath it all about the burglary, though I haven’t seen much sign of it. But there’s always this tension, like a tight little spring. He’s not exactly restful company.’

‘He throws himself into his work too much,’ Gosswin said softly, the tone bringing Tim up short. ‘There needs to be something else in life for a boy that age. He needs a role model who does not spend every waking moment working.’

‘You picked well with me.’

Gosswin gave him a pointed look. ‘You, Mr Brethan, have a reasonable balance between your academic and social life.’ Her eyes travelled past him.

Bill and Nick were laughing. There was colour in Nick’s cheeks. He looked like a normal teenager.

‘Now, Mr Brethan,’ Professor Gosswin said sharply, ‘you should go and speak with your former Director of Studies. He is lurking in my kitchen, devouring the olives. I have business with Mr Derran.’

Tim watched the dignified, upright figure stride through
the crowded room to stand next to Nick. They moved away to the window together. Gosswin took hold of Nick’s arm to settle herself into an armchair, then he sank on to the footstool beside her.

‘Thick as thieves. Would you believe it?’ Bill asked, coming to stand next to Tim. ‘Seems my godson has found a most unlikely kindred spirit.’

By the time the taxi dropped them back at the house after the party, it was past midnight. As they shed coats and scarves and hats and gloves and shoes in the hall, Tim realised that the house had never felt so much like a home. Watching Bill drape an arm over Nick’s shoulders to propel him upstairs, laughing over his hiccups as he started to feel the effects of the second sherry Gosswin had slipped him, Tim had to wonder how often Bill wished he were Nick’s father.