Page 13 of Crocodile Tears

His ruddy skin suffused with a violent blush, Neil ploughed on regardless. “You’re a free spirit, Alex, a bohemian – an artist. Just look at how you dress.” He waved his hand at Alex’s outfit. “I’d feel stupid dressed like that.” He glanced down at his own brown Eco-Dry trousers and green sweater ruefully. “But on you, it looks right. I mean, anyone looking at me would guess I’m studying a dull subject like accountancy.” He gave a self-deprecating smile. “But you don’t look like someone studying business.”

“And yet I am,” Alex retorted flatly. “Lucky old me.”

“But if you really want to do art, then why?—”

“You’ve met my father,” Alex interrupted. “Do you seriously think that Noah Lytton, owner and CEO of Lytton AV, would pay for me to do anything other than a business degree?”

“I think he just wants you to be happy.”

“Is that why he sent you to spy on me?” Alex asked tightly. “Does that sound like a father who just wants his son to be happy?”

Neil sighed. “Yes, I think it does. He’s worried about you, that’s all, and it’s hardly surprising after what happened. He just wants to make sure you’re okay. That you’re not falling into old ways, bad habits…” He trailed off with a wince.

“He doesn’t trust me.” Alex folded his arms over his chest and leaned back in his seat.

“Can you blame him?” Neil asked quietly.

Alex had known Neil for five weeks, and his unwanted flatmate had never spoken to him like this before. “You don’t know anything,” he snapped.

“I know that last night you were drunk, or stoned, or both – and that you had croc in your pocket.”

“And I’m sure you’ll be telling Daddy all about it when we get home. Isn’t that what this weekend is really all about? It’s dressed up as some stupid birthday celebration, but really it’s a progress report on how Alex Lytton is handling his first term at university, and if he’s still rotten to the core or has transformed miraculously into a good boy overnight.”

“I think this weekend is about your father wanting to see you in person, to make sure you’re handling it okay. You’ve been through a lot in the last year, Alex.”

“Whatever.”

“I’ve been wondering if you behave this way because it’s your personality, or as an act of rebellion against your father,” Neil said suddenly. “Because I’ve seen a different Alex at times, when you think nobody is looking – there’s someone much nicer inside.”

“Is that so?” Alex shot him a withering glance.

“I didn’t mean…” Neil broke off, flushing.

“No, go ahead. Patronise me some more, why don’t you? Tell me again – what’s your degree in? Is it psychology? No, wait – it’s accountancy. I can see why that would definitely give you some insight into what makes me tick.”

“I’m just saying – you’re only hurting yourself with the drugs, and the drink, and all the pretty faces.”

“The bodies are pretty, too,” he shot back snidely. “And it’s none of your business, Neil. You’ve known me for a few weeks and suddenlyyou’re an expert? You’re just the indie my father employed to be my flatmate at university. That doesn’t mean you and I are friends now, or that we ever will be. We’re not. You’re just the hired help. Now shut the fuck up, so I can get some sleep.”

There was blessed silence for an hour as they continued to travel alongside the vast lost zone. During the Rising, land had been lost slowly, inch by inch. People had fought with all their might to keep what was theirs, constructing new flood defences as fast as the old ones failed, yet the implacable power of the sea had driven them out of cities, towns, villages, and hamlets, forcing them to abandon their homes. Each time an area became submerged, the government had zoned it as “lost”, sacrificed to the water.

Alex tried to imagine what it must have been like to live in a city disappearing every day – to wake up and anxiously examine the government postings and read that the place where you lived and worked, which you loved, was being swallowed up, street by street, until one day it was your turn to flee.

An hour later, Neil pulled up at a motorway service station. “I need to piss. Plus, I could do with a coffee,” he said, climbing out of the duck. “You coming?”

Alex wanted to decline, but he was in the mood for a good, strong cup of tea. Heads turned when they walked into the building, making him wonder if there would ever come a time when he wasn’t looked at and talked about. It had been over a year since the accident, but still people turned to stare wherever he went. He pushed his sunglasses on and did his best to block out all the judgemental glances and snide whispers.

They took their drinks outside, to a dirty but secluded garden area, so that he could smoke. Years ago, before the Rising, the government had brought in a law that raised the smoking age every year. Now, it was technically illegal for anyone to smoke, but that was just one of many Pre-R laws that people ignored these days.

“Are you going to tell my father about the bloke I brought back last night?” he asked. “I’m not sure if casual sex is in your brief, or if it’s just the drugs and drink he’s interested in.” Taking a long drag on his cigarette, he blew out a plume of smoke.

A pretty girl at a nearby table waved it away irritably until she realised who he was. Then she looked torn between glaring at him and flirting with him. He was used to that. She made her decision and shot him an inviting smile, which he ignored.

“I assume your father doesn’t know that you’re bisexual, then?” Neil asked.

“No.” Alex took another moody puff on his cigarette.

“Would he care? I mean, gay marriage has been legal since Pre-R times, and nobody really gives much of a shit about it anymore.”

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