Page 47 of Crocodile Tears

“Why don’t you ditch the croc, ditch Neil, and live life on your own terms, Alex? Then you’d be free.”

He got out of the bed, feeling irritated by the unwanted life advice. “Why don’t you display any of your artwork in your flat?” he asked abruptly, gesturing at the clean cream walls.

“You answer my questions, and I’ll answer yours,” she said sweetly.

“I’ve never seen so much as a doodle; I doodle all the time.”

“On every available surface – I know.” She gestured to the napkin on the bedside table, which was covered in little drawings of flying ducks.

She got up and wrapped her arms around him, her breasts warm and soft against his back. “What’s stopping you, Alex?” she asked. “Why not tell your dad you’ve been taking croc, promise to give it up, and be rid of Neil? Is it about your mum?”

Pulling away, he threw himself down in a nearby armchair. She refused to take the hint, and, draping the sheet around her, she sat on his naked lap and entwined her arms around his neck.

“Why did you take so much croc that day, Alex? The day of the accident?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged.

“What happened? Do you ever talk about it?”

“Who with?” he snapped. “My father, who can barely stand the sight of me? Or my brother, who has to live every day with the consequences? Or maybe Neil?” He gave a disbelieving bark of laughter.

“Then talk to me. I’m listening.” She rested her head against his chest and smiled up at him.

“I don’t know.”

“Go on. I won’t judge you – you know that.”

He was silent for a long time, but she sat there, patiently, and finally he began to talk. “It was a beautiful day,” he said, gazing out of the window at the pouring rain. “Bright sunshine, warm. It was the first time we’d had a chance to relax and hang out since the Olympics. Everyone was all over Charles in the first few weeks afterwards; he was busy doing interviews everywhere, but then he had a free day, and he and Mum wanted to do a victory lap around the local area to show off his gold medal. When we were little kids we had a housekeeper, Mrs Tyler. Mum hated her, so she used to take us out for these long drives to get away from her. Charles wanted to recreate that, I think.”

“Your housekeeper was an IS, right? Why didn’t your mum get rid of her if she didn’t like her?”

“My father wouldn’t hear of it. Mrs Tyler practically brought him up with her own son after his mum died.”

“So why did your mum hate this Mrs Tyler so much?”

“She said that Mrs Tyler acted like she was in charge, because she’d been running the house for so long, and that made Mum feel like a guest in her own home. She also thought that Mrs Tyler disapproved of her and looked down on her, like she wasn’t good enough for my dad because she was born and grew up in a government work camp.”

“I see. So, when you were little, your mum used to pack you and Charles into a duck and drive you around the countryside, so she could get away from disapproving Mrs Tyler… Go on.”

“We always stopped at the same pub for lunch – The Dark Horse. It was kind of a tradition. So that’s what we did on the day of the accident, too.” He paused, and Solange stroked his hair softly. “We were in such a good mood. Charles was so happy, because everyone loved him, and that’s all he ever wanted. Mum was happy, because she’d coached him to win that gold medal, which was allsheever wanted.”

“And you – why were you happy?”

“Because they asked me along,” Alex said simply. “I’d been at boarding school while they were off training, and going to races, and generally being completely obsessed with the Olympics. Mum looked after every aspect of Charles’s life – his diet, his races, his transport… everything. She kept a ton of charts and spreadsheets on his progress; she and Charles were always discussing them.”

“And you felt left out?”

“I suppose so.”

“Is that why you started taking croc to begin with?”

“Maybe. I liked how it made me feel. I had some trouble with school as well and croc helped.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“I was, I guess, a bit weird? I didn’t find it easy to fit in. I felt awkward, shy. The other kids seemed to dislike me, anyway. I found it hard to make friends.” He found it equally hard to admit it, but she was as non-judgemental as she’d promised. “Still do,” he murmured. “Itgot easier when I did the proverbial ugly duckling into swan thing when I was in my mid-teens, though I don’t understand why that should be. I haven’t changed – just my looks.”

“I was always pretty. It’s not always a blessing,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong – it definitely opens a few doors, but… it attracts some right sleazy bastards, too.”

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