Page 71 of Crocodile Tears

“Hey, little brother – no getting into fights when I’m not around to rescue you,” Charles teased.

Alex gave a grudging smile. When they were kids, Charles had always waded in to rescue him from fights, calming any situation with that special charm that nobody could resist.

“I’ll try not to do it again,” he said, feeling his bad mood subsiding. “How’s it going out there?”

“Brilliant! We’re having such a fantastic time. I wish you’d decided to come with us.”

Alex rubbed his hand wearily over his eyes. “I’d have only spoilt it for you. I’d have argued with Dad, and the press would have hassled me, then you’d have been upset and unable to focus on the regatta. I didn’t want to cost you the gold.”

Charles shot him a sympathetic smile. “I knew that was the reason you wouldn’t come, but I’m still worried about you.”

“Don’t be. I’m fine. So, how’s it going?”

“I got through all my heats. I’m in the final.” Charles beamed.

“Yeah, I know. It’s all over the news.”

“Be pleased for me,” Charles said beseechingly. “I want you to be proud of me, Alex.”

“The whole country is having an orgy of pride over you right now – you don’t need me to join in,” Alex said wearily.

“But nobody else matters, except you.” Charles glanced over his shoulder and then back again, furtively. “Not even Dad. You’re the only one Ireallywant to be proud of me. Nobody else.”

“Well, I’ll try, then,” Alex sighed. “Do you think you can win the gold?”

“I hope so, yes.”

“Even without Mum’s help?” Alex asked. “She was always the driving force behind your training – all those bloody performance spreadsheets.” He gave a wistful little smile. “And all the other ways she helped, too,” he added quietly.

Charles’s dimples faded for a second. “She’s with me. In spirit.”

“I’m sure she is. She’d love what you’re doing. Nobody could ever keep her down, and you’re the same.”

“Just wish me luck. Please, Alex. I know you didn’t want me to do this, and I’m sorry you’ve had all this trouble with the press, but please, wish me luck.”

“Good luck, Charles,” he said softly. “I mean it. I really hope you win the gold.”

His brother’s sweet, dimpled smile was all the reply he needed. He shut down the nanochat, headed for the kitchen, and grabbed himself a supply of alcohol, then retreated to his bedroom to seek oblivion.

Day turned to night, but it remained freakishly hot. The sweat trickled down his face as he lay on the bed, listening to the hacks camped out on the street below. They were laughing and shouting to each other, making it impossible to sleep.

He got up to close the window and a dozen flashbulbs went off. Slamming the window shut, he closed the curtains and threw himself back down on the bed. Without any air, the room was stifling.

He reached for the stash of croc Solange had left him and inhaled deeply. The mellow high hit him a few moments later, and, closing his eyes, he found himself back at the 2082 Minneapolis Olympics, four years ago.

It was baking at the opening ceremony, so Alex was relieved to find it cooler out by Long Lake, where the rowing events were taking place.

Nothing had prepared him for the hustle and bustle. It was overwhelming. The press followed him and his family everywhere, jostling them. His mother and Charles seemed to love every frenzied second, while he and his father trailed along behind, smiling stoically.

“I don’t know how Charles can bear it,” he said to his father as they sat in the corner of their hotel lounge, watching Charles give yet another impromptu interview.

Noah laughed. “He doesn’t seem to mind the attention.”

“Are you kidding – he loves it.”

“So does Isobel,” Noah pointed out.

Alex glanced at his mother. A little throng of reporters were gathered around her, too, hanging on her every word as she flirted outrageously.

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