Page 17 of Companion Required

Chapter Eight

Kieran

Kieran could not believe the experience of flying business. After completing his landing card, he’d managed to sleep for a full seven hours of the thirteen-hour flight, woken only three short times—once by rough turbulence, another to use the restroom and the last to collect and stow his duty-free purchase. After weeks on his sister’s soft couch, the bed’s firm comfort came as a welcome relief. And he woke now to coffee aromas floating out from the galley. Next to him, Kennedy, still in an upright seated position, had a folder open on his chest, but his sleeping head lolled to one side. Somewhat endearingly, he appeared vulnerable in sleep, his face unlined and at peace, not the tough persona he gave off when awake. Kieran liked him, didn’t feel threatened by him at all, but needed to keep in mind that at the end of the day, this was simply a job, a means to an end. Theirs was never going to be a lasting friendship.

After unclipping his seat belt and resetting his seat into a sitting position, Kieran crept to the toilet to freshen up. Even there, he laughed to himself at the opulence, spraying an Evian mist into his face, followed by one of the array of citrus colognes. Yes, he could certainly get used to this. But was he ready to meet the Kennedy clan, he asked his reflection? And what would they make of him? From what Kennedy said, he’d never brought any of those vacuous Ken doll kids with him. But surely his ex-partner had visited? So should he just be himself, or melt into the background, make himself scarce. No, he thought, standing tall in front of the mirror. ’Kennedy’s family would meet his true self, and whether they liked him or not was their choice.

When he finally returned, Kennedy had awoken.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” said Kieran.

“What time is it?”

While sitting back down in his seat, he checked his wristwatch.

“Eight in the morning.”

“In London, maybe. What’s that in Singapore time?”

“No idea. Shall I call one of the cabin—”

“No need. It’s on the monitor. Almost three in the afternoon. Two hours until we land. Singapore’s seven hours ahead, in case you want to reset your watch.”

Afternoon, mused Kieran, refastening his seat belt. Cole had warned him about jet lag, about getting used to different time zones. Jules had told him that if he could sleep on the long haul flight, he could work through the change and not experience jet lag at all. Time would tell. Right then, however, he felt fresh and awake. More importantly, the cabin crew had begun to set up his table for breakfast.

“Breakfast at three o’clock in the afternoon. Haven’t done that since uni.”

“Don’t think about it. Might take a couple of days to get acclimatised, but my advice is don’t fight tiredness. If you find yourself needing an afternoon nap, just go for it.”

“I feel fantastic.”

“You do now. But jet lag has a way of creeping up on you.”

“Ah, but you see, I have youth on my side.”

Kieran didn’t miss Kennedy’s raised eyebrow and smirk. But to be honest, right then, with his stomach full of fresh fruit, omelette and coffee, he felt ready to conquer the world.

Landing and disembarking happened so leisurely—memories of fighting to get his luggage from the overhead, and being crushed and jostled off a low-cost carrier flight in Ibiza, still haunted him—that they were in the carpeted bowels of Singapore’s trendy Changi airport within minutes. Immigration passed in a well-organised blur until they reached the luggage claim, their bags having already arrived. Even in that short time, Kieran sensed Kennedy getting tense, noticed him peering at his phone then looking around outside the big glass wall separating luggage claim from airport arrivals. Eventually he understood why.

“Is someone picking us up?”

“My father. Grab your bags and let’s go. Let’s not piss him off before we’ve even said hello. He hates to be kept waiting.”

Unsurprisingly, Jefferson Grey turned out to be an older, shorter but broader version of Kennedy. Dressed casually, as though he had been interrupted from a game of golf, he wore a grey polo shirt, grey tartan trousers, white belt and white sports shoes. Unsmiling, he gave his son a handshake followed by a perfunctory hug, the words ‘son’ and ‘dad’ being the only endearments passing from one to the other. Kieran almost smirked at the formality. After a few further banal pleasantries, Kennedy turned to introduce Kieran. When Jefferson’s face registered a flicker of distaste followed by an ensuing visual inspection, Kieran decided to go into action.

“Good afternoon, sir,” he said boldly, stepping forward and holding out a hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Jefferson took his hand and Kieran provided a firm handshake. “Can I say what a pleasure it is to be here and how grateful I am to you and your wife for allowing me to stay with you. Kennedy has told me so much about Singapore, and I’m absolutely delighted to have the opportunity to visit the republic first-hand.”

Perhaps he had laid the greeting on a bit thick and, peripherally, he noticed Kennedy turn to stare at him. The effect on Grey senior was instantaneous. The older man’s eyes widened and he nodded.

“Uh, you’re more than welcome. Any friend of my son’s, as they say.”

While Kennedy’s father flustered a reply, Kieran reached into his small backpack.

“And I’ve bought you a gift of thanks, a bottle of cognac.” Kieran handed over the duty-free bag to Jeff, once again to Kennedy’s astonishment. “Kennedy told me you enjoyed a tipple every now and then. Hope you like Hennessy XO, sir?”

“Um, yes, I do indeed. Very much so. That’s very kind of you. And please call me Jeff.”

Jeff began to lead them off towards the external doors.

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