Page 67 of When We Were Friends
The worst had happened.
Hugohadturned into his dad.
It stopped now. It wasn’t too late to change. His remorse over last night told him that. Firmly, he pulled his father’s hand off his collar, his athleticism giving him the advantage. Garth stood up and threw a punch. Hugo veered sideways before standing up taller, stronger. Nowhetook Garth’s collar, dragged him to the wall, pushed him up against it, held him there, his grip not loosened by his father’s struggles, tight enough to keep him trapped, but not bruised.
‘You ever fucking touch me again and you’ll regret it,’ said Hugo, very clearly, his nose practically on his father’s.
‘Don’t you dare speak to…’
‘It’s over.’
Garth broke free and threw another punch, saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth. Hugo caught his arm. ‘Play nice and I won’t tell Mum. I’ll go to sixth form college, then uni. I’ll leave you two alone.’
Hugo had no reservations about lying, not when it was to protect his mother. A plan had built in his mind, over recent weeks, as the deception with The Secret Gift Society got out of hand, as he became fond of the four members he was on a path to destroy. He was going to have an honest conversation with Mum and was going to ask her friend, Mlle Vachon, if they could visit one afternoon. Hugo could tell by the way the French teacher looked at him at school that she knew he wore a mask. If anyone could help, it was her. Once, he’d heard Mlle Vachon and his mum talking; he’d been thirteen and was starting to see his dad through different eyes. Mlle Vachon asked Mum if she was happy and Mum talked about how lucky she was to have a husband so devoted to her, who took control of the money. He said he was better at maths and didn’t want her to worry about that. Also he was such a good judge of character and could spot bad friends of hers a mile off before they had a chance to hurt her, pressing her to drop them.
Mlle Vachon had replied. ‘Control isn’t love, it’s a form of management. Of governing. Of ruling over. Of no equality. It is everything a relationship shouldn’t be.’
Mum simply replied that Mlle Vachon didn’t understand, that their relationship wasn’t like that. Even if it was, she could never say anything, Hugo might get taken away by social services. Mum had given a nervous laugh.
Hugo had felt guilty at the small voice in his head that said he longed to be taken away from his dad. But he could never leave Mum. As it was, he existed in a cloud of guilt that he wasn’t able to stop Garth from making her life so miserable.
But fuck that, now he was sixteen. He wasn’t a kid any more. Now Hugo could work full-time, have legal sex, drink alcohol out with a meal, ride a moped, he could join the army, do so many things. That included standing up to a coward – and helping his mum leave him. He would stand side by side with Mlle Vachon; his mum might listen to the two of them together.
‘Wait ’til I tell your mother about this,’ spat Garth.
Hugo let of his father’s arm and smiled. ‘But you won’t, will you? Because you worry I’ll tell her the truth. Then there’s the small matter of the police.’
Garth stepped away. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You never thought this day would come when I couldn’t put up with your shit any more? The number of people, teachers too, who’ve seen my bruises at school. The police would never find the imaginary boxing club I talk about to cover you, proving your guilt. You think next door hasn’t heard your shouting? Theses terraced walls are paper thin. I can tell by Mrs Taylor’s sympathetic looks that she’s listened to your gaslighting word for word, especially after you’ve been drinking. That’ll be why her husband won’t have anything to do with you.’ Hugo gulped and tears came out of nowhere, running down his face.
Garth burst out laughing. ‘Oh, look at Mummy’s boy. This is all bluff. Christ, you’re going to get a hiding.’
He moved forwards. Hugo did as well. Garth looked confused.
‘Yes. I’m my mother’s son. Thank God. Human. Sensitive. Loving. What’s fucking weird is youlaughingin a situation like this.’ Hugo’s voice shook. ‘I loved you once, Garth, but you should have had my back instead of punching it every time I wasn’t looking. It was your job to keep me safe, to help me build my confidence. Instead, I’ve spent my childhood tiptoeing around. We could have been best mates. You wouldn’t have cared if I hadn’t been football captain, or hadn’t been voted prom king. You’d have simply been proud of me for being me, and helped me navigate this mad world.That’swhy I’m crying because I finally accept it will never happen. You’re a monster who’s torn me down instead of building me up. You’re a whiny, needy little child at heart. I have no father.’
Hugo wiped his eyes and gave Garth a hard look before walking into the kitchen to clear up the spilt tea and wash up. He tipped Garth’s roll into the bin. Garth went to protest but one raised eyebrow from Hugo and he skulked upstairs.
38
MORGAN
Morgan passed around a packet of tissues. Mlle Vachon blew her nose.
Poor Hugo.
Poor Felix.
A lump formed in Morgan’s throat. Their geography teacher used to pretend to punch people who were talking. Everyone hated him. He threw a fist at Hugo once, missing his head by a mile, but Hugo had ducked. The whole class laughed. Morgan had never seen Hugo look so pale. Of course, he’d recovered quickly, got to his feet, put up both his fists, did a funny boxer’s dance. The teacher sent him outside for disrupting the lesson.
‘Felix saved his mother,’ said Mlle Vachon. ‘I could never make her see sense on my own. It broke my heart.’
‘He’s still genuinely remorseful about the prom, about everything,’ said Paige in a quiet voice.
‘Was Garth the person he was running away from when he left France?’ asked Emily.
‘Yes. His dad got wind of Sylvie’s death. Felix guessed he was looking for money. Felix inherited his grandparents’ house, just as his mum had, after her death. He wasn’t afraid of Garth but once and for all, didn’t want to see him ever again, reckoned he’d always be turning up, trying to blag favours, money, and preventing Felix from leaving the past behind. So he came back to England as quickly as he could and changed his name by deed poll. Felix was always his first name, after Sylvie’s beloved grandfather. Garth hated it but it was the only thing she ever insisted on. As a compromise, Garth chose Hugo as a middle name and that’s what he was known by. Barron was Sylvie’s maiden name.’ Paige sipped her wine. ‘He’s never told me much about the detail of the relationships he had with you three. He’s… loyal like that.’
