Page 104 of Fe
“I applied but it takes up to five years to be accepted or refused.”
“Wow. So do I have to be careful what I say tonight?”
“Say whatever you want.”
“Because you don’t give a shit what they think? Or you think they’ll take no notice anyway?”
Ripley squeezed his fingers. “Just be you. It doesn’t matter to me whether they like you or not. I like you and that’s all that matters. But if they’re rude to you, they’ll regret it.”
Fen snuggled against him.
If he’d thought Ripley’s place was lovely, the Armstrongs’ house in Hampstead was spectacular. Fen’s jaw dropped when Harry pulled up.
“Four floors, ten bedrooms, separate staff accommodation, underground pool and a private cinema,” Ripley said. “Oh, and a tennis court.”
“Did he win the National Lottery?”
“That would be so unjust. They’re rich but it’s family wealth from both sides.” He turned to Harry. “Thanks, Harry. See you later.”
“Did we not need to bring a bottle or something?” Fen asked as they made their way to the door.
“No.” He glanced at Fen. “Don’t be nervous. No one’s going to eat you.” He leaned in to talk into Fen’s ear. “Only me when we get home.”
“Now that’s all I’m going to be able to think about.”
“Good.”
Fen wanted to sayJust don’t leave my side!but he didn’t.
21
Fen decided he wasn’t going to give Ripley a chance to leave his side. If he could have held his hand, he would have done but he sensed Ripley wouldn’t want that. Yet almost as if he knew how knotted Fen’s stomach was getting, Ripley occasionally touched his arm or his back or shoulder in reassurance. All names Fen heard went in one ear and out the other. He really hoped it didn’t matter. He was in awe of the house, which was totally amazing. His father probably lived somewhere like this. The thought annoyed him.I don’t bloody care where he lives.
The huge Christmas trees in the hall and the lounge—both of them artificial—looked like something you’d see in a magazine featuring the homes of the rich and famous. They were perfectly decorated, and themed to within an inch of their lives. Rustic in the living room, with little wooden stars and ornaments, silver and blue in the hall. Presents were already piled beneath the one in the main room, wrapped in shiny paper with ribbons and bows. It all looked…false. Fen wondered if those who owned the house had done any of it.
He wanted to buy Ripley something for Christmas, except he’d made his feelings about this time of year quite clear. Still…Fen would think about it. He shook the hand of Matthew, who looked surprised when Fen had been introduced. Fen didn’t bother wondering why. Ripley must have known about this party for ages but maybe only decided at the last minute to bring him. Cressida gave him a smile showing off her veneered teeth. Matthew dragged Ripley away to talk to someone and Fen tried to think what to say to her.
“One of my best friends is training to be a doctor at Guy’s.”
“That’s where I work.”
“Oh. Well, I’m not going to ask if you know him because that would be stupid.”
She smiled. “What’s his name?”
“Morgan Hughes.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Phew.”
“What’s with the crutch? Injury?”
“Affectation. Or it might have been the kicking I had from a sheep.”
She looked at him as if he were mad. Of course she did. He was an idiot. She excused herself to talk to someone less stupid, and Ripley came back. He introduced Fen to various people as they drank and ate exquisite canapés. Fen found himself edging closer and closer to the blazing log fire while he constantly fended off questions about his crutch. He knew people didn’t mean to be nosey but there was no way he wanted to constantly explain his BMD.
No one was sitting on any of the couches and chairs, probably because they’d disturb the perfectly plumped cushions, but after Ripley had, yet again, been manoeuvred away to talk to someone else, Fen sat down. Even the distressed coffee table was a feature, with vases of different coloured Christmas sprigs sitting alongside an ordered pile of hardback books. Fen tilted his head to read the titles.The Cold War Deconstructed. Eat, Drink, Nap, Live. English Gardens. Simple Living.He almost snorted at the latter. This house was as far away from simple living as he could imagine.
