Page 81 of Everything That Kills Me
Over the next few days, Jack and Thomas took Django for several walks. He was a sweet dog but Jack was still surprised Thomas had kept him. They cooked together, watched films and went to buy Jack a car. They settled on an Audi A6 in gunmetalgrey. Seven years old but only one former owner and the mileage was low. Jack intended to give it to Zeph when he left.
He booked the channel crossing for mid-afternoon the following Wednesday, and also booked accommodation for that night in Villers-sur-mer in Normandy. A three-hour drive. After that, they’d decide on their destination together. Jack arranged to park the car in Cambridge. He didn’t like booking things but he was confident his ID was secure, both driving licence and passport.
Not Jack Steel, but Jack Morris. He hoped he wouldn’t have to explain that to Zeph. Jack couldn’t operate with second-class forgeries. Advances in technology made it harder and harder to get documents he could rely on. Forgers had to have the ability to clone chips and take retinal photographs. In truth, he could never totally rely on any fake document but it was worth paying a premium to get the best.
He packed a small bag to take back with him. He always travelled light regardless of how long he’d be away. The rule was not to take anything you weren’t prepared to leave behind. He could buy whatever else he might need. But he did take his tux, dress shirt, shoes and bow tie.
“Do you regret not going to university?” Thomas asked. “Those short periods at colleges in the States were as much as we could risk.”
Jack wanted to say he hadn’t been bothered, but it wasn’t entirely true.
“I wish you could have gone,” Thomas said quietly.
It was a rare admission from him.
“Be extra vigilant while you’re with him.” He gripped Jack’s upper arm and squeezed.
Jack nodded.
By the time he reached Zeph’s place, carrying his bag and his formal wear, it was gone seven. Zeph opened the door and beamed at him. He wondered if a little bit of Zeph had thought he might not come back.
“Martin and Paulo took almost everything.” Zeph headed upstairs. “I’ve packed for the trip. Just a small bag. Maybe it’s worth taking the sheets and pillows with us in case we have to rough it. And towels.”
Zeph opened his door. Jack dropped his bag, put his suit carrier over a chair and pulled Zeph into his arms.
“I missed you,” Zeph whispered.
“I missed you too.”
Then Jack showed him how much he’d missed him. 69ing was a first for both of them.
The next day, they didn’t get out of bed until lunchtime, and only then because they needed food.
“I think we should iron our shirts,” Zeph said. “Mine’s all creased.”
“Do you have an iron?” Jack looked around the largely bare room.
“Downstairs.”
“Okay. We can do that. Have a coffee, then find somewhere to have lunch.”
There was a guy in the kitchen cooking cheese on toast and he turned when they walked in.
“Hi, Lester,” Zeph said. “This is Jack.”
“Hello.” Lester glanced at the shirts Zeph was holding. “You going to John’s Ball?”
“Yes.” Zeph put up the ironing board and switched on the iron.
Jack busied himself making coffee. “Would you like one?” he asked Lester.
“I still have half a cup. When did you get the tickets?”
“Last week,” Zeph said.
“I thought they’d clamped down on scalpers.”
“The price was fair including the name change,” Jack said.
