Operation Fake Relationship - Jay Northcote Page 0,48
a spare room in your flat now,” Nick’s mum said, eyes lighting up. “I’d love to come to London sometime and stay over… if you wouldn’t mind putting me up?”
He could hardly refuse. “Um, yeah. Of course.” Nick shot Jackson an anxious glance.
“Absolutely.” Jackson’s tone was unconcerned, but Nick knew him well enough to recognise the tension hiding in the set of his jaw.
Nick always hated the awkwardness of goodbyes, and this was even worse than usual. Keen to get away, he handed Seth back to Maria and gave her a hug and a kiss, and then he moved on to hug Adrian, and then Pete as Jackson followed him down the line of people.
“Where’s Dad?” he asked his mum with a frown. “He knows we’re leaving, yes?”
“Yes,” his mother assured him. “Reg!” she called loudly. “Hurry up, will you?”
“Coming!” His dad’s voice came through the study door as it opened. “Sorry to keep you. I just needed to make sure this was dry enough. I think it’s okay, but you might want to make sure you pack it where it won’t touch anything just in case.” He emerged carrying a canvas. “I wanted to give you this,” he said to Nick, holding out the painting of the Pirate Tree.
A lump grew in Nick’s throat as he studied it. The familiar shape of the trunk and branches, so firmly etched onto his mind’s eye, were perfectly depicted there, and the rich green hues of the leaves and the blue of the sky reminded him of countless summer days spent playing in the woods. Three children with hair in varying shades of red and chestnut sat high on the platform, with a black and white pirate flag strung overhead.
“Wow, that’s pretty cool, Dad!” Pete’s admiring voice broke the silence.
Nick swallowed hard. “Yeah.” He managed a dry croak. “Yeah, it’s awesome. Thanks, Dad.”
“Are you sure?” He ran a hand through his thinning grey hair. “I won’t be offended if you don’t have space for it in your flat. But I thought maybe….”
“I love it,” Nick said firmly. He took the painting and handed it to Jackson and then turned to his dad and drew him into a fierce hug. “I really love it. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” his dad muttered into his shoulder. He held tight to Nick for a moment, and when he drew back his eyes were suspiciously bright.
Jackson shook his dad’s hand while Nick hugged his mum. “Thanks for having us, Mum, and for persuading me to come.”
“Thank you for coming.” She squeezed him and kissed his cheek before releasing him. “It’s been lovely seeing you—both of you.” She smiled at Jackson and opened her arms to hug him too.
“Thanks, Sue,” Jackson said.
She addressed Nick directly. “Don’t leave it so long next time. Come back soon.”
“I will.” Nick wanted his parents to be part of his life again, so he made a promise to himself that he would return—with or without Jackson.
His family came outside to wave them off, and Nick watched them in the rear-view mirror, waving out of his window until they were out of sight.
“Well,” he said with a sigh of relief. “That went a hell of a lot better than I was expecting.”
“Yeah. You and your dad seem to be getting on fine now.”
“Mum was right. He really has changed.”
“I’m glad you gave him a chance,” Jackson said.
“I’m glad too. I probably wouldn’t have done without you there to push me, so thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Nick glanced across at him. “And thanks again for coming with me.”
“You’re welcome,” Jackson repeated. He didn’t meet Nick’s gaze.
There was so much more Nick wanted to say, but he didn’t know where to begin, and he was too afraid to try in case he fucked it up. Now probably wasn’t the best time anyway. Starting a serious conversation in a car was dangerous, because if it went badly there was nowhere to escape.
Jackson had the sense of something slipping away from him as Nick’s car ate up the miles, gradually getting them closer to home.
Home.
What was it going to be like being back there? Were they going to be able to put the weirdness behind them and get back to normal?
Nick was driving with his gaze fixed on the road ahead. He’d put on a playlist of music for the drive and his hands were curled tight on the steering wheel as he beat out the rhythm with his thumbs. The tension in the car was painfully obvious, but neither of