“So, is that where the two of you met?” Xavier asks.
“It was,” I say. I look up to find Jez watching me. We smile at each other. “I was a dreamer,” I admit. “It didn’t go down well there.”
“Oh no. I went to a school that taught you to express yourself.”
I repress a smile. “Well, they obviously succeeded.”
He shrugs. “After a while, everyone expressing themselves can get a bit tedious.” He adopts a pious expression. “Why didn’t they just want to listen tome?”
“I cannot begin to imagine.” He grins at me. “Well, we weren’t encouraged to do that unless it was the older boys expressing their dissatisfaction with the younger boys through the medium of violence.” I shrug. “And then I met Jez, and he loved the same music and films as I did. It was a lifeline in a dark time.”
Jez smiles at me. “I never quite got the art bit, though. You’re on your own with that, Reuben.”
“You like art?” Xavier asks, his face suddenly open and eager.
“Yeah, I do,” I say slowly.
He leans over, nearly putting his elbow in his food. “Who are your favourite artists?”
“Well, I love early modernism. So Matisse, Braque, and Picasso, but I’ve also got a real fondness for David Hockney.”
“Oh my god, IloveHockney.” His face is full of an ardent enthusiasm, his snarkiness giving way to something he’s obviously passionate about. “I got a ticket to a retrospective of his work.”
“At the Sphere Gallery?” I ask.
He nods.
“Wow. I was there too. Small world.”
“What did you think?”
“It was amazing to see the works close up. Although the lighting was completely wrong.”
“Tell me about it. It was so dark I thought they’d forgotten to pay their electricity bill.”
I laugh, and then we’re off talking about artists we like. I only remember Jez when he clears his throat a while later. I look over, and my heart sinks. His face is sulky and cross.
“I’msosorry,” I mutter. “We’re being rude.”
“Oh, you think?” he snaps.
He hates being ignored by me more than anyone, and I should have remembered that. I shoot Xavier an apologetic look and bite my lip when he just rolls his eyes, his unconcern stunningly obvious.
Jez nods at Xavier. “Well, I think we’ll see you tomorrow, then. It’s been a nice night.”
“Jez,” I gasp.
He looks at me. “Aren’t we going into Cirencester?”
It’s news to me, but I just murmur, “We’ll see.”
He turns back to Xavier. “So, we’ll see you in the morning. Don’t worry. I’ll get the bill.”
Xavier studies him for a long few seconds, and something in that clear, focused regard must make Jez uncomfortable because he squirms a little. Xavier inclines his head. “Yes, I should go to bed. It’s very late for little old me.”
He assumes an angelic expression, which is so blatantly false that I wonder why Jez can’t see it. Instead, Jez nods as if he’s won a battle and makes a gesture towards the lifts.
Xavier offers him a little salute, which makes Jez’s lips thin. “Goodnight then,” he says, standing up. “Thanks for the chat, Reuben.”
