“Ah, you seem to have a lot of those.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” He holds up the camera and points it at me, looking through the viewfinder. “I think it’s broken.”
I clear my throat. “Ah, you sort of need to take off the lens cap.”
He lowers the camera and gives in to a peal of laughter with no trace of embarrassment. “I would never have guessed,” he says, rubbing his eyes.
I stare at him, charmed. Of course, I’ve only known him a short time, but I get the sense Xavier has a core of invincibility, that he takes the kicks life gives him and simply bounces back like a rubber ball. Some of his confidence is typical nineteen-year-old boldness, but much of his self-knowledge seems uniquely him. I’ve certainly never met anyone like him.
I reach forward and remove the lens cap, and he smiles his thanks and pans the camera around the room, looking through the viewfinder. “What was the first photo you ever took?” he asks.
I lean back against the wall, trying for more casualness. “It was a picture of an arcade game. In my defence, I was seven.”
He lowers the camera. His eyes are very bright. “Who bought you your first camera?”
I smile at the thought. “My godmother. I spent an entire summer with an old camera of hers, taking pictures of completely random shit, but when I showed her the fifty photos of a ladybird, she acted as if I had become the new David Bailey and bought me my own camera.
His smile is almost wistful. “She sounds wonderful.”
“She is. She’s also wilful, stubborn, and far too emotional for me.”
“Does that mean she smiles every few years and likes to have a conversation once a millennium?” he asks sympathetically.
I laugh, the sound so light and easy it startles me. “Maybe. But she’s my person. She gave me unconditional support and love when no one else was left to do it. I don’t know where I’d be without her.”
“I suppose that’s a bit like my grandparents.” He takes a snap of the yucca plant in the corner of the room and looks at it. “Perfect,” he pronounces in a dreadful French accent, and I can’t help my grin.
“Are you close to them?”
He considers that for a few seconds. “Not as much as I could be, but that’s neither of our faults. We just don’t agree on important stuff.”
“What stuff?”
He shrugs. “They didn’t want me in their lives, and I wholeheartedly disagreed on that one when I was little.”
“Surely that’s not true,” I say softly, my heart clenching. It can’t be true. Who wouldn’t want this lovely boy around?
He smiles at me, and this time it’s one of those rare, real ones that light both his face and eyes. “Thank you, but it is as it is, and that’s fine. My mother was wild, and no matter how hard they’ve tried, my grandparents have never quite managed to get that out of me either.”
I straighten, the alarm flaring. “What do you mean,tried?”
He looks at me, arrested, and the moment elongates. Then he shrugs casually. “Don’t worry. Nothing awful. They’ve always been kind, and I’ve never lacked for anything.”
How about fierce, unconditional love, sunshine? Who gave you that?
He sets the camera down and wanders to look at the pile of books on the nightstand. “Wow. Paper books really do it for you, eh?” he says.
I laugh. “Please don’t say it as if I’ve emerged from the Victorian era.”
“Were you born in that era?”
I raise my middle finger, and he gives a lusty chuckle. “I must admit I do prefer paper,” I say. “I read on my Kindle when I’m on the road, but given a choice, it would always be a paperback. Besides, some of what I read are only available in that format.”
“Is that because they were written before the Norman Conquest?” I laugh again and watch as he traces his finger down the titles. “Afghanistan?” he asks.
I lick my lips. “Yes. That’s where we’re going next.”
