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“He lives in the woods, and you want to invite him to a palace, think how he would feel.”
I don't really understand. I came from the poor side of the tracks, but I respect Knox's views, at least for now.
fifty-one
Knox
Freddieenterstheroomwith a knock against the wood.
“Dinner is ready.” He walks in and stops by my chair. “How may I be of assistance?”
“I'm fine.” I try to sit forward in the chair but become paralysed half way. Pain and inability render me useless. “I'm not fine.”
“Let me help you, Sir.” Freddie offers his hand, and Porter hurries to the other side.
Using both men for support, I rise up slowly. They don't leave me, helping me walk into the dining room with my arms across their shoulders. Porter's height feels better, my arm isn't raised as high, but I think that's only because Freddie is taking most of my weight.
I sit in my usual seat in the formal dining room, and Freddie walks Porter to the chair opposite me, and tucks him in. He really does adapt to more domestic roles so well, for a man trained to kill with his bare hands.
Gladys enters with the dinners. She is a fantastic cook, but her presentation is more of a hearty pub than fine dining. Tasty grub is all I need, but my parents always insist on too much effort in their daily routine. I've stayed with them for weekends now and then, but their lifestyle is exhausting.
“This looks charming,” Mum smiles at Gladys. She always has such kind comments, but Gladys swears she isn't bothered. She knows I love her cooking.
“I think it's delicious,” Porter quickly finishes his mouthful to give the compliment.
“Thank you, Mr Ellis.” Gladys grins at my boy.
“Oh, yes. This is truly excellent,” Mum agrees. I know she thinks highly of Gladys' cooking, telling me on numerous occasions how she would like to steal her if her presentation was a little more improved. But I have never heard her say it to Gladys before. My poor cook blushes with pride before hurrying from the room to put a little effort into the pudding.
“We do need to talk about the coke theft.” Dad mentions work, just as the evening is going so well. Porter's cheeks pale with his words and the bubble sentence he was telling Mum dies.
“You don't need to do anything with her,” I quickly answer. “My drugs, my problem.”
“But you are in no fit state to work. I'll oversee Caeo running things for the next few weeks while you recover.”
“What?” I wasn't planning to take any time off. Slow down maybe, but not be off. Getting shot and surviving gives the wrong message. Letting people die slowly isn't supposed to give them hope for survival, just longer to fear death.
“The drug stuff is all finished now, isn't it?” Porter mutters in a strained voice.
“Yes.” If he utters anything about her release being the reason he's here, we're fucked. “Can we discuss this later?”
I guess I'm addressing both of them with my plea. If I could deal with them separately, I may be able to limit the damage.
“No. It's all finished. You said you'd leave her alone.”
“Is that why you're still here after he released you?” Dad turns on Porter sternly. His grip tightens on his cup as his anger brews stronger than the fluid inside it.
“I'm here because I love him. If my actions haven't proven that yet, nothing will.” Porter faces off with my father. “Knox did agree we've punished her enough, and he is paying for my mum to be in rehab, but they are just perks of the relationship, not the foundation.”
Every time Porter speaks, he shows me it's possible to love him even more than I do. For a boy who speaks from the heart, he always knows what to say.
“Punished enough, huh?”
“Yes, Sir.” Porter stands his ground.
“How so? I see no great lesson for his remaining staff.”
“Do all lessons have to be about death?”
