Page 31 of Boy Friends
‘Don’t worry, Father, unlike your son, Luca is not a dropout.’
‘Nobody was asking you, Matthew,’ Anna chides him.
‘Yes,’ I reply to stifle whatever comeback Dad waspreparing, ‘I do. I’ve got two more years.’
‘And how are your grades?’ Graham wants to know.
‘Ignore him,’ Anna says. ‘Who cares about grades? What subjects do you take?’
I don’t actually mind, especially because it seems like a fairly safe topic for this hot-headed table. ‘I’m doing design and technology, photography, English and business studies. And my grades are fine. I could be better at business and English, but I’m only taking them so I share classes with Simo.’
‘Simo is your friend?’ Anna inquires, and the heart on the pet-shop window flashes across my mind.
‘My best friend, since we were kids.’ As I say the words, I’m reminded that, despite everything, this is who we really are, at our core. Best friends, for ten years. Some words on a noticeboard shouldn’t be able to destroy that. And yet –
‘We ought to meet him then, considering he’s so important to you.’
‘That would be nice,’ I agree, and smother the ripple of worry. Simo’s opinion matters more than anyone’s. And I want to know what he makes of them, cos I’m still undecided.
‘And what are your plans after school? Any career goals?’ Graham follows up.
‘Uni or college, I think, and then maybe work in film and TV. I’m not entirely sure yet.’
‘You’re an actor?’
‘Oh no, nobody wants to see me act. When I was six, my class put on a play ofThe Rainbow Fish, and my starfish was so bad they created a new role specially for me, so I spentseveral weeks unsuccessfully pretending to be seagrass.’ Anna looks puzzled and Graham mildly amused. ‘Anyway, I want to be behind the scenes. Or try my hand at becoming a pastry chef. I’ve not made up my mind.’
‘You bake!’ Anna exclaims.
‘It runs in the family,’ Graham says, sounding pleased. I wouldn’t voice the thought, but I struggle to see him in an apron, elbow-deep in dough.
‘I’m no professional. It’s only a hobby, something I enjoy.’
‘He’s being humble. People regularly storm our cafe for his cakes,’ Dad says.
‘The cafe,’ Graham scoffs, and Dad cocks his head.
‘Just say it, Father.’
‘Say what?’
‘Whatever it is that makes you say “cafe” in that tone.’
‘Matthew . . .’ Anna warns.
Graham shrugs. ‘You lack drive and ambition. Always have done.’
‘Graham!’ Anna scolds.
‘Don’t start, Anna, I know you agree,’ Graham retorts. ‘The boy serves tea in a dilapidated diner when he could’ve run a global enterprise.’
I barely hide a flinch, but Dad only grins, halfway between amusement and annoyance.
‘I own that dilapidated diner, thank you very much.’
‘Yes, and you’ll be paying it off for the rest of your life.’
‘I shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve been digging through my private affairs.’
