Page 30 of Brave Truth

Then Mum was getting Aunt Rose to help her bring out the food. Matthew had learned long since not to offer. He was apparently enough of an adult man in her eyes that his role was to sit and wait for them to get everything out of the kitchen.

The meal was— well, nothing really felt like a feast these days. Eventually, rationing would be over, and maybe it would. But Mum’s cooking was good, as always. And there was a fair bit of food. Even if most of it were the last bits of root vegetables from stasis charms and the first bit of the spring veg. Whoever was coming didn’t appear during the main course, but then Mum went off to bring in the pudding. When she came back, Matthew looked up and blinked at who was with her.

“Florrie.” She’d walked out with his brother Don years ago, when they were both fresh out of school. Matthew reflexively stood, and both Florrie and Mum beamed at him. “How are you?”

“Oh, it’s been a time.” She settled into her chair with a little flourish of her skirt, eyeing him deliberately. “Your mum was so kind to invite me to stop round. I’m living with my parents again for a bit, well, and my daughter, Lily. Widowed now, two years ago.”

He’d known she’d married, but he could not for a moment place her husband’s name. “David, yes?” It came to him, and then he was sure it was wrong.

“Yes. Died in his chair, napping, poor man. Bad heart, died after the war.” Whatever the grief meant to her, she wasn’t showing the sharp edges. “But it’s hard, of course.”

Matthew suspected things about the invitation. His mother was not subtle, because she immediately said, “We thought it’d be a grand idea for you two to catch up. You really should settle down now. There’s no excuse not to, Matthew.”

There were, in fact, plenty of reasons not to, starting with the fact that it would be utterly unfair to any woman he did that with. He supposed in Florrie’s case, she might want stability more than another child, though the way she was looking him up and down made him uncertain about that. Matthew considered what he could reasonably say here. Before he could get anything out, Florrie broke in. “Do say you’re thinking about finding somewhere near here to live. Trellech must be so tedious. All those Ministry people.”

“I am one of those Ministry people,” Matthew pointed out. “And I’m just getting properly comfortable in my flat. It’s a pleasant walk to work. No need to worry about delays at the portal.” He, in fact, had decorations he rather liked in his flat. Even if he were still thinking about if he wanted a rug or a blanket or something for the wall behind the sofa. Or, for that matter, what he might do in the bedroom for a bit of colour.

He meant to ask Aelfdane if the man knew a good source for something like a bedspread. Maybe something in a deep blue or green, for a change. That was supposed to be soothing for sleep.

“Oh, pah,” Florrie pouted in a way he was sure someone must have told her was attractive. “London’s ever so much more exciting. Not that I get out much, of course, given Lily, but I could. Or there’s ever so many places for a walk.”

That was true, but Matthew certainly had no desire to live somewhere where any hint of his preferences could lead to prosecution under the law. Once upon a time, it had needed some sort of act, at least sworn to. Now a letter could cause the trouble, or someone just thinking you’d made a pass.

Albion might not prosecute homosexuality. But that wouldn’t save him from trouble with the British courts and all the risk to his job and family and whatever else he cared about. Now, he said mildly, “I really do prefer Trellech. Dad, weren’t you saying that it’s getting trickier, with some of the rail lines? Sorting out the frequency and all that?”

Predictably enough, it got Dad off on a bit of a ramble for ten minutes. Mum wasn’t fooled, of course, but she let Dad go on until he wound down. Then Florrie said, “Do say you can come out sometime? So we can catch up.”

“I’m so sorry, but it’s a trick for me to get away.” It would not help much. Mum would just invite her on one of the Sundays he was here for supper. “Still catching up with being back at work.”

“Oh, that can’t be taking you very long.” Her tone was absolutely dismissive, and that was what made Matthew stand abruptly.

“Pardon, need a minute.” He went through into the house, washing his hands in the loo, then into the front garden. He rummaged in his jacket for a packet of cigarettes. That had been rude, but right now he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He mostly didn’t smoke because it was bad for the materia and none too good for his magic. But he’d got into the habit of having one now and again in Germany. He knew the ways nicotine could soothe a bit when everything was too much. And it was also a reliable connection with other people. He’d got one lit and a couple of puffs when his uncle appeared.

That, now, was the predictable tactic in his family. Mum would have been shattered. Uncle Cliff would be sent to fix things for his little sister. Dad would hold down the table and talk about something that didn’t matter as much as he thought it did.

“Have a spare? You know Rose takes mine.” That was also predictable, mind, but it wasn’t like Matthew had to hoard them now. He offered one. His uncle lit it with a little flick of magic. “Your mum means well.”

Matthew took a long, slow inhale. The cigarette also gave a man infinite chances for that. It was another thing he liked about them. “Mum hasn’t asked what I want. Not since I got back. No one has.” No one except Claudio, outside of actual work tasks and the welcome at Urania’s Apples. And the last two certainly hadn’t wanted the burden of how he actually felt. Those at the pub did care, he knew that, but they didn’t understand and he couldn’t talk about it.

He couldn’t actually judge about Claudio, though. His hopes and wistfulness about it didn’t let him get an actual sense of what the man was open to offering. “Everyone thinks they know what I ought to be.” He hadn’t said it out loud before, and he could see his uncle blink.

“You haven’t talked about it.” Uncle Cliff offered that a little warily.

“And you talk so much about the trenches.” That was a low blow, but it was accurate and, more to the point, true. Matthew coughed. “I did my share of fighting. It’s the things after, in the courts and the file rooms, that were worse for me. Being shot at’s not actually always the hardest thing to survive.”

Now his uncle took a step away, turning to stare at him. Then, carefully, he held up the cigarette. “Look. Grab your coat. I’ll tell them you’ve gone home. Bad head or whatever. I’ll—” He waved his free hand. Then there was a wary silence before he said, “Do you talk about it with anyone?”

Part of Matthew wanted desperately to ask if Uncle Cliff did with anyone. Almost certainly not Aunt Rose. He swallowed. “A little. Working on finding people where I might. But in Trellech. Got people who know how not to make it worse, anyway.”

Uncle Cliff inhaled sharply, unfortunately while he’d been pulling smoke in from the cigarette, and coughed several times. When he stopped, he nodded. “I’ll see about a word with your mum. You let me know if it’d be handy to be here the next Sunday you’re back for supper.”

“Maybe. I’ll let you know.” Matthew knew he’d best go now, or it’d be harder. He glanced through the window at the top of the door, took a half step in to get his coat, and then nodded. “Thanks for helping me get away quietly.”

“Least I could do. Have a good evening, yeah?” Matthew nodded, then he took himself off down the street, adding a charm so no one would particularly notice him. There was a delay at the portal. By the time he got through to Trellech, he thought he was in far too foul a mood to stop by Penelope Doyle’s gathering.

Mum had managed to spoil that too, because she couldn’t ask him what was good and what wasn’t. But he had a book and he had a lamp. And he had a couple of bottles of something to drink. He’d make do. Tomorrow, he’d go into the office. He knew what he was doing there.