Page 85 of In at the Deep End

Owen went back into the bedroom to discover Matt hadn’t stopped smiling yet.

He shook his head. “I suspect this room costs about the same as a whole term’s tuition.”

“Believe me, it pays to have connections.” Owen set his bag down on the floor beside the bed. “Freshen up if you need to. I’ve booked us in for afternoon tea.”

Matt’s lips parted. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “With champagne. Because if you’re going to do afternoon tea at the Savoy, it has to be done right.” Then he’d planned a visit to Kew Gardens, before returning to the hotel and getting ready for the reunion.

Owen wanted this trip to be two nights that would stay with Matt for a long time to come.

Matt had expected a function room in a hotel.

The College Dining Hall at the Royal Holloway University of London was breathtaking. High moulded ceilings soared overhead, their ornate plasterwork picked out by soft lighting. Round tables dressed in crisp white linen filled the hall, each centred with white roses glowing beneath tiny spotlights while blue uplighting washed the walls, making crystal glasses sparkle.

There had to be at least two hundred fifty guests.

“Ready for this?” Owen murmured beside him as they stood in the doorway.

Matt smiled. “Ask me again in an hour.”

Except after thirty minutes of mingling, he realised every introduction began the same way.

“Jeff’s son?”

“Good Lord, you look just like him.”

“I haven’t seen your mother in thirty years!”

“How are they?”

And through it all, Matt smiled, shook hands, accepted hugs from complete strangers, and repeated the same answers so many times he could’ve probably recited them in his sleep.

“Dad’s planning his retirement now…”

“Mum does volunteer work for lots of charities around Winchester.”

“They send their love…”

Someone produced an old photograph from a phone. Another remembered Jeff setting fire to toast in student accommodation. Three different people told the story as though they’d each been the only witness.

Matt laughed in all the right places, and after two hours, his cheeks hurt. All evening, he was aware of Owen across the room, talking, listening, laughing…

But he wasn’t laughing the way he had in Kew Gardens, or even the way he did over afternoon tea when they’d spent twenty minutes debating whether cucumber belonged in sandwiches.

This Owen was performing. He seemed warm, charming, even interested, but there was a distance to him. Matt recognised it because he’d worn the exact same expression himself all evening.

Eventually, they migrated to the bar, both nursing a glass of champagne.

Matt leaned in. “Enjoying yourself?”

Owen huffed. “Ask me in another hour.”

He laughed. “That bad?”

“Not bad.” Owen glanced around the room. “More… strange.” He watched another group burst into laughter. “Everyone remembers the same stories. The same lectures. The same parties.” He shrugged. “After thirty years, they’re all memories I don’t really own anymore.”

Matt took another sip of his champagne. “Do you think anyone would mind if we left?”