"You're not a baby!" Mammy sounded hysterical. "He's a powerful man, your uncle is, and does he know it! He thinks having a grand old house in some hoity-toity area in London gives him the right to snatch my child away from me, like I can't do anything about it! Well, we'll see about that, won't we? The courts will decide for us. That's it. I'm appealing straight away to get back custody over you. The nerve of that awful, ungodly—"
"Mum." James sighed and pushed his plate away, suddenly quite sick. "You might be ready to have me back but I –" His chin wobbled slightly. "I don't think I'm ready to be back."
"Oh." James felt a wave of guilt wash over him as he watched the expression on Mammy's face change to one of hurt. He couldn't believe he'd just said that. Hell, he hadn't even given this a single thought before Mammy brought it up. Did he really mean what he said? About not being ready to move back to Yieldfarm for good? It was home, wasn't it? Home, the smell of freshly mowed grass and corn, and cows. Lord, even the smell of cows gave him a sense of comfort. And Adam. Adam.
True it may be that the other boy hadn't wanted anything to do with him the last time they had spoken – James could only cringe at the memory – but, like his mother, maybe Adam had changed his mind now? Or, at least, maybe he would once James paid him a visit. He'd had it planned out for years now. A proper apology for the incident in the woods. A confession. I love you. That's what he would say. I love you.
There was no denying it now, how James felt about the other boy. He didn't care if the feelings weren't reciprocated, which they most likely wouldn't be. He didn't care if word spread in town that he, the son of a Christian priest, was about as bent as they came. His years in London had taught him that it was okay. It was okay. Everything was going to be okay. Seeing Adam would make everything okay.
"Mum," he said, deciding that this perhaps would be a good change in topic to lighten the mood. "How's Adam doing, by any chance?"
Mammy's face turned as white as a sheet and she seemed to freeze on the spot, unblinking.
"Mum?" James urged, confused at her reaction. Surely she remembered Adam?
"A-Adam?" His mother laughed nervously. "I—I don't know an Adam."
"I don't believe you!" James laughed. "Come on, mum. Adam. The Fernandes boy. You know, the tall kid with blonde hair? He came over all the time. In fact," he added, "you always made pasta when he was around. You adored him."
Mammy shook her head and James knew she was lying.
"I can't recall," she smiled unconvincingly. "It's been years now. He—he must've moved away to some other town."
Lies. But what for? But James knew better than to press on.
"Oh," he said. "I see."
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"Irene!" James's lips split into a wide grin as his friend threw her arms around him, squealing excitedly.
"I can't believe it!" Irene bounced in his arms. "You idiot. Why didn't you let me know you were coming back? I can't believe it. You—look at you! So tall and—and—" Her brown eyes cast him a flirty look that he tried not to wince at. "Handsome."
Ah, he'd momentarily forgotten that none of his old friends knew how superbly immune he was to women. "Well, how are you?" he asked before the air grew too tense with awkwardness. Irene squeezed his arm tightly.
"Wonderful now that you're back." Her cheeks flushed slightly. "I've missed you."
"Me too," James replied, meaning it.
Twenty Four
Start from the beginning
