Ben burst through the front door of the school.
Panicked thoughts chased each other through his brain. Could Hugh be hurt? But, no; Headmistress Davies would have said on the phone. Maybe he had lice again, Ben reasoned. Or maybe Hugh had shouted at a teacher — although that would be very out of character.
He jogged through the corridor, passing glass display cases packed with medals and posters advertising an upcoming school disco. It was only when he reached the Headmistress's office that he finally slowed.
And then froze.
Hugh was sitting in a chair, cradling his knapsack in his lap. His right hand was wrapped in a bloodied white bandage, and there was a black bruise forming over his left eye. Louise was pacing the office. She was dressed in a pink blouse, blue jeans, and scuffed ballet flats, which were wearing a path in the carpet.
Louise caught his eye.
"Ben," she said.
There was relief in her voice. Ben couldn't stop his body from reacting instinctively, swelling with a fierce desire to protect her, to hurt whoever had made her feel this way. The force of it was so overwhelming that it frightened him.
"What happened?" Ben demanded.
"Ah, Mr. Langford." The headmistress shuffled some papers. "Take a seat, please."
The elderly woman was sitting at her desk, wearing a ruby brooch and a pair of cat-eye glasses. Pink streaked her hair. Ben tried to catch Hugh's eye as he sat, but his nephew was staring resolutely at an elephant paperweight, as if he could magically make it grow bigger and carry him away on its back.
"So," Davies said.
She steepled her fingers. Ben copied the movement.
"So," he said.
She seemed nice, Ben thought vaguely, but he was prepared to go full lawyer on her ass if he had to. Even if he was a tax lawyer. People never knew the difference.
Davies cleared her throat. "I'm afraid to say that Hugh instigated a fight with another student. As a result, I've no choice but to suspend him for the rest of the week."
Ben blinked. She might as well have said that the sky was made of marzipan, and the government had hidden microchips in all the pistachios at Tesco. Louise must have felt the same because she laughed.
"Hugh," Louise repeated. "This boy here." She gestured to her nephew. "You're telling me that he got into a fight?"
The headmistress's voice was patient. "I'm telling you that he started one."
Ben and Louise exchanged a look.
"No," Ben said. "That's not possible."
Vienna, absolutely, Ben thought; she was a terror. But Hugh? He'd cried yesterday because his imaginary friend Wally had left on holiday to Paris (Ben personally thought it rather rude of Wally to leave on such short notice, but fair enough — he wished that he could be in France eating croissants, too).
Hugh wouldn't hurt a fly.
Well, Ben thought, except for the time Hugh had attacked those sheep during a Christmas concert — but that was different.
"Tea?" the headmistress asked.
She was holding a teapot covered in what appeared to be a handknit tea cosy in the shape of a snail. Ben shook his head.
"No, thank-you," he said.
The headmistress gave him a look. Poured out a cup of black tea anyway, shoving it towards him. Then she poured a second one for Louise.
"Drink," she said.
Ben didn't know what to do; he drank. The warm liquid tasted vaguely of cinnamon, honey and peaches. He actually felt much better.
"Thanks," he said.
The headmistress smiled.
Louise frowned, her tea untouched. "There must be some mistake. Hugh wouldn't deliberately hurt anyone." She looked over at the young boy. "You didn't do this, did you, darling?"
Hugh stared at the elephant paperweight.
"Hugh?" Louise prompted.
He took a deep breath. "I d-did it."
Louise froze. She looked so small in that chair, Ben thought, like a child sitting on a bus, her feet dangling above the floor; Louise moved with such swagger and purpose that he sometimes forgot how short she was.
Davies slid a piece of paper across the table. "I'll need one of you to sign this." Her voice was surprisingly gentle. "It's paperwork saying that you understand the suspension, and that you agree to speak with Hugh about it."
Louise stared at the paper as if it might bite her. Ben uncapped a pen, scribbling his signature on the dotted line.
"Done," he said.
They gathered Hugh's things. Ben shook Davies' hand, muttering something vaguely apologetic and non-committal, and then they were stepping out into the grey January gloom. Hugh was gripping the straps of his knapsack so tightly that his knuckles were white.
"Hugh," Louise said. "What's going on?"
They'd paused at the top of the steps. Louise crouched down, her face unusually serious; the breeze ruffled the brown strands falling out of her ponytail.
"It's alright," Ben said, placing a hand on Hugh's shoulder. "You can tell us."
Hugh's bottom lip was bleeding, as if he'd chewed through it. His bruised eye was swelling up, and Ben felt a pang of anxiety. How many times had he cleaned up James after a fight? How many times had his older brother staggered home from the bar, singing a drunken tune and covered in a stranger's blood? He'd assumed — no, he'd hoped — that Hugh hadn't inherited his brother's penchant for violence, but what if he'd been wrong?
Hugh sniffled. Scuffed his shoe.
"Hugh," Louise said gently. "Why did you hit that other student?"
Hugh's small shoulders hunched. "H-h-he c-c-called m-m-e—"
He broke off, his face twisting in frustration. Louise squeezed his hand. Ben's heart was beating fast, and he forced himself to breathe.
"It's okay," Ben said. "Try again."
Hugh took a deep breath. "He c-c-called me a r-r-retard."
Ben went very still.
He'd never felt rage like this before. Fire raced through his veins, hot and hungry, burning away all his common sense. He wanted to hunt this boy down. He wanted to tell Hugh that he was going to string this boy up from a telephone wire and laugh as he cried.
Which was the incorrect response.
Obviously.
Louise's face was white. She looked up at him, but Ben shook his head — he didn't know what to say, either.
"That boy," Louise said slowly, "was very wrong. And I know that he must have really hurt your feelings. But you are the cleverest, most mature, most brilliant young man that I know, Hughy. You know that, don't you?"
Hugh nodded.
"Good." Louise ruffled his hair. "I'm so proud of you."
He smiled tentatively at her.
"Right," Louise said. "I have a sudden craving for ice cream." She rose. "What do you boys say? Should we hit McDonald's on the way home?"
Louise hadn't stopped pacing.
She stalked around the kitchen, her shoulders rolling. Ben supposed he ought to be used to it by now; Louise Bentley was always in motion, a raging thunderstorm, ripping through trees and houses and indifferent stone bridges. He didn't know how to stop her. Wouldn't have wanted to, even if he did.
"I want to change his school," Louise said.
Ben blinked. It took him a moment to process her words, and when he did, he frowned. "You mean withdraw Hugh from St Bartholomew's?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
Louise frowned. "What do you mean, why? He's being bullied. No wonder Hugh's so miserable every time I drop him off. He's—" She glanced up at the ceiling, lowering her voice. "He's not happy there."
"I see your point, but I don't agree."
Ben said the words slowly. Reluctantly. They'd managed to avoid a disagreement for weeks now, and he wasn't keen to start now.
Louise paused, which alarmed Ben more than the pacing. "You're going to have to give me a very good reason."
"Can't we just drop it?" Ben asked.
She crossed her arms. "Langford."
"Look," he said, "you wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
Ben fiddled with a paper cup. Their empty sundae containers littered the counter, a graveyard of chocolate, butter pecan, and maple walnut. He tore a strip off the cup, trying to decide how best to phrase it. How to sound least like an arsehole.
"Okay," Ben began, "I know your parents passed away when you were young. And I understand that must have been devastating. But look at you, Louise." He gestured at her. "You're pretty. You're wealthy. You've had a very privileged upbringing."
Her voice was tight. "I'm not denying that."
Ben sighed. "I just think it might be difficult for you to understand that..."
"What?" Louise demanded.
He wrapped the paper strip around his finger. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but Ben didn't know how to breathe shape into them, to blow them up like balloons. Louise let out an exasperated huff.
"For god's sake, you can't just—"
"Look," Ben said, "I was bullied, too." His heart was pounding very quickly. "I was a smartass with glasses that looked different from everyone else. I made an easy target. And you know what I learned? We can change his school, Louise, but we can't change the bullies. If I'd switched schools every time someone said something horrible, I would have run out of places to go."
Silence fell.
Louise was staring at him. Slowly, she lowered her arms, and the movement was a comfort somehow; she looked like a different person, standing that still.
Her voice was quiet. "I'm sorry that you had to go through that."
"It was a long time ago."
"Still."
Ben set down the strip of paper. "I know you want to protect him. I do, too. But the best thing we can do is make sure that Hugh feels like he's enough. And that he can speak to us about these things."
"It's just so unfair," Louise said.
She looked so small — so vulnerable — that Ben stood. Before he realized what he was doing, his arms were around her. Cradling her. Anchoring both of them.
"I know," he murmured.
Her breath was hot on his chest. "When I heard what that boy called Hugh... I wanted to hurt him, Ben. It was only for a second, but I honestly would have done it. I wanted to hurt a child." She shivered. "What does that say about me?"
Ben rested his chin on her head. "That you love Hugh."
"We do stupid things for the people we love, don't we?" Her voice was muffled against his white shirt. "We'd do anything to help them."
Ben let out a breath. She was right, although he'd always thought of love more as destruction than healing. The way people spoke about love, he thought, said it all: she takes my breath away; she's so beautiful that it hurts; she kills me. Love was pain — a wonderful, glorious sort of agony, but pain, nonetheless.
He ran a hand down her back. Louise stiffened. Too late, Ben realized his mistake; her breathing turned uneven. A flush crept up the side of her neck, and his own body reacted instinctively, tensing. Aching for her.
Ben pulled back. "We can't."
She tipped her face up. "Just this once."
Her lips were slightly parted, and Ben's mouth went dry. He'd kissed those lips before. Could so easily kiss them again — right here, in this kitchen — and that thought alone was almost enough to shatter his self-control.
Ben took a healthy step back. "That's what we said the last time." She continued to look at him, heat in her eyes, and he trained his eyes on the kitchen sink. "Bentley. Don't put me through this."
"What if we made it work?" Louise asked. "What if we made it... long-lasting?"
She hesitated on the last word, as if she wasn't used to the shape of it in her mouth. Ben moved to the other side of the counter. Crossed his arms.
"Bentley," Ben said slowly, "I'm not trying to attack you, but can you honestly say that you're certain you'll still want me in six months? A year?"
She paused.
"Yes," Louise said.
She'd paused for a second — less than a second — but she might as well have kicked Ben in the chest. He knew that Louise had never had a long-term relationship. Knew that she couldn't be pinned down for long. But stupidly, Ben had thought that he might be different.
Had hoped it, in fact.
"I don't believe you." His voice was hoarse.
She flinched. "Ben..."
"I should go check on Hugh."
Ben turned blindly for the stairs, not letting himself look back. Not letting himself look at Louise, a lone figure in the kitchen, standing among empty chairs and plastic cups dripping brown liquid onto the floor.