I join him. Sit cross-legged beside him. “I don’t like seeing you depressed. This job is making you depressed. Ergo, you need a new job.”
A fleeting smile cracks his concern, but it’s gone within an instant. “But . . . my father would never let me leave Oakham Industries. He wants me to contribute to the family business or some shit.”
I simply shrug. “You don’t owe him your labour, or your emotional investment, and you especially,especiallydon’t owe him your time. It’s not like he was ever around when you needed him.”
Lando stares at me for a solid thirty seconds. “But he would cut me off.”
“Hasn’t he already done that?”
“Not completely. He could kick me out as well.”
“Then come live with me. Imagine the mischief we’d get up to if we spent every second of every day together.”
Lando’s lip wobbles, his brow furrows. “Fuck, I’d actually love that.”
My insides do a happy jig.
“But . . .” he starts, then pauses dramatically as he is wont to do. Only this time, he doesn’t finish his sentence.
“Warwick won’t cut you off completely,” I say. I don’t know how I know this, maybe I simply feel it, but it’s the truth. He might not show Lando love the way other parents do, but there’s no denying he loves him. “But if you move in with me . . . well, you’ll have freedom to choose your own path.”
“But what would I do for a job? I don’t hold any qualifications. I don’t know how the real world works, and I don’t want my father to find me another position with one of his contacts, ew.”
Okay, let’s start at the very beginning. “What did you want to be when you were a kid?”
Lando’s half smile is instantly replaced by a deep frown. “What?”
“When you were a boy, and you dreamed about adult life, did you ever have a career in mind?”
“Well, when I was six, I wanted to be a synchronised swimmer?” he says, like a question.
I laugh. It literally couldn’t be more Lando. “Okay, yeah, you might’ve missed the boat on that one.”
“Are you saying I’m too old to follow my dreams? I’m twenty-one.”
“Maybe. That’s the kind of shit you need to start in utero. I say this as someone who’s been playing rugby since before I was out of nappies. What other dreams you got in there? Did you ever role play with Daisy?”
“Yeah, there was one thing . . . but there’s no way I could . . .” Lando looks right into my eyes, and I hear his silent, hopeful question hanging between us. “Is there?”
“What was it? What did you want to be?” I ask.
“Um . . .” He glances around his bedroom as though trying to unveil spies. “A shop girl.” Now he’s laughing, and his cheeks are turning pink. “I would always make Daisy play shops with me. She would be the rich customer with the endless budget, and I would be the shop girl, helping her find an outfit for this or that occasion. I would dress her up in my clothes, or my mum’s dresses, or things I had in my costume box.”
“Oh my god.” I’m grabbing onto his forearms. It’s so perfect for him.
“But my father would never allow—”
“Who gives a fuck what he thinks? Babygirl, this is your calling.”
“Really?” He’s smiling like it’s Christmas Day and the biggest gift under the tree has his name on the bow. “Are you saying I could get a job—an actual real job—in a . . . as a . . . Is that like something I could do?”
“I mean, it won’t be easy. Retail is tough. My sister’s worked in retail her entire life, and some of the stories she’ll tell you . . . oh my god. The pay is shit, and you’re on your feet for hours and hours, and the customers can be cunts sometimes, but she loves it. Said you’ll never make better friends than the ones you do on the shop floor. You’ll probably have to start at the bottom and work your way up, but I can totally picture you in Harrods or Harvey Nicks or somewhere fancy like that.”
“But what if my father—”
“Whatever Warwick says, we’ll deal with it together, okay? I’ll argue your case with you. You’re not alone any more.”
“Stop it.” Lando hides his eyes behind his palms. “You know I’ll start crying again.”
