Reluctantly, I reach out and we shake hands, our grips firm.
“Is your name really Pip?” I ask when we finish shaking hands.
He looks at me like I’m stupid and I fight the instinct to draw away. This guy must already think I’m a moron, with the way I acted, screaming and running away at the sight of him. Fuck. How humiliating.
“It’s Kieran,” he says. “Senior’s the only one that calls me Pip.”
He calls my granddad Senior too. They must know each other pretty well. My granddad goes by Senior, my dad’s sometimes called Junior (which he hates, but he’s been called that for almost fifty years at this point) and I’m simply Jasper. The nicknames came around when someone thought it was a good idea to call three generations of men the same name: Jasper Harvey. If you want to get technical, I’m Jasper Harvey III, but no one mentions that. That would make me look like a pompous wanker.
“Pip’s short for Phillips, his last name.” Senior says. “Now, Jasper, why don’t you go make us some tea and let’s get to know each other.” Senior gestures at Kieran to invite him to take a seat at the circle of armchairs near the window, and Senior takes his own, a large one covered in blue velvet.
My feet stay glued to the floor.
“Jasper. Tea,” Senior says.
I make my feet move and head into the kitchen. After I make three cups of English Breakfast with a teaspoon of sugar and a splash of milk , I take them back to the reading room on a tray like a goddamn waiter. I set everything on the coffee table in the centre of the circle of armchairs.
“Thank you,” Senior says, picking up his cup once I’ve taken a seat.
Kieran picks up his, and neither Senior nor I miss the way his face twists after he takes a sip.
“Did you add sugar to Pip’s?” Senior asks. “He doesn’t take sugar with his tea.”
I slurp down my tea, which is a little sweet, the way I like it. “No one told me that.”
Kieran puts his cup down. “That’s okay.”
Senior looks at Kieran’s cup, then at him, then at me. Is he going to ask me to make Kieran another cup of tea? Because there’s no way in hell.
“So,” I say before Senior can order me around. “What’s going on here?”
I think about the second bedroom, the uniform on the desk.
Kieran looks down at his hands. Senior takes a long sip, torturing me before setting his cup back on the saucer. “Pip’s going to be living with me for the rest of the year until he graduates. He’s starting at your school tomorrow.”
I blink twice. “What?”
Senior clears his throat. “Pip’s going to be living with me for the rest of the year —”
“Who is this guy?” I demand, gesturing at Kieran. “Did you find him on the street or something?”
“Jasper.” Senior frowns.
“Seriously, what the hell?” I continue. “You can’t just take in some random guy. Do Mum and Dad know about this? Have you talked to the school? They won’t just let anyone in, and it’s already term two. What year level are you in, anyway?” I say, turning to Kieran.
“Last,” he says.
“Year 12? Who the hell changes schools in Year 12?” I turn to Senior. “Tell me this is a prank or something.”
“It’s not a prank,” Senior says. “Stop shouting, Jasper. You’re being rude to my guest.”
I shrink back. “I’m not shouting,” I mumble, glancing at Kieran, who’s focusing hard on his hands.
What the actual hell?
Senior’s always been someone who does what he wants. He lives in a cottage when he could afford better. He goes skiing in the winter, which scares my parents half to death. He makes plans for family holidays without consulting anyone. Juliet says that my granddad’s bossy because not only is he the patriarch of the family, but he’s the one who made a fortune from nothing. He started a transport engineering company when he was young so he’s where the Harvey family money comes from.
So fine. He can do what he wants, of course he can. But this?
