“Portchester Castle. And no, unfortunately. No live ammunition.”
Warren pouted. “Shame. Maybe next time. So whathasit got?”
“Roman foundations. Rebuilt by the Normans. Used right up through the Napoleonic Wars. Still got intact walls, sea views, a working portcullis… all your classic castle fantasy boxes ticked.”
Warren raised a brow. “So this trip includes scenic coastline, a medieval fortress, and you in full ‘teacher voice’ mode?”
Jude shot him a look. “Contain yourself. It’s an overnight stay with fifteen-year-olds who think they’re eighteen and will spend all night sneaking into each other’s rooms thinking we’ve never been fifteen.”
“Ah to be young and stupid again.” Warren grinned, then nudged Jude’s arm. “So we’ll be sleep-deprived and emotionally broken by day two. I’ll bring the playing cards.”
Jude shook his head, but the warmth in his expression was real this time.
Warren’s tone softened, a hint of curiosity filtering in. “What makes this castle stand out, then? You’ve got, like, fifty on your walls.”
Jude hesitated. Then looked away. “They used it as a prisoner-of-war camp. Napoleonic era. Captured soldiers were locked in the keep, close enough to see the sea, hear it, even… but never reach it.” He let that sit for a moment. Then added, almost offhand, “That kind of torment… it stays with a place. And a person.”
Warren’s smile faded.
But Jude didn’t explain the shift in his tone. He went back to typing. The sound of the keyboard filling the space. As if he hadn’t confessed something. As if he hadn’t peeled back a truth too close to the bone. Because he knew what that felt like. To see freedom through stone bars. Be part of a war he didn’t want to be in. To stand within reach of something beautiful and know it would never truly be his. To feel trapped. In his home. His skin. His own history.
And still smile.
Type.
Pretend.
Jude pressed print, and the machine on his desk whirred to life, spitting out a couple of freshly inked pages. He grabbed one and handed it to Warren.
“All the details are there. Dates, times, groupings, coach pick-up, emergency contacts.” He reached for his blazer slung over the back of the chair and slipped it on. “I’ll run this up to Admin so they can format it properly and send it out.”
Warren skimmed the page with a nod. “Right. So we’re staying in a hotel?”
“Yeah.Premier Innhave given us a corridor. Two kids to a room. Same sex sharing as per safeguarding policy. We’ll be each end of the corridor to listen out for…well, fifteen-year-olds being fifteen-year-olds.”
“Got it.”
Jude offered a tight smile, then stepped around him, edging towards the door.
“Hey, Jude.”
Jude paused. Turned.
Warren smiled, soft and self-aware. “How many people sing that line at you?”
Jude drew in a sharp breath before he could stop himself. An involuntary reaction to a question that was trying to be friendly. “Too many.”
“I’ll bet.” Warren folded the sheet of paper and tucked it into his pocket. “So, we made a good team at the quiz, right? You up for another go this week? Maybe I could pick you up? If that car of yours is still in the garage?”
Jude stilled.
How could he possibly let that happen?
He couldn’t have Warren anywhere near his house. Couldn’t risk it. Not now. Not while Callum was there, whether for the short term or something far worse. The idea of Warren pulling up outside, knocking on the door… it was absurd. Dangerous. For now, making it to work each day would be a win. Anything beyond that? A luxury he couldn’t afford.
So he forced a smile, light and easy, and searched for the right excuse. Something that wouldn’t raise suspicion. Or sound like fear.
“I’m afraid I have to pass the baton of the quiz team captaincy.”
