“Still,” he said. “He left you something. That’s got to mean… something.”
Warren didn’t answer right away.
And Jude didn’t look up to check if he was still being watched.
He already knew the answer.
Hefeltit.
And for the first time in a long time, being seen didn’t feel like exposure.
Jude smiled, small and genuine. “Sounds like he thought of you, I mean. Not everyone has that.”
Warren held his gaze. Then shrugged. “Or maybe he just flipped a coin.”
“And some people don’t have the coin to flip. Or a person to flip it.”
“Yeah.” Warren inhaled, his bulky chest rising. “That you?”
The food arrived then. As ill-timed as this whole thing. At least the battered cod crisped to perfection, thick-cut chips glistening beneath a splash of vinegar sharp enough to curl his tongue and curry sauce made up for much of it. Jude tried to relax, let the warmth of the meal settle him. And he watched Warren across from him, shaking salt over his plate, tearing open a sachet of tartare sauce, then picked up a chip and dip into Jude’s curry pot. He gave it a taste.
“Okay…” Warren nodded thoughtfully, chip still in hand. “I could get on board with this northern stuff.”
“Feel free to slather it on. No judgement here. I won’t tell your southern softies.”
Warren chuckled, drowning his chips in sauce with zero remorse. “So, you’re from up north, we’ve established that via condiment choices. Where exactly?”
“Leeds.” Jude speared a chip. “Originally.”
Warren cut into his fish. “That where your family are, then?”
Jude took a breath. Measured. Careful. Of course, he was always asked the question when he met new people. Never made it any easier to say.
“My mum died…a while back. Lived with my uncle for most of my childhood.”
“Shit. Sorry. What about your old man?”
Jude gave a small shake of the head. “No idea. Didn’t stick around long enough after I was conceived to leave a forwarding address.” He popped a bite of fish into his mouth, chewed, swallowed. “So, yeah…you were right to ask. I don’t have anyone to flip a coin for me.”
Warren nodded, voice gentling. “Sorry to hear that. You and your uncle not close then?”
“Didn’t exactly see eye to eye.” Jude shrugged, but it was tight in the shoulders. “It’s better we parted ways when we did.”
“When was that?”
“I left home when I was sixteen.”
Warren looked up. “That’s young. Where did you go?”
“Here and there,” Jude said, evasive but not dismissive. “Hostels. Sofas. Places that didn’t ask too many questions.”
Warren hesitated for a beat, then, “Can I ask why you left?”
Jude twisted his fork through the scraps on his plate, trying to reshape the memory into something easier to swallow.
“Could say I was… encouraged to leave.” He glanced over at the old couple in the corner. Easier to say these things when he wasn’t looking directly at a reason. “My uncle didn’t take too kindly to my lifestyle choices.”
Warren paused mid-bite, gaze meeting Jude’s with something quiet and intense behind them. Not pity. Presence.
