“Well,nowyou’ve tempted me,” I say dryly. “And don’t call them birds. Women aren’t avian as far as I know. I mean, I’m not an expert by any means, but I’m pretty sure of that one.”
He rolls his eyes. “Lovely. And you’ve suddenly become my dad.”
“You should be glad I’m not, because I’d definitely have spanked you if you’d been mine. You’d have done more time in a garret than a child in a Dickens novel.”
A smile crosses his face, and then he looks imploringly at me. “Come on.Please. We’ve only got another couple of nights here. Let’s do something fun for a change. This break hasnotbeen my idea of fun.”
I wince and look over at Xavier, but instead of looking devastated, he just rolls his eyes.
I repress a smile and turn back to Jez. “Nope. I’m going to bed. I’m knackered.”
“But I want you to come,” he whines. “Why won’t you?”
I sigh. “I wish I could. I used to love clubbing.” It’s the truth. I loved dancing and drinking. “It just doesn’t love me anymore,” I finish wryly.
“Bollocks,” Jez says. “Just get over yourself.”
Xavier’s lost the charming smile he’s worn on his face all day and now looks cross. I wonder why. His next words come out clipped and cool. “He won’t go because of his PTSD.”
I jerk. “What?”
His eyes are very bright in the dim light of the restaurant. “Oh no. Am I not allowed to say that word?”
“I donothave PTSD,” I say, trying for dignity but coming across as peevish.
“Of course he hasn’t,” Jez says, turning his ire on his son.
Xavier, as usual, doesn’t display any reaction to that. Instead, he steadily stares at me. “You know you have it, Reuben. I can see that.”
“Oh, you’re using your superior knowledge of him now,” Jez snipes. “Born of a few days. I’ve known him for fucking years.”
Xavier shakes his head. “I’m using my eyes, and it actually concerns me that you aren’t doing the same. I mean, you’re supposed to be his best friend.”
“Iam.” Jez’s declaration is fierce.
“If you were,” Xavier intones, “you’d have put a name to what’s been happening with Reuben, because I’m pretty sure it’s a dangerous thing to have in the job you two do.”
“I am still here,” I say mildly. “Sitting here PTSD free.”
Xavier’s head snaps around. “Really? So it wasn’t you at breakfast today ducking like you were under attack when the waitress dropped a plate?”
I inhale sharply, but before I can answer, Jez turns on him. “Stopsayingthat shit,” he snaps. “He’s fine. He can ignore all that.”
“He canwhat?” Xavier says incredulously.
“Ignore it. He’ll plough through it. I’ve seen him do that with worse things.”
Xavier stares at him. “I can’t believe this. You don’t want to know if Reuben’s struggling,” he says slowly. “It interferes with your life too much.”
Jez flushes. “Oh, and you knowsomuch. You only met both of us this week.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“No, not this,” I say, but they ignore me, both glaring at each other.
“You want him to ignore it,” Xavier says in a glacial, low voice. “But the truth is that you’re putting both of you in danger. I read about photojournalism and it's one of the most dangerous professions in the world.” I feel a wash of warmth in my chest that he’s been researching my job. The warmth becomes irritation as he continues, “In a combat zone you face the same danger as a soldier in battle, but even worse, you can be targeted for kidnapping or made into some kind of political statement just because you're carrying a camera. Reuben’s PTSD makes that risk even greater."
“That’s enough,” I snap, standing up and throwing my napkin on the table. “I’m going back to the hotel. You two can do whatever you want.”
