“I’m…I’m not sure that’s entirely the case.”

“You know best, darling.” Apparently it was time for a knee pat. “I just worry because I’m your mother. And you see such horrible stories in the newspapers.”

“I’m fine. Really. I think Lucien’s been good for me.”

“You look very tired.”

Yeah, that would be because he hardly slept last night. In the boring tossing, turning, going for a run at 3:00 a.m. way. Rather than the exciting doing sexy things way.

“I told you”—a line had appeared between Oliver’s brows—“I’m fine.”

Miriam blinked rapidly as if to say “I’m trying not to cry, but it’s hard because you’re being so horrible to me.” “You won’t understand this because you’ll never have children of your own, but it’s very difficult for me to see you boys not taking care of yourselves.”

“For God’s sake, Oliver,” snapped David. “Stop upsetting your mother.”

Oliver drooped. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

“She gave up a lot for you. Show her some bloody gratitude. And she’s right, by the way. When was the last time you had a haircut?”

Before Oliver could reply—I was hoping, in the face of evidence, he was going to tell them all to fuck off—Uncle Jim decided it was time to lighten the mood. Clapping his brother on the back, he unleashed an infuriating chortle. “Probably too busy with his new boyfriend, eh? Eh?”

Somehow Oliver did not punch him in the face. “Lucien’s had an important work function so, yes, we have been busy.”

“Well, you’d better be careful.” Uncle Jim pawed at Oliver in a way that I thought was meant to be affectionate. “Put on any more weight, and he’ll dump you like the rest of them.”

“I’m not going to dump him,” I insisted, probably slightly too loudly. “He looks great. We’re very happy.”

His mother faffed again with his tie, sighing softly. “Maybe it’s this shirt. You know blue isn’t your colour, darling.”

“I’m sorry.” I hadn’t thought it would be possible for Oliver to shrink further but he shrank further. “I didn’t want to be late so I dressed in a hurry.”

“We’ve still got some of your old things upstairs if you want to change.”

Oliver visibly cringed. “I’ve not lived here since I was seventeen. I don’t think anything would fit me anymore.”

Another hearty laugh from Uncle Jim. “See, what did I say? You’re nearly thirty now. You’ll be a fat bastard before you know it.”

“Leave the boy alone, James,” said David indulgently. Who then totally failed to take his own advice. “Anyway, Oliver. When are you going to start doing something useful with your life?”

I tried to catch Oliver’s eye but he was staring fixedly at his clasped hands. “Well, I’m building my reputation in Chambers and we’ll see where it goes from there.”

“You know we only want you to be happy, darling.” That was Miriam. “But is this really where you want to be?”

Oliver glanced up warily. “W-what do you mean?”

“She means,” explained David, “that if this was really what you wanted to be doing with your life, you’d be putting a bit more into it. I was talking to Doug at the club, and he was telling me you should be a QC by now.”

“That would be almost unprecedented.”

“That’s not what Doug said. Said he knew a fellow your age got silk last month.”

“Sorry?” asked Christopher unexpectedly. “Is this the same Doug who told you we shouldn’t take that job in Somalia because we’d get Ebola? Is he an expert on the law now, as well as infectious disease?”

Miriam huffed. “I understand. People your age think people our age can’t know anything.”

“That’s not what I… Oh, forget it.”

“In any case,” murmured Oliver, “I am looking for more senior positions but they’d probably involve leaving London.”

This was news to me. But now was probably not the time to bring that up. Also it was weirdly jarring to think of Oliver being anywhere but, well, where he was. In that absurdly pretty house in Clerkenwell, which always felt like it smelled of French toast, even when it didn’t.

David folded his arms. “Didn’t think I raised you to be a quitter, Oliver.”

Pretty much at the same time his wife said, “What will we do if both our sons move away? You’re going up north, aren’t you? You always said you wanted to go up north.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Oliver tried desperately.

If David’s sigh of disappointment had been any more exaggerated, he would have passed out from lack of oxygen. “Yes, we’re aware of that, son. That’s exactly the problem.”

“For God’s sake. Stop it.” Oh help. That was me and I really wished it hadn’t been. But everyone was staring so I was kind of committed. “Can’t you see you’re upsetting him?”

There was one of those silences that made you miss screaming.

Then Miriam was glaring at me with what I was shocked to realise was actual contempt. “How dare you try to tell us how to speak to our own son?”

“I’m not. I’m just pointing out the blindingly fucking obvious. Which is, you’re making Oliver feel bad for no reason.”

“Step down, Lucien.” David stood up, which lacked a certain amount of impact because he was nearly a foot shorter than me. “We’ve known him a lot longer than you have.”

No use turning back now. “Yeah, that doesn’t change the fact that you’re being arseholes.”

Miriam did that you-have-nearly-made-me-cry look again. “Oliver, what on earth possessed you to bring this man into our home?”

There was no answer from Oliver. Which was fair enough because, honestly, I was asking myself the same question.

“Leave him alone.” I…shit…I might actually have roared. “Fine, you don’t like me. Well, guess what? I don’t care. I care about the fact you’ve invited my boyfriend to a garden party and seem to be getting off on torturing him. And clearly he’s too nice or too beaten down from years of this shit to tell you to go fuck yourselves, but I’m not. So…um. Go fuck yourselves.”

I’m not sure what reaction I’d been expecting. I mean, obviously it would have nice if they’d turned round and said, “Gosh, you’re right, we’ll go away and rethink our entire value system,” but I think that ship had sailed at around the point I told them to go fuck themselves.