Charles by Con Riley

6

Hugo led the way outside, taking a path around the side of the main school building. As they walked, Charles caught glimpses into classrooms where children and teachers mingled, hives full of busy bees, their buzz filtering through open windows. It was a happy hum compared to the enforced silence at the school Charles had left off his CV.

“Strange isn’t it?” Hugo said.

“What is?”

Hugo plucked a thought that had occurred to Charles only minutes earlier. “Strange that they’re all having an ordinary day, when ours went off-track?”

Hugo seemed to lean more on his stick, Charles noticed, but was stoic, showing no signs of slowing. Charles slowed his pace instead and asked, “What’s that building over there?”

“Down that path? A boarding house,” Hugo said, stopping and shifting his weight in a way that suggested his stick was needed.

Charles asked another question to extend his breather. “And where does that other path lead? The one going uphill.”

“To the old art building,” Hugo pointed. “It’s right at the top of the valley. Beautifully positioned. Amazing light, I’m told.” He knocked his stick against his knee. “Bit steep for me, just yet. Think it’s next on Luke’s list for renovation. Let me show you.” He set off, Charles jogging to catch up.

“I thought you said it was a bit too steep for you?”

“I made it up the first slope last week. The view through the valley really is quite something.” He stopped, his knuckles around the head of his cane whitening, Charles noticed. “Be nice to send you away knowing you’ve seen Glynn Harber in a good light.”

Charles already knew it was a great location.

“I mean,” Hugo hurried to add, “not just as a place of disastrous interviews, lost lambs, and brambles that tried to take your eye out.”

“I’ve seen plenty of good here.” Enough to make him wish the day had turned out differently. “Besides, I’ve heard the padre here is hot, single, and ready to mingle.”

Hugo laughed, the sound echoing. Then he quieted. “Did I say I was single?” he murmured.

Charles faltered. “I….”

“I am,” Hugo volunteered. “I just didn’t realise I’d said so. Or maybe you assumed, because….” He didn’t have to touch his scar for Charles to guess what he meant.

“Oh, no. I’ve fucked much worse-looking people.” Charles snapped his mouth closed. “I mean…” He blew out a breath. “That came out terribly. You’re very—”

“Scarred?” Hugo nodded as if that was a complete answer.

“Striking,” Charles offered. “A bit stern, but in a good way.” He bumped his shoulder against Hugo’s. “Some people like a bit of bossing, so don’t sell yourself short.”

“Some people?” Hugo asked dryly.

“Okay. Me.” Charles shrugged, no point denying it after his chapel confession. “You could boss me into a cup of tea, if you still wanted.”

They walked back to the path around the main school building, Hugo giving him a running commentary the whole way. “It’s incredible how much he’s got done, considering.”

“Who? And considering what?”

“Luke. The headmaster,” Hugo said. “And considering that we got here at the same time.” He looked rueful. “Or rather, I followed him here, I mean. Tagged along to have a good, long navel-gaze after”—he gestured at his face—“while he took over the running of this place the same week of a major school inspection.” He set off again before Charles could say that navel-gazing was a bit harsh for what sounded like Hugo making a big decision about his future. And that scar couldn’t have come from anything easy.

By the time he caught up, Hugo had turned a corner and stood in a courtyard. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket, and gestured with them towards a horseshoe of long, low buildings. “This is me,” Hugo said.

“They actually put you in the stables?” Charles smiled. “What? There wasn’t any room at the inn for you?” he joked as they crossed the courtyard together. “That’s a bit of a cliché isn’t it?”

“Glynn Harber’s far from Bethlehem,” Hugo said, opening a door and holding it open. “And I’m far from holy, remember?”

The door opened directly into a long room much brighter than Charles had expected, the whitewashed walls contrasting with exposed oak beams, sliding glass doors along the back wall letting more light flood in. The room held a living area and study, Charles saw, a table by the window doubling as a desk, covered in books and papers.

Hugo leant his stick against a coat rack. “At least I don’t have to share with donkeys, sheep, or cattle. This end of the stables was converted years ago.” He unlaced his shoes, which were as mud-stained as the ones Charles had polished that morning, and left them neatly on the doormat.

Charles copied, removing his own and leaving them next to Hugo’s, noticing the size difference.

You know what they say about men with big feet,that little voice inside him whispered.

Yes, he told it. They wear big socks. Now shut up.

He walked farther into the room where a rumpled blanket lay on a couch along with more books. He ended up next to the book-strewn table, which also held handwritten letters, their vivid pink notepaper garish in contrast to the room’s simple decor. One of them was open, writing crammed from top to bottom. Hugo came up behind him, silent in his socked feet and turned it over.

“Very bright notepaper,” Charles said, a touch embarrassed to be caught prying. “Caught my eye.”

“Letters from a friend. Not sure what prompted his choice of paper, but it means I never miss a new one in my post cubby.” He set the compass from his pocket down on top of it. He emptied the rest of the contents of his pockets too, adding his keys, and that bible. “Would have tidied up,” he said from so close that Charles felt the warm gust of his breath across the back of his neck. “If I’d known I was going to have company.”

“Does that happen often?” Charles found himself asking, aware that Hugo was still close behind him. “You having company here?”

Hugo didn’t appear to read that question as fishing, although that was what it was, Charles knew, the moment the words were out of his mouth—him fishing, like he would if Hugo was a prospective hook-up.

Am I really trying to pull a padre?

Or an almost-padre, anyhow.

I’m going to hell for even thinking it, he decided, but Hugo answered.

“Yes, I have company fairly often,” he said easily and then moved away. “There are two bedrooms here,” he said on his way into the next room where Charles heard a tap running, Hugo’s voice carrying over it. “So I share with whoever needs to use the spare room.” He came back with a damp cloth. “Last term, I shared with a student teacher from New Zealand. He was a bit older than Finn, so he stayed here instead of with the boarders. Messy bugger.” He sounded more fond than aggravated. “Noisy too.” He approached Charles. “I preferred it, to be honest.”

“Sharing with people rather than living on your own?” Charles admitted something he hadn’t realised until lately. “Me too, which is weird because after sharing almost non-stop since boarding at school, I thought I’d prefer the freedom of being on my own for a while, but I hated it when Keir left London.”

“This is the same Keir you thought you were confessing to earlier?”

“Please don’t remind me.” Charles would’ve burned with embarrassment if he hadn’t been too busy watching Hugo’s smile spread. It wasn’t completely asymmetrical, he realised. The scarred side just took a while to catch up.

“You shared with him?” Hugo asked. He also caught Charles by the elbow and steered him to the sliding doors. “Hold that thought, and come here, will you? A bit closer?”

Charles did, confused until Hugo squinted, studying his face in the afternoon light, and then dabbing at it with the cloth he’d brought from the kitchen. “Oh, don’t worry about that scratch. I can clean it.” Charles went to take it for himself, but he ended up covering Hugo’s hand with his own.

“Humour me,” Hugo said, his face mill-pond still as he focussed. “It’ll take a bit longer with you holding my hand, but it’s a nice view, so I’m in no rush.”

Charles wasn’t sure if Hugo winked or if that was the pull of the scar on his eyelid, but he dropped his hand, flustered.

Hugo continued his inspection. “It’s not bad,” he decided. “The blood just made it look a bit dramatic.”

“That’s me all over,” Charles said. “Drama is my middle name, according to both of my brothers.”

“Really?” Hugo dabbed some more, his touch firm yet gentle. “I think Tor might have something to say about that.” And yes, that was a wink. “Pretty sure he’d say your middle name is Hero.”

Praise prickled his cheeks. “Hardly.” Charles willed his flush away. “We’d still be in the woods if you hadn’t heard us singing.”

“I doubt that,” Hugo said, still close as though examining more than the scratch. “Why don’t you finish telling me about being lonely?” he asked, his voice low pitched, but relaxed—not demanding, just asking.

“I’m not lonely. Not really.” Only he had been before he’d moved home to Casterley, despite London’s endless options. “Maybe it’s genetic. Until my middle brother moved out, my whole family still shared the same house.”

“Sounds crowded.”

“It can feel that way sometimes,” Charles hedged, because he sometimes did feel hemmed in there, even if Casterley could’ve held Glynn Harber ten times over. That was more down to personalities than the square footage. “But lately, even being there feels….”

“Lonely too?” Hugo suggested, leaning into his space again in a way Charles might have ascribed to something other than him taking a closer look at the scratch on his face if it wasn’t for the bible on the table beside him. “How?” Hugo asked. “Someone like you can’t have trouble finding company, can you?” Hugo cupped his face, encouraging him to tilt it, not moving his hand away as he dabbed at the abrasion.

He stood so close that Charles got a much clearer view than when they’d sat side-by-side at the chapel. Half of his face was noticeably more mobile than the other.

Nerve damage, Charles thought, understanding why Hugo stared at him, captivated. That’s what he’s looking for.Of course he’s not interested in me. “It’s just a scratch. I’m fine,” he insisted. “And yes, I could find company, if I wanted.”

“I bet,” Hugo said quietly, his eyes fixed on the face he cleaned, still searching.

For some reason, that left Charles flustered for the second time in as many minutes. “B-but that gets boring, you know?”

“Having company?” Hugo asked, a small frown creasing his forehead. “Getting to know new people?”

“No….”

Charles couldn’t quite articulate his thoughts. Ones that had tickled at the edges of his consciousness for a while now. Or since Keir had moved to Cornwall, at least. Despite his joking outside, it didn’t feel right to confess to Hugo that his version of getting to know new people always involved undressing rather than conversing; having sex instead of speaking.

He tried harder to explain. “Spending time with people who don’t know me means explaining my choices. Explaining why someone from a titled family takes low-paid jobs. And then going from job to job so often doesn’t help either. I don’t get close to workmates because moving on means constant starting over. I always feel on the outside. Better not to start those conversations.”

Perhaps knowing that more of the same was on the cards for him once he left here crossed his face. He tried to look away, but Hugo’s hold on him didn’t waver.

“You’re not alone, Charles,” he said, eyes full of the compassion Charles had already witnessed. “You never truly are. You’re searching for purpose, that’s all, which makes you human.”

He set his cloth down next to the bible on the table, fingertips brushing it before rising. Charles felt them sweep across his forehead in a move that was probably only to push away his hair, but that felt close to a blessing.

“For everything, there is a season,” Hugo promised quietly. “This is your season of finding your way, maybe? Trying new paths.” He lowered his hand, letting Charles go. “And like I said before, I’m in exactly the same spot that you are, so I do get it.”

How he could compare what sounded to Charles like a soul-deep search to his fucking his way through London, he couldn’t fathom. Scrutinising himself hadn’t ever been a strong point, no need when George had no trouble doing that for him. “I kind of doubt that, but thanks,” Charles said, his voice a touch gritty, wishing he had even a speck of the belief Hugo conveyed in his you’re never alone statement. But right then, wild horses or not, a whole lot of feeling alone at Casterley seemed on the cards for his future.

He looked down to see blood polka-dotting his shirt and tie, the hems of his suit trousers muddy and still damp, and his hands scratched and filthy. “Can I use your bathroom? Then I’ll get out of your hair.”

Hugo showed him the way, pausing at the bathroom door. “You’re not in my hair, and you don’t need to hurry away. I’ve got time for you, Charles. Besides, it wouldn’t surprise me if Tor isn’t saving you a chocolate biscuit.”

It was a nice thought. One that got Charles through washing his hands and face, hissing at the sting of soap where the thorn had caught him. But going back into that classroom would sting too, a reminder of a chance that a gap in his CV meant he’d missed out on.

He dried his hands, and patted carefully round a scratch that would likely be gone soon, like him, no reason to linger in Cornwall now there was no hope he’d get to work here.

“At least George will be happy about that. Some free labour up in the attics,” he muttered on his way out, grimacing at the thought. Then he spoke up on his way into the living area. “You can have my biscuit. I do actually need to get off,” he said, only to find that Hugo wasn’t alone. “Headmaster.”

“It’s Luke, remember?” the headmaster said. “You’re going already? That’s a shame.”

“It is?”

“Yes, because I wanted a word before you left.” He opened the front door and pointed back to the main building. “Will you come with me?”