The Boy in the Smoke Read Online Free Page B

the water as they held their flower-heavy hats at their sides.
    Stephen was determined not to fall, not in front of his parents. He ground his jaw as he stood, and the boat wobbled under him. Two people up, Maxwell looked very unsteady. Stephen felt the judder underneath as the boat began to wobble. There was an expectant mumble from the crowd. But Maxwell steadied, and they sat back down and rowed on.
    When the show was over, Stephen rejoined his family on the lawn. His father appeared to be having some kind of informal business meeting on a neighbouring lawn blanket with some people who worked either at or with his bank. His mother was just finishing up a conversation with a few other women, and they were briefly left alone, sitting in the sun.
    Maybe it was the beauty of the day. Maybe it was because, in theory, this was his day and his moment to be the object of attention. There was a gravity and import to the event. Maybe, just maybe  … 
    “I want to do something for Gina,” he said.
    He actually had no plan to go along with this. He simply wanted to say her name. His mother tucked an empty champagne bottle back into the basket, her downturned eyes suggesting that he had done something just a bit distasteful.
    “Stephen.” She lowered her voice. “Not here, not today.”
    “If not here, where? I live here. And if not today, when?”
    “I am not discussing this.”
    “Her. You are not discussing her.”
    “Correct,” his mother said.
    “She was your daughter,” he said.
    “I know perfectly well what she was. Just stop it. Stop making a scene.”
    Stephen looked around at the complete lack of a scene. They were still surrounded by picnics and light chatter and soft laughter and champagne and the gentle slosh of the river.
    “What scene? I just wanted to talk about her. Because  …  she should have been here today.”
    “Why are you doing this?” his mother asked.
    “Because she matters.”
    His mother actually rolled her eyes at this expression, and he felt himself tense. Of course, his parents wouldn’t respond to a phrase like that—one that sounded like it had come right off a television programme. But Gina
did
matter and he didn’t know how else to express that fact.
    “Why don’t you talk about her?” he said. “Don’t you think we should?”
    “No,” his mother answered. “And I won’t have today ruined. Why must you ruin everything for me?”
    “
Ruin
everything? What have I
ever
ruined?”
    He kept his voice low, but even still, one or two people turned to look. His mother stiffened. His father must have picked up on the fact that something was going on, because he concluded his conversation and rejoined them.
    “Stephen,” he said. “Help me get something from the car, won’t you?”
    They walked over the green fields to the cars. There was no one around but the attendants, and they were reasonably far back. Stephen folded his arms, expecting a minor dressing down. To his surprise, he felt a push on his shoulders that knocked him against the side of the car.
    “What the hell are you doing?” his father said in a low, threatening voice.
    “Talking about my sister,” Stephen replied. “
Your daughter
. Remember her?”
    “You always were a bit soft, weren’t you? I thought they would knock that out of you here. I’ll do it myself, if I have to.”
    Was this actually happening? Was his father threatening him, physically, here on the Eton parking grounds?
    The eye-to-eye look, the stance  …  yes. This was happening. And it almost made Stephen laugh out loud. While his father probably made the occasional trip to the office gym, Stephen had spent every day of the last several years being roughed up on the rugby pitch, stuck in wall game scrums, and rowing for hours a day. He was stronger than his father now, undoubtedly much faster, and just a hair taller. He was not a fighter, but the simple nature of his sporting life meant he was used to taking and dealing with body