“Do you know what I’m going to make for me and you?” Alex said it as though it was going to be a feast, something fit for an emperor. “Bacon sarnies. Fancy it?”
“Yeah!” Tom laughed. He hadn’t expected Alex to offer to cook him breakfast. “Are you absolutely sure, though? You don’t want to get a few minutes’ extra kip?”
He shook his head and said, “Sleep or see the family before PMQs? No contest. Are you okay to marshal the troops while I do the extremely intricate and difficult cooking?”
“Yep—kids, bathroom!” Tom clapped his hands. “I want those teeth sparkling, Troopers!”
“Yes, sir!” the twins chorused as they climbed down from their seats. Once again the prized toy was in Alastair’s pajama pocket, as precious as a jewel.
Alex watched them go as he opened the fridge door, then told Tom, “I meant what I said, Tom. I’ll do better for you.”
Mandy’s words beat against Tom’s brain like a remorseless rising tide. “You’re a busy man—you don’t have to apologize to me. Honest.”
“They don’t have a mum and the last thing I need to be doing as their dad is missing their bedtimes and— Yesterday, when Mads showed me that toy, I brushed her off, and that was something I swore I’d never do. You all deserve better than that.”
Somehow, Tom managed to say around the lump in his throat, “I wish more parents were like you.”
“No job’s worth missing my kids growing up.” He reached into the fridge, its contents sorted with Tom’s usual military precision. “Have you got any plans for tonight?”
Tom shook his head. “Have you?”
“PMQs and Buckingham Palace when I didn’t get into bed until past two is more than enough for one day.” From the bathroom, the children called Tom’s name and Alex glanced toward the door. “I’m going to be home by six. I’m not missing supper and bedtime twice.”
“Followed by an early night—I mean, you’ll be half asleep by the time you get home.” And Tom took that awkward moment to hurry to the bathroom and wipe an enormous blob of toothpaste from Alastair’s forehead. As he helped the children wash and dress he could hear Alex arguing with the Today Programme in the kitchen and smell the aroma of bacon cooking. Mandy had to be wrong. At its heart, there was nothing different about this family. She couldn’t get when and who Alex had a relationship with— Maybe she could. Anything could happen in Westminster, after all.
Tom returned to the kitchen with the twins dressed and ready. There on the table was a fat bacon sandwich, made with thick slices of brown bread, and Alex stood beside the oven looking as proud as a man who’d just won a gold medal.
Tom sat down at the table while the twins crouched down to show the Madastair to Billy. “You should cook breakfast more often!”
“Sauce?”
“Lots,” Tom replied with a wink.
Alex bought the bottle to the table and said, “That’s what I like to hear.”
Tom touched the back of Alex’s hand, trying to bridge the gap between them. “Thank you. This looks great.”
He sat down at the table with his own plate, taking the same seat which had become Mandy’s imperial throne. “You don’t let us look after you enough. So if I have to cook bacon to do it, I will. And even I can’t get bacon wrong!”
Tom added a dollop of sauce to his sandwich and took a large bite. “Mmm!” And it was very good. But perhaps the best thing about it wasn’t the soft bread or that the bacon had been done to a turn—it was because Alex, tired, overworked Alex, had wanted to make it for him.
“I might chuck an egg on it next time—I’m getting ambitious!” As Alex was speaking, he held out his sandwich, letting each of the twins take a bite.
Madeleine patted her stomach in a big circle, then held the Madastair toward the sandwich for a nibble. Alex, it seemed, had discovered a talent for bacon.
“Tonight,” he announced, as the little toy monopolized his sandwich, “I’ll be here for supper. And I want to hear all about our Madastair’s adventures, monsters, but can I have my breakfast back?”
“He’s finished now,” Madeleine assured him, and passed the plastic figure to her brother. They played merrily as Tom and Alex dined, then swarmed around attempting to help their father load the dishwasher, but the morning couldn’t wait forever and eventually Alex went off to shower and dress, ready to face the loathed circus of Prime Minister’s Questions.
Chapter Nineteen
Tom put BBC Parliament on while he got the twins’ lunch ready. His heart leaped as he saw Alex at the despatch box, but Tom wondered if everyone else watching could tell that Alex was tired. His rebuttals weren’t quite so swift, his mastery of the minutiae a little labored and he was leaning on the despatch box not with his usual easy aplomb, but as though it was the only thing stopping him from falling. For the first time in four years of the circus, he wasn’t the ringmaster.
Had something happened yesterday on his trip to the north?
But Tom couldn’t imagine it was that—Alex had undertaken all manner of trips around the country—and much farther afield—during his time in office, and with little sleep had still ruled at the despatch box.
Tom caught sight of his own reflection in the chrome front of the fridge and recoiled.
It’s my fault.
Because that was all that was different—Tom had kissed the man’s neck. And he’d tied him in knots and forced him to confront his sexuality, and before them was a relationship that wouldn’t work in a million years.
What the hell have I done? The Madastair sat on the table where the twins had left it for safekeeping, telling Tom that it’d keep an eye on him until they came home. He heard the opposition jeering from the television speaker, sneering at Alex, and he thought of Mandy’s cold ambition and the twins and the toy and everything he stood to lose.
Because he’d ruined it all.
Alex, the consummate statesman, looked as if hadn’t even brushed his hair that morning.
How had Tom ever thought this could work, this job? Stuart was right, it was a ridiculous job for a former soldier. And besides that, Tom was doing well following in his parents’ footsteps. Mess everyone else’s lives up, because you’re too selfish to see beyond the end of your nose. He should have run a mile from the job—he wasn’t up to it.
Seducing his boss. That’s what he’d done, wasn’t it? And he’d destroyed the man.
The consummate Southwell.
“An uncharacteristically subdued Alex Hart off to lick his wounds after that bruising encounter,” the studio pundit said as the jeers from the Chamber died away. No, he didn’t say it. He positively crowed it. “And by this time next week, he’ll know if his cherished Child Poverty Action Bill has been approved by Commons. It should be a formality, but as we’ve just seen, anything can happen in the House of Commons.”
All those children who went to bed hungry—and still would. And it was all Tom’s fault.
Can’t trust a Southwell.
Tom picked up the Madastair and turned it and turned it in the light by the window. He sniffed back a tear. Where on earth would he go from here?
He thought about Alex in his office even now, knowing that he’d been bested, tormented by the knowledge that in the last PMQs before his bill went to the vote, he hadn’t had all the facts. In a decent world nobody would have any reason to cast their vote against it, but this wasn’t the real world— it was the Palace of Westminster, a place where power-brokering and ambition could come ahead of even the welfare of children. There were people who didn’t want reform, people who liked the status quo, and Alex had just exposed a dangerous chink in his armor to them.
Because of Captain Tom Southwell.
Chapter Twenty
Tom went through the afternoon in a daze. The twins ran around the flat, showing the Madastair every inch of the place. He should have been charmed at how they could find hours of entertainment in something so simple, but, after all, Alex had imbued it with magic.
And Tom had done an excellent job of destroying it.
As six o’clock arrived, Tom wondered what on earth he’d say to Alex. Surely he wouldn’t want to be reminded of his disastrous PMQs. But didn’t Tom owe it to him to say something?
This time the sound of the door opening didn’t leave Tom breathless with anticipation, but filled with apprehension. Even though Alex didn’t call out his usual greeting, the children flew off to meet him. He heard Alex’s cheery salutation, his tone tired even as it sounded full of happiness to see them.
“Evening, Alex!” Tom called, trying his best to sound upbeat.
“Evening, Tom,” Alex said as he carried the twins into the kitchen. “I’m getting too old for these late nights!”
“Me too!” Tom laughed, his mirth forced. “Tea or wine?”
“Tea, I think. I’ll brew.”
“Tea with tea.” Alastair laughed. “Daddy’s home for tea!”
“Lots and lots of tea!” Madeleine sang, punching the air.
“Are you sure, Alex?” Tom felt Alex’s exhaustion draining his own reserves of energy. “Do you want to chill in the bath or something?”
He shook his head. “Can I do anything to help with dinner?”
“It’s all in the oven, so you don’t need to worry. Lasagne and a nice big heap of ciabatta.”
“Maybe I will grab a very quick bath. How long have I got?”
“Half an hour.” If Tom hadn’t been so distracted with his own woes, he would’ve had the dinner ready earlier. Failing once again. It should’ve been ready close to six. “Time for a quick bath, I’d say.”
“Bath and pajamas,” Alastair said as he scrambled down from his father’s arms. “Then tea.”
And Alex seemed to agree, because twenty-five minutes after he had left the kitchen, he returned. Tom was ready to serve up and saw at once that Alex looked at least a little more refreshed. His hair was wet, his feet bare and he wore a pair of black pajama trousers and a bright blue T-shirt. The prime minister, it seemed, was home for the evening.
“You look more relaxed,” Tom said. He pulled out a chair for Alex at the table. “Come on, sit down.”
Tom would’ve offered him another shoulder rub, but as he knew only too well, it would only lead to disaster.
Instead he stuck to the safe topic of food and together the Harts and Tom dined royally, as though everything was normal. And to the children, Tom hoped, it would be. Their father was here, and that was all that should matter.
The twins sat either side of Alex, leaning against him, their eyes getting heavier and heavier as dinner went on. They had been awake in the middle of the night, after all, so Tom wasn’t surprised. Bathtime wasn’t as raucous as it sometimes was, and all too soon they were tucked up in bed.
Tonight there wasn’t even a story, just two little people snuggled beneath their duvets, fast asleep before their heads had a chance to hit the pillow.
Now the night would be more strained than ever. Because now there was only Tom and Alex.
Tom poured them each a glass of wine. He couldn’t bear the awkwardness a moment longer and said, “Alex, you don’t seem yourself.”
“We need to talk.”
Tom’s stomach knotted and he glanced away. “I know we do,” he said, his voice quiet.
For a long moment Alex simply looked at him, and Tom waited, readying himself for the heartbreak that was about to follow. He hadn’t expected his life with the Harts to end this way, so quickly and painfully.
And I deserve it.
But Alex didn’t pull the trigger. Instead he reached out and caressed Tom’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. Then he took a step forward and kissed Tom’s lips, the touch soft as gossamer.
The kiss took Tom by surprise and he blinked at Alex. “Are you sure? We can’t, Alex. We can’t.”
Because if he tried to touch Alex, he knew what would happen. And what if it never stopped happening? That wasn’t a relationship.
“Don’t you want—? Oh God, Tom, I’m sorry.” Alex took a long drink from his glass. “The last thing you want is me lunging at you, isn’t it?”
He couldn’t be further from the truth.
Tom stroked Alex’s arm, down to his wrist, and took his hand. “There’s nothing I’d want more than you lunging at me, but…you wanted us to talk. Alex, are you okay? I watched PMQs—I’m sure you don’t want to discuss it, but you didn’t seem yourself.”
“That was a bloody mess.” Their hands linked, Alex led Tom to the sofa. When they were sitting he looked down at their entwined fingers and said, “I feel as though everybody wants a piece of me, Tom. Jenny thinks I’m trying to forget Gill, I’m asked half a dozen times a day when the election’s going to be and what my plans are, and when I saw Mandy the other day, she as good as told me that my life belongs to the party until they decide otherwise. I’m ready for recess, because I need a break. Even if all I’m allowed is a week on the coast.”
“She came to see me yesterday. I didn’t want to bother you about it, but we’re in trouble for going out the other night.” Tom brought their joined hands to his cheek. “She said you’re not even allowed a girlfriend until the election’s over—Christ knows what she’d think if she knew we…we had…” Whatever the heck it was.
“She came here?” There was a hint of steel in his expression, a fight that hadn’t been there in the Chamber earlier. “She’s crossed a line. My family—my private life—that’s all off limits. I’m genuinely that stupid idealist who wanted to make a difference and all around me is ambition. They lose sight of what matters, they’ll do anything for five more bloody years.”
“Yeah… She rang me and the kids were back from preschool, so I said she could pop round. She sat there drinking a cup of hot water and pretty much told me off. For even existing, I think.” Tom shrugged. “But after that, I could see why this—us—is so difficult for you. I don’t know what we can do.”
“We can do whatever we like. We’re grown men. People like Mandy, they’re out for themselves. She’ll always rise to the top.” He took a deep breath. “I want us, Tom.”
“You—you do?” Tom stroked Alex’s cheek. “I do too. And I thought I’d blown it.”
“But I owe you an explanation, because how can I sit here and say I want you when I won’t let you lay a finger on me?” Alex lifted Tom’s hand and kissed it. “There’s no big secret, no terrible revelation…there’s just me. You’ve always been so honest about your sexuality, Tom, I didn’t even know if it was okay to tell a gay man, I’m bisexual. Is it okay? Am I doing it wrong?”
“It’s how you feel, isn’t it? I’m not going to tell you to pick a side, or say you’re confused, or any of that nonsense.” Tom moved nearer and slipped his arm around Alex’s shoulders. “If you fancy men and women, then it’s fine by me. In fact, I’m pretty glad you do!”
“I’ve never done more than kiss a man,” he admitted with a smile. “And I suppose I’m lucky that the few I did kiss haven’t sold their stories. But I don’t think that’s the sort of thing High Court judges do, is it?”
Tom chuckled. “It was the gown and the wig, wasn’t it? You couldn’t resist!” He stroked Alex’s back. “I wouldn’t have known, by the way. You have a good grasp of what to do.”
“I suppose I’ve got a bit of inside knowledge, since I’m a bloke.” Alex shrugged, his smile mischievous. “And the judge and I were both twenty-one at the time, in case you were wondering. But when I met Gill, I knew she was the one I had to be with. And I never told her, and it’s ridiculous, but now I feel as though I should have, as though I misled her.”
“You adored her, Alex. You didn’t mislead her. She knew you loved her—that’s the most important thing.” And perhaps, Tom wondered, the fact that Gill hadn’t known was one of the biggest blocks in Alex’s path. “You were happy with her, you weren’t looking elsewhere. It didn’t matter that you find men attractive too—I’m sure you weren’t the least bothered about men whil
e you were with her, right?”
“I wasn’t bothered about anybody but Gill while I was with her. She was everything to me.”
“There—so you didn’t mislead her, did you? And do you know what, if she had known, I’m sure she wouldn’t have minded at all. She loved every bit of you. Even the bits she didn’t know.” Tom smiled. “And you never know, maybe she even had an inkling but never said?”
“Maybe,” he murmured thoughtfully. “When she was ill, she was so focused on us, on keeping her family together—and you were always part of that, you know. She thought the world of you, because you didn’t look at her with the sad sympathy face that used to drive her up the wall. But you were just like me, she was Gill to you, not her illness.”
“Yeah, she was my friend Gill.” Tom sighed. “I don’t know how Jenny can think that you’re trying to forget Gill. You never could, and neither could I.”
“If we’re going to make a go of this, Jenny and Malcolm and Mum and Dad need to know that nothing’s going to change. That’s my job, I know that.” He kissed Tom’s hand again, as though he couldn’t quite believe he was real. “But I don’t want you to think— I don’t want you to think it’s weird because you work here. Jenny was full of that employee and employer nonsense, I hadn’t even thought about it until then…but I couldn’t stop thinking about it afterward.”
Tom looked at Alex in surprise. “I hadn’t thought about that either! I don’t exactly feel like your employee—your friend, really. Don’t let that worry you for another second. If anything, I keep worrying that I took advantage of you—not the other way round. I hope to God I didn’t. What a mess!”
“You took advantage of me? Bloody hell, Tom, that massage… I’ve not been able to get it out of my head!”
Tom raised an eyebrow. “Well, okay then—not so much take advantage as recklessly seduce?”
Alex opened his blue eyes wide. And they sparkled.
“I like the sound of that.”
“I could always recklessly seduce you again, if you like?” Tom whispered.
The Captain and the Prime Minister Page 16