“Is Bernie a fan of cricket?”
Kennedy peered quizzically at Kieran.
“Funny you should ask—he is, actually. Huge. Works as a freelance writer for a couple of sports magazines. Why did you ask that? Because he’s an Aussie?”
“No, because their kids have the names of famous Aussie cricketers—Adam Gilchrist, Glenn McGrath and Dennis Lillee.”
Once again Kennedy grinned. He’d never made the connection. Not that the given names of his nephews were in any way unusual, but he had always assumed they’d been picked at random. Which once again confirmed the sharp intelligence of this year’s companion.
“You’ll have to ask him, if he’s around. Apparently he’s often travelling. Okay, so onto my friends on the cruise. Easy enough, because there are only five coming this year. Steph and Laurie are a couple I’ve known since uni. Well, Steph, anyway. They have their own little shop down in Sussex which specialises in antique furniture renovations and doubles as a hairdresser’s. Yes, I know, an odd combination, but you’ll get along fine with both of them. Then there’s Pete and Eric, who are permanent fixtures. Eric’s retired and Pete is—actually, I have no idea what Pete does for a living. But he’s the one who brings us all together, so do your best to endure his irritating and persistent sense of humour. And finally, there’s Leonard.”
Kennedy went quiet for a second, remembering Leonard’s kind words when he and Patrick had parted ways.
“Go on,” prompted Kieran.
“The last time we talked, Len had a number of companies—early on, he developed a knack for juggling a lot of online businesses—and does really well. Specialist real estate, holiday rental properties, vintage cars, among other things. Of all my friends, he’s the entrepreneur, the smart, successful businessman.”
“Wow, is that faint praise I hear? So he’s single, too?”
“Yes, but unlike me, his partner died. Don’t think he ever really recovered, so he threw himself into his work.”
“You had a partner, too?”
“Patrick, yes.”
“And what happened to him?”
“He left me. But fortunately, he’s not going to be there, so you don’t need to know anything about him.”
Thankfully, Kieran had the sense not to push the subject. Kennedy did not want to talk about Patrick, did not want to open that can of worms.
“So why only five this year?”
“Because the others tend to side with my ex. So if he doesn’t come, neither do they.”
“Wow, sounds really grown-up. Okay, is that everyone?”
“That’s everyone,” said Kennedy, before turning to Kieran. “Now how about you? I suppose I ought to know something about your family. In case anyone asks.”
For a moment Kieran appeared a little uncomfortable, shifting in his seat. After taking a sip of his champagne, he sighed deeply and started speaking.
“Not much to tell. Got a younger brother and an older sister. Julie’s thirty-one. Sean is twenty-two. On the day Mum announced to us all that she was expecting Sean, our father checked out. Disappeared off the face of the planet. Although we suspect he went back to Argentina. He has family there. Mum was left to bring up a newborn and two young kids. Jules and I had to step up, but thank goodness we also had Mum’s parents to help. Couldn’t afford to send Julie to university, but I went and Sean’s there now, finishing up his degree in Leeds. I help with his fees where I can.”
“That’s got to have been tough.”
“We survived. I had a couple of jobs since leaving full time education. The last one in real estate started out good—lasted four years—but when times are tough nobody wants to buy or sell. I was let go three months ago. Not long after, I split with my girlfriend, who also kicked me out. Since then I’ve been sleeping on my sister’s couch. Which is why I desperately needed this sick and depraved job. Am I allowed to say that, now we’ve reached cruising altitude?”
“What? About this sick and depraved job that has you sitting in business class sipping vintage champagne?”
“Okay, point taken. There is that.”
“Now, before I let you watch movies or sleep or whatever, I have a couple of small items for you.”
Kieran appeared a little uncomfortable.
“Honestly, you don’t need to—”
“Hear me out. These are things I’ve given to all my travelling companions at the outset of a holiday.”
Kennedy took out a small brown envelope from his pocket.
“Inside here, there’s a nominal sum of different currencies for all our Asian destinations. Yes, I know this may feel as though I’m giving you pocket money, but it’s mainly because I want you to have funds in case of emergencies. If you need a taxi, something to eat or drink, or see anything you want to buy. I don’t want you to feel as though you need to rely on me to pay for everything.”
“I do have some money of my own that I can change up.”
“Of course you do, but I thought this might be more convenient.”
Although he didn’t appear entirely happy, Kieran placed the small envelope into his tracksuit pants pocket.
“Thank you.”
“Everything on the cruise is either included, or can be signed to the cabin. Understood?”
“Okay.”
Finally, Kennedy took a playing card out of his shirt pocket and handed the item over. After hesitating for a moment, and with one eyebrow raised, Kieran took the card.
“I don’t understand. What am I supposed to do with this?”
“What card is it?”
“Jack of spades.”
“Otherwise known as a Black Jack. Yes?”
“Yes. But why do I need it?”
“Usually I hand these out for a very different reason. But for you, let’s say that if things are getting a bit too much and you need time out, or help—or as a last resort, to quit and come home, or…whatever. Just hand me the card and I will sort things out.”
“Like a ‘get out of jail free’ card.”
“If you like,” said Kennedy, before staring pointedly at Kieran, concern in his eyes. “But please tell me you’ll do your best to stay away from foreign prisons.”
After that they barely spoke. From time to time, Kennedy noticed Kieran marvelling at the delights of business class. An hour into the flight, on hearing whirring sounds, he turned to see Kieran discovering the functions of his business class seat by pushing buttons to make the chair contort into a variety of positions. At other times, he smiled to himself at Kieran’s enjoyment, such as when he bolted upright, eyes wide, as the pick of four choices of main course rolled up on a trolley, or when he lounged back with the large headphones perched on his head, laughing a little too loudly at a movie on the entertainment system. When the cabin lights finally dimmed, Kennedy switched on his reading light to continue scanning the financial reports Karl had provided. Every now and again, in between research, he peered over at Kieran, who lay curled on his side in the bed, sleeping soundly. A tiny smile tugged at Kennedy’’s mouth. Going back to his reports, he shook his head and swatted away the tiny bud of affection forming there.
This holiday partnership would be strictly business, Kennedy reminded himself.
Strictly business.
Chapter Eight
Kieran
Kieran could not believe the experience of flying business. After completing his landing card, he’d managed to sleep for a full seven hours of the thirteen-hour flight, woken only three short times—once by rough turbulence, another to use the restroom and the last to collect and stow his duty-free purchase. After weeks on his sister’s soft couch, the bed’s firm comfort came as a welcome relief. And he woke now to coffee aromas floating out from the galley. Next to him, Kennedy, still in an upright seated position, had a folder open on his chest, but his sleeping head lolled to one side. Somewhat endearingly, he appeared vulnerable in sleep, his face unlined and at peace, not the tough persona he gave off when awake. Kieran lik
ed him, didn’t feel threatened by him at all, but needed to keep in mind that at the end of the day, this was simply a job, a means to an end. Theirs was never going to be a lasting friendship.
After unclipping his seat belt and resetting his seat into a sitting position, Kieran crept to the toilet to freshen up. Even there, he laughed to himself at the opulence, spraying an Evian mist into his face, followed by one of the array of citrus colognes. Yes, he could certainly get used to this. But was he ready to meet the Kennedy clan, he asked his reflection? And what would they make of him? From what Kennedy said, he’d never brought any of those vacuous Ken doll kids with him. But surely his ex-partner had visited? So should he just be himself, or melt into the background, make himself scarce. No, he thought, standing tall in front of the mirror. ’Kennedy’s family would meet his true self, and whether they liked him or not was their choice.
When he finally returned, Kennedy had awoken.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” said Kieran.
“What time is it?”
While sitting back down in his seat, he checked his wristwatch.
“Eight in the morning.”
“In London, maybe. What’s that in Singapore time?”
“No idea. Shall I call one of the cabin—”
“No need. It’s on the monitor. Almost three in the afternoon. Two hours until we land. Singapore’s seven hours ahead, in case you want to reset your watch.”
Afternoon, mused Kieran, refastening his seat belt. Cole had warned him about jet lag, about getting used to different time zones. Jules had told him that if he could sleep on the long haul flight, he could work through the change and not experience jet lag at all. Time would tell. Right then, however, he felt fresh and awake. More importantly, the cabin crew had begun to set up his table for breakfast.
“Breakfast at three o’clock in the afternoon. Haven’t done that since uni.”
“Don’t think about it. Might take a couple of days to get acclimatised, but my advice is don’t fight tiredness. If you find yourself needing an afternoon nap, just go for it.”
“I feel fantastic.”
“You do now. But jet lag has a way of creeping up on you.”
“Ah, but you see, I have youth on my side.”
Kieran didn’t miss Kennedy’s raised eyebrow and smirk. But to be honest, right then, with his stomach full of fresh fruit, omelette and coffee, he felt ready to conquer the world.
Landing and disembarking happened so leisurely—memories of fighting to get his luggage from the overhead, and being crushed and jostled off a low-cost carrier flight in Ibiza, still haunted him—that they were in the carpeted bowels of Singapore’s trendy Changi airport within minutes. Immigration passed in a well-organised blur until they reached the luggage claim, their bags having already arrived. Even in that short time, Kieran sensed Kennedy getting tense, noticed him peering at his phone then looking around outside the big glass wall separating luggage claim from airport arrivals. Eventually he understood why.
“Is someone picking us up?”
“My father. Grab your bags and let’s go. Let’s not piss him off before we’ve even said hello. He hates to be kept waiting.”
Unsurprisingly, Jefferson Grey turned out to be an older, shorter but broader version of Kennedy. Dressed casually, as though he had been interrupted from a game of golf, he wore a grey polo shirt, grey tartan trousers, white belt and white sports shoes. Unsmiling, he gave his son a handshake followed by a perfunctory hug, the words ‘son’ and ‘dad’ being the only endearments passing from one to the other. Kieran almost smirked at the formality. After a few further banal pleasantries, Kennedy turned to introduce Kieran. When Jefferson’s face registered a flicker of distaste followed by an ensuing visual inspection, Kieran decided to go into action.
“Good afternoon, sir,” he said boldly, stepping forward and holding out a hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Jefferson took his hand and Kieran provided a firm handshake. “Can I say what a pleasure it is to be here and how grateful I am to you and your wife for allowing me to stay with you. Kennedy has told me so much about Singapore, and I’m absolutely delighted to have the opportunity to visit the republic first-hand.”
Perhaps he had laid the greeting on a bit thick and, peripherally, he noticed Kennedy turn to stare at him. The effect on Grey senior was instantaneous. The older man’s eyes widened and he nodded.
“Uh, you’re more than welcome. Any friend of my son’s, as they say.”
While Kennedy’s father flustered a reply, Kieran reached into his small backpack.
“And I’ve bought you a gift of thanks, a bottle of cognac.” Kieran handed over the duty-free bag to Jeff, once again to Kennedy’s astonishment. “Kennedy told me you enjoyed a tipple every now and then. Hope you like Hennessy XO, sir?”
“Um, yes, I do indeed. Very much so. That’s very kind of you. And please call me Jeff.”
Jeff began to lead them off towards the external doors.
“Jeff it is. So, Jeff, is the weather always this hot in Singapore? Or do you have distinct seasons?”
“Well, we’re almost right on the equator, so it’s pretty hot all the year round. Ask most Singaporeans and they’ll tell you we only have two seasons—hot and wet. Come Christmas, there’s not a snowflake in sight, except polystyrene ones in the shopping malls. Follow me now. I’ve parked up in the short stay. How was the flight?”
Kieran nodded to Kennedy then, allowed him to take over the small talk. As they passed through the automatic doors of the air-conditioned arrivals hall out into the day, the humidity hit him like stepping into a steam room. Kieran had experienced nothing like the wall of damp heat that enveloped him. Together, they trailed their luggage into the nondescript inside of the car park until Jeff reached a white Toyota Camry.
Comfortable again in the air-conditioned car, Kieran relaxed on the back seat behind Kennedy, peering out of the window to a sun-bleached afternoon. Singapore appeared more like home than anywhere he had seen in Europe. Clear road signage in English, vehicles driving on the left side of well-maintained roads or three-lane expressways, all bordered by lush green vegetation, exotic-looking but equally well maintained. Before long, simple high-rise apartment blocks appeared on their right, Jeff explaining that on their left they were tracing the coastline. Fifteen minutes later they crested a hill, with Jeff pointing out a handful of the landmarks—Marina Bay Sands hotel resort and casino with what looked like a barge balanced on top of three giant blocks, the futuristic Gardens by the Bay with Martian-like tree structures, the Singapore Flyer, similar to, but bigger than, the London Eye. Kennedy’s father appeared to enjoy being the tour guide, and probably did so only for Kieran’s benefit, because Kennedy must have seen the sights before.
Eventually, they turned into a more residential neighbourhood—exclusive, by the number of landed houses—until they came to a black iron gate. Jeff picked up and pressed a small device on the dashboard, causing the large gateway to swing inwards, allowing them to drive up a short lane. Before them, the two-story house lay in its own grounds, surrounded on all sides by metal fences and tall trees.
“In Singapore, we call these kind of houses ‘black-and-whites’ because of their distinctive Tudor style. My father bought this one back in the sixties and we’ve had her updated a lot since them. Kennedy, you have your old bedroom and I’ve put Kieran in the room at the back, above the pool.”
Impressive did not even begin to describe the house. Set amid perfectly trimmed lawns, the front of the house jutted out on columns so that the open space below fell in shade. At one time, this must have been where vehicles drove up to the house. Now the space beneath had been fitted with striped blinds which lent themselves perfectly to the colonial feel of the structure.
“You have your own swimming pool?”
“We do. A fifty-foot lap pool. A blessing if, like me, you favour an early morning swim.”
Kieran leant forward and spoke into the back of Kennedy’s head.
“Kennedy, you never told me you were descended from royalty.”
Although Kennedy didn’t say a thing, next to him, Jeff chuckled.
“Hardly royalty, son. But I have mixed with some famous people over the years. Come along, let’s park up, get you settled, showered and changed. Then you can come and meet the rest of the family.”
They parked around the back of the house under a long canopy next to a large black four-wheel drive. An older man and a young boy—Indonesian perhaps, and maybe household staff—came out of a two-story building at one side of the grounds and headed towards their car.
“Reagan’s here?” asked Kennedy.
“It’s the only time she had free. As you’ve only deigned to stay for three nights.”
“We’re on a tight schedule—”
“Which is clearly more important than family.”
Kennedy didn’t reply, but sat stiffly in his seat. And right there, Kieran sampled the initial signs of familial frostiness.
Shit, he thought to himself, if they were going to survive the next few days intact, the time had come to ramp up the old West family charm.
Let the show begin.
Chapter Nine
Kennedy
Climbing the slow rise of oak stairs to his room, Kennedy remembered the sounds and smells of the old house with mixed feelings. Even though he had only lived there until the age of ten—after that, he had been packed off to boarding school in England—he recalled the pungent smell of pine floor polish and camphor, shuttered windows diffusing the fierce daylight, the constant thrum of ceiling fans running throughout the house, now replaced by almost silent air conditioners, the unique heat of each day except when the respite of cooling monsoon rains hit, and the sound of geckos chit-chatting and toads croaking throughout the night. As memories went, they were not bad ones. But this was no longer his world and never really had been.
Companion Required Page 5