Chapter Text
Summer 190—.
By the time Martin came to breakfast, his father and brother had already left, their dishes cleared away. Sammy wasn’t there yet, which didn’t surprise him. Sammy never got up before 9 am if he could help it, while Martin usually rose with the sun. Sometimes before.
The two of them had arrived at the Nicholls’ house the previous night. It was the summer holidays, and most students went home to their families. But Sammy’s father had moved (or, as Sammy had put it, “fucked off,”) to Cornwall earlier this year, and Sammy balked at the fare for the long train journey. And, Martin suspected, didn’t particularly want to go in the first place. And because Sammy had also not wanted to stay in halls all by himself, he had — somehow both shyly and boldly at the same time — asked if he could come along with Martin. Martin had more or less immediately sat down to write the letter informing his parents he’d bring a friend.
Realistically, Martin had no reason to be nervous. John brought friends with him all the time; there had been one week where he had invited seemingly his whole class. One very, very long week in which an abundance of energetic young men had traipsed about the house, most of the time in only their shirtsleeves, and a few maddening times in only their undershirts.
It had been a frustrating time for Martin.
But his parents had thought nothing of it. If anything, they were glad that their favourite son was so popular. So there was no way Martin’s parents would ever suspect that Sammy and Martin’s relationship was any different.
And yet. When Sammy finally came wobbling to the breakfast table still half asleep, Martin’s heartbeat quickened, and it wasn’t just because Sammy had not done his shirt up properly and exposed a delicious glimpse of his clavicles. Even though it was completely irrational, Martin was convinced for a few seconds that his family could see the truth about him and Sammy as plainly as if it was written on their faces.
Sammy returned the family’s good mornings politely, if mumbled. He briefly hesitated, regarding the two empty chairs — one beside Victoria, the other next to Martin. He caught Martin’s eye, and Martin thought he saw the question in them. Sit next to Victoria, a young, unmarried woman he didn’t know, or next to Martin, his secret lover?
Martin willed Sammy to sit down next to him. There was no reason his parents would think anything amiss about the two of them sitting next to each other. If anything, the fact that Sammy didn’t was more suspicious.
“Oh please,” Victoria sighed and pulled out the chair next to her. She gave her mother, who looked utterly shocked, a stern stare. “I can have whoever I want sit next to me,” she said with an edge.
“Well, I never,” Mrs Nicholls muttered.
Sammy chuckled as he sat down. “I assure you, Mrs Nicholls,” he said, plucking a slice of toast from the rack, “my intentions are just to have breakfast.” He gave her a smile, and even though Martin couldn’t see all of it, he knew by his mother’s instant softening that it was one of those charming smiles that could make the king want to hand him his crown. Martin was decidedly not the only one susceptible to its spell, and it was completely irresistible.
As he once again realised when Sammy smiled at him, too. He hastily gulped down some tea. “Where are Father and John?” he asked.
His mother sighed. “At work.”
“This early?” asked Sammy.
Mrs Nicholls sighed again. “They’re working themselves to death. I barely see either of them these days.”
Martin, out of his mother’s view, rolled his eyes at Victoria. To death? John and his father were sitting at desks, fiddling with numbers. Hardly back-breaking. And hardly warranting skipping breakfast.
Well, more for Martin. And peace for Martin, too. He could definitely do without his father’s ‘good-natured’ ragging, or his brother’s barely disguised contempt.
Meanwhile, his mother was interrogating Sammy, about his family, what his father did, where he’d gone to school, all those incredibly tedious and meaningless things. She made ebullient noises of sympathy when Sammy told her his mother had died when he was three, and was very impressed that Mr Thackery Sr. was a barrister, but less so when Sammy clarified he no longer practised.
Martin couldn’t stand it any more. He stuffed the last of his toast into his mouth and rose. “Fancy going for a swim, Sammy, old boy?” The last few days had been sweltering, and today promised to be no less so. “I know a pond in the woods.” It was quiet and charming, and most importantly, secluded.
“Grand,” Sammy replied, likewise wolfing down his breakfast. He stood. “If you’ll excuse us, Mrs Nicholls. Miss Nicholls.”
“Perhaps I could join—” Victoria began, moving her chair back, but her mother stopped her with a firm hand on the back of it. She didn’t even have to say anything for Victoria to shrink back in on herself.
A little, Martin was sorry for her. He gave her a commiserating smile. She gave one back.
But also, Martin thought while he and Sammy, their towels and swimming trunks under their arms, walked towards the woods, he was, for once, quite glad for his mother’s hard hand. He loved his sister, but he really didn’t want her coming with them right now.
Because at the pond, they stripped down. And didn’t bother putting their swimming trunks on.