“I can’t believe he allows you to call him Lenny. And the answer is, no, I thought I’d leave the idea with you. And only if you can spare the time.”
“Let me talk to him. But that’s really kind of you.”
“And now you’re in his life, you have to come to Sunday lunch at ours. We don’t live far away. And Lenny tells me you’ve got some work through a friend of ours.”
“You know Tom Bradford?”
“We know his husband better. Marcus Vine? He’s a celebrity chef. He catered our wedding.”
Adrian shrugged. He didn’t follow the tabloids.
“That’s nice. And maybe you can come and have lunch at Lenny’s place while I’m staying there.”
Kennedy laughed, not unkindly, but there was definitely a dubious quality to the laugh.
“That would certainly be a first,” he said eventually.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t think anyone’s seen the inside of Leonard’s house. Kieran has a conspiracy theory that he lives in a hotel. In all the years I’ve known him, he’s never had a dinner party at home, let alone a full-blown party like this.”
“Something else that’s going to change,” said Adrian.
Before he could fully process what Kennedy was saying about Lenny, one of Kennedy’s boys burst into the room, looking as though some tragedy had befallen him, as only young children can.
“Dad! There you are! Link’s lying across the seat cushion, being selfish, taking up all the space in the begonia. He won’t let me sit down next to him.”
“In the what?” asked Adrian, puzzled.
“He means the pagoda,” said Kieran, breathless, catching up with his son, placing a hand on either shoulder and looking apologetically at Kennedy. “Sorry, Kennedy. It’s a pagoda, Clinton. A begonia is a flower. And why can’t you play nicely?”
“Dad!” said the youngster, shaking out of Kieran’s grasp and blatantly ignoring him.
“Clinton James!” said Kennedy in a voice that had even Adrian standing straight and taking notice. “Don’t you ever let me hear you being rude to your papa again. Do I make myself clear?”
Yes,” said Clint, his bottom lip plopping out. “But Link—”
“Remember what we said, Clint?” said Kennedy sternly. “What we all agreed?”
“Yes,” said Clint, quieter now, folding his arms and looking down at the floor.
“Then tell me and your papa. What did we agree?”
“That we would always be kind to other people and look out for one another, no matter what, especially our family.”
As he had been speaking, behind him an almost identical version of Clint had appeared at the door, followed by their cheeky ginger Cockapoo, who poked his head from between the new arrival’s legs.
“And?”
“And brothers should be friends.”
“Good.”
“I’m sorry, Clint,” said the newcomer Adrian assumed to be Link. “Come back and play. Uncle Len’s got a tray he’s saved specially for us. Mini sausages rolls, sliders, cheesy puffs, marshmallows, chocolate ice cream and, your favourite, stringy French fries with cheese. Health food for kids, he says.”
“Yaaaaay!” said the two of them, racing away with their yapping dog, all animosity evaporated.
“Let’s go back into the main room, too,” said Kennedy, leading them back through, putting his hand on Kieran’s shoulder. “I was just saying to Adrian here how grateful we are to see Leonard so happy. You have no idea what a world of difference you’ve made. I wanted to say thank you. He means a lot to us.”
