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thekeyholder91Title: I Wish You Would See Me the Way I See You 1/2
Author:![[info]](https://thekeyholder.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=3)
thekeyholder (B)
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: PG-13
Beta/Support: The lovely![[info]](https://thekeyholder.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=90.5)
millionstar ! Thank you!
Summary: The story shows two types of attraction. Dominic, 30 years old, the employee of George Bellamy, had always been a good family friend. Matthew Bellamy admired him from the beginning. Feelings change; some with years, some very suddenly, in moments.
Feedback: would be lovely if you have some time! <3
Warnings: Underage character, HUGE age difference (13 years)
Disclaimers: As you probably know, I don’t own Muse, but original aspects belong to me. So don't steal, please!
Author's note: This is my entry for the July challenge at
stellarclouds. Yes, I realise it's August already, but the idea came late; it hit me so hard I had to write it. I'm nervous about it, especially the second part, for which I would like to apologise in advance. Please read the warnings. Enjoy, I kind of like this universe.
I don’t remember our first encounter, but luckily, there are photographs to testify that we were in the same place at the same time. It was uncle Chris and aunt Kelly’s wedding twelve years ago; they only held it after their second child’s, Ava-Jo’s, birth. I didn’t pay much attention to the guests; Alfie (Chris and Kelly’s firstborn) and I were busy running up and down, playing with toys and completely ignoring the loud music and the dancing pairs around us.
In fact, I actually have a very fuzzy memory and I think it was him in it, but I will most probably never find out the truth. It might be just my mind trying to come up with a false memory, so I would feel more connected to him.
Alfie and I decided to play hide and seek and I had to find a good spot where he would not look for me. As soon as I stepped away from Alfie, I couldn’t hear his counting down anymore. I had no sense of time and in the whirl of waltzing pairs it seemed to me that time was rushing much, much faster and, to my biggest embarrassment, Alfie would find me lost in the middle of the ballroom. I successfully dodged laughing guests and hurried waiters, the main door being my desired target.
But before I could push it open, someone had prevented me: a tall figure opened it from the outside, almost knocking me over. “You okay?” he asked and I just nodded as I looked up, but because the Sun was right behind him, I could only make out a dark shape before I ran off. I know it’s silly to believe that it was him, but I like to think that even back then he was the only one among the noisy crowd who at least noticed me.
I look once more at the picture of him and Dad clinking their glasses, marvelling at how young and relaxed they both looked. It was the first time they met, the beginning of a really good business relationship (and later on friendship), despite their age difference. Sometimes their paths wound together, sometimes they would separate, but Dad had always only good words for him, which is a kind of miracle. Yes, among other feelings I have for him, I am also jealous of him for earning my father’s respect.
But this is beside the point. The only feeling he could have for me – in the best case – is indifference.
He was always a shy boy. I remember that when he was just a little kid he used to hide away when I entered their house, peeking out curiously from a corner, thinking I didn’t see him. I went with the game, though I was unable to hide an amused smile. Truth is, my mind would be soon occupied by other thoughts when I was invited into Mr. Bellamy’s office.
There was one time when I arrived earlier than I was supposed to, and was asked to wait in the great hall. The Bellamy residence was enormous and richly decorated, proof of their legendary wealth. Being from a humble family, I must admit I always thought rich kids were arrogant brats – at least the ones in my school were like that. Matthew Bellamy was the exception.
After five minutes of waiting I got up and headed towards what I believed to be the library – I had been shown the house a while ago, but Mr. Bellamy (or George as he’d insisted I call him) usually invited me in his office. To my greatest surprise, little Matthew was there in the library, although he must have been on holiday for it was July already. He was reading out loud, stumbling over difficult words, and didn’t hear me approaching.
“You are not my f-friend. We are mere-merely acq-acquain”
“Acquaintances.”
He glanced up, shocked, then looked back quickly to his book. His face turned red and he mumbled something, but he stopped reading. I thought he was embarrassed to read in front of a stranger, so I sat down beside him and nudged him lightly with my shoulder to encourage him. He flinched and I was suddenly embarrassed myself, but he looked at me questioningly and I nodded. He started reading again and I helped him with some words. Sometimes I had the impression that he knew perfectly well how to pronounce those words, but he just didn’t dare to say them out loud.
Suddenly, George burst into the library and greeted me with his characteristically loud voice: “Dominic, you’re here!”
I noticed Matthew slumping his shoulders and he didn’t even look up when I patted his shoulder and told him how good he was. While climbing the stairs, I told George too about Matthew’s good reading skills, but he just waved me off, telling me how Matthew was bad at Maths and was still too shy and wimpy. He proceeded to tell me the other faults of his eight-year-old son and, to be honest, I didn’t hear most of them and the ones I heard sounded false to my ears. Why would George despise his only child so much was beyond me and especially why he told me all this puzzled me infinitely. Back then I was just his employee, not a close friend. What was the point of exposing his son’s faults publicly?
Chris told me later that George’s wife died while giving birth to Matthew and maybe he couldn’t love his son because he took away the love of his life. Of course, this could have been a viable explanation, but I also thought that maybe George wanted Matthew to be like him: strong, determined, pushy, cold-hearted and proud. George Bellamy towered over his son, stealing away sunshine and leaving his son in the shadows. No wonder the little boy grew apart from him, avoiding his father as much as he could. With Mr. Bellamy’s hotel chain expanding faster every year, the task became ever easier.
I rarely saw him. Dad employed him despite his doubts only because Chris recommended him. I mean, Dominic was barely eighteen-nineteen when he was hired as kitchen help and was promoted to chef a year later. He was incredibly talented and people started coming to Dad’s hotel especially because of the restaurant. Then three years later he appeared on the cover of Good Food.
I still have that issue. I re-read the interview countless times during the years, sliding my fingers reverently on the glossy cover. Don’t get me wrong, my feelings back when I was ten were nothing like they are now. I felt some kind of fascination for him; the confidence he walked with, the way he charmed everyone and made people respect him, the bright smiles he offered convinced me that he felt right in his skin and managed to conquer the world. I wanted to be like him.
Earlier, I talked about feeling jealous. In fact, that was just one type of jealousy I experienced in regards to him. The second type occurred when I was thirteen and Chris invited me to spend the summer with his big family in Devon. That was the best summer I’d ever had; I don’t think I’d ever felt so happy and free like then.
One morning Chris told us he and Kelly had to go to London later for a charity event held at one of Dad’s hotels. I thought they would drive there, but instead a gorgeous red car appeared on the driveway in the afternoon. Alfie and I spent many hours at the seaside, so by the time we came home they were ready to go. We watched them from a window as Chris and Kelly, elegantly dressed, went to the car while we danced, knowing that they would return late and we could stay up after midnight.
When we looked back at the car, Dominic was smiling behind his dark sunglasses and waved at us. It was then that I noticed a pretty woman in the passenger’s seat and my blood went cold. I was watching after the car intently; Alfie had to tug at my shirt to get my attention. I feigned an ecstatic smile as he dragged me to the kitchen to raid it of chocolate and crackers.
I stuffed myself with unhealthy, sugary stuff while thinking about the woman. She had long, red hair and wore a dark blue dress, but I couldn’t make out her features from our spot. I would have bet all my money that she was some kind of model or actress with long legs and a nice bosom like the women in Alfie’s naughty magazines. The truth is that when thinking of him, I somehow always “forgot” that he could have a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend, for that matter. This might have come from the article in that magazine. There was a tiny fragment on his personal life:
“When I asked if he had a significant other in his life, chef Dominic Howard blushed slightly and giggled as if I had just said the most improbable thing in the world. ‘I know it’s a cliché, but I am married to my work. The restaurant is going really well and I work over twelve hours, almost every day. By the time I get home, I just want to crawl in my bed and sleep. I have little free time and I use it to do things I enjoy, like riding my motorcycle or playing my drums. I don’t think I would be a good boyfriend right now; I am focusing solely on my career.”
Strange, but that one paragraph had been a lifelong guarantee for me that he would be free. I didn’t exactly want him as mine, because that was impossible, but the thought that he was nobody’s would have been enough. Above all, I wanted him to be happy. Of course, it did not cross my mind that happiness might have come for him in the form of a beautiful woman.
I was very nervous to tell George about my intention of resigning. I hoped that he would understand even as a forty-something that now that I had the resources to fulfill my dream, it was time to go. I wanted to do a tour in the best kitchens of Europe and learn from the best chefs. Most people who heard about my plan thought I was crazy giving up my excellent job at the hotel, saying I was already a great chef, what more did I want to. I knew the flaws and holes in my culinary knowledge – there was always room for improvement.
I entered sheepishly that big house where I hadn’t been for many years. I usually met up with the boss either at the hotel or Chris’ place. I heard a piano playing and I remembered that Matthew took it up when he was ten and was a real prodigy child. He even participated in international contests and had some good results. I was glad that he found a passion and I hoped that his father started seeing his values. He should have been proud of Mathew.
George received me in the living room where the piano was too. Matthew stopped playing, looking surprised when he saw me. George hugged me friendly, while Matthew shook my hand. He wanted to leave the room and let us talk, but his father and I too told him he should stay and play more. I smiled when Matthew stumbled slightly over his own legs – his limbs had grown unexpectedly and he was still getting used to them. Moreover, he looked so scrawny that I was convinced that if he’d go outside in strong wind, he’d be taken up and blown away.
To my greatest relief, George took the news calmly. I saw in his dark blue eyes that he was disappointed, but he understood. I noticed that when I announced the news Matthew faltered in his playing. For a moment, I wondered if he cared and I came to the conclusion that he was such a sweet child, unlike most of his generation, that he probably did feel bad for me leaving, even though we barely knew each other.
I declined George’s invitation to dinner and he embraced me again as goodbye, holding me tightly. Matthew was there too and I smiled when he came forward driven by an impulse and hugged me. I could sense that he hadn’t really had the opportunity to hug people – it was a bit awkward, but all the more sweeter. I patted his back and wished him good luck and told him to be good. He nodded obediently, his longish hair hiding his face, but I noticed him smiling (ah, the long hair, the first sign of teenage rebellion!). There was no shred of doubt in me that he would become a brilliant young man.
He said he would go on a tour in Europe’s best kitchens for a year. Well, it was true, but then a friend invited him to China and he spent more than a year in Asia. I’d hear from Chris or Dad news about him sometimes: Dominic learned from the best French confectioner, he travelled around the Greek islands for the most delicious recipes, Dominic learned the art of sushi, he moved to India for a month and so on. He was living his dream and I was happy for him, but I just wanted him home to see his face.
Don’t think that I spent all my time thinking about him. No, that was not the case. I was busy with school; however, sometimes I’d slip in a reverie and hear his laugh and feel a terrible pain in my chest, as if someone had ripped out a part of it.
It was before Christmas, around the 22nd December, by the time I got home from an international piano contest in Vienna. I carried my luggage upstairs tiredly, extremely grateful that I wouldn’t have to get up early in the winter holiday. Panting from the exertion, I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes. I don’t know why, I just felt so drained from the trip. The door of Dad’s office opened and I startled, not knowing that he was at home.
“Hello, Matthew! Was your flight delayed?”
“Hi, Dad. Yes, by almost two hours. There was a blizzard.”
Dad nodded understandingly. “Shame, you missed Dominic. He came home and visited us. He wanted to wait for you, but couldn’t stay.”
Good thing that Dad was busy tying his tie as I’m sure that I pulled a conspicuous face. It took a lot of control not to scream in frustration. So I just said: “Blimey, I’m sorry to hear that; would have loved to hear about his travels.”
I hung my head low and started for my room, but Dad had just remembered something: “Oh, yes, he also brought some presents. I told him to leave yours in your room. Don’t forget to thank him next time you see him!”
“Okay.”
The thought that Dominic had been in my room made my stomach clench with panic, but excitement as well. I rushed in to check if he could see anything inappropriate. I remembered that magazine I had with him on the cover, but it was safely tucked away. I looked around as if it was the first time I’d ever been in my room. Everything was neat, so I calmed down a little. My eyes fell on the things on my desk.
I walked there hesitantly, but inside I was boiling with curiosity. To my greatest delight, Dominic got me lots of interesting sweets. I didn’t even know half of them, but I was already drooling. There was also a nice little box covered in a silky red fabric with a note on top of it. It said:
“These are Baoding balls from China. They are supposed to increase your hand’s dexterity, so I thought they would be useful for your piano playing.
Keep up the great work!
D.”
I opened the box and there were two green balls; one of them had a red Sun, the other a white Moon on it. I took one in my hand and was surprised by its heaviness. If I shook them, they made a metallic chime. They were really interesting and I played with them all afternoon, smiling whenever I remembered that Dominic had gifted them to me.
What I didn’t know was that I would have to wait another six months till I could thank him for his gift, because he intended to travel to the States after the holidays.
I was never a family type of guy with a settled life in a neat white house, a loving wife and cute children. For me, home represented the places where I felt good. It turned out that I had many homes in the world, on all the three continents that I managed to visit in the last three years. I felt bursting with so many experiences and my skin still tingled with the excitement of adventure.
However, it would be a lie if I said that I was not glad to go home in the UK. I stayed a few days in London, mostly just being lazy and trying to get accustomed to the different rhythm of life. Then Chris called me to join him in a mini-holiday and I thought it would be great to spend some days in good company. He told me that he rented a small house in a nice, picturesque village and that his oldest son and Mr. Bellamy and his son too would join us. An only-boys weekend filled with fishing and other outdoor activities sounded fantastic.
I rented a car and drove to the village Chris had told me about. I learned from the villagers, though, that the vacation house was farther away. It turned out that it was basically in the middle of nowhere. All right, it was in the middle of a forest and – as I later learned – not far away from a lake, but for a city guy like me, this was very remote from any civilization. I expected a small cabin, but it was actually quite a big, one-storied house.
However, the front door was locked and I only noticed it then that there was no other car there. I was pretty sure that Chris told me he’d be here in the morning and it was one o’clock already. Maybe they had to go into the village for something. I locked the car and thought I’d check the back door, hoping to find it open. No need to say that I was surprised to find two deckchairs behind the house, one of them occupied by a seemingly sleeping person with a book lying open beside them on the ground. Who was this mysterious stranger?
Author:
thekeyholder (B)Pairing: Belldom
Rating: PG-13
Beta/Support: The lovely
millionstar ! Thank you!Summary: The story shows two types of attraction. Dominic, 30 years old, the employee of George Bellamy, had always been a good family friend. Matthew Bellamy admired him from the beginning. Feelings change; some with years, some very suddenly, in moments.
Feedback: would be lovely if you have some time! <3
Warnings: Underage character, HUGE age difference (13 years)
Disclaimers: As you probably know, I don’t own Muse, but original aspects belong to me. So don't steal, please!
Author's note: This is my entry for the July challenge at
stellarclouds. Yes, I realise it's August already, but the idea came late; it hit me so hard I had to write it. I'm nervous about it, especially the second part, for which I would like to apologise in advance. Please read the warnings. Enjoy, I kind of like this universe.I Wish You Would See Me the Way I see You
- part 1 -
- part 1 -
I don’t remember our first encounter, but luckily, there are photographs to testify that we were in the same place at the same time. It was uncle Chris and aunt Kelly’s wedding twelve years ago; they only held it after their second child’s, Ava-Jo’s, birth. I didn’t pay much attention to the guests; Alfie (Chris and Kelly’s firstborn) and I were busy running up and down, playing with toys and completely ignoring the loud music and the dancing pairs around us.
In fact, I actually have a very fuzzy memory and I think it was him in it, but I will most probably never find out the truth. It might be just my mind trying to come up with a false memory, so I would feel more connected to him.
Alfie and I decided to play hide and seek and I had to find a good spot where he would not look for me. As soon as I stepped away from Alfie, I couldn’t hear his counting down anymore. I had no sense of time and in the whirl of waltzing pairs it seemed to me that time was rushing much, much faster and, to my biggest embarrassment, Alfie would find me lost in the middle of the ballroom. I successfully dodged laughing guests and hurried waiters, the main door being my desired target.
But before I could push it open, someone had prevented me: a tall figure opened it from the outside, almost knocking me over. “You okay?” he asked and I just nodded as I looked up, but because the Sun was right behind him, I could only make out a dark shape before I ran off. I know it’s silly to believe that it was him, but I like to think that even back then he was the only one among the noisy crowd who at least noticed me.
I look once more at the picture of him and Dad clinking their glasses, marvelling at how young and relaxed they both looked. It was the first time they met, the beginning of a really good business relationship (and later on friendship), despite their age difference. Sometimes their paths wound together, sometimes they would separate, but Dad had always only good words for him, which is a kind of miracle. Yes, among other feelings I have for him, I am also jealous of him for earning my father’s respect.
But this is beside the point. The only feeling he could have for me – in the best case – is indifference.
* * * * *
He was always a shy boy. I remember that when he was just a little kid he used to hide away when I entered their house, peeking out curiously from a corner, thinking I didn’t see him. I went with the game, though I was unable to hide an amused smile. Truth is, my mind would be soon occupied by other thoughts when I was invited into Mr. Bellamy’s office.
There was one time when I arrived earlier than I was supposed to, and was asked to wait in the great hall. The Bellamy residence was enormous and richly decorated, proof of their legendary wealth. Being from a humble family, I must admit I always thought rich kids were arrogant brats – at least the ones in my school were like that. Matthew Bellamy was the exception.
After five minutes of waiting I got up and headed towards what I believed to be the library – I had been shown the house a while ago, but Mr. Bellamy (or George as he’d insisted I call him) usually invited me in his office. To my greatest surprise, little Matthew was there in the library, although he must have been on holiday for it was July already. He was reading out loud, stumbling over difficult words, and didn’t hear me approaching.
“You are not my f-friend. We are mere-merely acq-acquain”
“Acquaintances.”
He glanced up, shocked, then looked back quickly to his book. His face turned red and he mumbled something, but he stopped reading. I thought he was embarrassed to read in front of a stranger, so I sat down beside him and nudged him lightly with my shoulder to encourage him. He flinched and I was suddenly embarrassed myself, but he looked at me questioningly and I nodded. He started reading again and I helped him with some words. Sometimes I had the impression that he knew perfectly well how to pronounce those words, but he just didn’t dare to say them out loud.
Suddenly, George burst into the library and greeted me with his characteristically loud voice: “Dominic, you’re here!”
I noticed Matthew slumping his shoulders and he didn’t even look up when I patted his shoulder and told him how good he was. While climbing the stairs, I told George too about Matthew’s good reading skills, but he just waved me off, telling me how Matthew was bad at Maths and was still too shy and wimpy. He proceeded to tell me the other faults of his eight-year-old son and, to be honest, I didn’t hear most of them and the ones I heard sounded false to my ears. Why would George despise his only child so much was beyond me and especially why he told me all this puzzled me infinitely. Back then I was just his employee, not a close friend. What was the point of exposing his son’s faults publicly?
Chris told me later that George’s wife died while giving birth to Matthew and maybe he couldn’t love his son because he took away the love of his life. Of course, this could have been a viable explanation, but I also thought that maybe George wanted Matthew to be like him: strong, determined, pushy, cold-hearted and proud. George Bellamy towered over his son, stealing away sunshine and leaving his son in the shadows. No wonder the little boy grew apart from him, avoiding his father as much as he could. With Mr. Bellamy’s hotel chain expanding faster every year, the task became ever easier.
* * * * *
I rarely saw him. Dad employed him despite his doubts only because Chris recommended him. I mean, Dominic was barely eighteen-nineteen when he was hired as kitchen help and was promoted to chef a year later. He was incredibly talented and people started coming to Dad’s hotel especially because of the restaurant. Then three years later he appeared on the cover of Good Food.
I still have that issue. I re-read the interview countless times during the years, sliding my fingers reverently on the glossy cover. Don’t get me wrong, my feelings back when I was ten were nothing like they are now. I felt some kind of fascination for him; the confidence he walked with, the way he charmed everyone and made people respect him, the bright smiles he offered convinced me that he felt right in his skin and managed to conquer the world. I wanted to be like him.
Earlier, I talked about feeling jealous. In fact, that was just one type of jealousy I experienced in regards to him. The second type occurred when I was thirteen and Chris invited me to spend the summer with his big family in Devon. That was the best summer I’d ever had; I don’t think I’d ever felt so happy and free like then.
One morning Chris told us he and Kelly had to go to London later for a charity event held at one of Dad’s hotels. I thought they would drive there, but instead a gorgeous red car appeared on the driveway in the afternoon. Alfie and I spent many hours at the seaside, so by the time we came home they were ready to go. We watched them from a window as Chris and Kelly, elegantly dressed, went to the car while we danced, knowing that they would return late and we could stay up after midnight.
When we looked back at the car, Dominic was smiling behind his dark sunglasses and waved at us. It was then that I noticed a pretty woman in the passenger’s seat and my blood went cold. I was watching after the car intently; Alfie had to tug at my shirt to get my attention. I feigned an ecstatic smile as he dragged me to the kitchen to raid it of chocolate and crackers.
I stuffed myself with unhealthy, sugary stuff while thinking about the woman. She had long, red hair and wore a dark blue dress, but I couldn’t make out her features from our spot. I would have bet all my money that she was some kind of model or actress with long legs and a nice bosom like the women in Alfie’s naughty magazines. The truth is that when thinking of him, I somehow always “forgot” that he could have a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend, for that matter. This might have come from the article in that magazine. There was a tiny fragment on his personal life:
“When I asked if he had a significant other in his life, chef Dominic Howard blushed slightly and giggled as if I had just said the most improbable thing in the world. ‘I know it’s a cliché, but I am married to my work. The restaurant is going really well and I work over twelve hours, almost every day. By the time I get home, I just want to crawl in my bed and sleep. I have little free time and I use it to do things I enjoy, like riding my motorcycle or playing my drums. I don’t think I would be a good boyfriend right now; I am focusing solely on my career.”
Strange, but that one paragraph had been a lifelong guarantee for me that he would be free. I didn’t exactly want him as mine, because that was impossible, but the thought that he was nobody’s would have been enough. Above all, I wanted him to be happy. Of course, it did not cross my mind that happiness might have come for him in the form of a beautiful woman.
* * * * *
I was very nervous to tell George about my intention of resigning. I hoped that he would understand even as a forty-something that now that I had the resources to fulfill my dream, it was time to go. I wanted to do a tour in the best kitchens of Europe and learn from the best chefs. Most people who heard about my plan thought I was crazy giving up my excellent job at the hotel, saying I was already a great chef, what more did I want to. I knew the flaws and holes in my culinary knowledge – there was always room for improvement.
I entered sheepishly that big house where I hadn’t been for many years. I usually met up with the boss either at the hotel or Chris’ place. I heard a piano playing and I remembered that Matthew took it up when he was ten and was a real prodigy child. He even participated in international contests and had some good results. I was glad that he found a passion and I hoped that his father started seeing his values. He should have been proud of Mathew.
George received me in the living room where the piano was too. Matthew stopped playing, looking surprised when he saw me. George hugged me friendly, while Matthew shook my hand. He wanted to leave the room and let us talk, but his father and I too told him he should stay and play more. I smiled when Matthew stumbled slightly over his own legs – his limbs had grown unexpectedly and he was still getting used to them. Moreover, he looked so scrawny that I was convinced that if he’d go outside in strong wind, he’d be taken up and blown away.
To my greatest relief, George took the news calmly. I saw in his dark blue eyes that he was disappointed, but he understood. I noticed that when I announced the news Matthew faltered in his playing. For a moment, I wondered if he cared and I came to the conclusion that he was such a sweet child, unlike most of his generation, that he probably did feel bad for me leaving, even though we barely knew each other.
I declined George’s invitation to dinner and he embraced me again as goodbye, holding me tightly. Matthew was there too and I smiled when he came forward driven by an impulse and hugged me. I could sense that he hadn’t really had the opportunity to hug people – it was a bit awkward, but all the more sweeter. I patted his back and wished him good luck and told him to be good. He nodded obediently, his longish hair hiding his face, but I noticed him smiling (ah, the long hair, the first sign of teenage rebellion!). There was no shred of doubt in me that he would become a brilliant young man.
* * * * *
He said he would go on a tour in Europe’s best kitchens for a year. Well, it was true, but then a friend invited him to China and he spent more than a year in Asia. I’d hear from Chris or Dad news about him sometimes: Dominic learned from the best French confectioner, he travelled around the Greek islands for the most delicious recipes, Dominic learned the art of sushi, he moved to India for a month and so on. He was living his dream and I was happy for him, but I just wanted him home to see his face.
Don’t think that I spent all my time thinking about him. No, that was not the case. I was busy with school; however, sometimes I’d slip in a reverie and hear his laugh and feel a terrible pain in my chest, as if someone had ripped out a part of it.
It was before Christmas, around the 22nd December, by the time I got home from an international piano contest in Vienna. I carried my luggage upstairs tiredly, extremely grateful that I wouldn’t have to get up early in the winter holiday. Panting from the exertion, I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes. I don’t know why, I just felt so drained from the trip. The door of Dad’s office opened and I startled, not knowing that he was at home.
“Hello, Matthew! Was your flight delayed?”
“Hi, Dad. Yes, by almost two hours. There was a blizzard.”
Dad nodded understandingly. “Shame, you missed Dominic. He came home and visited us. He wanted to wait for you, but couldn’t stay.”
Good thing that Dad was busy tying his tie as I’m sure that I pulled a conspicuous face. It took a lot of control not to scream in frustration. So I just said: “Blimey, I’m sorry to hear that; would have loved to hear about his travels.”
I hung my head low and started for my room, but Dad had just remembered something: “Oh, yes, he also brought some presents. I told him to leave yours in your room. Don’t forget to thank him next time you see him!”
“Okay.”
The thought that Dominic had been in my room made my stomach clench with panic, but excitement as well. I rushed in to check if he could see anything inappropriate. I remembered that magazine I had with him on the cover, but it was safely tucked away. I looked around as if it was the first time I’d ever been in my room. Everything was neat, so I calmed down a little. My eyes fell on the things on my desk.
I walked there hesitantly, but inside I was boiling with curiosity. To my greatest delight, Dominic got me lots of interesting sweets. I didn’t even know half of them, but I was already drooling. There was also a nice little box covered in a silky red fabric with a note on top of it. It said:
“These are Baoding balls from China. They are supposed to increase your hand’s dexterity, so I thought they would be useful for your piano playing.
Keep up the great work!
D.”
I opened the box and there were two green balls; one of them had a red Sun, the other a white Moon on it. I took one in my hand and was surprised by its heaviness. If I shook them, they made a metallic chime. They were really interesting and I played with them all afternoon, smiling whenever I remembered that Dominic had gifted them to me.
What I didn’t know was that I would have to wait another six months till I could thank him for his gift, because he intended to travel to the States after the holidays.
* * * * *
I was never a family type of guy with a settled life in a neat white house, a loving wife and cute children. For me, home represented the places where I felt good. It turned out that I had many homes in the world, on all the three continents that I managed to visit in the last three years. I felt bursting with so many experiences and my skin still tingled with the excitement of adventure.
However, it would be a lie if I said that I was not glad to go home in the UK. I stayed a few days in London, mostly just being lazy and trying to get accustomed to the different rhythm of life. Then Chris called me to join him in a mini-holiday and I thought it would be great to spend some days in good company. He told me that he rented a small house in a nice, picturesque village and that his oldest son and Mr. Bellamy and his son too would join us. An only-boys weekend filled with fishing and other outdoor activities sounded fantastic.
I rented a car and drove to the village Chris had told me about. I learned from the villagers, though, that the vacation house was farther away. It turned out that it was basically in the middle of nowhere. All right, it was in the middle of a forest and – as I later learned – not far away from a lake, but for a city guy like me, this was very remote from any civilization. I expected a small cabin, but it was actually quite a big, one-storied house.
However, the front door was locked and I only noticed it then that there was no other car there. I was pretty sure that Chris told me he’d be here in the morning and it was one o’clock already. Maybe they had to go into the village for something. I locked the car and thought I’d check the back door, hoping to find it open. No need to say that I was surprised to find two deckchairs behind the house, one of them occupied by a seemingly sleeping person with a book lying open beside them on the ground. Who was this mysterious stranger?
