Home is Wherever I'm with You
Simon’s been moping since Bunce left to visit her boyfriend in America last week. He’s trying not to be obvious about it but I can tell.
He’s not eating as much. Or as frequently. That’s always a sign with him.
They only moved into this flat a few weeks ago and now he’s there alone.
Not completely alone. I told my father I was not going to be staying in Hampshire if Simon was in London. His eyebrows shot up to his hairline when I said that. We just stared at each other for a bit. Then Father shook his head and said “Try to keep his mind off things then. It can’t be an easy time for him.”
‘Things’ being the trial this spring. The continued Coven inquisition into the Mage’s activities, belongings, contacts. The ongoing questioning Simon has to endure.
I may have visibly gaped at my father’s words. Astonishingly he likes Simon more than he expected. More than I expected.
It’s a bit unnerving but I’ll take it.
Classes don’t start until August so Simon and I can spend every day together this summer, if we choose.
I do choose. That’s my idea of a perfect summer. With Fiona off to Prague it’s even better.
She’s much too meddlesome when she’s here and she unnerves Simon with her questions and her witticisms. She’s a bit much, all at once. Fiona’s an acquired taste. I was born with it but it’s a bit overwhelming for Simon.
Even though Simon was in a care home in London years ago, before Watford, he’s seen nothing of the city. It doesn’t sound like they did much with the children, other than put a roof over their heads and feed them miserly meals three times a day.
It enrages me when I think about it. Makes me want to rip the Mage to shreds if he weren’t already dead. Thank magic he is. I don’t know what he was thinking, sending Simon to waste away in those homes every summer, year after year. Physically and emotionally waste away. It was inhuman.
I can’t think about it. It makes me want to smash furniture and bite something.
I’ve taken to touring London with him. Showing him the sites. The Tower of London. The Eye. Hampton Court. The British Museum.
Simon had the cheek to tell me not to steal anything when I took him back there. I returned those books. Most of them anyway. He’s such a git.
He’s also absolute pants at history. And art. I end up lecturing to him half the time we’re out.
I was utterly mortified that day at the British Museum. A group of German tourists started following us around and then proceeded to ask me all sorts of questions about The Sutton Hoo exhibit and the Parthenon sculptures. They seemed to think I was a professional guide. Tried to tip me at the end of their visit. It was acutely embarrassing but Simon thought it was bloody hilarious.
He thought he was a fucking comedian when we went to the Tate. Kept a serious, intent expression on his face as we went through the exhibits and I provided a succinct art historical narrative of what we were seeing.
Then as we were walking out he stopped, shook my hand very formally, inclined his head and said “Thank you very much, Professor Pitch. That was an edifying and informative overview of the Tate Collection. I so appreciate your time.” And then the wanker handed me a tenner. A fucking ten-pound note.
Now he thinks it’s funny to hand me a tenner each time I take him somewhere new and try to educate him on the site. I’m of a mind to just keep it one of these days instead of glaring at him like I usually do.
An American woman actually came up to me at the Portrait Gallery and asked if I was free to give a tour when I was done with Simon. For her and her ghastly family of sullen and rebellious looking children.
Simon politely informed her that he had hired me for his entire stay in London and that I was not free to accommodate her. And no, I regretfully didn’t have any of my business cards with me.
I was longing for the floor to open up and swallow me whole. Or swallow her. Or preferably swallow Simon.
We’ve exhausted most of the local attractions so I’ve been taking him further afield. We visited my family in Oxford. Toured Windsor and Stonehenge. Did a day trip to Bath.
It’s been an entire bloody tour of the highlights of London and its environs, as if I really were a Blue Badge Guide. But it keeps Simon occupied and not sitting at home brooding.
And it’s been even more of a distraction now that Bunce is away.
She’ll be back in two weeks.
Simon and I have been able to get a bit more used to each other, since she’s been gone and we’ve been spending so much time just the two of us.
I didn’t see him too much spring term. He wasn’t all that good when I did. Silent and staring. I’d just hold him and breathe in the scent of him and let him cling to me.
Then I’d take him shopping. Or out for food. Sometimes even to the cinema.
It’s better now though. He’s been talking more. Slowly growing more vibrant and curious and interactive again.
It’s odd, having all this time together, like this. We were together at Watford. We shared a room, were in so many classes together. But it was different. We were adversaries then. Didn’t really talk to each other, not if we could help it.
I’d perfected my disdainful outer shell.
That shell has cracked now.
I can let myself be soft. Let myself care for him. It’s a heady realization that I can permit myself to say the things I’ve kept pent up in my head for so many years. Reach for his hand whenever I want.
What I want right now is to go somewhere unfamiliar. A long weekend trip maybe. Somewhere I’ve never been before, so I can see it as Simon does. New. Untouched by either of our pasts. A place where we can make new memories together.
Preferably while Bunce is away. It will get his mind off her absence.
Although I think he’s happy I’m spending more nights at his place while she’s gone.
Every night, actually.
Dating Simon Snow is not the erotic gropefest of my fifth year fantasies. We both have some significant intimacy issues. That shouldn’t come as a surprise, considering our history. Simon says his therapist thinks it’s perfectly understandable.
But it’s fine. We’re fine. I’m not about to rush anything. Sleeping in his arms is more than I ever imagined I would do.
I fully expected to die in them instead.
This is enough for me, now. Simon’s enough. We’ve got all the time in the world, time I never expected we would have.
I research some travel options when Simon is napping or watching that baking show he loves.
Typical. If it’s food related he’s bound to adore it.
Simon’s never been abroad. He’s been in and out of care homes all over the country, at least ten different ones, from what he’s let slip. He doesn’t care to talk about them. I know he’s lived in Wales and Lancashire. Liverpool. Manchester. London.
A new location each summer once he started at Watford. I’d like to take him far from those places, somewhere that’s free of old memories.
Paris is not on my list. I’ve been there with the family. It’s romantic but just too cliché. Some other time perhaps.
Scandinavia is unfamiliar territory for me but the daylight hours are just too much during the summer.
Heat and uninterrupted sunshine rules out Greece and Southern Italy as well.
I’ve never been to Greece. I’ll have to think about that for the spring perhaps. Cooler temperatures and less tourists. I want to see the Parthenon and Delphi. And the islands. Greece is definitely not an good option for a weekend trip.
Iceland is too far. Porto has its charm. Scotland is any easy distance but it just feels too near. Venice will be far too humid.
Prague is completely out of the question.
I finally decide on Amsterdam. The Van Gogh museum is there. I would love to see that. The canals look lovely in the photographs and the average temperature is far cooler than Venice.
I book us into a hotel on a canal in the heart of the city. Walking distance from the museums I want to visit. Steps away from an array of fine restaurants. Summer seems to be the season for open air markets and outdoor festivals there. Simon will love that. He adores street vendors and food stalls.
I tell him to pack for cool temperatures and to make sure he has four days’ worth of clothing. Nice clothing.
I have to make that distinction with him. Otherwise he’ll be wearing track bottoms the whole time. My spring term shopping expeditions with him have expanded Simon’s wardrobe to some extent. Tailored shirts, an array of new trousers, fitted jeans.
Simon looks very good in jeans.
He’s full of questions as we leave the flat. I’ve not told him where we’re going.
We’re almost at the tube station when I remember. Good thing. It would be a bloody nuisance to be all the way to Gatwick and find out Simon had left his passport behind. We’ve still got time to run back to his flat if he has.
“You’ve got your passport, Simon?”
“Your passport. We can’t fly without it. I did tell you to bring it, didn’t I.”
I check my watch. “It’s all right, love. We’ve plenty of time to go back and get it.” I turn us around and tug on his hand.
Simon’s brow is furrowed and he looks far more upset than a forgotten passport warrants.
I’m puzzled but maybe Simon’s never been in an aeroplane before. It can be unsettling for some people their first time traveling in one.
“It’ll be all right, love. Trust me, I’ve flown more than once. It’s a bit unsettling at first but I’m sure you’ll be fine once we’re underway.”
Simon comes to a complete stop, his face becoming even more morose as he does. Shit. Does he have a phobia of flying? Why didn’t I think to ask that?
I could probably spell him for the flight. Something that can reduce the anxiety. A quick “keep calm and carry on” perhaps. It should do. It’s a short flight.
I could have taken us there the long way if I’d known ahead of time about Simon’s flying issues. The Chunnel to France and then a train to Amsterdam.
But we might as well have just gone to France and stayed there then.
I’m making a right mess of this it seems.
I take Simon’s hand in mine and rub my thumb along his knuckles. “I’m right here, love. It will be all right. I can spell you so you aren’t so anxious on the plane.”
“It’s not that.” Simon’s his eyes are stormy. “I’m not anxious about the flying part. I’ve not got a passport, Baz. I can’t fly anywhere. I thought you knew that.”
I don’t know why I’ve been such a thumping git and not realized Simon didn’t have a passport. It never even crossed my mind to ask as I was planning this little jaunt. I’ve had one forever. I just assumed he’d have one, I suppose.
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Simon. I didn’t even think to ask.” I’m an utter pillock. I planned this getaway to cheer him up, take his mind off things and now I’ve bollocksed the whole thing up.
“I can’t get one. Need information on my parents and I’ve not got that.” Simon’s expression goes hard for a moment.
Mine does also. Fuck the Mage. One more thing I can blame on him. I hadn’t thought about this. You need parental paperwork for a first passport and Simon’s not got that. He’s got nothing.
That’s one fact that came out during the inquiry. Simon may be known as the Mage’s Heir but the fucking Mage never formally adopted him. Not as far as the British government is concerned. He did some paperwork for the Coven, enough to satisfy them, but that’s not something you can bring to the Home Office as documentation now is it? A magical declaration is not on their list of acceptable paperwork. Self-righteous arse.
Simon’s speaking again and I drag my thoughts away from the Mage. “Now it’s messed up all your plans. Baz, I’m so sorry. I should have asked if we were leaving the country.” Simon runs his hand through his curls and tugs on them. “I never even thought to ask. I thought you were taking me to the Cotswolds or the Lake District. Something like that.”
Something like that. Something reasonable for a weekend trip. Not this daft plan of mine to whisk him away to Amsterdam. This was for him but I somehow made it about me. What I wanted. Not what Simon needed.
I’m such an fucking idiot.
“It’s fine. It will be fine. I’ll just book us somewhere else.” I lean forward and kiss him on the temple. “I’m sorry, love. I meant for this to be a fun jaunt. Just give me a minute, Simon, and I’ll get us all sorted.”
People stream by us as I tap away at my phone. Plane tickets cancelled. I’ll sort the details later. Hotel in Amsterdam cancelled. I don’t care about the fee.
Simon’s arm slides around my waist. “You don’t need to plan anything special, Baz. I don’t need anything fancy.” His head drops onto my shoulder. “It’s just nice being with you, yeah?”
My arm circles his shoulders. “I wanted to give you a special weekend, somewhere you hadn’t been before, Simon. Take your mind off things. I know you miss having Bunce around.”
“I’m fine, Baz. I don’t need to go anywhere fancy. I miss Penny, yeah, but I missed her every summer I was in care. I can handle it.” His arm squeezes me closer. “I’ve got you. You take my mind off things. No need to go somewhere else to have that.”
“That’s enough, is it?” It can’t be, I tell myself.
He’s just being kind. Because that’s how Simon is.
“Yeah. You’re enough, Baz. You’re just what I need, wherever we are.”
He can’t. How can I ever be enough for the enormity that is Simon Snow.
“Of course, I do.” He frowns up at me. “Stop that.”
His jaw juts forward. “The thinking. Whatever bloody rot you’re telling yourself right now that isn’t true.”
Simon moves so he’s facing me, both my hands in his. He tugs on them, to make me look at him. “You’re what I want, Baz. Took me long enough to figure it out but I have now.“
His fingers intertwine with mine as he keeps speaking. "I’m sorry you had to cancel all the plans, It’s probably quite a lot of money for the tickets and all.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“I know you don’t, you posh tosser. But I do. I hate to think of you wasting money like that.”
“I’ll sort it later. It’s all refundable except the hotel cancellation fee.” I pull him closer to me.
I don’t care about the money. I don’t care about the people milling around, grumpily sidestepping us on the pavement. They can all sod off. “Why are we talking about refunds and deposits, Simon? This is supposed to be a weekend just for you. My plans were rot.” We’re so close I can feel his breath. “What do you want to do? That should have been my priority in the first place.”
He grins up at me. “Told you already. Just want to be with you.” His eyebrows draw together. “But can we skip the museums and sites this weekend, Baz? It’s lovely getting to see all the London highlights but you’re not my tour guide. You’re my boyfriend.”
“Your terrible boyfriend.”
“That’s my line. You’re my posh tosser. I’m the terrible boyfriend.”
“I don’t think so. And I’m the one that gets to determine that. So what does my boyfriend want?”
“I want to stay home and order curry and watch films. With you. And fall asleep with my head in your lap. And have your cold feet burrow under my legs when we finally go to bed. I want to wake up with you in my arms. We don’t have to go anywhere for me to have that, Baz.” He’s all flushed now, all the way down his neck to his chest. It’s glorious.
I want that too. It’s a thousand times better than a hotel room on a canal and the Rijksmuseum.
“That’s enough for you then?” I don’t know why ask again.
I do know why. It’s because I want to hear him say it again. And again. Each time makes it more real.
That this is my life. That I have a life with Simon Snow.
“Yeah. I already told you. You’re enough. More than enough.” He gives me the gift of his brilliant smile. "You’re all I want, Baz. All I need. Just you.“ He scrunches his nose. "And something to eat.” He tugs on my hand. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
I love hearing that, knowing that’s how he feels, that I’m a part of what Simon considers home.
Home is wherever Simon is.
Title from Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros song Home
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