Angel and the Assassin 3: Sins of the Father

year and a
    half. Almost nothing had been expected of him by his mother and stepfather, and now
    Kael was piling expectations on him. But he was certain Angel could live up to them
    with the right guidance.
    “Daddy, how was I at the party? Were you watching me?”
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    34

    Unsure what to answer, Kael said, “Some of the time.” He didn’t want his boy to
    think he didn’t trust him. At the same time, he didn’t want him to think he wasn’t
    interested.
    “I just wondered if my manners were good and stuff. You know, with it being so
    fancy and all those important people there.”
    “You weren’t that worried last year.”
    “No, I know. But I didn’t really realize then that you worked with government
    people and who they all were. The deputy prime minister was there tonight.”
    “For about fifteen minutes, yes,” Kael said. “Anyway, your stepfather was rich
    enough to have lots of fancy parties. He just got his money from a different source.”
    “Yeah, illegal arms sales. And they did have lots of fancy parties, but I wasn’t
    allowed to be there. I was always in my bedroom. Sven hated me, remember? And since
    I never went to school, I spent a lot of time on my own, so I never got to practice social
    skills and manners.”
    “You’ve got better social skills than I’ve ever had, and they drummed good
    manners into us at College Grange. You’re very well-mannered.” It was true. Angel
    knew how to be around people and not offend them. “I’m always proud of you.”
    Angel rubbed his cheek over Kael’s nearer nipple, which told him that his boy
    needed reassurance. He always headed for Kael’s nipples when he wanted comfort. “I
    love you, Daddy.”
    “It’s entirely mutual, sweetheart. Now go to sleep.” Kael kissed Angel’s forehead,
    holding him close, allowing the boy to suck gently on his nipple until he knew by
    Angel’s steady, even breathing that he was asleep.
    The tiredness of earlier had passed, and after a few minutes, Kael eased Angel out
    of his arms, tucked the duvet around him warmly, got up, and pulled on his navy blue
    dressing gown. He always turned the heat very low at night and didn’t bother to turn it
    up as he entered the spacious, open-plan living room/dining room. Coming home late
    and going straight to bed, they had not bothered to close the blinds over the wide
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    35

    picture window. Kael crossed the room and stood in the darkness looking out at the
    River Thames and the lights of the city.
    Not often, but every now and then, he remembered being a child and knowing
    there was more to life than the grubby council estate where he was raised while his
    mum worked as a cleaner at the local launderette and the old peoples’ home. He had
    always been proud of his mum, even after he got a scholarship to College Grange,
    where all the other boys came from families with servants and summer homes in other
    places. Kael had long since lost his heavy Scouse accent, and he had always known he
    would have more in life than he was born into.
    From the coat cupboard in the hall, he took his diary from the very back of the top
    shelf where he always left it these days. In the living room, with only the light of the
    city to assist his better than ordinary eyesight, Kael sat on a black leather chair by the
    window to write.

    I was twelve the first time I asked my mum who my father was. I was home for
    the Christmas holidays after my first term at College Grange. All the boys at school
    either lived with both parents or they knew who their dad was, even if he lived
    somewhere else and was married to another woman. But very few of the kids I knew
    from home lived with both parents and, like me, many of them had never seen their
    father.
    Mum was putting the finishing touches on the artificial tree—gaudy silver tinsel
    and purple baubles. I was sitting on the scruffy old couch watching her. I had
    decided two years prior that decorating a Christmas tree was “lame” and had refused
    to help, but I still loved it when she was finished. I just never admitted it. Mum
    couldn’t reach high enough to put the fairy on top. I was so tall by then that she
    always asked me, which made me feel big and manly. I set the fairy in place with the
    top branch under her frilly paper dress, and then I looked at my mum and asked,
    “Who’s my dad?”
    “He’s long gone, luv,” she said. “Let’s have a cuppa