Rentboy

the weekend.” It wasn’t a question. She never assumed he might
    be celebrating with friends. “Nicoletta is coming on Friday because she has no classes on Fridays.
    Can you come with her?”
    “No, I can’t take the time off. I’ll rent a car and drive down on Saturday morning.”
    “Would you like to bring a friend?” she asked with an upward inflection. The words hung in the
    air. He knew she meant a girl.
    “Yes, I would, actually,” he said, wondering who would be willing to be seen with him. Mum
    would be disappointed when he arrived on his own as usual, but at that moment he couldn’t bear to
    say yet again that he was alone as always.
    “Oh, lovely!” She sounded so hopeful he almost took it back.
    “See you Saturday, Mum.”

    * * * *
    With the twins dressed in identical jeans and plain white T-shirts, Fox brushed their hair and

    then carefully plaited it into a long braid each. “Nice and neat,” he said. “Let’s get you fed.”
    When they emerged onto the landing, the twins looked cautiously about them, their gazes darting
    everywhere. It turned Fox’s stomach to see them always so nervous in their own home, but he did the
    same thing himself. Always on the lookout for William Baillie. He never thought of the man as Dad.
    In single file, Fox in the lead, they tiptoed down the wide curving staircase. It had open-flight
    steps that had terrified the twins for the first year or so that they lived in the house. They would crawl
    on their hands and knees up and down. But their father had come up behind them enough times and
    kicked them in the arses that they had finally mastered the stairs.
    Through the door of Baillie’s office loud voices filtered into the hall. The twins stiffened,
    clutching at each other. Fox put one finger to his lips, ushering them past the door. They ran on silent
    feet to the kitchen while Fox listened. When his father stopped speaking, another man spoke in a
    heavy accent sounding like someone from an African country.
    The twins had already begun to clean up the dishes left from their father’s breakfast when Fox
    joined them. The three of them had slept the morning away in his wardrobe. “You must be starving.”
    He got a tin of tomato soup from the cupboard and heated it in the microwave in a Pyrex jug. “You’ve
    got to learn to get yourselves some food when I’m not here.”
    They’d starve if he never came home. Their mother had forgotten to feed them many a time when
    they were toddlers.
    The twins glanced at the door and down the hall to their father’s study. Following their gazes,
    Fox knew that when he was not home, their whole day was spent avoiding their father even if it meant
    no food. They sat on stools at the island while Fox served them soup in cups, because they did not
    like to use utensils, and dry, whole wheat bread cut into cubes.
    While they ate, Fox began to make himself a hummus sandwich with chopped peppers, and even
    though none of them were speaking, the silence suddenly deepened. Sensing the twins on alert, Fox
    looked over at the door to see William Baillie, his hands on his hips in his usual threatening pose. A
    well-built, very dark-skinned man stood beside him. For one terrifying moment Fox thought the bloke
    was Idi Amin until he remembered the Ugandan dictator was long dead. “This is Mr. Ogwambi
    Maputwa,” Baillie said.
    “Hello,” Fox muttered.
    “That’s my son, Fox, and them are the twins,” Baillie said.
    “Identical. Very pretty.” The man looked at the twins and then at Fox. “Why do you allow him to
    wear makeup around his eyes like a girl? Is he a pansy?” the man asked and then laughed loudly.
    “He’d better not be, or I’ll kick him from here to fucking Afghanistan.” Baillie looked hard at
    Fox, his mouth twisting into a frightening sneer. “Are you a fucking queer?”
    “No, sir,” Fox said. He hated denying being gay, but what else was he going to do? Admit it and
    get his ribs broken?
    “Good. Where’s the computer?”
    “I’ll get it,” Fox said. He threw the terrified twins a look. He didn’t want to leave them alone
    with the men, but his backpack was in the hall by the door. “Shall I make you some tea and bring it to
    you in the office, sir?” he asked in a carefully respectful tone. “And I’ll bring the computer.”
    The African man grinned. “I would like some tea.”
    “Yes, do that,” Baillie said. “Three cups. There’s someone else here too.”
    The two men