Rentboy

left, and with a look of relief on their faces the twins finished their soup and bread
    quickly while Fox set a tray for tea with milk and sugar, three cups and saucers and a plate of
    biscuits. He adjusted everything on the tray so it looked perfect.
    “Right.” Fox removed their dishes. “Get outside in the garden, and get some fresh air. It’s nice
    and warm out.” Obeying him as they always did, the twins went out into the back garden barefoot and
    ran for their trampoline. For a couple of minutes, Fox waited at the back door, watching them jump
    while smiles slowly began to blossom on their beautiful faces. I love you. I’ll take care of you
    forever. I promise. He’d better hurry with the tea before his father came back looking for him.
    In his father’s office the three men sat looking at Fox struggle with the door while carrying the
    tray and his backpack. Self-conscious and not wanting to look any stupider than he felt, Fox put the
    tray on the desk and then took out the laptop and the two memory sticks.
    “You’d better have got it right this time,” William Baillie said.
    “This was everything he had.” His hands shaking, Fox placed the laptop on the desk in front of
    his father, but Baillie slid it over to Maputwa while the other man stood at the window. “Shall I pour
    the tea, sir?” Fox asked.
    “Pour it,” Baillie said.
    “What does he know?” the African man asked, looking at Baillie as if Fox were nothing more
    than a servant.
    “Fox knows nothing. I just told him to get the computer.”
    A wide smile split the man’s face. “Fox? Is he crafty and clever like a fox?”
    “Most of the time he’s an idiot, like them moron twins.”
    You are so going to die!
    As he poured the tea, Fox watched Mr. Maputwa open the laptop. The man fiddled about for
    some time before saying, “Bingo!” and laughing loudly. “Now we are in business.” He seemed
    amused at using English expressions and laughed again.
    “Do you want tea, Dr. Howard?” Baillie asked.
    “Yes, thank you, Captain Baillie.”
    Even though he was retired, William Baillie liked people to recognize his army rank. Fox served
    tea to the men and offered round the biscuits. With a glance at the plate he nearly took one himself. He
    was hungry, and his hummus sandwich remained in the kitchen, but he didn’t want to leave just yet or
    be reprimanded by his father for helping himself. “Do you need the laptop or just what’s on it, Mr.
    Maputwa?”
    Mr. Maputwa looked him up and down before continuing to work on the computer. “Why do you
    want to know, Fox?”
    “Because if you don’t want the hardware, can I have it?”
    “You’ve got a laptop. I bought you a new one for that stupid fucking art college,” Baillie said
    loudly.
    “University of the Arts London is very hard to get into,” Fox said quietly.
    “And if you weren’t such a fucking nancy boy, the army would have taken you!” Baillie
    screamed at him, standing up. His face grew red very quickly when he was angry or frustrated.
    Fox could only imagine how the men under his command had felt about him. Mr. Maputwa gave
    no reaction at all to the sudden altercation, as if he was used to such behavior. But Dr. Howard
    looked uncomfortable. Though Fox was entirely accustomed to his father’s sudden outbursts, he
    always shriveled and looked at the floor.
    “The British Army would not have William Baillie’s son?” Mr. Maputwa’s grin showed a row
    of strong yellowish teeth.
    The officer at the recruitment office his father had dragged him to at the age of sixteen had
    looked him up and down and said, “He looks like joining the army is the last thing he wants to do,
    Captain Baillie.” Addressing Fox in a surprisingly kindly tone, he had asked, “What do you want to
    do, son?”
    “Go to art college,” Fox had replied. When they got home, his father had thrashed him until his
    entire body was black with bruises, but at least he had never suggested him joining up again.
    Anger edging his words, Baillie said, “No, they wouldn’t.”
    “One of these days you must bring him to Uganda, and I will train him. A father should never
    train his own son. Leave it to another man.”
    “Are you related to Idi Amin?” The moment Fox heard Uganda , the words slipped out.
    For a long moment the man stared directly at Fox. The whites of his eyes were laced with red
    blood vessels, the irises nearly black. Fox had seen eyes like that many a time at parties