Holme Again

12

"Heard anything from your brother?"

Toby shrugged. "Not that Mum and Dad have told me. Could be no need good news, or he could have died ages ago and they haven't told me." He gave a harsh laugh.

"Hmm. Want to come over after school? You have an excuse not to do any homework today. You'll have to go home for dinner though."

"Yeah, sure, sounds cool. Your uncle won't mind, will he?"

"Him? He better not."

Toby laughed. My goal had been successful then. He's deemed very glum for the past few weeks, and although I hadn't found out why yet, at least I could sometimes cheer him up a bit.

"So, what's your uncle really like then?" Toby asked as we cycled home. Funny how I'd come to call it home in my head now, rather than 'my uncle's house' or 'Mycroft's house'.

"Himself."

"No, really, what's he like?"

"You'll see." I cycled faster.

​​​​​​Mycroft seemed to be in his study when we arrived, so I led Tony into the kitchen.

"Want anything to eat or drink?"

"Do you have orange juice? And uh, any biscuits? I don't mind which sort."

Once I had filled his request (I'd found some gingernuts in a cupboard), we sat down at the table.

"What was your life like before?"

I considered a moment before replying. "I loved with my mum and my... my stepdad, though of course, I thought he was my real dad, and my brother and sister. Two and four years younger respectively."

"And? "

"And the five of us loved in a detached house in a town just outside of London."

"Yeah? "

"Well what else do you want me to say?"

'"More."

"I was lied to, wasn't I? All my life. And it took a bloody war for the truth to come out. Why? Why was I lied to? I believed my stepdad was my real dad for fifteen years of my life!"

I hadn't expected to lose control like that. I didn't like losing control. It didn't happen very often.

"Sorry, shouldn't've pressed you. Dunno what I'd do in your place. Reckon you've done really well."

"Who are you? " I hadn't heard Mycroft approaching, and I don't think Tony had either because he nearly jumped out of his skin.

I answered for him, "This is Toby, from school."

"Is he a goldfish? "

"No actually. More like a cod."

Poor Toby stared at us in confusion.

"Come on then, cod-boy, let's go upstairs. "