Free Adam: A Sensuous Coming of Age Tale by Anthony McDonald Page B

broad in the shoulder too. Christophe he could have managed, but Christophe still seemed to be on his side.
    ‘ He’s joking,’ Christophe said. He had caught the strength of Adam’s feeling from the tension in his face and forearms. ‘Take it as a joke yourself, mec .’
    But Adam was not in the mood for joking, though his bad humour was not all the result of Thierry’s asinine antics. Something had happened a day or two previously – something connected with Fox – that had first upset him and then left him brooding and uneasy, and, though right now he was trying to forget about that, Thierry’s mad behaviour came like a stern reminder to settle a bill that has already been paid. And was about as well received.
    ‘ You’re telling me I’m pédé . Is that it?
    ‘ You might be,’ returned Thierry evenly. ‘ You might well be.’
    ‘ And you would know, I suppose.’ Adam’s anger boiled over. ‘ You might well be – both of you.’ He drew in Christophe with a flick of his head. ‘ You’re probably the biggest pair of petits frères on the plateau. No wonder Céline calls you Cul et Chemise .
    There was a stunned silence during which Adam realised with a horrible sick feeling that he had gone much too far, and that it was beyond him to unsay something which Céline had actually said. Unable to retreat, Adam hacked his way forward desperately like someone in alarmingly thickening undergrowth. ‘ How would I know?’ he blustered. ‘ How would I know anything? You two don’t show any signs of life in you at all. I mean sex life. At least I have a sex life. At least I’ve had sex. A lot of it.’
    There was another silence. Then Christophe said: ‘ I don’t believe you.’ His lower lip was trembling as if he were going to cry.
    ‘ Girls or boys?’ asked Thierry coldly.
    ‘ Both,’ Adam lied. ‘What about you?’
    ‘ La vie privée,’ parried Thierry. ‘ You don’t ask that.’
    ‘ You did.’
    ‘ You were bragging. I wasn’t. You deserve to be questioned.’ He took a step towards Adam. ‘So who with, then? Names!’ The two dogs caught the general mood and began to bark, while turning accusing stares on Adam.
    ‘ People at school,’ said Adam, trying not to take a pace backwards. ‘In England. Nobody you’d know. Or,’ he risked, ‘that would want to know you.’ He had no intention of boasting about anything that might have happened on the plateau. Especially not now.
    Perhaps it was fortunate that at that moment Monique called from the house to tell them on behalf of her and Christophe’s mother that dinner was ready. The parents had already had a flute of champagne each and the diversion occasioned by the arrival of the young people in from the garden gave Christophe’s father cover while he poured a second glass for himself and the two other fathers without the women noticing, just before everybody stood up to move to the table.
    Communication among the three boys was now suspended due to force majeure, and Adam switched his attention to observing the behaviour of the older members of the party. Apart from taking his mind off the unpleasantness of the last few minutes it stopped him from dwelling on what had happened with Fox.
    Christophe ’s mother had prepared a salade tiède as a starter: curly endive and chopped walnuts with hot fried bacon strips and golden croutons poured on top with a vinaigrette. It was both simple and appealing. Christophe’s mother served it while expressing the hope that nobody had a problem with walnuts. (One read of such alarming stories about allergies in the press.) Nobody had.
    Adam ’s mother had served an identical salade tiède to guests two weeks before. Now he watched her face as she sampled this one, seeing her attention to its presentation and the balance of its constituent parts. He observed her silent satisfaction at the discovery that this was definitely no better than hers and then he read a slight uncertainty in her eyes which