Alex woke tired and achy on Christmas morning. Only here it wasn't Christmas, just another day for Dimitry and Boris. His grumpiness was at new heights as he exercised in the dark, cold morning. He had made up ironic parcels for his family containing a chocolate bar, a can of coke and some socks and handed them out a breakfast as he half heartedly ate his buckwheat porridge, wishing for toast and marmite in a fit of homesickness. The day was still being celebrated, but he had mixed feelings over his invitation to the US Ambassadors for lunch today. Political posturing for sure, but Boris had calmly gone through all the advantages after weathering the teenager's rant about not going. The old man, kind and patient when hormones were in play. Explaining not one but a dozen reasons for Sasha to see the bigger picture, beyond the seclusion of the apartment.
Alex was ecstatic about his recent growth spurt, he was nearly as tall as Boris now. Dressing smart casual presented a new problem, his decent trousers were a good five centimetres too short and his good shoes pinched his toes when they hadn't last week. In the end, he borrowed Dima's clothes, trousers held up with a belt and the shirt and jacket sagged on his shoulders matched with his boots which still fit. The big clothes giving the impression he was still way too skinny, when in truth he was sticking to the targets and had broken his bad habit of skipping meals and stress vomiting.
The Marine on guard looked at the invitation, and then at the kid dressed in thrift store castoffs. Every other guest was dressed for the occasion, most in this seasons fashion, even the kids. The name stated Kiriyenko who was an invited guest, with everything checked out, the kid entered unchaperoned. On the sidewalk, the State Security Officer waited until the his charge was out of view, then went to join his partner in the car.
The Ambassadors wife, dressed in a new Donna Karan cocktail dress, looked underdressed in the grand reception hall of the official residence. Laughing politely at the Press Secretary's joke, she excused herself to greet the one guest whose acceptance genuinely surprised her, or rather whose guardians acceptance had surprised her. The boy had been seen only in the presence of his father and guards since the school incident.
"Welcome to my home, Sasha." It was the first genuine smile on the woman's face since she started in hostess mode.
"Thank you for inviting me. This place is like Wow and that's from a guy who's played hide and seek in the state rooms in the Kremlin." The guest did not add, it had been been with the daughter of the new president, who was learning how to have fun away from the total control of her overbearing mother and elder sister.
"That's quite a wow in itself. I may suggest a game here after I have drunk just enough champagne not to care about protocol and decorum."
Alex smiled at the woman's sense of fun was not completely buried under her icy exterior, he had not warmed to her when she had invited herself to spy on him in September. "Well, I'm game for anything after a few vodkas." The teenagers watched the colour drain from the woman's face. He then swore "shit, does everyone know about school, them?"
"Well, I was stupid enough to snoop the official file on you, hoping to reconnect you with family or friends stateside. Never expecting to discovered about such depravity in a school with such a good reputation."
Alex shrugged and added, "my uncle always thought fee paying schools were dodgy. Hell, the school here was tame in comparison with my one stint at boarding school. That's where I met Dima. School run by real psychos, which also had a stellar reputation for great results, not academic, but the production of Stepford-perfect kids for parents who could not give a shit." Bad memories caused him to shudder, knowing Blunt had captured Julius was not helping. Genetics were on his and Dima's side as Grief had been a measly 1.65m tall. Alex was two centimetres over that now and still had growing to do, as Ian had been 1.76m tall and John Rider 1.81m tall. Dima was now 1.76m tall having had his growth spurt over the summer and he was already shaving regularly. The ex spy's voice had yet to break. He sourly thought on his cache as Blunt's weapon had been his youthful appearance, he could not wait to be tall, overtly hairy and with a deep baritone, skipping the full on acne was OK though.
The guests were all the unattached embassy staff or emigres with family at home in the States. Alex was the youngest guest. So, he was sat two seats down from the hostess and flanked by two recent college graduates, who talked as if he wasn't there, both on the look out for Mr Right. He frowned and did not even poke the starter of crab cakes with its fish roe decoration, then his stomach turned at the mash potatoes and turkey covered in weirdly gelatinous home style gravy. The green beans had been smothered in creamy onion sauce and the sweet potatoes had a toasted marshmallow topping. He drank his coke and ate two heavily buttered bread rolls while he watched everyone else enjoy their food, complimenting the home style catering.
It drove home that his whole upbringing was the antithesis of normal. Christmas in Colorado last year had been supper of steak, salad and baked potato after a fun day skiing. The year before, Thai street food after a day scuba diving and the year before ramen on the way to the airport after a five day immersion in Japanese language and culture, with Ian back in Paris for work on the 27th. He could not remember ever eating turkey, even avoiding it when it had been the special school lunch the week before the holidays at Brookland. Give him sweaty cheese or ham sandwiches any day. His problem with roe had been food poisoning after trying it for the first time at the age of seven.
Pudding here would not be English style Christmas pudding or mince pies, both he actually liked when he'd eaten them at friend's houses. He already bet it would be something too sweet for his liking. He prayed it was ice cream and apple pie. Then caramel bread pudding was served to everyone else's applause, as it was the hostess' own family recipe. Alex dutifully ate every bite, then excused himself to the bathroom. Who on earth thought caramel, bread and baked custard was a good combination. He'd been put off custard for life at Brecon, where their vile yellow dessert sauce had been almost solid skin bordering on blancmange.
In the palatial bathroom, Alex was happy to barf up the only part of lunch he'd eaten. Washing his face, the cool water felt wonderful as he was too hot. He did not want to get ill, in five days they were going skiing, ice skating and enjoying their winter holiday at New Year. Time to go home and sleep off the bug. Just 24 hour flu or like the nasty cold Boris had two weeks ago. He now had thank Mrs Cooper-Brown, and hoped this was a one off invitation.
He found her stood in the main reception room by a huge glittering tree and discussing the planned entertainment programme after the exchange of gifts. The teen coughed to politely interrupt. Running through the rehearsed speech, to thank for the invitation and to admit to not feeling too hot, but he was hot, far too hot. He could not decide if he was about to barf again and then he was on the floor. A blanket around him and a cushion behind his head.
"I noticed you weren't enjoying your food. You should have stayed home if you felt unwell."
"Need to network, always keep options open, everything can change overnight." Alex noted he now had sharp stabbing stomach ache on top offer of feeling generally horrid. "Not going to be ill. Just a cold, stomach flu, nothing bad. The coffee grounds were wrong. Nothing bad is going to spoil our holiday. Paul is coming from New York, Jamie from Düsseldorf and Hugo from Amsterdam. It's good to have friends. Miss that the most. Adults here act like they care, but I can't rely on them. Everything went bad so fast in March."
"Your car is outside. Can you walk? They will take you to hospital." The two marine guards helped Alex to the waiting car, Antonin waiting by the open door looking worried.
The ill boy looked at his friend, managing to moan, "it's not an appendicitis. Can't be, we're going on holiday on Sunday."
Laying his charge along the rear seat, Antonin sighed. Sasha had the best and the worst luck in equal measure. If it evened out, he'd be fine. Was this the last swing of fate's pendulum? The Russian crossed himself and sat in the passenger seat. "To the nearest Emergency Room, ten roubles says his appendix is about to burst. I'd rather not have Boris' witch of a daughter curse us for our tardiness."