"Everything alright Dad?"

"Yep …indeed …" Charles swallowed "Been a bit full on the last couple of days hasn't it?" He raised his eyebrows and snorted a laugh down his nose "A tad difficult …. But … all good now … how about with you … how are things?"

"Fine …." Sam looked sideways at his father, he knew there was something really weird going on, something was making Charles uncomfortable so that he sounded strange, but it was equally obvious that he was finding it difficult to get started on whatever it was. It was so unlike his father that alarm bells started to go off in Sam's brain, but he was desperately afraid to ask what was going on, just in case it was what he dreaded more than anything else he could think of. But then walking side by side with his dad in a silence filled with unspoken words was also uncomfortably full of a tension that seemed almost palpable "I'm okay .. thanks … so ..?" Sam shrugged "What is it Dad?"

"Nothing …. Nothing in particular …. I just thought it was time we had a bit of a catch up … we haven't talked properly in ages"

"What's she said?"

Oh shit, that sinking feeling he'd had earlier had returned with a vengeance together with a cold sweat of dread, he was horribly convinced that his worst fucking nightmare come true. He wasn't stupid, so he'd known it was coming of course, that no matter how much he wished he could he couldn't turn the clock back and make bloody sure he didn't say a single word to anyone about what had happened. He wouldn't tell Molly a thing. He remembered reading somewhere or maybe someone had told him once that the only way to keep something secret was to make absolutely sure you don't breathe a word about it to anyone, and he hadn't done that, had he? Only had himself to blame now.

"Who? If you're talking about your mother Sam, I haven't spoken to her since all the fuss about you not going back to school, she wasn't exactly pleased with either of us …"

"Not mum … I wasn't talking about mum, I was talking about Molly … what has she told you?"

"Molly? …" Charles shook his head "Sorry Sam … but why would she tell me anything?"

Sam wasn't sure he believed that his dad didn't know about his little heart to heart with Molly, he was convinced that was the reason his father sounded a bit weird but it was all totally his own fault. There was no-one else to blame.

"No reason I suppose"

"She hasn't said anything …. nothing at all … why would she say anything? Have you talked to her about your plans, about what you want to do next? Now that you've apparently given up on the idea of finishing your education … I'm presuming here that you're not actually intending to spend the rest of your life lying on your bed playing games on your phone"

Charles heard with horror the irritable note of censure that had crept into his voice. He hadn't picked his words at all carefully and he definitely should have because he certainly hadn't intended that to sound the way it had. Molly would string him up by the balls if she could hear him. But the last thing he wanted was to admit that he and Molly had indeed discussed the issue, and that she was the one who'd pushed him to talk to Sam. He knew Sam wouldn't be happy with the thought that his dad had had to be told to talk to him. And this wasn't about any bloody expectations he'd had about what Sam should be doing with his life, or about what Rebecca wanted or Penny or anyone else for fuck sake, this was about what Sam wanted. And he certainly didn't intend to give him the impression that this was about any failure on his part to measure up to expectations, and it wasn't about what Rebecca kept referring to as wasting the opportunities that his very expensive education had given him. Of wasting a lot of money. Charles had got increasingly pissed off at the way she'd talked about the cost and had been tempted on more than one occasion during one of her tantrums to ask her exactly whose money it was she was talking about.

But Molly was right, he didn't even know what had made Sam so unhappy at school, what had made him refuse to even consider the possibility of going back, not even to re-take this fucking exam that Rebecca had been so obsessed with. He didn't know why exactly Sam had walked away nor what had led to him stubbornly refusing all their attempts to get him to re-think the decision.

Charles had kept telling himself it was because Sam had been in trouble, that his suspension had been for an act of teenage stupidity, and serious as it had no doubt been in the eyes of the stuffy establishment they'd chosen, or rather that Rebecca had chosen and that he'd gone along with, it was one that was nothing that couldn't have been smoothed over if Sam had been prepared to co-operate. In Charles' experience money talked in these establishments and the loss of a pupil's fees was something they did their best to avoid, if it was at all possible. And Molly had been right, it had hardly been the crime of the century. But Sam had virtually refused to discuss it beyond a few truculent grunts and a penchant for walking off without answering and Molly had hinted that there were things about the school that had made Sam hate every last minute he'd been forced to be there. But she'd refused to elaborate, had insisted instead that he was the one who had to discuss the whole thing with Sam, and that all the yelling in the world wasn't going to change it.

Charles had this horrible niggling feeling that Sam had tried to explain it to him and that he hadn't made time to listen.

"You know there was no point at all in me going back Dad don't you? … I'm sorry … but you knew that and I know I let you down but .. I did try to explain that even if I'd taken that bloody exam a hundred times the result would have been the same … I'd have failed a hundred times …. I hated it … all of it, not only because I'm bloody useless at Maths, but all of it… every bit of it …"

"You didn't let me down Sam, wherever did you get an idea like that? You could never let me down .." Charles put a hand out and squeezed the top of Sam's arm, horrified to hear the degree of sincerity in his voice, Sam was serious and obviously meant every word he was saying. He wasn't just playing for the sympathy card. And somewhere in the back of his head Charles knew he'd been guilty of closing his eyes to what had been going on and that being constantly stressed and on edge, worrying all the time about his ability to do a good job in his new role was no fucking excuse. Nor was the recent nightmare of all the shit that had been flying around in recent months "I just wish I'd known … you should have told me …"

"I did, Dad, well … I tried … but … well, either you weren't listening or you didn't believe me … I know you did okay at school, but I didn't, I never fitted in, not anywhere, not in any of them, the one when we lived in Yorkshire wasn't so bad … but then I got shifted again didn't I? Moved to another one and no-one asked me what I wanted …" Charles had some vague memories of a lot of yelling and door slamming sat the time which had then become morose sulks when he'd relentlessly insisted that Sam had to move to the school his mother had wanted for him "And the rest of them were absolute shit … I hated them"

"Don't let your mother hear you say that …."

"I don't care if she does, it's the truth and it doesn't matter anyway because I'm not telling you anything you didn't already know Dad, and Mum never cared what it was like for me, I'm not sure she even noticed, as long as I was safely parked out of the way somewhere … out of sight … in the right kind of school, with the right kind of boys, making the right sort of friends, it didn't matter that I was miserable, that I didn't have any friends, not real ones… "

"That's not fair to your mum, Sam, she loves you"

"Does she?"

Sam was suddenly worried that he was going to cry which would underline just how much of a kid he was, how bloody useless he was, so took a deep shuddery breath and willed the tears to go away. Feeling sorry for himself wasn't going to go down very well with his dad.

"Of course she does … we all do, I love you and so does Molly and your brother and your sisters … I just feel that we've let you down, Sam, or that I have …"

"It's not your fault that I was no good at the things that matter Dad, no good at sport, and I'm only average at everything else" Sam shook his head "I know I'm not stupid, that I can get by, well apart from at Maths, but I am not really good at anything …"

Charles could hear the bleak tone in his voice and was flooded with guilt, Jesus why hadn't he done something about this before when it would have counted for something? It was too bloody late now, and if he was being brutally honest with himself he'd have to admit that somewhere in the back of his head he had known, or at least had had an inkling that things weren't wonderful, not that they were as bad as they obviously had been, but Molly had tried several times to talk to him about it. She had indeed done her best to persuade him that boarding school wasn't the right place for Sam. She'd maintained that he wasn't happy and needed to be at home, and he'd dismissed her fears as some sort of prejudice against the sort of education that he'd had and that he firmly believed in. He'd dismissed what she'd said as an attempt on her part to underline how absolutely adamant she was that their children were not going to be sent away anywhere to school. And he'd been equally insistent that she was wrong. And he knew that part of it was him avoiding the issue because of his reluctance to start a war with Rebecca, but this wasn't about Rebecca, this was about Sammie.

"Most of them are little shits …"

"Probably …"

"No Dad, there's no probably about it … you have got no idea … and neither has mum with all her right kinds of people, does she really think that the sort of people who think it's okay to make your life hell every day because you like different things or wear glasses or …whatever, that the sort of people who enjoy doing that are the sort of people you're going to pick to be your friends? Is that really what she believes? l mean I used to go along with stuff, stuff that I hated …. I used to pretend that I found the things they said funny … that it was all some huge joke … but I wasn't going to ask to make things any worse, was I?"

"Where was your housemaster in all this Sam? What did Richardson do about it? I presume he knew what was going on … what about all that stuff they spout about zero tolerance?"

"Come on Dad, things haven't changed that much since you were at school … it's all about pretending stuff doesn't happen … all stiff upper lip and big boys don't cry and pull yourself together and all that crap …"

"Christ!"

"You know, I don't want to say that it was alright for you, but it was wasn't it? You were good at sports … and cadets … and you didn't struggle with anything did you? Good at everything … Not like me …"

"I'm can't tell you how much I wish I could go back and change it … but…. If only doesn't count does it?" Charles wiped a hand over the back of his neck "Have you given much thought to what you want to do now?"

Sam was infinitely relieved to get off the topic of school. He was more than happy to change the subject because talking about it was bringing back the memories of just how much he'd hated it. All of it. Just how miserable and lonely he'd been at times and how it had seemed never-ending. But since he'd refused to go back he'd found some friends on-line that seemed to understand how he felt, friends he could confide in, friends that had experienced similar things, people that were helping him feel better about himself, but he just couldn't see himself talking to his dad about any of it. He couldn't imagine telling him that he hadn't shared the obsessive interest in girls and in porn that most of the other boys had, and that despite the hundreds of lewd conversations he'd had with the others in the common room, there had been something about him that had led the others to decide he was faking it. And in the macho culture that prevailed in that place even a hint that someone might possibly be a bit different was enough to make them a target. It hadn't seemed to matter how vehemently he'd denied what they were saying, it just seemed to act as a spur for the constant barrage of name-calling and the suggestive comments accompanied by loud sniggers that had become his daily life. Even the little escapade in the pub which had led to his suspension had been about fitting in, about doing something to prove that he was one of the lads, and that had backfired on him spectacularly. Although Sam couldn't have wished for a better outcome.

"I thought … I did think I'd quite like to do something with food, with cooking, that maybe in time I'd like to be a chef"

"What's that, self-preservation from Moll's cooking?"

"Maybe …" Sam laughed "But that's another non-starter isn't it? To do it you need College and to do that I need Maths … so" Sam shrugged.

"Do you? Have you actually checked?" Shit, once again Charles could hear himself sounding as though he didn't believe that Sam was an adult who could be trusted to get it right, that once again there was a tone of doubt in his voice that he didn't particularly like "Maybe there's some way round it, I mean, you got a grade last time you sat the exam, didn't you? It might not have been the grade that … well the one that would get you into 6th form … the one that meant you could do what your mum wanted you to do, but what about the Catering Corps? As far as I know you don't need any particular grade to do that …."

"No Dad, absolutely NOT … I am not going in the army … no thanks, I'd rather be a kitchen porter somewhere, I don't want to do it, it's as bad as being an accountant or a solicitor or a bloody brain surgeon or whatever other wonderful career choice mum had all planned out for me … well before she realised I was thick"

"Sam … don't … and you're not thick … you know you're not .. and that sounded unkind … your mum only wants the best for you"

"Right … of course she does" Sam laughed and shook his head "The one with the biggest bragging rights you mean … you've never met the other Dubai ladies that lunch have you Dad?"

"Fair enough …." Charles snorted, he could only imagine the sort of circle of friends that Rebecca had cultivated in Dubai "How about we have a look at all the options when we get home, see what we can come up with?" Charles clapped Sam on the shoulder "What do you say?"

Charles knew that Rebecca was very likely to have a blue fit, that she'd be jumping up and down heaping all sorts of blame and criticism on him for what she'd almost certainly see as a failure on his part to sort Sam out. It would be all his fault, or actually it was more likely that the blame would fall on Molly for Sam choosing something Rebecca didn't consider to be a suitable career. It would be Molly's malign influence. Unless Sam was certain to be Michelin starred of course, or have the potential of owning a string of restaurants, or to at least appear regularly on television. Rebecca actually had zero interest in food, playing with a lettuce leaf was her idea of eating a balanced meal, so was likely to make a huge fuss. Sam was right, her ambitions for their son were all about what she wanted.

-OG-

Molly was standing at the sink washing up a huge pile of utensils, so that it looked to him as though every chopping board, knife and bowl they possessed was sitting there waiting as he stood behind her and put his arms round her waist before he rested his chin on the top of her head. Molly leaned back against him for a minute before plunging her hands back in the hot soapy water.

"Okay, what you done with Millie?" She giggled and lifted her chin trying to look up at him "Who is this kid, what you done with the real one?"

"Oh shit, what now?"

He really didn't want to have to dish out any more discipline to anyone, he'd had enough for one day.

"Nothing … that's what I meant … she's walking around here polishing her bloody halo, saying please and thank you nicely every couple of minutes even to her brother …" Molly shook her head and giggled loudly "She's said sorry Mummy for everything every couple of minutes and it's bloody scaring the shit out of me … the other two are just as bad, they're being so polite to each other it's like all three have been abducted by aliens … did you threaten them, put the fear of god in them or something? If you did, can you make sure you do it every day?"

"Yup…." Charles laughed and pretended to buff his nails against his sweater, then smirked "They just needed a firm hand that's all …they needed to know who's boss, who's in charge … "

"Yeah … right … course they did … 'n that's you is it? I'll bloody remind you of that when the novelty wears off"

"I'm going to regret saying any of that, aren't I?"

"Oh yeah … when the aliens get fed up with them and send them back … I'll give it another hour … tops"

"Before that happy event, can you stop that and give me a hug? I really need one, I've been talking to Sam … shit Moll, what's happening to my bloody family, no-one's happy … how the fuck did I let any of this happen?"

"Come on, it's not your fault and …. it's not that bad … Sam's alright, he's getting there … he told you about them horrible little shits bullying him then? … I hope you told him it don't matter … that it's not a big deal if he is gay … that it don't make any difference to the people that love him, it makes no bloody difference at all"

"GAY? What? Sam? Sam's gay? What are you talking about? Is that what he told you? Because he didn't say anything like that to me …"

Charles took his arms from round her waist and let go of her, obviously about to rush off as Molly made a grab for his arm.

"What you doing?"

"Going to find him and talk to him of course" He rubbed a hand over his head and then stood still and wracked his brains trying to think whether Sam had said anything at all that he could have misinterpreted, if he'd even hinted at something, he was worried that he'd missed the bloody clues again as his son had tried to tell him about something that was worrying him "Fuck Molly, why didn't he say anything, I thought we were having a proper chat, an honest talk about things, why didn't he tell me?"

"Maybe he's not ready …. or maybe there's nothing to tell … I dunno …he never said he was, actually come to think of it he said he wasn't, but that they were bullying him because they thought he was …. But I don't know if I believe that …. I don't know whether he is or he isn't, but you can't go steaming in or he'll know I told you and I promised him … and anyway if you go charging in all upset and shouting he's bound to think you're annoyed, so please don't … please wait out and let him tell you himself when he's got something he wants to tell you, when he decides he's ready…"

"You're right …. of course you're bloody right, but that's more bloody secrets, why does it suddenly feel as if no-one in this house is happy … you're not, Sam's not, the only one who's happy is the bloody dog"

"Don't worry about me, I'm alright …. But what about you? You never told me they was giving you shit at work did you? Is it still like that now, has all that stopped?"

"Molly … Stop trying to change the subject, this is not about me and I know there's something wrong … I'm worried about you, I just wish you'd tell me" Charles paused and sniffed "Ummm …. Sorry … but something smells as if it's done …."

"Oh fuck …. That's you distracting me … it's sodding well burnt now innit?" Molly pulled open the oven door and flapped her hand around in a vain attempt to disperse the smoke "Fuck … now see what you've made me do"

"Me? What was it before it committed suicide?"

She was torn between wanting to cry at the waste of all the effort she'd put into cooking something proper because she'd forgotten all about turning the oven temperature down after she'd whacked it up to cook it quickly after spending so long messing about with it, and giggling at the look on his face "It was lunch … sausage pasta bake … 'n it took me bloody hours … dunno why I bothered now" She wafted the oven gloves over the top of the casserole dish "Maybe we can pick the burnt bits off ….. what do you think?"

"Lovely …" Molly could see how hard he was struggling not to laugh and not to show his scepticism that it would be edible.

"Baked beans on toast?"

"Yep, sounds good to me … I'll do it …. It's only fair when it was apparently my fault lunch was cremated …" Charles smirked "And you can sit there and tell me what's wrong …. And don't say nothing okay?"

-OG-

A/N: Sorry, sorry for the long delay in updating, it took me a while and a lot of re-writes to be happy (reasonably) with the tone of Charles' chat with Sam … and I've been writing something else at the same time, a story that had been buzzing around in my brain and refusing to go away for some time … anyway, thank you for all your reviews and kind comments for the last chapter, they are what keep me going and I do hope that you enjoyed this one … I promise that the next update will be a lot quicker … and as usual bucket loads of thanks to Flossy, I really don't know what I'd do without her.