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Hugo Duchamp shuffled uncomfortably on the plastic benches which lined the swimming pool at the heart of Montgenoux Grand École. Despite his natural reticence against sport, based solely upon his own apparent inability to compete, Hugo found himself caught up in the drama and the emotion of the event.

He was not at the swimming competition in his official capacity of Captain of the Police Nationale, rather as the proud father of one of the competitors, Baptiste Beaupain. The title of father was still not something Hugo had become used to. He had imagined his life would end as it had begun, staid and sterile, and though he might have love affairs, none of them was likely to last. He was not a man prone to fancy, or melancholy, rather a man who had, from an early age, learned his limitations. He had not been taught to love properly, and the act of love was not something that came naturally to him because he always assumed it was fleeting, because it was the only experience he could relate to.

He had been born to a wealthy family, in an arrondissement of Paris proud of the fact it was not fashionable because it meant it managed to keep out those inhabitants the residents would consider undesirable. Hugo had been born to Pierre Duchamp, a stoic man who had inherited his mother’s steely determination and irreverence, and nothing at all from his father.

Pierre had, for reasons no one had ever quite understood, chosen to marry a foreigner, an actress and a singer. The match, for whatever reason it had occurred, had produced Hugo and little else, other than contempt and hatred between all those involved. Hugo was barely grown before his parents had divorced, his mother flitting to America to pursue a career no-one believed in but her.

Pierre, as was the want of a man of privilege and distinction, had decided he had no interest or desire to raise a child. He had, Hugo had always assumed, hoped that he would hand over the child to a nanny who would return him fully grown and entirely compatible with the Parisian highlife Pierre had grown accustomed to. It had not worked out that way. Hugo was never destined to be the perfect child for high society.

Hugo had been taken in by his Grand Mère, Madeline Duchamp, a woman entirely unaccustomed to raising children, but had taken on Hugo because her vanity decreed it. Between the two of them, Hugo and Madeline had forged an entirely unorthodox life together, until her death, when Hugo was barely eighteen years old. She had left him as she had found him. Devastated and alone. But she had done one thing for him. She had left him independent and an adult of means. He knew it was her way of showing her love to him. She was not demonstrative and, accordingly, had never shown him how to be. He did not blame her, primarily because he did not know where he would have been were it not for Madeline. Of all he had lost in his life, her loss was the one which he still carried. He had left France after her death and vowed never to return.

However, everything had changed several years later when Hugo, then a superintendent in the London Metropolitan Police, had been called back to his native France to assist in a tragic and politically sensitive series of murders. The murders had been solved, but somewhere along the way, Hugo had found himself unable to run away any longer. He had been caught in a trap as if he had fallen into a spider’s web, and the more he tried to extract himself, the more difficult it had become. Despite it being against everything he wanted, he had been shown a glimpse of a life he had never imagined could be his.

Hugo shook his head, realising he had drifted off into melancholy again. In such circumstances, he did as he normally would - he moved his knee to the left, immediately feeling the reassurance of the person who had changed everything. The man who had taught him that love, and lasting love, was achievable.

Hugo and Ben Beaupain had been together for seven years, sharing a ramshackle Swiss-style cottage on the outskirts of Montgenoux, and although they had encountered their fair share of troubles, they had emerged together, growing stronger all the time. They had married and adopted Baptiste, even though he was already an adult, but still in need of a family to love him.

Hugo and Ben had first encountered Baptiste when he was enrolled in a home for troubled teenagers in Ireland, but when they returned to France, he came with them. Despite his difficult start in life, Baptiste had recently completed his baccalauréat and had now enrolled at Montgenoux Grand École, where he was studying business administration, with a view to one day running the vineyard Ben had inherited following his father’s death. Hugo was immensely proud of the young man who had fought through such adversity.

Since enrolling in Montgenoux Grand École, Baptiste had continued his studies, but also joined the school swim team, and their training had paid off. If they won the latest heat, then they would move into the national finals, competing with schools from all over France. Hugo was sure Baptiste was keeping himself busy following a love affair that had ended badly. His young adopted son talked little about Chen Gao, the girl he had met in Ireland and who was now living in China with her husband. At the time, Hugo had witnessed Baptiste’s despair, but had been unable to get him to discuss it further.

Baptiste jumped in front of them, bending over and shaking wet hair in Hugo and Ben’s direction, covering Hugo’s glasses with chlorinated water. He pushed them into his long blond hair, fixing Baptiste with an almost stern glare from piercing emerald green eyes. Baptiste chortled, running his hands through his hair. As usual, he wore his dark hair long on top, with shaved sides. He was also prone to wearing bow ties, but Hugo had noticed that since Chen Gao was out of his life, so were the ties.

‘Did I do okay?’ Baptiste asked.

Despite the casual tone, Hugo could tell the young man was keen to impress his parents. ‘You did an amazing job,’ Hugo said.

‘And we kept the whooping and cheering to a dull roar so as not to embarrass you,’ Ben added.

‘You two could never embarrass me,’ Baptiste smiled. ‘And I know this isn’t your kind of fun, but I appreciate you coming out to support me all the same.’ He pointed to the enormous clock on the auditorium wall. ‘There’s only one more round and then we’ll be done.’

‘And then we’ll take you for pizza to celebrate,’ Hugo said.
Baptiste patted his stomach. ‘Papa, I’m in training. I can’t be eating pizza,’ he sighed despairingly. Hugo raised an eyebrow. He was not sure he had ever seen such a firm stomach, and certainly not

one with so many squares on it. ‘You have to eat,’ he sighed. He had never played the father card, because the truth was, Baptiste had been practically an adult when they had met. But somehow, somewhere amongst the confusion of their nuclear family, they had found a way to function as a family. There was never a case of testing boundaries, because when they had come together they had done so by choice, and therefore whatever came after they had somehow always understood it was from a place of love and respect.

Baptiste exhaled and nodded, fixing Hugo with a warm smile. ‘Can my buddy come? He’s kinda here on his own. His family doesn’t live in Montgenoux,’ he replied. ‘And,’ he paused, his mouth twisting, ‘as you know, I know what it feels like to be in a weird school away from everyone and everything you know.’

Ben smiled, squeezing Hugo’s hand. ‘Bien sûr, you can bring your friend. We’d love to meet him.’ He pointed toward the pool. ‘Now, go swim and make us even prouder.’

Baptiste winked at them and jogged in the direction of the swimming pool. Ben dropped his head on Hugo’s shoulder. ‘I like being a Papa.’

Hugo smiled. ‘Me too,’ he replied, realising he meant it more than he ever thought possible. I have a family.