Tristan's eyes widened as though he were almost amused that someone dare talk to him like that.
"Well, you know what, kid, maybe if you opened your mind a little you'd realise we didn't all have it quite so cushty as you probably do. Some of us don't have mummies and daddies to support us and buy us nice things. Some of us have to do the best we can. And I'm sorry, but I didn't realise I was talking to a photography expert. By all means, owl the people who sent me my last pay cheque and tell them you disagree with them. Maybe they'll ask for their money back and me and my brother won't eat for the next week."
Tristan gave as good as he got, but then he'd always had reason to be defensive. He'd always taken to life warily, always questioned everyone and gone at things with anger and passion if nothing else. He would not let anyone insult him.
"You're not sorry and you did mean it. If you've got issues, mate, maybe you should ask your parents to fork out for a shrink rather than having a hippogryff in the middle of the street."