This is Not a Love Story (23 page)

Victoria Street is busy, and this close to the station every other building is a sandwich bar or fast-food outlet. The smell is overwhelming. I try not to think about it.

Are you hungry?
Crash asks suddenly, as if he can read my mind.

I don’t want to, but I nod—not having slept all night and then the whole stress of this morning has left me starving. After being so well fed in hospital, I’m not used to the constant gnawing inside me anymore. It’s not something anyone should have to get used to, but Julian taught me ways of dealing with it. Just being with him helped me forget sometimes. Just lying with him in some quiet place trying to shut out the darkness, or when there was no quiet place, just pulling our tarpaulin over our heads and shutting out the world.

I know why I’m thinking about this, and it hurts that I’m trying to ignore him like everyone else is. I don’t want to have seen him, but across the road there is a homeless guy wrapped up in a dirty blue sleeping bag, and people are just stepping over him as though he doesn’t exist. He’s not moving. He could be dead and no one cares.

Without warning the ground seems to shift beneath my feet. I spin around, my chest tight, the crowds a blur. How on earth did we fucking survive it out here?

How is Julian still fucking surviving it?

If….

Crash grasps my arm as the anxiety threatens to overwhelm me and pulls me into a sweet-smelling cafe that sells healthy-looking baguettes stuffed full of salads and beans.

Okay?
he signs, eyebrows drawn together, concerned.

I focus on his face, taking one breath after another, and feel everything slow. His eyes are mesmerizing. I wonder disconnectedly if anyone has ever told him how beautiful he is. They must have done. I look away. Nod.

All self-conscious and awkward again, he gestures to the sign above the doorway.

Vegetarian okay?

I don’t honestly care what sort of food it is right now. I can’t understand why some people won’t eat this or won’t eat that, really. It seems like a waste.

Kay and Peter are vegetarian
, he signs in explanation, as though he understands my thoughts on this too.
My foster parents.

I glance out the window at the guy in the sleeping bag again and when I look back, Crash is staring out there too.

At the counter he points to some huge sandwiches behind the glass counter and orders three.

Despite being shy and deaf, he doesn’t seem at all fazed by this sort of situation. He watches people carefully to work out what they’re saying, and either just nods or shakes his head or holds up his hand and, bizarrely, they seem to understand what he wants. I couldn’t do that. I don’t go anywhere normally without some paper and a pencil. I write
everything
down, but watching Crash just pitch himself into communicating with people shows me how much I hold back, how much I relied on Julian to do the talking. I relied on him too much to deal with a lot of things. And I know he probably didn’t mind. He told me many times that he
wanted
to take care of me, but it makes me wonder if all the little things he felt responsible for built up into one huge thing he couldn’t deal with anymore, and that was why he chose the drugs to escape and that was why he left me.

Crash’s hand waves slowly in front of my eyes, and I realize I zoned out, and I’m stood in the way of people trying to pay for their food. He gently tugs my jumper and pulls me over to the only free table in the cafe.

You should sit down
, he signs.
You don’t seem okay. What is it?

I look at the third sandwich. My back is to the window, but I know the guy is still out there in the cold.

I wish I could do more
, he signs, looking self-conscious.

But it’s more than I see anyone else doing. I give him a tiny smile. I’m thinking too much. He’s a good person, caring and thoughtful.

He frowns.
It’s not just that, though, is it?

I want to trust him. I do. But I can’t. I’m scared to. You trust people, and they hurt you, in one way or another. Julian is the only person I have ever trusted completely, and I know that he is hurting just as much as I am right now. He has to be.

Outside the window the sunlight slants across the street. Such definite lines of light and shadow.

It’s just… I miss him
, I sign, after a while.

I miss him so much it hurts, and I don’t think it will ever stop.

Crash stares at his hands before signing.
Two years ago I lost someone I cared very much about. I still miss him.
He must catch the way I react to this as he suddenly looks horrified.
I didn’t mean….

It’s okay
, I sign, but it’s not really. That’s not something I ever want to think about.

He nods, and the way he stares at the blank screen of his phone makes me think maybe this friend he was supposed to meet is more than just a friend to him.

We should go
, I sign. I feel like I’m wasting time sitting down.

Crash picks up the third sandwich, and we’re just about ready to leave when his phone goes off again. I don’t think he feels it buzz this time, so I touch his arm and point to his pocket.

He shows me the message. It’s from Estella.
I trust you, Crash
is all it says.

Out on the street everything glitters in the sunshine. It should be beautiful.

We cross the road, and Crash crouches down and touches the sleeping bag near the guy’s head. When he opens his eyes, Crash gives him the sandwich, and we walk away before he can say anything to us.

All the way to Gem’s, we don’t really communicate. I’m a little disappointed that Crash has completely let up with the curiosity. He appears lost in thought and doesn’t even ask for any more details about where we’re going. I don’t know if I want him to give me so much space, and I glance at him every now and again, hoping he’ll get the hint that I want to talk. I want him to ask me questions because I don’t even know how to begin.

D
EPENDING
ON
how you look at it, our timing is either spectacularly bad or spectacularly good—we meet Gem in the stairwell of her block on her way out to work. She has a new job dancing at a club. I guess she must need to rehearse in the mornings or something. She looks breathtaking. Crash blushes when I introduce him.

I was hoping to see Joel, Gem’s little boy, but instead we walk with Gem out to the bus stop as her bus is due any minute.

I wish I had more time to explain what has happened, but I can only plead that Gem tell me if she knows anywhere Julian might go if he needed to hide, anywhere he might run to, anywhere they used to go as kids.

Please let there be somewhere
, I think. I need something to go on. I don’t think he would have left London, but the thought of walking this vast city directionless is swallowing me.

Gem stares out across the playing fields opposite and shrugs.

“All the places we used to go are gone now. Demolished, redeveloped. I don’t know.”

I know she cares. I know this cool act is just self-preservation, but I’m desperate. I grab her hand. Her skin is cool.

Please
, I sign. I know she understands that.

“What do you want me to say, Romeo?” she snaps. “What do you think I know that you don’t? I’m not the one in a fucking relationship with him.”

I hear the bus arriving and scribble,
Please try and think. I don’t have anything else to go on.

“When Julian’s dad beat the fuck out of him, we’d go down the rec and sit on the swings and smoke—it’s a fucking car park now. The first time we kissed was at the abandoned lido down in Battersea—it’s not abandoned anymore! I can’t do this, Romeo!”

The bus pulls over. The doors hiss open.

Rarely does Gem appear anything but okay, but for a fleeting second, before she gets on the bus, the pain in her expression reflects my own. And strangely, despite her hopeless words, that comforts me.

And as I watch the bus pick up speed and round the corner, I realize it’s more than that. Something about what she said resonates within me like a blinding truth—Julian had a thing about old swimming pools. He loved the architecture, the weird art deco shapes, and the extravagant Victorian embellishments. We didn’t do it a lot, but sometimes we’d dream we were rich, and he’d tell me how he’d buy some old swimming pool and restore it and live there with me.

Crash
, I sign frantically as the bus disappears.
Can you get the Internet on your phone?

Deftly, he unlocks the screen and hands it to me, but I pass it back. I’ve no idea how to use it.

Can you get a list of all the abandoned swimming pools near here?

A few seconds later he shows me the results. There are five disused old pools in a three-mile radius. We work out the nearest one is a fifteen-minute walk away.

We should have got on that bus.

I don’t think I remember how good it feels to smile. How light I feel when I do. And I can’t explain this certainty I feel, but as we follow the directions on the map, I know I’m walking toward him. I think I could walk forever.

The sun feels warm on my skin. The sky is almost beautiful.

I
T
’
S
FOUR
o’clock, and already it’s dark. Already another day has slipped out of sight. I trail my hand against the bricks as I walk down the side of the building. The concrete bites into my healing skin like sandpaper, my fingertips feel raw and bloody, but I grind my teeth together as I memorize the contours of every brick. I want the pain.

There’s no way in
, I sign in frustration as I reach the front of the building again. This is the second time I’ve circled it.

Crash watches my hands, then goes back to staring at the boarded-up frontage as though he is thinking about something.

Above our heads, the sky is a smoky black void. Everything is dark and shadowed; nothing is beautiful.

This is the third swimming pool on the list. The first two were rigged with CCTV and signs were stuck to the metal barricades saying the feed was watched directly by the police. I didn’t exactly believe the police would think two abandoned swimming pools were worth watching, but I know Julian wouldn’t have risked it—there’s hiding in plain sight and there’s pushing your luck. And anyway, they just didn’t feel right.

When we got here, I felt a tiny spark of hope rekindling itself in my chest. This is just the sort of crumbling old building Julian loved. And it’s on a street behind the main road too, so it’s tucked away and quiet. But there is just no. Fucking. Way. In.

Come on
, I sign irritably. I don’t want to waste any more time here. I just want to get on to the next pool.

Crash steps forward and tugs at the drainpipe for the fifteenth time. Everything he does is beginning to piss me off, especially when he now seems to be ignoring me.

Kicking at the ground, I turn on my heel and start to walk back down the street. I don’t even know where the next pool is, but if I don’t keep moving toward
something
, I’m going to break down.

A warm hand circles my bicep before I’ve taken ten steps.

Where are you going?
Crash mouths puzzled.

He looks at me with more concern than I know I deserve right now.

Why do you care?

Rolling his eyes, he pulls me gently backward into the shadows and folds his arms around me.

Fuck
, I think just before I start to drown. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve his concern, his care. It’s going to kill me. He strokes my back, and I desperately try to shove all my feelings back down inside myself. If my throat gets any tighter, I’m going to stop breathing. I should never have let him get this close, but I can’t quite find the strength to shove him away, because even if he’s not Julian, he’s here stroking my hair and his warm breath is against my cheek and I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to feel alone. God, I hate that I’m imagining the similarities.
Wishing.

Reluctantly, I let my arms do what they so desperately want to and hold him back.

He’s so much taller, and he smells so warm and different, and his heart beats so much faster. There aren’t really that many similarities at all, but still it feels like I’m forgetting, or if not quite forgetting, that I’m covering up my memories, and I’d rather never hold anyone in my arms again if it means forgetting what it feels like to hold Julian.
Wouldn’t I?
God, it hurts.

After a while I swallow my tears, and the urge to cry goes away. I shift, and awkwardly we break apart. I don’t know what just happened really. Crash and I, we just sort of collide.

I think I found a way in
, he signs, moving into the light a little.

I swallow hard.
Okay
, I sign and follow him back to the pool.

The street isn’t busy, but this is London and the traffic never dies completely. There are a couple of kids watching us curiously from the opposite side of the road. I glance at them warily.

Crash smiles. He smiles too easily.
Wait here
, he signs.

And before I’ve even realized what he’s doing, he runs at the wall, grabs hold of the drainpipe, and scrambles up to the unboarded second-floor window. I barely see him whack the glass with the flat of his hand before the window swings open, and he pulls himself up and tumbles gracefully inside. I am rooted to the spot, wide-eyed and a little amazed. I don’t even want to turn around to check if anyone else saw that. I’m pretending those kids just don’t exist. I don’t want to look suspicious or obvious or to draw any attention at all; breaking and entering is still breaking and entering, however much style you do it with.