This is Not a Love Story (32 page)

He nods, his eyes glassy, before grabbing my hand.

“I can never tell you how sorry I am for letting you down,” he whispers. “I never meant to let you down.”

I sink to my knees in front of him, brush away his tears with the pad of my thumb.

I understand,
I sign, swallowed by the deep gold of his eyes. And right then, I think I do.

He drags his sleeve across his face, the gesture making him look so much younger, so much more lost, and gives me the saddest of smiles.

I’ll see if I can find you some decent clothes,
I tell him, thinking of the clothing strewn messily across Crash’s floor.

I squeeze his hand and get up and, checking there is no lock, close the door.

I hover around the upstairs corridor, imagining Kay and Crash downstairs, having some silent conversation about all this. I wouldn’t be surprised if Kay wished I’d never come here.

I don’t intend to go looking for Pasha, but none of the doors are locked.

Most of the rooms are empty shell guest rooms, with neatly made beds and the same arrangement of furniture. On a whim, I push open the door to the guest room I was in briefly last night, the room that looks over the garden. The curtains are still drawn over the tall sash windows, the material thin enough to allow the soft glow of daylight into the room. Pasha is splayed out under the covers of the bed I never slept in, so thin and bruised, but looking completely relaxed and sleeping so much deeper than I’m sure he ever did on the streets.

I don’t hear Kay approach from behind me, and I nearly bolt into Pasha’s room when she says my name.

“…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I must look terrified. When you’ve lived as I have, not many people manage to creep up on you for good reason.

Appearing younger than I suspect she is, she hooks a strand of hair behind her ear and smiles sort of sadly at me, though the last thing I want is her pity.

“I’m glad you came back….”

I look down at my hands, but no words come. Have I come back? I’ve never felt less sure about any decision than the one I made to bring Julian here, and now I’m just going to have to ride it out.

“Your friend is welcome to stay for tonight, but tomorrow we are going to have to sort out something more suitable for him. Estella will be here soon to talk about it.”

For a second I’m not sure if she means Pasha or Julian. I don’t know what Crash has told her, or whether she even knows Julian is in her bathroom taking a bath. But when she glances into the room behind me at Pasha, concern, worry, and something else in her eyes, I know she means Julian is the one who can’t stay.

I nod, resigned. Julian doesn’t want to stay here anyway. I knew that from the beginning; I just didn’t want to admit it.

A sudden twinge of pain makes me want to grasp my side. Kay is watching me closely.

Is there another bathroom I can get cleaned up in?
I sign hurriedly.

And then, because I have to ask.
Do you have any dressings? I think I might have scratched myself.

“You look as though you’re in a bit of pain. Can I see?”

I shake my head a bit too firmly, but she doesn’t push it. This is probably the longest conversation we’ve had.

Instead she leads me into the large room next to Crash’s. The window is open, and I can taste the cold green breeze as it billows through the long curtains. There is an en suite in the corner.

“I’ll send Crash up with the first aid kit.”

I nod reluctantly as I realize I’m going to have to tell him what happened.

Again noticing there is no lock on the door, I close it and slowly ease myself out of Crash’s coat and pull my bloodied T-shirt off over my head. But even though I am careful, the movement has me squeezing my eyes shut and gripping the cold porcelain of the sink to ride out the wave of pain that hits me, so sharp and intense I barely hear Crash’s knock.

Still reeling, I pull open the door without thinking to cover the wound up.

Oh my God, what happened?
Crash stares worriedly at my stomach.

I can feel blood running over my hip. I must have opened the cut up again. I look down at it. The cut is only an inch or two in diameter, but I think it’s deeper than I initially thought. Unsteadily, I back away, meaning to sit down on the edge of the bath, but I misjudge and end up on the floor.

I’m going to get Kay. She used to be a nurse.

Don’t.
I reach out and grab Crash’s arm to stop him.
It’s okay. I just feel a bit dizzy.

I put my head between my knees as Crash unzips the first aid kit and I feel a wad of cotton gauze placed in my hand. He guides my hand down my side and places it over the wound. I hiss and gasp at the contact. The cotton must have something astringent on it, and it fucking stings. Crash locks his fingers over mine and sits down next to me, anchoring me until the stinging has worn off, and I feel the world come together around me again.

What happened?
Crash signs again, before ripping open a fresh packet of gauze and setting out some dressing strips.

I know he won’t let up until I’ve told him.

Some prick with a knife.

He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t stop what he’s doing.
Something to do with Julian?

Not exactly. He wanted something from him.
I look away quickly. I can’t talk about how Julian being touched by someone else makes me feel.

Crash stands up and washes his hands before carefully watching my expression for any signs of pain, then, gently cleaning the edges of my cut, presses Steri-Strips along the length of it to stop it opening so easily.

Kay will give you a tetanus shot.

Are you angry that I brought him here?

Looking a little unnerved by my question, Crash turns away and washes his hands again.

I just don’t want to see you hurt,
he signs when he turns back around. But he quickly changes the subject.
Are you hungry? Estella will be here in five minutes.

No. Could Julian borrow some of your clothes?

Without meeting my eyes, Crash nods.

Estella is downstairs. I can hear her voice. And I know I should just get this over with, but I really don’t want to see her right now. I don’t need her to remind me I have no control over this situation.

I take Crash’s clothes to Julian and wait outside the bathroom for him.

When he comes out, the difference in his appearance is astounding—it has me staring, unable to look away. The hot water has washed away the horror of this morning and left his skin with an echo of the glow that used to be there always. I long to touch him, not just his hand.

Estella is in the hall with Kay, arms full of folders, her flaming hair tied in a loose ponytail. She smiles tightly as she sees me, and I know something is wrong. Dread seeps to every part of my body.

“I’d just like a moment alone with Romeo,” she says briskly to Kay.

“You can use the study if you like,” Kay replies, a little bewildered, and points to a closed door across the hall.

Instinctively, I take Julian’s hand and pull him after me.

Estella sighs as she sees this.

“And you are?” she queries, holding open the door.

“Julian,” he answers.

The study is dark, the massive shutters still closed over the windows. Estella flicks a switch and beautiful ornate sconces halfway down the walls fill with light. I feel as though we have been transported back in time.

There is no preamble.

“Romeo, you have been implicated in an assault this morning in a derelict building next to the Thames.”

Horrified, I step back, my knees hitting the back of an old leather chesterfield, which catches me with a whoosh of air. Julian remains standing.

Assault? I can’t believe Vic would want to bring charges.

“The victim identified you from this.” Estella pulls out a much-folded poster from her bag.

The image haunts me.

“Do you know anything about these posters? They were all over the train—”

“Romeo had nothing to do with it. It was me,” Julian interrupts, standing tall and speaking more firmly than I’ve heard him speak for a long time.

“The police have checked the CCTV. He’s on it entering the building.”

“He was in another room. He didn’t see what happened.”

I don’t know why he’s lying. I can’t let him take the blame. I won’t let him do this.

No.
I stand up, putting myself between Estella and Julian. I pull up my top.

He stabbed me,
I sign.
Julian was just protecting me.

“Then you’ll have to give a statement to the police. This is in their hands.” She pinches the bridge of her nose and shakes her head tiredly. “What were you doing there, Romeo?”

Feeling overwhelmed, I wrap my arms around my chest, unable to take it all.

Looking for Julian.

“You can’t just bring everyone here. Kay and Peter are not some open door!”

I wipe my eyes and feel Julian’s hand grip the back of my top to pull me back against him. His heart thuds against me so hard it feels like it’s beating in my chest. My whole being aches for him; every cell in my body calls his name. I close my eyes and feel his arms twitch loosely by his sides, and I know he wants to put them around me, but he stops himself.

Estella sighs again. “I have other things to sort out with Kay. Given everything that’s happened—” She looks pointedly at my side. “—it’s in your interest to give a statement as soon as possible. I’ll let the police know you’re here.”

When we move out and into the kitchen, Julian seems agitated. He stands by the French doors that look out onto the garden, watching two small birds flitting about on the lawn, his hand across his mouth.

Kay brings out cakes and tea, and we sit around the long kitchen table—Julian sits next to me, Crash opposite, Kay and Estella at either end. It all seems so innocuous until Estella starts talking.

“Julian, I’m afraid you can’t stay here,” she says, oblivious as I recoil away from the table. “You’re in withdrawal,” she continues as if it’s an explanation.

Julian nods shakily, his expression pained.

“It’ll get worse before it gets better. You should be somewhere with people who can help you through it. Kay and Peter did not sign up to look after addicts. I will find you somewhere more suitable.”

Hopeless anger rushes through me so fiercely I can barely hear anyone’s words. Kay sees my expression.

“It’s okay,” she says quietly but firmly. “I told Romeo Julian could stay for tonight.”

Raising an eyebrow, Estella scribbles some comments down on a sheet.

“Alright, we’ll talk about the younger boy. Pasha, is it?”

Julian gets up. “I’m sorry, I just need a bit of fresh air.”

I follow him, aware of the way Crash is looking at me.

With far too much understanding in her kind smile, Kay opens the door out to the garden.

We sit around the side of the house on a shady patio, far away from the voices. This side of the house is sheltered by tall trees, conifers that stretch their branches so wide and high I can hardly see the sky beyond them. I feel safe here, under their protection.

For a while neither of us says anything. But something is still bothering Julian.

How bad does withdrawal get?
I sign, wondering if this is what’s worrying him.

He shrugs. “I’ve gone through it before.” He closes his eyes so all I can see are the bruises that surround them, so I can’t see how much truth there is in his words. If he’s gone through it once, maybe he doesn’t want to go through it again. Maybe the only thing he wants is temporarily out of reach, and once he’s back on the streets, he’ll carry on using. But suddenly his eyes open, and I know that’s not what he was thinking at all.

“I’ve been so selfish, Remee,” he whispers, his trembling fingers tracing the new shoots of grass poking through the paving stones. “I should have helped you find somewhere like this from the beginning, but I fell in love with you so fucking hard, I thought for a while it was enough.”

It
was
enough,
I think desperately. Together we burned bright enough to obliterate the darkness. He looks up, and the Julian I knew is still there, warm and sunlike; he’s just buried beneath a mountain of heartache. His hand touches my face, and I feel I will dissolve into nothing if he stops touching me. I bring both my hands up and hold him there, my tears filling his palm. “And how I feel will never change. I will always love you like that. Always. But you’re better off without me. I hate myself for fucking up so badly and letting you down, and I can’t let anything take what you have now away from you…. I need to tell you something….”

I shiver as though the sky has darkened, the day drawn in. The wind moans through the branches like a sad song.

“I didn’t owe Vic for drugs, Remee. It was for information. I had to know who was looking for you. I had to know if you were in any danger.”

You didn’t know where I was,
I sign, feeling caught in a current determined to sweep me out to sea.

“I knew you were okay. There are always whispers, baby.”

I frown. There
are
always whispers. And I wonder what it means that Julian’s ghosts whisper about me.

“Vic mentioned he’d spoken to a man putting up posters of a kid in the train station. He said the guy was foreign and a little desperate. He had your poster. I was surprised Vic didn’t recognize you first off, but your hair is longer now, and I guess he wouldn’t have expected to find you with me.

“Remee, he said the guy was looking for his son.”

I stare at him, stunned. There’s not enough air, I can’t breathe. The color of everything fades… the world recedes… a wave of nausea threatens to empty me.

The man I saw at the train station.

“He said he was here to find his son and take him home. They can’t know, Remee. You’re only sixteen. If he has some sort of proof that you are his, this”—he gestures at the house, everything—“is gone. He’ll take you back to Russia. You can’t give a statement to the police. He’ll find you. Please let me tell them it was me.”