This is Not a Love Story (33 page)

Like a struck match, my anger flares, and I glare at him, sick of this, at all these fucking people, even Julian, planning out my life, expecting me to stay here as if this is my only fucking choice.

All those ghosts and echoes I thought were my mother… my name on the wind haunting me… she never told me about my father… he never existed for me… he still doesn’t… but this exists… this wild moment, this life… this family that I have chosen for myself… Julian….

If you leave, it’d make no difference to you if I was in Russia or not,
I sign, feeling my anger shift and disappear into the wind with my words, replaced by a much bigger emotion.

It would,
he signs back, tears falling.
Of course it would.

I want to take his hand again, but I don’t.

I never wanted this.
I fling my arms out wide, feeling something deep inside me click into place. All around us the wind rushes through the trees like a voice, the leaves whisper, and I know I’m making the right decision. I’ve felt on the outside for so long, all those years with my mother—my whole life, I realize—that without Julian, the divide is too wide to leap. And though I might survive here, I would rather live.

This isn’t me. I don’t need these walls!
I hit the solid brickwork, feel the sting of it against my palm.
I don’t fit in. It’s too big and complicated, and without you, it’s so fucking empty and hollow and it always will be!

Anguished, he shakes his head. “Don’t follow me back out there… I can’t….”

But I’ve no intention of following him back onto the streets. I shake my head.

Have you got any money?

Hesitantly, he pulls forty pounds out of his sock and holds it out to me. “I owe someone else more than I owed Vic.” He won’t meet my eyes. He knows it hurts me that he would be willing to give himself away unnecessarily. He could have paid Vic off and none of it would have happened.

But it doesn’t matter anymore. That money is enough for our train tickets, at least. I know too Crash would give the money from his wallet to us if I asked him, if I could face his disappointment. He tried so hard. And without him, without all this, I wouldn’t be able to do what I’m about to do.

I wouldn’t be able to accept the need to make my own choices, the need to have something for myself. For us. Away from all the ghosts.

I’m never going back on the streets,
I tell him. I’ll never even come back to London.
When I was in hospital, Cassey told me a story that gave her hope. I’ve thought about it a lot. Do you trust me?

Now I hold out my hand, closing my eyes against all the doubt, and gripping tight to my hope, that singular bright thread that binds us, that he will take it and come with me.

I
LET
my mind wander, anxiety fluttering darkly in my chest. What I’ve given him is akin to an ultimatum. It’s probably the worst thing I could have done. But for one illuminated second I see it. Us. Sunburnt and bare-chested, walking hand in hand across patchwork fields, sun-bleached grass high as our hips swaying in the salty breeze, sky so blue it hurts.

Still he doesn’t take my hand. My hope falters.

The vision is so clear, but maybe it’s just a dream, insubstantial and flickering, so easy to extinguish in the dark of my mind.

Maybe the reality is too hard to picture. Too bleak and familiar. Or too alien.

I feel myself sink low, my chin on my chest, when sudden warm arms surround me tightly, pulling me close.

“I don’t know what the right thing to do is anymore,” he whispers into my ear, making all my senses come alive, my skin hyperaware of where his hands rest, his lips against my hair. “Where will we go that’s not back on the streets?”

Feeling electrified, I push him away so I can sign.
Somewhere we won’t get moved on from, somewhere we can belong and make a home. Somewhere….

He looks at me strangely, brushing away the stray hairs the wind blows across my face.

“You’re so beautiful.” He swallows audibly. “It scares me that I feel like this. A few hours with you, and you make me want to believe. But I can’t run anymore, Remee.”

It’s not running. Trust me,
I plead. But maybe I am and he shouldn’t. A dark figure looms large in my mind, and I can’t stop and face my feelings right now.

All around us the March sky is fading. Winter is gone. I can taste change in the air, just out of reach. In a few weeks, spring will burst out of nothing, and the sleepy world will ignite with life.

Estella is going to let the police know I’m ready to make a statement, but after what Julian has told me, I can’t do it. As far as I’m concerned, Vic got what he deserved, and the police are hardly going to chase me or Julian across the country. I’m not worried about that. But I am worried about Julian. He’s exhausted and weak, and withdrawal is going to wreck him if we have to keep going right now, but if we don’t go now, there might not be another chance.

We move out from under the shadow of the trees, grass clinging damply to our feet. It reminds me I need some different shoes. Some that will survive the miles we’re going to walk.

Stopping out of the view of the French doors, I wonder what to do. Estella’s voice is audible through the glass, though I can’t make out what she is saying.

It occurs to me we could just walk around the other side of the house and out of the garden gate I’ve seen there. In a way it would be easier if I don’t see Crash before I leave, but I don’t think I could bear that. Even if he tries to talk me out of it, I need him to know.

I need to talk to Crash,
I sign.

I’ll wait around there,
Julian signs, gesturing back the way we came.

I shake my head. I still don’t understand what it is between them.

Standing in front of the doors, I try to catch Crash’s attention. Eventually he comes.

Are you okay?
he signs.

I steel myself, but when I look into those eyes that see more than he ever lets on, so honest and true, I no longer know what to say.

Instead, I touch his hand and step back onto the grass.

We’ll come back inside in a minute. Julian just feels a bit sick,
I lie, frustrated and wanting him to see right through it to the truth, wanting him to see how I really feel, how sorry I am.

If this is good-bye, I think, I never want to say good-bye to anyone ever again. It feels so hopeless, so wasted, so wrong.

Okay.
He nods, frowning a little, but then going back inside.

I glance at Julian leaning against the wall, watching me.

Come on,
I sign, walking away, trying to swallow the pain inside me.

W
E
STEP
out of the garden without looking back. We have nothing but one another. We are so light we might just rise up, drift away.

Slowly, we walk in the opposite direction to the bus stop
—
we don’t have enough money for the bus, but we need to find a train station. I’m still wearing Crash’s coat, though I gave him his wallet back. I pull it closer around me as I cautiously hold on to Julian’s hand. I could sell my phone, I think, if we need more money, but that would mean my last link with Crash would be severed. And I don’t want to do that.

Once we reach the busy main road, we stop and try and work out where we are.

It will be dark soon.

No doubts
, I tell myself. It will be okay. We are heading toward something better, aren’t we? We are making something better for ourselves. Julian leans into me, and we sit down on a low wall that surrounds a children’s playground for a moment. We’re not hungry, we have money for our train tickets, and we have a plan, a sure direction—which is more than we’ve ever had before. I don’t regret leaving. I don’t regret that I will never call that house my home, that Kay will think my leaving was a failure on her part… or maybe I do, a little… but it’s not saying good-bye that makes me feel guiltiest, not explaining….

I’m so deep in my thoughts, I’m unprepared for the hooded figure running down the road to skid to a halt in front of me and swing his arm around me and hug me hard.

I thought I’d never find you,
Crash signs when he pulls away.
I thought I was too late!

He’s not angry. He looks scared more than anything.

The police arrived to take your statement, but no one could find you. I knew
—

I’m not going back,
I sign, begging him not to try and talk me round, wishing he hadn’t found me… and yet….

Where are you going?
He wipes his eyes. I don’t realize up until that moment how upset he is.

Don’t worry.
I reach out, my fingers tangling in the soft material of his top.
We’re not going back out on the streets.

So where?
He holds his arms out wide, bewildered.

Cornwall.

What? Where are you going to stay?

There’s a caravan in a field down there, miles from anywhere. We’ll be okay.

Crash shakes his head, looking like he’d rather shake me.
Please don’t do this. You can’t survive on nothing! What are you going to do for money?

We have enough for our train tickets. We’ll ask around the farms for work, and it’ll be summer soon, we can pick strawberries.

And in the meantime? Fuck.
He runs his hands through his hair and stares up at the sky.

He’s scaring me a little bit.

Don’t run from this, Romeo. Please. You can’t run forever. You’ve got to stop sometime. You’re not thinking it through! You can’t just concentrate on what’s going to happen tomorrow or next week! I know that’s what being on the street does to you, but you’ve got to think further. You’ve got to give yourself a proper chance. And this isn’t just some day job to Kay. She really cares. My real mum couldn’t give a shit what happened to me, where I was at night. I thought I’d never have someone….
He stops and looks out over at the park, close to breaking down.
I know she would want to talk to you before you go. She won’t try to stop you if this is what you really want. Please.

I’m not going back,
I sign again, making the words as small as I can.

Julian is so quiet behind me.

Crash glances at him.
And I can’t make you,
he signs, deflating before my eyes.

I shake my head as he pulls his cash card out of his pocket and signs me the pin number.
No.

But he ignores me.

Take all the money in there. The 53 bus goes to the Richmond train station. There is a cash machine there. You’ll need shelter, so buy a tent you can carry in a backpack, and a camping stove and sleeping
bags and water and food. Promise me you’ll keep the phone and buy a charger for it, and contact me when you can.

I promise.

Without warning he leans forward and kisses me, his lips against mine so briefly I wonder if I imagined it—Julian’s expression tells me I didn’t—and he’s gone, like a thief who’s stolen a piece of my heart, running swiftly and soundlessly back the way he came. It doesn’t feel like good-bye.

The cash card flexes between my fingers as I squeeze it. So easy to break. But I don’t.

Julian watches me closely as we get on the bus. He thinks I’m making a mistake. He thinks I’ll regret it, but I won’t. This is the only route I can take that won’t break my heart completely.

T
HE
STREETLAMPS
flicker restlessly, the last of the daylight now just a narrow band beneath the dark gray clouds. The bus pulls up outside a small quaint train station—all dark green woodwork, baskets of flowers hanging from the eaves of its low roof—and we get off.

We’re still in London, but it’s not a London I’ve ever known.

I put Crash’s card in the cash machine outside the station foyer and follow the illuminated instructions on the screen. I try to pretend I’ve done this a hundred times before, but my fingers hover uncertainly, afraid I’ll press something wrong. Julian stands next to me, warily watching my back, even though we’re the ones who look suspicious. Maybe we always will.

I check the balance because I can’t help it, and take a sharp breath of cold air when I see how much money is in the account—fuck.

I’m no longer living in the world I knew, and it terrifies me.

One day I will pay him back.

Still, I don’t take out much, just enough to buy us a bottle of water each, a squashed overpriced sandwich, and some paracetemol for Julian from the tiny off-license across the road.

We wander slowly back toward the station. I eat the sandwich, but Julian listlessly shakes his head when I offer it to him and swallows some paracetemol instead.

It doesn’t escape me that we’re not talking, that Julian looks pale and tired and in pain. He doesn’t complain. He’s not the type, but I know he just wants to curl up in some dark corner and sleep. It makes me wonder if he only agreed to come with me because he feels responsible for my reaction after telling me about my father, if he thinks his words were some sort of catalyst to my leaving—and maybe they were—but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that we’re together. That’s the only thing I’m certain of in this whole mess.

I brush my knuckles against his, enjoying his proximity, even if we’re not as close as I want right now.

Everything will be more hopeful in the morning when we’re free of this place, free of the past, free of the ghosts. I look around. When we wake up tomorrow all this will be gone, its very existence just a painful memory.