Be My Best Man Page 7

  He nods.

  “Okay. That will work at the squat too, if we decide to move in. Should anyone find us there, we’ll say we’re only visiting.”

  That could work, as well.

  “We’d still have rooms at the hostel as evidence of an official address, so there’s nothing to worry about. If this place is okay, we should go ahead and move in.” She verbally stumbles. “Un-unless… I mean… I’m assuming you’re okay with me coming with you two.”

  Vanya glances down the carriage to where Kaspar watches from a distance. There’s no way he can hear their conversation, but his gaze doesn’t waver from this girl who asks such a simple favour.

  Selfishness is another flash flood.

  Its waters rise once they leave the train to climb stairs to the street level.

  He’s so distracted that he walks into Kaspar.

  “Hey! Watch where you’re going,” he says before he grasps Vanya’s shoulder. “What’s with the long face?” He peers even closer. “Getting out of the hostel is good, so why do you look so unhappy?”

  “I’m not unhappy.” Vanya compounds that lie with another. “I’m fine.”

  He trails behind them as they search for the address Jason mentioned, noticing how Kaspar keeps Anna close to him the whole time, matching his pace with hers and lightly touching her elbow each time they cross the street. He finally slips his arm around her when they get to the mouth of a narrow alley.

  Worry meets excitement when Anna says, “Do you think this is the right place?” She takes a few steps into the gap between buildings before grasping Vanya’s hand, gently like she can tell he’s nervous. “Shall we at least take a look now that we’re here?”

  Vanya can’t make himself answer.

  It’s not worry about breaking the rules that causes his hesitation, this time.

  No, it’s a much deeper dread that hurtles out of nowhere.

  The last time he took the hand of a virtual stranger to follow them down an alley like this, he hadn’t been able to walk out.

  The sound of traffic fades as his heartbeat thunders, and a surge of fear has him yanking his hand free. There’s no blood on the hand he holds up and no boot to the back of his knee this time to send him sprawling, but still his vision speckles. Sweat—slick and sudden—dampens the small of his back as he tries to talk himself down, like Kaspar has so often.

  He isn’t lying in a pool of blood and piss right now.

  He’s safe in London.

  Vanya covers his face with his hands and tries to pull himself together.

  His nose isn’t freshly broken today, his cheekbone intact instead of fractured. Instead of being knife-sharp, time has dulled the chip in his tooth, and none of the fingers covering his face need splinting. Now that his eardrums aren’t perforated, he can hear what Kaspar says just fine and can nod easily without a neck brace to hinder his movements.

  “I’m fine,” he lies again

  “No, Ivanushka. You’re really not.” Kaspar hauls him close like a brother, his hug as rough as his whisper. “I forgot, I’m sorry.” He curses softly. “Of course anywhere down an alley like this won’t work out for you. I don’t know what I was thinking. We’ll all go back together, right now.”

  Anna stands a few feet behind him, confusion veiling her expression that barely clears when she takes a good look at him. “You’re very pale.” This time her inspection of his jacket isn’t limited to its missing buttons. “That’s not really thick enough for the weather.”

  “What?”

  “You’re shaking. You must be cold. We just walked past a coffee shop. Want me to get you one to warm your hands?”

  It’s a show of genuine concern that snaps his panic cleanly.

  “No.” He leans on Kaspar and pulls himself together, as much as he’s able while phantom hands still crush his windpipe. “I’m not cold.” He draws in a breath that shudders. “I’ll be okay in a minute.” He blows out a slow exhale, adrenaline gradually ebbing. “We’ve come this far. Let’s see what this place looks like.”

  They search the alley until they find the window leading to a stairwell that Jason described. Netting hides it, shrouding steel-pole scaffolding abandoned long enough that plants now climb it. And just like Jason told his client over the phone, they find the only floor that isn’t locked at the top of the staircase.

  The break room they enter is huge in comparison to the cramped room he and Kaspar share at the hostel. Dusty red couches flank one section while tables and chairs fill another. A flip chart stands between them, listing phrases Vanya silently sounds out. Up sell and conversion rates mean very little to him, like the point system beside those words, but Anna says, “It’s a call centre!” like she’s certain.

  “It’s much better than I imagined,” Vanya can’t help saying. Cold water flows when he turns a tap in a small kitchen area. He crosses to a tall window where Anna and Kaspar join him. Behind this building is the old warehouse Jason mentioned. It too is abandoned, a sight that silences them all.

  He wonders if they share the same thoughts.

  So much space standing empty in this city.

  So many vacant rooms when the hostel is beyond overcrowded.

  Vanya turns to survey the break room. “This place is a lot better than where we are now.” He’s almost sorry to admit it. “It’s great,” but he’s still doubtful.

  “Listen.” Kaspar slides an arm over his shoulder, careful, oh so careful, like Vanya might startle. Then he lifts his other arm until Anna slides beneath it. “I know getting here was hard for you, but staying here might be worth pushing past that. Being here could buy us some time.”

  “It’s not the alley.” Vanya can’t keep in his worry. “It… it feels like stealing.”

  Kaspar’s grip tightens slightly. “I get it. I really do. Like I understand that’s the real reason you came home yesterday with no money. That guy tried to pay you, didn’t he?” When Vanya nods he says, “I guessed as much. But what happened yesterday to our belongings was real theft. Staying here would only be borrowing space that no one else is using.”

  He turns them towards the window again. “Think of the bigger picture. This only needs to be temporary until I replace my papers and we save more money. It doesn’t matter one bit to me if you don’t want to see that guy again or take any of his money. Now there are three of us, Anna and I can pool resources faster, and you can pay us back later once you’re granted asylum and can work legally, like us.” His voice lowers as he lets Vanya go. “All we’ll need is a few weeks.”

  Vanya explores the space once more. Now that his panic has receded, a short-term future here is tempting. Those couches are long enough to sleep on. And they could move these wheeled partitions, carve up the space so they at least had the illusion of privacy.

  “Want to know the best thing about staying?” Kaspar murmurs, his voice low and persuasive. “No one can steal our food here.”

  Vanya’s laugh is a forced huff. “What food?” He’s got used to being hungry, but it would be nice to think spare food would stay put for once, if he could afford more.

  “Think about it,” Kaspar insists. “We’ll be out of here as soon as I can sign a lease. A few weeks, that’s all, Ivanushka. A few weeks to save hard.” His tone sobers. “But you don’t need to be part of that, if you’re truly worried.”

  It’s a truth that’s icy. Goose pimples prickle Vanya’s chest without warning at the thought of Kaspar leaving him at the hostel alone.

  He and Anna don’t need his agreement.

  They can live here without him.

  Thankfully Kaspar’s next words thaw him. “I can’t say that I want to go back now that I know this place is empty. But I’ll put up with living there if it’s the only option for you. Anna and I can still save for a deposit there. We’ll just have to be much more careful. We’ll go back.” Kaspar promises. “If that’s what you want.”

  “Shush.” Vanya can’t listen to more. “Let me think for a moment.�
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  They all stand in silence.

  Vanya closes his eyes and listens.

  There’s no sound of neighbours fighting or fucking up here, no thud of nonstop music or sobs heard through walls far too thin to stem them. And there’s no one lying in wait to take what’s left that’s precious to them. When he blinks his eyes open again, Anna’s face fills his field of vision.

  The clouds are gone from her expression.

  Hope skims its surface instead.

  He can’t bear to crush it.

  “Give me your phone.” When Kaspar passes it over, Vanya texts very carefully, backspacing to add a missing pronoun. “Of course we could go back, but I don’t want to either. And yes, you two can save for a deposit,” he agrees before setting aside his last reservations and pressing Send.

  Can see you tomorrow.

  Cost is £100 cash.

  “But three people earning money will save a whole lot faster.”

  Chapter Eight

  When his personal shopper is late again, Jason shoves down a swell of unease. He doesn’t need to have the jitters; he’s only waited for fifteen minutes. It’s ridiculous to feel like he’s been stood up. Still, he fishes out his phone and fires off a text to Andrew.

  Remember my first date with Garry Hirons?

  It’s a question no one else on the planet could answer, but Andrew pings back seconds later.

  That wanker.

  His next text is just as fast.

  I’ll still help you hide his body.

  The twenty-five years since getting stood up for the first time feel momentary right then. Andrew had been there for him even if Garry Hirons hadn’t, just like he’d put up with Garry being Jason’s on-and-off boyfriend for decades despite hating his guts. He smiles when more texts arrive in a flurry.

  Wait

  WAIT A GODDAMN MINUTE

  Someone stood you up again?

  Next comes a shocked emoji coupled with a shovel.

  Jason’s smile spreads into a grin. He’s still beaming when he spies Vanya, who stands on the far side of the street, his expression neutral instead of amused like it was the last time they saw each other. Shoppers and city traffic stream between them, and he loses sight for a few seconds until Vanya finally crosses.

  “I’m wonder about British people,” he says instead of saying hello. His wide eyes are narrowed in a way Jason probably shouldn’t find half so appealing. “Why do you smile at nothing?”

  “I wasn’t smiling at nothing.” His grin returns without permission. “I was reminiscing.”

  “Reminiscing?” Vanya’s puzzled. “Show me the word.” He cranes his neck, but Jason stuffs his phone in his pocket. Explaining what reminisce means is easy enough, but explaining why he’s texting about getting stood up isn’t about to happen. “It just means remembering good times.” Not that pinning all his teenage hopes on the one other gay kid in his school had been fun, but recalling Andrew’s support is. He can admit that much now, at least. “I was texting with my brother.”

  “One who might marry a bitch?”

  Jason really, really hopes not. His quiet “Yeah” is heartfelt. “He might be.” He changes the subject rather than talk more about it, tapping the face of his watch. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

  “Travel from a new place.” Vanya glances away before making eye contact again, shadows under his eyes as grey as the building behind him. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I wasn’t waiting for long.” That lie slips out easily. The truth is just as slippery. “Are you okay? You look tired.”

  Vanya blinks. Maybe it’s the constant bustle of passers-by that makes it seem like he sways for a moment. Then he blinks again and steadies. He tilts his head, eyes narrowed while returning Jason’s scrutiny. “I’m think it’s better to look tired than….” He tugs where hair straggles over Jason’s collar. “Messy.” The backs of his fingers graze the scruff at his jawline for a fleeting second. “Lazy.” He nods firmly as he makes each one-word judgement, then neatly summarises. “No point pay for personal shopper if still going to look ugly.”

  Ugly.

  Jason supposes it’s a good thing one of them is keeping it real instead of acting like this is a date instead of a paid arrangement.

  Vanya drops his hand and lets out a small sound Jason can’t interpret “Ugly is wrong word?”

  “No. No, I get it.” Vanya’s only being factual. Abrupt about it, perhaps, but that’s likely down to limited vocab than outright rudeness. “I know I’m no oil painting,” Jason tries to joke, but it’s hard to inject any humour into his statement.

  There’s that small sound again. Vanya stands even closer. From this distance, Jason notices more evidence confirming his own first impression. The smudges under Vanya’s eyes are dark, his lips setting in a straight line after he repeats a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about. I’m paying you to be honest.” If anything, it’s a good reminder that Vanya’s a real professional. “You should tell me the truth.” He can’t guess why Vanya flinches for some reason or why his lips whiten, as if he struggles to keep another truth in. “Seriously,” Jason insists, “I’ll always want you to. Don’t keep anything from me. I know I’m a mess. That’s the whole reason for this. You saying so doesn’t offend me.”

  “Was only mean hair. Hair is ugly, not….” His quick touch to Jason’s cheek is there and gone in a moment. “I’m think face looks….” He pauses for so long that Jason fills in for him.

  “As rough as a welder’s bench? It’s okay, I know my mug is ugly.”

  “Bench? Mug?” Vanya ignores another poor attempt at humour. He’s intent. “Think face shows life.” Vanya’s fingertip is fleeting at Jason’s temple where he knows his hair is greying, his touch light where fine lines feather his eyes. “Shows fun.” He skims Jason’s bruised cheekbone before briefly cupping his jawline with cool fingers. “Shows strength best.”

  Shoppers surround them by the hundred, but Jason doesn’t notice.

  All he sees is Vanya.

  The smallest of smiles hovers at the corner of his mouth when he quietly insists, “Ugly was worst word.” His gaze dips a little. “Was rude. Forgive?”

  Jason nods, and there it is, a real smile, small, but aimed directly at him.

  Fuck, but he’s in trouble.

  “Ready to look better?” Vanya must take Jason’s speechless exhale as agreement. He’s business-like when he says, “Time is money, yes? Should be shopping already. This way first.” He asks Jason questions as they walk. “What is best colour?”

  Jason hasn’t ever really considered. “Um… anything dark?”

  “Dark is not a colour.”

  “Black, then.”

  “No. What is real favourite? Which colour is very best?”

  That’s much easier to answer. The kitchen at Riversmeet is painted a sunny shade that lifts his spirits every time he goes home. “I do like yellow.” He hopes Chantel hasn’t changed it.

  Vanya stops dead despite the pavement being crowded, earning muttered complaints he ignores as he shakes his head. “Black and yellow are best colours? Want to look like….” Frustration is clear on his face until he makes a buzzing noise that’s easy to translate.

  “A bee?”

  “Yes.” He walks again, and Jason jogs to catch up to hear his grumble. “Need more than a personal shopper if black and yellow are first fashion choices.”

  “Ah. You meant which colour for clothes.”

  “Of course.”

  Of course.

  Why would Vanya want to know anything about him that didn’t relate to why they’re spending time together? He still feels a little silly when Vanya stops outside the kind of small boutique he would usually walk straight past.

  “Will start here.”

  Here has suspiciously few clothes in its window. Inside, an assistant eyes Jason before Vanya crosses to speak with him. Their conversation is fast paced and foreign. It’s strange to hea
r Vanya speak without stumbling, so confident and certain. He points at Jason and then at a small rack holding a few garments.

  Jason busies himself while they have their discussion. He studies a belt that sits alone on a huge shelf under a colour-changing spotlight. The crystals that stud it catch the light, glittering and ostentatious as he fingers its buckle. He jumps when Vanya murmurs a warning in his ear. “Remember first rule of retail?”

  “I’m not going to break it.” He isn’t going to buy it either. Another shelf holds a pair of glossy patent leather shoes that come to a sharp point at the toe. They look the opposite of practical. “I’m not sure this is my kind of place.” Even the electro background music makes him edgy. A couple of women in their early twenties enter, dressed expensively like the clothing dotting this shop’s sparse interior. One meets Jason’s eye for a second, instantly judging and finding wanting, he imagines, like Chantel will, most likely. It’s a dismissal he expects, more than enough to confirm he doesn’t belong here.

  He turns to the exit.

  Vanya’s hand on his wrist is an anchor.

  “Stay,” he orders. “Want to make best impression on fiancée or not?”

  If he wants to keep Andrew in his life, he has to. “Yes. I just….” He points at the belt. “That’s not going to do it.”

  “Very best fashion,” Vanya recites as if from a manual, “has sparkle. Want to be fashion forward or not?”

  Jason can’t even begin to answer. “How would I know? I’m the personal shopping novice here.”

  “Novice?” Vanya explores the belt with careful fingers. “Explain.”

  Jason finds it hard to answer while Vanya caresses each crystal along the belt’s length. “Uh,” he finally gets out. “A novice is someone doing something for the first time.”

  “Hmm. Novice is a good word.” Vanya touches the belt one more time, his face lit by prisms—pink and blue and purple. “And what is best word for this?”