by Grace, K D
‘I’m not in your house any more.’
‘No, but I own a house in this street, so the rule is still, er …’
‘It still stands?’
‘Yes.’
We walked on to the door of the building. I looked up, trying to work out what might be happening inside the balcony doors, but there was no clue there in the twisted wrought iron.
Climbing the stairs, I began to breathe heavily, suddenly more fearful than ever. Was Jodie being held hostage, locked in an airing cupboard? Was the flat full of terrorists? Sensing my anxiety, János unlocked the door himself and entered the flat first. I waited a couple of seconds before following him.
The first thing I heard was Jodie’s strident moan of, ‘Oh, fuck off, János, this isn’t the time. Could you come back later? Much later?’
Then János said, ‘Who is this?’
I had to go in then.
‘Oh God,’ I said, stepping back towards the open doorway.
‘Ruby, thank God you’re OK.’
‘What the hell are you doing here? Who told you I was in Budapest?’
Jodie half-raised a sheepish hand. ‘That’d be me.’
‘Why?’
‘She’s been worried about you.’ Dave’s sanctimonious voice made me want to punch out his perfectly flossed teeth. ‘Everyone’s been worried about you. You’re acting completely out of character.’
I hadn’t forgotten that János stood beside me, his height shadowing me reassuringly. It helped that he was here, and at the same time, it made everything worse.
‘This is who you didn’t marry?’ he asked suddenly, waving a hand at Dave.
‘Yes, I’m her fiancé.’ That nasal, pompous tone. What on earth did I ever see in him? ‘Who, may I ask, are you?’
‘You’re my ex-fiancé,’ I said between gritted teeth. ‘And this is my … Jodie’s landlord.’
Angry as I was with Dave, I resisted the temptation to fling my new lover in his face. It would only muddy the waters. I needed my message to be clear and consistent. It’s over. Go home.
I hoped János would understand this, but the slightly crumpled cast of his brow suggested he didn’t. I could explain later.
‘Oh!’ said Dave. ‘The one Jodie told me about. The one that’s been trying to seduce you! You can keep your hands off. She’s not available.’
‘Yes I am!’ It was getting much harder to sound calm and rational. ‘Yes I am available, Dave! I am single. You and I are not getting back together. Not ever.’
Dave took a breath, visibly steadying himself. What a weaselly dweeb he looked. I knew I should be the bigger person, be sympathetic and kind, because I had hurt him, after all. But he wasn’t making it easy.
‘Look, love, sit down and let’s talk about this sensibly. You know, deep down, that you panicked and ran away. We can sort out the panic. You can see a therapist about your commitment-phobia. We can sign up for couples counselling. All I want is to take care of you, Rube, and get us back on track.’
‘Why? Why would you want me back, after the way I’ve treated you?’
‘It’s OK, Ruby, I forgive you. The vendors still haven’t got another buyer for the house in Watkin Street. We could still complete on the deal. We can re-book the wedding. Your mum’s still got the dress. Might need a new cake though.’
‘Listen, Dave …’
‘We’re meant for one another, Ruby. I know that scares you, but it’ll be OK.’ He looked over at János and twitched. ‘And can that man please leave?’
János tilted his head at me. ‘Is Ruby’s choice.’
‘No, stay,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing more to say. I don’t want to marry you, Dave. I don’t want to get back together. I just can’t.’
‘Rube, I think it’s a nervous breakdown,’ contributed Jodie unhelpfully. ‘Don’t you think, Dave? After all those years of being sensible and steady and all that, she’s cracked.’
‘I tend to agree with you, Jodie – for once.’ Dave gurgled unattractively at his imagined witticism. ‘I’ve made no secret of the fact that I thought you were a bad influence on Ruby in the past – but I’m going to let bygones be bygones now. I can’t thank you enough for getting in touch with me. It seems I was just in time. I think Ruby was about to do something very stupid.’
He stared hard at János.
‘No,’ I said, following an instinct to stick up for him. ‘I wasn’t. Marrying you would have been very stupid, because my heart wasn’t in it. I’ve spent years prioritising my head over my heart. Well, now I’m going to stop that. I’m going to do what I want, be with whom I want. That’s not you, Dave.’
‘Anti-depressants will sort you out, love. I’ll make an appointment with Dr Greening when we get home.’
This was enough. My patience wore through.
‘Home?’ I thundered, not quite sure which words were going to tumble out of me next. ‘What home? I’m not going back to England. I’m going to stay here.’
What?’ squeaked Jodie, but János smiled, nerving me to carry on ranting.
‘Maybe not exactly here, in this exact flat, but I’m staying in Budapest. And I’m going to get accounting work, and I’m going to help János with the costings for his new bar. He has a passion that drives him, a need to transform his neighbourhood, and I want to be part of that, in whatever small way I can. And, more than that, I want to be with him.’
‘What?’ This time both Jodie and Dave chorused the word.
János grasped my hand and squeezed it, beaming down at me with dazzling effect.
‘If he wants to be with me,’ I said, more quietly, looking up at him. He kissed my hand, put his arm around my shoulder. I felt that we made a wall, beyond which the world could not encroach. We stood together, invincible.
‘You’ve known him five minutes!’ spluttered Dave when he could speak again. ‘You really have gone mad, haven’t you? I’m going to call the men in white coats. Jodie, what’s the emergency number?’
But she shook her head.
‘That’s taking it too far, Dave,’ she said. ‘I’m starting to think I was hasty. Perhaps we should just leave them to it.’
My head was too full of swooping giddiness to take much more in. I had taken an enormous risk – declared a future for myself that depended on somebody else’s consent, a somebody else I had known for a matter of a few days. Maybe Dave was right and I needed my head examined. But I didn’t think so.
There would be red tape, there would be logistics to consider, there would be papers to sign and queues to stand in and long, long discussions to be had.
But it could be done. Happiness could be mine.
And, it seemed, János thought so too.
Chapter Six
The party ended after four o’clock in the morning.
Once the last gypsy violinist had packed up his instrument, the bar staff had washed and dried the cocktail shakers, the creators of the sculptures that dotted the courtyard had downed their last glass of pálinka, we said farewell to our guests and the ruin disgorged its hip young clientele into the Budapest night.
Though “ruin” didn’t seem the right word any more. János and his local builders had reinforced the wrought iron balconies that ran along the inner walls of the courtyard so that they could act as an impromptu art gallery – clients were encouraged to display their works of genius for the benefit of their fellow drinkers. One section of the courtyard was a studio, with materials for creativity provided. The unemployed youngsters of the Nyocker contributed a mural for the street façade, incorporating the bar’s name – simply Nyolc, the Hungarian for eight.
Jodie was the last to leave, somewhat the worse for wear, in a taxi. Once she’d realised that I wasn’t mad and I meant business, she came around to the idea of me and János. She had to. Neither of us was leaving Budapest without the other.
I helped her into the cab, paid the driver upfront and returned through the huge rectangular doorway with its looping fairy-lights and neon n
umber eight.
The courtyard lay in shadow, just a few candles still burning low on the old-fashioned wrought iron tables we’d reclaimed from a derelict hotel patio. Almost everything in the bar had been sourced for next to nothing. I knew how little we had to work with, but together we made it work.
János, in a white shirt, black waistcoat and black trousers, roved around the cobbles, finding and disposing of any rubbish. I stood in a darkened corner and let him think I was still on the pavement outside for a couple of minutes, so I could take some time to watch him.
He had been outrageously nervous, more nervous than I had ever seen him. In fact, I don’t think I ever had seen him nervous, since he always gave the impression of surfing along on a wave of unstoppable confidence.
But, getting dressed before the grand launch, he had fumbled with cuff buttons and had to wipe his brow with an increasingly less pristine handkerchief.
‘Are you afraid of failure?’ I’d asked.
‘No, I’m afraid of success,’ he had answered. ‘I don’t know how to do success.’
‘Yes you do. You succeeded with me.’
He took a deep breath, stroked the ends of his moustache and smiled.
‘Yes, but you were very easy.’
‘Cheeky bastard!’
I aimed a playful swat at the side of his head but he caught my wrist. ‘What? What do I say that’s bad? I only want to say that living with you is easy because you are so great!’
‘Hmm, I suppose we can call that a translation fail. But, for future reference, never call an English-speaking woman easy.’
‘Why, what is the meaning of it?’ He pulled me close, asking the question directly into my ear.
‘It means easy to get into bed. You know.’
His low chuckle made my beautifully-styled hair crinkle against my neck and tickle it. ‘But that is true also. You are in bed with me before we even speak.’
‘God, you scared me to death.’ I joined in with his quiet laughter, and we held each other closer.
‘That is how I find a woman – I scare her first,’ he said. ‘This works for me.’
‘You don’t scare me any more.’
‘Oh no?’ He growled in my ear, unexpectedly loudly, and I tried to jump away, finding myself trapped by the strength of his embrace. A smart smack to my bottom made me squeal with exhilarated dread. ‘You are sure about that?’
He lifted me up and carried me through to the bedroom – a modified version of that sombre red and dark brown place, lighter now. When he dropped me on the bed, I kicked my legs up at him and tried to sit up, but he was too quick for me, pinning me down with rapid efficiency.
‘You don’t want this?’ he goaded, his chest over mine, his pelvis pressing into me. Wisps of moustache tickled my lips and I tried to blow them away, to no avail.
‘I always want this,’ I confessed, and it was true.
Once I allowed myself to have him, it was as if a kind of sexual floodgate had opened. The more we fucked, the more I wanted to fuck him. I couldn’t get enough of the feel of him, the size of him, his warmth and strength and scent. Sometimes I scared myself with the thought of what I’d do if I couldn’t have him. How would my pussy cope?
At least I would have had this in my life, if only briefly. At least I would have a memory, a knowledge of how passion felt.
Passion felt like this, like his fingers curled around my wrists, like his hot mouth on mine, like the way our bodies reached out for one another like plants toward sunlight.
In a confusion of kissing and fumbling and unbuttoning, we made our way towards the act our bodies demanded of us. Our uncreased new clothes garnered wrinkles en route, and I lost a button from the top of my zipper. We got tangled up and my watch clasp caught in his waistcoat buttonhole and then my left leg cramped for a moment, but somehow we made it through the hostile barriers of our clothing and his cock found my always-wet cunt and there we were again, in our happiest place, inside and around and all over each other.
‘When we go into the bar,’ he panted, thrusting hard, ‘we look like we have just fucked. I think that look is better for us. Better for the bar. Not clean and neat.’
‘You’re right,’ I gasped back. ‘It’s a hotter, edgier image. Perhaps we should always fuck before going there. Every night.’
‘Oh yeah, we put that in the business plan, right?’
I smiled, thinking of his comment while I watched him clear up after the big opening. That really was a business practice I could get behind. Or underneath.
I was still blushing in memory of the deeply-felt no-holds-barred orgasm I had enjoyed mere minutes before entering the bar when János turned and noticed me.
‘You are spying on me?’ He went behind the bar and came back out with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. ‘I think we earn a drink.’
That area where the bar was – that’s where we did it the first time, up against the crumbling windowsill. I couldn’t even look over there without remembering.
He raised his glass and I followed suit, remembering that it was not considered good manners to clink glasses in Hungary.
‘Egészségedre!’ My Hungarian was pretty good these days. You learn a language fast when you have to deal with their banks.
He joined me in the salutation.
‘If you told me a year ago that I’d be celebrating opening my bar in Budapest with my Hungarian boyfriend …’ I tailed off, grinning into my bubbles.
‘What? You would be horrified?’
‘Probably. But I would have been stupid. Coming here was the best decision of my life. I want to say thank you for being such a persistent pest back then. You obviously knew what I wanted before I did.’
‘The pest from Pest. That’s me.’
‘The best pest in all of Budapest.’
A Cariad Collection
Published by Accent Press
Copyright © K D Grace 2013
Copyright © Charlotte Stein 2013
Copyright © Justine Elyot 2013
The right of K D Grace, Charlotte Stein and Justine Elyot to be identified as the authors of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
The stories contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers:
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