The Story of Us

by Barbara Elsborg

  A phrase kept running through his head. They’d studied Coriolanus for English lit GCSE. A banished hero of Rome allies with a sworn enemy to take his revenge on the city. Caspian had thought it sounded good until he came to read it. The play was about a guy who struggles to change his nature. That was about all Caspian understood. He’d tried to read it and given up after a few pages. He did manage to read a summary and watch a film version, and he learnt some phrases off by heart to pepper any answer in his exam regardless of relevance. He’d written the essay he’d practised that would have to serve for any question. No wonder he got a D.

  The phrase he was thinking of now was Never shame to hear what you have nobly done. Was taking the blame for what Lachlan had done stupid or noble? Caspian was ashamed he’d not refused. He’d lost his family anyway, though that was his choice.

  He was safer in the VP wing, but still careful. One thing he could do nothing about was being disliked for what he was. His nickname was Posh Prick which he supposed was better than Cunt. There was a group in there that didn’t like him and one day, he found out just how much they didn’t. Three of them pushed him into his pad and barricaded the door. One sat on the bed with his arm around Caspian’s throat, a shank in his hand. Two stood watching and one negotiated.

  They wanted to be moved to a prison in the north of England where they came from. Even Caspian knew the governor wouldn’t agree to that. If he did, this situation would happen every day. Caspian didn’t resist. He sat quietly and hoped. They held him for three hours before they let officers into the cell. Then he seethed because he was treated no differently to the three who’d held him, as if he’d been in on the fucking thing.

  One prison officer really didn’t like him though he had no idea why that was. Maybe he had an eleven-year-old daughter. The guy enjoyed winding inmates up, particularly Caspian. It felt as if he was trying to get Caspian to lose his temper and lash out and get into more trouble. He wanted to make a complaint but one of the kangas told him if his complaint wasn’t accepted, he’d be at risk of being put on a charge for making a malicious accusation. So Caspian kept quiet and tried to keep out of the guy’s way.

  But one day, towards Christmas, when he’d wanted to clear the rubbish out of his pad, he went to the door with his bin only for Officer KD347 to tell him to stay put.

  “The bin’s right there,” Caspian had pointed out. The main bin where they all emptied their crap, pushed around by an inmate, was outside Caspian’s door.

  “Do as you’re told and don’t argue.”

  When the guy pushing the big bin started to move on to the next cell, Caspian stepped out of his pad and emptied his crap into it. The officer grabbed his arm, hauled him into his cell and laid into him. He gave Caspian a black eye without Caspian lifting a finger. In a review of the incident, two officers who’d been nowhere in sight reported that Caspian had lunged at the man.

  Back down the snake.

  Chapter Twenty

  Zed flopped onto the couch facing Henry and Jonas. A few weeks back at school and the fantastic holiday in Oregon was a distant dream.

  “Right,” Henry said. “We need to talk.”

  “Jonas has already done the birds and bees,” Zed said. “I know more about BDSM, fisting, felching, watersports and pony play than I ever wanted to.”

  Henry’s jaw dropped and Jonas creased up laughing at his side.

  “What the hell?” Henry stared at Jonas.

  Jonas rolled his eyes. “He’s a teenager with a laptop. He probably knows more than we do.”

  Henry cleared his throat. “That wasn’t the sort of talk I had in mind.”

  Zed straightened. Was this going to be another gentle lecture about going out and meeting people? “I’m not a hermit. I go out.”

  “To orchestra rehearsals, to practise with your band, to watch Jonas, to the British Library,” Henry said. “Not to parties, the cinema, bowling with friends. We know you’re not shy. You get on well with all our friends. You can perform in front of hundreds of people without freaking out. But that’s not what I want to talk about either.”

  Zed’s heart did a couple of loop the loops. Did Henry know already? Zed had been given time to tell him, but he’d put it off.

  “We have to talk about the future,” Henry said. “Which university you want to go to? What subject you’d like to study? Whether you want to take a gap year?”

  Jonas leaned back with his arms crossed behind his head. “Or don’t go to university.”

  Henry frowned. “I just said he can take a gap year.”

  “I mean he doesn’t have to go at all.”

  Henry huffed. “He’s too clever not to go.” He stared at Zed. “The school must consider you an Oxbridge candidate.”

  Zed squirmed. He was predicted to get 5 As in his A levels. The school wanted him to apply for Oxford or Cambridge, but he wasn’t going to.

  “Royal Holloway is very good for music,” Jonas said.

  Henry tsked. “Music is not a good choice.”

  “I did music,” Jonas said indignantly.

  “Precisely.” Henry laughed as Jonas swatted him.

  “Zed loves music. You’re not going to just wipe it out as a choice,” Jonas said. “The big advantage in doing music is it gives you time to focus on practising. If you’re doing any other subject it’s difficult to maintain the level of intensity you’ll need to succeed as a musician. Plus, you’ll make contacts for the future. Success is as much down to who you know, as how you play.”

  “No matter how good Zed is, and I know he’s good, the chances of him becoming a successful musician are low. No matter how talented someone is, how hard they work, they need a certain amount of luck. Am I right?”

  Jonas gave a heavy sigh. “Yeah, you’re right.”

  “You were always practising,” Henry said. “You worked harder than I did.”

  “And you earn five times as much as I do.”

  Zed knew that even in a prestigious orchestra like the LSO, the pay wasn’t brilliant.

  “But you don’t do it for the money.” Henry squeezed his fingers.

  “Don’t tell the director that.”

  Henry smiled.

  “If you want a gap year, we can help sort something out,” Jonas said. “Saving turtles in Costa Rica, working with elephants in Namibia, teaching in South Africa, ski instructor in Canada, there’s a music project I know of in Senegal. I think a gap year would do you good. What do you think?”

  “I don’t want to take a gap year. I love music, you know I do. But I don’t want to study it at university. I like listening to it, playing and composing, but not studying music theory and history and yes, I know that all feeds into playing and composing, but that’s not what I want. I’d like to study computer science and maths at Imperial College.” Zed took a deep breath. “And I want to keep living here with you.”

  His gaze flicked between the two of them. He wasn’t ready to leave them. Plus there was something he hadn’t yet told them. They weren’t going to be happy.

  But their silence made him nervous. “I can move out if you want.”

  “Going to university is as much about growing up as it is about what you study,” Henry said. “You rarely go out. You never mention friends. We told you that you can bring people back here, but you never have. You don’t go to parties. You don’t want us to throw you a party even when we promised not to lurk.”

  “You don’t spend hours in your room on the internet,” Jonas said. “You’re not constantly checking your phone. I know we shouldn’t complain about any of that but it’s…”

  “Not normal.” Henry took over when Jonas hesitated. “We’re worried you rely on us too much.”

  “Yet we appreciate you’re the perfect teenager in many respects. You’ve never caused us a moment of anxiety. You’re polite, kind, considerate.”

  Zed curled his fingers into fists. “I’m too good? You want me to be bad?”

  “Of course we don’t,”
Henry said. “We’re just worried about you. Is it the cost of living elsewhere? Don’t worry about that. It’ll be taken care of.”

  Jonas was watching him carefully.

  “It’s not the cost. Almost every student has to go into debt. I accept that. Why should I be different? I really want to stay here, not to save money on accommodation, but because…because this is my home and I love living here more than you could ever know. I…” Say it! He couldn’t. He had two fathers in these guys who were a million times better than the father he’d been born to. “But if you’ve had enough of me, if you took me in thinking I’d only be in your hair for a couple of years before you got your lives and your privacy back, then I understand.”

  “We want you to leave because we think it would be good for you,” Henry said. “That is the only reason we think you need to move out.”

  “I’d miss you,” Jonas whispered.

  Henry sighed. “You’re supposed to be encouraging him to spread his wings.”

  “I know but I will miss him. I’ll miss playing with him, talking to him, cooking with him.”

  “I’ve got a job lined up,” Zed blurted while he could still speak.

  Jonas frowned. “For next year?”

  Henry pushed to his feet. “Hold on a moment. You’re telling us you want to go to Imperial and do a job? What sort of—? Oh no.” He shook his head. “No, you are not.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jonas asked.

  “I’ll kill Jackson,” Henry said through gritted teeth. “I’m right, aren’t I? He’s persuaded you to work for MI5.”

  “Not persuaded. I want to.”

  “Right. There is no way you’re living anywhere but here with us for the next three years,” Henry snapped. “Maybe the next ten. Quite possibly the rest of your life.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and walked out of the room making a call. “Jackson. You are in so much fucking trouble.”

  Jonas switched seats to drop next to Zed.

  “Do you mind that I don’t want to study music?” Zed asked.

  “Of course I don’t. It’s your life. You can do whatever you like and I know music will always be important to you. We’ll support you, whatever you do. I just wish…”

  “What?”

  “That you had someone in your life apart from us. Working for MI5 will make you even more isolated. You can’t trust anyone. Can’t confide in anyone. It’s not easy. What does Jackson see you doing?”

  “Keeping my eyes and ears open while I’m at university. Maybe joining a few societies I might not have joined. After I graduate, I think I’d like to be involved in intelligence gathering, not necessarily out in the field but desk-based.”

  “You really need to talk it all through with Henry. Don’t commit yourself to anything. One more year at school. Three at university and you might decide you want to be a farmer. I think you’re right not to want to do music and not because I don’t think you could make it, but you’re better than you think you are. I’ve seen your teachers pulling you in every direction. How do you choose between the piano and the cello? And the violin. You’re good at that too now and you only took it up a short time ago. We both learnt the guitar at the same time and you are streets ahead of me. Do you even know which instrument you like the best?”

  Zed winced. “It depends on what mood I’m in.”

  Jonas laughed. “See! My advice is to keep your options open.”

  “Well if I write some songs and get a record deal maybe I’ll be a popstar.”

  “I think Henry would prefer that to you working for MI5.”

  Zed pushed to his feet. “Is there anything we need from the supermarket?”

  “That is not going to fool Henry.”

  “I just want to give him the chance to cool down.”

  “You mean for me to cool him down. Go and buy some chocolate. That will help.”

  “You’re right. I’ll feel much better after I’ve had a Mars bar.”

  Jonas laughed.

  Zed crept out of the house and set off down Maze Hill toward Trafalgar Road. It was Jackson who’d approached him and asked if working for them was something he’d be interested in. There was no obligation to join one of MI5’s graduate schemes when he’d finished at university, but Zed thought he probably would. If they’d have him, because Jackson had told him that Tamaz had left the country and not returned on the flight he was booked on. Zed hoped there was an innocent explanation.

  He wondered how Caspian was getting on. Just being told not to write didn’t stop Zed thinking about him. If he really had been…doing stuff with his cellmate, that had ended after the trial because he’d been sent to a different prison. Zed had found that out after Caspian had eventually written back telling him to stop writing. But Zed thought what he’d said about his cellmate was a lie, the most powerful shove in Zed’s back that Caspian could manage.

  So long as Caspian didn’t do anything to have to serve all of his sentence, he’d be out in the summer of 2017, and Zed would be graduating from university, assuming he went. Their lives were entwined. Zed knew he was waiting for Caspian.

  SUMMER EIGHT

  Four years later

  Chapter Twenty-One

  2017

  Caspian had tried not to count down the days until release in case something made it not happen. Fights kicked off all the time over stupid things like towels getting misplaced or someone’s stuff being moved. For the last four months, he’d had a cellmate who was okay most of the time, but also prone to unexpected bursts of fury. When Mick and Caspian played board games in their pad, Caspian often deliberately lost to keep the peace.

  Being locked in a cell for up to twenty-one hours a day was enough set anyone on edge. The closer Caspian was to being free, the more paranoid he became about staying out of trouble. He’d already gone two months beyond the date he could have been released because each case was dealt with in chronological order of eligibility, and Shawton was two months behind. Fucking unfair but what could he do?

  He didn’t sleep the night before he was due to be let out. By the time the cell door’s double bolts were unlatched, he was ready and waiting. He picked up his bag of belongings and Steve Webster, his PO, took him to the reception area. For some reason Caspian couldn’t fathom, he was strip-searched, and his belongings checked. What the fuck did they think he wanted to take out of there other than the few things he had in his plastic bag? The only things he cared about were Zed’s letters, the MP3 player and his sketch books, full of dreams and badly scribbled poetry.

  He dressed in his own clothes, the creased suit he’d worn in court that was the right length now but too broad in the shoulders. Still, it made him feel less like an ex-con. He handed the prison gear back in return for a pile of paperwork.

  “Sign here, here and here,” Webster said.

  Caspian signed.

  “I’ll sum up the conditions of your licence or we’ll be here all day while you read them.” Webster smirked.

  If Caspian hadn’t gone through ready, steady and been waiting for go for the last few hours, weeks, months, he’d have taken issue with that, or made Webster wait while he did read it. But go was too close to mess things up now.

  “The point of being released on licence is to allow you to reintegrate into the community, rebuild family ties and help prevent re-offending,” Webster read.

  The first two were already disasters waiting to happen. The last—he wasn’t going to put a foot wrong.

  “You’re being released on licence because you’re not considered a significant risk to the public. The conditions of release are that you maintain good behaviour, keep in touch with your SO, supervising officer, in the way he’s specified and reside permanently at the address he’s approved. If you want to stay one or more nights elsewhere, you have to have his permission. No work unless he’s signed off on it. No leaving the country unless he’s said you can. No driving for two years. Break any of those, commit an offence and you’re back inside. G
ot it?”

  Caspian nodded.

  “Sign here, here and here.”

  Caspian scribbled his signature.

  “Copies of this will be kept by the prison as well as being sent to your SO. Copies will also be sent to the local police force in the area where you’re going to be living and to the National Identification Service at the Metropolitan Police.”

  Why not add fucking Interpol and the FBI?

  Webster stared at him. “Almost forty percent of young offenders end up back inside within twelve months. I don’t want to see you in that number. When I look at a lad, I have a good idea of whether I’ll be seeing him again. I don’t see you coming back here. You made a bad mistake, three girls died, and you’ll live with that for the rest of your life, but you’re not beyond redemption. When you eventually get behind the wheel of a car, remember what you did and don’t let it happen again. You’re only twenty-two. You have the rest of your life ahead of you. You’re lucky you weren’t sent to an adult prison after your birthday.”

  Caspian wanted to say I wasn’t driving that day but he wouldn’t be believed and if he was, all this time inside was for nothing. He kept quiet.

  When he reached the final exit point and stepped outside, the door closed behind him and he took a deep breath, exhaling shakily. As well as feeling apprehensive, he was excited. The air tasted different. The world looked…amazing. Enormous. Caspian tipped his head back. The sky was huge. Not a cloud in sight. A warm day in June and he was finally free. Though with the small amount of money he’d been given, he wasn’t going to get far. He wouldn’t even take his father’s money to pay for a ride home.

  He heard his name called and turned to see Lachlan hurrying toward him. Shit.

  “Caspian.”

  Lachlan looked as if he didn’t know whether to hug him or not. Fortunately, he decided on not, otherwise Caspian might have been tempted to commit an offence right at the prison door. He didn’t want to be touched. It freaked him out.

  “You’ve grown. You’re almost as tall as me. The car’s this way. I drove up this morning. Set off at five. Didn’t want to be late.”