The Bruise_Black Sky

by John Wiltshire

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ben tried to get another room when they arrived back at the hotel, but being the nearest (and only luxury) hotel near the school it was fully booked.

  He debated sleeping in with Babushka on her chair, but didn’t want to wake her.

  It wasn’t like him to make a scene anyway, so he accompanied Nikolas up in the creaky old lift.

  The floor in their room mocked him as he crossed to throw his jacket on the chair.

  He ripped off his tie and shirt, balling them up. The shirt was soaked with beer and sweat.

  He stripped out of the rest of his clothes thoughtlessly, heading naked for the shower.

  “Ben…”

  Ben went into the bathroom and shut the door. Then he locked it.

  §§§

  There was nothing amusing about sharing a bed with a total stranger.

  Ben didn’t even have the sliver of reassurance that he was being ridiculous, theatrical, and that it would all be kissed away and they’d be back to themselves in the morning. Or earlier. He still couldn’t actually believe what had happened, and had he anyone to tell, he felt fairly sure they’d feel the same way on his behalf. He thought for a moment about calling Tim, but Ben was a bloke, so dismissed that idea before it had formed. The one person he would have told, of course, was Nikolas. Now Ben began to regret the fact that by sleeping with another man he was, by default, also sleeping with his best friend. He began to see some advantages to having these two entities separate.

  And in a rare flash of insight, Ben suddenly saw why this hurt so much. It wasn’t the lover who had betrayed him—it was the best friend. If Nikolas had been just his lover, he probably could have talked him around. After all, as he’d admitted, Kristina was in the past and didn’t affect them—all lovers presumably had pasts they kept private. But Nikolas was his best friend. Their lives bled into their friendship, made up its unique pattern. What friend keeps such things entirely to themselves even when…Ben suddenly remembered a moment when he’d seen a photograph of himself as a little boy dressed as a soldier, and he’d wondered whether his son would look like that. Nikolas had been right there, standing next to him, and he’d said nothing. Wouldn’t that have been the time to say…?

  Oh, Jesus…Ben had another awful thought. He’d been studying all the photos Nikolas had given him…of Nikolas’s history. Except…there was not one of Kristina or any of his actual life. Just a man in uniform. Or an unrecognisable child. Remote. Impersonal.

  Even his great gift that Christmas, Nikolas’s past, had been sanitized, compartmentalised. Here you go…this is the part you’re allowed to see.

  He wondered if Kristina had been given a similar gift once, a small, pictorial slice of Nikolas’s life—Aleksey’s.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  Nikolas had been smoking silently alongside him since they’d climbed into bed. It was long after four o’clock, and Ben wished he could leave—the bed, the room, the hotel…perhaps more.

  He put an arm over his face. “Go to sleep.”

  “I don’t feel tired for some reason. Will you talk to me?”

  Ben knew he didn’t have the verbal skills to defeat Nikolas, whatever language they chose to speak in. He’d played at being the boss in the relationship for six months, but it had only been because Nikolas allowed it. It was only a joke.

  He was nothing. If he talked, that nothingness would be acknowledged between them. He took his arm down and turned to study the stranger next to him.

  “I’m sorry, Ben.” Nikolas rolled onto his side, seemed to realise that smoking this close to Ben’s face again might not be welcome, so reached behind and stubbed the cigarette out. He put a tentative hand to Ben’s hair to assess the damage from earlier. “Ack. Nothing that will show when you start to go bald.”

  He wrinkled his nose when his sense of humour wasn’t appreciated. He seemed at a loss what to do so he flopped onto his back again. “Do you want to hear about her? I’ll tell you if you want. There’s not much to know, really.”

  “What was he called?” Ben couldn’t use a more personal term.

  Nikolas appeared to know who he meant anyway and twisted over once more to face Ben. “Stefan.” He blew out a small breath and added in a quieter tone, “She called him Stefan. I was not consulted, but it’s a nice name.” He put a finger on Ben’s bare skin and stroked it along his collarbone.

  “Where is he buried?”

  “Ben, I don’t really want to—” He tipped onto his back, the collarbone abandoned. “Moscow.”

  “Did you visit his grave when you went with Gregory?”

  Nikolas rolled his head and considered this for a moment. “No.”

  Ben nodded, not sure what this confirmed. But it confirmed something. It was nearly five o’clock now. They were meeting Emilia at ten at the school.

  They were both silent for a very long time until Ben suddenly asked, “Why didn’t she know you were dead?” Strange lives led to strange questions, he reckoned.

  Perhaps Nikolas’s thoughts had been running on the same lines, because he answered easily enough, “We had separated long before then. And moved in very different circles, thousands of miles apart.”

  “You separated? Over…Stefan.”

  “No. I arrested her father. Come, can we talk about something else? Emilia was very beautiful tonight, do you not think?”

  “You spoil her.” Ben had only been thinking of the emeralds, although as he said it, he realised a different truth had come out of his mouth on a breath of bitterness. He hunched onto his side away from Nik and closed his eyes. He wouldn’t sleep, he knew, but at least in the privacy of his own head he could pretend that the floor had not just dropped out of his world.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Whoever had decided that the school would officially close for the summer holidays at ten that morning, and expected parents to be there to carry trunks down to waiting cars, was probably a teetotal Scottish Presbyterian, Nikolas thought.

  Everyone looked jaded, but there was a lot to do, so no time to stand around with a hangover and in a bad mood. He hefted Emilia’s small box onto a shoulder and took one handle of the large trunk with Ben.

  They negotiated this task in silence, as Ben was not speaking to him, except to come out with odd questions that made no logical sense to anyone.

  Who cared if his father-in-law was still in jail? He didn’t. Who was bothered exactly when the divorce had come through? He hadn’t signed any papers, so he wasn’t even sure he was divorced. What did it matter? He was dead, for fuck’s sake. Death trumped divorce! He hadn’t, obviously, admitted any of this to Ben and had neatly rounded off his marriage with a fictional date. Ben probably couldn’t call him on this small white lie—once he was speaking to him again, of course.

  §§§

  Nikolas had not forgotten his promise to meet with his ten-pound purchaser, and trailed behind Emilia to find one Miles Toogood. Which, he had to admit, was a superb name.

  Miles Toogood was in the junior house, a fact Emilia informed him of with some derision, making it clear in her tone and purposeful striding that it was a little beneath her now to consort with juniors. Nikolas could have, laughingly, pointed out the same, but he had a headache and was feeling sick, so he didn’t.

  Miles Toogood was struggling with his luggage. It was immediately clear to Nikolas that there were two good reasons for this. Firstly, he had no one to help him and thus, presumably, the ten-pound bid for assistance. Secondly, Miles Toogood was a similar shape to his trunk. Although he was only seven, he possibly weighed more than Nikolas.

  Still, for ten pounds, Nikolas reckoned he deserved to have some help with carrying, and dutifully hefted this heavy box as well and took it down to the courtyard.

  He was about to leave and continue with his own rather bleak concerns when a small chubby hand caught hold of his jacket. “I haven’t told you what I need fixing yet!”

  Nikolas peered down at the boy. �
�I’ve just—”

  “That wasn’t it, but thank you.”

  “You let me carry it anyway?”

  “You’re stronger than me.”

  “I. Stronger than I. Do you get taught nothing at this school?”

  “I was using the vernacular to make you feel comfortable with my superior intellect. And because you’re foreign. And speak funny.”

  “Do you want this favour or not?”

  “It’s not a favour. I paid for it. It’s a binding contract now.”

  Nikolas actually laughed. “I like you.”

  “Thank you. Not many people do.”

  “Have you had breakfast yet?”

  “Do I look like someone who would miss breakfast?”

  “I need a cup of tea. You can tell me about our agreement over tea.” He began to head towards the refractory.

  “They have sticky buns for morning tea.”

  “I don’t eat carbohydrates.”

  “That’s very dangerous. You need a balanced diet.”

  “Who looks as if he knows more about health: me or you?”

  “You have the advantage of being tall. If you were my height you’d be very fat, too.”

  Nikolas couldn’t come up with a good argument against this and was puzzling it over as they found a free table. There were indeed sticky buns, and Miles Toogood took one.

  “So, tell me. I am earning my ten pounds, by the way, watching you eat that. Did you learn to eat in a gulag?”

  “The gulags were all closed down by the time I was born. Did you know they used to put the bodies of people who died in the gulags into mixers and grind their bones to reinforce concrete?”

  Yes, I did know that; I helped load them in. “No, they didn’t. What about all the flesh and blood? The concrete would be pink and sticky.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve always wondered that, too.”

  “Always?”

  “Oh, yes, I’ve been pondering gulags for months now.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Did you know—?”

  “The auction, maybe…Miles?”

  “Everyone calls me Cyrus.”

  “Why?”

  “Miles…Miley? Cyrus. Miley Cyrus?”

  “Who? What?”

  Nikolas had been given worshipful looks many times in his life. After all, he’d held people’s lives in his hands, having the godlike power to end pain, end those existences if he’d chosen. He’d never been cast such a wide-eyed stare of approval as he was by Miles Toogood. “You don’t know who Miley Cyrus is? I knew I’d got the right person. I just knew it.”

  “Speaking of which?” Nikolas wasn’t all that keen to get back to Ben and the silent treatment, but they did have a plane to catch later that evening.

  Miles stared at the remains of the sticky bun, now just a few sugar granules on the table. “I think I’ve made a fool of myself.”

  “I expect that doesn’t happen to you very often.”

  “No. You’re quite right. Very rarely.” Miles looked down, glum once more after Nikolas’s encouraging comment. “It’s not for me. It’s for…Granny. She needs someone to help her.”

  For one moment, Nikolas had the vision of an incontinent octogenarian. He shook himself a little and saw a garden that needed tending, perhaps a library book to be returned? “Tell me.”

  “I was wondering, perhaps…you need to see for yourself…”

  “See what, where?”

  “We don’t live far away. Promise. We could be there and back…well, a couple of hours. Not that close. I’ve made a big mistake, haven’t I?” To Nikolas’s complete dismay and panic, Miles Toogood burst into noisy, snotty tears.

  Nikolas pushed his chair away and glanced around urgently. “Shut up! They’ll think I’ve touched you or something!”

  Miles started to sniff and produced a huge handkerchief. “What do you mean? How can you touch me in the refractory?”

  Nikolas began to snigger, which he knew was entirely inappropriate. He checked his watch, thought for a moment or two, and then nodded. “Come. Show me what you have contracted me for, Miles Toogood. This is a matter of honour, no? Between gentlemen?”

  Miles brightened. “Oh, yes, like a code of honour. The warriors’ code. Oh! Just like in Warriors! Have you read Warriors? It’s brilliant! See, there are these…” Nikolas tuned him out and led the way back to the hire car where Ben and Emilia were waiting for them. He still wasn’t being spoken to so just told them he was going with Miles Toogood, but would be back in a couple of hours—that they needed to take a taxi to the hotel, as he needed the car.

  Emilia piped up, “Ben’s meeting his mystery date at lunchtime…” Her grin faltered when neither of them seized on this for an argument. She frowned, glancing between them.

  Nikolas hoped Ben would catch his eye, but he didn’t. His gaze was flicking intently through the group of parents. Nikolas realised who he might be searching for and hustled Emilia into a taxi. “Better go, or Ben will miss his lunch appointment.” Ben didn’t appear to be listening. He climbed in next to Emilia and gave the driver the address for the hotel. He didn’t turn around as they drove off.

  “Who was that?”

  “Emilia.”

  “I know who Emilia is. I bought you from her. I meant that man.”

  “He’s called Ben.”

  “He looks like a movie star.”

  “Yes, he does.”

  “Is he?”

  “No. Shall we go?”

  “I’ll be in year five next term.”

  “Good. Get in the car. We’ll collect your trunk.”

  “I’m going to start robotics club and chess then. Do you play chess?”

  “Yes. Better than you, I expect. Get in.”

  “There’s no way you could beat me. No one can.”

  “No one has ever beaten me, either, and I’ve played against a grand master. Put your seatbelt on.”

  “I don’t believe you. That isn’t possible, or you’d be a grand master.”

  “It was a secret game. We were the only ones there.”

  “Why?”

  “He was in prison.”

  “You would have had to have been in prison then, too, so I think you’re telling porky pies.”

  “What? Telling what?”

  “Gosh, your English is very limited, isn’t it? Porky pie means lie.”

  “No, it does not! I was taught English by—”

  “You can’t get taught the colloquial level of a language. Everyone knows that. What are you doing?”

  “I’m sending a text saying help.”

  “That’s not very nice, and you shouldn’t text when you’re driving. It’s against the law.”

  “So is infanticide.”

  “I do know what that means.”

  “I thought you might.”

  “Why is your phone stuck with tape?”

  “To remind me of something.”

  “That you need a new phone?”

  “No. Can you please be quiet for a moment?”

  “Will. You should say will, not can. Of course, I can be quiet. What does that say?”

  “It’s in Danish, and you shouldn’t read other people’s texts.”

  “No, technically, I believe the etiquette is not to write texts in someone else’s presence, and certainly not when you are driving. Are you Danish?”

  “Sometimes.”

  That silenced Miles Toogood for a while, enabling Nikolas to finish his text. “I love you,” didn’t take long to say in any language. He tapped his phone, waiting for a reply. Even when Ben wasn’t speaking to him, he got an answer to texts. It was just how there were together.

  “Do you like Harry Potter?”

  Two hours later and they were at the edge of the Highlands. It was spectacularly beautiful, but Nikolas had seen lots of views in his life. He was more concerned at the silence from his phone. Banging it wouldn’t bring a message, so he tucked it away when Miles Toogood announced, somewhat gloom
ily, that they were nearly there. They were just approaching a small town, dark granite houses austere even in the June sunshine. Miles directed Nikolas to a small lane leading towards the hills and then a few miles later to a narrower lane still. It reminded Nikolas of finding their house at Horse Tor, but he reckoned he was just being maudlin because Ben wasn’t speaking to him.

  They arrived at a huge, dense, green wall—a row of leylandlii about thirty feet high. Nikolas parked the car where indicated, and Miles clambered with difficulty out of the front seat and went through a small opening in the hedge. Nikolas followed, jiggling his phone thoughtfully again and not concentrating too—

  He couldn’t see the screen any longer. He looked up.

  The green barrier stretched thirty feet in one direction, turned and ran forty feet or so at right angles, turned again, and then again, and thus formed a rectangle. A green box. It was like being under the sea with a glimpse up to sky and air above. Right in the middle of this undersea world was a small bungalow.

  Nikolas stepped back out through the arch and into sunshine then returned into the enclosure. It was unsettling. Miles was hammering on the door shouting, “It’s me!”

  The door opened and a frail-looking woman put her arms as far around Miles as they would reach. They stood that way for some time until Miles thought to introduce Nikolas. It was clearly taxing even his proven powers of speech. In the end, Nikolas took mercy on all three of them, introduced himself and explained he was a parent of a fellow pupil at the school, had seen that Miles had no transport to get home and had offered to drive him.

  The elderly lady gave him a very swift going over, head to toe. “Thank you. That’s terribly kind of you. I had booked a taxi, of course, but this was so kind. Would you like to come in?”

  Nikolas nodded. Miles went in before him, and they sat down in the sitting room. Or at least, Nikolas assumed it was the sitting room. He couldn’t actually see anything and thought about putting his phone torch on, until he remembered that, as with his camera, it was broken.

  Lots of things were broken at the moment.

  He had a brief shudder of uncharacteristic uncertainty and was very glad when the elderly lady put a light on and offered him some tea.