Be My Best Man

by Con Riley

  “Well, if you’ve really given up personal shopping, I had to pull myself together, so I went to another Marks and Spencer and imagined you were with me.”

  Vanya’s voice comes out low-pitched. “Very quick student.”

  “I had a very good teacher.” Jason touches one of Vanya’s new buttons. It catches the light, bright against the fabric of his black shirt. “Of course, I’m still not half as on-trend as you.” His hand slips under Vanya’s jacket to pull him closer, nose skimming Vanya’s temple as he says, “I wondered if you’d be here.” His lips drag there a little, soft and so warm. “Really hoped you wouldn’t stand me up.”

  Vanya doesn’t try to translate that last sentence.

  He’s rooted to the spot, so aware that they’re virtually embracing in public that it steals his vocab. His heart pounds with returned panic.

  What the hell is he thinking?

  He’s in plain sight here of anyone who might take violent offence at seeing two men together, his gaze flicking left and right, on guard until Jason steps back.

  He wears the same mix of worried confusion Vanya last saw in his kitchen. “Are you okay?” There’s nothing but care in the way he searches Vanya’s expression, perhaps noting his change in pallor. “Can I get you something? How about you let me buy you a drink?”

  He’s so kind.

  So kind.

  Always.

  Vanya tries hard to stop overthinking.

  When he opens his arms, nothing awful happens.

  Jason simply hugs him so hard his feet leave the platform.

  Chapter Sixteen

  As the train whips its way to the Cotswolds, Jason watches Vanya stare raptly out the window. He’s barely blinked that Jason’s noticed, his coffee cooling untouched on the table between them. The view holds his interest while Jason tries to guess what Vanya finds so compelling. There’s nothing much to see as they leave the city, only the usual warehouses and glimpses of back gardens, yet Vanya’s gaze is steady, like he can’t bear to miss a minute.

  Perhaps this is his first time out of London. Didn’t he say he’d only been in the UK for less than a year? If he hasn’t travelled beyond the capital, maybe this boring view is novel.

  The landscape shifts as they head west, the train eventually passing through tracts of farmland that flow close to the tracks before receding. The fields are mostly stubbled, scant patches of this year’s harvest left now to wave in the train’s breeze.

  Jason’s made this journey more times than he can count in his lifetime, but today he pays more attention to what’s outside the window than he has in forever. The leaves on the trees have turned, he notices as they pass a yellowing solitary oak reigning over a field where a harvester cuts its last swathes. In the distance, plantation firs stand tall at attention, their boughs so much darker green than nearby native copses.

  All Jason’s mental images of Russia involve snow and deep-green forests; perhaps these firs are more familiar to Vanya. He opens his mouth, about to ask, when a tunnel cuts off the view. The window turns into a dark mirror showing Vanya very clearly.

  He’s not admiring the view right now.

  He only looks worried.

  Jason almost asks him what’s up, only he’s blinded by a burst of brightness as they leave the tunnel’s darkness. By the time he’s blinked and refocused, Vanya’s turned towards him, his expression normal, like that worry was imagined. He even smiles a little as he asks a question.

  “So work was good? In York?” He leans across the table, like he’s keen to hear Jason’s answer.

  “Yeah. It went as well as it could, given that finding asbestos threw a spanner in the works.” He rethinks when Vanya frowns. “You know what a spanner is? A tool? Throwing a spanner into the works means—”

  He doesn’t need to expand when Vanya gives a quick ah of comprehension.

  Jason can barely speak school-boy French, so he’s as amazed as ever at Vanya’s adeptness in a second language. It’s unthinkable that he’d adapt as fast if transplanted—like those distant rows of tall trees—to a different country. He takes a sip of coffee before picking up from where he left off. “At least I got to see enough of the real bones of the building to come up with some adaptations to the plans. The roof beams are fantastic but riddled with woodworm. I can get on with scheduling treatment to preserve the wood while someone else resolves the asbestos issue.”

  “Then you will go back? Work on dangerous building some more?” Vanya’s forehead furrows, mirroring the concerned expression Jason saw in the tunnel. “I researched.” His dark gaze holds Jason’s. “Asbestos is very bad.” His concern is personal and pointed in a way Jason finds quite touching. “Should make safety number one priority,” Vanya insists. “Say no to dangerous project.”

  “The asbestos will get taken care of long before I go back. Besides, most of my work happens at home, liaising with the legal departments that regulate work on listed buildings.”

  “Listed?”

  Jason nods. “It means protected. Do you remember when we went to Hyde Park? I took a call from Dom there.”

  Vanya busies himself by fiddling with a sachet of sugar. “Yes,” he finally admits. “I’m remember you said no to ugly building.” The sachet rips, Vanya’s face as white as the granules that skitter across the table. “Was because of asbestos?”

  “No. That place was just boring. Not my cup of tea at all. But even buildings like that can be listed if they were designed by someone special or have historic meaning. Listed status always means more red tape, and that’s what I’m paid to untangle. A couple of years ago, that place would have been snapped up already. The market’s messed up right now with all this Brexit nonsense. Not sure how deporting all the skilled builders left in this country is meant to help get us out of recession, but someone will develop that place.”

  “Soon?”

  There’s an edge of abruptness to Vanya’s tone that Jason doesn’t quite know how to address. When he says, “I doubt it,” Vanya’s shoulders slowly lower.

  “The vendors want too much money for it right now, but even if it was cheaper, I wouldn’t advise Dom to buy it. It didn’t float my boat at all.” He puts Vanya’s weak smile down to his use of yet another idiom. “It didn’t excite me.” He shrugs. “I can’t help preferring older projects with a bit of age and character.”

  “Me either.” Vanya’s nod is solemn before he smiles. And just like that he’s back to normal. He even gently pokes fun. “I’m think older projects are best.”

  “Hey! Less of the old.”

  “Sorry. I’m mean mature.” Vanya plants both elbows on the table and rests his chin in his hands. He lowers his voice. “Mature is best project for me too.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes.” He traps one of Jason’s feet between his beneath the table. “Didn’t know before. Feel lucky to find out.” The sun is low in the sky, casting him in shades of rose gold, illuminating him very clearly. His smile is bright, his skin smoothly flawless.

  He could pass for a teen.

  Another tunnel cuts out the light, the window reflecting a man who, theoretically at least, might be old enough to be Vanya’s father.

  It’s Jason’s turn to avoid eye contact. He stares blindly out the window until the pressure of Vanya’s feet around his lessens. A glance across the table shows Vanya’s expression shifting between embarrassment and confusion. When he says a quiet, “Sorry,” Jason finally gets his act together. He pushes their cups aside so he can grasp Vanya’s hand across the table, tightening his grip when it seems like Vanya might pull free. “I do feel lucky, as well. So lucky that this happened. It’s just that you’re so much younger….”

  “And?” Vanya slips his hand from Jason’s when people around them stand, gathering their belongings as the train slows for the next station. “Almost twenty-three is not young.”

  “Twenty-three? For a moment there, you looked a lot younger.”

  “Can’t change face. Should
say if biggest problem.”

  “It’s not. Besides, I’m not exactly ancient.” Forty-four feels exactly the same as fourteen to him, most days. He pauses for a long while as passengers disembark. No new arrivals sit near their table, so he continues. “It definitely isn’t a problem for me, but I feel bad about Andrew.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve given him such a hard time over the exact same situation lately. I feel a little stupid about that now. It was my main reason for ignoring Chantel. I thought what they had couldn’t be important. I assumed it would pass.” His grip tightens a fraction.

  “Know better now so should stop feeling bad about that,” Vanya murmurs while he strokes his thumb across Jason’s wrist.

  “I know.” Chantel must be around the same age as Vanya. “But the way I acted was stupid.”

  Vanya leans over the table to land a kiss. It’s only a quick brush of lips—barely any contact at all—but Jason touches the tips of his fingers to his mouth. “What was that for?”

  “For being smart not stupid. Would be stupid not to see mistakes. Would be easier not to admit.” He nods and says, “Smartest,” like it’s a final judgement that he won’t be swayed from.

  It’s quite a thing to have this much conviction levelled his way. It loosens other worries Jason’s kept tightly bottled. He studies the surface of the table before speaking. “I haven’t been very smart about the house. About Riversmeet. I’m not sure where I stand now.” He pauses when Vanya looks puzzled. “I used to go down most weekends. But it’s late autumn already, and apart from last week, I haven’t been down for close to six months.” He finally looks up, his gaze frank and open. “I was so pissed off, I couldn’t make myself visit.”

  “About new girlfriend.” It’s not even a question. It’s a fact that Jason agrees with.

  “Yeah. But now I think it wasn’t even about her. I was pissed off with him. So pissed off.” His next glance is rueful. “I know how that makes me sound.”

  “Sound like you wanted best. Sounds like you worried.”

  “Still, it was no excuse to cut off my nose to spite my face.” Jason explains before Vanya even has time to question. “Riversmeet is my home. I punished myself every weekend I stayed in London.”

  When Vanya nods, Jason keeps talking. Somehow, thinking carefully about his phrasing so Vanya can understand helps him break it into chunks that are just big enough to deal with.

  “I love London, but it gets tiring.”

  Vanya quickly nods like he understands and says, “Noisy. So many people. Is hard to find peace.”

  “Yes.” Peace of mind was hard to come by even in his flat when work emails amassed and clients constantly called with issues. “If I was really busy at work”—he swivels his phone in Vanya’s direction to point out the power level—“I’d come here at the weekend to recharge my batteries.”

  Vanya’s nod is just as fast as before. “Yes,” he agrees and then presses his lips together as if holding back before he gives up and spills words. “Felt the same about last semester at university. Transferred from hometown to Moscow. Was good to be away from home. Good to have big-city freedom.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “But needed to go home sometimes. Sleep better. Eat better. See Mama and sister.”

  “You were at uni?” There’s so much Jason still has to find out. Having the whole weekend to do so is at least a bright side to facing his demons. “But that’s exactly what I mean. Riversmeet was where I went to recharge. There was always something that needed doing down there.”

  “Doing?”

  “Fixing. Making repairs.” He continues when Vanya nods. “When Mum was alive, I’d go down much more often. Did I tell you that she gave riding lessons? I’d help exercise the ponies and take care of the stables. That kind of thing.”

  “Nice.”

  “It was.” It really had been, a rhythm to his life that he thought would go on forever. “After she….” He takes a quick sip of coffee that’s hard to swallow. “Once all of the horses were gone, there was less reason to visit. But somehow Andrew and I still made it down there for more weekends than we ever missed. We’d catch a rugby match at Cheltenham or just share the kitchen table and get on with work projects in peace. He shrugs. “If I think it through, we could have done all that just as easily in town, but….”

  “You both wanted to go home,” Vanya says as the train slows.

  It’s hard to hear over the train-driver’s announcement but Jason’s almost certain he hears a wistful, “Me too.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Vanya insists on buying flowers for Chantel when they get to Moreton-in-Marsh. He inspects expensive bouquets before selecting a bunch of simple daisies, counting out coins one by one in payment. Then he carefully holds his selection as Jason loads their holdalls into a taxicab outside the station. He lays them across his lap as they leave the town behind, the centre of their blooms only a shade brighter than the yellow stone of the buildings they pass. “Small place,” he says to Jason. “Talk about it so much, I’m expect bigger.”

  “Hey now. Size isn’t everything.” Jason doesn’t keep his voice down, and his gaze across the backseat is amused.

  Vanya checks that the driver is focused on the road ahead rather than watching in the rear-view mirror before quietly saying, “Was talk about town.”

  “So was I.” Jason slings an arm around his shoulder like he doesn’t care one bit that the driver might see them. “I was teasing,” he says. “Anywhere is small compared to London.”

  “Moscow is bigger.”

  “Now who’s bragging?” Jason touches the cellophane wrapping the flowers and changes the subject. “You really didn’t need to bring anything. I already have some wine in my bag.”

  “Is rude to arrive without gift.” Vanya flicks a glance at the driver before settling against Jason, still not used to the way Jason doesn’t seem to care who sees them. It feels so good to lean against him like this as they travel down roads that are so long and so straight that he almost forgets to fear a bad reaction. Instead, he listens carefully as Jason tells him about the places they pass.

  “That’s where I went to primary school.” Again he answers questions before Vanya can ask them. “I was there until I was eleven.” The building they drive past is small, as is the climbing frame in its playground. “I didn’t like it when I first started, but I bloody loved it by the time I left.” He huffs out a quiet laugh, and his next glance is almost bashful. “I was moved here from Bristol. I moved schools quite a few times. Different foster families,” he explains. “I didn’t always fit in.” He shakes his head. “Well, anyway, I got into a fight here on my first day, and that was it.”

  Vanya pictured Jason as a small boy with his fists up, maybe sporting the same kind of black eye he had when they first met. It’s completely faded now, but Vanya still clearly sees it in his mind’s eye. “You win fight? People leave you alone?”

  This time, Jason’s laugh is loud in the confined space, and the driver definitely looks back. Still Jason doesn’t shift position. Instead he pulls Vanya closer. “Nope,” he eventually says once he stops chuckling. “I was the puny new kid,” he explains. “Fighting an eleven-year-old who was head and shoulders taller wasn’t my smartest moment. No way was I gonna win. I don’t know what I thought would happen.” He pauses when the cab crests the brow of a hill. He speaks to the driver. “Can you pull over just before the next left?”

  “What happened?” Vanya asks as the vehicle slows.

  “I’ll tell you in a tick. We’re here.”

  Vanya hesitates as Jason pays the driver. Here is the middle of nowhere. There’s not a house in sight once he gets out of the cab, just a narrow lane leading downhill and a sign shrouded by brambles. Jason continues with his story, one bag slung over each shoulder, before Vanya can do more than pick out a few letters on it. He hurries to catch up and tugs at Jason’s arm until he relinquishes his grip. “Can carry own bag,” he grumbles as he situates the f
lowers between its handles. Besides, freeing up one of Jason’s arms just means that he slings it over Vanya’s shoulder again as they walk.

  He fits perfectly there like they were made to walk together. It feels just as natural to slide his own arm around Jason, his thumb snagged in a belt loop. “Now, finish story,” he demands as they take a slow descent that’s shady.

  “There’s not much to tell.” The wine bottles in his bag clink as Jason shrugs. “Andrew joined in before I got bashed too badly. I’d only arrived at his house the night before, but Mum said, ‘take care of your brother,’ the next morning, like me staying with them wasn’t only a stopgap measure.”

  “Stopgap?” The word is familiar, conjuring an image of the bleak holding room he was kept in during his first nightmarish week in Britain.

  “It means temporary. Something that isn’t meant to last forever.”

  Vanya grinds to a halt.

  Stopgap sums up his whole time here.

  “Weren’t meant to stay?”

  “God, no. I was only meant to be here for a few days, but when the social worker tried to take me home, my real mum had already moved on. No one knew where she went, and by the time they found her, she’d decided life was easier without me. Hey.” Jason sets down his bag. “You okay?”

  Vanya nods but his voice comes out strangled. “Very young to be alone.”

  Jason edges closer to him. “I wasn’t alone. And it all worked out for the best. My foster mum became my real mum, and Andrew kept me out of trouble at school. I wouldn’t have had either of them if things had been different. I loved it here. Every minute, once I finally believed I could stay.”

  It’s impossible for Vanya not to close the last inch of space between them in a tight hug. “This is why house is so important?”

  “Yeah. It’s definitely why I hated Andrew’s last wife trying to sell it. But it’s not only my home. Andrew had to give up a lot to make space for me back then.” His own swallow is audible. “It was his home first, and he still owns most of it, so if he wants to get married again and live here, I’m going to support him.”