by Con Riley
He could go home with Jason right now and pick up where they left off by sinking into a bed that’s clean and warm and cosy.
Jason’s honesty jabs like one of Anna’s sewing needles. “I really don’t want this to be over.” His tone roughens. “Do you?” He lets out a quick, relieved puff when Vanya shakes his head. “Good. That’s….” His smile reaches his eyes. Hell, it reaches the station rafters. “That’s great. Come home with me tonight then.”
“Can’t.” His excuse sounds hollow, but Jason doesn’t seem to notice. “Have busy day tomorrow. Need to get ready.”
“I could set an early alarm for you,” Jason counters. “You could use my washing machine too, if you don’t have a change of clothes. And my dryer as well.” Another announcement echoes. Jason repeats what he was saying. “Then, if your friend is working in the wedding department tomorrow, we could kill two birds with one stone.” Vanya’s silence makes him rephrase. “I mean, we could travel in together, and then I could speak to him about what Chantel still needs help with.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I will speak to him.”
It only takes a second for Jason to jump to a conclusion. “Ah! Because Chantel would be a private client? Yeah, perhaps it’s better if you two talk first. How about meeting up after?”
“After?”
“After I finish work. Come to my place tomorrow.” Again, Jason acts like the whole world can’t see them. He tugs one strap of his bag to pull Vanya nearer. His kiss is a promise, lingering like his smile. “I’ll cook for you again.” He pulls out his ticket. “Talk to your friend and then come to dinner. Say yes,” he instructs.
Vanya says, “Yes,” when the correct answer has to be no. Involving Kaspar will only make telling the truth much harder. What he needs to do is confess while there’s still some small chance of forgiveness.
Explanations rattle through his head like a train along rail tracks—I was scared and out of options. I feared for more people than me. That’s why I took your money. And that’s why I used the address you mentioned. You were meant to be a client. Now you’re someone who matters. I wish—but Jason’s gone before he can verbalise them, swallowed up by London.
Returning to the squat knocks any wishful thinking out of Vanya’s system. It’s late by the time he gets there, the dark-orange of the city night sky only a faint reminder of the warm glow cast by the wood stove he sat close to last night. He walks fast, sticking to where streetlights shed light until he gets to the alley.
It’s not just dimly lit at this time of night.
It’s completely pitch black.
His steps slow and falter.
“Don’t be stupid,” he tells himself. “Nobody’s there.”
Still, the gap slicing between buildings is deeply shadowed, just like….
His skin prickles.
“Fuck.” He steels his shoulders only to jump out of his skin when something unseen skitters.
A shape looms, tall and broad and hulking.
Vanya turns away so fast that he almost trips over his feet, lashing out with closed fists when his elbow is grasped.
“Hey! Hey! It’s me,” Kaspar quickly says. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I wasn’t scared.” What’s one more lie after all the others? Vanya shakes free of his hold. “What the fuck are you doing hiding in the shadows?” He speaks fast, only pausing when Kaspar catches hold of his arm again, his smile barely visible. “What are you smiling at?”
“I spoke to you in Russian, but you replied in English.”
An approaching car illuminates his face, its headlights revealing a strange expression Vanya can’t judge before the vehicle passes. “So what?”
“It’s the first time you’ve done that.” Kaspar replies in English as well and drapes an arm across Vanya’s shoulders. “I guess staying with your client must have gone well if you can’t stop speaking English.”
“He’s not my client.”
“I know.” Kaspar steers Vanya into darkness that seems absolute until his vision adapts. “Come on. It’s going to rain any minute. I thought I was going to get soaked before you turned up.”
“You were waiting for me?” Vanya stops dead. “How long have you been down here?”
“Half an hour, maybe? Not long,” he shrugs. “Anna looked up the train times, so I figured you wouldn’t be much longer.”
Vanya follows him around the scaffolding and netting that masks the building, fingertips brushing over brickwork, solid in a way that Riversmeet had felt too, but the building he enters isn’t a fraction as warm and welcoming. “You didn’t have to wait for me,” he starts.
Kaspar shuts him down immediately. “We both know you would have survived walking through a pitch-black alley, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to make it easier for you.” He’s no-nonsense about it, like aversion to dark places is normal in a grown man.
Vanya’s chest aches at this simple caring, then it seizes when Kaspar admits, “I needed to get out for a minute.”
“What happened? Did you and Anna fall out?” A month ago, that news would have cheered him. Even a few weeks back, his acceptance of her was pragmatic, three people saving for a way out so much faster than two. Tonight his concern is genuine. “I thought you really liked each other?”
“We do. It’s just I had some bad news.” Kaspar shrugs and mumbles. “My hours have been cut back to almost nothing at work. They say I’ll get more at Christmas, but that’s months away!”
“And she’s unhappy about that?”
“No. Well yes, but only because she’s pissed off for me. She’s looking for more night shifts at the restaurant to make up the difference until I find something better.”
For once, Vanya has something to offer. “You don’t like the idea of being supported?” He wishes that Kaspar didn’t have to learn this lesson. “I get it. But doesn’t it say a lot about her?”
“Who? Anna?”
“Yes.” And this is the biggest lesson London’s taught him. “It’s a sign that she must really like you if she sticks by you when you’ve got no money.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.” The stairwell is so dark it’s inky. Vanya hardly notices, his hand on Kaspar’s elbow as they both climb stairs they can barely see. “So stop moping and start feeling lucky.”
Finding Anna waiting at the top of the staircase confirms Vanya’s judgement. She downplays Kaspar’s work situation as a minor setback even as her smile of greeting tightens. “It will be okay. I’ll find a way to make up the difference.” Then she changes the subject. “How was your weekend?” She moves back as he enters the space they share.
“It was good, but….” Vanya stops in the doorway.
Somehow, a canopy has been rigged up surrounding all their couches. Fabric flows down to tent them, lit by lights so tiny they could be distant stars that flicker. It makes the space magical instead of miserable, something he wouldn’t have believed possible. “How…?”
Anna’s so proud. He sees her real smile instead of that tight one. “The window dressers at work were getting rid of this.” She touches fabric that might be midnight blue in daylight. “This was a backdrop. I was going to make curtains to try to keep out the cold. Then I worried someone might notice from street level, so Kaspar helped me make a canopy instead.”
“And these?” Vanya touches a string of fairy lights that dangle. The glow they emit is faint but welcome. “How—?”
“Solar powered,” Kaspar explains. “They were part of the same display, about to get thrown out.” He shrugs. “It’s not stealing if I found them outside in the rubbish.” Vanya’s not about to argue; he’s charmed, reminded of blanket forts he built for his sister. He nods when Kaspar says, “Now it won’t be so dark in the evenings.”
“It is getting dark so much earlier now,” Anna adds. “I thought they would make it nicer for us while we’re still here.”
Vanya can’t repress a shiver. Desp
ite what he said about home being much colder, he hasn’t ever lived without heating. “It is getting cooler.”
Kaspar opens the canopy. “That’s why I moved all the couches closer together. The fabric will keep out the draughts. I’m just sorry that we’ll have to stay here for a while longer until I find more work.” He turns away.
Vanya quietly asks Anna. “How close are we to having enough for a deposit?”
Her headshake says enough. “I’ll work harder. They haven’t cut my hours yet, and I could pick up more shifts waiting tables at night.” Her tone isn’t at all blaming when she says, “It’s a shame you started dating your client.” She touches one of the fairy lights with the tip of a finger. “If he paid you for a few more weeks, we’d be out of here in no time.”
“Yes.”
At Riversmeet he forgot that this is real life. He fell so easily back into expecting creature comforts, like hot water and heating, but here he has to face the real truth.
“Yes,” he faintly repeats.
A few more weeks of being paid by Jason could make all the difference, especially now only one of them is working close to full-time.
“But,” Kaspar allows, “that’s the cost of falling for someone. It fucks up any chance of you making a profit from him.”
It’s a reality that makes Vanya come to a decision.
“You’re right. I can’t let Jason pay me again. I-I mean… I could, but I don’t want to.” He lifts his chin to meet the gaze of his best friend before shifting it to Anna.
“But I know he’ll pay you.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The heavens open the next evening.
It rains so hard that Jason wonders if it’s hail striking his skylight rather than rain. He mutes the TV news keeping him company in the kitchen and heads to his living room to peer through the window. He can barely see beyond the garden wall. Only the headlights of cars are visible, arcing as they encounter speed bumps. Their brightness dazzles, blinding him for a moment just as Vanya approaches, hurrying and clearly soaked through.
Jason gets to the front door before he can ring the doorbell. “Come in,” he urges. “It’s filthy out there.” Vanya hesitates on the doorstep, his hair so much darker when wet, his clothes completely sodden. He’s truly drenched, shivering as the warmth in the hallway hits him. “Come in,” Jason repeats, this time tugging until Vanya stands inside, his canvas shoes swamped by spreading puddles. He shivers so hard that water droplets flick from his fringe, and he doesn’t argue when Jason says, “You should shower to warm up.” Vanya follows where he’s led and, once in the bathroom, attempts to untie his laces with bone-white shaking fingers.
“Let me,” Jason offers and kneels.
“Don’t,” Vanya gets out, his teeth chattering. “Will get wet too.”
He’s right. A new puddle forms already, liquid leaching into the denim at Jason’s knees, icy cold and soaking. Jason ignores it and unties Vanya’s shoes. “I’ll put these on a radiator. If you get out of that wet gear, I’ll put it in the dryer.” It’s easy to stand and turn on the water in the shower cubicle, much harder not to offer more help when Vanya struggles out of clothes that cling wetly to him.
“O-okay.” Vanya’s teeth still chatter, his shirt caught at the wrists, the rest of the fabric inside out and tangled. “C-can help.” His nipples are tiny and tight, his chest streaked with rivulets of water that are hard to look away from. “Or could just watch while I….” This time, Vanya’s shaking is forced.
“Shiver. The word you want is shiver.” Jason listens as Vanya carefully repeats him. It’s ridiculous how Vanya’s accent does something visceral to him. He’s caught himself listening out for it all day long, ears pricking at accents he normally wouldn’t even notice on multilingual worksites. Today, he’s noticed distinct differences in lilt and cadence that led to him asking questions. Some of the craftsmen he questioned were uneasy as they answered, perhaps expecting the same go-home reaction the tabloid newspapers are currently full of. Others talked more freely about hometowns he’d never heard of, sharing photographs of the families their expertise supported.
None of their accents sounded quite right because none of them were Russian.
The urge to admit that out loud is almost overwhelming, but what the mirror currently reflects distracts Jason—Vanya’s naked behind him, testing the temperature of the water. His lean lines blur as he steps under the spray—by far the best sight Jason’s seen all day long.
Jason leaves the bathroom before he can blurt that too, then he leans his head against the door of the dryer before he loads it. “Get a grip,” he mutters while emptying Vanya’s pockets. He sets his wallet to dry on a radiator and rescues a lumpy paper bag that’s damply spotted. The final thing he retrieves is a sodden, rolled-up strip of fabric. It’s a black tie that unfurls, perfectly plain apart from several spots of vivid yellow.
They’re bees, he sees when he holds it close.
Tiny bees embroidered with minute, perfect stitches.
It’s a reminder of one of their very first conversations; a black and yellow gag gift, perhaps, that’s actually very thoughtful.
Warmth suffuses his chest.
The tie might not be intended for him, he tells himself as he sets the dryer going. Jason snatches his phone off the kitchen counter and texts fast, regardless.
How did you know it wasn’t just sex?
It’s an abrupt question, so he types a quick addition.
I mean, how did you know Chantel was the one?
Andrew replies just as quickly.
When home was too quiet unless she was there.
The sound of the shower filters into the kitchen as Jason nods. No wonder Andrew’s interviewed for new jobs. He can’t say he blames him. Riversmeet used to be where they both balanced their weekday work lives, but Chantel’s whole life is down there; of course Andrew should relocate too.
He checks on the beef dish in the oven while he thinks about Andrew’s answer. It smells good to him as he stirs in some sour cream, but he worries if it’s as authentic as the internet suggested. Another text arrives with a ping.
Got to be honest, I could have noticed sooner.
Three dots appear underneath that message, Andrew still busy typing.
How did I know for sure? I knew when I wanted to do things to please her.
Little things to begin with.
Like remembering her favourite things. She loves Turkish Delight. I buy her a bar whenever I see it.
Jason tugs the damp paper bag close that he found in Vanya’s jacket. It contains a flapjack, square and squashed and sticky.
Then bigger things tipped me off, Andrew continues. Like wanting her to take the spare key and insisting that she use it even when I was in London.
I wanted her in my home, even if I wasn’t there. That was a pretty big clue.
Even if that meant eating her cooking every weekend.
Because here’s the thing, mate.
She wanted to do things for me as well.
Lots of little things that mattered. Like trying to cook my favourite dinners.
He follows that with a green-faced emoji.
Jason smiles as he tidies the counter, wiping around the bunch of dill he bought for the first time to use in what he hopes is a typical Russian salad. Then he sees the meal he’s made for Vanya through new eyes. Little things that matter. Searching the net for Russian cooking tips wasn’t a usual use of his time. His gaze cuts to the tie drying on his radiator as he heads to his bedroom. Andrew’s last texts arrive as he grabs his robe from the back of his bedroom door.
All those little things started to add up.
That’s how I knew she must be special.
He ends with a simple sentence.
Good luck, mate.
Steam billows when he opens the bathroom door. Vanya dries off with one towel while another wraps his waist. He accepts the robe Jason offers, but before he takes it from him, his fingers—warm now in
stead of icy—slip around his wrist to pull Jason closer. “Thank you.” Vanya’s kiss is warm too, his torso still wet in places when Jason wraps his arms around him, hands easily skimming from his shoulders all the way down to the curve of his arse where the towel clings damply.
Vanya’s pink cheeked, smells of Jason’s shower gel, and might be the best thing he’s ever found in his bathroom. When he says, “Thank you,” again, like a simple shower and bathrobe mean the whole world to him, Jason can hardly speak.
“It’s nothing,” he finally gets out as he backs out of the bathroom, steam curling into the hallway with him. “Get dry. Then come and choose something of mine to wear while the dryer’s running. I’ll be in my bedroom—left at the end of the hallway.” He’s digging through his chest of drawers when Vanya finds him, damp hair finger combed into neatness, swamped by a robe several sizes too big. “Here.” The joggers Jason pulls out have a drawstring waist. He finds a long sleeve jersey that’s shrunk. “These aren’t exactly couture, but they should do you until your stuff’s dry.” He snags a jacket from his wardrobe. “And this might be a bit big, but it’s waterproof and padded. I know you’re all about being fashion-forward, but it will keep you warm and dry on the way home. Take it with you later.”
Vanya doesn’t answer.
When Jason turns, he’s studying a picture, one that’s hung on the wall for so long it barely registers these days. It’s a cross section of a building showing each brick and joist and noggin. “That was my first paid project for Dom.”
“Where is…?” Vanya points. “Where is wood? Biggest wood. Long, like you showed me?” He frowns at Jason’s laughter. “What is so funny?”
Jason tries hard to keep a straight face. “The word ‘wood’ sometimes has another meaning.” He stands behind Vanya. “It depends on context, but I do like that you’re interested in mine.”
“Yes?” Vanya leans back, his body radiating heat now that seeps through what Jason’s wearing. The robe slips from his shoulders when he twists. “What is other meaning?”
Jason kisses bare skin, lips brushing the pale slant of Vanya’s traps, his throat, and his lips before answering. “I’ll show you after dinner.”