Be My Best Man

by Con Riley

  “No.” Last night panic had overwhelmed him before he could get a word out. That same reaction surged back this morning the moment Jason laid all his lies out before him.

  “Did you at least tell him that you didn’t want to do it? Any of it?” Kaspar leans closer, forcing him to maintain eye contact when he’d much rather close his. “I was the one who let him think you were a personal shopper, not you. I was the one who said we should live here until we saved the deposit. You must have told him that much?”

  “N-no.” Forming words had been impossible in any language. “Anyway, I didn’t think he’d listen.”

  “Ivanushka.” Kaspar’s tone is tired but kindly. “He’d listen to you tell him that black was white, if only you spoke up. You could tell him anything at all, and he’d want to believe you.”

  All Vanya can do is shake his head. There’s no way Jason will trust him ever again or believe an apology, no matter how it’s phrased.

  “He would,” Kaspar insists. “Because he’s fallen for you almost as hard as you’ve fallen for him.” His voice lowers. “Did you think we didn’t notice? You look like he hung the moon every time you mention his name. Surely he’s got to know the way you feel about him?”

  “He won’t believe me after last night.”

  “Why?” Anna sounds just as gentle as her boyfriend, her hand a slight, warm weight on his shoulder. “What happened?”

  “I-I was looking forward to seeing him. B-but….” He sets down his cup with a clatter. “He was already furious when I got there. I understand now, but yesterday I didn’t. I went to greet him like usual, but he grabbed my jacket to pull me inside.” He can guess why, now that he’s had time to think about it; Jason hadn’t wanted to air his dirty laundry in public, that’s all. “But I… I—” He closes his eyes before blinking them open just as fast when a circle of men he has no hope of escaping lurk behind his eyelids.

  Kaspar says it for him. “You had a panic attack. About what happened to you in Moscow?” His next words are aimed at his girlfriend. “I used to have the room next to his at the hostel. I heard him scream through the wall just about every night after he moved in. That’s why we ended up rooming together—it saved getting up to wake him.”

  “I lost it.” That short phrase doesn’t even come close to Vanya’s loss of control. “I fought him off when he wasn’t even trying to hurt me.” That much is crystal clear now.

  “You fought him?” Kaspar sits back. “I’ve never once seen you do that, not even at your worst. You usually freeze. What the hell did he do to make that happen?”

  “Nothing.” Hindsight lends more insight. “It wasn’t what he did, it was the location, I think. It was dark without the lights on, and his hallway is quite narrow.” The walls had seemed to close in so fast; it had been so convincing. Even now he has to blink a few times to be sure he’s not back there. “I didn’t see it as his home at all. The moment he put his hands on me, I was back where….”

  “Back where they nearly killed you.”

  All Vanya can do is nod.

  “You had a flashback, some kind of panic attack. You were terrified, so you lashed out and ran.” The jut of Kaspar’s jaw is familiar when anger colours his words. “But he ignores all that and instead, he came here today to pick up where he left off—”

  “No!” Finally Vanya’s voice finds some volume. “No.” His headshake is so vehement that his borrowed jacket slips from his shoulders. “He came here to find out if I was okay. It was the first thing he asked. And he came to bring me this jacket.” He picks it up from the floor. “Last night I thought he was grabbing me like they did. I slipped out of it when he held on, and then I left it behind. He was worried.” It’s hard to get out the next sentence, so perfectly describing Jason. “He was worried I’d be cold.”

  He hugs the jacket tightly until he feels a bulge in one of its pockets.

  It contains the last thing he wants.

  “What’s that?” Anna takes it from him and then removes the band to count. “A hundred pounds,” she quietly utters as she rolls the band around it again. “Why would he give you money if he doesn’t care about you?” She holds it out like it’s proof. “He must still care if he brought you this. He must want another chance.”

  Vanya shakes his head. It’s not a gift, he knows. It’s the payment he refused to take after their last fake appointment.

  “It’s not a second chance.”

  Jason’s paid the last of his debts so he owes Vanya nothing.

  Vanya’s had worse nights, he supposes, but it’s hard to compare what keeps him awake this time to the last time he hurt so badly. Others caused that agony, while this pain is self-inflicted.

  It’s a truth that’s hard to swallow while regret tightens his throat.

  He lies awake and wonders. Did Jason sound hoarse at the end of their one-sided conversation because he felt the same way—regretful and so sad? Is he watching shadows cross his ceiling right now, rewinding and replaying each of their conversations, wondering why Vanya didn’t ever take the chance to come clean?

  Somehow minutes tick past, hours dragging towards morning excruciatingly slowly. The light is meagre when dawn breaks, but eventually it’s bright enough for him to focus on the roll of cash Jason left him. It’s also more than enough light to see what Anna does shortly after waking.

  Maybe she couldn’t sleep too. She certainly appears tired as she folds clothes, steadily gathering objects they’ve collected since sharing this space together. A postcard, a favourite book, and a scarf all get added to the large bag she shoulders.

  There’s the stone Kaspar found on their first date, shaped like a love heart. He watches as she cradles it in her palm. She pauses next by the fir cone Vanya brought home from Riversmeet that first time, her touch lingering for a moment before she slides it carefully into her bag too, like it’s very precious.

  She’s packing like they might need to leave any minute, gathering every single thing here that has meaning to them.

  Anna moves with quiet purpose while Kaspar’s still sound asleep, scooping up his possessions as well. She only pauses when she gets to the table covered with wedding favours. Her hand shaking when she touches a ribbon prompts him to speak out.

  “You don’t need to pack.” It’s the only thing he’s certain of right now. “Jason won’t tell anyone we’re here, not before the wedding.” After that is anyone’s guess. Getting thrown out is what they always half-expected, but Jason won’t make that happen until the wedding is over.

  Anna finally crouches next to him. She inclines her head at the roll of cash. “What are you going to do with it?”

  If he adds it to the wedding payment, it’s more than enough to make a difference. Kaspar could sign a lease this weekend and have some left over. For once, that thought doesn’t give him any pleasure. Loss settles low in his chest, heavy and relentless, bruising his ribs from the inside and making his eyes water.

  “I don’t want his money.”

  “I know.” She wipes his damp cheeks with the hem of her sleeve. “Do you want me to come with you today?”

  “Where?” Moving from this spot is far too hard to consider. He’s exhausted—tired in heart and bone and body.

  “To the immigration centre. Did you forget your appointment?”

  It takes time to pull himself together, even longer to get ready for a meeting that couldn’t be worse timed if he planned it. For once, he doesn’t bother to dress up before gathering his folder of documentation, thicker now than ever. It’s filled with everything he’s found online reporting his attack as justice instead of as a hate crime the authorities did nothing to counter. All those hours at the library reading that Russia was well rid of a potential pervert sure to ruin the lives of children had hurt. His ears rang sometimes, knowing the same accusations must have filtered back from Moscow to his hometown, but he printed every sentence in case they might somehow save him.

  But for what?

  So he m
ight get to stay here knowing he’s lost the one man who matters?

  It’s a thought he mulls over alone on the long bus journey to the centre, oblivious to the dismal weather as he walks through drizzle to queue for a ticket. Numbers get called out as he waits, but it’s hard to pay attention or to care if he misses his turn.

  For once, it doesn’t matter that only a few rows of plastic seating block him from real freedom, and he barely listens to what the official says when his turn eventually comes. What’s the point in concentrating when he has about as much chance of being granted asylum as he has of convincing Jason that he wants so badly to love him?

  And he does.

  He wants to love him so much it hurts more than his Moscow beating.

  It isn’t possible to sink any lower.

  “…and after five years, if it’s still unsafe for you to return, you can apply for a legal status called Indefinite Leave to Remain.”

  Vanya has to ask the official to repeat his last sentence, sure that he misheard him.

  The official does so, citing immigration rules Vanya knows by heart—he’s definitely at risk of persecution in Russia, his government making no promise to safeguard him if he’s returned.

  Vanya deserves the fullest extent of British protection.

  His claim for asylum is granted, at last.

  He can stay in Britain.

  When the official says, “In the meantime, all prior restrictions on your stay are lifted,” hope that Vanya thought had burned out flares, bright and hot and shocking.

  He sits in full view of a sea of strangers who washed ashore in Britain from the world’s four corners, overwhelmed with emotion when they offer warm congratulations in languages he can’t name. Children clap their hands, spurred on by their parents’ cheers, and even the official cracks a small smile when Vanya repeats a dazed “Thank you” over and over.

  He leaves the immigration centre clutching a folder describing a horror story that turned out to be the key to unlocking a safer future on this island. Still, he can’t bear to put his new official papers next to everything so awful. Instead they’re snug in the breast pocket of Jason’s jacket, rustling next to his heart as he sees this grey city through new eyes, even though they’re tired and red rimmed.

  London is dirty and overcrowded, its unspoken rules of conduct sheer cliffs much taller than its skyscrapers, almost impossible to scale by newcomers who barely master English, but when the sun peeks through dark clouds, he’s struck by its beauty.

  It resides in every library where all are welcome regardless of where they come from and in every story listened to there by children from so many nations, and now… now he has a chance to give back.

  Finally he can make a difference in their futures.

  Surely that alone is worth the pain that’s been his shadow for so long.

  And if he’s fought to escape that shadow, and won, there’s one more battle he can take on.

  He can damn well fight for Jason.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The next Monday finds Jason back in Bond Street. The coffee shop windows are steamed up, warmth hitting him as he enters along with the scent of freshly ground beans. He takes a seat opposite his brother.

  Andrew doesn’t look up from dissecting a single flapjack very carefully into equal pieces. “You do realise,” he says as he slices, “that it’s me who’s meant to get cold feet around about now, not you.”

  Jason focuses on the chocolate powder topping the cappuccino Andrew’s purchased. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Andrew pushes the plate his way. He waits until Jason’s mouth is full before explaining. “I mean, for a best man, you’re awfully hard to get hold of considering I’m getting married at the weekend. All I can say is thank goodness you made it up with Vanya.” He continues blithely like he doesn’t notice Jason stop chewing. “At least he’s keeping me up to date with what’s happening at home. And Anna’s a godsend.”

  Vanya’s at Riversmeet right now?

  It’s not exactly what Jason expected. Not after outright threatening to report him.

  As he chews, part of him feels sick about making that threat without thinking. He only wanted Vanya to keep his distance, but today’s news reads like fiction—gay men rounded up like cattle in a distant part of Russia. Chechnya might be a thousand miles from Moscow but politically that’s no distance. Perhaps fear of something like that in his future is why Vanya chose to come to London.

  Hearing he’s at Riversmeet is awkward. A week ago, having him there was all Jason wanted. Now it’s salt in a wound that has no chance of healing.

  Andrew speaks like he has no idea there’s a problem. “I thought them both going down early was a good idea when Vanya suggested it.”

  “He spoke to you?”

  “Yes, didn’t he mention it?” Andrew’s eyes narrow a little. “Maybe if you’d return calls from people who care about you once in a while you’d know so.” He sips coffee before adding what sounds like the real reason for this meeting, “Chantel said she tried calling you a few times too. She’s worried something’s up.”

  This is exactly why he’s gone silent. The irony isn’t lost on him that he’s caused her concern, not Vanya. “I’m fine.”

  “She wondered if the wedding being so close now was getting to you. You know, after the last ones didn’t work out so well.”

  Jason’s starting to see it’s typical that she thinks of him when, by rights, she should be a bridezilla right now.

  “She also wondered if you wanted to come down early too, rather than leaving it until Friday.”

  That sounds like an awful idea.

  Spending as little time with Vanya as possible is the only way to get through this.

  “I can’t. I’m way behind on a project for Dom. I’ll have to catch a late train on Friday.”

  “Just don’t leave me standing at the altar.” Andrew’s watchful over the rim of his cup. The small scar on his top lip whitens. “I’m not getting married without you right there beside me.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.” The flapjack tastes dry despite being soft and sticky. It takes an age before Jason next swallows. “You must really trust her.” Luckily, it doesn’t come out as a question.

  Andrew certainly answers like he hears it as a statement. “I do. And I trust that we both want the same things.” His feet nudge Jason’s under the table and their ankles knock together like they had as kids at their kitchen table. His voice lowers. “Everything that’s happened has been worth working through together. Every single problem only means we know each other better. None of it’s been easy, but all of it’s been worth it.” The smile he casts across the table is desperately fond.

  He looks so much like his mother.

  “I thought I knew what real love felt like.” Andrew’s ankle knocks against his once more. “Turns out I only scraped the surface, and I think it’s because I’ve learned to listen, at last.” Then he adds out of nowhere, “Like you do to Vanya.”

  They’re words, that’s all, not a punch to his stomach.

  Just words, not a reason to stand up so abruptly.

  “I’ve got to go.” Jason stares at the blank screen of his phone as if reading a text. “Dom needs me.”

  Andrew pulls the plate closer. “More flapjack for me, then. Just don’t be late for the wedding.” He raises a piece to his mouth, happiness seeping from him like syrup. It’s the one good thing about this whole disaster—something Jason hadn’t dreamed he’d ever get for himself until it was almost within reach. Andrew’s last words ring out. “It’ll be your turn next.”

  Jason nods, when inside he’s so sure he’ll never get to have this.

  Jason takes a late train down on Friday evening, sitting alone while trying to summon some excitement for the wedding the next day, only his thoughts won’t settle. He tries looking out of the window, but there’s not much to see beyond his own brooding reflection and the haze that halos London as he leaves it. It grad
ually recedes and the sky darkens, but he’s too engrossed in an internal show reel by then to pay much attention. In his mind’s eye, highlights play on a loop showing someone who should still make him angry.

  It’s ridiculous that missing Vanya takes up so much headspace.

  Once the ticket inspector passes, he closes his eyes only to replay more moments he could really do with forgetting. His memory supplies Vanya’s smile across a similar train table, so open while aimed in his direction.

  He has to stop thinking about him.

  He has to.

  At least he can stop pretending once the wedding is over. Or maybe he’ll wait for a little while after. No point making Chantel unhappy right after her big day. Doing that would be a whole lot easier if Andrew stopped texting him so often, extolling Vanya’s virtues. Another message arrives as the train slows down at a station.

  Your man is working so hard. I feel like I should pay him a bonus, only he won’t take any money.

  The urge to type, that’s because he’s illegal comes and goes in a fleeting moment. The more he’s read and researched this week, the more he’s learned about living in the UK without a visa. Vanya must have subsisted on fresh air. Part of him thinks that’s rational, but another part can’t help recalling how politely ravenous he was every time Jason fed him.

  Another text arrives before he can fall into another if-only cycle.

  Everyone’s staying at the hotel tonight apart from us. Don’t wait up; I’ll see you for breakfast in the morning.

  Good. That means he won’t have to deal with seeing Vanya until the service.

  Got to say, Andrew persists, Vanya and Anna have been amazing. His next text is equally complimentary. Vanya got all the kids from Chantel’s class to take part in the wedding. They just had a dress rehearsal that was epic. You’d think he was her brother for all the care he’s taking of Chantel.

  That smarts in a way Jason can’t pinpoint.

  Part of him wants to rail about Vanya’s skill at lying, but a bigger part of him revisits doubts that won’t quit niggling at him. They haven’t let up since he walked away down that alley.