9

9

Fen's heart was getting a work-out for all sorts of reasons. When he'd been talking to the Japanese guy, Ripley had been jealous. Fen wasn't sure he understood quite why Ripley liked him enough to feel jealous, plus he knew he shouldn't be pleased about it but he was. Even that modelling scout had given him a boost of confidence, though no way was he interested in being a model. And now Ripley was here in Peckham with him and they were going for a drink and everything seemed possible again.

Baddies was down a side street. Fen had never even noticed it before. He hoped there was somewhere to sit because his hip was aching.

"What would you like to drink?" Ripley asked.

"Lime and diet lemonade, please. Yes, to ice. No, to a slice of lemon. Heavy on the lime."

"Want a monkey swizzle stick?"

"If you come back with one of those, I'll…do something nice."

"Find somewhere for us to sit. I could be a while. I might have to go shopping."

Fen spotted a space at the end of a long banquette, took off his coat and sat down. For a day that had started off badly and could have been horrible when he caught sight of his father at the exhibition, it was ending really well. Ripley had come to the Tate, they'd talked, and Fen accepted Ripley hadn't dumped him because of his BMD.

Though he'd had a niggle of worry about Ripley wanting to see him home. Did he expect Fen to invite him into his bed? Maybe, but that was kind of flattering too, wasn't it? Unless it's a one-night-stand, idiot. You're better than that. You deserve more than that.

Fen heard the warnings in his head, except… was he averse to a one-night-stand? It had been a long while since he'd been with anyone. Apart from his mother's hugs, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been touched with kindness. Though he didn't know if Ripley was the type to be kind or not. If he reacted the wrong way to Fen's room, then at least Fen would know one way or the other if this could go anywhere.

They had very little in common. Fen was much younger than him. Ripley was well off, Fen was poor. Ripley was strong, Fen was weak. Fen wasn't an ideal boyfriend for anyone. But Ripley hadn't backed off once he'd known about the muscular dystrophy. He'd looked it up. And now here he was walking towards him with a beer, a lime and lemonade and one of those little parasols resting on the side of the glass. Ripley put down the drinks, took off his coat, and sat next to him.

"Cheers." Fen touched his glass to Ripley's. "Thank you. Did you ask for a monkey swizzle stick?"

"I thought I was going to get beaten up. The parasol was the best I could do and I had to pay for it because you don't get them in lime and lemonade, mate."

Fen laughed.

"I'm disappointed I don't get the something nice you promised."

"You still might."

Ripley's eyes darkened. "Sure you don't want something to eat? They do food."

"No thank you. The nibbles at the Tate were enough. Have you been to Peckham before?"

"Probably, but I don't remember."

"Do you live in a flat or a house?" Fen asked.

"A house."

"Do you have a garden?"

"A little one."

"It's something I miss about living in a flat, lack of outdoor space. Well, I say miss,but I've never lived anywhere with a garden."

"What's Peckham like?"

"Quite trendy. There are lots of little parks."

"Do you have friends here?"

"No."

Ripley leaned back. "Are you going to tell me who you were trying to avoid at the Tate?"

Fen hadn't thought he'd ignore that. He could see no harm in telling some of the truth. "My father."

Ripley made a sound of surprise. "Would he have recognised you?"

"I doubt it. Before you ask if he was a guest or a waiter, he was a guest. I assume he has some interest in Japanese ceramics and I'm rather disappointed. I don't want to have anything in common with him apart from a few genes."

"And you can't even blame him for your BMD."

"You really did read up about it."

"Your mother is a carrier. Did she know?"

"No. She was an only child and her parents died when she was young."

"Did she tell your father?"

"She told me she had."

"Are you sure he doesn't want to know you? Forgive me for suggesting this, but what if your mother wanted to keep him away from you?"

"She tried to contact him after I was born but he wasn't interested."

"So she said."

Fen bit back his irritation. Ripley didn't know his mother. "I tried when I was ten. Mum had just told me who he was. Up until then, she'd said he was dead. I didn't know where he lived but I discovered he was working temporarily in Greenwich and went to speak to him. I had this idea that if he saw me and I told him who I was, he'd want to talk to me. I didn't want anything from him. Not money or anything like that. Just acknowledgement. I honestly believed he'd be interested to meet me."

He'd been so excited. Planned it all out. His father had been filming in the naval college. Fen had got close, managed to speak to one of the people on the set and pretended his sick mother was desperate for a picture of him with Jack Miller.

"I asked someone to tell him I wanted to speak to him. I waited all day. I eventually found out he'd long gone. I was upset but I convinced myself maybe the man I'd asked hadn't even spoken to him. So I wrote a letter. I was careful. I didn't say I was his son."

"I bet that was tricky to write."

"It took me ages. I used up a whole pad of writing paper. In the end, I lied. I told him I was doing a school project and asked questions that might have hinted as to who I was. I mentioned my mum."

"Where did you send it if you didn't know where he lived?"

"I knew a place that would send on any mail to him. At least I thought that was what would happen."

"And did it?"

"A week later, a letter arrived. Inside the envelope was my letter and written across it Do not contact again." His heart ached as he thought about it. "It was hand written so I think he wrote it. I never tried again. I don't miss what I never had. Actually, that's not true. I do. I miss not having had a dad, though I know it's my idealised version of what a father should be.

"But my mum was and is wonderful. She did her best to ensure I never missed out. We weren't well off and she did lots of odd jobs to earn money. Cleaning, sewing, childminding. She cooked cakes and biscuits for a local café. Some evenings, she worked in the local kebab shop. She wanted so much for me. When I…"

Fen's throat closed up.

"When you what?"

"Doesn't matter."

Ripley put his hand on Fen's knee. "Tell me."

"When I was a boy, I wanted to be a ballet dancer. Mum paid for lessons. I adored dancing. I was teased about it, but I didn't care. I was good enough to be offered a scholarship at the Royal Ballet School."

"That's impressive. You must have been talented."

"I was good. I thought I was going places, that ballet was my future until one day it wasn't." He gestured at his crutch. "If I'd have known what was going to happen in my mid-teens, I'd never have let her waste her money and my heart wouldn't have been broken. But there's no point being sad about it. Ballet had gone and there was nothing I could do. I had to pick myself up and keep going."

Ripley met his gaze. "I'm sorry."

Fen shrugged. "Worse things happen."

"They do, but…that must have been devastating."

"I was broken for a while. I couldn't find a reason to carry on, but I came out of it, sort of put together again. I'm like a piece of kintsugi but not mended with gold."

"You have something very special running through you. A courage that not many would find in themselves."

Fen swallowed. "Doesn't everyone have something that's marked them, a difficulty they've had to deal with? That's one thing my mum told me when I was sad. To look around and imagine what pain others might be feeling. Not many of us go through life unscathed but we have to keep fighting."

Something in Ripley's exhalation told Fen he'd hit a nerve.

"What happened to you?"

"It's not something I talk about." Ripley moved his hand from Fen's knee, and Fen caught hold of it under the table.

"I never talk to anyone about my father. Or about ballet. When you're getting to know someone, you share things."

Ripley glanced around.

"Forget where we are," Fen said. "At least me telling you about ballet here, stopped me crying. I don't like to make a scene."

"Definitely not cut out to be a model then."

"No, and don't change the subject."

Ripley sighed. "When I was eight years old, my father died in my arms."

Fen clutched hard at Ripley's fingers. "Oh shit."

"My mother was out for the day and my father and I were upstairs playing in my room. We heard noises downstairs. When he was sure it wasn't my mother, he rang the police from the phone in the bedroom, and told me to go and hide in the attic. There are little spaces at the side, small doors into the eaves. When we played hide and seek, it was one of my hiding places. I heard a lot of noise, shouting and banging and I was scared but when it all went quiet, I crept downstairs. My father was lying in the hall on his back. There was a pool of blood underneath his head and one of my mother's bronze sculptures on the floor next to him. The front door was open.

"He opened his eyes and the relief… I thought he was all right. I told him he'd be fine, that he had to hang on, that I loved him, I didn't want him to die. I could hear sirens. Then…he…left me. His eyes were open, but he couldn't see me anymore."

Fen gulped. "That's awful." He squeezed Ripley's fingers and Ripley tightened his hold. "What a terrible thing to have happened. Did they catch the person who did it?"

Ripley nodded. "He was a kid. Twenty years old. Drug addict. He's out of prison now. Not been in trouble since, that I know of. I went to the prison on the day he was released and watched him leave. I'd thought about confronting him. His family were waiting. His parents. A brother. I wanted to be angry and I ended up jealous. You were lucky you had a loving mother. Mine wasn't then and still isn't. Her way of dealing with losing him was to ban me from talking about him ever again. She said it would help me get over him faster." He felt his cheek twitch. "She had an ostrich mentality; except they don't actually bury their heads in the sand or they'd suffocate."

"I suppose my mum is a bit like that. She never ever talked about my father. But then I could google and find out whatever I wanted to know. Though I don't. Well, I have a couple of times but… Tonight is the nearest I've ever been to him. Strange thought."

"He's famous?"

Fen hesitated, then nodded.

"I wonder if that's why you look familiar. Who is he?"

"I'd prefer not to tell you. He's not part of my life."

"So we're not sharing everything."

"Not yet. Who he is, is a big thing for me," Fen said. "I've never told anyone."

The conversation changed to lighter topics and they discovered they both loved reading. Fen could talk forever about books—and he did. They both complained about the ending in the same book. They had different favourite authors but they liked thrillers and suspense novels, and some literary novels too.

Fen discovered Ripley was left-handed, played the piano, used to smoke and had insomnia. He liked birds, loved walking in the first light of day when everywhere was quiet and empty. He didn't believe in God. Fen revealed how he had a thing for suits and ties—which made Ripley smile—that he was learning Japanese, he loved Tai Chi, eyeliner and lip gloss, and hated bananas and ants.

When the last order call came, they were both shocked it was so late.

"I need to go. I have a case to read up on tonight. Harry will come and get me."

"It must be lovely to have a driver on call."

"It is. I helped him a few years ago. It's his way of paying me back. I'll walk you home."

As they headed out of the bar, Fen's crutch slipped, and he bumped into a young woman in a short faux-fur coat. He instinctively reached out to stop himself falling and caught hold of her.

"Hey, watch it!" she snapped. "Get your hands off me."

"Leave her alone," someone shouted.

"I'm sorry. It was an accident." Fen shot her an apologetic glance and she glared.

As he and Ripley headed towards the main road, Fen became aware a group had followed them out of the bar and were coming up fast behind them. He glanced back and tensed when he saw the woman he'd bumped into was one of them. The man with her stared straight at Fen. Shit.

Once they'd reached the high street, Fen felt better. There were more people around now.

"Something wrong?" Ripley asked quietly.

"I don't know. That woman I bumped into in the pub. I said I was sorry but I think her and the group she was with are behind us. Keep going. My place isn't far away."

But they didn't get there. Three men moved in front of them to block their way. Fen felt someone shove him from behind and if Ripley's hand hadn't shot out to grab his arm, he'd have fallen.

"Back off," Ripley snapped.

"Look what we have here," one of the men said with a laugh.

Ripley was trying to get Fen behind him, but that wasn't going to happen.

"Your watch, mobile and wallet, or the crip gets it," said the biggest of the guys who was taller and wider than Ripley.

Not happening! Fen didn't hesitate. Guys who thought he was small, weak and helpless, really pissed him off. He freed his crutch from his arm, and drove the end straight into the big guy's stomach. Well, he'd aimed for the stomach but hit him a bit lower down. He cried out as he doubled up. People were yelling, Ripley was tussling with another guy and Fen lashed out, using his crutch as a weapon. He threw himself at a man who was about to thump Ripley and found himself crashing to the ground, though he took someone else down with him by tripping him up with his crutch. There was a flash as a picture was taken. What the fuck?

Someone shouted, "Feds!" and the attack stopped as suddenly as it had started. Everyone scattered, leaving Fen on the pavement and Ripley leaning over, hands on his knees, breathing heavily.

Ripley helped Fen to his feet and gave him his crutch. "Are you hurt?"

"No, are you?"

"I'm fine."

A police car went past without stopping, sirens blaring, and Fen sucked in a breath. "They didn't see what happened."

"Where do you live?"

"A few doors away, above the bookies." Fen pulled his keys from his pocket.

"Harry's just pulled up in the car."

"Then go. It's fine. I'm safe now."

"I'm not leaving you."

Fen didn't want to be fussed over. "Really, I'm all right. Go and read your case notes."

"I'll give you a call. I'm in court all week, away in Leeds for two days, but a meal on Friday? Are you sure you're all right?"

Fen nodded. Ripley brushed his fingers over Fen's lips. "I'll go when your door's locked."

Fen went inside and closed the door. He leaned back against it with his heart hammering. This wasn't the way he'd expected the evening to end.

He slowly climbed the stairs to his room. He'd told Ripley he was fine, but he wasn't. His entire body hurt. Fen had dealt with his fair share of bullying but he'd never had anything like that happen, not a physical attack. But then, they hadn't been trying to rob him but Ripley. And I started it. He slumped on his bed. It was all my fault.

His phone pinged with a message. Ripley.

Are you okay?

Yes. Door locked.

I'll text you when I get back. If anything worries you, call the police.

I will.

When Fen took off his clothes to get ready for bed, he could see bruises already starting to bloom, a side effect of corticosteroids. Was Ripley bruised too? Maybe Ripley would have preferred to hand over his phone, wallet and watch. Fen suspected not and he didn't like to think Ripley would have done that just to protect him. Fen had never shied away from bullies. Once you allowed them power over you, it was much harder to get rid of them. So he'd not handed over money or his phone or done homework for any of those who'd tormented him. Once he'd left school, he'd thought the harassment would stop, but sometimes little arseholes grow up to be bigger arseholes.

A clatter made him sit upright. What the hell was that? When there was a muffled thud and a laugh, Fen went over to the window and peered through the side of the curtain. He could see several figures on the pavement below. One had pulled a bag of rubbish from the litter bin. Another launched a kick at his front door and Fen flinched.

He shuffled to the door of his room, checked it was locked and pushed a chair under the handle. He could hear something happening on the stairs, but he couldn't believe they'd managed to get in. Should he ring the police? He went back to the curtain and looked again. It was a group of four guys and the woman he'd banged into, and they were making a lot of noise and staggering around on the pavement.

"Get it in there," the woman shouted. "Shove it in."

"Fancy a Maccy D?" another called out. "BBQ sauce? Like fries with that?"

There was more laughter.

Fen had a horrible feeling he knew what they were doing. He shifted the chair, unlocked his door and peered down into the stairwell. The motion-activated light came on and he winced when he saw the rubbish piled up on the mat. They were still pushing it through the letterbox and he had no way of stopping them. If he called the police, they'd disappear and if they were caught, it would be Fen who'd pay the price. The best he could hope for was that they got fed up and went home.

He went back into his room, took a black bin liner from a kitchen drawer and some rubber gloves, then went to sit at the top of the stairs. Was there a way he could block the letterbox? He had duct tape, though he did still get some letters. He went to get tape and scissors.

What turned out to be the final delivery was a stream of urine. Oh fuck. Fen went back for a cleaning spray and kitchen roll. He waited until he was sure nothing more was going to be done, then made his way down the stairs. The smell was awful. He could see a baby's nappy and dog poo bags. At least they hadn't ripped those open. Fen put all the rubbish in the bin liner, along with the urine-soaked doormat. He sprayed cleaning fluid over the floor, walls and door, and wiped everything down. The last thing he did was firmly tape up the letterbox in all directions.

He took the bag out through the fire exit, setting it on the latch, so it didn't close and lock him out, and tossed the bag into the bin. When he was finally back in bed, he was bone-tired. He felt weak, pathetic and exhausted. Usually, there was something about the end of the day that Fen loved, but he was struggling to feel anything positive right then. Instead, as often happened when he was overtired, his mind slid onto a path guaranteed to make him low. His muscular dystrophy. He was fed up of having to be careful. All the things he'd once thought he'd be able to try had disappeared from life's menu. No surfing, cycling, skating, climbing mountains. He wasn't even capable of running. Everything was no.

Fen took a deep breath. He was spiralling into misery and it had to stop right now. His phone pinged and he jumped. Fen pulled it into bed with him. Ripleyagain. He took a deep breath before he looked at the message.

Still okay? I should have stayed. I wish I had.

I'm fine. Thank you.

No, thank you, ninja warrior.

Fen smiled. Wish the crutch had been a lightsaber.

So do I. But ouch. Night, Fen. Sleep tight. See you Friday.

Night.

Should he put something else?

Sorry you didn't get something nice.

I did. You defended me. It was a brave thing to do. But then, I already know you're brave.

Fen put down his phone and sighed. Misery had gone. Happiness was back. It was that easy. Wow! Ripley had said exactly the right thing. Fen snuggled deeper into bed. He had a method of sliding into dreams that he enjoyed. By letting his mind wander along familiar paths, he'd found he could project himself into a different life, one where he didn't have muscular dystrophy, one where he was in the ballet corps.

In his dreams he always wore the right thing, said the right thing and had lots of friends. That night, he just had one friend. Ripley was watching him dance and was wide-eyed in wonder. And Fen had never danced so well, never leapt so high.

The dream faded and Fen slid into another. One that touched reality where he was spending time with a man who listened to him. They'd shared painful memories, laughed together and…had been attacked. Fen had been scared but they'd come through it and they had a connection. Fen liked Ripley. He thought Ripley liked him.

Even though Ripley wasn't here with him in his bed, Fen felt the current flow between them, a crackle of energy telling him there was hope for more. Hope for tomorrow. Well, hope for Friday and Fen hadn't had that sort of feeling for such a long time that it both thrilled and scared him. The possibility of more. His heart might have started the end game but Fen hadn't. There was still time.

And when he finally dropped into a deeper sleep, he was no longer trying to escape his life but looking for one he could slide into as himself.