13

Ilya had to be woken for breakfast. It was as though he was making up for all those nights when Bryant had made sure he couldn't sleep. The phone was still in bed with him and he wrapped his fingers around it. Last night… Well, it had been interesting. Julien might not have answered his questions, but there'd been no repeat of "I'm not gay". Instead, there'd been several bursts of laughter that maybe weren't appropriate from a straight guy, laughter that had sent thrills zipping down Ilya's spine. But best of all there had been some familiar-sounding, if quiet, laboured breathing. Ilya was pretty sure Julien had come too.

That had to mean something, didn't it? But what? Ilya thought about it for a long time. His conclusion, that Julien was a closeted gay or a closeted bi, or maybe demi-sexual—though that was a big jump—and he only felt safe to be himself—whatever that self was—when he was on the phone. Or had Ilya worked some magic? Julien really is gay for me!

He did smile at that. Still delusional then? Yes, he was and he probably always would be because it kept him hopeful when things were really bad. He felt pride in not giving up under pressure from Bryant. He'd stayed true to himself. He still worried he might have hit him too hard, but there was nothing he could do about that now.

Ilya decided to come down on the side of Julien being bi-curious, still manoeuvring his way through his sexuality. He just needed a bit of hand-holding or dick-holding if Ilya got the chance and was brave enough.

Oh fuck, please let me be brave enough. He found it hard to stop thinking about Julien. He was looking forward to seeing him today, though he was a little concerned about how Julien might react when they were face to face. Would he be embarrassed? Would he smile? Be more friendly? Or pretend last night hadn't happened? A one-off, never to be repeated. Another mistake. Ilya's spirits sank. That bloody pessimism can fuck right off. Everything would be fine. He'd make it fine. He'd be chatty and normal and not push.

Me not push? Is that even possible?

It was hard not to be eager and excited every time a visitor came onto the ward, but each time he looked up and it wasn't Julien, his disappointment increased. He picked up the phone several times, tempted to call him, but that was pushing and not a good idea. Then one of the nursing staff came to tell him that Julien had phoned to ask how he was. Did that mean he wasn't coming today? Wasn't coming at all? Ever?

"I hope you told him I'm dying and he'll be out of my will if he doesn't turn up. Everything will go to the cat."

The nurse laughed. "I told him you were doing well. Model patient. Quiet and well behaved."

"Then can I leave?"

"See what the doctor says."

The answer was no. Ilya was still on intravenous antibiotics and there were a few things they were keeping an eye on, described by a guy who looked younger than him, using medical jargon that Ilya mostly didn't understand. He was well enough to feel bored, though he seemed to be constantly falling asleep. There was a TV he could have watched, but he had no way of paying for it. There was nothing to do but sleep and think, and he did plenty of the former and too much of the latter. Every time he woke, he opened his eyes hoping to see Julien.

When he finally gave in and allowed himself one little push, and tried to call him, the bloody phone was dead. He assumed it had run out of minutes. When he thought about it, maybe that was why Julien had contacted the ward and not him. But if he cared enough to phone, why hadn't he come in? Ilya had memorised the number from the mobile, but he didn't have any money to use a public phone.

He curled up in bed and tried to figure out what to do if Julien didn't come back. With no money or passport—he'd checked the bag Julien had brought in, just in case—his options were limited. Not just limited. Non-existent. He'd have to ask for help and he'd probably be forced to tell the story about how he came to be in the UK, not even having gone through immigration. Mentioning his father could only lead to trouble, but what choice did he have?

Two long and disappointingly visit-less days later, Ilya was told he was well enough to be discharged. Fucking Julien! He'd not even called the ward. Ilya was on his own. He'd spent too long thinking about the guy, wishing he'd come, instead of fathoming out what to do. Now time had run out.

Free of all monitors, he pulled the curtains closed around the bed and slowly dressed. His new clothes seemed too big; the dark pink T-shirt was no longer attractively tight and the jeans hung on his hips. Had he lost more weight? Probably, the food wasn't good. There was a sweater in the bag but no coat and he'd heard the nurses saying how cold it was outside. Shit.

He was handed his medicine and told to check in with his GP. What GP? Had they not read his notes?

"Is your friend meeting you?"

asked one of the nurses.

"I hope so."

Maybe she saw the doubt on his face.

"If you have nowhere to go, we can speak to someone."

"I'm sure my friend will be waiting."

No, he wasn't, though right up until the moment Ilya walked out of the ward, he hoped Julien might turn up, but there was no sign of him. So much for his delusional optimism.

As he went down on the lift, his heart felt so heavy it ached. No money, no passport, no story anyone would believe. Pizdets! A fucked-up situation and he could see no way out. By the time the lift doors opened on the ground floor, his eyes were full of tears and he fucking hated crying. What good was that going to do? He needed to get outside and find some quiet corner where he could take a few deep breaths instead of continuing this stupid rapid, shallow breathing that was bringing him to the edge of sobbing. He'd snuffle quietly into his arm where no one could see him. That sounded like the start of a plan. But as he headed for the exit, head down, shoulders down, someone stepped in his path.

"Sorry."

Ilya moved left and so did the person in front of him. Oh fuck it. I'm not apologising again.

He looked up. Even though Julien was wearing a hoodie, Ilya could tell his hair had been cut short, and his first thought was—I want to hit you. He'd had time to get a haircut but not to come and see him? "Move out of the way."

"No."

Ilya stepped right and so did Julien. Ilya clenched his fists.

"Don't draw attention,"

Julien whispered. "Give it a moment, then follow me."

Ilya did as he was told because what else could he do? Go and sulk outside? Julien had his money. He wanted it and his passports back. Julien headed through a door marked car park and Ilya waited a while, then trailed after him. When he pushed open a door at the bottom of the stairs, Julien was beckoning from several metres away.

Ilya walked over.

"I need you to wait here because it's out of range of the CCTV. I'm going to get the car. Lie down in the back. I'll stop somewhere in a few miles and you can get in the front."

Ilya swallowed hard as Julien walked away. Had something else happened? Why all the subterfuge? Oh fuck, of course something's happened. His heart pounded with anxiety now.

Julien pulled up in a silver sports car. Not a new one.

Ilya slid into the back and lay down. It was a bit cramped. "Is someone watching?"

"I hope not. I want to reduce the risk of either of us leaving a trail."

Was that why he'd not come back to the hospital? Nor phoned? What had happened? And where were they going? On the other hand, did he care? Ilya hated to be needy or to even sound needy, but at that moment, he was needy. He didn't even dare feel relief that he wasn't having to fend for himself. Besides, he couldn't trust anyone, including Julien. He was pleased he'd managed to keep all that in his head. Now make it stay there!

The car eventually stopped and Julien turned to look at him. His hood was down. Ilya thought he liked his hair better a little longer. He looked tougher now. Formidable.

"You can get in the front."

Ilya left his bag of medicine in the back and joined him. Julien set off again.

"How are you feeling? How's your arm?"

"Okay. I had a line of doctors who wanted to look at my stitches after I told them you were the Bayeux champion. Except the Bayeux tapestry wasn't done in cross stitch apparently, you fibber."

Julien chuckled. "What happened to the phone?"

Ilya put it in the centre console "It died. Congestive heart failure. It needed electric shock therapy. Minutes or a charger. Which you failed to bring."

He took a deep breath. "Did you try to call me? I thought you'd abandoned me. What's going on? Where are we going? You're not…" He sucked in a breath as a thought struck him. The ransom thing?

"What?"

"Are you taking me back to my father in exchange for money?"

"What? No. We're going to Essex."

"Oh. Essex. Note the disappointed voice. Not Hawaii? Or Bali? Or the Galapagos?"

"Not this time. We need to lie low for a while. I've been making sure everything was okay with where we're going. I only came back this morning."

"But I could have missed you. You could have missed me. That elegant pas de deux in the hospital entrance might never have happened. Oh, I understand. It's fate. Ahhh. We were destined to meet. Now I feel better."

"I called ahead to find out what time you'd be released."

"Stamp on my dreams, why don't you? They didn't tell me you'd called. Only that first day. Then I decided you'd abandoned me. I‘ve been fretting about how I was going to survive."

"What would you have done?"

"Once I'd pulled myself together, I'd have walked until I dropped. It wouldn't have taken long. Possibly ended up back in the hospital since I'm still wearing my bracelet. Or walked until I found some kind person with no ulterior motives to take care of me. That would have taken longer. It isn't that I want to be taken care of. I've managed on my own since I was eighteen. But with no money and no ID, my choices were limited. Prostitution? Someone, somewhere might pay for my services. Though it wasn't a route I wanted to take. I'm not sure I could be with anyone unless I fancied them. And you can't be picky, can you, if you're being paid? Not even if you don't like their haircut. You'd just have to grin and bear it. Maybe not grin."

Julien's cheek twitched.

"I could steal,"

Ilya said. "I've already proved I can do that. I could pick a pocket or two, but I'd feel terrible. The easy targets are mostly people who can't afford to lose their purse or wallet. Shit! That makes me sound as though I'm a thief. I'm not. Though you are."

"Hmm."

"I never intended to keep that necklace. It was a means to an end."

"Though not with the end you hoped for."

"Remains to be seen. Gun for hire? Though I don't have a gun. Never had one. Don't know how to use one. Don't want to know how to use one."

"You think you could kill someone?"

"I might have already but it wasn't intentional. Who knows what they're capable of when their life is threatened."

He took a deep breath. "I told you I talk a lot when I'm nervous. Sorry. So what's wrong? Do I want to know? I probably don't, but… I sort of do, and I wasn't making a comment about your hair."

"Yes, you were."

Ilya groaned. "I like it longer."

"I needed to look different."

"I look the same."

"Stop worrying."

"Two words to guarantee I will keep worrying."

"Drink some water. There's some chocolate in the glove box."

Ilya opened it and a cascade of chocolate bars tumbled out. "My God. Who else are we feeding?"

"I bought one of everything. I wasn't sure what you'd like. And it takes a long while to get out of London."

Oh, that was sweet. Except Julien wasn't sweet and he was trying to distract him. Oh yum, a finger of fudge. I'm distracted.

"You want something?"

Ilya kept the fudge out and began to put the rest back.

"I'm fine."

Ilya unwrapped the slender bar and sucked the chocolate from the top. He liked to do that until it dissolved in his mouth. Well, he had when he'd been a teenager and last eaten one, purchased from the school tuck shop. Lick, suck, nibble, chew, swallow—repeat. He could make them last ages.

His mind stopped racing and he settled down. He was okay. He was safe for the time being. That was enough. He was with Julien. That was more than enough.

Ilya hadn't intended to fall asleep but he did.