The only difference Shay could recall between the goulash he’d eaten in Newcastle and the one from Ollie’s freezer was the slightly thicker consistency of Eryk’s, but he held his tongue. How many times had he heard his own relatives bicker about the best way to mash a potato?
Oliwia brought coffee to the table too. It was thick and dark, like the brutal potion Ollie drank every morning. Shay yearned for a bucket of sugar to ease the bitterness but powered through, distracting himself by glancing around the colourful kitchen. It was untidy in the best way—strings of sausages hanging from the ceiling and a sack of caraway seeds in the corner. A jet-black cat wandered in and jumped up on the counter. No one shooed it down.
I like it here.Shay settled back in his seat. After a while, he stopped missing Ollie.
* * *
“You shouldgo and see your mother,” Feodor said.
Ollie glanced up from the Sky box he was trying to mend so his grandfather could binge watchOn the Buses. “I will. Maybe. I’m hitting the road again tomorrow, so it might have to wait until I get back.”
“Why do you keep your mother waiting so much?”
“Because she’s as busy as I am. Every time I go round, there’s no one there.”
“So pick up the phone first. Not everyone can be old and housebound like us.”
“You’re not housebound. I bet you were down the bingo hall last night.”
Feodor’s sheepish grin said it all, but his searching stare remained. Ollie sighed and took another screw out of the Sky box. His grandparents had always been like this: Feodor would take him apart with his quiet interrogations while Oliwia would kill him with kindness and food. It was worse than his parents’ nagging, but he never managed to stay away for long.
“Your friend is nice,” Feodor said. “Where’s he from?”
“Derby.”
“I meant where is his family from?”
“I know you did, but I can’t tell you that because I haven’t told him. I’m making a documentary about Shay’s family tree, remember?”
“Oh yes.” Feodor’s cloudy gaze briefly cleared. “And now you have fallen in love with your subject. That’s a TV show in itself, no?”
Ollie needed a cigarette. Thankfully, Feodor puffed liked a chimney, so lighting up indoors wasn’t an issue. He chain-smoked three while he finished up with the Sky box and skirted round Feodor’s obvious curiosity about Shay.
Oliwia brought coffee and cake, but Ollie waved it away. “Thanks, but we should get going. Shay’s going back to work tomorrow.”
“I know,” Oliwia said. “He told me, and he likes my cake. You can bring him again.”
Shay appeared behind her, looking more awake than Ollie had expected to see him. “It’s true, but we should probably go. I have some things to finish up before tomorrow.”
By things, he almost certainly meant the composition he was picking his way through on the instrument Ollie had given him. Watching Shay master it with little more than instinct had been enchanting, but Ollie was fairly sure his neighbours didn’t agree. Still. Ollie didn’t know his neighbours, and he owned the freehold on his flat, so who the fuck cared?
They said goodbye. Oliwia hugged Shay hard, and Feodor didn’t remind Ollie again to go and see his mother. But he didn’t have to. Feodor said a lot, but often the message was in what he chose not to say.
At the Underground station, Shay bounced down the escalators, brimming with energy. “I like your grandparents.”
“So do I.” Ollie eyed Shay’s twitching hands and darting gaze. “Jesus, how much coffee did you drink?”
“Two mugs. Black. No sugar. I think I’m going to be awake for a week.”
Ollie didn’t argue. He was used to nuclear Polish coffee. Shay was used to PG Tips.
On the platform, Shay wandered up and down with the fascination of someone who didn’t live in London. Ollie leaned against the grubby wall and watched him, transfixed as ever but his mind also elsewhere. Kind of. The last few days with Shay had been a bubble of emotion. He was exhausted by it, but not ready to let it go. The sense of being on the edge of the rest of his life was all-consuming, but Ollie didn’t know how to jump. He had to work harder on himself, he knew that. But how?
A train pulled into the station. The pushback blew Shay’s hair out of his face. With his caffeine-widened eyes, he seemed wild, and Ollie craved that freedom more than anything.
They got on the train. Ollie pushed Shay into the corner of a carriage and took his hands. “When you go back to the tour tomorrow, I’m not coming with you.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
