They returned a couple of hours and many pints later, and he eyed the house warily to see if they were both still in the clear before letting himself in. The post had arrived. He kicked it out of the way for Ben to open later. One small packet caught his eye, though. He bent and picked it up. He had to steady himself on a wall when he rose as the pain in his head stabbed him right behind his injured eye. The package was addressed to Christian Beck, no return address and delivered by hand. He held it for a long time, debating, turning things over in his mind.
Eventually, he stepped over the bags once more and went into the kitchen. He sat at the counter and ripped the top of the envelope open, peering cautiously inside. It was full of photographs. This never boded well, in his experience—and it didn’t now. He eased a picture out and flinched, the pain now thumping, thumping, right in the tender part of his temple. A man slumped, bloodied and broken. He recognised him. He’d once been the imam of a mosque in Azerbaijan, until he’d encountered Aleksey Primakov. He pulled out another, a woman holding out her hands, begging for mercy. He’d not given it—he remembered her very well. He dropped the envelope of his victims back onto the counter and backed away. He tripped and fell over one of the bags. Radulf was immediately standing over him, his head to one side, listening for a danger he couldn’t perceive. It calmed Nikolas, and he put his hand out to pat him, climbing stiffly to his feet. He swallowed a few times, trying to put off the inevitable, but he knew he was going to be sick. He made it to the bathroom in time. Retching almost killed him. He felt like his entire blood supply was in his head—behind his temple. He crawled slowly to the bed and onto the rumpled sheets then collapsed.
§ § §
Ben liked arriving at Tim’s unannounced, and it had become something of a joke with them. This time when he arrived, however, he regretted his decision not to call first. Tim was moving out. John, apparently, had finally made his views on Tim’s open relationship arrangements very clear by starting a new relationship with a student—one that didn’t include Tim. That there was almost forty years age difference between John and his new protégé hadn’t, apparently, been a deterrent to either. As the cottage belonged to John, Tim was effectively evicted. He was moving back in with his parents until he found himself somewhere else.
All this had been evident to Ben in the first few minutes, but he heard more of the story as they sat drinking tea, staring at Tim’s boxes and books. John, and the delightfully named Sebastian, had gone out for the day to give Tim some space and, presumably, so they didn’t have to help him with the boxes. It’d been something of a shocking reunion for both of them, Tim taken aback by Ben’s appearance—the hair and the unmentionable but telling scar on his wrist—and Ben shaken by the idea of John just casting off twelve years of relationship for a younger version of Tim. This didn’t sit too well with Ben, also a younger partner, or with Tim. He was very bitter, and Ben could sense he’d not given up without a battle—which he’d obviously lost. Tim glanced at his watch. “They’ll be back in a couple of hours. I don’t want to see them.”
Ben nodded sympathetically. “Do you want me to kill this Sebastian git?”
Tim grinned. “Excellent idea. He runs every night along the river. It should be easy. I’ve thought about it, but, hey, coward here, as you know.”
Ben glanced outside. “I promised I’d be back before dark, but I guess I could wait, do it, and then ride back.”
Tim glanced over. “We are only joking, right?”
Ben did a small regroup and said brightly, “Yeah, course. Nutter. So, boxes to move?”
Tim grinned evilly. “I’ll put them in my new Merc, yeah?That, he’s not getting.”
Tim’s parents lived in Bristol, so they had to make sure everything went into the car in one trip. Ben was following on his bike so they could load up every spare inch of space. They were done by two and set off. Tim’s parents were cool, but they lived in a tiny terraced house with no parking except for a council car park some half a mile away. Then it started raining. By the time they’d finished with the last box and had crammed everything into Tim’s boyhood bedroom, they couldn’t actually get in. Tim tried to act unconcerned and said he’d sleep on the couch.
“How’re you going to get to work from here?”
“I’m not due back until the end of March anyway. I’m doing a series of guest lectures at the LSC through February. I think that may’ve been the final straw for John—me being off in London for two months.”
“So, what’re you going to do until February?”
Tim didn’t seem quite so brave now. He was a thirty-year-old man who’d just realised he was back living with his parents. He looked very much alone.
§ § §
Ben was surprised Nikolas was in bed and asleep when he got home, but it was much later than he’d expected, so he slid between the covers and rehearsed his news for a while so it would sound as good as possible in the morning. When he woke, Nikolas was still sleeping, so he headed downstairs to make tea. Dubious news should always be accompanied by tea. His news didn’t sound quite so good in the bright light of day surrounded by the bags and a pile of laundry, which, he noticed, hadn’t moved since the day they’d arrived back.
§ § §
Nikolas woke feeling as though he’d been hit on the head, which, he supposed, he had. His headache had reduced to a dull thud until he sat up, when it came back—not as bad as the day before, but bad enough to put him in a foul mood immediately. He desperately wanted a cigarette. Ben’s clothes were neatly folded on the chair in the corner, so he supposed he’d come in at some time during the night. He could hear a shower running in one of the other bathrooms and guessed he was trying to be quiet and not wake him. Just because he had a headache, didn’t mean he was prepared to miss some morning fun. He stripped out of his clothes from the previous day, dropping them on the floor considerately where Ben would most easily find them for the laundry, and walked naked across the landing and into the steam-filled bathroom. He waited until the indistinct figure in the shower turned away, then slid silently in and embraced him, pressing his urgent morning wake up call deep—The scream nearly took him down. The punch wasn’t so effective, and he caught the wrist effortlessly. They stared at each other.
“Uh, hello, sorry about the scream. I’m Tim. And I’m really hoping Ben told you I’d be here and you came deliberately to…Okay, didn’t know I was here…Nice to meet you at last.” Nikolas nodded politely and backed out slowly. He then decided, given the direction of Tim’s gaze, this wasn’t the best way to go. He turned swiftly, grabbed a towel and went to find Benjamin Rider.
Ben was drinking his tea, looking through the post when Nikolas came into the kitchen, his hair wet from the shower and wearing only the towel. Ben’s face broke into a broad, very pleased grin, and he came up, embracing him and kissing him as if they’d been apart another six months instead of a few hours. Nikolas kept his eyes wide open during the kiss and didn’t kiss back. Ben got the message and eased off, lips still hovering. “Okay…I’m sorry I didn’t call when I was late?” Nikolas shook his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t wake you when I came in?” He thought harder. “Didn’t wake youthis morning?”
“How about the fact there’s a man in my shower I’ve just fucked?” Ben’s eyes widened. Nikolas added, timed to perfection, “Just.” Ben’s eyes flicked up to the wet hair. He clenched his jaw on his laughter. Nikolas narrowed his eyes in annoyance and went to get some tea. His headache and his mood were both now equally bad.
Ben eased onto the stool alongside him. “John kicked him out. He’s got an eighteen-year-old now instead.” Nikolas didn’t even bother to fake sympathy at this news. Ben tried harder. “He’s had to move back in with his mum and dad—and sleep on the couch.” Nikolas scratched the back of his neck, entirely unconcerned. Ben persevered. “It’ll just be for a couple of days until he finds somewhere. You’re not really going for this plan at the moment, are you?”
“Oh, I liked the part about the replacement eighteen-year-old. I’m going to get dressed. God forbid I might meet a strange man whilst I was naked in my own kitchen.” Before he could move, though, he saw the envelope in Ben’s hand. His eyes widened. He knew if he said anything, tried to take it from him, Ben would be perverse and want to keep it, just as he had with the photograph of Nika. That’s just the way they were together. So he had to sit and watch Ben open it and peer inside.
“You wanna keep this?” Nikolas blinked. Ben tapped the envelope. “Christian Aid. Do you want to keep it and donate, or shall I bin it?”
Nikolas took it out of his hand. Christian Aid. Delivered by hand. Not Christian Beck. But ithadbeen Christian Beck. He pulled out photos of people ploughing or smiling with jugs of water. No torture victims. He licked his lips. “I’m going back to bed for a while, maybe.”
Ben put a hand on his forehead. “You okay? You look like shit.”
“Thank you.” He indicated tetchily at the bags and laundry pile. “Perhaps you could find time in your busy schedule of adopting waifs and strays to actually do some work around here, or do I have to do everything?”
He wobbled slightly as he stood from the stool. His headache was back with a vengeance.
