The old woman was shaking her head, rocking herself slightly.She released Laurie’s hand and intoned the strange, resonant wordsonce more, looking straight up at Sasha.“Yes,chiavala.That one.Don’t be afraid.”Then she straightened up and blinked, as if shaking off cobwebs.“What are you both standing here for?Yes, your balame may visit.Gunari, see that no one gives them any trouble.”
Theymade their way through the encampment, still hand in hand.Lauriewondered if Sasha had simply forgotten.He seemed lost in thought,and maybe the warm grip in Laurie’s was only subconscious, the samelead Laurie automatically gave to Clara on dangerous ground.Hedidn’t mind.He would take what he could get.How long had it beensince he had brought Sasha in off the street—since their one night?More than two weeks, throughout which Sasha had been to himforbidden fruit, a beautiful presence he could see but barelytouch, until a kiss on a clattering Tube that had gone on untiltheir heads were spinning, and they had broken apart before itturned into something not publicly acceptable, even in twenty-firstcentury London.
Laurieburned for him.Any touch was intoxicating.He tightened his clasp.Glancing around, he saw the men and women of the camp getting onwith their business as the old woman had bidden them.Such a rangeof faces, skin tones—many dark like Sasha, but others who looked asordinary as he did himself.Setting romantic preconceptions aside,Laurie supposed there was as rich a mix of bad and good here as inany other population, but he did not feel ashamed of holdingSasha’s hand, as if, whatever their prejudices, a people so huntedand disregarded might not bother with that one.
Childrenand chickens dashed about between the vans, the kids warmly wrappedup in bright, modern fleece tops.Laurie smiled.Had he expectedthem to be in rags?Only Mama Luna looked the part.Thinking ofher, Laurie abruptly remembered her words and his own, as if theyhad made their exchange in a dream from which the chilly air anddiamond-pale sun were only now rousing him.
“Oh, God, Sash,” he said as they approached the last caravan inthe group, a battered two-berth with its tow bar propped on acrate.“Did I…did I freak you out back there, saying what Idid?”
Sasha halted.He looked at Laurie wonderingly.“Didyoufreak meout…?”
“Oh.Right.Shedid.”
“Mama Luna makes people speak the truth.If that’s your truth,what you said to her, then…” He trailed off, and Laurie saw hiseyes brighten with tears.“Then I don’t know what to say, I’m sobloody happy.All right?”He gave Laurie’s hand a brief shake, sotight it hurt, then shook his head as if these things were obviousand he needed to leave them behind to attend to more pressingbusiness.“Laurie.I want you to think, clearly and seriously,about getting out of that house.Finding somewhere of your own.Doyou understand?”
“Yes,” Laurie said, startled.It was true enough.Since meetingSasha, he had thought every day of making his escape.But heaccepted, looking into the grave, lovely face raised to his, thatthe thoughts had been fantasies—air castles into which he couldpull up Sasha and retract the ladder.“At least… It’s hard for me,Sash.You know it is.”
“Well, try.I know how hard it is, but believe me, you have totry.”
“For God’s sake, what did she say to you?”
Sashalet go of his hand.He opened the caravan door and leaned inside.“Come in.My fellow lodger’s out.I’ll make us sometea.”
“Sasha,what?”
Sashaturned back to him.He shoved his hands into the pockets of hiswater-stained parka.He said reluctantly, “It was like she wasexpecting you.She said, ‘This is the one.The one whose father isdeath.’Now I don’t care how you do it, ves’tacha—you can come andlive here if you like.But get out.Get away from him.Find away.”
* **
They satopposite each other at the little melamine table.The caravan had aliving room of sorts, defined by the table and the two bench seatson either side of it.Other than that, there was a tiny galleykitchen and one bedroom, whose open door displayed a neatly madebut solitary bed.Laurie stirred his tea and finished off thetinned chicken soup Sasha had provided for their lunch.They hadbeen silent for a while, although Laurie had inadvertently madeSasha laugh till he choked with his assumption that the soup wouldhave to be heated on some outdoor cook fire rather than in theperfectly efficient microwave hidden behind a paneldoor.
The space beneath the table was so tight that they could nothave avoided contact if they’d tried—and neither was trying.Moreto break the tension than anything else, Laurie shot a sly glancetoward the bedroom and said, “Tell me about thislodger, then.”
Sashasnorted at the faint suggestive emphasis.Laurie was relieved.Apart from Sasha’s burst of amusement at the balame’s stupidity,he’d been quiet, as if angry with himself for translating the oldwoman’s words.“He’s a fifty-five-year-old bank clerk fromSouthwell.His wife left him, he had a breakdown, and he fellthrough the net.He doesn’t say much, and he doesn’t snore.I’m notsure he even knows I’m here.”
Fell through the net.Laurie cradledhis mug between his hands, looking thoughtfully at his companion.How bloody easy it would be to do.You lose your job, your mortgagepayments, your house.You’re too middle-class, too old, to triggersocial services alarms—no one helps you, and you don’t know whereto go to get help for yourself.You fall.
Oryou’re young, rich, and stupid, and the net tightens around youtill you drown.
“Poor sod,” he said quietly.“Sash, do you believe her?The oldlady?”
Sashasighed.“She’s a good woman.She did everything for me when I gothere.But…don’t let her scare you.She’s old.Maybe a littlecrazy.”
“Maybe.Doesn’t change the facts.The old goat probably isdeath.And it was you who looked scared, love.”He watched whileSasha absorbed the last word.Laurie ran one sock-clad toe up alongthe arch of Sasha’s foot beneath the table.“Hey.Did I hear youoffer me a home here a few minutes ago?”
“Well, why not?At least I’ve got one to offer.That benchyou’re sitting on folds out, or you could bunk down with Cyril.”Hewaited until Laurie had stopped laughing and was searching his faceto measure his seriousness.“Pleasetell me you’ll try to get out.”
“Look, he’s not some kind of murderer, you know.”Laurie felthis throat dry out.He could scarcely bear the intensity of Sasha’sregard at the best of times, and now, when the midnight eyes werefull of fear and longing—a boy who had nothing, trying to offer themillionaire’s son a refuge and a future… “Yes.I promise.Oh,Sash.”He shivered.“I don’t want to think about this anymore.Ijust want you.Is Cyril due back anytime soon?”
Sashagrinned.Apparently he’d found the right distraction.“I don’tknow.But I tell you what.To avoid giving him a stroke, shall we…”He stood up and put out a hand to Laurie across the table.“Let’sgo for a walk.”
On theirway out, Sasha ducked into the bedroom and took out from a bedsidedrawer one packet Laurie knew well and another that he didn’t,though he thought he’d seen the logo in the coyly marked familyplanning section when he went to buy toothpaste and aspirin.Emerging, putting the things into his pocket, Sasha gave him a shy,warm glance.“Come on, then.”
Itturned into a run, a wild dash through lowering light.The back ofthe encampment gave out onto open heath, miles and miles of it,bordered only in the very far distance by the glimmeringstreetlamps of Amersham.From here they looked like jewels, justbeginning to shine out as the December day faded.Laurie sucked ingreat breaths of the frosty air and chased after Sasha, who hadbroken his sedate pace by his side as soon as they were clear ofthe settlement.God, he could run!Laurie—who sometimes forgot hewas only nineteen years old himself, and lightly-made and strongfrom all his backstage work—watched him with a kind of envy for amoment.Sasha was nothing but a shadow, flying out ahead of him,caught in the wind.
“Laurie!”he yelled, spinning back to face him, hardly breakingstride.“Come on!”
They ranand ran.Laurie stopped thinking about their destination oranything other than the air, the great open space all aroundthem—bigger here somehow than in the wildest countryside, a senseof its vastness conveyed by its limitations, the far-flung citytendrils that held it.Freedom defined by emblems of captivity, thewhispering highways and suburbs they were leaving behind.Laurieran, always in Sasha’s wake but gaining on him, almost ashamed ofthe fragmented laughter that kept rising up in his throat.Claradid that—helplessly laughed while she ran, and it was okay if youwere eight years old…
