Somewhere Only We Know (31 page)

Alex

It wasn’t the first place he looked, purely because he hadn’t imagined she’d travel all the way to Blackfriars in the small hours the night before her appeal hearing. But when he hadn’t found her at the swings in the middle of the Common or nursing a coffee at the twenty-four-hour greasy spoon up by Stockwell he’d finally guessed where she’d gone and jumped on the first night bus heading north of the river. She’d wanted some air and some quiet, she’d said; there were only so many places in this city you could get anything approximating that.

He saw her almost immediately when he got down to the level of the bank, both her hair and the material of her skirt were glowing pale in the half-light and fluttering in the wind off the water, only a little way down the river. She was on one of the inexplicable huge grey cinder blocks, hunched a little over her own knees, unaware of his approach or anything else around her: tiny, alone. As he got closer he could see that she was twirling a biro over her knuckles, saw her tense when she finally heard the crunch and shift of the stones under his shoes and glanced up, ready to take flight.

“Okay, so, I’m the biggest rat bastard in the world, right?” was Alex’s weak attempt at humour. Nadia pushed her hair back behind her ear and clutched the notebook she’d been writing in close to her chest.

“Well, I suppose it’s hardly your fault that the country of my birth isn’t currently respecting international borders,” Nadia conceded after a moment. “I guess I’m not very good at running away, huh? You found me pretty easily.”

“Wasn’t the first place I looked,” Alex admitted. “I didn’t think you’d jump postcode.”

“You were enough of a rat bastard for that.” Despite her harsh words, Nadia moved over on the cinder block in mute invitation for Alex to sit down.

“Nads, I am so, so sorry. Holly is too, of course. The last thing we wanted to do was upset you.”

“But there’s the thing,” Nadia sighed. “Because I am upset. And I think I get to be. I’m upset that somehow it’s okay for a bunch of lawyers and politicians to decide that I don’t get to keep living my life. That because, by a complete accident of birth, I happen to be Russian – instead of Polish or Romanian, or whatever – that my relationships, my career,
my life
is up for debate. That I have to see my friends upset and stressed out on my behalf, whispering in corridors and dreading tomorrow almost as much as I am. Having to lie to me and tell me that everything’s going to be okay when they are manifestly not."

Nadia finally took a breath; it was a deep one. "Alex. I'm not upset with you. I'm upset because tomorrow I am going to be given a deportation order. And things aren’t going to be okay again for a very long time.”

Alex marvelled at her; fighting words to the end, not even the smallest crack in her tone, just calling out her impotent rage across the river at the faceless people who were doing this to her.

“Alex.” She turned to him, her face purposefully overly close and tempting. “I’ve just got to ask. I've got to. I’ll hate myself forever if we never got around to having this conversation. If I wasn’t going…” Alex knew the time for patronising and protecting her was over and swallowed down the words of comfort that swelled in his throat and let her finish. “If I wasn’t going, do you think…do you agree with me, that it could have been magic between us?” She said it like the simple question it was at heart, her tone as open as her face, not wanting anything more from him at this eleventh hour than the truth.

Alex’s response was to slide his hand along her jaw, to send his fingers up under her hair, feel the heat of her and the way she automatically pressed her cheek against the curve of his hand as if she couldn’t help herself.

“It already is,” was his answer, the easy truth that had always been there, before he drew her in that final inch and kissed her, and it was nothing like before, soft and unsure. It was too, too many things at once: thrilling and familiar; solid and tremulous; an ending of sorts, for sure, but a beginning as well. And Alex knew that if he kissed Nadia Osipova like this every day for the rest of his life it would never be enough, but it would be a start.

When they had to draw apart for breath Nadia started to laugh. “I thought we weren’t doing that yet?” she giggled uncontrollably. “I thought we were waiting?”

Alex shrugged. “Waiting was a stupid idea,” was all he said, before he pulled her mouth back to his, already starving for her again. He couldn’t even gauge how long it had been when Nadia pulled away again.

“Wait, wait,” she laughed again; inconceivable – Alex wasn’t wasting another minute. “I’ve got something for you,” she continued, reaching down for the notebook that had slipped unheeded between them. She neatly tore out the top piece of paper and presented it to him with a cute little flourish. It was a list, bullet-pointed and neat in Nadia’s small, loopy handwriting. In larger underlined text, the title:
Alex’s To-Do List
.

Alex looked up, confused. “What is this?”

“Well, the whole reason we even became friends is because I got you involved in my London Bucket List,” Nadia explained. “And how you didn’t have enough to do, and I had way too much,” she smiled. “Well, that doesn’t have to stop for you when I’m gone. In fact, it shouldn’t. So, ta-da!" She repeated her flourish. "A brand new to-do list – all yours. And you can call me on Skype all the time and tell me how it’s going.” For the first time that night Nadia’s voice wavered slightly into sadness.

Silently, Alex read his instructions.

• Update your CV, get job-hunting!!
  
• Go speed-dating again (with Rory?)
  
• Go back to Brighton and send me selfies from the end of the pier
  
• Finish your tattoo
  
• Keep going to Candy’s for me – don't forget, first Thursday of every month
  
• Kiss first
  
• Kiss often
  
• Eat an entire Jacob’s Ladder ribs (plus sides)
  on your own
  
• Buy a beanbag
  
• Stay friends with Holly and the others
  
• Actually make it all the way round the National Gallery
  
• Save up your money and annual leave and come see me in Russia
  

Alex swallowed and steadied his voice. “Okay, so,” he started conversationally. “Point taken about the needing-a-new-job thing. The tattoo…we’ll see. Candy is a given. The Jacob's Ladder on my own I still don’t believe is physically possible…”

“You have to at least try,” Nadia reprimanded gently, and Alex knew she didn’t just mean the giant ribs.

“I will,” he promised her softly, folding the list small enough to slip into his jeans pocket and turning his efforts and attention back to Nadia and the little breathy noise he’d discovered she made when he kissed her just right.

Nadia

They brought the witnesses in one by one.

First her well-meaning but bumbling manager at the Oxfam store, who rambled through a few points about Nadia’s philanthropic spirit and admirable work ethic before being dismissed to the seats at the rear of the room.

Ledge was her first character witness, awkward in his suit but sincere in his words. Caro was next – all fire – and Holly the last – all steel – both effusive in their love for her, their belief in her worthiness, their desperation for her to stay. When the Home Office lawyer finally finished with Holly after a bored-sounding and peremptory cross-examination she almost stumbled on the way to her seat, clearly overwrought. When she got there, Nadia saw Alex pick up Holly’s hand and hold her arm close. It had been too late to get him in as a character witness, but at least he was there, his presence there – even though it was practically a resignation – making her that little bit more fearless in turn.

And after the Home Office suit finished delivering his closing argument, biting words that stripped her down to nothing more than a nationality, Nadia – who had never been able to afford her own lawyer – stood up in defence of herself. And she told the judge how much she loved the city, the country: how she truly felt British down to her bones, and about how when she dreamed she dreamed in English, never in Russian.

She explained how she had plans to put her bilingual skills to good use, how she'd like to work in government, if they ever granted her nationality, how she'd like to make a difference. She told her how she’d never been without Holly, how they’d gone from the boarding school dorm – always adjacent beds – to their nothing-special but special-to-them two-bed flat on the affordable side of Clapham Old Town.

She admitted that she might not be married or living with a boyfriend, but she had one, and it was love all the same, and felt a rush of pride as she got to gesture behind her to where Alex was sitting, breaking all the rules to be there for her, remembering how he'd reached to touch her face, just once, before they were taken into the room and how strong his strength had made her feel in turn.

And even though she knew it was a scream into the void, and that her leaving was a foregone conclusion, it was almost all worth it just to get to stand there and show this stranger sitting in judgment that Nadezhda Osipova – nationality Russian, date of birth 10th April 1988 – was so, so much more than that.

EPILOGUE

21 DAYS LATER

Holly had been to the WH Smiths in the airport and was stuffing another few Mars Bars into Nadia’s hand luggage. She knew they were Nadia’s favourite, and Nadia hadn’t had the heart to tell her that she could still get them in Russia. Instead she just kept talking about their plans for Christmas – Holly was going to take two weeks off work and, politics permitting, was going to travel over. So it wouldn’t be too long. It would never be every day, not again, but there was WhatsApp and there was Skype, and there would be sometimes, and they’d love each other just the same.

And then, in the New Year, Caro would have to be next, but judging from the way that she kept dramatically clutching Rory’s hand, hiding her tearful face against his chest, they might be more of a package deal by then. Nadia smiled. That was fine by her; in fact, it was rather convenient. Funny how things work out. When life gets it right, it's its own kind of magic.

As if he’d sensed she was thinking of him, Alex turned away from his conversation with Ledge and smiled at her. It had been a bit of a rush, but in the end someone high up at his office had pulled some strings and the red tape had magically fallen away. And so for now there was a two-year work visa and a job at the British Embassy in Moscow dispensing practical advice and assistance, a job that conveniently came with a tiny little city-centre flat. So, they were exchanging Trafalgar Square for Red Square, and Alex had admitted he was already swotting up on interesting trivia to impress her with. Nadia wondered if anyone ever did any mudlarking on the banks of the Moskva River; she was excited to find out. A whole new city of adventures spread before them, and she intended to make the most of every single one.

Alex shared a secret smile with his girlfriend across the heads of their friends and felt it again, that feeling he’d had since the day he’d read through Miss Nadezhda Osipova’s application form, that he was – for once –
exactly
where he was supposed to be.

Nadia had cried and cried and asked him over and over again if he was mad, if he was sure, if he loved her enough, and his answers were the most effortless yeses anyone could ever give.

He knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but nothing that worth it ever was. And if life was a path with a hundred directions, then every one of them had led right here.

It would be scary, and it would be hard, sure, the two of them forging one brand-new life, together, but at least Alex could be sure that it was going to be an extraordinary one.

Also by Erin Lawless …

The Best Thing I Never Had

Erin Lawless

I live a happy life full of wonderful friends, in love with a man who buys me books instead of flowers. To mix things up a little, I write books where friends and lovers hit obstacles and (usually) overcome them. When I’m not doing that I read absolutely everything I can get my hands on, spend an inordinate amount of time in pyjamas and run a fun-but-informative blog on British history.

www.erinlawless.co.uk

@rinylou

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