Stockholm Syndrome 2- 17 Black and 29 Red (19 page)

 

***

The day cools down by the early afternoon. The sky's still blue and the sun is still glowing but there's a chilly breeze biting at Lindsay's face and he wishes he'd brought a coat with him but then Valentine appears and hugs him hello and the cold doesn't seem to matter very much any more.

They don't say hello. They don't have to say anything, they just walk for a little while. Valentine's trailing one hand against the river railings, making gentle bumpy staccato noises. He's got the other one tucked in his jacket pocket. Lindsay only hesitates for a moment, just long enough to ask himself whether he
cares
if there's anybody looking, then he slips his hand into the little space between Valentine's arm and his body. Valentine immediately takes his hand out of his pocket and winds their fingers together instead. Still no words. They just walk and walk, and then they stop.

"I don't wanna be your boyfriend," Valentine says. "I wanna get married." He pulls his hand out of Lindsay's and lifts himself up to sit on the railing. Lindsay grabs at him so he doesn't fall, but he looks like he knows what he's doing. There's a gang of teenagers doing the same thing a little way down the river, nonchalant about the drop and looking like they're not scared of anything. Lindsay wonders if this is how Valentine used to be all those years ago, hanging round the river wasting time after school because he didn't want to go home.

"I'm not having your stupid flouncy name."

 

"We can do a mash-up. Remember Brangelina? Valenbrown or something. Browentine."

 

"No."

 

"Could hyphenate it. Jones says it sounds dirty though, it'd have to be Valentine-Brown cos Brown-Valentine's like some grim German scat festival."

 

"You've
actually
been discussing it with people already? Christ, you're a fast worker."

 

"Oh, no, this was like... five years ago. I been after your ring on my finger for ages."

 

"That doesn't sound much better than Brown Valentine, you know."

 

"You're still a dirty old man, nice to see some things never change. Fine. I don't mind being just Brown."

 

"Alright. As long as there's no fuss about it. Bring me the papers and show me where to sign."

 

"And I wanna live in London. Forever and ever amen."

 

"I've been offered a permanent job here, anyway."

 

"Oh yeah?" Lindsay's still holding on round Valentine's waist, and Valentine starts playing with his hair. "Doing what?"

 

"Sort of... curator in the library. Archivist. I'm not quite sure, I only got asked this morning"

 

"Oh Jesus."

 

"Yeah."

 

"I mean, that's brilliant. Congratulations. Fucking hell. I can't marry a librarian. I'm a tattoo artist."

 

"Marilyn Monroe married Arthur Miller."

 

"Spose."

 

Lindsay moves closer, partly to steal body warmth, mostly because he just wants to. "I thought you were going to be some hotshot fashion designer?"

"Nah. What's the point? Fashion's so stupid. I only did it cos people thought I couldn't. Long as I can sew I'm alright, I don't need to do it for my
job
. I like my job now. Pays well. How much you gonna make in the library? I bet you I make more, I'm gonna be
your
sugar daddy."

"I hate it when you say that."

"I know. I want babies too. I wanna adopt a whole rainbow of babies from Cambodia and Malawi and give them wicked names like Ziggy Stardust and Ruby Tuesday."

"If you must."

 

"That one was a lie."

 

"Good."

 

"Would you, though? If I wanted?"

 

"Anything." He means it, too. "Anything you want."

Valentine smiles, bright and happy. He moves his fingers out of Lindsay's hair, down his bristly face to cup his jaw and stroke his cheek gently with his fingertips. "Do you love me?" he says softly, and Lindsay remembers the first time Valentine ever asked him that, drunk and high on no drug at all, kissing in the car at the top of a cliff seven years ago with a back seat full of ransom money. It feels surreal and far away now. It's like somebody else's life.

"Yes."

"You could say it. You could be soppy just once in your life. You could talk like you're in Mills and Boon. You could say 'I can't live without you' or something."

"I can live without you. I just don't want to."

 

"Is this gonna work, you think?"

 

"Won't know unless we try."

"Yeah." He puts his arms round Lindsay's neck now, resting his forearms lightly on his shoulders, and checks there's nobody too close before he speaks again. "You're being very agreeable. What's all that about? I wanna go on top sometimes, what've you got to say to that?"

"Don't push your luck when I'm holding you above the river."

That makes Valentine laugh, but it's not loud and shameless like Lindsay expected. It's quiet like a secret, a Tic-Tac scented gust of air breathed out against his face before Valentine kisses him. It's doesn't even matter any more that they're in public, fifty yards away from the very worst kind of people to kiss another man in front of - but if the teenagers down the path say anything, he doesn't hear them and he doesn't care.