The Bruise_Black Sky (6 page)

Nikolas furrowed his brow, playing with the necklace. “We had a son, but he died.”

Ben’s eyes went wide, he blinked uncontrollably, his heart rate so fast he felt sweat running down his back.

Nikolas added, “You call it…cot death, I think.”

“A son.”

Nikolas nodded. “I was away. I never saw him.” He shrugged. “A conceptual child. Is that the right word in English? Concept? Yes. It seemed to fit with the rest of my life—constructs and concepts. I have not given it much thought since.”

Ben was following the slink of emeralds passing through the elegant fingers and knew this for a lie.

“Ben…” Nikolas glanced up at him but then cast his gaze back to the glinting jewels. “I have
told
you there is much about my past I haven’t revealed you. This is just one of those things. It’s all in the past and thus not relevant to us. To you and me. You have not disclosed me things in your past either. I cannot name one of your old girlfriends…except Kate, of course.”

Ben had suspected that Nikolas was saving Kate for a special occasion. Since the incident six months ago, Nikolas had not used Kate against him once. But he’d known she’d be there, prepped and ready for just such a moment.

He didn’t know how to handle this.

For the first time since meeting Nikolas, Ben genuinely didn’t know what to do. He’d done the backing down, easy-going thing. He’d been trying the assertive, leave-if-you-want thing. What was he supposed to do with this?

Because it wasn’t that Nikolas had apparently had a wife and baby he hadn’t told him about that hurt. It was that Nikolas genuinely didn’t get that he
should
have told him. That Nikolas, even now, professed it didn’t affect
them
. Even Ben, with his limited ability to assess human interactions, realised that the level of compartmentalisation Nikolas used with their relationship wasn’t what
he
wanted.

Nikolas was everything to Ben. He wiped out all that had gone before, and he would be colouring his whole world until the very end—one way or the other. He was Ben’s default setting. But now, Ben realised clearly for the first time that to Nikolas he was just a…just one of the emeralds on the string running through his fingers. Each jewel beautiful, perfect, exquisite, but entire and of itself, never blending or incorporating anything else.

One day, Nikolas would be walking with someone, and Ben would notice him and go over, calling out, “Nikolas?” and Nikolas would deny him. This part of Nikolas’s life would be over, and he’d have moved on.

And Nikolas couldn’t see this.

Ben watched the emeralds being passed between Nik’s fingers, green prayer beads, and wondered what Nikolas was praying for.

CHAPTER SIX

Ben tried to get another room when they arrived back at the hotel, but being the nearest (and only luxury) hotel near the school it was fully booked.

He debated sleeping in with Babushka on her chair, but didn’t want to wake her.

It wasn’t like him to make a scene anyway, so he accompanied Nikolas up in the creaky old lift.

The floor in their room mocked him as he crossed to throw his jacket on the chair.

He ripped off his tie and shirt, balling them up. The shirt was soaked with beer and sweat.

He stripped out of the rest of his clothes thoughtlessly, heading naked for the shower.

“Ben…”

Ben went into the bathroom and shut the door. Then he locked it.

§§§

There was nothing amusing about sharing a bed with a total stranger.

Ben didn’t even have the sliver of reassurance that he was being ridiculous, theatrical, and that it would all be kissed away and they’d be back to themselves in the morning. Or earlier. He still couldn’t actually believe what had happened, and had he anyone to tell, he felt fairly sure they’d feel the same way on his behalf. He thought for a moment about calling Tim, but Ben was a
bloke
, so dismissed that idea before it had formed. The one person he would have told, of course, was Nikolas. Now Ben began to regret the fact that by sleeping with another man he was, by default, also sleeping with his best friend. He began to see some advantages to having these two entities separate.

And in a rare flash of insight, Ben suddenly saw why this hurt so much. It wasn’t the
lover
who had betrayed him—it was the best friend. If Nikolas had been just his lover, he probably could have talked him around. After all, as he’d admitted, Kristina was in the past and didn’t affect them—all lovers presumably had pasts they kept private. But Nikolas was his
best friend
. Their lives bled into their friendship, made up its unique pattern. What friend keeps such things entirely to themselves even when…Ben suddenly remembered a moment when he’d seen a photograph of himself as a little boy dressed as a soldier, and he’d wondered whether his son would look like that. Nikolas had been right there, standing next to him, and he’d said nothing. Wouldn’t that have been the time to say…?

Oh, Jesus…Ben had another awful thought. He’d been studying all the photos Nikolas had given him…of Nikolas’s history. Except…there was not one of Kristina or any of his
actual
life. Just a man in uniform. Or an unrecognisable child. Remote. Impersonal.

Even his great gift that Christmas, Nikolas’s
past
, had been sanitized, compartmentalised. Here you go…this is the part
you’re
allowed to see.

He wondered if Kristina had been given a similar gift once, a small, pictorial slice of Nikolas’s life—Aleksey’s.

“What are you thinking about?”

Nikolas had been smoking silently alongside him since they’d climbed into bed. It was long after four o’clock, and Ben wished he could leave—the bed, the room, the hotel…perhaps more.

He put an arm over his face. “Go to sleep.”

“I don’t feel tired for some reason. Will you talk to me?”

Ben knew he didn’t have the verbal skills to defeat Nikolas, whatever language they chose to speak in. He’d played at being the boss in the relationship for six months, but it had only been because Nikolas allowed it. It was only a joke.

He was
nothing
. If he talked, that
nothingness
would be acknowledged between them. He took his arm down and turned to study the stranger next to him.

“I’m sorry, Ben.” Nikolas rolled onto his side, seemed to realise that smoking this close to Ben’s face again might not be welcome, so reached behind and stubbed the cigarette out. He put a tentative hand to Ben’s hair to assess the damage from earlier. “Ack. Nothing that will show when you start to go bald.”

He wrinkled his nose when his sense of humour wasn’t appreciated. He seemed at a loss what to do so he flopped onto his back again. “Do you want to hear about her? I’ll tell you if you want. There’s not much to know, really.”

“What was he called?” Ben couldn’t use a more personal term.

Nikolas appeared to know who
he
meant anyway and twisted over once more to face Ben. “Stefan.” He blew out a small breath and added in a quieter tone, “She called him Stefan. I was not consulted, but it’s a nice name.” He put a finger on Ben’s bare skin and stroked it along his collarbone.

“Where is he buried?”

“Ben, I don’t really want to—” He tipped onto his back, the collarbone abandoned. “Moscow.”

“Did you visit his grave when you went with Gregory?”

Nikolas rolled his head and considered this for a moment. “No.”

Ben nodded, not sure what this confirmed. But it confirmed something. It was nearly five o’clock now. They were meeting Emilia at ten at the school.

They were both silent for a very long time until Ben suddenly asked, “Why didn’t she know you were dead?” Strange lives led to strange questions, he reckoned.

Perhaps Nikolas’s thoughts had been running on the same lines, because he answered easily enough, “We had separated long before then. And moved in very different circles, thousands of miles apart.”

“You separated? Over…Stefan.”

“No. I arrested her father. Come, can we talk about something else? Emilia was very beautiful tonight, do you not think?”

“You spoil her.” Ben had only been thinking of the emeralds, although as he said it, he realised a different truth had come out of his mouth on a breath of bitterness. He hunched onto his side away from Nik and closed his eyes. He wouldn’t sleep, he knew, but at least in the privacy of his own head he could pretend that the floor had not just dropped out of his world.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Whoever had decided that the school would officially close for the summer holidays at ten that morning, and expected parents to be there to carry trunks down to waiting cars, was probably a teetotal Scottish Presbyterian, Nikolas thought.

Everyone looked jaded, but there was a lot to do, so no time to stand around with a hangover and in a bad mood. He hefted Emilia’s small box onto a shoulder and took one handle of the large trunk with Ben.

They negotiated this task in silence, as Ben was not speaking to him, except to come out with odd questions that made no logical sense to anyone.

Who cared if his father-in-law was still in jail? He didn’t. Who was bothered exactly when the divorce had come through? He hadn’t signed any papers, so he wasn’t even sure he
was
divorced. What did it matter? He was dead, for fuck’s sake. Death trumped divorce! He hadn’t, obviously, admitted any of this to Ben and had neatly rounded off his marriage with a fictional date. Ben probably couldn’t call him on this small white lie—once he was speaking to him again, of course.

§§§

Nikolas had not forgotten his promise to meet with his ten-pound purchaser, and trailed behind Emilia to find one Miles Toogood. Which, he had to admit, was a superb name.

Miles Toogood was in the junior house, a fact Emilia informed him of with some derision, making it clear in her tone and purposeful striding that it was a little beneath her now to consort with juniors. Nikolas could have, laughingly, pointed out the same, but he had a headache and was feeling sick, so he didn’t.

Miles Toogood was struggling with his luggage. It was immediately clear to Nikolas that there were two good reasons for this. Firstly, he had no one to help him and thus, presumably, the ten-pound bid for assistance. Secondly, Miles Toogood was a similar shape to his trunk. Although he was only seven, he possibly weighed more than Nikolas.

Still, for ten pounds, Nikolas reckoned he deserved to have some help with carrying, and dutifully hefted this heavy box as well and took it down to the courtyard.

He was about to leave and continue with his own rather bleak concerns when a small chubby hand caught hold of his jacket. “I haven’t told you what I need fixing yet!”

Nikolas peered down at the boy. “I’ve just—”

“That wasn’t it, but thank you.”

“You let me carry it anyway?”

“You’re stronger than me.”

“I. Stronger than I. Do you get taught nothing at this school?”

“I was using the vernacular to make you feel comfortable with my superior intellect. And because you’re foreign. And speak funny.”

“Do you want this favour or not?”

“It’s not a favour. I paid for it. It’s a binding contract now.”

Nikolas actually laughed. “I like you.”

“Thank you. Not many people do.”

“Have you had breakfast yet?”

“Do I look like someone who would miss breakfast?”

“I need a cup of tea. You can tell me about our agreement over tea.” He began to head towards the refractory.

“They have sticky buns for morning tea.”

“I don’t eat carbohydrates.”

“That’s very dangerous. You need a balanced diet.”

“Who looks as if he knows more about health: me or you?”

“You have the advantage of being tall. If you were my height you’d be very fat, too.”

Nikolas couldn’t come up with a good argument against this and was puzzling it over as they found a free table. There were indeed sticky buns, and Miles Toogood took one.

“So, tell me. I am earning my ten pounds, by the way, watching you eat that. Did you learn to eat in a gulag?”

“The gulags were all closed down by the time I was born. Did you know they used to put the bodies of people who died in the gulags into mixers and grind their bones to reinforce concrete?”

Yes, I did know that; I helped load them in
. “No, they didn’t. What about all the flesh and blood? The concrete would be pink and sticky.”

“I don’t know. I’ve always wondered that, too.”

“Always?”

“Oh, yes, I’ve been pondering gulags for months now.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you know—?”

“The auction, maybe…Miles?”

“Everyone calls me Cyrus.”

“Why?”

“Miles…Miley? Cyrus. Miley Cyrus?”

“Who? What?”

Nikolas had been given worshipful looks many times in his life. After all, he’d held people’s lives in his hands, having the godlike power to end pain, end those existences if he’d chosen. He’d never been cast such a wide-eyed stare of approval as he was by Miles Toogood. “You don’t know who Miley Cyrus is? I
knew
I’d got the right person. I just
knew
it.”

“Speaking of which?” Nikolas wasn’t all that keen to get back to Ben and the silent treatment, but they did have a plane to catch later that evening.

Miles stared at the remains of the sticky bun, now just a few sugar granules on the table. “I think I’ve made a fool of myself.”

“I expect that doesn’t happen to you very often.”

“No. You’re quite right. Very rarely.” Miles looked down, glum once more after Nikolas’s encouraging comment. “It’s not for me. It’s for…Granny. She needs someone to help her.”

For one moment, Nikolas had the vision of an incontinent octogenarian. He shook himself a little and saw a garden that needed tending, perhaps a library book to be returned? “Tell me.”

“I was wondering, perhaps…you need to see for yourself…”

“See what, where?”

“We don’t live far away. Promise. We could be there and back…well, a couple of hours. Not that close. I’ve made a big mistake, haven’t I?” To Nikolas’s complete dismay and panic, Miles Toogood burst into noisy, snotty tears.