Page 65 of A Long Way Back
“No. Let me take one of you and you can send it to your mum.”
When Ink had taken a couple of shots, he handed the phone back to Tay.
“I think I’d like to ride again now, please.”
Once Tay was back in his chair, Ink pushed him on. No query as towhyhe didn’t like his picture being taken? Something else he doubted Tay would ignore.
WHEN THEY REACHED THE DEPARTURE point for the bus, Tay got out of the chair and Ink folded it. Tay showed one of the bus people his phone and beckoned Ink.
“We don’t have to get in line with the others?” Ink asked.
“Nope.”
“You’re getting more and more useful, Mr Queue-jumper.”
Tay laughed. “That is so not politically correct.”
When Ink turned from having stowed the chair in a space under the stairs, Tay was on the stairs to the top deck. Ink came up behind him, but Tay was steady, holding his crutches in one hand, using the rail with the other. He reached the top and sighed.
“I couldn’t have managed that if the bus had been moving.”
“That practise at the pool paid off. Which seats are we in?”
“I asked for the front when I booked.”
“Did you mention you were in a wheelchair?”
“Not until after I told them I wanted to make my sad friend happy.”
Ink choked up. Tay slid in next to the window and put his crutches on the floor in front of them. When Ink took Tay’s hand in his and squeezed his fingers, Tay smiled.
“I hope you’re a good driver,” Tay said.
“I’ll steer us in the perfect direction.”
“We nearly got there yesterday in the garden.”
Ink’s heart did a loop-the-loop.
“I want to go all the way,” Tay whispered.
Chapter Nine
INK LOVED THE BUS TOUR. He could never have justified paying for this. He liked sitting next to Tay. He liked holding his hand. He felt closer to being… normal… an average guy …than he had for a long time. Right at that moment, he was a tourist. He had no history. He was with his ‘sort of’ boyfriend—though that would change when Tay saw what had happened to his tablets. Ink swallowed hard. He’d done the right thing, hadn’t he?
The only time Tay let go of his hand was to take a photo. How was Ink supposed to explain why he didn’t want Tay to take one of him? It was instinct that on each occasion he sensed Tay was about to include him in a shot, Ink pulled a funny face or stuck out his tongue. If Tay never shared the photos, did it matter? But if Ink’s identity was revealed, Tay would be offered a lot of money for those pictures and Ink looking happy and enjoying himself would not go down well with anyone. He wasn’t allowed to be happy ever again, let alonelookhappy.
Tay scrolled through the pictures he’d taken. “I appear to have done this bus tour sitting next to a gargoyle.”
Ink chuckled and waited for the questions, but they still didn’t come, except from himself.
Does Tay already know who I am?
How could he?
What will he think when he finds out?
Can I risk letting this go further?
