Page 26 of A Long Way Back
“Do they do that all the time?”
“A few times a week.” Fortunately, not when his parents had been there.
“I’ll go up and speak to them.”
Ink’s gaze dropped to the small plastic Ziploc bag Tay was holding, then he walked out without a word. Tay took four of the pills and swallowed them down with water before he hid the bag in his sock drawer. He curled up on the bed with his back to the door. He’d wait to see if he needed the earplugs.
A few minutes later, the sound decreased in volume. Maybe Ink would be good for something. Tay swallowed hard. Apart from the other thing he had in mind.As if I’m brave enough to let that happen.He lay waiting for the world to uncurl.
Chapter Four
INK WASN’T GOING TO UNPACK. There was a small cupboard with shelves in the room, so he could have put his stuff away, but he didn’t. The need to be ready to leave in an instant, with everything he owned, was a hard habit to break. Maybe he’d never be able to break it.
The one thing he held in his mind above everything else—was that his life could come undone in an instant.
The wrong word uttered.
Getting into trouble through no fault of his own.
Someone recognising him.
He had a legend. That’s what George, his offender manager, had called it. Ink thought it was like being a spy and that’s what he pretended he was. He had to learn his history, know it as well as if it had actually happened, continue to live it, no matter what. A new name, two years added to his age and a new past would give him a future. If he fucked up, he was fucked. Simple as that.
So he wasn’t going to unpack. At the moment, the promise of a roof over his head and food in his stomach was worth putting up with Tay being an arsehole, but even Ink had his limits. The chance to wash everything, including his sleeping bag and the clothes he was currently wearing, wasn’t something he intended to resist. The priority was washing himself.
The pleasure of a hot shower in a smart, clean bathroom with no mould, no cracked tiles, no stained shower tray, no danger lurking nearby, almost made him want to cry. He’d done the best he could in the squat with no running water.
He dried himself with his small hand towel and had a shave. When Ink caught sight of his face in the mirror, he shuddered. He only ever saw a distorted version of himself. Twisted. Spoilt. But he still saw too much. Alongside his features ran a sense of betrayal, a mix of anger, fear, loneliness, vulnerability and sadness. Nothing that brought him comfort. Not a face anyone could love, because once they knew the truth, they’d leave him. More than leave him. They’d betray him.
If Tay knew who he was, he’d tell him to go. Ink didn’t think there was anyone in the entire country who’d want him around if they knew his real name. Twelve years ago, his twelve-year-old face had been all over the TV and the papers. People who didn’t know him wanted him dead. He was lucky that he looked nothing like he had when he was younger. But his adult face had been leaked. Not a full-on clear shot, but even blurred, it was enough. Carter knew what he looked like, but the police had warned him to not publish Ink’s image. No journalist could publish his photo. Theoretically. Maybe they’d consider it worth getting sent to prison. Ink wasn’t sure.
Back in his room, he pushed all his dirty gear and his wet towel inside his sleeping bag, along with the clothes he’d just taken off and the hoodie he used to protect his guitar. He put on his last pair of clean shorts. Hopefully, there’d be no one else doing their washing who’d freak out at a guy in his underwear. Before he left the room, he plugged in his laptop. He could have done with charging his phone, but Tay might need help, so it would have to wait.
When he tiptoed past Tay’s room, carrying his sleeping bag, phone, book and key to the flat, Tay was asleep and Dog lay tucked up into the angle of his bent legs. Ink was glad Dog liked him. He intended to check out that bag of pills he’d seen Tay holding, because prescription pills came in blister packs or bottles, not Ziplock bags, but this wasn’t the moment.
Once he’d grabbed detergent from under the sink, he made his way to the laundry room. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t have to pay to wash his clothes. Everything went in together. He bought his stuff from charity shops, so they’d already lost any excess dye, and he never purchased anything light-coloured because he couldn’t wear it more than once. He’d learned to be practical.
He could have gone back inside the flat, but instead, he sat on the small bench and opened his book. The guy in the flat above had been in his mid-forties, with big shoulders and bulky biceps. His name was Juris. Ink had told him Tay was ill and trying to sleep and the guy had agreed to turn the TV down. Apparently, the couple in the flat on the top floor were from Libya and spoke no English.
Ink hadn’t figured Tay out yet, but he would. He didn’t even know if he was gay. He had a feeling he was. Hedidknow Tay wasn’t homophobic because after Ink’s mistimed joke about gay porn, he’d pretty much outed himself, and neither Tay nor his parents seemed fazed.
London was a strange place to choose to come to live when you didn’t know anyone. Ink huffed a laugh. It was a place to merge, blend, disappear. To become an urban ghost. Maybe that’s what Tay wanted to do.Just like me, but for very different reasons.The only way to escape detection was to make no calls, have no fixed address, pay no bills, not use his bank card, walk everywhere he could, not get sick, and above all, never stay too long in one place. The mobile he had was pay-as-you-go, but it was still a risk. He never googled himself from his laptop. If he wanted to know if there was anything new about him, he used a public library and wiped his history.
Every town and city had people like him. They huddled in shop doorways, slept under bridges, sat slumped on benches. Unless they committed a crime, they were mostly left alone, ignored and avoided. He didn’t deserve this life. But he had no idea how to make a different one.
BY THE TIME HE’D DRIED everything and pulled on warm jeans and a t-shirt, he’d finished the book. Stalinist Russia had not been a good place to live. Innocence hadn’t mattered then either. He folded his clothes as neatly as he could, carried everything back to the flat, and repacked his backpack and guitar. The sleeping bag was laid out on the floor ready for that night. He supposed he could sleep on the couch, but the floor was fine. A room of his own was a luxury.
It was almost twelve and Tay was still asleep. Ink beckoned Dog from the bed and took him into the garden. Dog did a thorough inspection of the entire plot, sniffing every inch of it, finally choosing a spot to take a piss, before coming back to Ink.
Dog did like him; Tay’s mother had been right. Not love though. No one loved him. The sad thing was he couldn’t ever let that happen. He almost laughed at the thought that it might or that he could stop it happening.
Back in the flat, he made pastrami sandwiches for him and Tay, and flicked the kettle on. When he went to check if Tay was awake, he was just stirring.
“Okay?” Ink asked.
Tay sat up and dragged his fingers through his hair. “Yeah.”
Ink thought he looked too pale, but not as dough-faced as Ink when he’d come back into the world.
