Chapter Seventeen
Nash
It’s not that he didn’t want to talk about it, though. Well, he kind of didn’t want to talk about the way his disability disables him at ten o’clock in the morning when he’s about to have a long day of talking to people.
But also, he really needs to decide what he’s going to tell Kurt.
He does genuinely open his inbox. There are a few more back-and-forth emails between Kurt and the execs that Nash has been cc’d into. Requests for more time, and clarity on some clauses in the contract, like whether they’ll be wanting to show-pony him as the face of the network.
Tomorrow – that’s the deadline he gave Kurt, wasn’t it?
The other thing playing on his mind is whether someone is going to leak that he’s here.
You never know who is submitting to DeuxMoi these days, though Nash has got quite good at spotting people trying to take a sneaky photo.
He doesn’t mind those so much – it’s kind of funny how subtle they think they are being and yet are absolutely failing to be.
But if word reaches Kurt that he’s stuck in some village in North Wales before he can tell him, that would be really bad.
No, that would suck. And it would probably hurt Kurt’s feelings.
He has two options it seems. Either he’s honest with Kurt and tells him that he can’t discuss anything until after Christmas because he’s fled the country, or he just makes up some reason as to why he can’t talk about it.
He’s an actor, and you’d think that lying would come naturally to him, but this is different.
At Myffy’s, Priti lets them both in while she goes to get her things, and they find Myffy tucked up in the front room with a stack of romance novels next to her.
‘I’ve ranked them in order of smuttiness,’ she announces with a cheeky smile. ‘Good to keep a bit of heat in my bones, isn’t it?’
‘Do you need anything else today?’ Christopher asks after he’s finished chuckling. ‘We’re just in the area knocking on doors for the next few hours so we can be back pretty quickly.’
‘I’m good for food, thanks to you lovely boys. Polly, my PA, is doing much better now – but do you think you could whizz her over later? I’ll get Shaz to coordinate if you two are out and about.’
‘Sounds good to me.’
Independence. That’s what Christopher had been asking Nash about earlier, and now that Nash is in Myffy’s house, he can’t stop thinking about it.
Relying on other people to look after you is tricky.
There was some time a few years ago, when he was luckily out of contract from Parental Units, when his seizures went wild – the neurologist had tried him on a new medication, and it had done the opposite of what was intended.
He’d been so ill and felt as if his brain was on fire all the time.
There’d been so many seizures that he’d been in and out of hospital and wasn’t safe to be home alone.
It had been his friends who’d taken up looking after him in the gaps.
Cooking for him, washing his clothes, helping him get around the house, picking him up after he’d had seizures.
In the last decade, he’d lost touch with some of those people, but you never forget that care and love. He’ll never not be grateful for it.
Not everyone could be relied on to love someone in
that way.
‘Have you heard anything from Mohan? Has he managed to get out of London yet?’ Nash asks.
Myffy shakes her head sadly. ‘No trains. He keeps camping out at Euston; that’s the big station where the trains to North Wales go from. He’s hoping for the best, but nothing is running still.’
‘Damn,’ sighs Christopher.
‘It’s a pity he didn’t drive down as he’d probably have chanced it by now,’ she adds. ‘Anyroad, I’d rather he’s warm and safe in his hotel.’
‘That’s one thing, at least,’ Nash says, wishing there was a way they could bring Mohan home for her.
If he was the kind of extremely rich feature-film star with Marvel money then maybe he’d be able to get him on a private plane; not that anything is flying and he’s pretty sure there’s not a suitable airspace anywhere nearby anyway.
The point is, maybe he could do something, rather than just wish he could help.
The feeling gnaws at him a little, and if he’s honest, it’s nice to have something else to think about that’s not his own – arguably rather trivial in the grand scheme of things – problems.
Even though they’re off to drop off Priti and pick up Polly, and so will be back shortly, Nash still makes Myffy a tea before they go.
It just seems right. Together, they drive Priti over to the GP surgery, which has managed to open in spite of the weather.
Luckily, a few of the staff have their own cars and have been coordinating their own emergency response plan, assisted by Tamara in the community centre.
It’s kind of amazing really, what such a small community can do with a few resources.
Then, they very slowly drive over to the next unpronounceable town to pick up Polly, a small and very smiley woman with a shock of black hair, who they drop off at Myffy’s cherry-red front door.
‘Call us if you need anything,’ Christopher says, with the kind of deep seriousness usually reserved for movies set in wartime.
To be fair, he does have the kind of face that wouldn’t look out of place in World War Two costume.
He’d have to lose the round glasses, of course – those are far too modern New Yorker essayist adjacent – but his slim face with all the potential sharp edges softened and those huge baby blues would make him perfect for a role of kindhearted man just doing his best during the Blitz.
The sort of character who just wants to get back to his pregnant wife.
Perhaps it’s wrong to typecast him so readily, but the energy cannot be denied.
If anything, it’s one of the things Nash likes about him, even if it’s a bit irritating at times.
But that’s how it can be sometimes, can’t it?
The things you most like about someone can be their annoying habits.
Perhaps it’s just about memorability – nothing sticks in your mind more than being pissed off by someone.
God, where is his mind going? They’re driving back up the hill now to start on their adventure in knocking on doors to check on everyone, and Nash can’t help but glance over at the Boy Wonder himself.
There’s so much about this man that he doesn’t know, which is on one hand kind of strange when they’ve shared a bed, and on the other, not at all.
After all, he has shared a bed plenty of times with someones, their names lost to time.
Admittedly, that was a very different Nash; a younger, more carefree Nash. A Nash who hadn’t been hurt yet.
Urgh. That uncomfortable squishiness creeps in again. God, he’s fed up with it.
Looking for anything else to think about, he settles on the scarf around Christopher’s neck. ‘I need to ask you something.’
‘Go on,’ Christopher says with trepidation.
‘Is that Paddington Bear on your scarf?’
‘It is. I didn’t realise he was an internationally recognisable bear.’
‘I think pretty much everyone has seen the movie by now.’ The goal is wide open, so he takes the shot. ‘So, a big bear fan, are you?’
That one was too easy. Christopher does that awkward shuffle as if his body is turning to stone, and his cheeks go that familiar uncomfortable scarlet.
More evidence to confirm his suspicions, along with the general air of panic Christopher displays every time they get physically close.
None of this is the behaviour of a straight man.
In his experience, straight men barely pick up on what he means when he references the subcultures.
Unless they’ve been ‘forced’ into watching endless series of Drag Race with their girlfriends, though that just tends to mean they mistakenly use queer lexicon as if it’s their own and need to be talked down.
Either way, they end up scrambling to say something that isn’t gently homophobic, and that produces a very different kind of panic: allyship panic.
Or, you know, straight-up homophobia, but he didn’t suspect Christopher of that, or else he’d have turned around and left the moment he arrived.
If Christopher was straight and uncurious (an important distinction from the ‘straight’ guys Nash has been with), the panic from sharing a bed would be a very different flavour. Interesting. Very interesting.
Not that Nash should be dipping there, nor does he want to. Well, he’s a bit curious. Anyone would be curious.
‘It was my Christmas gift from Haf last year. Paddington is kind of our thing. It’s surprisingly warm, even though I’m fairly sure it’s for kids as it’s very short.’
‘Is everything you own something you’ve been gifted by a woman in your life?’
‘Worryingly, I think you might be right. Also hang on, did you say “the movie”? As in singular?’
‘I haven’t seen the second.’
‘Nash, there’s three now. So we’ll have to see to that then.’
‘Is that a threat? It sounds like a threat.’
‘It’s just a really good film.’
‘Big film buff, are you?’
Another open goal. Nash has been working on a theory that Christopher does, in fact, know precisely who Nash is, but without logging into his Netflix – which has been curiously logged out of on basically all the devices in Christopher’s house – he can’t prove anything.
Until then, he can just poke and prod and see if a reaction comes out.
‘I’ve seen a few things. Mostly with bears, or bears.’
Nash cackles. At least he can find that sense of humour deep down under all that earnestness and bat back occasionally.