Chapter 13
. . .
Reuben
I’m checking my reflection in the mirror when my phone rings.
“Omid?” I say, answering the call.
“Reuben. Hello, my old friend.”
“Fine. How about you? It’s been ages since I last spoke to you.”
“Life passes quickly. Everything is good. Thank you for sorting Oxford out for me.”
I smile at the sound of his warm, accented voice. It brings back so many memories that they crowd my brain, jostling for position. “You make me sound like someone from the mafia. I was just at school with someone on the university vetting board. And how did Hila do?”
“She has a place.”
“That’s amazing. You’re a proud father, then?”
“I am always that. She is going to go far in life. Further than her father, that is for sure.”
“I don’t know about that. Afghanistan to Surrey is quite a journey.”
“More than you know, my friend, and I have you to thank for that.”
“No need for thanks,” I say awkwardly.
Omid was our interpreter on our prior jobs in Afghanistan. When he said he wanted to leave the country, we pulled some strings and got him and his family out, too.
“Ah, you always say that. I have memories of so many situations when you would grow so awkward at praise.” He laughs. “It was very much the opposite with Jez.”
“He hasn’t got an awkward bone in his body.”
“Farah always called you the Shy Man.”
I laugh. “Your wife doesn’t know me very well, then.”
“Or maybe she does.”
“Are you okay?” I frown. “Do you need anything?”
“Peace, my friend. You are always so ready to help.”
“You’re my friend, yes?”
“I am. And that is why I am ringing you.”
“What is it?”
“I heard you are going back.”
Unease stirs. “Where did you hear that?”
“Around and about. Is it true?”
I blink at the caution in his voice. “Yes, but it’s not common knowledge.”
“Psah. I am as silent as the grave, yes?”
“Yes.”
“But as your friend, I would beg you not to go.”
I shift the phone to my other ear and straighten my tie and smooth the lapels down on my black suit. “Why?”
“I have heard rumours about the village where you are going.”
A chill feathers down my spine. “Rumours?”
“That it is not safe for Westerners.”
I frown. “Jez’s contact says it’s fine.”
“You are using Farzad, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, he is the brother of my sister’s husband. They were always a bad lot. Farzad is arrogant and reckless. Do not trust his word.”
When I look in the mirror, I can see the frown on my face. “So, it’s just rumours, then? Nothing that’s been proved?”
“You know the country, my friend. Rumours are all you will get until it is too late to avoid the truth.” The words settle and seem to echo into a too-long silence. Then he sighs. “I would wish that you not go, Reuben.”
I bite my lip. I don’t discount his word. I would never do that because his instincts are what saved all our lives many times. But it’s too late and I can’t back out now and leave Jez alone.
“It’s all arranged,” I say steadily.
His sigh has a weary resignation to it.
“Then take care, my friend. You would leave behind a hole in this world.”
“Thank you. Much love to your family.”
The call ends, and I wander over to the window, idly massaging my thigh where an old bullet wound from years ago left a jagged scar. When it rains, it aches. Xavier had spent a long time kissing it the other night until the skin hummed under his lips.
Omid’s words echo in my brain. Would I leave a hole if I die?
The idea is appealing but not strictly truthful.
Granted, Monique would mourn me, but I never really had a full place in her world.
Friends would mourn too, but the same applies to them.
I have made my steady way through life, taking care not to tread too heavily on other people’s lives.
The reality is that I have friends, but not many who would truly mourn me, because how can you grieve something you don’t understand?
I shake my head. This is not productive.
Especially not on the day of the funeral.
The knock on the door is a welcome distraction, and I shout “coming” and grab my wool coat from the bed.
When I open the door, Jez is leaning against the jamb.
His hair is smoothed neatly down, and he’s dressed similarly to me.
He doesn’t say anything, just looks at me.
“Alright?” I ask, shifting awkwardly under his steady gaze. “You okay? Have I got a mark on my face?”
“No, not at all,” he says slowly. His eyes are dark and his expression very fixed.
“You don’t seem so sure about that.”
“I’m fine.” I pull the door closed behind me and shrug into my coat. “Do you want to say goodbye to Xavier?” he says casually.
I can’t help the way I freeze. “Erm, no, why would I? I presume he’s asleep. Why?”
He just shrugs, a strange expression on his face. My heart starts to hammer. “No reason. You just get on with him, don’t you?”
I hesitate. “Well, yes. He’s a nice kid.”
He blinks, and the expression vanishes from his face. “Shall we get going, or we’ll miss the funeral?”
“Yes, of course.” I follow him down the corridor, my gaze pinned to his wide back.
What was that about? Does he know about Xavier and me?
My stomach roils, but I swallow down the panic.
Of course, he doesn’t. I’m just feeling guilty and making silly leaps.
He’s probably behaving oddly because he hates funerals.
Thunder rumbles above us and rain splatters down, the cold drops sliding over my face and trickling under my collar to trace icy fingers down my spine.
The day is full of a stormy light—dim and dark, occasionally shot through with gold.
A mist curls around the ancient gravestones, obscuring the moss growing so verdantly.
I focus on the tendrils, imagining taking a picture, positioning the shot to include the lettering on the stone.
It takes my mind off the gaping hole in the ground.
The fresh dirt looks like a wound against the green grass.
“We commit the body of our dear brother to the ground. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life,” the vicar intones, and I shiver.
The words echo in my head like a warning.
Once again, I find myself thinking back to my maudlin thoughts earlier.
Who will stand around my grave? Who will weep for me?
It’s going to happen and probably sooner rather than later.
I’ve been too casual with my life for far too long, taking chances with something that should have been a gift and treasured.
I think of Xavier. Would he mourn me? The answer is uncomfortably clear. Yes, he would. His feelings for me are written clearly across that mobile face of his. He likes to consider himself cynical, but the truth is that he isn’t.
For the first time, I let myself think of carrying on with him.
What would happen? He’d probably end up hurt.
It’s already a certainty that I will. I have…
feelings—lust, longing and maybe love. It’s silly to think of love so soon.
But here in this cold graveyard, I might as well confront the fact that I’ve fallen for him.
I’m in love with him, and it’s stupid and so fucking reckless, but I still can’t escape it.
I love his wit, his cleverness, the gentleness and loyalty he shows. He is a singular person who has somehow become, against my will, my person. I shake my head. I’m fucked whichever way you look at it.
The vicar says something else, ending the service, and I become aware of the sound of weeping and the splatter of raindrops on umbrellas. People begin to move away, and a shiver runs through me.
“Hope no one slips in the grave,” a voice says from behind me. “It’d be a bugger to get them out.”
I look around. “Max.” My old friend stands before me. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“You try being taken hostage. It really takes it out of you.”
“God, that was ages ago. Don’t be so dramatic.” He snorts, his face lighting up. “You never call. You never write.” I drag him into a hug. Under my hands, I can feel how thin he is. I pull back. “How are you, and don’t give me the usual bollocks about being fine.”
“I’m fine.” His feverish eyes say otherwise, but I allow the lie. If he asks me the same question, he’d get an identical answer, and I know he wouldn’t question it either. That’s what we do. That’s who we are.
“Can’t believe Sean is dead,” he says, staring at the dark hole in the ground.
I nod. “He always seemed so much more alive than anyone else.”
“Ironic that he went to all the shit spots in the world and then ended up copping it at home.”
He’s carefully avoiding the subject of how Sean died. No one wants to mention it. I touch my fingers to my forehead in a salute to the man I’d known since I was a rookie reporter.
“How’s Ivo?” I ask, seeking a reprieve from the gloom.
His face lightens briefly, his eyes turning warm. “He’s okay as far as I know.”
“As far as you know?”
He shrugs. “You know he retired, yes?”
I nod. “To paint pictures.”
His full mouth twists. “And to reconnect with old loves.”
I wince. Max has been in love with his old partner, Ivo, for years. It’s an open secret in our community. I have my own thoughts about that. I think he’s in love with an ideal rather than the reality, and someday he’s going to realise that. I hope it’s not too late when he does.
“So, what are you doing these days?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I retired too, but you know—”
His words drift away, and I nod slowly. “It’s not so easy.”
He stares at me. “Yes, you know about that. It’s hard to tell people who aren’t in the game.”
“And what form is your retirement going to take?” I pause and then say deliberately, “Apart from staying away from the old job.”