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Ben was about to start questioning him but realised he didn’t actually want to hear Nikolas lie. Nikolas didn’t need the practise.
Dutifully, almost robotically, Ben resumed the drive.
Molly’s eyes were closed before they passed the first sign to the main road.
Radulf, however, did not settle. He seemed quite keen to hear what Nikolas had to say for himself.
They drove in uncomfortable silence, main road giving way to dual carriageway and then the traffic fading as they took quiet lanes only locals knew, climbing now as the tors of Dartmoor began to appear, fleeting glimpses of granite on the darkening skyline, the brown-gold of the winter grass glinting with frost under the moonlight.
Hating the silence between them, Ben said nothing, but laid his palm on the steel-tight thigh and squeezed. As he told Nikolas occasionally, when he wasn’t furious with him, there was nothing Nikolas could ever do that would stop Ben loving him—merely empty words if you didn’t prove their veracity when they were needed.
Nikolas glanced down at the touch.
He appeared to be thinking more deeply about the gesture than a hand on a thigh would normally elicit.
After a moment, he shifted his leg away.
Ben’s hand felt the absence of contact like a cold burn.
The icy sting shot from his palm to his heart, gave him a prick of pain, and then slow bleeding commenced from a wound that he felt might never heal.
His hand still hovered over the tiny gap which Nikolas had opened up. He couldn’t move to close it. It was too deep: it was a chasm between them.
If they were nothing else, they were men of joined flesh. That connection defined them. Always had. Yet Nikolas had now separated them.
Ben clenched his fist, conscious mimicry of Nik’s posture earlier. He closed his eyes, squeezed as hard as he could.
The burn of the separation only deepened.
He couldn’t help it, he couldn’t, but hebelievedin fate and portents. What else had their lives taught them but to be wary and to be ready?
Ben had the overwhelming feeling that this breach between them was a premonition of a far greater severance yet to come.
He swerved suddenly at a bump, jerked open his eyes, realised he’d drifted towards a drainage ditch. He returned his hand to the wheel.
Fortunately, they were in their lane now, the narrowest part of the journey, where no other vehicle would have been possible to meet, let alone hit.
Almost home.
Absurdly, Ben wanted to remonstrate, "We're going on holiday, Nik. Like they said.Away. Isn’t that enough?" He could explain it no better than that—a sudden desperate desire not to discover the import of that phone call, to stay ignorant, to let their world just continue on as it was, lies and all.
Who needed to be consulted?
Who needed to be equal?
Who needed the fucking truth?
They were on the ridgeline, the whole valley, their valley, spread out below them bathed in mellow light spilling from the house. Tim's Mercedes was pulled up in front. Such a normal scene. They should be coming home, opening wine, eating with their friends, teasing tired dogs, Nik swimming, Molly returning to Sarah, and then the gradual build of tension, the powerful need to be alone, just the two of them, and then just one.
One body, one heart, one soul.Inseparable.
His vision was blurring as the car crunched to a halt on the gravel.
Squeezy came out to release PB and Radulf. Sarah appeared, and Molly went very willingly with her, still upset from the long, disappointing day.
It was all so normal.
Nikolas ignored them all and went into the house.
