Zain was… He didn’t know what the hell Zain was doing. Trying to swim? Couldn’t he swim? Roman powered down to reach him, caught hold of him under the arms and kicked up. But Zain continued to thrash around, slipped from Roman’s hold and he had to grab him again. When they surfaced, Roman thought Zain would calm down but he was still fighting as if he’d not registered he could now breathe, that he was safe, that Roman had him.
“It’s okay. Stop struggling.” Roman grunted as Zain’s elbow hit his stomach.
Fuck. Was he hyperventilating? Having a panic attack? Roman flipped him onto his back, held him under his arms and kicked for the shallow end. Once he could put his feet down, he was able to lift Zain out of the water and heave him onto the side of the pool. Roman climbed out and knelt at his side. Zain was gasping and shivering violently and Roman’s heart lurched. Fuck! He could have died. Zain’s dark brown eyes were open but somehow Roman didn’t think he was focusing on anything.
Roman pushed to his feet, quickly fetched a towel and wrapped it around Zain.
“I need to know what to do to help you,” Roman said. “You’re out of the water. Nothing’s going to hurt you. You don’t need to panic.”
Zain continued to gasp, sucking air in and out and if he didn’t slow down, he was going to pass out.
“Zain. Slow your breathing. You’re out of the water. You’re safe. Am I supposed to distract you? Talk about the weather or what set you off and tell you none of that matters?” Roman hesitated. “Kiss you? You’re the one who wants to be a doctor. Try to tell me what to do.”
“Can’t…breathe,” Zain gulped.
“Yeah you can. In and out. Slowly.”
Zain clutched at his chest. “Oh God. Hurts.”
Anxiety gnawed at Roman’s heart. “Breathe with me. In…out…in…out.” He held tight to Zain’s hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the water was cold.”
Was that all it was? The cold water had plummeted Zain into shock? Oh God, I nearly lost him. How stupid was I to think he was pretending?
Slowly Zain came out of it. The look of terror in his eyes faded, his chest stopped heaving and his shaking lessened.
“Okay,” Zain whispered.
Roman pulled him into his arms, risking holding him tight now Zain’s breathing had eased. “You’re not okay. You scared me to fucking death. I should have dived in sooner. I’m sorry. I thought you were faking it.”
Zain gave a strangled groan. Roman kept having to remind himself not to hug him too tightly when all he wanted to do was hold him as tightly as he could. He pressed his face into Zain’s hair, his own breath shuddering from his lungs.
“No one’s going to hurt you. Nothing’s going to happen.” Not yet, anyway. Roman swallowed hard.
“I’m all right now,” Zain croaked.
Roman pulled back to look at him. “How many fingers am I holding up.” He held up two.
“Seventeen.”
Roman chuckled and shifted Zain around until he was sitting in his lap. “Your heart might have slowed, but mine is going crazy. What the fuck happened?”
“I forgot my swimming trunks.”
“Or?”
“There’s a shark in that pool.”
“Right.”
“I thought I was going to die,” Zain whispered.
Roman felt Zain’s fingers tighten on his arm.
“I gulped water… My lungs… Shit.” Zain buried his head against Roman’s chest.
Roman wanted to know what had happened. This was more than landing in surprisingly cold water. He kept quiet and let Zain come down in his embrace and tried not to think that he might have lost him.
“Try the fingers thing again,” Zain said.
Roman held up five.
“Yep, I’m fine. Eleven now.”
Zain took a deep breath. “Panic attack. There was nothing I could do. I’ve never had one before. I’ve read about them but… Shit. There was nothing I could do. Even when I was at the surface, the air was too thick to breathe.”
Roman was desperate to know what had triggered it. Was it the cold water? Ask him. “I should have warned you the water was cold. I’m sorry. Did it make you remember something you wanted to forget?”
Zain shuddered against him, burrowing under the towel, and gave a quiet groan.
“I’m really sorry.”
Zain’s breathing was still laboured.
“You don’t have to remember,” Roman said. “Sorry. Forget it again. Shove it back in the box. Lock it. Swallow the key.”
“No. I don’t think I should. I think… I’m pissed off that I panicked and if you say you’re sorry one more fucking time…”
Roman pressed his lips together.
“Well, maybe you can say it one more time.” Zain managed a smile. “I get the feeling you don’t usually say it at all.”
Roman huffed. “I’ve used up my entire allocation for the year in the last five minutes.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” Zain sighed. “Maybe I’m not over things in the way I thought.”
Over what? Would he tell him if it was something bad?
“Can we go in the hot tub?” Zain asked.
“Whatever you want.”
Roman helped him to his feet and over to the hot tub. He checked the water was warm before he sat Zain on the edge. “I’m going to get a beer, want one?”
“Okay.” Zain shrugged off the towel.
As Roman carried the beers over, he heard Zain moaning as if he were about to come.
“Oh God, God, God. So good. Ohhhh.”
Roman put a toe in just in case but the water was hot.
“It’s just like an enormous bath,” Zain said with yet another sigh. “All I need is soap and someone to wash me.”
Roman climbed in and sat down next to him. It did feel good.
He handed Zain a bottle. “Don’t drop it. We should really be using plastic but beer tastes better out of a bottle.”
“How long is it going to bubble?” Zain asked.
“I turned the clock to forty minutes.”
“I wonder if that’s long enough to tell you why I just freaked out.”
Roman stared at him.
Zain shivered. Tell or not tell? He could feel anxiety on the rise again. But he didn’t have to tell it all. Just the reason why he’d panicked.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Roman said.
“I need to. I don’t want to bore you with details of how I got to the English Channel. It’s a very long story and it’s…yeah well… But maybe you need to hear part of it to understand.” But not all. And starting further back might help him when he reached the point he tried so hard not to think about.
“When I set out from Aleppo, I carried what food and water I could and walked north along a pocked, rutted road. One of many making the same journey on foot and in vehicles.
“The first twenty-five miles were the most dangerous. You might be stopped or turned back at a checkpoint by Kalashnikov-carrying sentries. I’d never felt so alone. Ninety-three miles from Aleppo to the Çobanbey border crossing and Turkey. It doesn’t sound far but after only a few miles, my feet were blistered. I was thirsty and hungry and scared, and after I almost stepped on a sand viper, I wondered if I’d even make it out of Syria.”
Roman slid his arm around Zain’s shoulder.
“It was hard to decide whether I was safer staying with others or better on my own. There was an ongoing risk of being taken and made to fight for whichever side grabbed me, including IS.
“I trailed fifty yards behind a family who were also on foot, and… I took the path they picked out because there were land mines.” He gulped. “I felt so guilty but I couldn’t bring myself to offer to go first. I should have. If they’d died… But they were given a lift in a truck and the guys in the back beckoned me too. I thought about it but worried I’d get robbed and shook my head.
“No more than five minutes later, a plane zoomed overhead and less than a mile a
way three vehicles were destroyed including the one the family had climbed into. I have no idea who the plane belonged to. Syria, Russia, America, Turkey.”
“Christ.”
Zain took a gulp of beer. He still wasn’t sure he could grow to like it, but the mouthful of cold liquid soothed his throat.
“I was lucky. Someone was looking out for me. Maybe my father. That hope kept me going.” He released a shaky sigh. “But the journey here was bad. It got worse. Camps. Lice. Disease. Theft. Hunger. Death. The rain. Crossing the sea to Greece in a small boat cost me a lot of money and I know I was one of the lucky ones because our boat didn’t sink. Everyone survived. We were greeted with kindness. At first anyway. I was lucky because I spoke English and was paid to work as a translator both by the media and officials trying to help with the flow of people. I maybe stayed longer than I should have doing that but I knew I’d have to pay to get across the Channel.
“Eventually I made it to France and the last few weeks there were spent with a family from Syria. A couple and their two children, a funny four-year-old called Viktor, and Lely, an eleven-month-old.”
Zain felt Roman take the bottle from his hand. He’d almost submerged it in the water. He swallowed hard. His throat felt thick.
“Amena’s husband Elias was sick. Thin, weak, coughing all the time. He told me he had cancer, diagnosed in Syria but the supply of drugs dried up and his operation got cancelled. I tried to persuade him to go to a hospital but he… He knew he was dying. He said he wanted to spend what time remained with his family. He begged me to help them get to England where his brother lived. He told me he wanted to see his brother before he died but I think he knew that wasn’t going to happen.”
Zain gave a quiet groan. He couldn’t tell part of this. Not now. Maybe never.
“We found a guy who said he could take us over the Channel, that he had a boat. Ehsan…” Zain almost choked on the name. “Ehsan sat Viktor on his knee and tickled him, said he had a little boy the same age and that Viktor would like the boat. Ehsan was Iranian. His English was good. I translated for Amena. The night we were due to leave, I thought that maybe there wasn’t even going to be a boat, that he’d lied but it was there. A rigid-sided inflatable, already loaded with people before we arrived. Everyone else was Iranian. I think they were one of the few groups with money. The Africans took their chances on lorries.”
He was delaying telling this, delaying remembering.
“I didn’t think there was room for two more adults, two children and me. There was some sort of argument between Ehsan and a couple of others on the boat, the one who was going to steer. Maybe about the boat not being able to carry us too. It didn’t look safe. But Ehsan had taken…our money and we were given life vests.”
Mud in my throat. It was hard to speak.
“I put my backpack over my life vest. Fastened it across my chest. And somehow we squeezed on board. Ehsan got on too and sat next to me. I held Viktor because his father couldn’t. He was huddled next to his wife with their baby girl clutched in her arms. The lifejacket was for too big for Viktor and I worried. I kept thinking…”
He found himself catapulted back to that night—back into his fear, back into the bitter cold that intensified once they were out on the water. A low moan escaped Zain’s throat.
“Are you sure—”
“Yes,” Zain said. “I’m sure.” No, I’m not. “It was so cold. Colder than I’d imagined. The sea was choppier the further from the coast we moved, splashing into our faces, soaking us. Everyone huddled together in the darkness, clinging to the sides of the dinghy, clinging to each other as we were buffeted by the waves. Viktor wanted his mother. He was crying for her but there was no space to move around. We were packed in tight. Maybe thirty of us on a boat made for ten. A disaster waiting to happen.”
Zain leaned harder against Roman. Something firm and steady in a sea of terrible memories.
“The boat began to take in more water. People were scared, calling out “no swim” and bailing with whatever they had. Plastic bags. Their hands. I was frightened. Ehsan was talking on his phone and when I saw how worried he looked, I thought we were all going to die. We saw a couple of huge tankers and people shouted for help, screamed. There was no way they could see us. We had no lights except from people’s phones. Those big boats could have mown us down and not even noticed.”
Memories swamped him. The desperate fear on people’s faces. Knowing how close they were to death.
“We saw the lights of Dover in the distance and though it was a long way, people began to cry out in joy instead of terror but the boat was still filling with water and I saw no cause to celebrate. Within moments, the fear was back. One big wave washed over the boat and the women were screaming for help. A boat rushed towards us and we thought it was the British coastguard come to save us, except it wasn’t. Three men who’d been on our boat—including Ehsan, they got onto the other boat and left us.”
“Oh God,” Roman whispered.
“We shouted for them but they didn’t even look back. There was a brief argument on board. I assume it was about who’d steer. The biggest guy won. He stepped onto people to get to the tiller, made the boat tip and more water sloshed in. I remember thinking, at least I had my stuff in plastic bags inside my backpack. Fuck, as if that mattered. Everyone was shouting and screaming, panicking. Another guy stood up and tried to get to the end of the boat, tripped over and we capsized. The boat just flipped and threw everyone out.”
“Zain.” Roman stroked his arm, pressed his face into his hair.
“I had Viktor in my arms when the boat turned. I tried to hold onto him, I did my best, but he slipped from my fingers. Oh God. I thought my heart was going to stop. He was my responsibility and I’d lost him but I somehow found him among all the splashing people. A miracle. The relief. But those in the water were grabbing at anything to try and stay afloat. Drowning each other. I tried to keep me and Viktor away from them. It was so cold. I couldn’t see his mother or his sister or his father. The boat was drifting away but some guys had caught hold of it and climbed on top.
“I think I knew Viktor was dead.” He released a shaky breath. “Maybe if we’d been picked up straight away, he could have been saved but he was limp in my arms. It was hard to keep hold of him. Hard to keep myself afloat. I could have let him go. It would have been easier to swim. I could have swum to shore but I saw Amena in the water. She was on her own. No husband. No baby. She called out to me and then she looked at Viktor and her eyes… I…I was in shock. I thought we were all going to die.
“It didn’t take long for the British coastguard to reach us, but it was too late for most. They lifted Viktor from my arms and dragged me on board. When I was on the coastguard boat, wrapped in a silver blanket, I saw Amena holding her son, stroking his cheek, crying and I couldn’t face her. I turned away. I was ashamed. I’m still ashamed I didn’t save him.”
Roman pulled him into his arms and held him tight. “Do not say that. Never say that. You did what you could.”
“I want to forget.”
“You can’t ask for that. You won’t forget but you did nothing wrong. You did everything you could. A small child in cold water. It’s not your fault.”
“I worried for so long that I’d bump into Amena on the street on London, what she’d say.” Zain gulped back his sobs.
“Zain!” Roman held Zain’s head in his hands and stared into his eyes. “Don’t.”
“I want to forget.”
Roman pulled him into his arms. “Babe, you’re not going to forget.”
“Help me to. Make me think of something else. Other than you just calling me Babe.”
“I did not.”
“Yes you did.”
“I said Gabe. I forgot your name.”
Zain gave a choked laugh and kissed him.
They heated up the pizza, a four-cheese, thin crust and ate it in the kitchen. Roman opened a bottle of red wine he’d brought up from the
wine cellar. Zain let Roman pour him a small amount into a glass but when he sipped it, he winced.
“You don’t like it?” Roman asked.
“Not really.”
Roman tipped it into his own glass and brought Zain water.
“Where does Arkady live?” Zain asked.
“Holland Park. About three miles away.”
“Not far.”
“No. Don’t worry about him.”
Zain gave a heavy sigh. “I sort of go by Tolkien’s advice on that. It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near him.”
Roman chuckled. “That does sound like good advice. My father…”
Zain looked up, trying not to seem too eager for any snippet of Roman’s life but… “What?”
“My father used to call Arkady a sleeping dragon. A man to tread lightly around, but Dima is the more dangerous. He’s wired and reckless and has a temper like nitro-glycerine. Placid to full-on fury at one push. He’s never liked me.”
“Where do Dima and Qash live?”
“Dima has a flat in Kensington. Qash lives in Woolwich.”
“Not near one another?”
“No. You’re surprised? They have little in common except for a desire to make a lot of money by whatever means necessary. Dima makes use of Qash’s willingness to be violent. I assume Qash likes the excitement and the money.”
“I never thought Qash was much interested in money.”
“It’s true that he isn’t spending his in any obvious way, but maybe he’s saving up for something.”
Hopefully not a house for him to share with me.
Whatever It Takes Page 22
