Ravenfall

by Narrelle M. Harris

  Irritated again, Gabriel shoved the blankets aside and swung his feet onto the floor. He took a deep breath and listened.

  Yes. There it was. The soft, pacing footstep of James in his own room, sleepless as ever.

  Gabriel was shuffling, bleary-eyed, to the kitchen in the morning when he caught sight of James darting out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his hips, moisture dewed in the hollow of his spine and on the tips of his short brown hair. The caduceus tattoo, which he’d glimpsed on their first meeting, was strikingly dark against James’s pale skin, the central staff and wings tinted golden, one snake in solid black while its twin was a bold outline. Three red poppies were entwined around the foot of the staff.

  More compelling than the tattoo was the way the towel clung to James’s waist, thighs and the shape of his arse which, Gabriel noted, continued to be fabulous.

  Gabriel cleared his throat, as though that would clear the sudden desire from his system. ‘Tea?’ he asked, voice rough from lack of sleep.

  James turned, revealing the firm musculature and fine swirls of hair of his chest and abdomen, the solid strength in his biceps and shoulders. Gabriel’s mouth was instantly dry, and he couldn’t stop staring. God.

  ‘Sure,’ said James carefully, averting his face from Gabriel’s avid gaze. He hurried into his bedroom.

  ‘Yes. Good.’ Gabriel unfroze and turned back to the kitchen.

  Don’t be the creepy flatmate, Gabriel told himself sternly. He’s not interested. Stop staring. You moron.

  Except that Gabriel was pretty certain that James was interested, though better at disguising it. He’d seen the flicker of James’s gaze taking in Gabriel’s low-slung pyjama pants and the bare chest of his slender, wiry physique.

  Or maybe, Gabriel thought, James really was straight after all. He’d looked away quickly enough. Gabriel wouldn’t have put money on it though. Perhaps it was simply the fact that tall, skinny, bony, weird gits with too-intense eyes and hair that wouldn’t stay bloody combed were not James’s cup of tea, romantically speaking.

  Hell, Gabriel wasn’t anyone’s cup of tea, in Gabriel’s experience. Not for longer than a few months, at any rate. By then the novelty of the weird-artist-boyfriend had worn off and it was all, can’t you be more normal? Why can’t you get a proper job with that degree of yours? And for god’s sake, stop letting those people into my house.

  Gabriel generally didn’t much like other people after a few months either. Most of them he started to dislike after a week. A day. Selfish, narrow-minded, judgemental pricks. They all wanted something without having to give anything back. Some badly judged boyfriends had decided that if Gabriel couldn’t afford the rent on a regular basis, he could pay in other ways, by spreading his legs and shutting the fuck up about what he did and didn’t like that way. The streets were definitely better than that.

  Gabriel liked James, though. James laughed at Gabriel’s black jokes, and made more than a few of his own. He didn’t mind that Gabriel was odd in his hours and habits, any more than Gabriel minded James being a bit odd in turn. James never asked Gabriel to justify himself, or made obnoxious comments about his visitors. James would never try to bully him into doing things he didn’t want to do.

  James, thought Gabriel with exasperation, was bloody lovely, and not bloody interested, and that was bloody that.

  That seemed to become even more unequivocally that the following evening, after both men had put in a day’s solid work at their respective part-time jobs. James dashed in the door from the clinic and changed into a fresh shirt and a pair of clean jeans that clung very nicely to his thighs and backside. Gabriel had to make a point of staring fixedly at his sketch book instead of at James’s arse.

  ‘I’m off,’ said James, dashing for the door again. ‘Date.’

  He was dressed nicely, but not too nicely. Dark slacks, a checked button-up, a navy and beige plaid blazer. Like all of James’s clothes, the outfit was well worn but also well cared for, and he looked good in it.

  He looks good in everything, while I... Gabriel fiddled with the hem of one of his usual novelty T-shirts. His battered leather jacket – an Oxfam shop bargain from his university days – was slung over the back of a kitchen chair. What a style icon. Michael’s right. I’m a juvenile delinquent.

  ‘Do I know him?’

  ‘Sharee, from the clinic.’

  ‘The neonatal nurse?’

  ‘That’s her.’

  ‘Oh.’ Gabriel was on the back foot for the accumulating reasons of: he’s dating; a woman; definitely not me. ‘Have a good time.’ Gabriel tried to be neutral but he thought he mostly sounded snarky.

  ‘We’ll see,’ James said, as though it were a dangerous mistake to get his hopes up. ‘Are you painting tonight?’

  Gabriel glanced at his sketchbook. He appeared to have drawn the curves and planes of James’s shapely legs and rear. ‘Possibly.’

  ‘If you want someone to have a wee peek and cheer you on, I’ll be free later.’

  ‘That’s pessimistic of you, isn’t it?’

  James paused at the door. ‘Or… not, then.’

  Gabriel waved him on, pretending nonchalance. ‘Whatever.’

  James departed. Gabriel went to his room to paint. He stared at the canvas for half an hour before giving up and pulling out his sketchbook again, where he drew a picture of James’s face, with its broad forehead, strong jaw and small chin; the quirk of a smile at the corner of his mouth; and the shadowy sadness in his kind eyes.

  Gabriel feathered his fingers over the latter. That happened sometimes. His pencils and paints captured things he hadn’t meant to draw. Certainly, James never meant for him to see that expression.

  The click of the front door opening and James’s soft footfall drew Gabriel away from contemplating the sketch. He glanced at his watch. Not yet 10 pm. Not a successful date, then.

  Gabriel put the sketchpad underneath a used palette and emerged from his room.

  ‘James?’

  The doctor was standing by an open cupboard, staring blankly inside.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  James sighed. ‘Yeah, aye. Sharee had to go home to her kid.’

  Gabriel considered the comment. ‘Did you know she had a kid before you asked her out?’

  ‘Aye. Julian. He’s a sweet lad, only six. He likes Lady Gaga and newts. Sharee got a text saying the babysitter was sick.’ It was clear James didn’t believe a word of it and couldn’t be bothered to try.

  ‘I take it she didn’t rain check.’

  James turned to lean against the counter but he didn’t meet Gabriel’s sympathetic gaze. ‘I don’t think I’m her type.’

  Gabriel’s mouth twitched in disdain at Sharee’s lack of good taste. He was on the verge of saying something incredibly stupid like You could be my type, if you like and instead said a different stupid thing. ‘Plenty more fish, and all that.’

  ‘Fish,’ deadpanned James.

  ‘Sure,’ said Gabriel. ‘Or. You know. Some other aquatic analogy to dating the fickle and clearly deranged.’

  That smile pulled at the corner of James’s mouth. ‘Fickle and deranged now, is she?’

  ‘Well, obviously. What with you being a doctor and ex-army to boot. You have that nice balance of caring and tough, like in those action films with Bruce Willis.’

  ‘The PTSD is just a bonus?’

  ‘Some women love a reclamation project.’

  Gabriel thought for a minute he’d pushed it too far, but James laughed. ‘Aye, I’m a real fixer-upper.’

  ‘Good basic frame, though,’ Gabriel said, grinning, ‘And the garden’s nice.’

  ‘What does that even mean?’ demanded James, merriment bubbling up.

  ‘I haven’t the foggiest,’ admitted Gabriel, laughing with him, ‘But I suppose the next tortured analogy should relate to a splash of paint.’

  ‘Well, you’re the man for that.’ James’s smil
e faded. ‘I guess… bed for me then. See you in the morning.’

  ‘Goodnight. I’m expecting a visitor tonight, by the way. I’ll go downstairs to see her. You sleep well.’

  James, on his way to his room, hesitated. ‘You too.’

  Gabriel flicked the kettle on and stared at it, proving that contrary to old wives’ tales, the damned things would boil while watched. He put a teabag in the cup, then thought better of it and prepared a plunger of coffee. He took the coffee to his room and waited by the window.

  Hannah whistled up to him after midnight. Gabriel whistled softly back down, then made his way out of the flat and to the garden in the dark, pulling on his jacket to keep out the chill.

  ‘Hannah. Thank you.’

  ‘Don’ thank me Gaby. Ain’t told you nuffin’ yet.’

  ‘Thanks for coming, anyway,’ he said. He placed a hand carefully over hers, moving slowly so that she could see the gesture coming.

  Moving equally slowly, Hannah patted his fingers. ‘That Daryl Mulloway what dosses under Chelsea Bridge.’

  ‘I know him.’

  ‘He reckons he seen Alicia last week, down the river tunnel, what the Westbourne comes out of in the Thames. He’s a liar, but.’

  Mulloway was rarely sober, so it was a question of whether he was a liar or just addled.

  ‘Thanks, Hannah. I’ll go speak to him.’

  ‘He’s a liar an’ he pinches stuff,’ Hannah said darkly. She tilted her head to one side to regard him critically. ‘You done a paintin’ of me, dincha?’

  ‘I did. Thank you so much for letting me do that.’

  ‘Dja sell it yet, Gaby?’

  ‘Helene’s got it in the gallery. She says someone made an offer.’

  ‘You paid me twenny. You promised me a hundred.’

  ‘I’ve got it here.’ Gabriel drew an envelope from his pocket, but she patted his fingers to halt him.

  ‘Nah. Hang on to it, Gaby. I just git robbed if I got it wiv me. Just gimme anuvver twenny for now.’

  Gabriel opened the envelope containing four twenty pound notes, and drew one out for her. Hannah snatched it up and stuffed it down the front of her grimy clothes.

  ‘Daryl,’ she said, returning to the previous topic, ‘He reckoned he saw our Benny too. Not at the river, but. He don’ remember where, he reckons. Liar. Cos he said he’d tell me tomorrer.’

  Hannah fell suddenly silent as the back door opened and a bar of light spilled into the garden. She jerked away from the light as Gabriel turned.

  James popped his head out of the gap, then hovered uncertainly by the door.

  ‘I know you’re busy,’ he said quietly into the garden, ‘But I thought you might…’ He blinked at Hannah, who glared at him with suspicion. ‘Sandwich?’ he asked, and offered the plate that he held in one hand.

  Gabriel stared from the plate of sandwiches, to Hannah’s troubled frown, to James’s hesitant expression.

  ‘I’d love one,’ he said. James approached them, not seeming to notice the coolness of the night in just a khaki tee. Gabriel took a sandwich and bit into it. Ham, cheese and pickle. Nothing fancy, but it was fresh and tasty. ‘Here.’ He offered one to Hannah, who was always too thin, and after she watched him take a second bite, she shoved half a sandwich into her mouth.

  ‘Beer too, if you like,’ offered James in a voice so carefully neutral that Gabriel knew that the doctor was deeply unsure of his welcome. ‘Or we’ve got… uh…’

  ‘I’ll take the beer.’ Gabriel took the two bottles, noticing that there wasn’t a third.

  ‘That’s me off, then,’ said James, handing the sandwiches to Gabriel. ‘Night.’

  ‘Night,’ said Hannah around a mouthful of food, which she washed down with a posh German beer.

  Gabriel watched her eat most of the sandwiches – from his own kitchen supplies, since James never had anything in the cupboard except tea – and gave her the rest of his beer as they talked about Daryl and the things he said he saw.

  ‘Be careful, Hannah,’ said Gabriel at the end, when Hannah had wound down to mumbling. ‘If you could come to me after you talk to Mulloway, I’d like that.’

  Hannah gave him the side-eye. ‘Get your boyfriend to make more sammiches,’ she said.

  ‘He’s not my–’

  But she’d gone.

  Chapter Five

  Hannah didn’t come to see Gabriel the following night, or the one after. He had two other visitors, though, each with no more than rumour and hearsay for him. Nothing tangible.

  James was nowhere to be seen for the first visitor. Gabriel left the flat soon after and was away the whole night. He returned mid- morning the next day, covered in grime, his old shoes caked in stinking mud. He left the fouled shoes in the laundry and went home to shower and sleep.

  The next night, however, when Switchblade Roy (so named for the switchblade scars on his cheek) arrived in the small, cold hours, James brought out mugs of sweet milky tea and a plate of biscuits.

  ‘Thanks Doc,’ said Switchblade, spraying crumbs through his mouthful. ‘Wotcher.’

  James withdrew into the flat again.

  Switchblade swore he’d seen Hannah that morning, and that she’d sent a message saying Mulloway had disappeared. Then he stuffed his pockets full of biscuits, drank the rest of Gabriel’s tea as well as his own, and left.

  When Gabriel went back indoors, the light was visible under James’s door. Gabriel tapped on it. When no answer came, he tapped again and said, ‘James?’

  He thought James was going to ignore him, but finally there came a resigned, ‘Come in.’

  Gabriel pushed the door open and stood in the gap. James was sitting at the open window. He grimaced ruefully at Gabriel.

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to interfere. I heard Hannah downstairs the other night.’

  Gabriel hadn’t thought they’d been speaking very loudly, and remembered again that James’s hearing was spookily exceptional.

  ‘She’s not one of my patients,’ James continued. ‘but I see her around the clinic. She doesn’t eat properly. Most of our patients who sleep rough don’t. I know Roy, though.’ James shoved a hand through his short fringe. ‘I’m sorry if I interrupted.’

  ‘No,’ said Gabriel mildly. ‘It was fine. Hannah appreciated it, and Switchblade. He’s got a sweet tooth. He loves biscuits, that man, the sweeter the better. Jammy Dodgers were just the ticket,’ he added drily. It had once more been his own groceries that James had so freely offered to the visitors, a fact that amused rather than bothered him.

  James laughed wryly. ‘Yeah. About that. I’ll replace them.’

  ‘No need,’ said Gabriel. ‘I don’t mind. It was thoughtful of you.’

  ‘Look, I don’t know what it’s all about, but if you or they need anything I’m more than happy to help. At least bring them inside.’

  ‘They’re not all comfortable with that,’ Gabriel said without elaboration.

  ‘I get that. But if it’s raining or cold or whatever. They’re welcome, if you want to do that.’

  ‘Not afraid some homeless person is going to infect your house or kill you in your sleep?’

  ‘Good god, no,’ responded James with genuine scorn.

  Gabriel gave James a long, assessing stare. James pursed his lips but endured the evaluation.

  Gabriel’s gaze drifted from James to take in the whole bedroom – the simple furniture, the uncluttered shelves, the bed that had been lain on but not slept in. A wardrobe, closed, with a belt hanging from the handle. No pictures. No ornaments. It was like no-one really lived here; or like the man who did had no real place in the world. Like he was only temporary.

  ‘Let’s have a cup of tea,’ Gabriel suggested, wanting suddenly to not be in this lonely room.

  There was a beat before James rose from his chair by the window. ‘Okay.’ He walked past his tenant and into the kitchen, where he busied himself putting on the kettle and t
hrowing teabags into cups.

  Silence reigned while the tea was made. James pushed a cup into Gabriel’s hands. He sipped at his own tea, steam curling around his face, after they both sat at the table.

  ‘You have questions,’ said Gabriel.

  ‘It’s not my business,’ said James.

  ‘If you’re going to have random strangers in your flat at all hours, it’s reasonable to know more. More than you’ve worked out, at any rate.’

  ‘Homeless people. Two or three times a week. You talk to them, sometimes you give them things. Food. Books. Batteries, even. Sometimes after that, you go off for a while. You came back this morning smelling like the Thames at low tide.’ James tilted a subdued smile at him. ‘It’s not a problem.’

  ‘It’s not your business,’ said Gabriel mildly.

  ‘Like I said,’ James shrugged, ‘I can see you’re helping them, and they’re helping you with… is it a missing persons case? So anyway. If I can help, feel free to ask. That includes medical attention, if any of your friends needs a doctor.’

  ‘They can go to the clinic.’

  ‘True, but a lot don’t come, not on my shifts anyway. I know it’s not straightforward. People don’t always trust something official, like a clinic on the National Health. I only keep first aid supplies at the flat, but the offer stands.’

  Gabriel nodded, pretending that his heart rate hadn’t pushed up several notches. His mind was going through a strobe-flash of good idea/bad idea/it’s under control/it’s getting too big for me/they trust me to keep their secrets/people are vanishing, maybe dying/I should do this alone/I promised to help/he wants to help me/he wants to help.

  ‘Thanks. That could be useful. If it’s convenient for all concerned.’

  ‘All right.’ James seemed relieved. ‘Whatever’s good for you.’

  Gabriel noticed James’s cup was already empty. He reached for it, and James surrendered the cup, almost apologetically, at having drunk it so quickly. Gabriel flicked on the kettle again. He finished drinking his own tea as he prepared a second cup for his landlord, then another for himself.