by Con Riley
“Vanya!” It’s worth teasing to hear her laughter. “I’m the only bride in the building.”
A voice comes from the doorway. “The only bride who’ll be late to her own wedding if she doesn’t get a pedal on—” Her father stops when she turns, his face a picture of love Vanya sees replayed only a short while later.
Andrew mirrors similar adoration when he turns from the raised platform where the service is conducted. Vanya stands at the back of the room, watching Chantel walk arm-in-arm past children who sing with fluting voices, towards her husband-to-be and his best man.
The children blow kisses as she passes, adding sweetness to a moment he’ll hold onto forever.
He’ll remember how Jason looks beside his best friend as well, tall and broad and smiling. There’s another show of the kindness Vanya knows so well when Jason holds Chantel’s bouquet, while her veil is adjusted, and humour in the way he pretends to want to keep it. When he stands back as the service begins, a familiar smile curling the corner of his lips, Vanya wishes he had one more chance to kiss them before all this is over.
Then Jason catches his eye, and that small smile fades completely.
The service proceeds, Vanya’s sure, just like he’s certain that Anna stands beside him, her hand clutching his at crucial moments, but all he sees is Jason.
His watchful stare gives nothing away as the officiant describes how love brought two souls together. It remains fixed on Vanya as the children sing a Russian song they spent all week long learning. Jason only averts his gaze when he must, handing over rings from an inner pocket of his waistcoat, his gaze meeting Vanya’s again when his best friend promises to love Chantel with everything he has, forever.
There’s a kiss, Vanya thinks, and a rousing cheer that finally distracts him, along with hugs from strangers before the room empties. Wedding guests follow the happy couple outside for drinks and photos, leaving them alone together.
Jason stands with his arms crossed at the top of the raised platform, giving nothing away as he flatly says, “We should talk,” and takes a step forward.
The aisle between them narrows for no good reason, shrinking in slow motion as Vanya’s panic prickles. The urge to flee comes from nowhere, desperate and demanding and so hard to ignore that it hurts. He clutches the back of a chair rather than let it pull him backwards, closing his eyes rather than see the narrow alley where his nightmare started. When he opens them, Jason’s taken another step down from the platform.
“The last thing written on your list,” he asks. “Is it happening right now?”
“Y-yes.”
Jason nods. “I wondered.” He glances at Vanya’s knuckles. “Not sure you could hold onto that chair much tighter.” He takes another step down before stopping. “Now you’re looking a little green.” He backs up, climbing the steps he just descended. “Tell me what to do to make this easier.”
Easier would be turning tail right now, but giving in isn’t an option.
Not now.
Not if he wants to be sure he’s done everything that he can. “I’m come to you.” Vanya unfurls stiff fingers. Once he’s let go of the chair, he faces his fear head on. There’s only a short aisle and four steps up to where Jason waits in silence. “Would be easier,” Vanya finally admits, “if you could talk instead of staring.”
Jason speaks when Vanya clears the first step. “One of the kids here today is the son of my ex.” It’s a thread of conversation Vanya can’t deconstruct at that moment. “Although ‘ex’ isn’t how his dad would describe me. Garry would flat-out deny it, despite being with me for years. We first knew each other at school, but he was never quite ready to come out. Always needed more time. Couldn’t ever see me in public, and certainly would never meet around here. No one was ever allowed to know about us, so he’d come up to London once a month if I was lucky. It went on like that for years.” He shakes his head like he can’t believe it. “Sometimes we broke up for years as well, but he always came back. Then if I mentioned us moving in together, I wouldn’t see him for dust.” His voice is low and soothing even though what he says sounds hurtful.
“Looking back, I was a sucker. He gave me just enough hope to keep me hanging on for the real thing. I didn’t even know that this is what I wanted.” He gestures at the room garlanded with flowers and ribbon. “Then he’d stand me up over and over. He lied to me, and he made a habit of using his phone to do that. He’d text excuses—little lies that didn’t stack up, like saying he was in one place when I saw on Facebook that he wasn’t. And he told big lies too, like saying he was busy with work when really he was busy getting his girlfriend pregnant.” His exhale is resigned. “I haven’t dated anyone seriously since we finally broke up. Six years should be enough time to figure out that not everyone who swings both ways cheats on all their partners. For fuck’s sake, I’ve known Dom for almost as long as Garry. He’s bi as well, but he doesn’t lie to his lovers. I really thought I was over it right up until I saw you from that rooftop.”
He stares up at ancient roof beams that can’t have heard much worse declarations. “I saw you lie to me by text and then cuddle up close with someone you swore was your best friend’s girlfriend.”
“It wasn’t—”
Jason holds a hand up. “I know. It wasn’t what it looked like.” His next huff almost sounds like a laugh. “Believe it or not, I’ve heard that line a few times.” He pauses for a long moment. “Here’s the thing—Garry had no good reason to lie, besides being a complete wanker. But….”
Vanya’s next step brings him close enough that Jason could punch him if he wanted.
He can’t help flinching at that thought, but he makes himself stand still, sure with everything that he’s got that Jason will never hurt him. “But what?” he whispers while his mind wars with his body, his vision narrowing again as his fingers tingle.
“But that folder makes me think that you did. Have a good reason, I mean.” Jason’s gaze is intent and troubled. “I read the rest of your file.”
“And?”
“And I can’t say that I understand all your decisions or when things changed between us—but I need to double check that I understand this part at least. On the last page—the one you wrote just for me—you mentioned not spending a penny of the cash I paid you.”
“Still have,” Vanya blurts. “Will give it all back.” It doesn’t matter how long it takes to save up now he can earn money without lying. Pride surmounts fear for the first time in forever. “Can get real jobs instead of false ones. Already have interviews at supermarket and restaurant. Will afford someplace safe in no time.”
“That’s not the part I wanted to double check.” Jason wraps his hand around one of Vanya’s despite it being clammy. “I read about why you needed a safe place for you and for Anna, but was it true what you wrote next? About how you never expected to—”
“Fall in love?”
“Yeah. That.” Jason’s expression is unreadable. He’s a big man, easily strong enough to break him, but when he asks, “Was that part true?” he sounds fragile.
Vanya nods very slowly.
Guests clink champagne flutes in the next room, and children play chase outside as Jason seeks more confirmation. “And do you still?”
Vanya takes the last step left between them when Jason drops to one knee, not yet done asking questions. “Can you?” Jason asks. “Love me, that is, after what I said?” He bows his head for a moment. “I can’t believe I threatened you with deportation. Not when….” He squares his jaw after re-establishing their eye contact. “Not when I can still remember how good it feels to find a place of safety.”
“Jason—”
“Only I can’t stop thinking about how you looked after I said it… after I said I’d report you to immigration.” His shoulders hunch momentarily before they straighten, as if guilt is an immense weight he’s determined to carry. “I scared you, and I’m so sorry. I would never have gone through with it. I hope you can believe me.”
A voice calls out from the doorway—one of the hotel staff sounding harried. “Is the best man still in here? The wedding party needs him right now for photos.”
“Yes.” Vanya answers. He waits until Jason gets up from his kneeling position. “Yes,” he says again, this time speaking directly to him. It’s a one-word answer to Jason’s question, promising both forgiveness and a fresh start.
“Yes?” Jason’s smile emerges—small at first before widening in a way Vanya so wants to get used to. “You do?”
His answer is simple.
Vanya says, “I do,” to his best man in Britain, and means it with his whole heart.
Epilogue
London
Nine months later
All that blocks Vanya from his future is a chain-link fence around a schoolyard. When the bell for morning break sounds, nothing happens for a minute, then the doors fly open, children spilling from inside the building followed by playground supervisors.
The noise the children make is breathtaking—shrieks and yells and laughter.
The thought of the interview Vanya is here for is equally overwhelming.
A quick glance at his phone shows he’s arrived far too early. It also reveals a text from Jason.
You won’t need it, but good luck for today.
He fires off a reply—Always need luck—and then touches the bees dotting the tie he borrowed for exactly that reason. His smart shirt is another reminder that maybe luck can be bought in Marks and Spencer. Crisp, bright white, and brand new—no one else has owned it, another gift from the man he woke up next to this morning.
He spies one of the supervisors through the chain link surrounded by a waist-high crowd of children. Vanya can’t hear her instruction, but the children comply, forming a line next to a shed while she unlocks it. The footballs she retrieves are met with high excitement. She’s busy giving them out to those who stand up straightest when another text pings.
They’d be stupid not to want you.
You’re virtually a qualified teacher.
How many volunteers can they get with your experience?
Jason’s next message—They’ll snap your hand off—is followed by a quick translation. That means they’d be silly to say no.
Vanya fumbles his phone while replying, nerves numbing his fingers. There’s so much he could say in response. So many ways to phrase how much Jason’s support means to him. The two words he finally spells out will have to do until this interview is over.
Love you.
It’s a truth that’s lasted, even stronger after nine honest months together. Still he can’t help feeling nervous even with a folder stuffed with evidence supporting his application. Taking deep breaths doesn’t do much to help, but he does his best to draw in another and scans the playground to kill time until his scheduled appointment.
Discarded sweatshirts are piled high to make goalposts, the girls showing the boys what they’re made of by scoring the first goal. Other children skip along the sidelines or play clapping games he remembers from work placements as a student. Every child is busy with the work they do best, playing with intense vigour, apart from one boy who walks the playground perimeter, skirting the football players. Then he sits alone at a bench, legs swinging as he watches their match, his expression wistful. One of the players yells in his direction, but he turns away rather than answer.
Another ping distracts Vanya—a reply to his last message.
I love you too.
Now stop shilly-shallying.
Get in there and show them.
When he looks up, his sight of the boy is blocked by one of the supervisors who watches Vanya closely. He crosses the street her way quickly, aware—oh so aware—of how loitering this way could seem. Her watchful expression clears as soon as he holds up the letter instructing him to come here.
“Ah, you can’t get in this way. The gates are locked until home time. You need to go to reception. It’s around the other side of the building. They’ll buzz you right in.”
“Am here far too early,” Vanya confesses.
“They’ll like that.”
Children flock in her direction, clamouring like starlings for her attention. She’s pulled away but not before a football is kicked over the fence and into the road behind Vanya. It’s the work of moments to retrieve it, and only takes a few more seconds to decide where he should throw it. It soars over the heads of the football teams that wait, landing close to the lone boy he noticed. By the time Vanya says goodbye to the playground supervisor, he’s playing, dribbling the football amongst all the others.
She stops him for a second. “That was nicely done. He’s new here. Still finding his feet.”
Vanya nods as he backs off. “Can be hard.” This much he knows, like he also knows that everything’s easier with friends. “Happy to help.” He heads to the reception entrance, nerves only returning while he turns his phone to silent, and waits. They lessen once he’s shown down corridors that feel familiar—low hooks on the wall hold bags and coats here the same as back in Russia. He reads name labels as he walks—Mateo, Lucy, Amir, Piotr—and the person guiding him notices.
“We’re one of the most multicultural Primary schools in England. Fifty-three different home languages spoken by our pupils the last time we counted, and new pupils coming on roll every single week of the school year. There are several hostels locally,” she explains. “A lot of displaced families. Sometimes we’re only a temporary stop while their families get settled. Some children stay for longer. It makes for a very diverse setting.” She opens the door to an office. “But it also means our pupils can be particularly vulnerable, so why don’t you tell me why we should let you in our classrooms?”
It’s easy once Vanya gets going. “Am recent immigrant, also. Before… before, at home in Russia, was close to graduating.” He opens his folder and flips past partial degree transcripts that took months to arrive. “Only need a few more credits. And I’m have this.” He shows her a certificate that clears him to work with children. “Got this to run a storytelling session.” He lingers over it for a moment. “Was only a small library project. Just for summer, but it was good reminder that working with kids is vocation. My partner….” He meets her gaze and holds it. “He talks about my future.”
When she doesn’t raise an eyebrow he adds, “He asks if teaching is different in Russia. I’m don’t have an answer because I’m don’t know for certain.”
“You want to find out and then maybe finish your studies?”
There’s no maybe about it, but he nods, and when she leads him back to the corridor on the way to his first classroom in Britain, Vanya gets to find out.
Vanya leaves at the same time as the school children, much later than he expected. Several shout their goodbyes, waving as they’re collected. People throng on the far side of the chain-link fence like another meeting of the United Nations, parents from so many countries all waiting to take their kids home. As Vanya crosses the playground to the gate, they eye this new arrival.
He doesn’t feel particularly new right now, despite only helping here for a day.
He’s at home already.
Easing into an environment so familiar feels like wearing clothes cut to fit him. He’s comfortable and relaxed in a way that leaves him smiling widely, oblivious to the dried paint speckling his new shirt or to the fact that his tie is still tucked between its buttons to save it from dangling into paint pots. He also doesn’t notice Jason waiting.
Vanya stops the moment he sees him and then jogs towards him.
“You came to meet me?” It’s ridiculously pleasing, as is the way that Jason’s fingers only brush his slightly, gently, out of sight between them, aware that school is a place where Vanya’s anxiety was once rooted.
He appreciates it, but he also won’t go back to how fear once ruled every moment. He’s never going back, and he doesn’t need to, not when he’s just spent the last hour reading stories about families his own might
resemble one day. If these kids aren’t fazed by books about two daddies or two mummies, they can teach their parents not to stare at adults greeting each other.
He hugs Jason while children mill around them and then asks another question. “Why are you here?”
“Because you didn’t answer your phone or any of the texts I sent.” Jason’s next tease has a serious undertone. “I checked at the supermarket first, in case you picked up an extra shift, then I swung by the restaurant to see if you forgot to tell me you were waiting tables after your interview was over. You know, if you lived with me, I’d have one less place to look for you.”
That’s true, but standing on his own two feet once legal had been important. That way, there couldn’t be any doubt that housing was a reason to be together. “Sorry. Turned off phone for interview.” Vanya fishes it from his pocket and reads the last two all-caps texts on its screen.
The sound of parents and children fades when he reads WHERE ARE YOU? followed by another text that causes him to sharply inhale.
CHANTEL’S GONE INTO LABOUR.
The train journey passes in a blur, Vanya oblivious to the fields that fly past outside while Jason verbally frets about the birth of his brother’s first child. He only stops worrying aloud when Vanya twists in his seat to dust specks of plaster from his shoulder.
“Andrew phoned in such a tizzy, I didn’t stop to get changed.”
“Can see.”
“Like you’re in any position to judge.” Jason turns a little in his seat too and touches the bright paint spots on his white shirt. “Seems like you’ve been working hard as well. I thought you were just going in today to talk? I worried when I couldn’t get hold of you,” he admits. “I went to your place too when you didn’t answer your phone. Anna said you hadn’t come back.” His forehead creases. “I think I caught her at a bad moment.” Then his expression shifts to anger. “Fucking Brexit.”
