opens, his hair messy and his big brown eyes half
closed. “What the fuck? Do you ever sleep?”
“Get dressed. You’re helping out,” Chris orders.
“No time for chitchat.”
Dmitri is next. “No way, Jose! I’m not speaking to
no paparazzi.”
But he puts his clothes on eventually, still sulking
and stealing frightened glances at Chris. It’s
inexplicable that the part-time drug pusher should
be scared of her, but he is.
Chris brings out her Jackie O. sunglasses to give
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to Dmitri.
“Put them on. Once they find out you’ve got
nothing to say, they won’t print anything. Trust
me.” Chris has been saying that to everyone; she’s
beginning to believe it herself.
Finally, she gets dressed quickly in another
understated black outfit and canvas trainers.
Alex wears his beanie and Ray-Bans. For once,
Chris approves.
“Are we getting a taxi?”
“No. These people like chasing cars. Don’t you
remember Princess Diana?” Chris touches Alex’s
arm to reassure him.
“I’m no Princess fucking Di,” Alex grumbles. If
the circumstances were different, they might find
this vaguely amusing.
Chris laughs anyway. “No. That’s in your favour.
They’ll leave you alone soon enough.”
When Alberto and Dmitri both emerge from their
rooms, still bleary-eyed and half-asleep, Dmitri
sporting the ridiculous, large sunglasses, Chris
declares the early morning strike ready. Alberto
looks out of the window and tells them only four of
the paps are still around.
Stunt.
The gang descend the stairs. Alberto is the first
one who will distract them. He leaves, and five
minutes later, Chris receives a blank text.
“Okay. Dmitri. We’re leaning on you.” Chris
points at her flatmate, the red nail varnish a kind of
warning.
Dmitri grimaces. “Pizda.” Cunt. But he puts on
his game face and opens the door.
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Chris counts ninety seconds, then turns to Alex.
“Ready? Three. Two. One.”
They emerge. A photographer is poised with his
camera but one of his other colleagues is deep in
conversation with the Russian. Another young
woman moves forward.
As the door is shutting behind Chris and Alex,
they take off running, hand in hand. The camera
guy shouts to the other paparazzi. Abandoning the
decoy—Dmitri—they all give chase. Alex is naturally
fast, but Chris with her long legs keeps up without
much difficulty. They can hear footsteps behind
them, especially the clacking of the women’s heels
against the concrete pavement. When they get to
the main road, they jump on the first bus that
comes along.
“Shut the door. Please, shut the door,” Chris
shouts at the bus driver, who frowns at her. “Bad,
bad people are chasing us. Please.” Chris urges her
to help.
The driver stares at her and Alex, then glances in
her side mirror. “Okay.” She presses the button to
close the door, moving away from the kerb as the
cameraman and reporters reach the side of the bus.
Regarding Alex, while keeping her eyes on the
road, the driver smiles. “This one here could take on
a few of them. What are you worrying about?”
Chris grins, her bright eyes sparkling. “We don’t
believe in violence.”
The driver laughs. “Go and sit down, you two.”
Chris leads Alex up to the top deck. They must be
in luck since the front seat is free. Sinking into the
soft bench, Alex hides his head in his hands again.
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Chris chuckles as she looks back through the
smeared and dirty windows to find the three
paparazzi staring after the departing bus.
Alex glances at her sidelong. “I’m glad you find
this funny.”
“Did you hear Dmitri? He was talking about the
Cossacks. What the fuck has that got to do with the
price of eggs? Cossacks!”
“He’s taken one of them to a coffee shop and is
getting his first caffeine intake of the day for free.”
She instructed the Italian to say nothing.
Alex shakes his head. “So, what now?”
Chris calls up her map on the mobile. “I’ll text
Liam.”
Liam and Ali are waiting in their small black car
by the time Alex and Chris reach the appointed bus
stop. They get in and greet each other.
Liam turns around. “Hey, have we missed the
excitement?”
Chris laughs. “You’re part of it. It’s like that
programme on the telly. Pet Rescue. ”
Alex rolls his eyes. “I’m not your pet, Chris,
though as we’re talking about animals, when you
run you look like a pretty lynx.”
Chris is grinning wide, enjoying the adrenaline
rush and the triumph over the paparazzi.
“Oh, my friend, Liam, you’ve met. This is Ali,
Liam’s boyfriend—I told you about them. Ali, this is
Alex.”
Alex pats Liam’s shoulder. “Thank you so much,
mate.”
Ali replies, “Of course. We heard it’s an
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emergency, friends in need.”
They’ve come out to pick Alex and Chris up
without a moment of hesitation.
Once they arrive at Ali and Liam’s house in
Islington, Ali offers his hand to Alex. “Welcome.
Make yourself at home. The guest room is yours for
as long as you want.”
Alex shakes the offered hand, and grateful tears
threaten. “Thank you, again.”
“No problem. I’ve got to go to work. I can’t believe
I’ve already done a run-along the A1 and it’s not
even nine a.m.” He reaches out and grabs Liam for a
kiss. “You get them settled, okay? See you all later.”
Liam gives him the grooviest smile before turning
to Chris and Alex. “Actually, I’ve got a class too. Do
you need anything else? As Ali said, treat this like
home. All right? Here’s the spare key.” He passes it
to Chris.
“I…thanks,” Alex mumbles. “Hopefully, we’ll
figure something out soon.”
“Don’t worry! Mi casa es tu casa.” Liam winks.
“Alberto taught me that.”
“It’s Spanish,” Chris counters.
“Really? Same difference.” Liam looks at his
mobile. “Sorry. I’ve got to run. Classes to get to,
courses to fail.”
Chris shakes her head.
Liam goes into his room and picks up his flute
and backpack full of college stuff. He departs with,
“Let us know if you need anything, okay? Don’t be a
stranger.”
The new Liam is breezy, bouncy and full of love, a
changed man. Gah, Chris used to despise people
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who change f
or the better because they are happy!
Before she met Alex, she’d already accepted that the
gooey love of coupledom was never going to happen
to her.
L.O.V.E. Forever and ever. Unspeakable and
unknowable.
Am I happy? Chris doesn’t know. She and Alex
have too much to deal with right now to think
beyond the immediate crisis, but Alex squeezes her
hand as if he understands.
After Ali and Liam have left, they sit in the quiet
house. Alex draws Chris close, laying his head on
her shoulder. “My depression has got worse, Chris.
This is not helping.”
“I know. Is there anyone who can help? Your
parole officer?”
Alex pulls away a little, resting his forehead
against hers. “No, my PO is not a head doctor. He’s
business-like but not particularly helpful. And he’s
already told me this would happen one day. I went
to some drug and alcohol courses in prison. Now all
I have is the medication.”
“Alex, whatever you want to do, what’s best for
you…I’ll be right here. You’re my charge,
remember?”
Alex’s lips lift at that.
Chris makes them both some toast and coffee,
warmth of the sunlight streaming through the
windows.
“Do you think they’ve heard about your
contract?”
“Probably, and they haven’t even started the
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promotion yet. It’s supposed to be hush-hush,
rumours only.” Alex sighs.
Chris curls her wearied fingers around the cup
handle. “That new kid Paul might have called the
media to earn a quick buck.”
Alex considers the situation for a moment. “You
think so? I guess he recognised me right away. I
doubt my story’s worth that much.”
Chris takes a sip of coffee. “He’s a twat who’d sell
his parents if money’s involved.”
Alex takes the day off, and he and Chris relax in
Ali and Liam’s house. Both of them are tired from
having little sleep last night. In the afternoon, they
relax on the settee and watch some mindless
daytime TV. Her head rests on his broad chest as
they lie back.
“I’m Alex Whale. I don’t run from the paps,” he
declares all of a sudden, in the middle of a reality
show rerun.
Chris grins. That’s the man she admires. She asks,
“Do you know why I don’t own any heels?”
“Hmm, cuz you’ll look like a giraffe in a crowd?”
Chris hits Alex on the arm. “Says the man who
looks like his nickname. Anyway, I’m only six two.”
Alex chuckles. “Tall enough. You look gorgeous in
anything, though. Why do you always wear flats,
then?”
Chris takes a sharp breath. “About five years ago,
I was beaten up so badly I was in a coma for two
days. I tripped and one of my heels broke, or it
might have been the other way around. Anyway, the
three blokes called me a tranny and kicked the shit
out of me while I was on the ground. They stamped
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on my head. I had my hands and arms up to protect
it, otherwise… They broke one of my arms, a rib, an
ankle.
“You should’ve seen me when I first regained
consciousness. I looked like the Elephant Man. The
hospital told me I was very lucky not to have
permanent brain damage.”
Chris takes Alex’s hand and places it on her scalp
just above her hairline on the left. “Can you feel it?”
A hard lump—a sign of transphobic hatred.
“That’s a reminder of the attack. Those men
wouldn’t have cared if they’d killed me. How could
human beings do this to another human being? I
escaped death, Alex. Someone walking past
screamed for help and called the police. They never
caught them. Maybe they didn’t try very hard.
“I used to have long hair down to the middle of
my back. I wore dangly jewellery and stilettos when
I wanted. After that, I stopped wearing heels and I
cut my hair. I don’t want anyone to grab my hair or
for my shoes to break again when I try to run.”
She’d lost her accommodation and couldn’t work
for
months,
instead
couch-hopping
with
acquaintances, living from hand-to-mouth. When
she finally went back out there to face the world, she
had to force herself one step at a time.
Alex touches Chris’s cheek with his fingertips.
“I’m sorry that happened to you. I can imagine how
beautiful you were with your long hair.” He cards
his fingers through Chris’s short blonde strands. “I
like this, too. You’re flawless and pure gold inside
and out. You know that?”
“Now you’re encouraging me to be conceited. It
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was lucky my face survived. Imagine!” She hums the
chorus from ‘You’re So Vain’.
Alex laughs. “You remind me of these tough old
boxers who always get the fuck up no matter how
many times they are knocked down. Or a roly-poly
toy.”
Alex gently massages her head. She smiles and
leans into his palm and feels inspired by him.
“I’ve grown to like my short hair, but I love heels
sometimes. I’m queer and I will wear whatever I
want. I won’t be afraid of falling down and not being
able to run. I won’t let them win.”
“Then let’s go home in a couple of days. What’s
the worst that can happen?” Alex asks.
Chris touches her chin and thinks about the
question. “Not much. They’ll snap a few photos and
try to speak to you, I guess. You may be lucky and
there’ll be some other bigger news that day and
they’ll have forgotten all about you. Yeah?”
Now Chris has put it like that, Alex relaxes a little
and sits back.
“I know I’m a miserable bastard and you deserve
someone better, but… Do you want to live with me?
I mean, not like sharing a flat because we do that
already. I mean, do you think we can move in
together?” Alex bumbles along with the words. “To
share a flat with me, but not like the way we are
now.”
He grimaces at the garbled delivery of his veiled
declaration of love.
Chris considers Alex as he waits in hope. She
swallows hard.
Alex sighs. “I know. I’m no good to anyone. This
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depression.” He rubs his temple as if that will make
it go away. “I want to hold you every night. I want
you to be mine.”
Chris screws up her nose, mirroring Alex’s little
insecurities.
“It’s the most beautiful thing anyone has said to
me. Yes, I’d love to live with you, Alex. You know…I
can’t give up work. Not yet, but I’m looking into it
.”
She tells him about the childcare course, about
studying part-time, trying to change her life. They
both pay pretty high rent now, so they should be
able to afford a small flat together. Pooling their
resources, Chris may even be able to work less.
Alex caresses her face. “I know.” He kisses her.
“I’m not easy to live with. The psychiatrist said
there’s nothing she can do to cure me. I can only
control it through the pills. I’ll ask her about
therapy again. I’ve been dreading having to talk
about it, but I want to be able to live with the illness.
I want us to be able to live with it, y’know?”
Chris kisses him, brushing her hands over his
strong body.
When they break away for air, Alex breathes out
to steady his tremors. “When I’m down, I want you
to know it has nothing to do with you because you
make me happy. As happy as someone in my
condition can ever be.”
Chris smiles, tears threatening to fall from her
eyes.
“I’ve never made anyone happy. Not like that.”
She puts her hand up to stop Alex from arguing
otherwise. “Not truly. A good fuck is just that. I
didn’t think I knew how because I’d never had
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anything. Love, trust, someone who wanted me for
me. They always wanted me for something else—for
what I could do for them, for sex or money.”
Alex smiles. “If I didn’t feel so down in the dumps
and I wasn’t so scared of rejection because you are
way above my league, I’d have fucked you the first
time we met. It’s good that we didn’t jump straight
to sex. For you, I mean.”
Chris considers it. “I like the stuff we do in bed.”
“Yeah, I like doing the stuff we do as well. In bed,
out of it…”
Chris rubs her head in Alex’s neck. She can’t have
enough of him like that. She whispers, “You know
most people think of me as a slut. It’s work, nothing
more. With my other lovers, I tried to prove I wasn’t
a sex machine, but it never helped. They made me
feel cheap because…because I was offering them
free sex and it should feel good, but I couldn’t get
away from worrying about whether I was
performing right. Whether I deserved their
attention. So…I’m fucked up, Alex. I want you to
know that. Do you still think I’m worthy?”
Alex pulls Chris close. “Worthy of my love? Of
course you are. I want you to feel good, to have what
you need. When you are with me, you never have to
perform, all right?”