Stockholm Syndrome [01] - Stockholm Syndrome (35 page)

"Move over," he says, abruptly, and squirms under the covers with him for a cuddle.

Valentine immediately starts unbuttoning his shirt for him. "You'll get too hot then you'll whinge. Take your clothes off."

"Is this whole thing just a ploy to get me naked in bed? Because you could just
ask
..."

283

C H A P T E R 2 6

"Shut up."

He shuts up, and just lets himself be undressed, sitting up a bit so Valentine can get the shirt off his shoulders and lifting up so he can tug his jeans down. Valentine's only wearing pants and a small t-shirt. Far too overdressed, but he frowns and wriggles when Lindsay tries to pull at his top and says,

"Don't."

"Why not?" He slips his fingers under the hem again, testing.

"I love jazz."

"Okay, okay."

It feels strange, lying together in this bed. They've fucked in here before

– there's nowhere in the house they
haven't
– but this is the space he sacrificed to Valentine's junk, his sewing machine and canvases and clothes and horrible kitschy furniture he couldn't resist on eBay, because keeping it all together behind a door he didn't
have
to go through if he didn't want to was better than having it all spread out around his 300-year-old house, cluttering the place up and making it hideous. He doesn't come in here a lot. The view from the window is the same as the view from the other bedroom but just
slightly
off, there's an extra tree you can just about see and a sliver of mountain is missing. It throws him more than he thinks it should so he stops looking and slips his arms around Valentine. The kid cuddles against him, pillowing his head on Lindsay's good shoulder and trailing his fingertips through the hairs on his bare chest, across to the gunshot scar four inches above his heart. Nobody speaks, not for a long time, until Lindsay notices his shoulder's getting wet and a lurching stab of alarm gets him right in the pit of his stomach.

"
What
?"

"Nothing!" The kid's laughing again. It's a wet, hitching, breathless little sound, but it's still a laugh. "Sorry. Ignore me. I'm okay, I swear, I'm just being a stupid drip."

"Philip."

284

S T O C K H O L M S Y N D R O M E

"Don't call me Philip."

"I'll call you Philip forever if you don't tell me what's wrong."

Valentine settles again, wiping Lindsay's shoulder dry first with his hand, and Lindsay takes hold of his wrist before he can slip his arm back under the covers, bringing it up to his face so he can kiss the damp salty palm. He can feel the newest tattoo under his thumb, where the thin skin inside Valentine's wrist is still dry and raised a little bit from the black ink. He kisses him there as well.

"I want to know why you're crying."

"I'm not no more."

"Don't be difficult."

Still nothing for a moment, then Valentine sighs quietly and touches Lindsay's scar again, the one at his shoulder. "Just... thinking too much."

"That makes a change."

"Ha ha ha. Don't take the piss, I'm delicate." Very slowly very carefully, he circles the ragged scar with his fingertip. "It's one year ago today. Shouldn't matter, really. It's stupid getting all worked up over anniversaries, ain't it?

Specially cos everything's okay now. It just... snuck up on me. And I was missing Olly. And I can't talk French and I feel fucking
stupid
when people stand there in shops and stuff smiling all indulgently listening to me fuck up then talk English to me anyway. And it would've been my grandad's fifty-ninth birthday the day before yesterday and I only remembered today. And-"

Lindsay kisses him to make him shut up, because he's still not even
nearly
ready to think about last year, and to stop him crying again because it looks like he's about to. Valentine doesn't struggle this time, just sighs gently through his nose and winds his fingers in Lindsay's hair, kissing back until the greyish twilight outside the window goes dark.

285

C H A P T E R 2 7

Lindsay knew this trip back to the UK wasn't going to go without a hitch, but of course the arguments just
have
to start even earlier than he expected. They're still at Ty's house when he and Valentine start squabbling over the front seat.

"But that's the
rules
," the kid keeps saying, clearly frustrated out of his tiny mind but trying to sound patient and reasonable and grown-up. "One half of a couple drives, the other's shotgun. It's RULES."

"Who says?"

"It's just rules, innit? Like you don't say mean things about someone's mum, even if they say it first and you're only agreeing. That ain't allowed. And you have to sit in the back, cos
I'm
Lindsay's boyfriend."

"You're not my boyfriend," Lindsay says automatically, loading the last bags into the old Jeep. "Get in the back."

"
What?
"

"I don't want you playing with the music all the way. I don't want you

286

S T O C K H O L M S Y N D R O M E

rustling sweet wrappers in my face. I don't want you jabbing me with knitting needles. Just get in the back and shut up."

"Fucking worst holiday of my
life
," he mutters, but he does as he's told.

It's not so bad once they're going. Ty's quite content to sit there in silence looking out the window at the sea and mountains. Danny's playing a computer game. Valentine fidgets and grumbles for a bit, accidentally-on-purpose kicks the back of Lindsay's seat a few times, but he settles eventually and Lindsay starts to relax. He knows it's stupid to still feel awkward around his mates, as if living with someone is abnormal and embarrassing... but he can't help it, it
is
a bit abnormal and embarrassing. Not the situation itself, but the person he's with.

He sneaks a glance into the rear-view mirror every time the road's straight and clear enough. Valentine's wearing a pink girls' t-shirt with 'perfect catch' written across the front in silver glittery script. He clearly thinks it's a superbly humorous thing to wear on a fishing trip. It makes him look like a tranny. He's knitting again, he's been doing nothing
but
knit for months now, and Lindsay's got a horrible feeling he's going to be expected to wear whatever the hell it is when it's finished, because it's plain soft chocolate-brown instead of lime green and pink mohair stripes, which is what made up the last jumper Valentine did for himself.

"What's that?" he says, because he can't stop himself. Valentine looks up and meets his eyes in the mirror, and smiles a bit.

"Don't hate it til you're wearing it."

"Yeah, I fucking knew it."

"What's so different about buying a jumper in a shop that makes it better? This'll fit dead on.
And
it's special cos I'm making it. You're only embarrassed cos you don't want your mates knowing how much you cuddle me when they ain't around." Bastard.

"Only old ladies knit, mate," Danny says. He doesn't even look up from his game so he misses the dirty look Valentine gives him, but Lindsay sees and suddenly has to really fight off a smile.

287

C H A P T E R 2 7

"Clearly not, cos I'm only twenty-one and I'm pretty sure I'm a boy." Ty bursts out laughing then, and it looks like the whole thing's heading into full-scale war, but then the song on the iPod fades to the next and Valentine stops brandishing his needle like a threatening bayonet. "Oh, I love this."

Tom Waits: top of a list of maybe
five
singers or bands they agree on.

"Have you got Alice, though? Put Alice on."

"Er, no."

"No you ain't got it, or no you ain't putting it on?"

"I've got it, but I'm listening to this."

"Alice is better."

"Fuck off, Blood Money's the best thing he ever did."

"Fuck off yourself! Are you dreaming? You ain't got a clue, Lindsay."

"Oh no, it's not like I used to be a musician or anything..."

"Alright then, smartarse, I could use a laugh. Top three Tom Waits albums, no hesitation, GO."

"Blood Money, Closing Time, Rain Dogs."

"Alice, The Black Rider, Bone Machine. Could you
be
any more fucking obvious and predictable?"

"Could
you
? You only like Bone Machine because Keith Richards is on it."

"No I don't! You only like Closing Time cos everyone else does."

"Maybe it's popular for a
reason
."

"Why not Alice, though?"

"I like Alice! It's just not my favourite, okay?"

"No it ain't fucking okay!"

"Jesus, calm down, can't I have an opinion?"

288

S T O C K H O L M S Y N D R O M E

"Not when your opinion's fucking WRONG! Alice is the second-best album ever made in the whole history of human existence after Ziggy Stardust and if you don't agree you've got a screw loose and don't deserve ears. The end."

Lindsay grits his teeth and just turns the volume up.

I don't believe you go to heaven when you're good
Everything goes to hell, anyway...

He only did it to aggravate the kid more, but everything seems kind of funny now and he doesn't want to catch his eye again because he'll only crack up laughing.

"This your theme song, you grumpy bastard?"

He breaks, finally, and looks at Valentine in the mirror and can't stop a smile. "Laissez-faire, mon amour. C'est la vie."

"Fucking hell, don't, not when we've got company."

"If you're just gonna have your faggy little domestics the whole trip, you can let me out here. Turn that shite down." Ty reaches out himself to do it, and Lindsay sees Valentine smirk into his wool like it's a victory.

***

The campsite isn't very busy. They've been here enough times to know when it's packed with squawking children and when it's more or less empty, so they only ever come in the middle of the week. Lindsay's missed the last few trips, the first because he could still barely move his arm after the shooting, and the second and third because they were in France by then, but Ty rang him up this time and invited him along, quiet and stumbling so badly over his words that Lindsay thought for a minute the line was dodgy. It's a hell of a journey just for a three-day camping and fishing trip with your mates, but he didn't even think about turning down the offer, he just got online right away to book flights. He's not said anything to Valentine, but the kid's better at reading people than he lets 289

C H A P T E R 2 7

on. He's not said anything, either, but Lindsay's seen him watching O'Flaherty in a way that's less hostile than normal, and wonders how much he knows.

"He's scrapping with Ellie again, ain't he?" he finally says, muttering quietly as they're dragging the tent poles out the back of the Jeep. "What's up?"

"I don't know."

"Ain't you gonna ask him?"

"No. That's not how it works."

"How does it work?"

"We get away. He sulks and fishes. I hang around and wait. Sometimes he talks. Sometimes he doesn't. Either way, he goes home happier."

"Why don't he just shoot her? I mean," he adds hastily, "not that I
want
him to, obviously, just he'd waste anybody
else
who pissed him off, yeah?"

Lindsay's saved from having to answer when Danny hands a pack of cigarettes round. They smoke as they work, falling easily back into the familiar routine – a variation on it that involves an extra set of capable hands, though.

Lindsay tries to make it look like he's not watching, but Valentine catches him out as he's sorting out a bundle of pegs, and grins. "Used to be a Scout," he says.

"Surprise."

"Did you wear that cute little costume?"

"You're a dirty old man."

"Shut up," Ty snaps. Valentine pulls a twisted face, but he does as he's told and they finish in near-silence, only speaking to ask for things to get passed or held or hammered in. They left early enough that it's still only mid-afternoon by the time they're sorted, but Lindsay starts fiddling around with the stove and the boxes of food anyway, just for something to do. This waiting is always the worst. He's always kind of thought their friendship is entirely based on a complete reluctance to discuss anything; there's a sort of camaraderie in that, in knowing Ty is the only person who truly understands. Maybe that's what helps, when he needs it – having somebody there who's willing to listen but really

290

S T O C K H O L M S Y N D R O M E

wishes he didn't have to. Maybe that's why he always gets over it.

"Do you want anything?" he asks, keeping it vague, letting it mean whatever it needs to.

Ty finds another cigarette and puts it in his mouth, but doesn't light it yet. He seems to change his mind after a moment, and slides it carefully back into the packet. "No, I'm not hungry. I'm gonna head on down to the lake, see what's up. Danny?"

"Yeah, I'll come."

"Ain't you fishing, Lindsay?" Valentine asks, and O'Flaherty laughs shortly.

"He's useless."

"It's true. I'm the chauffeur and chef, I don't want anything to do with those sad bastards in waders. Are you?"

"Uh, no thanks. I'll stay with you." He's not going to get to enjoy his usual hours of peace, then. At least he gets ten minutes of it, when Valentine walks with the other two as far as the shower block because he refuses to piss behind a tree, enough to get started on one of their three coolers of beer and have another smoke. He opens all the windows in the Jeep and scrolls through the iPod so Alice is playing softly when Valentine returns.

"Happy now?" Lindsay says, slamming the door behind himself and stamping his fag end dead in the scuffed grass.

"Knew you'd come to your senses eventually. That place is grim, how come there's pubes stuck on the walls?"

He doesn't need words; Lindsay just reaches for the kid's wrist, wraps his fingers round tightly enough to leave white marks, and pushes him face-first against the side of the car, standing right up close behind him and nudging his hips forwards until Valentine laughs breathlessly and bucks back against him, pretend-struggling against the harsh grip on his arm.