A Long Way Back (Unfinished Business #2) - Barbara Elsborg Page 0,102

a minefield.”

“I want you to be normal with me. If you’re going to constantly think about what happened, I don’t think it’s going to work.”

“I’m not going to constantly think about it. But I don’t want you to shy away from being open about what you went through. It’s part of your life, so it’s part of us.”

“Us.”

“Yes.”

Ink widened his eyes. “You really still want me around after what I told you?”

“Yes. Even if you’d done it, but I believe you didn’t.”

Ink bit his lip.

Tay tipped the pasta in the boiling water, put the two plates he’d kept out of the box onto the table and sat opposite Ink.

“I feel as though I’ve taken a step backwards,” Ink whispered. “When I was released two years ago, I felt as if everyone must know who I was. I kept thinking people were watching me, following me. I only felt safe when I was in my room with the door locked. Sometimes not even then. George kept a close eye on me. We pretended he was my uncle. He took me out and introduced me to what I’d missed. Ordering takeaways, going to the cinema, bowling, the pub, the supermarket. Not everything, but enough for me to pass as an ordinary lad.”

“And all the time, you had to be so careful not to give yourself away.”

“I practised conversations with George. Where are you from? Got any brothers and sisters? Which team do you support? Why did you move here? Which music do you like? Got a girlfriend? Boyfriend? What do you like to drink? What did you think of Game of Thrones? Favourite film, favourite colour. It was impossible to cover everything. I had to learn not to stutter with nerves when I spoke, not to tremble if someone stared at me, not to stand out for any reason, not just through what I said, but by what I didn’t say, what I wore, what I did. I had to be the guy in the middle who no one notices. If I slipped up, my crumbling castle would fall to pieces.”

Tay reached out and held Ink’s hand. “I’ll help you keep it standing.”

Ink smiled. “You didn’t tell me you were good at building castles.”

“I love building castles. Jonty and me, we spent our summers on the most amazing constructions. We can build them when we’re up to it.”

“And surf?”

“And ride. What did you want to be when you were younger—BC—before the catastrophe? A paramedic even then?”

“A doctor for a while, but I don’t think I’m clever enough. I loved reading and writing. I don’t know what happened to all the stories I wrote when I was a boy. The police didn’t find them when they searched my room. Not the first time. I don’t know if they found them later. Probably a psychologist somewhere is poring over them looking for signs of what turned me into a killer. If writing a curly T meant I was more likely to…” He stopped himself. “I expect my parents stripped the room when I’d gone so they’d have found them. They’re probably ashes. I wrote when I was inside, but they… Well, they’re probably ashes as well.”

“Do you write now?” Tay pushed to his feet and drained the pasta.

“Only in my head.”

“What sort of thing?” He tipped the pasta onto the plates and put a jar of pesto sauce between them on the table.

“Adventures. Suspense stories. I had an idea about a magician who used actual magic though no one realised, and they thought he was just super-talented. And another where a guy falls in love with a ghost and they have to work out how they can be together.”

“I’d read those! You could write under a pen name. Not Ink Farrow. Self-publish on Amazon.”

“Maybe. The last twenty-four hours have made it hard to think about what’s ahead. But I don’t want to start all over again in a new place, with another name, making new dreams, a new history, a new future. Losing all the things I liked and those I feared, in case those truths betrayed me.”

“Such as?”

Ink stirred the pesto around his pasta. “Killian was scared of frogs, snakes and centipedes. Ink is supposed to be okay with those, but I’m not. I had to make sure I didn’t react if someone mentioned my old name or what had happened. Be noncommittal if I was asked anything about it. I was always anxious. I know it sounds petty, but George stressed and