Little shit. He rose and followed her, trailing her out of the store and into the throng of weekend shoppers. Her dark hair bobbed up and down as she ran, but knowing where she was headed, Benito didn’t rush. He was too old to be charging through the shopping centre without attracting attention, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with overzealous rent-a-feds.
Fuck that noise.
He caught up with Gianna at McDonalds. Her smile was blinding, but Benito was distracted by the stare of a lone figure loitering outside Nando’s. Hood up, head down, but his eyes seemed to track Benito’s every move, his slow-moving gaze like pin pricks in Benito’s skull. Just a couple at first; then they spread like wildfire and set every sense ablaze.
Growling, Benito speared the teenager with a glare, daring him to keep looking. The teenager slid his attention away, but another replaced him, then another, and another, until Benito couldn’t keep up.
Calm your tits, man. You’re paranoid. But it didn’t feel like paranoia, it felt real, and for the hundredth time that day, Benito couldn’t breathe.
“Beni?” Gianna’s soft hand grazed Benito’s fingers. “Do you want one too?”
“No,” Benito said absently. Even without the fact that he couldn’t stomach any more sugar without hitting the gym for an extra hour, it was a sad fact that after paying Rosetta’s monthly arrears payment, two shitty milkshakes was probably pushing it.
He dropped a handful of change into Gianna’s palm and waited outside, back to the wall, surveying the crowds. Hoodie kid was back, but so were a hundred other slingers. McDonalds was the place to be. Benito glared at the hoodie kid anyway, though. It suited his mood.
Gianna came back with a banana milkshake that smelt like hell.
Benito grimaced and backed away. “Don’t spill that shit in my car.”
“Don’t swear. And don’t drive next time. I could’ve met you here.”
“You’re not getting the bus to the city centre on your own.” Another hooded figure breached Benito’s peripheral. Taller this time and built like a man. Benito tracked him as he led Gianna back to the multi-storey where he’d left his car, trying not to flinch as the devil on his shoulder argued with itself.
Double back. See if he follows.
Idiot. He’s going to Subway like every other dickhead who doesn’t want nuggets.
What if he isn’t, though? What if he jumps you in the stairwell and takes Gianna?
Taking a child in broad daylight was a stretch even for the monsters Benito created in his head, but he avoided the stairs anyway and bundled Gianna into the lift.
She eyed him over her milkshake. “You hate lifts.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Uh, yeah you do. I haven’t been in one with you since I was a toddler and it got stuck and you punched the security guard who let us out.”
“That didn’t happen.”
“Yes, it did.”
Benito made an impatient noise and willed the lift to hurry the fuck up to the uppermost parking floor. He couldn’t clearly recall the incident Gianna was talking about. It had happened in the weeks after Roberto had given him a concussion, and months and months had gone by in a blur of headaches and shaky hands. His skull throbbed now just thinking about it.
The lift dinged at the top floor. The doors opened so slowly Benito wanted to kick through them, but he made himself wait, holding Gianna back until the lift had emptied out.
At the car, she leaned against the bonnet, grinning.
Benito scowled. “What?”
“I still have your phone.”
“Keep it,” Benito snapped tiredly. “The passcode is your name, if you can figure it out.”
“Don’t be a dick.”
“Don’t swear.”
Gianna held up Benito’s legitimate phone. The other felt like a brick in his pocket. “You got a bunch of messages,” she said. “I didn’t mean to read them, but they came up on the screen.”
“My messages don’t do that.”
“They do if you got the new WhatsApp update and didn’t reset all your notification settings.”
Benito frowned, his brain mush. “How do you know all this stuff?”
“Everyone knows unless they live in a cave.”
“Just give me my phone.”
Gianna grinned wider.
“Gianna.”
“What? Am I not supposed to know Mickey thinks you’re cute when you sleep?”
Burn. Benito froze, half relieved by the nonchalance in Gianna’s teasing and half mortified that she’d caught a glimpse of his sex life. He’d never hidden his bisexuality from her, but at the same time, they’d never come close to discussing it either. And he’d certainly never imagined himself confessing to fucking his mother’s housing officer.
Lie. Tell her it’s a different Mickey. But no words came to him. Benito could only stare while Gianna laughed.
“He wants to see you again, by the way,” she said. “On Monday. He has the day off.”
Benito rounded the car like a bullet and snatched the phone.
Gianna giggled and sensibly slid into her seat and shut the car door.
Benito turned his back to the window, blocking her out, and opened the message thread he shared with Mickey. Three messages came after the one Gianna had paraphrased.
Mickey: come out with me on monday? day off.
Mickey: fck. I spelt it all rigth
Mickey: 2 soon oops mondy?
Monday. Somehow Benito had convinced himself it would be weeks and weeks before he saw Mickey again. Perhaps there was a part of him that had believed he never would. That his lie would burst free before he found a chance to make it the truth.
Heart full, he closed his eyes and made himself the same promise he had Gianna.
Just a little while longer.
14
Mickey asked Benito to meet him at Bletchley Park. He thought about waiting in his car like a weirdo, but the sun drew him out to a bench outside the grand old house. He tapped at his phone, fudging his way through email drafts he’d check over later. Messages pinged through from the office and from Isha, but they were all signed off with the same instruction: Don’t action this until tomorrow. Enjoy your day off.
It had been months since he’d taken a four-day week, and when he’d checked his phone after Benito had left the day before, Isha had finally rumbled him.
“Self-care days are mandatory. You have no home visits on Monday. Take the day, and I’ll look at the rest of your schedule to make sure you’re not pulling too many hours.”
Mickey sighed. Isha was the best boss in the world, but he didn’t understand that Mickey needed to be busy. Those hours and hours home alone with nothing and no one to occupy his time sent him crawling back to hell. You’re not alone, though. Benito is coming.
If Benito came. He’d gone offline before he’d read Mickey’s last message, and Mickey hadn’t looked at WhatsApp since. Sometimes leaving things to chance reset his brain.
Others it sent him round the bend, but today was a good day. Spending eight hours in his bed with Benito simply sleeping and talking had left him feeling oddly zen, and he clung to the sensation like a drowning man.
Or like an addict obsessed with anything that made him feel good.