“Let go of him.”
The policeman’s grip on Ben’s arm tightened. He began, “This man is under arrest,” and Jonah moved. Not the spring of a fighter, leading with a knife or a punch, but an acrobatic leap, bouncing off the air, spinning, and landing a booted foot squarely in the man’s face, so hard Ben heard the crunch of cartilage. The big copper went staggering down and back, letting go of Ben in his shock. The second, with panicked courage, lunged forward, and Jonah vaulted right over the top of the six-foot man’s head, came down on the other side, thrust a foot between his legs and sent him stumbling forward over his colleague. As the two coppers tried to regain their feet, Jonah was over them, hands slapping on each man’s neck.
“Listen to me.” Jonah’s eyes were burning blue in the moonlit darkness, his voice savage. “You don’t know who we are. You don’t know what happened here. You don’t want him, and you don’t want me. What you know is…you need to run. You need to run now, because there is something on this bridge that is going to rip you apart if you don’t. Your worst nightmares are right here, waiting for you, coming for you, if you don’t run now. Go!”
The constables broke, scrabbling to their feet with sobs of fear, and ran, boots pounding on the bridge. Ben stared after them, back at Jonah. He was watching the fleeing policemen, face startlingly grim. The magpie streak of his hair shimmered in the moonlight, white against black. Ben had always loved the mobility of his face, the vivid life of it, even when Jonah’s rapid flitting from thought to thought had driven him to laughing distraction. Now he saw a stranger, still and intent and ruthless, with powers he didn’t understand, and he was frightened.
“Uh,” he managed.
Jonah looked round with quick concern, the implacable look dissolving as though it had never been. “Are you all right?”
“Why are you here?” Ben blurted out.
“You went away. You walked off and left me on my own—both of us on our own—and I got about three miles out of Reading and decided, I don’t care.” Jonah took a step closer. “I don’t care if you don’t love me now, or if you never love me again. I’m not going to leave you alone, and that’s all there is to it. Let’s just go somewhere.” It was a plea. “There’s a train going west at half past nine. We’ll sneak onto it and go where it takes us, and go somewhere else from there, and stop when we’ve gone as far as we can. And I promise I don’t expect you to forgive me, or anything else. But I’m so tired of not being with you. Come with me. Please?”
“We’re not good for each other,” Ben repeated, mostly to himself. He had to hold on to that, he knew, though he wasn’t sure why any more, or what it meant.
“Perhaps not,” Jonah said. “But we’re not doing very well apart.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything.” Suddenly, Ben felt as though he could barely stand. He sagged back, using the parapet for support. “I— Oh, God, I’m so tired. I don’t know what to do.”
Jonah was in front of him then, pulling Ben forward, and he let his head flop onto the strong shoulder because he could no longer hold it up. “So come with me till you do know. You can change your mind when you’re ready, but for now—” His hands gripped Ben’s upper arms, holding him up as much as anything, because the exhaustion and despair had sapped all Ben’s strength, and it was as much as he could do to hold back weak, hopeless tears. “Jesus Christ, Ben, my Ben, what happened? What did they do to you? Come on, lover. With me. We’re going together.”
Chapter Nine
Two days later they were in Cornwall.
They had been quiet most of the way, or at least Ben had. At first he’d been silent and numb, unable to think, his brain hopelessly fogged by confusion and uncertainty and the accumulated miseries of the last few days and months. Jonah hadn’t tried to talk about them, or the future, or anything serious. He had passed Ben food that he ate like an automaton, and chattered in his inconsequential way, about rugby and old gossip, the weather and fellow passengers, a meaningless accompaniment that Ben listened to or ignored as his thoughts wandered. He had slept for what seemed like most of the journey, on railway carriage seats or hard benches, unconcerned by his safety because, he realised afterwards, Jonah was watching over him.
Then, that morning, waiting at a station, Jonah handed him an earthenware mug of tea, and Ben woke up.
“Uh. Thank you.” He wrapped his hands around the mug, inhaling the steam that rose through the bright, chilly morning air.
“Morning.” Jonah gave him a quick, lurking smile. “Welcome back.”