Heart (11 page)

“It was dyed?”

“Couldn’t you tell?” Dex had forgotten his brief stint as a blond was all Seb had ever known of him.

“No, not at all. You look totally different now. Not sure I would’ve recognized you without the scowl. You just about shocked the shit out of me. I… I thought I’d never see you again.”

Dex chanced a glance up to gauge Seb’s mood, to see if he was joking, but he wasn’t even looking at him anymore. He was staring into his empty pint glass, looking as lost as Dex felt.

Dex pushed his own drink Seb’s way. The whole day had been a mess from the moment he’d opened his eyes and emptied his stomach on his bedroom floor, but he hadn’t stopped to think about how Seb might feel. Never had. “Why are you in London?”

“Sold the shop.”

That made Dex sit up. He’d spent most of his time with Seb that summer watching him sweat blood to keep his inherited family business open. Back then, it had seemed to Dex that Seb would spend the rest of his days tied to his big copper pot. “Why?”

Seb shrugged and drank half of Dex’s beer in one big swallow. “I was lonely… and bored. I’ve been making that bloody fudge since I was a nipper, and I felt like life was passing me by, you know?”

Dex didn’t, but he nodded anyway. “Rick said he knew you before.”

“I did my apprenticeship at his place in the city. We worked together for a few years, and when he called me up last week, it seemed like fate. The shop was off my hands, and I had nothing else lined up. Even the bloody cat had kicked the bucket. Besides, I like London. I never really wanted to leave.”

“I like London too.” The sentiment surprised Dex, but it was true. Kitchen work was hard and left him aching and tired, but he loved it. Loved the warmth from the ovens. The scent of the food in the air. For the first time since he’d crept out of Seb’s bed last year, he felt safe and secure. The thought of leaving broke his heart all over again.

“If you’re happy here, you should stay,” Seb said, as though he could read Dex’s thoughts. “Rick’s a grumpy git, but he’s a good man. He’ll look after you.”

“Don’t need looking after.”

Seb shook his head slightly. “Everyone needs looking after sometimes, even you. Is Rick feeding you? You look bigger.”

“Bernie feeds me.”

Seb smiled before an emotion Dex didn’t recognize flickered over his face. “Where do you sleep?”

“In my room.”

Dex didn’t volunteer where, and Seb didn’t ask. Instead, he bought another beer and got Dex something in a bottle that tasted like lemonade. “If we’re going to work together, we need to figure this out.”

“Figure what out?”

“This.” Seb gestured between them. “I know you’re not pleased to see me. I can see it in your face.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what?”

Dex took a swig from the bottle. The drink was sweet, and the sugar-laden fizz made his tongue feel loose. “I never meant to stay here so long.”

Seb fiddled with the beer mat. Dex could see the cogs turning in his brain. “We can pretend it never happened, if that’s what you want. I won’t tell anyone.”

Dex nodded slowly. “I don’t want to pretend it never happened. I just….” He stopped and gathered his words. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Nothing. Dex, I came here to work. I won’t even talk to you if you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t want that.”

“What
do
you want?”

Dex swallowed the last of the sherbet-flavored drink. “I don’t know.”

And he didn’t. He wanted Seb to leave him alone, to disappear into the night and never come back, but at the same time, he wanted to tunnel inside his jacket, wrap his arms around his strong body, and never let go. And he didn’t understand either notion. Dex wanted to bang his head on the stick wooden bar. He’d spent much of his life afraid or apathetic, but he’d never felt either with Seb. That summer, Seb had brought Dex alive, shown him things he’d never imagined… had spent every moment they’d been apart dreaming of. Who the fuck was afraid of their
good
dreams?

Seb dropped his empty glass on the bar with a dull clatter. “You left me, Dex. I woke up, and you were gone, like you were a fucking dream. I tried everything to forget you, but I’ve thought about you every day ever since.”

D
EX
COULDN
’
T
sleep that night, taunted by memories of that summer and what had become of him after he’d left Padstow and accompanied Braden back to Hatfield. That year with Braden had been the darkest yet. The johns were meaner, more demanding, and brutal, and he’d had to do things he’d never imagined. Horrible things. Depraved things.

And he was scared too. Terrified. Surely it was only a matter of time before Braden tracked him down? The next morning, he packed up the few possessions he had—clothes, mainly, and a small knife Rick had given him—and walked to the bus stop. He wasn’t altogether sure where he was going. The Oyster card Rick had given him meant he didn’t have to buy a ticket, but he figured he’d stay on the bus until it went somewhere he didn’t recognize, then get off and go back to hooking until he found something else.

He thought about leaving London altogether, but what was the point? He couldn’t afford to go far, and the bustling city was probably the best place to hide.

“Hey, Dex!”

Dammit. Dex stopped a few meters from the bus stop and turned to face Rick. It was seven in the morning. Rick didn’t open the kitchen doors before eight. He lived above the restaurant. What was he even doing out here?

“Morning, lad. Glad I caught you. Listen, I need you to do me a favor. Bernie’s out for the day, and I’ve got to run to the meat market. Can you take my key and let the boys into the kitchen?” He pushed a pile of cool metal into Dex’s hand without waiting for an answer. “Cheers, mate. The alarm code is four-six-zero-eight. Just type it in when it prompts you.”

And with that, Rick was gone, leaving Dex with the biggest set of keys he’d ever seen and instructions he could hardly comprehend. He’d also missed the bus, and it was rumbling away by the time he came to his senses. So much for his great escape.

He trudged his way to the restaurant, feeling like a puppet whose strings had been cut. It took him a while to find the right key, but the back door was easy enough to open. The intimidating alarm system was less accommodating. He could read numbers well enough, but the buttons on the alarm system looked different from playing cards, and the alarm got impatient and blasted him with a wall of sound so loud it made his teeth vibrate.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he finally managed to silence it, and then he leaned his head against the fire doors, letting the cool of the glass seep into him and calm his frazzled nerves.

“So you really can read numbers?”

Dex jumped and spun to face Seb, who was slouched in the kitchen doorway like he’d been there all along. Perhaps he had. “Told you I could, didn’t I?”

Seb snorted, amused and noncommittal. “I need coffee before I can handle that chip on your shoulder.”

He disappeared into the bar, and by the time Dex came down from the bathroom, he was at the dessert counter, setting out the oddest array of ingredients Dex had ever seen. So odd, he forgot himself and spoke first. “What are you making?”

“I’m not making anything. You are.” Seb shot him a grin that made his knees weak. “Lemon yoghurt cake, with lemon thyme. It’s an American recipe, so it uses cup measurements, not the metric scales. Here, look at this. Does this make sense to you?”

Dex took the sheet of paper Seb passed him and squinted at the numbers and symbols on the page. Wait. They weren’t symbols, they were pictures. Pictures of all the ingredients spread out on the counter.

Seb came around the counter. He was half a foot taller than Dex and had to lean down to see the page. “See, here are all the ingredients. It’s an all-in-one batter. All you have to do is measure out the right quantities and turn the mixer on.”

Dex frowned. Some of the combinations made perfect sense, but others were utter gibberish. “What does that mean?”

“Teaspoon.” Seb reached for a set of strange metal spoons and pointed to the symbols on the handles. “This is a tablespoon, a teaspoon, half a teaspoon, and a quarter. See these numbers here?”

Dex could see them all right, but he wasn’t sure he quite understood them. A wave of panic rushed up from his belly. If he got it wrong, all the ingredients would be wasted, and Seb would be angry. And so would Rick….

Seb touched his shoulder. “Just have a go, okay? I’ll help you if you get stuck.”

Dex reached for the lemons in the bowl, scrutinizing the picture someone, maybe even Seb, had drawn for him. “Just the skin, right?”

Seb smiled. “Right, the zest. We’re going to make syrup with the juice. I’ll show you when the cakes are in the oven.”

The mixture turned out surprisingly well, or at least, Seb seemed to think so. He showed Dex how to line and grease the pans and set the oven to the right temperature, and then, while the cakes were baking, he guided him through boiling up the syrup to pour over the top.

During service, the cakes were Dex’s responsibility. Seb shouted every time he needed one plated up, and by the end, Dex figured he could make some sense of the scribbled tickets he passed his way. Shame they sold out of the cake. He couldn’t read for shit, but he knew enough to know the words he recognized today would look totally different tomorrow.

“You’ve got a blueprint now,” Seb commented when service finally ended.

Dex glanced up from the sink. It wasn’t his job to wash up anymore, but he couldn’t seem to leave the mess for anyone else. “Blueprint for what?”

“For tomorrow. We served the lemon cake with blueberries today, we’ll do a lime one with mango tomorrow, and orange and rhubarb at the weekend. It’s essentially the same cake, just dressed up different.”

Seb’s choice of words felt familiar. “Like the fudge?”

A subtle flash passed through Seb’s eyes. “Thought we weren’t going to talk about that.”

Dex shrugged and scrubbed a cake tin.

Seb hoisted himself onto the counter by the sink. “We need to think of a way to help you out. I can write all my recipes so you can follow them, but it won’t work for the order tickets.”

“You don’t want me to help you anymore?” Dex’s heart sank, and his resolve to get on the bus that morning felt like a distant memory, almost like it had been the thought of somebody else.

“The opposite, actually. I’m saying we need to teach you to read.”

“We?”

“Yeah. I think you need to tell Rick. He’s going to notice sooner or later. This way he can figure out how best to help you.”

Dex frowned. “I can’t tell him. He’ll sack me.”

“No, he won’t. At worst, he’ll keep you on desserts with me until you’ve learned the basics. You might not fancy that, but it’s better than going onto main line and fucking up on there. Those guys will string you up before they bother to help you. They don’t have the time.”

Dex turned away and pulled his hands from the hot, soapy water. He dried his hands carefully, and when Seb didn’t speak again, Dex assumed he’d walked away. Until he stepped back and collided with his solid chest.

“I got you something.”

Dex took the white tube he held out and turned it over in his hands. It looked like toothpaste. “What is it?”

“Cream for the burns on your hands.”

“Burns?”

In answer, Seb took his hands and pointed to the rash between his fingers. “These are chemical burns, Dex. You need to treat them or they’ll get worse.”

Dex’s silence must’ve convinced him he lacked the intelligence to understand spoken English as well. Seb took the tube back and squeezed a bead of white cream from the end. He massaged the lotion into Dex’s left hand. “Rub it in like this twice a day until the rash is gone.”

Dex swallowed and thought he would faint until Rick cleared his throat from somewhere behind them.

“Don’t mind me, boys. Seb, can I have a word?”

Fourteen

R
ICK
SLAPPED
a bundle of papers down on the bar. He’d ambushed Dex the moment he’d walked through the door later that day. “You’re not the first lad I’ve had through here who never went to school, Dex. It’s easy enough to fix, if that’s what you want.”

Dex chewed the inside of his cheek. Part of him was furious Seb had betrayed him, but he was mostly relieved. Seb was right: it was only a matter of time before Rick discovered he was an illiterate idiot. “How do you fix it?”

“There’s two ways. We can get you down to the local college, or we can get someone to come here.”

“Is it expensive?”

“Not really, but don’t worry about that. We’ll pay for it.”

“Why?”

Rick rose and rounded the bar to refill his coffee mug. “It’s the least we can do considering the peanuts we pay you. The only reason I don’t pay you properly through the books is because I get the feeling you don’t really want me to. Am I right?”

The question seemed rhetorical, so Dex held his tongue, but Rick was right. He had no ID, bank accounts, or national insurance number. And he’d never told Rick his surname.