“Thought they’d never leave.” Ed crossed the room, footsteps echoing from the vaulted ceilings, curls of wood shavings scattering as he kept his gaze fixed on Pasha, who undid his belt buckle. “What are you doing?”
“Picking up where we left off before we were rudely interrupted.” Pasha backed toward the next door. It opened into the first room they’d converted, most of the floor space taken up by a king-size mattress under a low hand-built window, archedlike all the others. Bedsheets rumpled around a damp spot of spilled lube was a sign they’d left the room in a hurry, as was the trail of drips from the adjoining bathroom where they’d hastily splashed cold water over sex-flushed faces. A mirror leaning against one wall showed more damning evidence. Pasha watched Ed shake his head at the T-shirt he’d dragged on in a hurry when Mandy had arrived so much earlier than expected.
Ed muttered under his breath and pulled the T-shirt over his head. “Did you notice I was wearing this inside out? Mandy must have.”
“Of course she did.” There wasn’t much that escaped Mandy’s attention, apart from the one secret they’d managed to keep from her so far. But with Ed getting naked again, and sun warming the sheets after a long wet winter, that secret could wait until later. “She told me I was rocking some wicked bed head for someone who’d been up for ages.” He glanced in the mirror. She hadn’t been wrong. He shrugged, and then hurried out of the rest of his clothes.
Ed got to him before he made much progress, his work-rough hands covering Pasha’s, stilling them before sliding from his wrists to his elbows. “No.”
“You’re turning me down?” Pasha raised his palm and pressed it to Ed’s forehead. “Are you running a fever?”
“No. It’s just that?—”
Pasha didn’t let him finish. “Hmm…. When was it you last had your vision tested?” He slipped off his glasses and settled their black frames on the bridge of Ed’s nose. “There. Now take another look and see if you still want to say no to all this.” He flexed, striking a pose that showcased how months of physical work renovating buildings with Ed had added muscle to his frame.
“Pash.” Ed carefully slid his glasses back into place. “No.” He quickly put his shirt back on the right way.
Pasha narrowed his eyes. “What if I said I wanted you to do me?”
Ed stopped what he was doing, his gaze intent as he spoke. “I’d tell you the same thing I’ve said a hundred times already.” His voice lowered, and Pasha took a step toward him. “I’d tell you that I don’t care how we get off. Fucking is great—I’m not going to deny it—but only when you’re ready.” He took the last step that brought them close together, and his arms caged Pasha in an embrace he’d never want to evade. Ed dipped his head and kissed him. “But it did seem as if you liked my fingers in you this morning.”
Pasha’s “Yeah” was breathless. He had, so much, once he’d finally relaxed, and each time that stage got easier.
“So it’ll happen when it happens. And if it doesn’t—” The touch of Ed’s lips was more a promise of a kiss than a real one. “—I’ll live.” He finished straightening his shirt, and then tossed Pasha’s at him. “The lads texted while you were in the garden with Mum and Joe. They made good time down the A30, so you might want to get dressed.”
There was no time for grumbling when Ed ran to meet a truck that pulled into the courtyard only a few minutes later. He hung back while Ed greeted four men Pasha had last seen playing football on TV. Their hugs of greeting were accompanied by backslaps that would break a lesser man’s ribs, and their conversation was equal parts lingo he couldn’t translate and creative cursing.
Ed only let him keep his distance for a short while. He said, “And this is Pash, my partner.”
They might be out of uniform right then, but there was no doubt that the men who circled him were soldiers. They shared the same watchful stare as Ed, sizing him up in silence before one of them stepped forward and spoke.
“So you’re the singer.”
“I was.” He’d sung more than enough in the last year to last an entire lifetime. “Now I work with Ed.” And it turned out that all those years of cold calling had unexpected benefits. It felt good selling something that he believed in so much, and he’d already fully booked their first summer.
Another soldier scrutinized him. “Think you’re up for some real work?”
Ed shouted from the back of the truck. “Don’t let his skinny arse fool you.” He pulled a tarpaulin from its flatbed. Pasha watched sadness settle on Ed’s skin for a brief moment, followed by the same determination he’d seen from his man over and over.
Ed spoke again, but as they worked together to move the object the soldiers had brought home, Pasha thought he might as well have been talking about himself. “He’s a lot stronger than you’d first think.”
It tooka couple of hours to finish the task the four men had flown half a world to complete, and Pasha helped them do it. Once done, they all stood in silence only interrupted by the cheerypip-pipof Ed’s mum signaling her and Mandy’s return. Minutes later, Joe toddled ahead of the women, only stopping when he saw the men who blocked the garden path. Mandy scooped him up and held him tight the moment she saw them as well.
“Ed?” she asked. “What’s going on?—?”
Pasha saw the moment she noticed the gap in one of the crumbling garden walls that they’d filled. Now, instead of a gaping space where ancient red bricks had eroded, a newer concrete section stood guard.
Comprehension was in her sudden exhale and in the welling of her eyes even as she smiled. She kissed her husband’scomrades while her tears trickled unstopped, falling to the dark earth where daffodils waved in the breeze. Mandy didn’t wipe them away. She knelt instead, knees sinking into soft soil that stained her jeans as she traced Steve’s name with the tip of her finger.
Pasha watched Ed try to find words. He finally said, his voice gruff, “I couldn’t leave this behind, Mandy, so the lads helped me bring it home for good.” Ed paused when Mandy held her son steady. Joe touched pudgy fingers to the mural of his father playing soldiers with his best friend painted so far away from where spring sunshine now warmed all their shoulders.
Ed said, “Steve would have been part of this, if he’d lived, but I’m done with being sad whenever I think about him.” His gaze flashed in Pasha’s direction. “We should be happy whenever we can. It’s what Steve would have wanted.”
It was a day of laughter as well as tears. Mandy made the most of the extra muscle at their disposal and quickly organized a list of tasks that would have taken Ed and Pasha weeks to plow through. They finished by installing the last oak beam that would complete the art studio conversion. With six men working instead of two, it was soon done, sliding precisely home into notches Pasha had chiseled high up in the walls to house it. The supper they shared was interspersed by teasing and laughter, and after everyone was gone—Mandy driving away with a sleeping Joe beside her, his mum to her own studio where the tap of her hammer faintly echoed, and the men back to their barracks—Pasha took his turn to shower. He washed away a day’s sweat, taking his time to be thorough, before following the sound of Ed’s voice.
He found him up a ladder, damp towel still around his shoulders and chisel in hand, adding the initials of every man who’d been there that day. Ed sang as he worked, voice filling the high-ceilinged space like it had the venue in London. Warm andrich and so smooth, Pasha was blown away as he was so often at Ed’s natural talent.
Ed looked over his shoulder when Pasha applauded. He climbed down and set aside his tools before crossing the room with purpose.