Page 83 of The Quarterlands (Dark Water #4)

The flat Esther gave him was tiny, but he suspected it was the nicest IS accommodation she could provide.

She also gave him a small allowance to live off, which was a relief.

He couldn’t bear the thought of having to go to her, cap in hand, for every last thing he needed.

Not that he needed much. He brought all the clothes he could fit into the cramped wardrobe and little else except his photos of Peter, Hattie’s lead, and Liz’s vase. He even gave away all Peter’s clothes.

The only other thing he brought was the picture Alex had painted for him, which had pride of place on the wall. It reminded him not to spend all his time alone but, much to his surprise, he found he didn’t need reminding very often.

Sofie visited the first night he moved in. She lived next door, in the shared IS facility. They cooked and ate together, and it was easy and comfortable, because they were old friends now.

“Will I ever get used to it?” he asked, looking down at the red dot blinking under his skin as he did the washing-up, his sleeves rolled back to the elbow.

“Yes,” she replied. “You will. If it helps, don’t look at it as a symbol of your servitude but as one of Alex’s freedom. It’s a badge of honour, Joe, not a stain on your character.”

It did help. As much as he hated that little red dot, he couldn’t be sorry that he’d exchanged his freedom for Alex’s.

Elsie came to visit him as well, or more often he visited her, because she was quite frail these days, although still her indomitable self.

“I’ve always admired you for the way you took up Peter’s cause,” she told him as they sat drinking tea and eating biscuits in her flat one Saturday.

“But I feared for you, too, becoming swallowed up in his crusade. Now, you’ve done the same for Alex.

I hope there’s room for Josiah to exist, too.

You don’t always have to sacrifice yourself for the men you love, you know. ”

“I couldn’t be happy any other way,” he told her ruefully.

She sighed and patted his arm. “Yes, I know. You always do throw yourself full pelt into love. You’re not just physically brave, you’re emotionally brave, too, Joe.”

“I don’t know if that’s a thing, but thanks.” He grinned at her .

Cam and Sarah invited Josiah around to dinner often. Sarah was pregnant, and Cam was ridiculously excited at the thought of becoming a dad, but also a heap of nerves. At Cam’s request, Josiah took him to the boxing gym to help him get into shape. Winston took one look at him and rolled his eyes.

“Whatcha bringing me now, Sergeant? A ruddy desk-boy,” he complained, chomping down on his cigar. Josiah laughed his head off, and Cam viewed the whole thing as such an ordeal he never went back.

Mel often invited him to the untidy apartment she shared with four well-fed cats.

They sat in her kitchen together, a big ginger tom purring happily on Josiah’s lap, and discussed the latest advances in DNA extraction, while trying out all the new offerings from a monthly chocolate club she subscribed to.

Esther liked taking him out to fancy restaurants. Eating out was her thing and she had quite the sophisticated palate. He wasn’t sure he liked half the things she made him try, but it was an experience.

“You can’t bloody well live off that ghastly takeaway hachée stuff,” she chided over dinner at a Lost Cuisines restaurant one Saturday evening. Lost Cuisines eateries served a variety of dishes from regions that had completely disappeared during the Rising, and Esther was very fond of them.

“You sound just like Alex,” he laughed.

“Do you still see him?” she asked. She’d never pried into the nature of their relationship, but she knew something significant had happened between them.

“Oh, yes. I’m seeing him tomorrow, as a matter of fact.”

“I’m glad.” She smiled. “I hope he’s doing okay.”

“He is. It’s not easy, but he’s trying very hard. He’s been seeing a therapist.”

“That’s good. He must need it after all he’s been through.”

“Yeah. I tried to persuade him to see someone when he was living with me. Sofie even found him a therapist, but he refused to go. He didn’t believe he was worth fixing back then.”

“But now he does?”

“Yes. Or at least he’s trying. He hates going, but I think it’s helping. Can I ask you something personal?”

“Of course.”

“I was wondering whether you’d ever considered trying the medical procedure Charles Lytton underwent in order to be able to walk again?” he asked.

“I did consider it, yes, but it’s very expensive, and I still have a bullet in my spinal cord which makes it more complicated.

Also, I’d need to take several months off work in order to do it, with no guarantee of success.

So, on balance, I decided not to bother.

I discussed it with Sofie at some length recently. ”

“I see. I’ve often wondered, but, well, I didn’t like to ask before. Talking of Sofie, I’ve been meaning to ask about your involvement with government work camp charities. When did that start?”

“Long before Sofie.” She smiled. “Did you know she first contacted me when she was fifteen years old? I was so impressed, I agreed to sponsor her education. I was already sponsoring several other intelligent, hard-working children from the camps, but she stood out. She’s quite the force of nature.”

“Isn’t she just. So how did it all start, your interest in conditions in the work camps?

” He’d been so busy fighting his battle against the IS system for all these years that he’d never considered others might be involved in battles of their own.

Esther had chosen a safer route to help but had been no less dedicated.

He’d always admired her, but now he found he liked her even more. She smiled and leaned back.

“It’s a long story.”

He shrugged. “We have all evening, and many more evenings to come, I’m sure.”

The next morning, he walked to his favourite café, a French place on Ghost Eye that served the most amazing pain au chocolat.

He sat in his usual chair, reading the news on his holopad and waiting for Alex to arrive.

It turned out that when left to his own devices, Alex was habitually late.

He was always consumed by a painting he was working on, or an article he was reading, or simply forgot the time.

Josiah sat down, opening the top button of his shirt as it was a warm day. The barista glanced over, his manner changing abruptly.

“Does your houder know you’re here? Don’t you have work to do?

” he snapped, and Josiah realised, too late, that his IS tag was showing.

It had been hard getting used to the change in his status.

Before, he’d been someone, a senior investigator at Inquisitus no less, but now he was just another IS, and people treated him differently.

“I’m off duty, and I’ve paid,” he pointed out.

“Fine, but I’ll be watching you.” The man glared at him.

It had taken him some time to understand that there were less salubrious cafés where indies were welcome, and more upmarket ones like this one where they weren’t.

He’d have thought nothing of entering this place when he was free, but now he realised it wasn’t the kind of establishment that wanted indies on its premises.

He had half a mind to leave, but he was waiting for Alex, and he did really like the pain au chocolat here, so he swallowed his pride and stayed.

Swallowing his pride was something he’d had to learn to do many times over as an IS, but it still stuck in his craw.

The last thing he wanted was to repay Esther’s kindness by causing her problems, so he sucked it up.

“No indie shit” had been her only condition for buying his contract, and he’d made that his mantra.

So, like all other indies, he knew to always stand on the bus even if there were seats, to always go to the back of the queue behind free people, and to put up with being called “serf”, and worse.

He’d become accustomed to a multitude of daily humiliations and stayed silent, out of respect for Esther.

At that moment the door swung open and Alex walked in.

Eighteen months had passed since that day in his garage, and he’d made a huge push in moving on with his life.

He seemed to have rediscovered his dress sense, or maybe he simply made an effort when they met up because Josiah was always so immaculately put together.

Today, Alex was wearing a pair of dark jeans with a maroon shirt and black leather waistcoat.

There was a thin scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, a leather bracelet on his wrist, and a silver ring on his thumb.

He looked beautiful, of course, but more than that, he looked like himself.

These were his choices, and they suited him.

“Hey!” He rushed over and pressed a kiss to Josiah’s cheek. “Sorry I’m late.”

“I’m used to it.” Josiah rolled his eyes. “I ordered your usual.” He gestured at the cup of tea and slice of millefeuille on the table.

Alex took a sip and let out a happy sigh. “Best tea in New London.”

“That it is.” Josiah held up his cup approvingly. “So, how’s it going?”

“Okay.” Alex stabbed at his pastry with a fork.

“Book still selling well?”

“Like hot cakes, apparently. Thank God. At least it means I won’t have to give any more of those tedious speeches on Charles’s ghastly after-dinner circuit for a long time.

I hated that.” He swallowed down the pastry as if he hadn’t eaten for days, which he possibly hadn’t; he was hopeless at remembering to eat if he was engaged in his art.

“Definitely not your thing.” Josiah grinned.

“Have you read it?” Alex asked, and for all that he professed to hate his own book, there was an endearing anxiety in his eyes. “I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t face it.

“Of course I’ve read it.”