Finlay
When Akash takes Finlay to his place, Finlay soon discovers Akash was not talking about going to his student flat on one of the campus grounds. No.
Akash was talking about taking Finlay to his family’s house in Hyndland, one of the fanciest neighbourhoods in Glasgow, with pristine red sandstone tenements, small communal gardens, perfectly trimmed hedges, huge front doors embellished with ornate carvings and stained-glass windows. This is not where Akash grew up.
The streets are clean and quiet, the roads littered with nothing but falling leaves and a string of expensive parked cars. Some of the houses have huge overgrown trees outside, towering above the rooftops, branches spreading wide.
It sinks in that Akash isn’t some student city dweller: he’s local to the West End.
Akash stops outside a high-rise with small stone steps fringed by an intricate black railing. It leads up to a beautiful wooden door encased within a stone archway that melts into the rest of the 201building, a potted bush at either side.
‘This is us,’ Akash begins, then adds, ‘we moved when Mum got a job here.’
Finlay closes his mouth. He keeps his expression blank. Akash opens the front entrance easily, as though he’s done it all his life. Finlay follows, but once inside he really starts to think he’s dreaming.
There’s a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, mahogany-panelled walls and stone-tiled flooring, a hallway that leads to a wooden staircase with banisters and a rug through the middle.
As they climb, Finlay glances up to see the most intricate artwork he’s ever laid eyes on: stained-glass windows with aquatic patterns woven into their design.
Akash leads them along another hallway until they’re standing outside a door.
‘I don’t know who’s in,’ Akash explains as he rattles his key in the lock. ‘Not sure if you met them, actually I don’t think they were alive when we knew each other, but I have two wee sisters, Binita and Kavya, and a wee brother, Ravi. They’re …’ Akash holds the door closed. ‘A lot.’
‘Oh.’ Finlay nods. He didn’t think Akash’s entire family would be home. His palms balloon with sweat, but he follows when Akash goes in.
‘HEY!’ Akash booms out. ‘I’m back!’
There’s the sound of slamming doors and scurrying feet. Then two young girls appear, hands clasped and smiles wide, eyes on Finlay. 202
They’re very similar despite small differences: one wears her long dark hair in a ponytail with a bow, the other in two small plaits with pink hairclips in. They blink wide, innocent eyes, startingly reminiscent of Akash.
‘Hi!’ Finlay waves a dorky hand. Both girls collapse into giggles, covering their mouths and turning into one another as if Finlay’s a stand-up comedian.
‘Finlay, meet Kavya and Binita.’ Akash helpfully points, but the girls still giggle. Akash says something in a different language, voice fluent and light as a totally new accent emerges. He shoos them away, muttering to himself as the two girls run back into their room.
When he sees Finlay still standing there, he pauses. ‘Coming?’
‘I forgot you could speak another language!’ Finlay beams. ‘Is it Indian?’
That’s a stupid question. That’s not a language. Why did Finlay say that?
But Akash only smiles. ‘It’s Punjabi, and thanks. I was brought up with it.’
‘That’s amazing. I don’t speak Polish.’
Akash sobers instantly. ‘Oh. How come?’
Finlay shrugs. ‘Never really learned.’
It’s sort of the truth and sort of something else. Fleeting phrases and occasional words slipped through Finlay’s grasp growing up. It would have taken dedicated effort to learn.
Sometimes Finlay hears it on the street and has to pause as the pain and love sweep through him. Then it makes sense. He never 203learned it because it was the centre of his trauma, the core of his abandonment.
‘It’s never too late to learn,’ Akash says. ‘If you want to.’
Finlay scratches his eyebrow. ‘I don’t really … know anyone Polish. It would be pointless.’
Akash steps closer. ‘Finlay, you’re Polish.’ He frowns. ‘It’s your language.’
Finlay swallows. He’s never thought about it that way.
‘Come on, we need food,’ Akash resolves.
Finlay smiles fondly. Akash’s Scottish accent thickens when he says that. The two facets of his personality and heritage sit side by side, content to coexist. Finlay can’t help but wonder what that might be like.
Finlay follows Akash through a hallway. The room feels as spacious as a museum. Then Finlay spots something on the walls.
Photographs.
Akash standing straight and stiff in a school uniform, his three younger siblings all lined up. Akash grinning big over a birthday cake, every crooked tooth on display. A woman and man stand at either side, both beautiful and well-dressed.
Akash’s siblings are there too: a boy thrusting a toy truck in the air, and two little girls at Akash’s side – one trying to blow out the candles and the other one pulling her back by the arm. It’s so in motion, a living snapshot of the perfect chaos in their lives.
One of Akash in his formal Indian dress, regal and stunning in deep hues of red, a sash wrapped around his shoulders, his hands 204on the tops of his little brother and sister’s shoulders. His grin is so wide.
His parents took photos of everything. They’ve captured every second of Akash’s life.
Finlay experiences this full-bodied sensation rise up inside him. He’s never felt it before; it aches but in a lovely way, a beautiful way. It’s then that he notices tiny notches along the wall, captioned by marker pen, underneath the pictures.
4ft – Binita
4ft 2in – Kavya
4ft 9in – Ravi
5ft – Akash
Finlay smiles at child-Akash. Somebody so far away from Finlay now, but recoverable through this small historical artefact. He wants to touch Akash’s height. The tallest. The eldest. The first born. The one who shoulders all the expectations and sets the standard for the rest. Maybe child-Akash would feel it through all this time and distance.
‘You coming?’ Akash calls, totally unselfconscious. He waits at the end of the hall, watching Finlay.
Finlay jolts. He didn’t notice he was reaching out. He rushes over to Akash, mortification blistering in his stomach at being caught. ‘Sorry.’
Akash only smiles. ‘Don’t be! They’re such old photos, I’m probably unrecognisable.’ 205
His self-assuredness is somehow catching. It makes Finlay smile too.
‘And, voila!’ Akash opens a door, walks inside, and spreads his hands. ‘This is me. You can put your stuff in here.’
Finlay glances around greedily, any insight into Akash’s life utterly precious.
His room is tidy apart from a cluttered desk. There are piles of battered paperbacks, thick hardcovers lying open, textbooks of every colour, sticky notes crawling up the wall, posters with mind maps and diagrams of the human body climbing their way to the ceiling.
His bed is made. Directly across from it stands a huge bookcase crammed with all manner of novels. He’s intelligent: so intelligent it fills his shelves and sprawls across his walls. There’s a dresser at the other side of his bed. On top sit deodorant, sun cream, a bottle of water, a glass of water, and two mugs. Akash either loves hydration or forgets about his drinks. Finlay imagines Akash coming back with a cup of tea only to find the abandoned, half-finished one and trying to find space for them all.
That same fondness from the café happens again, that hot unfurling of happiness. Everything he discovers about Akash makes him want to keep discovering, reels him just that little bit closer, becomes a fishhook snagged in the soft underbelly of his gut ready to rip out.
‘Want to eat?’ Akash beams, setting his satchel down. He throws his jacket over his bed. Finlay does the same. Carefully.
Akash’s kitchen is neat and compact. There’s a little island 206counter in the middle with chairs tucked underneath, a bowl of fruit, and a fridge that holds a supermarket inside.
Akash rummages around, pulling things out and placing them on the counter. ‘Now.’ He picks up an onion. ‘I always feel you can tell a lot about people by how they cook. Do you cook?’
‘Um.’ Finlay blinks, thrown. ‘Not unless adding boiling water to tomato sauce counts.’
‘Hm?’ Akash’s head cocks adorably.
‘Ketchup packets, salt, little bit of sugar, water. Tomato soup,’ Finlay explains with a gesture.
Akash’s face lights. ‘I’ve heard of that!’
Finlay’s cheeks sting. Akash doesn’t need to know this. He doesn’t need to know Finlay is intimately aware of how long he can go without food or the fact he carries a snack with him so he can feel it: only eating it when he’s in sight of other food. None of that is cooking.
‘Come here.’ Akash beckons him over. ‘We’ll make stir-fry.’
And so they make stir-fry.
Finlay washes and chops the vegetables while Akash prepares the noodles. He directs Finlay with a gentle touch or a soft word. Finlay forgets he’s holding a sharp blade and standing beside an open flame. He forgets everything. Akash is a palm on Finlay’s back, a chest brushing Finlay’s shoulder, a hand over Finlay’s wrist.
Finlay feels as though he might combust. He’s literally about to go to the bathroom so he can calm himself down when a boy enters with a thick gaming headset around his neck. 207
This must be Ravi.
He peers in between them with no greeting. ‘What’s this?’
‘Not for you.’ Akash flicks his ear.
Ravi flicks Akash’s arm, but he grumbles and pulls back. ‘When’s dinner?’
‘Couple hours. Did you not get the leftovers in the fridge? They were for lunch.’ Akash has to raise his voice as Ravi walks out.
Ravi only mumbles some confirmation.
‘Done all your homework?’ Akash calls after him.
‘I started it! I’ll finish it later.’
‘Why don’t you do it now so you can relax later?’
There’s a drawn-out groan. ‘I said I would and I will.’
Akash turns to Finlay with an exasperated look. ‘Now you’ve met Ravi.’
Finlay knows he’s smiling, but he can’t hope to contain it. It’s so lovely to watch Akash with his family.
‘Oh, hello.’ Akash looks past him.
Finlay turns around.
Kavya is at the doorway.
‘When’s Ma and Pa home?’ she asks.
‘It’s on the board, see?’ Akash points to the fridge, where there’s a whiteboard with dates and times on it. ‘Done your homework?’
‘I don’t understand it,’ Kavya mumbles.
Akash purses his mouth, looking between Kavya and Finlay. ‘You okay to keep an eye on this?’ he asks Finlay.
‘Oh – sure.’ Finlay nods quick.
‘Okay, bring it into the living room.’ Akash directs Kavya out 208the kitchen. Finlay stirs the ingredients and listens to the noise of pages being flipped, shuffling on the couch.
‘Algebra.’ Akash sounds mildly appalled, and then he says something in another language. There’s a quiet giggle.
‘Okay, see this letter? That’s called a variable. It doesn’t have a fixed value, like a number does. So we need to find the value of the letter by using these numbers …’
You just need to explain your evidence. I can show you.
Finlay can feel affection spread everywhere, until he’s suffused with it.
‘Sorry, sorry.’ Akash comes back a few minutes later, crowding over his shoulder. ‘Hopefully no more interruptions.’
I like the interruptions, Finlay thinks. I like being in the middle of your life. I would watch you brush your teeth.
They both pick up where they left off. It’s easy. Being with Akash is so easy.
After a few minutes, Akash pauses to lean his hip against the counter, stirring with the ladle. ‘Hey.’
Finlay glances up. They’re closer than he thought. He glances away. ‘Hi.’
Akash’s eyes crease with his smile. ‘Can I tell you something?’
Finlay’s heart is a frantic drum, but he nods casually. ‘Course.’
‘I like you.’ Akash’s voice deepens. ‘I’m not sure if you’ve noticed.’
Finlay is very still. He doesn’t absorb the words. He waits a beat. ‘You like me how?’ His voice is hardly audible. He barely moves his lips.
Akash smiles, small and private. ‘I have a huge crush on you.’ 209
Finlay does nothing for several seconds. He feels something slowly come to life in him. It lifts him above the ground and holds him there, completely weightless. It occurs to him that this is elation. It’s neither pleasant nor painful: it’s looking over a great, dark abyss as it slowly consumes him.
Finlay keeps his face composed. It’s a superhuman task. ‘Akash,’ he murmurs evenly. ‘I don’t think … this would be a good idea.’
The words burn his gullet to speak. But they’re true. I’ve never had something I didn’t later destroy. I’ve never gained anyone I could later keep. And I’m terribly afraid. That feeling dictates me. I’ve learned to follow it to stay alive.
‘Oh. Absolutely.’ Akash is trying to sound flippant, but he’s a terrible actor. His voice is strained, clogged with emotion.
There’s silence.
‘Can we pretend I didn’t say anything?’ Akash asks softly.
Finlay nods.
‘Good.’ Akash nods too. ‘Can you pass the soy sauce?’
Finlay picks it up. But when Akash tries to take it, Finlay holds on. Something forces his hand.
Akash gazes back at him, calm and serious. He isn’t ashamed. He isn’t denying it. He isn’t backing off. He isn’t ashamed.
‘How … do you like me?’ Finlay can’t stop the words. A casual crush? A passing fancy? An offhand experiment?
‘I like everything about you.’ Akash’s voice is gentle. ‘I want to be with you. And I know you feel the same way, otherwise I wouldn’t have said.’
Finlay stares in shock. Somehow all his efforts were for 210nothing. He gave everything away. ‘You can’t know that,’ he tries: a last frontier.
Akash studies him. ‘I can. Can’t you see things when you look at me?’
Finlay’s voice is barely audible. ‘Like what?’
‘Like what I’m feeling,’ Akash replies.
Finlay wants to say no. Who can do that?
‘I can feel how much you look at me,’ Akash continues. ‘You must be able to feel when I look at you.’
The food burbles gently. Finlay’s skin hurts. He feels exposed. There’s nothing else to say. Akash knows.
It takes several seconds before Finlay can speak. ‘Why did you tell me this over cooking?’ He wants a distraction.
‘So you’d have something to do,’ Akash responds easily, turning off the stove. He gets bowls and starts dishing out the stir-fry.
‘So it felt less invasive. I didn’t want to do it in public in case you got anxious around other people. But I also couldn’t tell you the second we were alone, that would be way too intense. So I thought: we’ll cook together.’
He sends Finlay a bashful smile as he collects the cooking utensils. But his hands tremble. He’s nervous.
I’ve never had something I didn’t later destroy.
The shame is rot and decaying death. Finlay feels it peel away from his soul as he watches Akash care about him, openly confess to it, own it with beauty.
‘We can pretend I didn’t say anything, if you want,’ Akash continues, washing the dishes now. 211
Finlay steps close and touches Akash’s shoulder with the pads of his fingertips.
Akash goes still. The water runs on.
He’s so warm, emanating warmth. Finlay moves closer. He takes a hold of Akash’s shoulders and gently presses his chest to Akash’s back, pushing his nose into Akash’s jumper. Akash’s heartbeat echoes in Finlay’s ears.
‘I’m sorry,’ he murmurs. ‘I … I can’t.’
It’s nothing. It’s not even an explanation. But Finlay doesn’t have one.
Akash turns the water off gently. ‘Finlay. Don’t apologise.’
Finlay doesn’t speak for a moment. Akash smells clean and cottony and familiar, like the combination of every good memory. Their bodies fit together. Akash is bony and soft at the same time, strong and small: his flat back to Finlay’s flat chest, all boyish.
‘Nothing changes. I still want you in my life,’ Akash adds. He doesn’t turn around. He’s patient. ‘As friends. As anything. So I rescind my declaration, all right? Whoosh. Gone.’ He even makes the sound, fluttering a hand as though he’s dispelled his own feelings.
Finlay laughs, throaty and sore.
‘We’re friends. All right?’ Akash murmurs.
No. Finlay’s just made the worst mistake of his life. He threw his hands out at the last second, but instead of stopping his fall it only made him hit the ground harder. 212
‘Please, just take one.’ Finlay holds out a sachet of paracetamol.
Banjo’s in bed, damp with sweat, greasy hair, hot cheeks. Finlay doesn’t take his temperature. He doesn’t touch Banjo at all. He’s learned his lesson.
Banjo shakes his head and curls into a smaller ball. It’s been a few months since Banjo arrived at Finlay’s door frame with a duffel bag and a grim face, but a week since Banjo decided to stop taking all painkillers. Cold turkey.
Finlay has no idea what the catalyst for this go-for-broke mission was, but there’s no point guessing. The ways of Banjo are inexplicable – probably even to Banjo.
‘Try one.’ Finlay cracks a tablet out.
‘No, Finlay.’ Banjo’s fingers close around his wrist. It’s enough to make Finlay stop. Banjo never touches anyone. Finlay stares down at their joined hands, the way they both shake from the force of Banjo’s tremors. ‘It’ll pass.’
‘Banjo, come on, this works,’ Finlay tries, crouching by his bed so they’re level. ‘I told you, we’ll wean you off them.’
Banjo shakes his head, stubbornly adamant.
Finlay presses his thumb into his eye socket. He should get help. He’s in so far over his head. But would Banjo ever trust him again?
‘Please,’ Banjo croaks. He looks at Finlay and Finlay knows then that Banjo needs him. Self-preservation leaves Finlay forever, the desire to crawl into his own bed, sleep and not care. All at once, an indescribable protectiveness comes over Finlay. Banjo is his kin. 213
‘Sit up. Here,’ Finlay instructs, passing Banjo a glass of water and holding the bottom when it trembles so much it bumps against Banjo’s chin.
‘Need ’aff ’em,’ Banjo mutters as he lies down. Finlay pries the duvet from Banjo’s tight fingers so he doesn’t overheat.
Banjo’s asleep in twenty minutes.
Finlay watches him all night. He realises they’re two foreigners in this world. Two people who have nothing. They’ve travelled without ever knowing a place, they’re men inside children’s bodies, they’re soldiers who have no awareness of war and yet understand its horrors. But they’ve found one another across the bloody barracks. Not even a lover could care the way Finlay does.