Alex placed the seven hundred euros in an envelope and posted them to Jerry, just to wind the guy up and he was well aware of the ongoing bugbear of this friend's who hated the bad habit of dipping and hustling. One of the main reasons the pair no longer cohabited. That and the necessity of Alex swapping resorts regularly to keep under the police radar. His marks were usually plastered, high or just plain repellant, so that the loss of funds could be put down to stupidity or their own hard luck rather than the by-product of Alex's game of modern day Raffles. Jerry had for the past decade lived and worked in Courmayeur during the winter season, after six to nine weeks of pre-season skiing to get in shape at Val Senales. The skiing had been wonderful as had the series of guilt free one night stands and the fabulous apres ski with the various instructors and chalet girls.
The wanderer sent money as he really did owe Tom's brother each and ever Euro for being a superstar as he had cried over his fucked up life after turning up out of the blue, nine years on since Tom's fourteenth birthday party. Both Harris boys had fully empathised with the weird home life of Alex in the posh end of Chelsea with a workaholic uncle and a really does not get the deal of consistent parenting housekeeper. The Harris household had been as dysfunctional, as Jerry as been the main caregiver for his younger brother until he had left at sixteen in 1998. Tom had been in shellshock when Alex had befriended him, unable to cope with the alien environment of secondary school and abandonment issues over Jerry. Jack had fed the two semi-feral teenagers, leaving them to roam wild and Ian had not cared what Alex got up to as long as he practiced languages, kept up with karate and his fitness regime, and turned up for school most of the time.
In Naples, Alex had been a total mess. Rejection and the whole not belonging anywhere got to him.
….
In a way, seeking out Jerry was easier as he had no frame of reference with Alex post Yassen. The serial wanderer had chosen to come to Naples to drop in on his only unbiased point of reference to the period before he had failed to tell Blunt where to get off. Alex was not a total stranger, then again it had been seven years since he had spoken face to face with Tom, when their intervening emails and phone calls had all been far too polite and stilted, without the expected jokes and football references as if being in the army changed Tom from chatterbox joker to the super serious career grunt.
Alex accepted the mug of grappa laced instant hot chocolate, as he slumped on the bean bag made from packaging waste.
"So need a loan, Al?"
The unexpected guest shook his head and tossed four hundred Euros at the good samaritan, "Nahh, I can always get cash and supplies. You know Ian taught me Pikey 101 before I met Tom. I… I was staying with the best guy in the universe, only his staff could smell I was a waste of space and told me to scram. My stuff still is in Gigi's safe, as he confiscated it to stop me doing something stupid." Most don't know about Ian's game of leaving his six year old nephew with nothing but his wits, when Alex had survived 10 days alone with no adult supervision and no need for bank cards or such like. "I knew how to shoplift way before that bastard Ian taught me to dip for wallets." Alex had always been inwardly amused that Jerry had thought Ian was a mob banker. It had been not so far from the truth, at one time making his boring uncle seem interesting. Edward had also assumed the Royal and General was dodgy, as in money laundering front, then again most high street banks had had their fingers burnt with their less than legal dealings in the sub-prime markets recently.
Alex gulped down the weird mix of familiar sweet drink and harsh alcohol as he'd never understood the peculiar habit of mixing decent stuff like coca cola or hot chocolate with any hard spirit to hand. "When I got back after … Yassen had his fun…. Sir Charles Fellows was my assigned foster father. All and sundry promising me that everything would be ok. Only it was his version of OK, not mine. Boarding School, fuck if that ain't just like prison. In surviving and by surviving I mean did everything I needed to except die and that had been a close run thing. I lost everything familiar, all my friends, no fucking football at posh central and no Jack or Chelsea. You don't have to tell me she was shit at her job, but she was the only person in my life to actually give a fuck 24/7."
A tear slipped down his face as Alex could not help the despair winning over when sharing the hard reality of losing everything and everybody not getting what he needed or wanted. Would it really have hurt Masterson to drop him back with Jack stateside and not chosen to make a political statement to embarrass Blunt. Then again, Jack had never tried to keep in touch. Contact had always been instigated by Alex, but then again CAFCASS had been playing hard ball with anyone they considered dubious or flakey.
In the silence, Alex continued "I've never had a home since. Social services were complete fascists when I was sixteen shoving me in a fucking bedsit. When I was 18, I bought a place in Yorkshire with my share of money from the book. That's been the closest a place to chill-ax, but that turned a lonely claustrophobic bolehole when I was trying to avoid the film and everything to do with it." Not helped by Yassen's bad habit of appeared to remind him who on this planet that killer needed for entertainment. Totally in his worst stalking form when he'd scouted out the shoot in Malta, met the cast and crew. Not that they had any idea. Most people thought it was pure paranoia when Alex let slip that that bastard keeping tabs on him. His kidnapper had been more consistent in his life than anyone. "That's about the up and down of me being a freak. Cutting and running. That's how I cope."
Alex then got up and poured two glasses of grappa for the mismatched pair of strangers. "Our health. Both of us coping so well with adult life." With the ease of a seasoned abuser of alcohol, Alex drained the glass in one.
In a moment of emotional clarity, Alex knew he had to get his shit together considering this one way conversation was getting old. "I've been unloading my woes and this is your space. I'll go get a room somewhere. Thanks for listening." He was nearly at the door, when Jerry stopped him with a soft touch on his arm.
"Sit down, Al. You know me better than that. I'm used to listening. I never got a word in edge ways at home. Parent's screaming and fucking, no time for me ever. Only putting on a show of unity when social services poked their noses in. Tom learned to be self sufficient, as at fifteen he moved out and into his older girlfriend's place, like nearly twenty-two and got away with it. Mum and dad did nothing and Tom told me to mind my own business. Bet, he never told you that. Its one older woman after another with him, most divorced and bitter with it. Not planning on marriage nor kids." Then Jerry was blunt and practical as he was used to being in big brother mode. "One bed. I don't fuck guys. Its not my thing. I have no problem with your sexuality. You can look, as I know I'm a stud, but don't touch. I'm tired and you look like you've been running on empty. Lets sleep and discuss having a bit of a holiday with that windfall you gave me, as work here is shit."
…..
Jerry slept late. It was nearly ten as he got up to make coffee and stumble two streets over for fresh bread and pastries, only Alex had beaten him to it.
"Morning, Jerry. All your neighbours think I'm Tom. Better than them thinking I'm your squeeze."
At that point the tired sportsman noticed the two cheap and cheerful Nokias and three plastic bags of second hand clothes. "I've been shopping, clothes and the fact I need to phone the guys back home and one actually communicating with. I went to the local cafe and emailed some friends that I was not being too stupid. Then again, its only two weeks since I was last discharged from the funny farm."
…..
Harry tried and tried the mobile number that had texted him, but there was no connection. The cryptic message was brief in the extreme, "Cub fine, Alex less so. Run to old… really old friends. Will stay in touch. xoxo" Trevor had then copied him into the email he had received "Hey Dr T, good intentions only last if all are playing to the same rules. I fucking hate people pushing me around. Off skiing with most decent bloke ever hailing from the World End Estate, who gets me better than you bunch of do-gooders. Will email again once we get moved. May have to stay in Italy as I have no passport at the moment and have been dipping/shoplifting to get by. All that money Sergei snd Alexei left me and I turn all pikey on everyone. Carpe diem as I'm going to party like its 1999. Ciao, Cub. PS if Harry is worried over my two person text… tell him there's a least three alters in play and Cub is in charge and out to live a little as Alex is a sad fuck. Luckily Yassen's best boy is not out to play. I know you like talking to him during our deep hypnosis sessions."