Chapter 16
There is a big turnout for the funeral; Roxy was known to all the regulars of the Vic, the E20, around the market and beyond. People come from far and wide to pay their last respects, and a large extended Mitchell family make sure it is a proper East End send off. At the service, Christian is asked to sit in the front row next to Ronnie, Phil, Ben and Louise.
Syed is probably the only person in the whole of Walford who does not attend.
#
Three, maybe four, months pass; and, as tends to happen, no matter how life changing the event, the world of the Square returns to normal.
Christian eventually goes back to work; in body, if not in spirit. He is no longer the upbeat, positive person he used to be; the friendly smile, the confident stride are a memory.
Syed continues to work part time at the restaurant. He has managed to scrape together enough money to get himself a stall selling men's grooming products with labels close enough to the brand name they hint at to draw attention. He seems happy enough. His fears appear to have receded.
They have not spoken.
###
One day
"You're home early," Masood remarks.
"I've run low on stock," Syed explains. "I'm heading back out in a minute to meet Paul."
"You too have been seeing a lot of each other," Zainab remarks.
"If you need to get hold of a few boxes of Packet Rabanne, Kelvin Klein or George Armani, he's your man.
"Things going well on the stall?" she asks.
"Yea, surprisingly well. I've decided to add some women's products, to see how I get on, don't tell Bianca.
"I saw you surrounded by, it must have been, six or seven girls at one point yesterday, you looked to be enjoying yourself," his mother remarks without even a hint of hopefulness in her voice.
"Those girls, they're tourists. They stop by the stall for a chat; sometimes I can convince them to buy for boyfriends, fathers. They're nice, fun."
"You can't go back to dating girls," Tamwar cries in an anxious burst.
"No, I wouldn't. I've made enough mistakes." Syed offers a sad smile before walking away.
"He has no interest in anything apart from that stall," Zainab points out frustratedly.
"Have you tried talking to Christian again?" Masood asks.
"He won't budge, no matter how many dinners I bring him. He can't think beyond Roxy."
###
"Hey there, how are things?" Jane asks, as she puts a full English breakfast and a mug of tea down in front of her brother.
Christian's smile is a little more natural than it has been for a while. "Not bad," he admits.
"Care to elaborate?" she coaxes, sitting down opposite him.
"Jane, we're busy," Ian whines from behind the counter.
"I'm taking my break," she responds without looking in his direction; her tone brooking no argument; her dismissive wave in his direction, dismissive. "Christian, tell me," she gently prompts.
"Well, I suppose …" He hesitates. "Just recently, when I wake up in the mornings, my first thoughts aren't about her. I don't feel such a tightness … a pain in my chest when I think of her. It's becoming a little more …bearable. His eyes well up even as he speaks, and Jane's hand covers his own, giving a gentle squeeze.
"You don't have to feel guilty because it's starting to get a little easier," she comforts.
"I don't want to forget her."
"You won't forget her, of course you won't; but you'll learn to live with her loss; and, in time, you'll be able to remember the good times and be thankful you had so many wonderful years."
"I suppose so," he shrugs dejectedly.
"I haven't seen you in the Vic since …, don't suppose you fancy going for a drink this evening?"
"I still don't really feel up to seeing people."
"One quick drink, after work, before it gets busy?"
"I don't know," he offers reluctantly.
"Thirty, forty minutes, no more," she coaxes.
"Early evening, there'll be hardly anyone there."
"Apart from us," she grins, getting up before he can back out.
"I'd better get back to work; there must be at least," she looks over shoulder, "one person waiting to be served." They share a smile and she leaves him alone with his thoughts.
#
As predicted, the Vic is quiet, and the few who are there wish him well but don't make a fuss.
They talk mainly about Ian. Jane knows that she can always find a humorous story or three involving her husband.
"How's work?" she asks at one point.
"Okay," Christian admits. "It was tough at first facing people, clients, and the questions. Then, it was tough when people stopped asking about her. I hate to see the way life returns to normal. One day, I'll be walking down the street, I'll hear someone laugh out loud at something random, and it grates on my nerves. They were all at her funeral barely three months ago, everybody shocked and upset. And now, it's as if she never existed."
"I know it must seem that way, love," Jane sympathises, "but she will never be forgotten around here. She always had time for people, and she was the only Mitchell everybody liked."
"It is good to be back at work, to have a reason to get out of bed in the mornings."
"Have you spoken to Syed at all?" she asks tentatively, aware that Christian has not mentioned his husband's name since the morning he threw Syed out of the flat.
"Syed who?" Christian dismisses, with just the merest trace of bitterness.
"Welcome to my office." Syed's voice through the opening front door announces his arrival.
"Is this the place where everybody knows your name?" his pretty, blond friend asks, as he holds the door for her to enter.
"They should do, but I wouldn't put it to the test, if I were you," he laughingly responds, as he discretely scans the room to make sure Christian is not present.
Christian's gaze, when he finds it, looks into his own with such blazing anger that he jerks back in shock.
"Actually, I can't stay," he mumbles, dragging his phone clumsily out of his pocket and almost dropping it. "A ... a text, family emergency; I've got to go."
Once they are out on the street, she manages to grab his arm before Syed can rush off.
"What's wrong? What happened in there? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I'd let him go, if I were you, love; and count your lucky stars you've had such a lucky escape," Christian advises, having followed them out.
"Do you mind? We're having a private conversation," she sharply reminds him.
"You're having a private conversation with my husband; so, yes, I do mind."
"You're married? You're gay?" she asks faintly, turning to Syed.
"It's a business meeting, nothing more," Syed tries to insist, his words directed at Christian, his eyes darting nervously in his husband's direction.
"Of course," she stiffly responds. "I might see you around," she offers, her tone suggests that she might not. She turns and walks away.
"If in doubt, revert to old habits, is that it?" Christian asks sneeringly.
"No, ..." Syed begins.
"Spare me the lies, there can't be any I haven't heard by now."
"I'm sorry," Syed pleads, his voice full of despair.
"Of course you are," Christian says dismissively. He turns to walk away. As soon as he has his back to Syed, his eyes fill with tears.
"Christian, are you okay?" Jane asks, appearing at his elbow.
"I hate him," he manages to choke out the words.
"Of course you do, love," she says soothingly.
"I wish I'd never met him," he cries feelingly.
"And yet he's the only person who has been able to get you to show any real emotion since she died."
"I've been emotional," he protests.
"Any emotion, apart from grief."
When he shrugs helplessly, she puts her arm around his waist. "It's enough for today, let's go home."
#
"Come and take the last of your stuff. Spare room needed for new flat mate," is Christian's short text the following morning.
Syed looks at it for a long moment.
"Bad news?" Tamwar asks.
"No, maybe not," he offers, his tone neutral.
#
"Make it quick, I've got to go out," Christian greets him at the door.
"Hi," Syed says with a tentative smile.
Christian offers only stony silence.
"If you're boiling the kettle ..."
Christian walks off in the direction of his (their) bedroom, without responding.
Syed has always travelled light, so there is not much to pack. Christian is sitting on the couch watching TV as he passes on his way out. He hesitates. "How have you been, it was such …"
"Don't you talk about her," Christian growls, twisting around to face him.
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to hurt you. I wish ..."
"Yea, yea, I've heard it all before."
"I miss you, I need you, please Christian," he cries despairingly. "If you take me back, I promise ... anything you want. I'll never let you down again."
"You've got to be kidding," Christian laughs harshly. "What would I do with you now, now that you're damaged goods?"
Syed's eyes widen in surprise and pain.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that," he immediately adds, dismayed to have said something so cruel.
"I'll go," Syed mumbles. Moving quickly, he is already out the front door before Christian can get up off the couch.
#
"Christian, hi. It's good ..." Masood begins on unexpectedly finding him at their door.
"Is Syed here?" Christian urgently cuts across him.
"No, I don't think so. Zee, have you seen Syed?"
"No, not since this morning. Why, has something happened?" she cries, rushing in from the kitchen with a half-cut onion in one hand and a knife in the other. "Nazim …"
"He got a text about 20 minutes ago, and left almost immediately," Tamwar says, arriving at his father's side.
"Oh my God," Zainab cries.
"It's nothing like that," Christian quickly assures.
"Come in, come in," Masood beckons, reaching to take his arm to draw him into the house.
As Christian walks into the sitting room, he automatically looks around the room, as if hoping by some miracle to find Syed hiding behind the curtains. "I upset him, and I need to find him to tell him I didn't mean it," he quickly explains.
"I'm sure it can't have been that bad," Tamwar reasons.
"For Sy, it was just about the worst thing I could have said."
"Do you think he might do something?" Zainab begins anxiously.
Christian nods. "He was devastated, the look on his face ..."
"Have you tried calling him?" Tamwar asks, as he searches for Syed's number on his phone.
"Repeatedly. It rings for a bit and then goes to voicemail."
Tamar tries the number with no success. "Okay, let's split up and go looking for him," he suggests.
Masood and Zainab head for the quick-e-mart, and he and Christian try the Vic.
#
"What would make you think he'd be in here?" Phil growls.
"Can I assume that means you haven't seen him?" Tamwar asks politely.
"I think you can, let's go." Christian quickly intervenes, shepherding him out the door and away from danger.
#
Two hours later, they have searched every inch of the Square.
"Should we try the police?" Masood suggests as they sip coffees prepared by Jane.
"Maybe," Christian agrees without much hope.
"Vodka's not the answer, you know," Kim calls out from across the street as she passes on her way home from work.
"Excuse me?" Zainab cries with great affront.
"I was talking to Christian. I know you're grieving, love, but drinking at home in the middle of the day ..."
"What vodka?"
"The bottle you asked Syed to buy for you."
"You saw Syed?"
"He was in, probably around 10, 10.30; said you'd sent him to buy ..."
"... Vodka," Christian finishes the sentence, as he, Masood, Zainab and Tamwar look at one another in horror.
"I didn't sell him any; told him you'd be better off getting your drinks in the Vic with the rest of us."
"Try his number again," Zainab urgently pleads.
Christian dials the number and a phone nearby begins to ring. "What are you doing with Syed's phone?" He pounces on an unprepared Billy.
"What are you talking about?" he asks innocently.
Christian reaches in behind the counter of his stall and grabs it.
"Oh yea, that. Yea, Syed came by earlier, asked if I would buy it from him. I gave him a good price for it," he quickly adds, sensing he's about to be accused of something.
"Did he say where he was going?" Christian demands.
"Did he say why he was selling it? Masood asks.
"Did he sell you anything else?" Tamwar asks.
"Well," Billy says uncertainly, looking from one to the other of their anxious faces. "He did also sell me his watch and, um ... his wedding ring." He glances nervously at Christian. "Is there anything wrong?" he hazards.
"How did he seem?" Zainab asks.
"Ah, um, well, I don't exactly ... Wait, I do remember, he said he needed money to buy a train ticket, and that he'd left the house without his wallet. I asked him, after we'd conducted our transaction, of course, why he couldn't just go back for it. I mean you only live over the road."
"What did he say?" Zainab asks impatiently, when it appears he is finished talking.
"He said something vague like, 'I should never have come back."
"Did he say where he was going?" Christian repeats his question.
"No."
"Give me the ring and the watch," he demands.
"It was a fair deal."
"Billy," he growls. Without waiting, he reaches in where he found the phone and finds the other two items.
"How much did you give him?"
"One hundred."
"You call that a fair deal?" Zainab accuses.
"Christian searches his pockets and finds a couple of twenties and tens. "Here, I'll owe you the rest."
"I've got it," Masood adds, handing Billy the last couple of twenties.
"Thanks Masood," Christian smiles.
"No need, we're family, what's mine is yours," he automatically responds.
Christian can hear the sincerity in his voice and it means so much. "Thank you," he says huskily.
"Okay, okay, this is all well and good, but we need to find Syed," Zainab reminds them.
"You still looking for Syed?" Phil calls out from across the road.
"Yes," they all call back in unison.
"Saw him going into The Beehive, maybe an hour ago."
"Thanks Phil," Christian says gratefully.
#
"Have you seen this guy? His name is Syed," he pants, trying to catch his breath.
The barman looks from one to the other of Christian and his companions, all leaning against the counter and displaying varying degrees of unfitness. "Have you all been running from someone?" he asks, looking beyond to check if there are any more arriving; maybe someone with a weapon.
"Look at the photo," Christian barks.
"Okay, okay, don't have a collective heart attack; paramedics are not a good look." He studies the picture. "Yea, he was here. Got himself a ... companion; left 10-15 minutes ago," he smirks. "A pretty boy like that, you've got to keep ..." he trails off, as they are already rushing back out the door. "Nobody's going to buy a drink, then ... You're very welcome."
"I don't think they came in for a drink," an inebriated customer sitting nearby opines.
"No shit, Sherlock," he snaps.
#
They stand outside looking frantically up and down the street in vain, and then the sound of breaking glass from an alley nearby has them on the move.