Chapter 4

"Sy, what happened to the £200 Jane sent us to tide us over until we started making money?" Christian asks as soon as he walks in the door; "I went to the cash point this morning and there was only £10 left in the account."

"Christian, we need to talk."

"What have you done this time?" he asks wearily.

"I can't stay here anymore."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm breaking up with you," Syed says, his voice shaking with the effort to get the words out.

"You know, I really can't take any more of this bulls*it. I thought we'd moved on from the 'I don't know what I want' or "who I am", or whatever the f**k it was, phase. Honestly, sometimes, you're little better than a child, a spoilt child. It's Zainab I blame, she's …"

"It's over," he says huskily.

"Are you being serious?" Christian asks, a note of fear now entering his voice.

"Yes," he whispers, his eyes filling with tears. He starts to move towards the bedroom. "I'll get my stuff."

"No, stop, stop this," Christian suddenly shouts, grabbing his arm. "You love me; I know you do. What's brought this on?"

"We haven't been getting on recently," Syed mumbles inadequately.

"That's all? Oh man, for a minute there I actually thought you meant it," Christian responds, his voice ringing with relief. "Look, I know Birmingham wasn't exactly a barrel of laughs, but we're back now; everything will be alright now, you'll see," he soothes. "You do get some silly ideas into your head sometimes," he laughs, pulling him into his embrace. "It's a good job I never take you seriously." He gives him a firm hug and a kiss, and then goes to start his shift in the Vic with the parting shot, "I'd still be interested to know what happened to the money."

#

Syed doesn't have a lot; all his clothes and possessions fit into a couple of bags. His heart feels heavy as he takes one last look around the room where he spent such happy times with a man who had such a huge impact on his life, a man who pretty much saved his life. The idea that, after everything they've been through, it's come to this sad end hits him hard. He is under no illusion that once Danny tires of him, he will be able to win Christian back. He knows he's burned his bridges for good this time.

"For once, be honest with yourself," the irritating little voice in his head pipes up. "Even if you had the option, you wouldn't want to go back to him. The truth is, you're relieved to have the decision to leave him taken out of your hands."

"Syed ignores it, as he has done many times in his life.

#

"What's going on?" Christian demands, when he returns unexpectedly to find Syed with his bags packed. He swipes the note he's about to leave on the pillow out of his hand and reads: "I'm sorry. I love you, but I can't be with you anymore."

"What the f**k is this?" he explodes.

Syed picks up his bags and starts to walk past him.

"The day of our wedding, I asked you to marry me only if you were sure you loved me," Christian reminds him, his voice full of suppressed rage. "So why did you turn up, why did you marry me, if you didn't?"

"I did, I do still love you; but … that day … I didn't want to hurt you, to disappoint everyone."

"But you always end up hurting everyone, disappointing everyone, don't you? That's really all you're good at."

"I wasn't ready to get married; I told you."

"You also told me you wanted to marry me more than you'd ever wanted anything. You even repeated your wedding vows the day we left for America, to show me how much you meant them."

"I was terrified of taking the final step to end us; I knew it would mean losing you completely out of my life and possibly never seeing you again; we'd been together so long."

"Oh my God, give me strength; do you have any idea how much sh*t you speak sometimes; contradicting yourself over and over again, back-tracking, changing your mind. I never know where I stand with you."

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're selfish. And after everything you've put me through; you're going to move back home now, and leave me with nothing."

"I'm not moving back home, you should probably know," Syed says nervously."

"Where are you going? Are you leaving Walford again?"

"I'm moving in with Danny," Syed says, almost inaudibly.

"Danny? Are you f**king kidding me? After everything he's done."

"It's complicated," Syed says miserably.

"Get out of my sight," Christian roars, pushing him out the door and banging it after him.

"I'm so sorry," Syed begs one last time, his face pressed against the door.

"Save it for someone who cares," Christian responds, his voice breaking over the words.

###

"All done?" Danny casually greets, when he answers the door.

"Yes, I've told him," Syed dully confirms. He walks past him into the apartment; and then stops abruptly, not knowing where to go or what to do.

"The bedroom's through there," Danny directs. "There's some wardrobe space; unpack your stuff. Once you've settled in, you can cook us some dinner, anything you want. Pop to the local Halal butcher, I assume you know where it is, and buy whatever you need," he instructs, throwing a couple of £50s in his direction. "There are a couple of electronic cards by the door: the blue one gets you in the main front door, and the red one is for the door to the apartment. I'll be back in a couple of hours," he adds, grabbing his jacket and walking out.

Syed stands looking around him unsurely for a few minutes before slowly making his way to the bedroom; which stylistically is an extension of the living room: a perfect blend of black and white; sleek, luxurious, with everything in its place. A shiver runs through him as he thinks about what he's done to bring himself to this cold and unfriendly place; so very different from the homely flat he shared with Christian. Opening a couple of wardrobe doors, he finds more regimentation: black, grey and navy suits lined neatly end to end in one; (very) smart-casuals filling the other. The third wardrobe is empty, and his clothes hardly fill a quarter of it; his bags look so tattered and worn sitting against the beautiful white wood of the wardrobe door. Hung up, his meager possessions look shabby and uncoordinated in the expensive surroundings. Syed has a shower, changes his clothes, and makes his way to the kitchen; another black and white ensemble. Pretty much all he really knows for sure about Danny is that he likes the food at the Argee Bhajee (or at least he thinks he does). He goes out to buy some meat and spices, and finds the rest of what he needs in the well-stocked kitchen to make Beef Karahi with naan and rice. Everything is ready when Danny returns.

#

"This is delicious, nicer than the food at your restaurant," Danny observes. Syed makes no comment.

"You not hungry?" he asks after a little while.

"Giving me the silent treatment?" he queries, when Syed doesn't respond.

"This isn't going to work," Syed says quietly. "I can't live here, I don't know what to do; I don't feel comfortable here."

"You'll get used to is," Danny says dismissively.

"What will I do all day?"

"You'll work in your brother's restaurant part-time, but no nights. And you'll help me with bits and pieces when I need you to; you'll also cook dinner for us every evening. Once you've worked off your debt, I'll pay you the going rate for any research work you do. Now, help me load the dishwasher." Assuming the discussion over, he gets up and takes his plate and glass to the kitchen.

Nothing more is said, and Danny disappears into the bedroom. Syed puts a few things away, and straightens the cushions on the couch. He looks nervously towards the bedroom door, not knowing what he's supposed to do. Sitting down on the couch, he picks up a magazine and absently leafs through it.

"Syed, get in here?" Danny calls from the bedroom, making him jump. "It's only 8pm," he thinks uneasily. Nevertheless, he gets up and walks slowly, reluctantly towards whatever awaits.