Alex hated queues, hated airports and the hassle of traveling in general. The feelings of intense discomfort increased tenfold in the actual plane; stuck in a tin can, no smoking, the intense claustrophobia of being trapped. With Sergei o a private jet, it had been manageable by watching his lover work. The only saving grace was that Maria had booked him a business class seat. The long flight was still tedious to a boy who had neglected to buy a book, had no interest in in flight movies or airline food. Alex had settled on drinking glass after glass of vodka, the alcohol acting as a relaxant, it took five shots until he had finally fell asleep. After what appeared to be only a few minutes, the attendants had woken him to announce their descent into London. He definitely needed several more hours sleep and had the beginnings of a monumental headache, fueled both by the stress of being unceremoniously dumped and the start of a hangover.
He marched through the airport making a b-line for the exit, the whole process shortened as he had no hold luggage, only to be pulled over in the Green Channel at Heathrow Customs. The staff seemingly concerned over a teenager traveling alone with no luggage. Alex watched as they rechecked his documents. He emptied his pockets and wondered if a strip search was in order. He remained passive as the bastard on the desk looked through his journal.
"Mr Rider you have no luggage" said the first customs officer.
"Correct." Alex answered tersely.
"Do you have a place to stay?"
"Yeah I booked the Dorchester before I left Beijing." Alex lied, he wasn't even sure if he wanted to stay in London. He knew of two hostels for backpackers in the capital, but he would prefer the anonymity of the streets or a squat. He briefly wondered about Grey, if he was still surviving south of the river.
Alex made a note of the cameras, the positions of all the people in the hall and stretched his neck, trying to relax.
"So why no luggage?"
"I forgot to pack." Alex said acting like a petulant teenager.
"You forgot to pack?" enquired the concerned looking Custom agent.
"Yeah I have mental problems. Packing is so fucking depressing so I didn't bother."
"Do you need to see a doctor Mr Rider?"
"I'll call Doc Pritchard when I get to the hotel. Its so fantastic that everyone assumes I need sedating when what I really need is a fucking cigarette."
"Well we can't keep you. Welcome home Mr Rider."
"I have no home." Alex mumbled under his breath as he walked off.
Alex changed the money in his wallet into sterling and caught the tube into town. His first stop in central London was to contact his friends at an internet cafe at the main line station. It was just a note to say he was back in London, but had yet to decide his next move. He decided against contacting Maria, he did not need anything sending, he was OK with what he had. He'd go back to his usual modus operandi, and trawl around some charity shops to get some threads. He would drop by the Guardian offices to see if Edward was at work. He did not want to bother Edward's family. He did owe the journalist an explanation, in case he tried to contact Alex and found out he'd dropped off the radar.
Alex got to see the nasty cubicle in the open office where Edward worked on his day job as a features writer. "Hi, Ed, just to let you know I'm back in London."
The middle aged man took in the tired, travel worn boy who slumped dejectedly into the spare chair. "I thought you were traveling with Sergei?"
Alex shrugged "Change of plan. I'm at a loose end now."
Edward looked concerned "Do you need a place to stay?"
Alex put his head in his hands. All his shit was in Moscow or Beijing. Not that the clothes meant anything. He had his current journals. His older journals had been left at Edward's house. "I really need to sort out somewhere of my own. Thanks for the offer Edward, but I need some space to think."
Edward smiled, "I might be able to help out, I've had my advance from the publisher. I deposited your share last week. You have enough in the bank to go to uni even before single copy has been sold."
Alex was put at ease. Money meant his dire situation was eased, so he mirrored Edward's smile and ruefully added "I've had four poems published in Russia. I earn the princely sum of $50 for that. I guess writing books pays better."
"Alex, Poets are always beggars. It helps if you are independently wealthy or marry well."
Alex laughed. "So I'm on the right track fucking a billionaire."
A dark look crossed Edward's face. "I wish you weren't. You're too young. He's old enough to be your father. You are going to get hurt."
"I like the sex, Edward. For some reason Sergei and I clicked. He likes me. Its not true love, but its better than being alone." Alex sighed. "Completely fucked up, I know. I'm rather good at fucked up relationships." Alex stretched back in the chair and tried to explain the attraction of the older man. "He kept watching me. He was attracted to me. I liked being under his gaze. I made the first move, I asked if he wanted to fuck me. So we did." Alex was suddenly very glad of this interlude. "Its not over between us, just a short break. Sergei had things to do. Well, I'm going to get a hotel room, eat my weight in junk food and watch shit TV until I hear from Sergei."
Edward contemplated what Alex had said. He, as a father, always thought it was better to let your kids make their mistakes and just be there to pick up the pieces. Alex was growing up, making bad decisions, having awful relationships was part of that process. All in all Alex was not completely distraught, just stoic. Edward then returned to the one item regarding Alex that had been left unresolved. "One thing before you go, did you read those letters from Anthony Howell?"
Alex sighed deeply, "Yeah I read them. I still can't decide if the bastard was playing the concerned adult or actually wants a relationship with me. If he'd wanted he could have contacted me. CAFCASS is not all powerful." Alex knew this was a lie, if SIS deemed Ash to be a liability there would have been no way in hell the man could have got to him. Alex knew Ian had only been lukewarm about the man and Alex wondered on Yassen's open hostility towards this man after the events in Malta.
Alex left the Guardian and flagged a taxi. The young man might have given Edward the impression he was going to stay in London, but he went straight to Victoria and got on the overnight coach to Paris. There were no bad memories of Paris. Alex had fond memories of the French Capital. He would visit old haunts and remember happier times.
Alex found a cheap hostel with weekly rates on the edge of Montmartre, just within the red light district. He bought enough clothes to get by. Using the skills passed on by Maria, thrift shopping to buy clothes that were stylish rather than just to hide his body. The racks of vintage clothes offered a mix of decent labels. All were good quality, classic rather than fashionable. Alex now had enough money not to watch the pennies but he still got a job. Waiting tables at a popular tourist restaurant allowed Alex enough time to sit and write, while covering basic living expenses.
Alex was back to being a nobody, just another kid on their year off making ends meet. Here, he could blend into the background. He could not be bothered to contact anyone directly, he just sent off some postcards with short missives that he was still alive. Not quite wish you were here. He pondered on the fact he'd jumped into a relationship which seemed to be one sided. Then again he was just a bit of entertainment, his hope of a meaningful connection had proved to be just fucking. Alex felt empty and extremely lonely, he was reminded of Austria after his fifteenth birthday. He sat and poured his extreme desolation into words. After two weeks he sent a bundle of poems to Anna Mostova and awaited her comments. After three weeks had passed Alex bought a mobile phone and sent the number to Maria and to Edward.
As he sat drinking coffee at a dingy cafe near his digs. Maria was the first to call, frantically asking where Alex was, where he was staying, what he was doing and then scolding him because he'd dropped off the radar. With 20 minutes Sergei called begging Alex to get the next train to Nice.
Alex took about two seconds to agree, twenty minutes later he was at the Gard de Lyon on his way south.