* * *

All that blocks Vanya from his future is a chain-link fence around a schoolyard. When the bell for morning break sounds, nothing happens for a minute, then the doors fly open, children spilling from inside the building followed by playground supervisors.

The noise the children make is breathtaking—shrieks and yells and laughter.

The thought of the interview Vanya is here for is equally overwhelming.

A quick glance at his phone shows he’s arrived far too early. It also reveals a text from Jason.

You won’t need it, but good luck for today.

He fires off a reply—Always need luck—and then touches the bees dotting the tie he borrowed for exactly that reason. His smart shirt is another reminder that maybe luck can be bought in Marks and Spencer. Crisp, bright white, and brand new—no one else has owned it, another gift from the man he woke up next to this morning.

He spies one of the supervisors through the chain link surrounded by a waist-high crowd of children. Vanya can’t hear her instruction, but the children comply, forming a line next to a shed while she unlocks it. The footballs she retrieves are met with high excitement. She’s busy giving them out to those who stand up straightest when another text pings.

They’d be stupid not to want you.

You’re virtually a qualified teacher.

How many volunteers can they get with your experience?

Jason’s next message—They’ll snap your hand off—is followed by a quick translation. That means they’d be silly to say no.

Vanya fumbles his phone while replying, nerves numbing his fingers. There’s so much he could say in response. So many ways to phrase how much Jason’s support means to him. The two words he finally spells out will have to do until this interview is over.

Love you.

It’s a truth that’s lasted, even stronger after nine honest months together. Still he can’t help feeling nervous even with a folder stuffed with evidence supporting his application. Taking deep breaths doesn’t do much to help, but he does his best to draw in another and scans the playground to kill time until his scheduled appointment.

Discarded sweatshirts are piled high to make goalposts, the girls showing the boys what they’re made of by scoring the first goal. Other children skip along the sidelines or play clapping games he remembers from work placements as a student. Every child is busy with the work they do best, playing with intense vigour, apart from one boy who walks the playground perimeter, skirting the football players. Then he sits alone at a bench, legs swinging as he watches their match, his expression wistful. One of the players yells in his direction, but he turns away rather than answer.

Another ping distracts Vanya—a reply to his last message.

I love you too.

Now stop shilly-shallying.

Get in there and show them.

When he looks up, his sight of the boy is blocked by one of the supervisors who watches Vanya closely. He crosses the street her way quickly, aware—oh so aware—of how loitering this way could seem. Her watchful expression clears as soon as he holds up the letter instructing him to come here.

“Ah, you can’t get in this way. The gates are locked until home time. You need to go to reception. It’s around the other side of the building. They’ll buzz you right in.”

“Am here far too early,” Vanya confesses.

“They’ll like that.”

Children flock in her direction, clamouring like starlings for her attention. She’s pulled away but not before a football is kicked over the fence and into the road behind Vanya. It’s the work of moments to retrieve it, and only takes a few more seconds to decide where he should throw it. It soars over the heads of the football teams that wait, landing close to the lone boy he noticed. By the time Vanya says goodbye to the playground supervisor, he’s playing, dribbling the football amongst all the others.

She stops him for a second. “That was nicely done. He’s new here. Still finding his feet.”

Vanya nods as he backs off. “Can be hard.” This much he knows, like he also knows that everything’s easier with friends. “Happy to help.” He heads to the reception entrance, nerves only returning while he turns his phone to silent, and waits. They lessen once he’s shown down corridors that feel familiar—low hooks on the wall hold bags and coats here the same as back in Russia. He reads name labels as he walks—Mateo, Lucy, Amir, Piotr—and the person guiding him notices.

“We’re one of the most multicultural Primary schools in England. Fifty-three different home languages spoken by our pupils the last time we counted, and new pupils coming on roll every single week of the school year. There are several hostels locally,” she explains. “A lot of displaced families. Sometimes we’re only a temporary stop while their families get settled. Some children stay for longer. It makes for a very diverse setting.” She opens the door to an office. “But it also means our pupils can be particularly vulnerable, so why don’t you tell me why we should let you in our classrooms?”

It’s easy once Vanya gets going. “Am recent immigrant, also. Before… before, at home in Russia, was close to graduating.” He opens his folder and flips past partial degree transcripts that took months to arrive. “Only need a few more credits. And I’m have this.” He shows her a certificate that clears him to work with children. “Got this to run a storytelling session.” He lingers over it for a moment. “Was only a small library project. Just for summer, but it was good reminder that working with kids is vocation. My partner….” He meets her gaze and holds it. “He talks about my future.”

When she doesn’t raise an eyebrow he adds, “He asks if teaching is different in Russia. I’m don’t have an answer because I’m don’t know for certain.”

“You want to find out and then maybe finish your studies?”

There’s no maybe about it, but he nods, and when she leads him back to the corridor on the way to his first classroom in Britain, Vanya gets to find out.

* * *

Vanya leaves at the same time as the school children, much later than he expected. Several shout their goodbyes, waving as they’re collected. People throng on the far side of the chain-link fence like another meeting of the United Nations, parents from so many countries all waiting to take their kids home. As Vanya crosses the playground to the gate, they eye this new arrival.

He doesn’t feel particularly new right now, despite only helping here for a day.

He’s at home already.

Easing into an environment so familiar feels like wearing clothes cut to fit him. He’s comfortable and relaxed in a way that leaves him smiling widely, oblivious to the dried paint speckling his new shirt or to the fact that his tie is still tucked between its buttons to save it from dangling into paint pots. He also doesn’t notice Jason waiting.

Vanya stops the moment he sees him and then jogs towards him.

“You came to meet me?” It’s ridiculously pleasing, as is the way that Jason’s fingers only brush his slightly, gently, out of sight between them, aware that school is a place where Vanya’s anxiety was once rooted.

He appreciates it, but he also won’t go back to how fear once ruled every moment. He’s never going back, and he doesn’t need to, not when he’s just spent the last hour reading stories about families his own might resemble one day. If these kids aren’t fazed by books about two daddies or two mummies, they can teach their parents not to stare at adults greeting each other.

He hugs Jason while children mill around them and then asks another question. “Why are you here?”

“Because you didn’t answer your phone or any of the texts I sent.” Jason’s next tease has a serious undertone. “I checked at the supermarket first, in case you picked up an extra shift, then I swung by the restaurant to see if you forgot to tell me you were waiting tables after your interview was over. You know, if you lived with me, I’d have one less place to look for you.”

That’s true, but standing on his own two feet once legal had been important. That way, there couldn’t be any doubt that housing was a reason to be together. “Sorry. Turned off phone for interview.” Vanya fishes it from his pocket and reads the last two all-caps texts on its screen.

The sound of parents and children fades when he reads WHERE ARE YOU? followed by another text that causes him to sharply inhale.

CHANTEL’S GONE INTO LABOUR.

* * *

The train journey passes in a blur, Vanya oblivious to the fields that fly past outside while Jason verbally frets about the birth of his brother’s first child. He only stops worrying aloud when Vanya twists in his seat to dust specks of plaster from his shoulder.

“Andrew phoned in such a tizzy, I didn’t stop to get changed.”

“Can see.”

“Like you’re in any position to judge.” Jason turns a little in his seat too and touches the bright paint spots on his white shirt. “Seems like you’ve been working hard as well. I thought you were just going in today to talk? I worried when I couldn’t get hold of you,” he admits. “I went to your place too when you didn’t answer your phone. Anna said you hadn’t come back.” His forehead creases. “I think I caught her at a bad moment.” Then his expression shifts to anger. “Fucking Brexit.”

After more than a year of living in this country, Vanya’s only politically sure of one thing—Britain is as victim to recent global madness as any other nation on the planet. Europeans like Kaspar and Anna facing an uncertain future has left them all off kilter.

Jason shakes his head. “I told her to keep her chin up. She’s doing great at college, and Kaspar’s working full-time. There’s no way the government will actually risk losing more taxpayers.” It’s a refrain he’s uttered often wearing this same confused expression, like he can’t quite believe the course his own nation has taken. He fumbles his phone when it chimes, almost dropping it in his haste. “No baby yet.” His laugh is rueful. “I can’t believe I’m a bag of nerves about this.”

“First baby in family is biggest deal.”

“It is.” Jason’s smile straddles pride and terror. “I’m going to be an uncle.”

“Best uncle.” Vanya lists attributes on his fingers. “Best at teaching to ride ponies. Best at cooking Russian dinners. And best at taking favourite niece shopping for clothes in London.”

“Yeah,” Jason sighs like that, at least, is a manifesto he can happily sign up for. “Apart from the shopping. I know someone much better at that than me.” His kiss is quick but just as warm as his gaze. They share a quiet moment as the train pulls through Moreton-in-Marsh without them alighting. It hurries to Cheltenham where, hopefully, they’ll be in time to welcome a honeymoon baby. “We’ve hardly talked about your day. You spending so long at the school has to be positive, doesn’t it? They must want you as a volunteer.”

“No.”

“No!” It’s warming to have Jason so indignant. Politics aside, feeling supported like this is a gift that Britain can’t ever take back.

“No, they don’t want me as volunteer. There is a paid position in their foundation unit.”

“Did you know about that before you went?”

“No. Is brand-new classroom for children who transition from home or nursery.” Many of the children have to transition from a whole lot more—other countries, other customs, and other languages to cope with. He touches the roll of paperwork in his jacket pocket. “Have to formally apply, but head teacher thinks could be a good fit.” He stares beyond Jason at trees that flicker past the window rather than keep eye contact. This last part means so much that his voice comes out thickly. “School is also part of teacher training federation. Possible to get qualified teacher status right there after I’m get final degree credits.” He clears his throat. “Could be teaching own class in two years.”

It’s a dream he hardly dares hope will come true, and yet as he watches Jason later holding a scrap of brand new life that wails, red faced, red haired, and lovely like her mother, he lets himself go ahead and do so.

He hopes as he watches Andrew inflate with pride and enough love to fill the whole room, and that hope only deepens as he sees Chantel lie back, her eyes fixed on this miracle she and Andrew created as if she can’t quite believe it. Her smile is tired when Jason passes the baby to Vanya, cradling her tiny head, careful until he’s sure he has her.

He’ll hope because that’s exactly who this baby’s named for, after Andrew and Jason’s mother.

* * *

A full moon hangs low above Riversmeet when they walk down the lane after eleven that night, thin slivers of silver slanting through boughs to light their way home. Jason is surefooted, hopping across stepping-stones with ease despite the dark, satisfaction rippling from him when Vanya follows in his footsteps. It’s tangible too when he encourages Vanya across the threshold into their room, kissing him the whole time.

Meeting his niece has left Jason punch drunk like Vanya’s never known him, talking virtually nonstop all the way home, listing plans for her future.

Once they’re in bed, he whispers, “What a day,” between kisses, like someone might overhear them. “What an amazing day. She’s amazing. They both are—baby Hope and Chantel. No wonder Andrew didn’t want to leave them, not even for a minute.” He kisses Vanya deeper, only breaking off to repeat a question he’s asked three times already. “Did you see all that red hair?” It shouldn’t be so moving to have the next kiss interrupted as well, but when Jason says, “I’m so pleased they named her after Mum,” he goes ahead and nods instead of speaking.

Emotion lends so much sweetness to Jason’s next sure statement.

“I’m going to give them my share of this place.” His lips are soft on Vanya’s shoulder. “It’s time. Sometimes I wonder if Mum left it to me in the first place to glue me and Andrew together.” His pause is thoughtful, his next kiss distracted. “She needn’t have worried. I’m pretty sure we’re stuck with each other for life.” He lies on his back, Vanya’s head cushioned by his bicep. “Besides, they’ll need this bedroom if they have any more kids.”

“Maybe.” Vanya touches the broad chest housing a huge heart that’s already wrapped around his niece’s tiny fingers. “Or maybe someone clever could get proper permissions to add brand-new rooms to old house?”

Jason kisses his temple. “Thank fuck I managed to track you down today. I was worried I wouldn’t find you.”

“Wouldn’t ever want to miss this.” Vanya doesn’t hesitate before saying, “Could change something to make it easier to find me.”

“Does that mean…?” Jason sits. When Vanya straddles his lap, he grips his hips firmly. “You’re really going to move in with me, at last?”

“If you still want.”

“If I still want? Jesus, Vanya, I was starting to wonder what Kaspar and Anna had that I didn’t. I know getting a place with them was important. I get that. And I know that all three of you wanted to pay your own way, but—”

“Was about more than that.” He bends down to kiss this man who’s been so patient. “I’m hide things from you. Important things.” He hushes Jason before he can interrupt him. They’ve already unpicked exactly how a few half-truths and omissions escalated. “If I’m move in with you right after wedding, you might think was for wrong reasons. You do have very comfy bed and hottest shower.” He’s only partially joking about that, but he’s one hundred per cent honest when he says, “Might always wonder, and doubting is no way to start over.”

He straightens up to softly press fingertips to Jason’s cheekbone. The black eye he sees is only in his mind’s eye, bruised and very tender like the man beneath him. “Needed to get own jobs and pay own rent and do more than survive without access to boyfriend’s wallet.” A fingertip drifts to Jason’s lip where blind panic once drew blood. “Needed to get help to move on, and that help couldn’t be from you. Needed to find more people to lean on. So now I’m have brand new problem….” He can’t help the smile that breaks, bright as the moon beyond the window. “Now people at support group will ask different questions about us living together.”

“Like what?”

“Like, what attracts older man to successful young Russian with three jobs and good future? Will think you want me for wrong reasons.”

Jason’s laughter rumbles.

Vanya muffles it with a kiss, then transforms it into a low groan with a slow roll of his hips.

Making love is a double celebration of a new life and a new start that’s intense from the outset. Vanya loves each moment, from Jason’s slick, sure press inside him to each slow thrust that comes with kisses. He straddles this man and takes it, takes him, both hands braced on a chest that’s solid under his palms, just like Jason, always perfect for him. Vanya tells him so in Russian before breathlessly translating.

“Yeah?” Jason rolls him over, the breadth of his shoulders the only shelter Vanya still seeks out in this country. He pushes back inside, each firm thrust sparking pleasure rivalling the moon’s brightness until Vanya comes between them.

Sleep soon claims Jason after they’re done, stealing Vanya much more slowly. He only dozes lightly, replaying the whole day from start to finish, delighted when the scent of freshly ironed bed linens drifts into a dream that’s vivid.

“Mama?” He sits up and calls out, so pleased when she stands in the doorway. “I will be a school teacher in London!”

Her tears frame a smile he so often dreams of, his own eyes wet when Jason wakes him.

“Hey.” He exerts gentle pressure as he shakes him. “Were you having a bad dream? You shouted.”

“Wasn’t bad.”

Vanya rubs sleep dust and dampness from his eyes.

“Was dreaming of Mama.” He turns into an embrace that’s always accepting, Jason’s arms a safe place to say aloud what’s been on his mind since that morning. “Remind me to send email tomorrow?”

“To your mum?”

Vanya nods, not trusting his voice while he pictures all his unsent emails. He’ll write a brand-new one tomorrow and hope the time is finally right to press Send.

“She has to miss you, no matter what your dad said. Even if they did have to relocate and start over, they must wonder and worry.” Jason’s tone is sincere. “I’m sure she only wants the best for you.”

Vanya already has the best, he knows, as Jason pulls him close and holds him. This man is more than he dared to dream of when he first arrived in Britain.

But if one of his dreams can come true, Vanya will hold out hope for another.