The Only Way is Up

Part Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Three

Max hadn't slept, but then he hadn't slept well for a long time, all night he'd rehashed the evening. Thinking about the conversation he'd had with Nicole, it had been such a long time since he'd vocalised anything that had happened to him. His friends didn't mention his drastic career end, and those who knew his family never mentioned them either. Nicole represented the first 'new' person in his life and that meant thinking back through the worst years of his life. He thought about his grandfather, the shame he'd felt as he lay in bed, gripping Max's hand weeping with regret at the evil force his son, Max's father had become. Vitaly Guryanov had been born into a farming family, and war had taken him into the military at a young age. Someone within the hierarchies of the Russian militia recognised something in the young man, and he never returned to rural Russia, instead he stayed in Moscow and worked with the man he later referred to as a second father, a huge ranking military man that Maxim now presumed was gay, thought that would never have been admitted to in 1920's Russia. The man had no wife, no children and left everything to the young man. His grandfather had been sensible and turned around the money he had inherited with timely investments and building in the manufacturing and agricultural sectors. He had diversified well, and made a lot of money.

In the contrary, Aleksi, the only son of Vitaly and his beloved wife, had spent his youth holidaying, and traumatising the countryside in a selection of fast cars, he had no respect for anything or anyone, and Max's grandfather had despaired. The relationship had deteriorated until, by the time of his death, he had become a father figure to Max, disgusted at his own son's behaviour both by his treatment of his grandson, but also at the emergence of a lovechild, belittling all that the Guryanov's name stood for.

Yes, Max thought as he rolled over and punched his pillow, it was just another thing that he blamed his father for, that his grandfather had died disappointed, worried and most of all, let down.

Gryaznyy was asleep on the bed at his feet, but Max knew the dog was only napping. And as soon as he sat up, the dog woke and looked at him intrigued.

"Shall we go for a walk?" he asked the animal. She cocked her head in what appeared to be surprise, but she never turned down a walk.

So that is what found them pacing the streets of London at five am. The fresh morning air and relative tranquillity meant that it did nothing to calm his overactive mind. They'd walked in what he thought was a random pattern for about forty minutes before he realised they were close to his home, the apartment he'd rented when he came to London. So much more lavish than the rooms at the gym, but he liked it there, he didn't miss this place.

As he approached, he immediately spotted the large saloon car opposite the entrance, windows blacked out, parked in a classic stakeout position. He had a choice, cross the road and confront them, or disappear. It was quite remarkable that his father hadn't traced him to the gym, but then externally there was no hint that the windowless rooms existed. No, instead of rushing headlong into chaos, he was going to back off, and disappear.

His walk took him within a mile of Nicole's house, and he faced the second moral crossroads of the night. Staring with longing in the direction of her home, he paused, until Gryaznyy nipped at his heels.

"You're right, not now, not like this, come on," the dog yapped as he broke into a jog and all too soon they were back at the secluded entrance to the gym.

Nicole's abs were burning, like she'd been skinned. Collapsing on the mat, letting go for the first time in an hour, she groaned. Paolo the tutor grinned; the other three from the class had bundled up and were leaving the room. Paolo, the tall Columbian instructor, came across the room and offered her a hand, hauling her to her feet.