Best Love

by Morton, Lily

  “It’s a secret, but do feel free to question me extensively,” he says cheerfully, and I glare at him.

  “You know I don’t like surprises.”

  He shakes his head. “You don’t like the wrong surprises. Luckily, I know you and I can give you the right kind.”

  “Well, if you’re not going to tell me, it entitles me to be in charge of the music,” I say snippily, and he groans.

  “Not the eighties.”

  “Yes,” I say with relish. “But only the really loud power ballads.”

  “Okay, okay. I give in.” He does a neat three-point turn, and I try to avoid looking at his strong hands with the veins showing prominently. The colours of his tattoos move as he grips his fingers around the steering wheel. I can’t help it. I’m a hand slut, and he’s got the best.

  I sneak a glance at my favourite tattoo which is a small frog on his left hand. It jumps up towards his knuckles from his thumb joint. It was the first one he ever did himself, and he said it was to commemorate our first meeting.

  His voice breaks into my thoughts. “We’re going to Staithes.”

  “Isn’t that out Whitby way?”

  He nods. “About an hour and a half’s drive away.”

  “What’s there? As far as I know it’s a fishing village.”

  “Many things, but I have to keep some stuff back or there won’t be any surprises on our date. There’s lots of fresh air which you need after being hunched over the new book. Just know that I’ll treat you to some fish and chips.”

  I sit back. “Okay, I’m fine with that.”

  He laughs.

  A couple of hours later we draw up in a deserted car park. I get out and immediately the wind hits me, flapping the corners of my coat about and snatching impotently at the car park ticket in Sage’s hand. While he reaches in to stick it on the dashboard, I wander over to the balustrade and look down at our destination.

  It’s a charming little fishing village. Prettily coloured houses are crammed higgledy-piggledy into winding streets that run alongside the wide, grey expanse of the sea. It churns restlessly today, white horses jumping as the wind catches the water.

  I start and immediately relax as Sage comes up next to me and rests his chin on my shoulder. His warm, mint scented breath strikes my neck and I swallow hard, but then ease into his side as he throws his arm around me.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” he shouts over the noise of the wind.

  I smile. “You always did like the wild weather.”

  He smiles. “You too.”

  I laugh. “Do you remember how we used to climb out on top of my mum’s shed whenever there was a storm? God only knows why we weren’t struck by lightning.”

  He chuckles. “Especially when the rain got too intense and we used to put your mum’s brolly up.”

  “Death by purple-flowered umbrella.”

  He tucks his arm in mine and pulls me along. “Come on. I want to show you what I love about this place.”

  I follow him obligingly, like always. It’s not just his personality. It’s the fact I’m conditioned to know that whatever he has planned will have something in it that will please me. He’s always been that way.

  We wander down the tiny lanes and I peer, hopefully unobtrusively, into cottage windows. I love to see other people’s homes. Sage has always teased me that my reading material should be estate agency listings.

  He looks at me and grins. “You still do that. Do you remember when we were kids and we read The Enchanted Wood? There was a pixie in it.”

  “The Angry Pixie,” I breathe, and he smiles.

  “Yeah. He used to get really cross when someone peeked in his window and he’d inflict bodily harm on the peeper.” He laughs. “I always swore if we managed to find that tree you’d have been murdered before the second chapter.”

  I laugh out loud and then look around. It hasn’t escaped my notice that we appear to be the only people insane enough to be out here in this weather. “Where’s this thing we’re going to see?”

  “Here,” he says, and comes to a stop.

  I look around in bemusement. We’re standing in front of a little, white painted cottage, but there doesn’t seem to be anything unusual about it. I nudge him. “What am I looking at?”

  He throws his arm around my shoulder and pulls me to face the cottage full on. I swallow hard at feeling his warm grip and the weight of his body against me and have to concentrate very hard to understand what he’s saying.

  He points at the door. “What do you see over the door?”

  I look closely. “It’s a carving of a mermaid looking into a mirror. It’s lovely, Sage.” It really is. The mermaid is leaning against a bed of seaweed, and there’s an impression of quirky cheekiness about it.

  “It is lovely, but that’s not a carving.”

  “Of course it is,” I say, stepping closer. “I can see the shadows from the angles of the stone and … oh!”

  He chuckles. “Exactly. It’s a painting. More pertinently, it’s an illusion.”

  “A what?”

  “Illusions are trompe l’oeil paintings, which literally means ‘trick of the eye’. The artist makes a flat surface appear three-dimensional. This is one of a set which were painted by a local artist. They’re dotted about the village and you have to find them. I’ve never managed to get all of them. I’m missing the Noah’s Ark, and you’re going to help me find it.”

  I smile at him, impossibly charmed. “How did you find out about this?”

  He shrugs. “You know me and art. I read an article about it and came to the art festival here. It was amazing. They had people carving statues out of wood, craft shows and art exhibitions. They open up the houses and there’s a really good buzz. We’ll have to come next time it’s on.”

  I try to ignore the feeling of happiness running through me at the fact that he wants to plan something in the future. The only trouble is he’ll probably be with someone else by then, and I’ll have to make my excuses so I’m not being the gooseberry. I push the depressing thought away and focus back on him. “And what about the illusions caught your fancy?”

  He shrugs, looking sheepish. “They’re small and easily overlooked, so when you find one it gives you a feeling of joy.”

  “Joy?” I echo, and he blushes and shoves me.

  “Yes, joy. Art gives me joy. Lots of things give me joy. Take the piss if you want, but there must be something that gives you the same feeling.”

  You I think, and it’s so clear in my head that for a second I’m sure I’ve said it out loud. He stares at me, his eyes dark and searching. Whatever he’s looking for, he must find it, because he steps back looking ridiculously happy.

  “Come on, Noah. You’re my good luck charm. I’m looking for the ark.”

  “Okay then. Lead on.”

  We wander up and down the lanes and count off the illusions we find. They include a very realistic seagull and a prehistoric deer fossil, but his face when we find the ark is priceless. It’s situated over a pair of very weathered garage doors, and I laugh at him as he does a little happy dance around. “You look like fucking Snoopy.”

  He grabs me and does a quick two step, and before I can say anything, he grabs my face in his long fingers and presses a firm kiss to my lips. It’s a simple kiss, gone before I can even really register it, but for a second, I can feel the phantom sensation of his dry lips and the scent of bergamot in my nostrils.

  I step back and stare at him, but he’s chattering happily about having a treat for me. I obligingly follow him as he talks, but half of me is still back there on the narrow lane and in my head, I kiss him back.

  I follow him up the hill, until we reach a long building and he turns to me. “Ta dah!”

  “What?”

  He grins widely. “Look at the sign.”

  I go a bit closer to the sign and the words make the history buff in me smile. “Captain Cook’s Heritage Centre.”

  He grins. “He was employed in
the village. They’ve actually recreated a street here the way it would have been in his day, but more importantly for you, there are over two hundred books in there.”

  “And you’ve been in? It doesn’t seem like your sort of thing at all.”

  He shrugs and looks fully at me, an incomprehensible expression crossing his face. “No, I’ve never been in. I wanted to bring you. You say it’s not my thing, but it is yours, and while I might not have liked history at school, I like it when you talk about it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you come alive and you make it interesting to me.”

  I’m beyond touched. “That might be the biggest compliment you’ve ever paid me.”

  He smiles. “I could pay you more, but you’re not quite ready.”

  “Not quite ready for what?” I call out, but he ignores me and I’ve forgotten the question within a few minutes of being inside the museum.

  When we emerge, it feels like we’ve been in there for days. I look at him to find him grinning. “What?”

  He laughs. “I lost you in there for a while. I thought you were actually going to come when you saw the books.”

  I shove him. “Most of my time was spent trying to get that virtual reality headset off you so the children could have a turn.”

  He laughs. “It was the deck of The Endeavour, Noah. What do you expect?”

  “We’re a couple of geeks, aren’t we?”

  He smiles. “Yes, but we’re geeks together, so who cares? Come on, let’s get some fish and chips.”

  We find a little cafe and by mutual consent we get our orders to eat out and wander over to the front to eat them. The sea is churning and sending wild spumes fountaining up into the air as its waves hit the rocks. The salt is heavy on our lips.

  I look at him as he stands munching on a chip and staring out to sea. “Why did you stop travelling?”

  He looks up startled and so am I, but that question has been on the tip of my tongue for ages.

  “I haven’t stopped,” he says slowly. “I love travelling.”

  It’s true. He’s visited many countries over the years. He will disappear for a month, and reappear tanned and tired, but content and full of stories. He backpacked solo around Europe in the year after college.

  “You haven’t been for ages, though,” I say persistently. “You were planning Vietnam last year, and then it all went quiet and I’ve never heard you mention it again.”

  He searches for words, looking almost shy, and my interest intensifies. Finally, he shrugs. “I got tired of doing it alone, or with mates. There are so many things to see and do, that I want the next time I travel to be with someone who I can really share it with, who will appreciate it the way I do, who will see what I see and point out things I miss. I want to do it properly with someone I care about.”

  I think wistfully of how wonderful it would be to travel with him. I’m financially secure and can work anywhere. He asked me to go with him to Europe after college, but I’d said no. At the time I’d been suffering from a combination of nerves and my ridiculous crush on him, which was very strong back then, and it had dictated my response. I’ve regretted it ever since because I think I hurt him, and he’s never asked me again.

  “Anyone in mind?” my mouth says independently of my brain, because the question sounds much too eager to my ears.

  He obviously can’t sense it because he shrugs and smiles a secretive sort of smile.

  “Maybe.”

  My heart crashes and burns. Shit. I’ve been living in a make-believe world for the last day. I’m treating it like we’re really on a date, when in fact I’m just his best friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

  “That’s good,” I say briskly. “I’d like to see you settle down.”

  “What?”

  He looks startled, so I make myself nod firmly. “Yes. You should find yourself a decent bloke. One who’ll love you the way you should be loved.”

  At first his expression looks almost panicked, but it suddenly smoothes out into a blinding smile. “And how’s that?”

  I stare at that smile and almost forget I’ve been asked a question.

  “What? Oh,” I hesitate. “Properly,” I finally say. “You should be loved properly and fully, because you’re amazing.”

  I can feel his gaze on the side of my face, but I stare steadfastly out to sea.

  “Where do you think I’ll find someone like that, Noah?” he finally asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say crossly, already sick of the lilt in his voice. “A gay bar, I suppose.”

  “That’s lucky then,” he murmurs. “Because that’s where we’re going for the final part of our date.”

  “What?” I shake my head as I remember we’re trying out dates. “Not sure you should use this date for anyone else, Sage. It’s a bit tailored to the things you and I like.”

  “Well, of course it is,” he says placidly, and screws up his and my empty wrappings. Chucking them in a bin he strides up the hill, leaving me more confused than I was at the start of the day.

  Four

  I see him as soon as I turn the corner that night. He’s standing outside the club, checking his watch and oblivious to the admiring glances he’s getting from a group of men nearby. I’m not surprised they’re admiring him, because he looks fantastic. He’s carrying a coat under his arm and is dressed in skinny black trousers, a white shirt and a thin black tie. They’re formal clothes, but the sleeves of the shirt are rolled up showing his tattoos, and he’s wearing combat boots. His wavy hair has been tamed and slicked back, showing off the sharp angles of his cheekbones and those lazy eyes.

  I look down at my outfit. I’m wearing grey skinny trousers with a subtle check and a black shirt. My contacts are in and I feel good for the first time in ages. I feel a buzz of excitement in the base of my stomach, but I’m so used to having that when I’m with him, I hardly notice anymore.

  He looks up and sees me and that huge, wide-eyed grin crosses his face. “Noah, you look amazing,” he says as he nears me, and I breathe in deeply as he grabs me and hugs me. For a second he tightens his grip and I feel all of that long body against mine and have to fight not to hold tight and grind against him. He breathes in sharply and jumps back.

  “We’d better get in. It’s freezing out here and you haven’t got a coat.” I stare at him because he’s almost babbling, a sure sign of nervousness in him.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “Of course I am,” he says stoutly, and I shake my head and follow him to the queue in front of the club. Luckily, it isn’t a long one, as he’s right I’m bloody freezing. A shudder thuds through me and he turns instantly. “You’re cold, babe. Here, take my coat.”

  “No,” I protest. “I’m fine. That’s yours.”

  “We’ll share it then.”

  He smiles happily and wraps the coat around me. I gulp as he steps into me and slips his arms around my waist so that we’re both enveloped in the folds of the coat. I then sigh almost instantly as he always gives off a lot of heat, like he’s my own personal radiator.

  In a way, I think fancifully he’s been the main source of warmth in my world since we met. My home was a cold one. My mother was not an emotional woman. I knew she loved me, but it was a formal sort of love that had conditions attached to it. My home was therefore full of expectations about study and homework and grades.

  There was very little joy until Sage exploded into my life with his colourful, wild family next door. Tallulah, his mother is lovely, but she’s so laid-back she’s nearly comatose, and consequently the three boys were left to run feral. His brothers were living wild before it was fashionable, but Sage migrated to me and never left.

  At his home, there was a never-ending queue of men lining up to be with Tallulah. They’d last a few months, enough time for Sage to start hoping they’d stick, and then they’d be gone again. The only one who’d stayed a while was Dennis. He’d been a large man and a brilliant, if erratic, tattoo artis
t. It came as no surprise to me that Sage chose the same vocation. In my opinion, he’s always been seeking approval from men.

  The line moves, dragging my attention away from my thoughts, and within five minutes we’re inside the toasty warmth of the club. Sage joins the line to check in his coat, and I wander around the outskirts of the foyer, checking periodically to see if my nemesis is here. Len, the head bouncer.

  Sage comes up beside me and laughs. “He’s behind you,” he says in a pantomime villain’s voice.

  I jump. “Shit. Don’t say that. He hates me.”

  He snorts. “You did throw up on his shoes.”

  I shake my head. “Don’t remind me. It wasn’t my finest moment.”

  “To be fair it wasn’t his. They were new shoes.”

  I shove him. “It was your fault giving me those Thunderball shots.”

  “Yes, the way I held your head back and forced you to drink them was epic. I recall the whole thing very differently. In my memory you bought the shots, announced you needed to have fun for fuck’s sake, and then kept buying them.” He laughs. “Fun was had… in Len’s shoes.”

  Just at that moment a deep voice comes from behind me. “Evening, gentlemen.”

  I jump about a foot in the air and turn to find Len standing behind me looking like a bald Vinnie Jones.

  “Oh, Len,” I flute, my hand going to my chest. “You startled me.” Sage chuckles, and I can’t blame him. I sound like a heroine from a historical drama.

  Len steps back slightly, which is now his automatic movement around me. “Alright, Noah. Just got here?”

  “I haven’t drunk anything,” I blurt out, and Sage laughs.

  A tremor crosses Len’s lips and he nods sombrely. “Well, drink responsibly tonight. Remember rethink, rather than drink. That applies to my shoe leather as well.”

  With a nod, he moves off in a stately fashion. I stare after him. “Oh, my God. Did he just make a joke?”

  Sage tugs on my hand. “Never mind that. We need a drink.”

  He pulls open the door and a wave of sound hits me. The dancefloor is full tonight with bodies grinding and swaying, and as I follow Sage’s procession through the crowd I inhale the scent of aftershave, sweat and hair products.