How Hard Can Love Be?

by Holly Bourne

I took another step, close enough to touch him. I reached out and, unsure of myself, but also never surer, I stroked his tanned cheek with the back of my hand.

  “Kyle…I…”

  One more step. Our faces so close to touching.

  I was over the line now. The line was a dot on the horizon behind me.

  I put my other arm around his neck, and moved my head forward. Every part of me was alive and dancing. Kyle looked down at me – I loved how he was tall enough to look down on me. His eyes were wide, puzzled, uncertain. We stared at each other. Then I closed mine and leaned forward.

  I brought my lips to his clumsily, holding down tears.

  … Kyle kissed me back.

  SITUATIONS THAT ARE DESTINED TO FAIL:

  No time

  +

  No privacy

  +

  An insatiable desire to spend every second alone with each other

  Twenty-six

  Camp days became an exquisite torture, measuring the time I wasn’t able to touch Kyle. It was a surprise how much it physically ached.

  I lived for the tiny moments I hoped no one would notice. The knowing smile Kyle would give me over the paint pots, as I helped the kids blodge oils onto canvas during my art class. The shoot of electricity that ran through my body whenever he made an innocent-looking reason to touch me.

  “Out of the way, Amber,” he said, gently touching my back to move me to one side. “I need to get to the arrows.” And my body sang with so much happy static, I missed every shot in archery, arrows flying up into the trees or skidding along the ground – the kids laughing at my ineptitude, Kyle giving me another secret smile, knowing he’d caused it.

  Over the next week, we concocted all sorts of ludicrous errands we needed to run, just so we could grab time together.

  “Oh no,” I’d say, during lunchtime, when the kids were sitting in a dusty circle somewhere, inhaling more sandwiches before more baseball. “I forgot the milk cartons. Can anyone help me carry them from the kitchen?”

  “I’ll go,” Kyle shot up his hand. Russ studied us both, maybe figuring it out but I really hoped not.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, cool.”

  The moment we were swallowed by the forest, Kyle pushed me up against a tree, putting his hands either side of my face. We kissed like there was no tomorrow, which there wasn’t really. Well, there were limited amounts of tomorrow… I couldn’t believe I’d waited seventeen long years before doing something so great. The way he tasted, the way he caught his hands up in my mess of hair, the way he’d pull away from me, just to stare, before lowering his mouth again.

  The milk was practically off by the time we’d managed to bring it back to the campers.

  Yep – each day was torture. Having to talk about camp. Having to deal with runny noses, or grazed knees, or arguments over whose turn it was to have the special gold pen, and homesickness, or I-don’t-like-spaghetti, when I could be learning Kyle’s favourite book, or all his best and worst childhood memories, or what book-to-film adaptation made him the most angry, and where he kept his Prom King crown – and all the other tiny intricacies of a person that you only learn through time, when time was the one thing we didn’t really have.

  But the night-times… They were the opposite of whatever torture was.

  I’d wait, every night, in my room – listening to Kevin and Mum’s going to bed noises. I’d feign sleep until they went quiet. Which, for at least two nights in a row, took far too long. Mum had a mini insomnia patch, and I could hear her pacing around the living room, making cocoa, not realizing just how much she tortured me. I’d lie, waiting, staring at the wall, unable to keep still, my entire body anticipating Kyle…

  When the cabin finally went quiet, I’d jump out of bed, shoving any bits of clothes on, before bolting through the door and running towards the small clearing outside Kyle’s cabin.

  He’d always be there, waiting for me. A smile already on his face, before he’d even seen me in the darkness.

  “Amber.”

  And we’d mesh together, in a frenzy of kissing and touching and giggling. His fingers trailing all over my body. The weight of his body keeping me warm from the cool evening air. Touching each other’s faces, tracing the details with our fingers to the backing vocals of cicadas.

  We talked too, of course. Between all the kissing. There was nothing I didn’t want to know about him.

  “So, Mr Fan of Musical Theatre.” I’d dragged some cushions out with me and we’d made a mini-camp under the trees. “What’s your best bit of any musical, ever?”

  Kyle absent-mindedly played with my hair. “Is this the point where I pretend to be all macho, and act like I don’t have one?”

  I kissed his cheek.

  “This is the point where you tell me the truth. And, just so you know, that point always needs to be the point. I will have no macho posturing thank you very much. I’m not the kind of girl who likes all that nonsense.”

  More kissing. My insides melted in on themselves with happiness.

  “Delay tactics won’t work,” I said, after a huge amount of kissing that led to one very long delay.

  “Okay then.” Kyle leaned back against the tree, picked up a stray pine cone and began expertly tossing it from one hand to another. “There’s this bit, right at the start of Phantom of the Opera… It begins with this auction at the old opera house – everything is dusty and covered in sheets. All the actors and actresses are made up to look old… So you know we’re at the end of the story, before it’s even been told if that makes any sense? Anyway, the final lot is this gigantic chandelier. And then, all of a sudden, WHAM. The old chandelier turns on in a big blast of light, and all this crazy music starts, and the chandelier starts rising up above the audience. All the sheets are thrown off the set, and you’re transported back into the opera house’s glory days… Yeah –” Kyle looked down, embarrassed – “whenever that bit happens, I basically almost piss my pants.”

  We both burst out laughing. “I’m such a loser.”

  “You’re not. I know that bit – it’s good! Anyway I get excited in any song with a key change.”

  “Key changes are so exciting!”

  “Especially if boy bands do them, and all get off their stools at the same time.”

  “Do British boy bands do that too? Wow, who knew the key change stool stand was an international phenomenon?”

  I pushed a cushion over my bare feet to keep them warm. “Have you ever read an Andrew Lloyd Webber biography then?”

  “Does one even exist?”

  “I’m not sure. But I do remember hearing this rumour… that he has a massive…umm…appendage.” I was glad it was dark, as I’d started blushing.

  Kyle cracked up laughing. “How could you POSSIBLY know that?”

  I laughed too. “It’s a well-known fact. It’s a monster apparently.”

  “Jesus, this changes everything.”

  “What does it change?”

  “I’m not sure… I need to digest this information for a while. Everything I thought I knew has been…drastically altered.”

  We laughed more.

  “Amber?”

  “Yes?”

  More kisses.

  “Why are we sitting in a wood, in the middle of the night, discussing the size of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s schlong?”

  “Do you not like it?”

  “No, it’s not that…”

  I unravelled myself from his arm, so I could better look at his face. He was staring at me, really staring. It made me feel vulnerable, but in a really nice way.

  “I’ve got a knack for bringing up inappropriate topics of conversation. The very first Spinster Club meeting I organized was about periods. I announced the agenda over lunch.”

  Kyle laughed and pulled me back under his arm. “You see. We’ve jumped from Andrew’s tool to menstruation… What’s next?”

  I peeked up at him. Even the underside
of his nostrils were attractive. It was overwhelming, how much…something…love, maybe? (No it was too soon for that…) But something was oozing off me in waves. All I wanted was to look at him, talk to him, be with him.

  “I can totally ruin the whole evening and tell you all my bad childhood memories of my mother?” I joked.

  Kyle’s face dropped. “I want to hear all that too. And it would never ruin anything.”

  I clung to him tight.

  “You say that…”

  “I mean that…”

  “Should we talk about periods instead?”

  Kyle wiggled us both down, so our backs were on the ground, looking up at the sky through the trees. “You know what, Miss Inappropriate? We don’t have to talk at all.”

  SITUATIONS THAT ARE DESTINED TO FAIL:

  Hearing the romantic story of how your parents met

  +

  After their bitter divorce

  Twenty-seven

  From: LongTallAmber

  To: LottieIsAlwaysRight, EvieFilmGal

  Subject: Is there something wrong with me?

  …I literally can’t stop smiling. Like, at all. You know me. This is not usual. Have I got a disease?

  From: LottieIsAlwaysRight

  To: LongTallAmber

  Subject: RE Is there something wrong with me?

  Yes you have a disease. Hopefully by now a SEXUAL DISEASE.

  From: EvieFilmGal

  To: LongTallAmber

  Subject: RE RE Is there something wrong with me?

  It’s okay. Lottie’s calmed down now, and admits that romanticizing STIs isn’t appropriate, or funny.

  IT WAS A BIT FUNNY… That was Lottie taking over my computer. So, we take it you’ve kissed him then? Sounds like you’re falling hard, girl. We’re happy for you. Though, hasn’t it only been like a week? That is falling both hard and fast.

  IGNORE EVIE, SHE IS FAR TOO SENSIBLE. FALL IN LOVE AND USE A CONDOM.

  From: LongTallAmber

  To: LottieIsAlwaysRight, EvieFilmGal

  Subject: RE RE RE Is there something wrong with me?

  Okay, so totally can’t stop laughing at your emails. Lottie, CALM DOWN, DEAR (uh-oh, patriarchy). I do like him. A lot. Thanks for all your advice. I think…

  It had only been a week. How was that possible? I felt like I’d known him for ever. And, yet, I knew nothing. I felt sick at the short amount of time I had to commit his life to memory. To know every inch, every scar, every scratch, every hiccup. And kissing him already wasn’t enough.

  Last year, Evie got involved with this total arsewipe we know called Guy and almost ended up losing her virginity to him. Afterwards she told me that she should’ve known it wasn’t a good vibe because whenever Guy wanted to take things further her instincts had been Noooooo, not yet!

  It was the opposite between Kyle and me. Maybe it’s because we knew time was tight, but each moment in those stolen night-times was an exercise in self-restraint. His hands would drift into my bra, or up my shorts, and he’d have to stop himself and say sorry, and I’d say it was fine, when, really, I wanted his hands to be there, but I felt like I couldn’t say that. Kissing wasn’t doing it. I wanted to crawl into his skin. Every bit of his body that wasn’t touching me seemed like a horrible waste.

  I was drowning. And there was no one on this side of the Atlantic to stop me. Apart from me. And, well, Whinnie.

  “I approve,” she said, out of nowhere, as she helped me tidy up the paint pots.

  “Huh?”

  “Of you and Kyle,” she said. “I approve.”

  “WHAT?” A paint pot clattered to the hall floor, echoing around the walls, making my protest even more obvious.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, laughing over her glasses. “I won’t tell anyone. And kudos, by the way, for not dropping me now you’re in lurrrrve. I’m glad we’re still hanging out, even though you and Kyle are together.”

  I pushed my hair back. “We’re NOT together…” Then realized I’d already lost. “How the feck do you know?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Come on, you guys are pretty obvious. You’re always staring at each other. I would vomit if I didn’t like you both so very much.”

  “I…er…we are? Shite, I hope Mum doesn’t notice.”

  “Yeah, I was going to ask about that.” Whinnie picked up another paint pot and tipped the chalky painty water down the sink. “Doesn’t she hate him?”

  I let out a big sigh. “I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing.” Whinnie knowing made it seem more real, and more scary all of a sudden.

  She sensed my upset, and put her pot down to hug me. I smushed into her – so glad I’d made a friend out here. We had already discussed her coming over to England to stay next summer… If I wasn’t here visiting Mum again of course. Part of me still hoped Mum might be home by next summer… Stupid I know.

  “Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just curious.”

  “No, it’s okay. It’s just, well, I’m leaving soon…we only have a week left of camp…then I only have ten days after camp before my flight home…but Kyle won’t be here for those ten days because camp will have finished…” I was all over the place. “It’s all a bit strange,” I added. I looked up at her and smiled. “What would Winnie the Pooh say?”

  She smiled back. “He says a LOT about love, actually.”

  “Really? Hit me with it. I’ll put my trust in you and Pooh.”

  “Well, he says, when people care too much, that’s what you call love.”

  I nodded slowly. “Right, and what does that mean?”

  Whinnie shrugged. “Just that. I told you – the beauty of Pooh is there’s no depth to him.”

  I thought about Mum suddenly then, rather than Kyle. I cared too much. I really cared too much. It was definitely love – but was that good?

  “What else does he say?” I asked, shaking my head a little to stop the bad thought seeping in deeper.

  “Umm, well…” I could see her going through her Pooh library in her head. Her eyes shone. “This is more about friendship love, but there’s this lovely bit where he’s talking to Piglet. Pooh says the moment they met, he knew an adventure was going to happen.”

  “Riiiight. So love means caring too much and having an adventure? So what does that mean? What should I do?”

  She grinned. “Jeez, Amber, I don’t know. But you’re smiling, like, ten million times more than the difficult drunk I met on the first night. So I reckon that’s a good thing.”

  “I was difficult?” I picked up another paint pot and began laboriously cleaning it.

  “You were SO difficult. And that’s why we’re friends.”

  The night before the big dance in the rec hall, Kyle and I agreed to meet at the pier at midnight. The atmosphere in camp was practically vibrating with the promise of slow dances and takeaway pizza. Calvin had yanked some daisies out of the field and asked if he could have the first dance, while Kyle wiggled his eyebrows in mock jealousy behind him. I was in charge of decorating the whole hall and Mum and I decamped there after dinner to work on it. Things were still tense from me guilt-tripping her; Mum knew how to hold a grudge, even against her own daughter. But, outwardly at least, we twirled long ribbons of coloured crepe paper in companionable semi-silence.

  “You’ve been smiling a lot recently, Amber.” She carefully cut some ribbon for the balloons we’d finished blowing up.

  “It must be the Californian sun.”

  “Or getting to spend so much time with your mother?”

  “That too.”

  I said it just to placate her, as we’d not sat alone together since drinking that hot chocolate. Apart from now, I guessed. I was starting to care less, feeling colder, and, of course, preoccupied by Kyle.

  I searched the cluttered table for some Sellotape. I looked up and saw her staring at me, smiling. “You back at the centre this weekend?”

  “Yes, it’s going to be an exhausting shift after tomorrow’s dance. The kids nev
er go to bed afterwards, too high on drama and sweets. You’re welcome to come join me?” She asked it nervously, but genuinely.

  I shook my head.

  “Thanks” – and I found I meant it – “but I’m not covered by weekend relief this week. It’s Whinnie and Russ’s turn.”

  Russ was so excited he’d made his watch bleep every hour in countdown to the weekend. Whenever it went, he yelped with joy, and waved it at the kids’ faces, going “Almost time, suckers.” Luckily for him, they found it funny…

  “Are they all going to LA too?”

  “I think they’re camping in Lake Tahoe.”

  I was so unbelievably jealous – the thought of being in a tent, with Kyle, with no kids, and no grown-ups.

  “You’ve not spoken much about LA. Did you really hate it?”

  I pulled a face to try and cover my I’m-lying face.

  “It was…okay.”

  The only downside of a perfect week was the dread I felt whenever I thought of Mum finding out about last weekend. We had no one to cover us, especially after Melody went absolutely nuts at Kyle when he told her their kiss was a one-off thing.

  “It’s okay,” Mum said. “I felt the exact same way when I first went. You get so excited because you’ve seen the Hollywood sign on the TV your whole life. Then you realize it’s just a pretty gross and seedy place.”

  A flower of guilt blossomed in my stomach. “Yeah. It was pretty…um…seedy.”

  “Maybe go to a national park or something during your next time off?”

  I dropped the Sellotape on the floor. “I’ll hopefully be spending it with you,” I squeaked.

  Mum looked up at me. “Oh, yes, of course. It’s in your last week of camp, right?”

  How could I be thinking about my last week of camp? Camp was supposed to last a month – that’s ages! How could it almost be done? How could it end when everything was just starting? And my heart did a little rip in two – I couldn’t see Kyle in that time? It would be our last days together…but my mother, my blood and guts mother, I needed to see her too.

  “I don’t want to think about it,” I said. Which was true.

  Mum put her scissors down and came round to hug me tight. So I clung as hard as I could.