by Dick, Amanda
“It’s not anything,” I murmur. “Not yet. Maybe never. I don’t know.”
I can feel the tears building, but more from frustration than anything else. I don’t know how to explain this to him. I barely know how to explain it to myself.
“Fuck’s sake,” he mumbles, dropping the towel and coming over to me, pulling me to my feet. “Don’t cry, okay?”
Is he serious? I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore. He takes both my hands in his and holds them steady, as I madly sniff away the threatening tears.
“Don’t be angry with me,” I beg. “Please?”
“I’m not angry, Sian,” he frowns. “I’m just… I don’t know. Disappointed, I suppose. It feels like I’m the last one to know, and I kinda thought you might’ve told me yourself, rather than let me figure it out like this. It feels like you don’t trust me.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, looking up at him. “It’s not like that, I swear it’s not. It just kind of… happened. I don’t even know if it’s a thing yet, him and I. I’m not sure I’m ready. I don’t know if he is, either.”
His brown eyes burn through me, and he nods slowly, his expression softening slightly.
“Oh, it’s a thing alright,” he says. “Look at you – you wouldn’t be this upset if it wasn’t. And I saw the way you two were looking at each other before. It’s definitely a thing, believe me, I know a thing or two about things.”
Oh God. Somehow that makes it worse.
“Look, you’ve got to have a million thoughts swarming around in that head of yours right now. I don’t blame you – I reckon that’d be only natural. You’ve been through a shitload, more than anyone should ever have to go through. But you’re still here. I say you do what you have to do to be happy. Don’t spend the rest of your life wearing black, figuratively speaking. It’s really not your colour.”
He winks at me, so fast I almost miss it. Then the corner of his mouth twitches. I sniff again, letting go of one of his hands so I can wipe my eyes.
“I’m serious,” he warns. “It really isn’t. It washes you out, ask Ana. She’ll back me up.”
I want to smile, to thank him, for everything. But I can’t, not yet.
“Come on,” he says, pulling me close. “Enough tears, don’t you think? You really think James would want you to be this miserable? If there’s a heaven he’s surely in it, wherever the hell it is, drinking beer, looking after Kieran and watching you, wishing you’d start living again, waiting to see you smile. Do it for them. You owe them that much, surely.”
I hold him tightly, because he seems to have all the answers and all I have are questions.
“You want I should have a little chat wid Luke?” he says, faking a New York mobster accent. “Tell him if he hurts you, he’ll be sleeping with the fishes?”
I laugh, because the accent is really, really bad, but the sentiment behind it is really, really sweet. I pull him closer, shaking my head into his chest.
“Yeah, nah. I don’t think we need to do that.”
“Whatever.”
I hold onto him, not ready to let go just yet.
“He seems like a cool guy,” he says. “Pretty sure you could do a lot worse.”
Chapter 21
Saying goodbye to Chris again feels much more final than I anticipated. I don’t know when I’m going to see him again. He has a life to go back to, one he needs to settle into again, and I’m still here. I get that sucking sensation in my chest again, as if I’m being dragged backwards while everyone else is racing forwards. It hurts.
Luke and Geezer hitch a ride as we make our way over the lake and back to civilisation. After the noise, and mostly hilarity, of the past two days, it’s deathly quiet on board. I’m obviously not the only one feeling it.
I hang onto Chris much longer than usual when he gives me his customary goodbye hug. I want to say a lot of things, but it’s either too late or not the right time. I’m not sure which. All I know is the words are there, but I don’t say them aloud.
“Hey,” he says, into my hair. “It’s not like I’m leaving the country. Although Wellington does feel like another planet, after London.”
I sniff back tears and nod, but I don’t let go.
Instead, he does. He gently pulls me back by the shoulders, and looks down at me.
“It’s gonna be fine,” he says, serious now. “It is. You’ve got my cell phone number. Call me if you need me. Anytime. You know me – I’m not one for keeping in touch, but I’m gonna try harder, I promise. I need you to be my conscience.”
He winks, and he’s back to the old Chris again. I conjure up a smile from somewhere, and it must be convincing enough because he smiles back, going over to talk to Luke and leaving me with Ana.
“He’s right y’know,” she says, putting her arm around my shoulder. “It’s gonna be fine.”
I really hope they’re both right.
He shakes Luke’s hand, and picks up his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder and looking like the million other tourists who travel through here every year. I stand on the jetty and watch Ana and Chris walk away, fighting the sensation that I’m being abandoned yet again.
Then Luke’s hand finds its way into mine. He just seems to know when I need a steady hand, in more ways than one. I look up but he’s still watching Chris and Ana. He was wrong when he said he was no oil painting. He is. Those eyes, the way they burn through flesh and bone and see right into a person’s heart, that’s all part of what makes him so amazing – that he cares enough to look. It’d be easy to look at him on the outside and say he was beautiful, but that isn’t the half of it. That’s only skin deep, surface beauty. What makes him so beautiful is what’s on the inside. That’s real beauty. His patience, his kindness, his caring nature and his strength, they’re all part of it, too. And yet I still get the impression that it’s only the tip of the iceberg.
He glances down at me and I want to say something, but he smiles and suddenly whatever it is disappears.
“Come on,” he says gently, gently pulling me with him by the hand. “Let’s go home.”
I steer the boat back across the lake slowly, Luke beside me and Geezer standing like a silent sentry on the bow, his face to the wind. It’s a beautiful day, the sun is shining, and yet the breeze carries with it a vibration that feels out of place. A sense of foreboding settles over me. Change is coming, I can feel it. My heart races even though I’m just standing still, and I grip the wheel even tighter.
I guide the boat back into the jetty and Luke ties it off for me, helping me out. We walk up the jetty side by side, with Geezer trotting on ahead. I stop when I get to the lawn, because I really don’t know what to do. The cottage looms before us, but whereas it always welcomed me before, now it looks so empty.
“It’s always tough, being the one left behind.”
I have no idea if he’s aware of the double meaning or whether that’s just me, reading too much into it.
“Let’s do something,” he says, taking my hand. “To take your mind off it.”
I look up at him.
“Like what?”
“Why don’t we take a walk? Burn away some of those cobwebs.”
I consider the alternative – sitting in the cottage, staring at the wall. I look down at Geezer sitting in front of us, waiting, tail wagging.
“Okay.”
The track seems quieter today, even the birdsong is muted. It doesn’t help my mood, and I’m pretty sure Luke has picked up on that, too.
We’ve been holding hands for the last ten minutes. We take it slow, and he goes ahead when the track narrows, holding back stray branches for me. Geezer stays close, as if he feels it too. Something is different.
As we approach the halfway rock, I feel Luke stiffen beside me.
“You really don’t like it here, do you?” I ask, looking up at him.
“Not really, no. I mean, I like the track, but this rock creeps me out.”
“Why?”
&n
bsp; “Because every time I come here now, all I can see is you, standing on the edge.”
My heart races, and he looks down at me. I scared him that day. He doesn’t have to say it again, I can see it in his eyes. I want to apologise again, to tell him that I never meant to, that I had no idea he was even watching me, but before I can, he reaches down and smooths down my hair against my clammy cheek. I close my eyes, leaning into his palm. Every time he touches me, I can feel the change within me. At first, I thought it was a subtle shift, a gentle breeze, as if someone left a door open. I don’t know whether that was because I was so deep inside myself that I just didn’t feel it, or if I was in some kind of denial. Maybe it was a little of both, because now, it feels more like a hurricane.
He tilts my head up, his palm still against my cheek, the pad of his thumb stroking it, and I open my eyes at the movement. He’s tearing through my skin, my flesh, my bones, setting fire to my insides with just his eyes. Does he know what he’s doing to me, how it’s making me feel?
His other hand curls around my waist and he draws me closer. Can he feel my heart pounding? All I can see in his eyes is desire, which makes my heart race even faster. He doesn’t speak and I’m incapable of it. We don’t need to speak, anyway. I know what he wants, and he seems to know that I want it too. As he leans down, I stand on tiptoes, closing my eyes and the gap between us because I can’t wait a moment longer.
Our lips brush against each other softly, and it’s just like it was the first time. Slow, tentative, simmering. His beard scratches my face but I don’t care. All it does is heighten my senses, stoking the raging fire within. It’s a kiss unlike any James and I shared. It’s different, he’s different. Even I’m different, and that’s the crux of the matter, that’s what makes this experience such an adventure.
A little more of me unravels and I instinctively reach for him, winding my arms around his solid frame. Bare skin brushes against bare skin, and one of us groans softly. Then he pulls away, and I open my eyes, slowly finding my way back. I freeze, as does he, before he reaches for me again, drawing me closer, his kiss more urgent now. The gentleness, the tentative exploration is gone.
This is the kiss that changes everything.
Time is immaterial. I am immune to everything, even the laws of nature. All I know is that I’m in his arms and he’s in mine, and we are linked by more than just shared tragedy or grief. Every cell in my body is alive, but more than that, it’s living. I know the difference between the two. I’ve been pretending to be one thing while craving the other for so long now. My hands explore his back and shoulders the way my eyes have yet to do. I can feel the heat of his body beneath the thin cotton of his t-shirt, and I want to take it off. I need to feel every inch of him against me. I push at the hem, forcing it upwards, but he stops me with a hand on mine, breaking our connection to speak.
“Not yet,” he whispers, his breath caressing my face. “Let’s take this slow.”
My heart pulses through my body as I struggle to maintain some form of self-control.
“Okay?” he asks, brushing my hair away from my face to look down at me.
I nod, but I’m not sure I agree. I don’t want this to end. After spending the last year and a half feeling like I was stuck in a dream, this is the only thing that feels real.
Chapter 22
We’ve managed to keep our hands off each other since we got back to the cottage, but it’s no easy feat. Luke’s suggestion to take it slow felt like a rejection at first, but I know now that it was for my benefit, not his. He’s right. We shouldn’t rush this. It’s too precious, too fragile.
He stays for dinner and it’s the best meal I’ve had for a long time. Not because of the food, but because of the way he looks at me while we eat it. I watch him when he thinks I’m not, and I can feel his eyes on me when I turn my back. The air is heavy with anticipation. It practically taunts us, but he’s strong where I’m weak. I can’t stop thinking about him. I have a million questions for him, because it’s dawned on me over the past few hours that I know very little about him. I realise this is probably a conscious decision on his part, that he’s a private person, but I want to ask them all anyway. I’m torn between keeping him at arm’s length and pulling him closer. It’s a strange, brittle tightrope that I’m not sure I’m qualified to navigate.
We find ourselves out on the deck after dinner, Luke with a beer, me nursing a glass of wine. I thought the alcohol might help, but now I’m afraid to drink it in case it unbalances our precarious situation.
Looking out over the lake as the sun falls from the sky, Luke reaches over to take hold of my hand. It’s the first time we’ve touched, purposefully, since we kissed earlier. I look over at him to find he’s looking at me. Not covertly this time, either. His gaze wanders upwards, over my hair, my cheeks, my lips, before finally coming to rest on my eyes. It’s as if he’s reaching down into my soul, and I hold my breath, waiting. He’s silent and still, not moving an inch except to caress my fingers in his. I look down at them, entwined together, because the heat coming from his eyes is melting my insides.
His hand is so much larger, it practically swallows mine whole. His fingers are long, his fingernails clipped and neat, his skin tanned, making mine look almost transparent. I can feel the callouses on the base of his fingers, presumably from wielding a hammer. The veins on the back of his hands stand out markedly against his skin and I want to caress them, to run my fingertips over them, but I have a glass of wine in my other hand and putting it down would mean moving. I don’t think I can do that right now. Breathing is challenging enough. I look up, but he’s looking at our hands too. I watch his face as his fingers familiarise themselves with mine.
“Your hands are tiny,” he says quietly, almost to himself.
“No, they’re normal-sized. It’s because yours are so bloody big, you make me look like a midget.”
He glances up, smiling.
“Okay. There might be something in that.”
I smile back at him because when he looks at me like that, I can’t really help it.
“Do you have brothers, or sisters? Or both?” I ask.
His smile widens.
“That’s kinda random.”
“I suppose it is. I was just thinking that I don’t really know very much about you.”
He nods, as if that’s a satisfactory explanation.
“I have a sister, Sara.”
“Really? Older, or younger?”
“Younger, by two years. What about you?”
I shake my head.
“None that I know of.”
“That you know of?”
There’s a shift in his expression, and I prepare myself.
“I never knew my father, and my mother dumped me on my grandparents when I was four. They brought me up. Probably for the best.”
He’s been playing with my fingers until now, but he takes my hand in his and squeezes, holding it still.
“Wow. Did you see much of her after that, your Mom I mean?”
“No. I’ve never seen her since.”
“That’s… wow. I can’t really understand how someone could do that. Do you remember her at all?”
“Not really. Flashes, here and there, but I was pretty young. She didn’t show up for either of their funerals, which didn’t surprise anyone. She had some… issues, from what I was told. She wasn’t exactly young when she had me. Wasn’t exactly stable, either.”
“Were you close to your grandparents?”
“Yeah, very. They were like this perfect couple, and they tried so hard to do everything right for me. When Pop died, I was only seventeen. Nanna kind of gave up after that. She died six months after him, almost to the day.”
“That must’ve been rough.”
He didn’t know the half of it. I was so empty when I met James. He filled me.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and I know he means it. “When did you meet James?”
I take a deep breath, because he’s
way too intuitive for me to be completely comfortable with this.
“About two weeks before my eighteenth birthday.”
He’s waiting for me and I know I should explain, but it’s not that easy when my throat is starting to close up.
“It’s okay,” he says. “We don’t have to do this right now.”
I nod, taking a shaky breath. He’s right, we don’t, but it also feels like this is some kind of turning point, and if I don’t tell him now, I’m missing an opportunity that I might regret later. Plus, I have so many questions for him. I can’t ask him any of them if I don’t show that I’m willing to answer his.
“Before I met him,” I begin, hoping my resolve will strengthen if I just get this over with, “I was kind of a loner. I didn’t really have friends, except Ana. She’s the only one I trusted.”
“You were at school together, right?”
“Yeah. I was the weird kid who didn’t say much. She was the school rebel. We didn’t really have much in common, but somehow we just clicked.”
He nods, and I wonder what he’s thinking because for once, he’s not giving anything away. Regardless, I push on before I lose my nerve.
“I met James when Ana and I were having a quiet drink one night at this pub in town. She struck up a conversation with him and his friend at the bar, and then brought them back to our table. We weren’t even supposed to be in there because we were under-age, but they kept buying us drinks.”
My heart aches. I’ve thought about that night so often over the past year. I’ve written about it, too. Part of me wishes I was back there, just to have the last few years in front of us to live all over again, but I know that that will never be enough. I’ll know the end is coming.
“We were pretty much inseparable after that,” I murmur, my gaze falling as the memories sit on my chest. “Apart from Ana, James was the only person who I felt truly understood me. When he died, I felt like I’d been abandoned all over again. It was like I lost a part of myself. I’m not sure I’ll ever get that back.”
