by Liz Kessler
I give him a stern look.
“What?” Olly looks confused. “Oh. Sorry. No. It’s not a date. It’s definitely not a date. It’s just hanging out. With a pal. Is that OK?”
I laugh. I can’t help myself. “Yeah, that’s cool,” I say.
We’ve reached the school gates, and he turns to walk the opposite way from me. “See you tomorrow, then,” he says before giving me one more flash of that big smile.
“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” I reply. And despite myself, despite wishing I wasn’t, despite hating myself for it, and despite knowing it’s wrong, I can’t help admitting to myself that I’m looking forward to it.
She likes me. She does. I know she does. I’m sure she does. I think. I mean — the way she smiles. The way she kind of looks at me from under her hair, like she’s trying to hide, trying not to smile, trying not to enjoy my company — all of it, I love it.
It’s like a challenge — but not the kind of challenge the old Olly would have wanted. The kind that’s all about the chase and the winning and the telling the guys I scored again.
It couldn’t be further from that kind of challenge. It’s not about notches or scoring. It’s more a challenge to myself. A challenge to be a better person, to be as good as she is, to be worthy of her.
She’s good for me. She’s going to be good for me. I can tell. She’s already changing me. She’s already given me the first feelings of hope and optimism and even — dare I say it? — happiness that I’ve felt in over six months.
And I don’t want to tell the lads. I don’t want to tell anyone, in fact. I want to keep it to myself, keep her to myself.
Yeah, OK, she’s got a boyfriend. If I’m honest, if I think about it, that makes me feel bad. But like I said to her, we’re just friends. Where’s the harm? I’m not asking her to cheat on him. And if, in time, he starts to fade and she realizes she likes me more — well, that’s up to her.
In the meantime, we can hang out. I can allow myself that. Can’t I?
To hell with it. I’m doing it, I’m seeing her. Erin is a way for me to leave behind my grief over Joe, my guilt, my suffering. She’s got nothing to do with any of that. She’s the first person, the first thing, that has come along and given my heart and my mind respite from all that pain. She’s like a fresh breath and a new start.
Erin could be my future. My way to a better future. And I’m not going to lose out on that.
Friday morning I’m up at five o’clock. I set my alarm when I went to bed, but I’m awake before it goes off.
I get dressed and creep out of my room. I can hear Dad snoring as I pass their bedroom. Aside from that, the house is silent. I slip downstairs, let myself out as quietly as I can, and head for the cliffs.
Pulling my coat tight and flicking my flashlight on, I tread carefully along the path, watching every footstep and praying he’ll still be there.
As I approach the rocky outcrop where he is — Joe told me last time that it’s called Raven’s Point — I look out toward the horizon. There’s a thin line of light between the sea and sky. Dark clouds above it seem to be holding it down, stopping the day from arriving too soon. Good. I want the next hour to pass as slowly as possible. Until we can work out anything better, this is my only chance to see Joe, and I want to make the most of it.
“Erin!”
I look down. He’s there on the rocks, waiting for me. The sight of him feels like air, filling me with lightness and space. It’s as though I spend my days walking around buckled into a tight, heavy suit of armor, and Joe unbuckles me from the metal and releases me from it — and from a need for it.
I pick my way down the stony trail to join him. In an instant, his arms are around me. His breath is warm in my ear. “I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers, pulling me close.
His embrace eliminates the outside world. I wrap my arms around his neck, leaning close and pressing myself into his chest.
His hands stroke my hair. “I can’t bear only seeing you like this,” he says. “It’s not enough.”
I move slightly away to answer him, but as I glance up at him, the look on his face removes any words I might have had. His eyes — they’re full of longing and pain. Searching mine. I wish I could take the pain away. Wish we could figure out a way to be together properly, not just a stolen hour of darkness before the rest of the world has woken up. For a moment, I’m hit by the futility, the impossibility of our situation. Life and death. There couldn’t be a bigger barrier between us.
And it’s not the only barrier. I can’t bear the fact that I’m keeping something from him. I had intended to tell Joe as soon as I got here about my plans to see Olly. I don’t want to lie to him or hide anything from him. Olly is just a friend — and he’s Joe’s brother. Surely Joe would understand that and be glad for me. For us both.
But when his eyes are so dark and so filled with pain, I lose my nerve, and I can’t tell him. Not now. Not yet. I convince myself there’s no need, and no time. We have an hour together. I don’t want to waste it talking about other people. I just want to focus on us, on here, on now.
I reach up, put my hand on the back of Joe’s head. My fingers in his coarse hair, I pull him toward me.
A moment later, his lips meet mine, and I stop thinking or worrying about anything.
She brings me to life. Not in the way I’d hoped. Not actually back to life. But closer to it than I am when she’s not here. When I’m alone, I feel as intangible as the air around me. I feel as if I could dissipate at any moment, like the spray of the waves. But when she’s here, when the feelings between us are strong, I come into being; I’m almost real.
But it’s not enough. Of course it’s not enough. I could spend every waking moment with her, lie by her side every night, and it still wouldn’t be enough. I would always want more.
Because I love her.
I want to tell her. I need to tell her. Can she tell? Can she see it in my eyes? I feel as if the love is leaking out of me, pouring out through my eyes and my kisses. It’s making me more real but emptying me out at the same time.
Does she know? Does she feel the same?
But even though loving her feels like the best thing I’ve ever done, it feels selfish, too. My love is keeping her from having a life. It’s holding her in this half-living place with me. How can that be fair?
Then I lose myself in her pale-blue eyes, and I know I will never willingly let her go.
“Come, look, let me show you my place,” I say. I take her hand and we pick our way carefully across the rocks and the crevices, over the boulders, over the dark pools teeming with tiny bits of life. Across the rocky stage that is the only bit of the world I can exist on.
“Under here.” We duck down under a large precipice. It’s like a roof, a canopy. I let go of her hand so we can tread single file through the crevice under the rock. On the other side, I point to the cavern in the side of the cliff to our left.
Erin stops and peers in. “Wow. This is it?” she asks. “Your poetry cave?”
I smile and open my arms across the entrance as if I’m welcoming her into my mansion. “Come on in,” I say, as I lead the way.
Erin ducks down to squeeze into the cave and follows me to a ridge along the side. I sit down and pat the rock next to me for her to do the same.
She sits and looks around.
I point at the corner of the ceiling, where damp drips plop from the end of a triangular rock that protrudes down. “There are a couple of stalactites here.”
Erin nods. “Very cool.”
I point at a low, flat rock in front of us. “Coffee table,” I say.
Erin laughs and leans into me. I put an arm around her shoulder. With my other arm I point out through the doorway. “And the sun rises around about there.”
Erin follows the line of my hand. The cave’s entrance is like a frame. Beyond it, a hint of light is starting to edge over the horizon. A speck of light, with pink veins growing out from it. A few fluffy clouds above it are growing
into pale bruises.
“I love it,” Erin says.
She turns to look at me. I hold her eyes, holding my breath at the same time. I need to say it, need to tell her, need to have it out there — however crazy or hopeless it is.
“Erin, I —” I begin. My mouth is as dry as the rocks in the dark corners of the cave. My throat feels as if it is filled with them, too.
Erin’s eyes are on mine, she’s holding me here, like a fly pinned to a wall by its wings. She’s taking my words away. “I . . .” I try again.
But she stops me with a kiss. And then I forget what it was I wanted to say after all. It can wait.
The time is going too quickly. The tiny spark of light peeking up from behind the horizon is growing fatter and rounder.
We watch it grow brighter, the clouds turning into fat peaches above it.
“I need to go,” Erin says softly. “Everyone’ll be awake soon.”
She gets up to leave. “I wish you didn’t have to go,” I say.
“Me too,” Erin says at the doorway. Then she stops and turns to face me. “Joe, I . . .” she begins. Then hesitates.
I know what she wants to say! I can see it on her face. She feels the same! Of course, she does. But I don’t want her to have to say it first.
“I love you,” I blurt out.
For a moment, Erin looks startled. She even falls back on her heels a tiny bit.
That was what she was going to say, wasn’t it? Her silence is making me doubt it.
Then she smiles. A beautiful, slow smile that spreads more light than the sunrise behind her. “I love you too, Joe,” she says softly.
A moment later, we’re in each other’s arms again, and this time our kisses are even more intense. I want to hold her tighter and closer. I want to crawl into her and live just underneath her skin, be part of her forever.
And I know that when she leaves me in a few minutes, I’ll feel like a rag doll with its insides taken out, and my day will spread out like an eternity.
She pulls away first. “I really need to go,” she whispers. Then, with one last kiss on the end of my nose, she wriggles out of my arms and turns to leave.
She stops at the cave’s entrance and turns back. “See you tomorrow?” she says.
“What about later today? Come after school, this evening?”
“I — I . . .” Erin’s face reddens. “I can’t. I’ve got to do this thing. Meeting up with some friends.”
I shrug. Try to act as if I don’t care, despite knowing how pathetic it is to even try. I’ve spread my heart out on a cliff edge for her. “OK,” I say. “See you tomorrow, then. I love you.”
She smiles. “I love you.”
And then she’s gone. And I’m left standing in a cave watching the sun climb into the sky and wondering how I can make those three words keep me going for another twenty-four hours.
I’m a terrible person. How can he not see that? Every step I take along the path home is punctuated with a mental kick. Why didn’t I tell him? How can I be so deceitful? How can he love me?
I was going to tell him. I know he wouldn’t like it, but at least it would have been honest. There’s nothing in it at all. Olly and I are just friends. We’re barely even that. But we might become friends. Why is that so wrong? If there’s nothing in it, why do I feel so guilty?
Other than the fact that I kept it from Joe?
I was about to say it. I opened my mouth. The words were right there, ready to slip out, ready to be laid bare for him — and then he went and told me he loves me.
Which is amazing.
Which is wonderful.
Which is how I feel about him, too.
But now all I can think is that maybe he wouldn’t have said it if he knew the truth. That the reason I can’t come back to see him this evening is because I’m meeting his brother.
I’m an awful person.
The feeling follows me all the way home. It’s like a shadow that I can’t shake off.
I don’t like it. I’ve been here before. I know this cloud; I’m familiar with this shadow. It was a fairly permanent feature of my life for years, following me everywhere, growing lower and lower and closer and closer until it swallowed me up and I couldn’t see my way out of it.
Is that what this whole thing will do to me? Is it ultimately the craziest thing I could ever have chosen to do — to fall in love with a dead boy? What does that say about me? About my commitment to life? Other than the fact that Joe’s love makes me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt.
So why am I now tearing that apart by messing around with someone else?
I don’t know the answers to any of it, but even the questions are freaking me out. I can’t afford to focus on this. I’m not going there again. I need a strategy.
As I sneak back into the house and up to my bedroom, I go over a plan in my head.
1. I’ll tell Olly this evening that my boyfriend says I can’t see him again.
2. I’ll tell Joe I met up with Olly but that I’m not going to see him again.
3. I will not give in to the dark cloud and will dodge it by keeping myself busy.
4. I’ll focus on nice things, like the fact that I’ve got a sleepover with my new friends tomorrow. (And will not let myself get nervous about this, either.)
By the time I go downstairs, yawning and stretching and dressed for school to join the others for breakfast, the cloud has already turned into a light mist and started to move away.
I manage to banish it for the whole day. In fact, it’s probably the best day I’ve had since we arrived here.
Zoe passes notes to me in homeroom, reminding me about Saturday and confirming that I can come. Nia saves me a seat in English, and we work together on a poem and chat and giggle our way through class. I even get told off for laughing at one point, and Nia instantly apologizes and says it was her fault. I don’t think anyone has ever done something like that in school before.
Kirsty beckons me over to join the three of them at lunchtime, and I do my best to keep up with the gossip and the chat. Any time Zoe mentions someone I might not know, Nia gives me a nudge and explains the background. I have to keep stopping and telling myself it’s really happening. I’m really part of the group — I’ve got actual friends.
And in between all of it is the best thing of all. The memory of this morning, of Joe’s words, the fact that he loves me.
I’ve never known a school day to pass so quickly or so happily. By the time I’m getting ready to go out with Olly, I’ve almost forgotten the person I used to be — the shy, awkward, anxious person who barely spoke to anyone through five years of high school.
In fact, as I’m walking around to the harbor front to meet Olly, I make another decision: that girl is gone and she’s not coming back. I won’t let her. I don’t need her. I am pretty sure that a whole new life is starting for me.
For the first time since we moved here, I am truly happy — and truly ready to leave the past behind me.
Olly is there before me again.
He smiles as he sees me coming, and I don’t know why — and yes, I hate myself a bit for this — but my stomach gives a little flutter at the sight of him.
It’s not like the way I feel with Joe. Nothing could ever come close to that. The way I feel about Joe is the most all-consuming thing I’ve ever felt. It’s true love. This isn’t even in the same league. Olly’s just a friend.
He’s just a friend.
But there’s no denying that he’s attractive, and he is fun to be with. As a friend.
“You look lovely,” he says, looking me up and down in a way that makes me feel like I’m blushing down to my feet. I’m not used to being complimented in that way. Not even by Joe. With Joe, it’s as if the outside of me isn’t even relevant. He sees all the way through to what’s inside. Olly’s eyes are definitely traveling the length of my body. He makes me feel exposed — especially as for once I put on a closer-fitting shirt with my jeans and left my beanie hat
at home. He’s making me feel like I should have put on another layer of clothes to hide inside.
“You don’t look too bad yourself,” I find myself replying, to cover my embarrassment and take the focus off me. A second later, I wish I could rein the words back in. That was so flirtatious! I’m not meant to be flirting with him; he’s a friend. Just a friend.
“I mean. I — I like your top,” I add quickly, in a pathetic attempt to backtrack. “It suits you.” Really?
Olly gives me a sideways look. Then he pulls a mock-serious face and says in a formal voice, “Well, thank you kindly. And please allow me to compliment you on the quality of stitching in your jacket.”
I can’t help it. I burst out laughing. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. That was really lame, wasn’t it?”
Olly shrugs. “A compliment’s a compliment.” Then he takes my hand, lifts my arm and pretends to study my jacket sleeve. “But you know, it really is a very fine piece of needlework.”
I punch him on the arm. “OK, enough. Come on, where are we going?”
“Fish and chips, a movie, stroll along the harbor front?” he suggests.
“You want me to choose?”
He thrusts his hands in his pockets, kicks a stone away as he looks down. “Ah. Well, actually, I meant all three.”
All three? Isn’t that sounding a bit too much like a date? Am I kidding myself if I try to convince myself that it isn’t a date anyway?
“Well, I’m starving, so I’m definitely up for fish and chips. Why don’t we take the rest as it comes?”
Olly grins and his smile seems to fill me with air. Being with him makes me lighter. “Sounds good to me,” he says, stepping aside and waving me ahead of him into Mr. Fish. “After you.”
As I step inside the restaurant and study the board above us, I focus as hard as I can on the menu and try to convince myself I can’t feel his hand touching my back so lightly I could almost be imagining it.
We make our way over to the end of the beach with our fish and chips. When we reach the wall at the far end, I take my coat off and lay it on the sand.
