When the porch light of the cottage comes into view, an eternity away down the line of chestnut trees, it feels like breaking free from orbit, breaking free of gravity. Walking towards it, stepping up onto the porch, takes everything I have. I turn around so my back is pressed against the door and try to ignore the sound of whatever Charlie and Felix are watching in the front room seeping into the quiet. Our quiet.
“So, this is me.”
“This is you.” His smile is big enough to hold a hundred years.
This, now; the things he said about his family up in the attic. He’s letting me see him.
And what am I doing? Am I letting him see who I am?
Not exactly. An edited, tidied-up version maybe. One with the sharp edges filed off – because it’s the sharp edges that cut. Always. What would I do if they cut him away? If he got too close and they sliced straight into him?
It would be me left with the scars.
“Flora? Is that you?” Charlie’s voice is muffled by the door, but I can’t ignore it any longer.
“It’s me. Just give me a second?” I shout through the door – and then turn back to Hal to say…what?
But there’s nothing to say, is there? Not right now. There’s nothing to think, and nothing to do, except just be.
And when he leans forward and runs his hand slowly through my hair, letting it slide between his fingers – his other arm slipping around my back to pull me close to him again because he can’t help himself and neither can I – the space between us dissolves to nothing. He presses me back against the wall of the house and I pull him with me, wishing I could bring him closer still. His lips burn against mine and my heart is beating so fast inside me that I don’t think it will ever slow down again. How can it, after this? My head spins and I never want it to stop. His hands are in my hair and on my face and on my hips, and everywhere he touches I wish there was more. The feel of him against me, of him here with me – I could get lost in it.
“Flora? Is everything okay?”
We leap apart at the sound of my brother calling me again.
“Yep. All good. All good,” I call back, trying not to laugh, watching Hal’s eyes glitter in the light from the porch. “Really good, actually,” I add – quieter, just for Hal. Above us, the porch light flares and the stars and the moon glow that little bit brighter…and if the way he kissed me on the bridge was a question, this is the answer.
“Goodnight, Flora,” he whispers hoarsely, stepping back.
“Goodnight, Hal.” Lips numb from his kiss, for his kiss, I fumble for the handle, swinging the door open behind me. The familiar smell of the cottage – old woodsmoke, damp boots and dusty wool – floods out, pulling me back to earth…But I keep my eyes on Hal until the second the door closes between us, and I see him murmur my name into the night, and I carry the way it feels into my dreams.
Climbing the stairs up to the attic in the morning, I have no idea what to expect. I mean, I know what to expect from the attic: dust, boxes, paper. But I have no idea what to expect from Hal, not after last night. During my whole walk across the deer park, I’ve tried to guess how he’ll be, what he’ll say.
Basically, it’s my brain’s lucky day.
What if he doesn’t say anything? What if he pretends it never happened? That he didn’t actually kiss you last night, or that you didn’t kiss him back?
What if he does say something? What if he’s pleased to see you? What if he’s happy?
What if it was a big, huge mistake and now he’s pissed because you spoiled everything? You always spoil everything, Flora.
I dig my fingernails into the palms of my hands.
Mira wasn’t much use, either – she didn’t answer my messages to her last night, and when I stuck my head around the break-room door on my way in, she was distracted by a folder of coursework and notes.
“Sorry, Flora – I must get this finished today, and I’m on a double shift.”
“Oh. Okay.” Something inside my heart deflated just a little. Part of me had hoped that she would look up and close her folder, seeing that something was different, that something had changed. Something other than her suddenly not having time to listen.
Is this a balanced reaction?
“Hey,” she said, resting her pen on her notes. “I want to hear. Really.”
“No, it’s fine – you’re busy. It doesn’t matter.”
Liar.
“Flora. It does matter. I just…” She waved at the spread of notes and doodles on her pad. The whole page was covered in tiny black handwriting and little sketches. It looked like the inside of my head feels half the time: busy. But, looking at it, I think I started to see how much she wants this. Nobody puts in the kind of hours she must be with studying on top of a housekeeping job, not unless they’re serious. Or hate sleep.
I shook my head and shook away the shadow that had formed in the corner of my mind. “You’re busy. It’s okay – you do what you need to do.”
“I’ll find you later?” She glanced down at her folder and back up at me with one of her big smiles, and whispered, “And you can tell me everything.”
I’m not sure what to tell her, especially when I’m not quite sure what “everything” is right now, but I should probably make the most of her still being here. After all, who will I tell when she’s gone?
But when I reach the top of the stairs, there he is, sitting on the landing, his back against the door and his feet drawn up. His eyes are closed and he’s so lost in his thoughts that he hasn’t even heard me coming up the stairs. He looks so himself…so normal.
Just like everybody else, but not.
“Hi.” I lean on the banister. His eyes open and focus on me – only on me – and they light up.
“Hi.” He slides himself upright, still leaning on the door. “Sorry, I was miles away.”
“That’s okay.” I fumble with the key. I seem to be forever unlocking things lately. Doors, gates, histories…my English teacher would have loved that. Very symbolic. So would Sanjay.
The attic is just as we left it…but as soon as the door closes behind us, I know that we aren’t the same as we were when we left it last night. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I, but it hangs between us in the air.
It wasn’t a mistake.
He meant it.
And I meant it too.
I press the shutter back into the catch that holds it open, letting sunlight into the room. “You, uh, got back to the hotel okay then?”
“Yeah. And I only put my foot into one rabbit hole and tripped over three big clumps of grass.” He grins. “Bit distracted.”
“You didn’t have to walk me home, you know. It was…” I can’t finish the sentence – because actually we both know what it was.
“I did,” he says softly, brushing my hair back from my face. “I wanted to.”
“I’m glad you did.” Now it’s my ears turning pink. I can feel them, burning like tiny furnaces stuck to the sides of my head. The way he’s looking at me isn’t helping either – it makes me want to laugh, to shout and wave my arms around and run as fast as I possibly can…and also to stay right here with him and pull him to me and never let go of him.