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I know Matt well enough to know that even if I tell him not to meet me, that he will. But that’s going to be harder if he doesn’t actually know what station I’m getting off at. I expect him to respond, but there’s nothing. I close my eyes and lean my head against the cold windowpane. Another few tears slip down my cheeks, but I brush them away, take a deep breath, and pull myself back together. I put my notifications on ‘do not disturb’ and type ‘funny cat videos’ into my TikTok search and by the time the train pulls into Haymarket, I’m smiling again although my heart still hurts.
The carriage has got busier and busier now that we’re almost at our destination and about half the carriage gets off at Haymarket, including the woman with the ashes. Very few people get on – it’s only a couple of minutes to the final stop at Waverley. I know he’s there before I see him. The faint smell of cinnamon and almonds that he never quite manages to get rid of, alerts me to his presence and it’s no surprise when he sits down in the seat vacated by the woman.
He doesn’t say anything, but he does stretch his legs out in front of him so that they touch mine. I stare at him. I don’t know what to say. His expression is serious and when he leans over and puts his hands on the table between us, his fingers are twitching. It’s not like Matt to show any sign of nerves. When he reaches for my hands and takes them in his own, his touch calms me, reassures me though I can feel the tension in him.
When we pull into Waverley and stand up, still having said nothing, he reaches up for my suitcase and carries it off the train. He takes my hand, helps me onto the platform and then, keeping a firm grasp of me, he sets off in the direction of the taxi rank. There’s no queue — I don’t think I could have coped with standing in a queue of people at the moment, so we’re soon driving through the damp streets towards… home?
We sit in the back of the taxi, saying nothing, but his arm is around me and he’s holding me against his side. I try not to mould myself against him and drink in his warmth and his support, but I can’t help it. I need it too much. When I rest my head on his chest, he tucks my head under his chin and I can feel his steady breaths ruffling my hair. I stare out at the passing city, wondering what the hell is wrong with me. I’m never like this. Never. I can see the Ferris Wheel on Princes Street and get a sudden scent of the churros and candy floss that will be on sale.
“Do you want to go?” Matt asks and I jump at the first words he’s spoken to me. I nod.
“Maybe tomorrow,” I whisper.
We get soaked even in the short walk from the taxi to the flat and go up in the lift to his penthouse. Our penthouse, although it doesn’t really feel like that, yet. Matt stands back to let me go in first and drags my case in behind him. I’ve only just taken my jacket off and hung it on a hook when he closes the door and then I’m in his arms and his mouth is on mine and any thoughts of pushing him away or leaving go straight out of my head.
Matt
I’m actually worried by the time we arrive at the flat. Something’s happened and until she tells me what that is, my mind is racing through a million different scenarios. I thought she wasn’t going to take my hand, let me carry her case, allow me help her off the train, and there was one awful moment when I wondered if she was even going to get in the taxi with me. Even now we’re back at the flat, I thought she might pull away from me just now when I tried to kiss her.
I’m so fucking happy that she’s currently not only in my arms but kissing me back. Her lips are chilled but her mouth is warm, and I can taste her tears on her lips and on her cheeks as I pull away and kiss from her mouth up to her eyes on one side and back down the other.
“What’s the matter, Jocelyn? You know you can tell me anything.”
But she burrows her head under my chin and shakes it. I breathe in her scent, then I scoop her up into my arms and carry her down to the hallway to my bedroom. She squeals as I lift her up, then wriggles to get out of my arms.
“Not on the bed,” she says.
“Why not?”
“I’m wet.”
I grin at her and she blushes.
“Not that kind of wet.”
“Really?” I slide my hand around under the waistband of her jeans. Her buttocks are colder than I expect and I pull her into me, grinding against her. With my other hand, I start to unbutton her shirt, one button at a time. She looks down at my fingers but says nothing. I undress her slowly, piece by piece until she’s naked and shivering a little in front of me. Then I step aside and pull back the covers and lift her onto the bed, laying her down like the precious object she is.
I undress myself slowly as she watches. I notice her bite her bottom lip, her gaze never leaving my body, and I take that as a positive sign. Then I slide carefully into bed beside her and pull the covers over us both when she shivers. I gaze down into her eyes once I have her exactly where I want her – the lengths of our bodies pressed against one another and our legs entwined. Our arms encircle each other’s bodies, hers lying above mine, but her fingers are still as mine trace patterns on her lower back.
“I love you, Jocelyn,” I whisper.
Tears fill her eyes and they spill over as she stares at me. I wait for her to say it back to me, but she doesn’t. Is she regretting her text? Did putting the words in writing make her realise they weren’t true? I lean forward and lick up the salty trails on her cheeks, then kiss each of her now closed eyelids. Her body moves in a choked sob and I pull her head in to rest on my chest, wishing that Ben was here. When we’re together, I’m the one who makes the decisions, who controls most of our scenarios, and yet here in this moment I have no idea what to do.
I know exactly what to do to make her body respond to me, to speed up her heart-beat, make her wet, bring her to one cresting peak after another. But that’s not what she needs right now and without doing that to her, for her, I’m not sure if I really know how to reach her. And I want our relationship to be like that — like I know exactly what to do for her when she needs it, even if she’s not sure herself.
I shift slightly and stroke her hair, cradling her head to make her feel loved and cherished but I know it’s not enough when her eyes flutter open and we gaze at one another in a silence broken only by our uneven breaths and the tick of my clock on the wall.
“I don’t know what to do,” I admit, looking away from her and hoping that she doesn’t simply get up and leave. The man I usually am is strong, confident, and always in control. If she does love me, that’s the person she fell in love with. Not this version who doesn’t even know what to say to her, never mind know what she needs.
Instead, she moves her hand to cup the side of my face and turns me so that we’re looking at each other again.
“You don't have do anything more than you already are. And you don’t have to say it back,” she whispers. “Not unless you mean it. I shouldn’t have… it was stupid… there was a woman on the train and her partner had died and—”
“But I did mean it and I do love you.”
Her lips are still chilled when I kiss them. Then I pull my head back, smiling at her once more. “I’ve wanted to say it for a while, but I wasn’t sure if you were ready to hear it. I want this to be forever, Joss, but you’re so much younger and—”
Her tentative smile grows more confident as she starts to fully believe me. She cuts off my words with another kiss, tangling my tongue with hers. Our arms tighten as we move against one another. We never stop kissing and touching as our bodies heat and she relaxes in my arms.
