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I smile, move so my hand settles upon his, at my shoulder. I turn my face towards it, rest my lips on the warm skin of his knuckles. ‘I can’t believe you’re leaving,’ I whisper. I almost say it, so he doesn’t hear. So my own ears don’t hear. I hate those words. I hate that he is going.
‘It never feels real until I’m on the plane.’
‘So, this isn’t enough, then,’ I say, my words, quiet. ‘This. Rainy British forest with no electricity. It’s not enough to keep you here.’
Slowly, Jack smiles. I was measuring the time left before Jack goes travelling in months, but now it’s down to mere weeks –days –and I’m tempted to count out in hours because hours sound longer. I can’t believe he won’t be here. I can’t believe he won’t even be in this country.
The sky outside roars, as if goading me:I’m going to take him away, far from here.
‘Almost,’ says Jack.
‘I mean, who couldn’t be taken in by all this .?.?.gloom.All this –cold misery.’ And I’m trying so hard, to push down this dark emptiness that’s opening inside of me at the thought of losing him. As if my stupid, light tone will cancel it out; this crack slowly, slowly zig-zagging the ground at our feet, separating us.
Jack smiles gently in the half-light. ‘This could sway me,’ he says.
‘The masculine candle?’
‘This.’
‘In the cold, dark .?.?.’
‘You.’
And that ‘you’ undoes me. I feel myself sink into the chair, my throat tighten.
He squeezes my hand, pulls me gently towards him. My skin tingles, goosebumps pricking the skin.
‘You could sway me, Millie dot Chandler,’ he whispers, and I feel his breath again, against my skin, against my lips. Warm and sweet, like wine.
He moves, his hand on my foot beneath the blanket, sliding slowly, slowly up my leg. He brings the other hand to my face, his smooth fingers brushing my cheek, and I feel everything. Beneath my skin, like electricity. His lips touch mine, gently at first, as if testing the waters. Soft and warm, and I feel like my heart is going to explode out of my chest. I want him. I haven’t wanted someone for so long, and now I remember how it feels. And it’s how he looks at me that completely kills me; does me in. He looks at me like I’m beautiful. And I –believehim, for a small moment. The way his eyes drop to my mouth, the way I see him swallow; anticipating.
I lean into him, and he closes his mouth over mine, softly, his fingertips at my neck, the hand on my leg, squeezing gently.
He draws back, pauses inches from my mouth.
‘Definitely could be swayed,’ he whispers, as he kisses me again.
Chapter Twenty-Four
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*
When I wake the next morning, for a moment, I could easily believe last night didn’t even happen. The room is flooded with hazy morning sunlight, the fridge is rumbling, the air is calm, the trees, still, and I can hear the shower. Oh, I hope so much I didn’t dream last night. The way we’d kissed (three times on the sofa, and once for about an hour in the bed). The way we’d faffed about, talking about who would sleep where, when I threw my arms up and said, ‘Look,of coursewe can share a bed. We don’t bite, do we?’ and Jack had laughed and said, ‘Only when asked very, very nicely’ and that had very nearly sent me over the edge. In the darkness, we’d got into bed together, and I had feltfuckingeverything.The exciting unfamiliarity of the feel of his hands on me, his smell, his lips, and I had wanted so much to have sex with him.
But – and as stupid as it probably sounds – I was trying hard to damage control. Because there’s a part of me that worries alot, for my heart. Jack is leaving. He has his ticket. It’s going to be hard enough saying goodbye to him, having just known him. Spent time with him. Kissed him. But sleeping with him, having sex with him – that would be the end of me. I’d fall then, being so close to him. And I know it goes against what Cate and I talked about, allowing it to just be what it’s going to be, I’d rather not know how it feels to be so close to Jack Shurlock, if it’s still only going to end in goodbye.
Jack emerges out of the shower, a sunbeam streaming through a light-box above our heads, lighting him like a spotlight. He’s dressed in jeans, but he’s topless, droplets of water from the shower still sitting on his tanned skin. Fuck. I can’t even bear to look at him. Hisbody. For so many months, I’ve looked at those muscles through his shirt, looked far too long at the angular shoulder blades, at those forearms, and now, it’s all just – there. And I want to bury my face into him.
‘Hi.’ He grins, those bright, hazel eyes, all playfulness. I hide my face with my hands.
‘Hi. I haven’t got any make-up on.’
‘What?’
‘When you saw me last night, it was dark,’ I say, voice muffled from behind my fingers. ‘I haven’t got any make-up on. I’ve just opened my eyes.’
‘What?’ Jack says again. ‘You haven’t got anymake-upon?’ He laughs, and I feel the bed creak beneath me, the mattress lowering from his weight, his warm hands reaching up to the hand at my face. He smells of citrussy shower gel and toothpaste. ‘I’m afraid I need to see you. Immediately.’
