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‘I’m not asking you to be me, Millie,’ he says. ‘I’m asking you to be you.’
And that final sentence – those last words, unravel me. Because this, the boat, the sea, the sky, adventure .?.?. it is me. Or at least was me. Until I landed here, my feet stuck in the mud.
I hold his hand. He squeezes.
‘But .?.?. Money. And .?.?. responsibilities and .?.?. I don’t know. The same reasons, maybe, that you won’t stay put? In a way.’
Jack nods, but something that looks like sadness scrunches the lines at his forehead, narrows his eyes.
There’s silence now. We watch a tanker on the horizon, skate along, lazy and slow, pearly pink clouds above us in the dimming sky.
Jack releases my hand and slowly brings it to my face, tips my chin. ‘It’s never been hard to leave,’ he says. ‘I’m not used to it being hard to leave. But this time .?.?.’
And as his sentence disperses in the air between us, as tears sit at the waterline of my eyes, and as rain starts to fall, in unison, I close my eyes, and Jack kisses me, slow and careful.
And I make a wish – like I used to, imagine it wisping off like smoke, into the universe. I wish that I will be somewhere with him like this again someday. And he won’t have to leave me.
*
Text to Alexis:You probably won’t get this because you’ve blocked me, but I miss you so much. I wish I had you to talk to. I feel like I’m in a mess. I feel like I’m falling in love and it’s an impossible situation. You’d know what to say. You’d know what to do. Please, if you get this, let’s talk x
Message delivered.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It’s Jack’s leaving drinks at the Peterboat, and I amdreadingit. He officially doesn’t leave the office forever until Friday, and doesn’t actually leave the country until Wednesday, but I am dreading it. This goes against the rules. This goes against what I decided. That I would just enjoy being around Jack, kissing him,feelingall these things, without the need to attach meaning to them, but .?.?. how is that possible when you start to really feel things? Have it root itself into you, grow? I like Jack. I really like him. More than like. And .?.?. God, I wish, in a weird way, I had never called him at the treehouse. Something happened that night, looking into his eyes; feeling his heart beating against me, close and snuggled, beneath the sheets. I stepped off a ledge. I .?.?.fell.Or am falling. Oh no, I cannot be falling. I can’t can’t can’t. He is leaving. He’s even trying to set me up with ajobhere. He is certainly not falling. I don’t suppose Jack really falls.
I look at him, across the pub. It’s freezing outside. The sky is black and hollow, in the way it can be before snow, and lights glisten on the water, like smudges of liquid gold. Flye have booked the outside area, under a marquee and surrounded by the glow of orange heaters and dancing electric tealights in jars on tables. Leigh always has so much atmosphere. The endless blackness beyond the balcony of the pub, the warmth of the heaters, the cobbled, dank streets, the puff of happiness and chatter on pub windows. As always, a perfect contrast. And me – a perfect contrast, too. All I want to do is be with Jack. But I also don’t want to be here. Because being here means Jack is leaving, and I can’t bear the thought of not seeing him for a whole entire year. Or .?.?.ever again? And let’s say I wait. I know how that one ends. He could meet someone else. Fall in love. And where will that leave me? Here. Waiting again.
‘Here we are.’ Petra sits next to me at one of the tables and places a glass of wine in front of me. We’re on the outside edge of the marquee, the glass partition to one side of us, the sea and lit-up distant docks, jutting out like an island, ahead of me.
‘Thank you,’ I say, picking up the glass, condensation striping the side of it.
Petra smiles at me sadly. ‘Going to be weird without him, huh?’
‘Ugh, yes. A lot of people’ll miss him I think.’
‘And you?’ Petra touches the top of her arm to mine. ‘Willyoumiss him?’
My eyes lift to meet Petra’s and she smiles warmly, all glowing skin and peach lips.
‘I can tell by the way he looks at you,’ she says. ‘And I know you well enough by now to know that .?.?. you at the absolute least .?.?.really like him?’
I hesitate, before a defeated groan pushes its way out of me. ‘A lot,’ I say. ‘Like a lot, a lot, a lot, Petra.’ And we both, in unison, look over at him, like synchronised dancers in a musical.
‘He’s so lovely,’ I say.
‘So lovely,’ repeats Petra.
Jack stands, amongst a crowd of Flye colleagues, in deep, smiling conversation, the collar of his shirt open, arms straining against the cotton of the sleeves, that lovely edge to his jaw I wish so much I could run my finger along, beside him in bed, like we did at the treehouse. My heart aches. He looks .?.?. so happy. So .?.?.living his life.I just want to be with him, talk to him, listen to his stories, those little nuggets that make Jack, Jack. Squeeze everything out of him like an orange.
‘And I’m sort of torn, you know? Between being so happy I had the chance to get to know him before he leaves. To feeling .?.?.this.’ I hold my hand to my chest.‘This horrible, tight golf ball ofdoom, right here.’
Petra swallows, and nods, her own hand drifting to land on her own chest. ‘I get it. Wishing you could’ve somehow dodged it, saved yourself the heartache?’
‘I always seem to get the heartache.’
‘Oh, I used to say the same,’ Petra flicks her hand in the air, as if shooing the false thought away. Petra finds my hand under the table. ‘I used to retrace my steps with Maria, calculating the absolute best time it would’ve been to walk away. But .?.?. I don’t regret Maria.’
