‘You asked me if I think she’s hiding.’ Quinn kept his voice low, despite the vastness of the house. ‘I’ve thought of that before.’
‘From the outside, what were your thoughts?’ Noah asked, and he reached for a door handle. ‘And what are they now that you know her?’
Noah led them into a bedroom. He was aware of that familiar, comforting smell of books, one that was earthy and yet clean. A salt lamp cast an orange glow around the room, accentuating the impressive size. Two large windows gave a glimpse of the outside snowy world. The carpet was worn, clean. An oak table at the back of the wall was framed by the many well-read paperback books stacked in neat piles, their creased spines facing outwards. Quinn passed the fresh double bed and looked at the collection, noticing the alphabetised author names.
His eyes drifted to the table, the messiest part of the room, only because two empty mugs sat next to a laptop that had been left open next to handwritten frantic notes.
‘Is this your bedroom?’
‘It is,’ Noah said. He watched him carefully, his deep green eyes taking in his expression, his reaction.
Oh, my god. He was in Noah’s bedroom!
His room, where his personality shone through. Noah kept this neat. His wardrobe, which Quinn thought might lead to Narnia, such was its familiar appearance, didn’t even have any loose clothes sticking out of the door, like Quinn’s own wardrobe.
And now he noticed it. Beneath that paperback smell, there was something else. Something more human. A living smell. A boy smell, but not a teenager – it was a man who took care of himself, maybe even pampered himself. He tried to place the smell, which was like citrus. Quinn wished he could bottle it up and use it as his own perfume.
He spotted an oak door in one corner of the room. ‘What’s in there?’
‘Ensuite,’ Noah said.
Of course there’s an ensuite.
‘Your room is beautiful.’ Quinn went back to the paperbacks, his head tilting, reading the spines.
A soft rustle came from behind, and Noah joined him, his shoulder inches away from Quinn. Quinn stepped slowly towards Noah, as if caught by the Oscar Wilde edition on the shelf. Noah didn’t move, instead letting Quinn into his space.
‘How long have you had these?’ Quinn asked, his voice wavering ever so slightly.
‘Years.’
Noah caught Quinn’s eye, holding him down, trapped between author and bookshelves. ‘Eyelash.’
Noah reached out, his fingers grazing the side of Quinn’s nose. Quinn didn’t move, fearful that if he did, Noah would fracture into pieces.
Words evaded him. They’d escaped and found refuge in the stacks of old books in front of them.
Noah gestured to the bed as he went to sit at his desk. Quinn perched at the end of the mattress, his heart beating hard. He drew in, crossing his arms, feeling like he had infringed on something so private, like this was a moment he shouldn’t be a part of. A bedroom was a sanctuary, a place one retreated to when they needed their own time, their own space.
‘We’re staying here while we’re with Mum,’ Noah said.
‘Childhood bedroom?’
‘Yes,’ Noah said. ‘Never used to be this clean, I’ll have you know. I went through a lot in this room.’
Quinn was once again reminded of Noah’s childhood, which sounded difficult.
‘When did you hear the stories of your mum?’
‘Ever since my first day in school,’ Noah said. ‘I knew something was different. Teachers would force a smile, ask how Hermione was in a sweet voice, but then I’d see them whisper to the other teachers, point me out. The parents would whisper when they picked their kids up from school, crane their necks to see who was in our car. It was Mum at first, and then it wasn’t, because she realised people were staring at her.’
‘How did you get home if she didn’t pick you up?’
‘She had a cleaner pick me up,’ Noah said. ‘Not Ivy of course. Then, when I was old enough, I’d walk home or get the bus. As I got older, and the kids got older, they started making fun of me for being the son of a … well, their words weren’t kind. That’s why I drew away and started finding escape in books. They were all I needed.’
‘That must have been tough.’
Noah ran a hand through his blond hair, looking down at the threadbare carpet. Quinn wished he could move closer to him, but Matty swam into his thoughts, and he knew he couldn’t do it, knew he never would be able to.
