When the spring sunrise wakes me a couple of hours later, I find that in my drowsy delirium, Beatrice has become tangled in my limbs as though woven into me. Her face is pressed to my chest, her legs are threaded through my own, and my arms envelop her in such a way that I wouldn’t even know where to begin to unravel myself even if I wanted to. And I don’t.
I was anticipating waking with a heavy head and an aching body, but last night’sepisodehasn’t seemed to take it out of me as much as previous ones, and I can’t help but think that Beatrice has a little something to do with that.
‘God, you’re such a creep.’ Not opening her eyes to speak, her voice is gravelly as she greets me with her eye-squinting smile that’s becoming more and more familiar.
‘What have I done now?’
She stays put, doesn’t try and shift out of my grasp.
‘I can feel you staring at me.’ Her voice is muffled as she buries herself deeper into my shirt.
‘Just trying to figure out if you’ve drooled on yourself too, or you’ve saved it all just for me.’ Pulling back a little, she can only summon the energy to glare at me with one open eye before closing it again and nuzzling ever closer. ‘My shirt is practically dripping.’
‘That’s just ’cus you sweat more than a pig in a packet of truffle fries,’ she teases in reply.
‘Is that a thing?’
She shrugs against me. ‘Probably not but all of my other versions of that phrase are either about sex offenders or just wildly offensive so …’ Finally, she emerges from the cocoon of covers to look at me with both eyes and her flushed face in its perfect entirety.
‘Fair enough.’ Unable to suppress the urge, I sweep the loose strands of her hair behind her ear and pull what feels like half a bale of hay out of her braids. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘If it’s a proposal of marriage, I’d like you to know that I’m looking for a partner with a dowry much larger than yours.’
‘How would you know my dowry isn’t big? I haven’t even shown it to you yet.’ I narrow my eyes dramatically, playing along.
‘If you have to go out of your way to show me, it’s too small.’
‘Is that so?’ I pull her into me tightly until my whole body presses against her and she releases a pleasurable whimper at the contact.
‘It is.’ Her smile tugs at her cheeks and fans out at her eyes.
‘You’re such a windup.’ I release her reluctantly and shake my head, finding it harder and harder the more I know her to keep a straight face.
‘I’ve been called much worse, so I’ll take that as a compliment.’ She lies on her back and faces the ceiling with a grin. ‘Anyway, what did you want to ask?’
I have to clear my throat before I speak, a little too flustered now to just come out with it and ask. I need to think about my words carefully, but that’s never been my strong suit. Beatrice flicks her eyes to me to determine the reason for my prolonged silence and I have to sit up to swallow down my nerves.
‘Beatrice …’ I begin, my mouth dry but my palms deluged.
‘Arthur?’
‘Who is Tommy?’
Chapter 25
Beatrice
‘Who is Tommy?’ He asks the question so carefully as though he’s aware it carries weight, but he can’t possibly comprehend that such a question is a vacuum; a black hole ready to swallow me up and suck all of the air from me until I combust under the weight of my own self.
How do you describe someone who once brought colour into your life, and then sucked it all back out again when they left? How do you explain that you have a gaping human-shaped wound in your life and the regret of it all has haunted you out of happiness for years? How do I explain that when he died, so did I in every way except physically?
My face is wet when I re-emerge from my own mind and find the tears snagging on my cheeks. Arthur’s expression contorts in concern. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t—’
‘It’s okay.’ I cut him off before I can chicken out oftalking about him again. ‘I just … it’s just I haven’t heard anyone else say his name for so long.’ I smile and a salty droplet slips over my lips and leaves a bitter taste on my tongue.
‘You don’t have to tell me anything, if you don’t want to.’ He seems almost as nervous as me. But he holds my hand so delicately, with such warmth, that a kernel of confidence pops inside me and the words flow before I can think to stop them.
‘It’s hard to explain Tommy in words alone. He was unlike any person I ever met before, and I will never meet anyone like him again. He was my best friend from the very first day I rocked up to uni in London. Even though we were from opposite sides of the country, he felt like home to me. He didn’t talk with an RP accent like everyone else around us, he came from a council estate in Stoke, grew up as a boy with a dream in a place where the arts were never considered to be a viable job option. We were so alike, and yet he was all of the things I was too scared to be; he always used to wear trousers in such bright colours, pair them with shoes of all kinds of shapes and materials that I couldn’t believe you could actually buy them in a shop. He never once seemed bothered that people would pull faces or think he was a little strange.’
