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“No, no.” Gideon was grinning. “I thought you needed something soothing.”
“You … you are such a…”
“Yes?”
“Such a shit.”
He came a step closer, so that at a guess there was exactly half an inch of space left between us. “There, you see, that’s the difference between you and Charlotte. She’d never say a thing like that.”
I suddenly found breathing difficult. “Maybe because you don’t give her any reason to.”
“No, that’s not it. I guess she just has better manners.”
“Yes, and stronger nerves,” I said. For some reason, I couldn’t help staring at Gideon’s mouth. “Just in case you were thinking of trying it again, if we find ourselves hanging around in a confessional somewhere twiddling our thumbs, I’m not letting you take me by surprise a second time!”
“You mean you wouldn’t let me kiss you a second time?”
“Got it in one,” I whispered, unable to move.
“That’s a pity,” said Gideon, and his mouth was so close to mine that I felt his breath on my lips. I realized I wasn’t necessarily acting as if I meant it seriously. And I didn’t. I thought it was much to my credit that I didn’t throw my arms around Gideon’s neck. But anyway I’d missed out on the moment for tearing myself free or pushing him away some time ago.
Obviously that was how Gideon saw it, too. His hand began stroking my hair, and then, at last, I felt the gentle touch of his lips.
“And every breath we drew was hallelujah,” sang Bon Jovi in my ear. I’d always loved that song—it was one of those I could listen to fifteen times running—but now I supposed it would be connected with the memory of Gideon for ever and ever.
Hallelujah.
SIX
THIS TIME we weren’t disturbed either by traveling through time or a cheeky gargoyle demon. While “Hallelujah” was running, the kiss was gentle and careful, but then Gideon buried both hands in my hair and held me very close. It wasn’t a gentle kiss anymore, and my reaction surprised me. I suddenly felt very soft and lightweight, and my arms went around Gideon’s neck of their own accord. I had no idea how, but at some point in the next few minutes, still kissing without a break, we landed on the green sofa, and we went on kissing there until Gideon abruptly sat up and looked at his watch.
“Like I said, it really is a shame I’m not allowed to kiss you anymore,” he remarked rather breathlessly. The pupils of his eyes looked huge, and his cheeks were definitely flushed.
I wondered what I looked like myself. As I’d temporarily mutated into some kind of human blancmange, there was no way I could get out of my half-lying position. And I realized, with horror, that I had no idea how much time had passed since Bon Jovi stopped singing “Hallelujah.” Ten minutes? Half an hour? Anything was possible.
Gideon looked at me, and I thought I saw something like bewilderment in his eyes.
“We’d better collect our things,” he said at last. “And you need to do something about your hair—it looks as if some idiot has been digging both hands into it and dragging you down on a sofa. Whoever’s back there waiting for us will put two and two together—oh, my God, don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“As if you couldn’t move.”
“But I can’t,” I said, perfectly seriously. “I’m a blancmange. You’ve turned me into blancmange.”
A brief smile brightened Gideon’s face, and then he jumped up and began stowing my school things in my bag. “Come along, little blancmange, stand up. Do you have a brush or comb with you?”
“In there somewhere,” I said vaguely.
Gideon held up Lesley’s mother’s spectacle case. “In this?”
“No!” I cried, and in my alarm my blancmange existence came to a sudden end. I jumped up, snatched the case containing the Japanese vegetable knife from Gideon’s hand, and flung it back in my bag. If Gideon was surprised, he didn’t show it. He put the chair back by the wall and looked at his watch again, while I took out my hairbrush.
“How much time do we have left?”
“Two minutes,” said Gideon, picking up the iPod from the floor. How it had ended up there I had no idea. Or when.
I hastily brushed my hair.
