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11
I wake earlyand listen for movement downstairs. Nothing. I never heard Dylan return last night, but I presume he did because where else would he go, apart from back to where he lives and I don’t think that’s likely? I look out of the window hoping to see the sun but I’m greeted by a cloudy day. Summer here is so hit and miss, and the sunny childhood day replaced by grey for a second day. The floorboards creak as I leave the room. Dylan’s bedroom door is closed and he leaves it open when he’s not inside so he must be in bed still. Good, because I don't want to see Dylan; I don't know what to say to him.
I grab my remaining banana from the table and peel it, dropping the skin in the bin on the way out of the door. The solace of my beach walk yesterday helped, and I don’t want to be in the house facing awkward conversations. Maybe I should leave and go back to Bristol.
As I wander towards the sea, I realise the weather is colder than I first imagined and my legs smart from the breeze. I remove my shoes anyway, and stand in the sand at the edge of the breaking waves. The water gradually buries them beneath the sand. Then one by one, I pull my feet out and move to a new spot, repeating the exercise. The sensation of being sucked down and trapped is odd. What would it be like to be dragged under quicksand?
A man walking a large, scruffy black dog passes and I nod hello, but the beach is almost empty again. I’m happy I remembered to tie my hair back today, not so happy about the huge drop of rain landing on my nose. This isn’t any different to my childhood summer; rain is very much part of the experience. Good thing I have plenty of books to read, because today is a TV and books day.
On the short walk back to the house, I find Dylan walking across the sand towards me. He's wearing his jeans and T-shirt but his feet are bare. In his arms, he holds his hoodie, the one I wore last night and left neatly folded over a chair in the kitchen this morning. I pause, debating what to do or what to say.
As he approaches, I study him with new eyes. The confident, lithe movements and his easy-going stroll are back. This Dylan is miles away from the uptight guy who rear-ended me—the one who reappeared last night.
When Dylan stops short of me, blue eyes searching mine I want to ask him why. Why did he kiss me and say those things?
He's wearing a sheepish look as he hands the hoodie to me. I stare at it blankly.
"Why are you giving me this?"
"I saw you on the beach from the window and I think it’s going to rain."
"Very chivalrous."
"And this is an excuse to talk to you and apologise about last night. We should talk about it." He's wary, which doesn't match him.
I lean down and pick my sandals up. "Last night doesn't matter. Forget it."
"I didn't mean to upset you. I was upset about something and that kind of took over."
"Really?" I ask sarcastically.
Since I woke, I've debated packing and leaving. I'm not sure I want to involve myself in dramas with this person, but the fantasist inside wants to stay.
"I shouldn't have said the stuff. About sex," he continues.
Oh, God, don't talk about sex again, not when you're standing there in all your Dylan glory.
"You mean fucking? That's what summer crushes do, right?"
He winces. "Not always. I never did, mostly because I was too scared to ask."
His admission disarms me. This guy? Too scared to ask? I bet that hasn't happened for a long while.
"Don't tell me—you were a spotty teen boy who didn't know how to talk to girls?"
Tensions ebbs away as he laughs. "No, I was too polite."
"Right...of course, because you weren't ruled by your hormones like every other teenage boy?"
"I'm not saying I didn't doanything, just not all the way."
"I bet you've made up for that since, with all these girls you fuck."
He closes his eyes. "Okay, I said I’m sorry about last night."
"I came for a walk to be alone," I tell him, but take his jacket and shrug it on. The scent immediately triggers memories of last night.
A second drop of rain hits my nose and I glance up. The darker sky rolls in. Great.
