Once we hit the coast road, neither of us talks for a while. I stare out of the window over the bright blue sparkling water and just try to breathe.
It takes us a while to find the apartment – Positano’s roads are narrow and busy and curl back on themselves – and then even longer to find somewhere to park. We would have been fine if we were driving a car half the size of the one we’re actually driving, but eventually Luke manages to squeeze it into a parking space and we walk down some steps and then along a narrow cobbled street to Stefano’s cousin’s building.
He’s left the keys for us in a locked box in the foyer and Luke saved the access number on his phone, so it only takes a minute or so until we’ve got the keys, and we climb two flights of stone stairs to the apartment. Luke opens the door and I follow him in, switching the light on. We’re in a big living room with a kitchenette at one end and two huge windows. The curtains are pulled back, but white mesh fabric covers the windows, shading the room from the bright sunlight. I cross the room to see the view and find the balcony.
‘This is pretty cool,’ Luke says.
I look out over the ocean, at the buildings tumbling down the hillside opposite.
‘I think this is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen,’ I say. It doesn’t look real. I feel like I’m looking at a photograph.
‘I’m going to get a shower,’ Luke says. ‘Need to get rid of the smell of the car.’
He doesn’t smell – or I haven’t been close enough to smell him – but I immediately worry that I smell too and pull open one of the doors leading onto the balcony. A cool breeze immediately washes over me and I shiver. I look at Luke and I find him looking back at me, a small smile tugging at his lips.
‘What?’
‘Nothing,’ he says. ‘You look good, that’s all. The wind blowing your hair back.’ He shakes his own hair back like someone in a shampoo ad and I laugh.
‘Go and get your shower.’
Luke picks up his bag and opens the door next to the front door, which turns out to be a cupboard with a Hoover, an ironing board and all sorts of beachy stuff – pool noodles and inflatables.
‘This isn’t the bathroom,’ he says, throwing me a grin over his shoulder.
The next door along is the bedroom and it turns out the bathroom is en suite.
‘Just one bedroom,’ Luke says.
I cross the room and stand in the doorway. There’s a huge window on the left-hand wall and an equally huge double bed underneath it.
Luke opens the wardrobe at the opposite end of the room, next to the door to the bathroom, and pulls out a sort of clear plastic suitcase-shaped bag full of bedding.
‘There must be a sofa bed,’ he says.
I move out of the doorway as he carries the bag into the lounge and dumps it on the sofa.
‘I’ll sleep in there,’ he says. ‘You have the bed.’
I nod. I want to say, ‘You can stay in the bedroom with me’ but I don’t. Because I’m not sure I do want him to stay with me. I picture myself lying in the bed, Luke on the sofa bed on the other side of the wall, and my chest feels tight. I rub the heel of my hand against my sternum.
Luke passes me again on his way to the bathroom and then closes the door behind him.
I shake myself and walk over to the sink in the kitchen area at the end of the lounge, and splash cold water on my face. Luke is just the other side of the wall. In the shower. Naked. Naked and wet in the shower. I could walk into the bathroom and get in the shower with him.
Instead, I step out onto the balcony and sit down on a white metal chair with blue-and-white striped cushions. To the right I’m looking up at the buildings behind us and greenery tumbling down the rocks. Opposite there are more buildings: yellow and peach and white, with balconies covered with plants and window boxes. To the left I can see the sea. Deep blue and sparkling, contrasting with the light blue sky above. I take a deep breath and close my eyes against the sun, then take my phone out and call Mum.
When Luke comes out of the bedroom he’s dry and dressed in a white T-shirt and black Adidas shorts with those bright lime-green trainers again. His hair is wet and pushed back off his face and I want to lick him. He sits down opposite me on the balcony, looks over at the view and then smiles at me.
‘This isn’t so bad.’
I smile back. ‘No. It’s pretty good.’
‘Are we just going to wait for Leonie to get in touch again or …’
‘Not your style?’ Luke says, but he’s smiling. He knows it’s not.
‘I’m not great at confrontation,’ I say.
‘I’m getting the impression both your sisters have got that covered.’
I nod. And then I realise that he’s absolutely right. Leonie and Elyse are both much better at it. I wonder why it skipped me.
‘You’re the peacemaker,’ he says, as if he read my mind. And then I remember Elyse saying the same thing.
‘Apparently,’ I say.
We sit in silence for a little while, both of us looking out over the view, me constantly checking my phone in case there’s another message from Leonie. A sea-gull flies past, squawking wildly and we both laugh.
I look over at Luke and find he’s staring back at me, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.
‘What?’ My stomach is already fluttering in anticipation. Plus, he looks really hot.
‘When we get to Liverpool,’ he says. ‘Do you think maybe we could go out?’
I look past him at the sea and take a deep breath. The sea-gull – or, most likely, a different sea-gull – flies past again. I look back at Luke.
‘I haven’t sent my acceptance back,’ I say. ‘I told Mum I had, but it’s in my bag.’
Luke doesn’t say anything and I stay quiet for a while and then say, ‘What?’
‘But you’re going to,’ he says.
‘I don’t know. Elyse says I have to.’
‘Well, you don’t have to. But you should.’
‘I know,’ I say. ‘I will. When we get home. Maybe.’
I poke my bare toes between the balcony railings, feeling the roughness of the paint on my skin. ‘Or …’
‘Or?’ he says, sitting up straighter and leaning his forearms on the table.
Without looking, I can tell he’s looking at me. I think he’s smiling. I don’t look to confirm it because I don’t want to lose my nerve.
‘Or maybe we could go out here.’
‘Here?’
‘Yes. Maybe … now?’
‘Now,’ Luke says.
He stands up, pushing his chair back and holding his hand out to me. I think about getting changed. I’m wearing a sundress and flip-flops, but I just want to go, so I don’t even look in the mirror as we cross the living room.
I let Luke steer me out of the apartment and then I let go of his hand to follow him down the stairs.
‘Wait here,’ he says in the foyer.
I lean against the post boxes and watch him go out of the main door into the street.
He walks away, out of sight, and for a second my stomach clenches – is he leaving? But then he’s walking back in front of the window again, coming in through the main door and smiling at me.
‘Hi,’ he says.
‘Hi.’ I smile back.
‘I thought I should come and pick you up properly. You know, like a gentleman.’
I laugh. ‘Good thinking.’
‘You look beautiful,’ he says. And my cheeks heat, my stomach fluttering.
He takes my hand again and this time we head out into the street together.
‘Where are we going?’ I ask, when he turns right at the end of the road rather than left towards the beach as I expected.
‘Little place I know,’ he says.
‘How?’
He grins at me. ‘Google.’
We walk up the hill, my feet skidding slightly on the cobbles, but Luke keeps hold of my hand. At the end of the road there’s a small taverna: white with pink bougainvillea tumbling over the front wall, fairy lights twinkling in the large windows. I follow Luke inside, through the restaurant and out onto a small terrace with a trellis like the one at San Georgio and a view down to the bay.
We sit at a table in the corner and I smile at Luke.
‘Not bad for a first date,’ he says.
‘Not bad at all,’ I agree. ‘You still have to charm me though.’
‘Why do I have to charm you? You should charm me – you asked me out!’
‘Hmm,’ I say. I reach out and take the dark pink rose out of the stem vase in the middle of the table. ‘For you,’ I say.
He grins at me, takes the flower and tucks it behind his ear. Just then, the waiter comes out and puts two glasses of water on the table before doing a double-take at Luke. But instead of making a snide comment, as I’d expect at home, he kisses the tips of his fingers and says, ‘Bella!’
Luke and I both laugh. The waiter leaves drinks menus and goes back inside.
‘It actually really suits you,’ I tell Luke. And it does – the deep pink of the rose suits his skin and makes his eyes look brighter. ‘It’s annoying.’
Luke just grins at me then reaches across the table and tangles his fingers with mine.
‘This was a good idea,’ he says.
‘I think I’m going to go,’ I say, after the waiter’s taken our drinks order.
‘Now?’ Luke says.
I laugh. And then take a deep breath. ‘No, I mean … to Liverpool.’
‘Yes!’ he says, doing an air punch.
I laugh. I like it when he’s dorky.
‘What changed your mind?’
I look down at my hands. ‘Just that … I should give it a try. I shouldn’t not go just because I’m scared. If I hate it I can just go home. But if I don’t go, I’ll never know.’
‘Sounds sensible,’ he says.
‘I’m still worried that I’m doing it for my dad, not for me. Because he wanted it for me and I didn’t – I don’t – want to disappoint him. I don’t want to let him down. But I don’t want to let myself down either. And that’s not a good enough reason not to go. Does that make any sense?’
He nods. ‘Of course.’
‘I feel like …’ I turn my glass around in my hands. ‘I feel like I’ve sort of lost myself.’ I take a breath. ‘You know those buildings in Rome – I saw one when we set off to come here, I’m sure you’ve seen them – they’ve got scaffolding up but covered with a picture of what the building looked like before? That’s sort of how I feel. Like what happened with Dad sort of … demolished me. And I’ve had this picture up, so I look the same or similar and most people can’t tell, but underneath it I’m … a wreck.’
Luke is looking at me intently, his pupils dark, but also gently. ‘You know,’ he says. ‘They put those things up when they’re repairing or renovating the buildings. So when they take them down, the building’s still there underneath, but even better than it was before.’
I shake my head.
‘You’re still in there, Mil. You’re just repairing. And that’s okay.’
‘But …’ I say, my voice quivering. ‘I don’t know how long I need to keep it up.’
‘As long as you need to,’ Luke says. ‘And behind there, you’re getting stronger all the time.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Cos there’s, like, thirty men in hard hats working away …’
I laugh. ‘Oh god. Okay, I think we’ve taken this analogy as far as it can go.’
‘Ah,’ Luke says, grinning. ‘It’s an analogy? Not a fucking metaphor?’
‘Definitely not a fucking metaphor.’
I run my thumb along the edge of his hand, pushing my fingers between his fingers.
‘So tell me more about these men with hard hats …’ I say, raising one eyebrow.
He brushes the back of my hand with his thumb. ‘I’ve noticed that you like to have something to hold onto.’
I open my mouth and close it again. No one’s noticed that. Not my mum, not my sisters, no one.
‘I noticed it when we were in the kitchen the other morning with Toby,’ Luke says. ‘You were holding onto the table and your knuckles were white. So then I started looking out for it.’
‘I do it all the time,’ I say, looking down at our hands. His thumb is still gently brushing over my skin.
‘Did you do psychology GCSE?’ he asks.
I look up at him. ‘No.’
‘I read this thing – I can’t remember exactly what it was – but it was about children with developmental issues learning to walk and being insecure about it. And the therapists had them walk across a room holding onto a thick rope and then they gradually made the rope thinner and thinner until it was just a really fine thread. If they’d fallen the thread would’ve snapped, but they were holding it and so it was reassuring to them.’
‘I totally understand that,’ I say.
‘And there was this other thing about babies, about how you can hang them on the washing line?’
A laugh bursts out of me. ‘I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to do that.’
‘I know, right? But apparently their grip is so strong that you could put the washing line in their hands, let go and they’d just dangle there. But if you put their thumbs in their hands they think they’re already holding onto something and so if you tried to hang them on the washing line then they’d just …’
‘Fall on the floor?’ I say.
He laughs. ‘Yeah.’
‘Remind me not to let you look after any babies,’ I say and then, inevitably, I blush.
He grins and then turns serious again. ‘It’s since your dad died, right?’
I nod. I used to do it before. Sometimes, if I was upset. But it’s since Dad that I do it all the time.
‘I think it’s natural, you know?’
‘I don’t know. I read a bereavement book that said this kind of thing is natural immediately after, but it’s been a year and I don’t seem to be getting any better.’
‘But with your dad it was so sudden. I think that probably makes a difference.’ He pushes his hair back from his face and I feel guilty because for a moment I’m not thinking about my dad, I’m thinking about kissing Luke’s neck.
‘Maybe,’ I say, trying to focus. ‘At first, right after he died, it was much worse. I kept getting dizzy spells and thinking the ground was rushing up towards me. That’s when I started holding onto stuff. Now I just … I think I want to be normal again.’
He shakes his head. ‘No such thing.’
‘No. I suppose not.’
‘But maybe if you try holding on with one hand and maybe holding your thumb with the other hand? See if that helps at all?’
‘I just feel like …’ I know what I want to say, but I don’t know if I really should say it. He’s going to think I’m completely crazy. Although I suppose he doesn’t exactly think I’m sane now. ‘I feel like I could float away. Like a balloon.’
He looks at me and I can hear my heartbeat. I’ve no idea what he’s thinking. I wonder if he’s going to just get up and go. But then he says, ‘I don’t think you’re going anywhere, Milly.’
After we’ve eaten, we walk down to the promenade and onto the beach. The sand isn’t really sand; it’s sort of gravelly and pebbly, and I have to keep shaking my feet to get it out of my flip-flops. We walk towards the water’s edge, skirting around a row of bright yellow pedalos.
I take my flip-flops off and let the cool water wash over my feet. Luke bends down and picks something up, then hands it to me.
It’s a pebble, smooth and round and warm from the sun. I brush my thumb over it.
‘Turn it over,’ Luke says.
The other side is pale green with white around the edges. It’s smoother and cooler.
‘What is this?’ I ask Luke.
‘A piece of pottery, I think,’ he says, bending again before dropping another piece into my hand.
This piece is darker, almost terracotta, and long and thin. The glazed side is pink with black stripes.
‘This is amazing,’ I say. ‘Do you think these are from, like, ancient pottery?’
Luke shakes his head and drops another piece into my hand. It’s white with an orange and blue pattern that looks like a fishtail.
‘Where are they from?’ I say again.
‘No idea,’ Luke says. ‘Pretty cool though, right?’
‘I just … I want to know where they came from and how old they are.’
Luke shrugs. ‘I guess they could be from ancient pottery. Pottery of yore.’ He grins at me.
‘Stop taking the piss,’ I say. ‘This is so cool.’
‘You know pebbles come from bigger rocks, right?’
‘Shut up,’ I say.
‘Wait till I tell you about sand. I saw it on Tumblr. It’s going to blow your mind.’
‘Shut up,’ I say again. I can’t stop smiling.
‘Shut me up,’ he says.
I feel like something is cracking open inside me. I reach up and brush my thumb along his bottom lip and he stares down at me, his eyes wide. I look at his mouth again.
‘Milly,’ he says, his voice low.
‘Do you …’ I start to say. My voice cracks and I force myself to breathe. ‘Do you want to kiss me?’
‘God,’ he says and laughs. ‘I always want to kiss you.’
‘Okay,’ I say. I slide my hand down to his jaw and then his neck. His skin is warm and soft and I can feel muscles moving under my fingers.
He leans down until his lips are just millimetres away from mine. I can feel his breath.
‘Yeah?’ he says.
‘Please.’
He closes the gap and presses his lips to mine and I feel like I’m filled with light. It’s nothing like kissing Carlo. Or Jake. Or even Luke last time. Before, it felt like too much. But this feels exactly right. This feels like what I’ve been waiting for, what all the wanting was building up to.
His tongue licks across my bottom lip and I shudder, pulling away.
‘Sorry,’ he says again. ‘No pressure.’
‘No,’ I whisper. ‘It’s good.’ I slide my hand around the back of his neck, my fingers catching under his hair, as I open my mouth and lick a little at his lower lip.
He makes a sound close to a whimper and I pull back, widening my eyes at him.
‘So that was embarrassing,’ he says, but he’s smiling. ‘I mean, the flower was one thing, but now you’ve got me making sounds in a public place, so I’m going to have to ask you to desist.’
‘Oh god,’ I say, dropping my head and laughing.
I feel his hands on my face, his thumbs sliding behind my ears. He tips my head up to look at him.
‘Let’s go back to the apartment, yeah?’
I look down at his lips and then I nod. ‘Yes, please.’