I’m mortified as soon as the shock of bursting into tears in front of another person has worn off. My hands are at my face, as though I can mask the tears, but I hear Tom shift beside me, his deckchair creaking as he shifts his weight.
‘I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have probed about your childhood. I wouldn’t have asked… God, I’m such an idiot.’
I lift my face from my palms and give a watery smile. ‘I should have warned you that my childhood was dull.’ I’m trying to be funny to lift the mood and deflect my embarrassment, but it doesn’t even work on me, let alone Tom, and I start to snivel again.
What is wrong with me? I never cry in public – not even in front of Alice – and here I am blubbering like a baby. It’s hardly the image of the strong, independent woman I claim to be. I used to watch my mum cry over her latest lost love and I’d feel anger rather than sympathy towards her. For being weak. For allowing another human being to control her emotions when they weren’t even around any more. It would bubble up inside me, and I’d want to shake her and tell her to get a grip, to show strength instead of vulnerability. And yet here I am, doing the same.
‘Hey, it’s okay.’ I jump back as Tom places a gentle hand on my shoulder. I don’t want him to touch me or show compassion. I don’t want him to acknowledge my tears (and probably snot if I don’t pull myself together). I need him to make a joke, to laugh and pretend I haven’t made a fool of myself.
‘Sorry.’ Tom holds his hands up, to show he isn’t a threat.
‘No, it’s fine.’ I pull my sleeve over my hand so I can mop my face. ‘I’m sorry. I’m being silly.’
‘Getting upset isn’t being silly,’ Tom says, but I snort. Isn’t it? It doesn’t achieve anything, unless you want people to think you’re feeble. ‘You’ve been through a lot. It can’t have been easy, especially losing your mum.’
I didn’t lose my mum. I didn’t misplace her. She chose to leave me, just like she chose the drugs and the men over me time after time. I wasn’t important to my mum. I wasn’t enough. And I’m angry – livid – that I’ll never get to ask her if I ever was. With her gone, other people have been on the receiving end of that anger: Alice, as she tried to coax me out of my bedroom during the first few weeks, when I refused to talk to her – about Mum, about anything – and Edward. Poor Edward, who did nothing but love me. But I couldn’t love him back. How could I ever be enough for him when my own mother found me lacking? When my own father couldn’t be bothered to stick around? Edward deserved better than me, so I let him go. It hurt, obviously, but the pain simply merged with the pain of everything that went before. And he’s happy now, according to his Facebook updates, which I occasionally have the tiniest peek at.
‘You’re shivering.’ Tom places a hand on my arm, his fingers barely touching me. ‘Let’s get you inside. We’ll get you a drink, something to warm you up.’
I look up as the sky fills with bright pink sparkles. ‘I want to stay out here. I want to watch the fireworks.’
So that’s what we do. Tom removes his jacket, despite my protests, and drapes it over my shoulders when even the blanket can’t warm me. His arm remains across my back, his hand resting on my shoulder, as we watch the sky light up, and I allow it to remain there. At some point, I rest my head against his chest, enjoying the warmth seeping through his T-shirt, the solid, reassuring beat of his heart.
The fireworks are spectacular. So vibrant and glittering against the dark sky, their shrieks and crackles and booms filling the field around us. I don’t want it to end, but of course it does, and Tom stands up, wiping down his jeans where he’s been kneeling beside me on the ground, scrubbing at the two damp patches at the knees.
‘Another hot chocolate?’ he asks, and I nod before trying to struggle out of the deckchair. But I’m trapped. The chair has swallowed me whole. My arms and legs are flailing as I try to gather the momentum to tip me out of the bloody thing. With all those chairs inside the castle, whose genius idea was it to provide the most difficult, frustrating seating known to man?
‘Would you like some help?’ Tom holds out a hand and I take it, smiling my gratitude as he hauls me up onto my feet. But he’s pulled me with a bit too much force and I’m propelled forward, slap bang into his chest. Tom staggers ever so slightly before managing to right us both, his hands firm on my shoulders.
‘Sorry,’ I say, but we’re both giggling.
‘My fault entirely.’ Tom is still holding me by the shoulders, and though his grasp has loosened now I’m steady on my feet. I’m waiting for the instinct to bat his hands away to take over, but it doesn’t materialise. ‘Shall we go and get that hot chocolate now?’
‘Yes.’ I nod, but neither of us moves. Tom’s hands are still on my shoulders, as though he’s accidentally superglued himself to me but is too embarrassed to confess his predicament. And then his hands are on the move, but they aren’t lifting off my body. They’re gliding, ever so slowly, across my shoulders and to the back of my neck, and then they’re in my hair and Tom’s face is inching closer to mine. This is usually the part where I take a step back, make my excuses and run like the flipping wind, but I do none of those things. In fact, I’m up on my tiptoes, my hands reaching for Tom, pulling him closer, quicker, and we’re kissing. Right there in the field. And it is the most spectacular kiss of my life. Butterflies are erupting in my tummy like the fireworks in the sky a few moments ago, lighting up my entire body.
Blimey, I did not see this one coming.
What am I doing?
And should I stop it?
But of course I should. An image of the scan photo I found in Tom’s drawer pops into my head. The baby. Lydia. This is wrong.
My hands are on Tom’s chest, pushing gently but firmly.
‘I’m sorry – again.’ Tom closes his eyes and shakes his head. ‘That shouldn’t have happened.’
‘No.’ My fingers are on my lips, as though I can capture the remnants of magic.
‘You’re seeing Archie, and this isn’t me. I don’t kiss girls who are involved. It’s shitty. It’s unfair.’ He takes a step back, his hand combing angrily at his hair.
‘And I don’t kiss men who are engaged.’ I turn, running back towards the castle as Tom calls out my name. I need to get away, because I would – more than anything else in the world – like to kiss him again. And again. And I know it’s wrong and I feel terrible, but that’s how I feel. The safest option is to steer well clear of temptation.
‘Emily, wait.’ Tom has caught up with me – easily – and I come to a halt as he takes my arm. I tug my arm away and set off again. I can’t be near Tom right now.
‘Please listen to me.’ He’s back again, his hands on my shoulders, turning me to face him. I shake my head, my eyes refusing to look at him, because I know I’ll cave if I do. I’ve never felt this before, this insane need to be with someone, to kiss them, to touch them. To forget anything and everything but them. It’s exhilarating. Thrilling. Terrifying. And I’m greedy for more.
‘Sorry I’m late, babe.’
Tom starts. His hands snatch away from my shoulders as he stumbles away from me. I turn to see Archie striding towards us, shaking his head as he waggles his phone in the air.
‘Work, again. They can’t cope without me.’ He rolls his eyes and loops an arm around my waist. There’s the instinct to bat away the contact, the urge to squirm away. ‘Aww, did I miss the entire display?’
‘Every little bit.’ I move away from Archie and his clutching hand. ‘I was just heading back inside.’
‘Oh?’ Archie frowns as he looks from me to Tom and back again. ‘It looked like you were chatting with Tom when I came out.’
I nod, swallowing hard. ‘Just saying goodnight. I’m really tired. Going to have an early night.’
Archie leans in close. ‘Would you like me to tuck you in?’ He’s whispering, but I’m sure Tom overhears.
‘I think I should go.’ Tom reaches for me, and I feel a spark of hope. But he simply takes the jacket that is still draped over my shoulders.
‘Goodnight, Tom.’ Archie places his hand around my waist again and pulls me in close. ‘Let’s get you up to bed, babe.’
I open my mouth, but Tom is already striding off and Archie’s guiding me towards the castle.
What would I say, anyway?
I’m never very good at waking up in a new place, my mind, still foggy from sleep, trying to work out where I am, a sense of dread weighing heavy on my stomach as I figure out what will greet me when I manage to prise my eyes open fully. It happened constantly when I was growing up; was it my bed at home that I was waking up in, or the bed in the guest bedroom at Aunt Dorothy’s? Who would greet me as I crept down for breakfast: Aunt Dorothy, or one of Mum’s crusty boyfriends? The only place I’ve ever really felt safe is the bed at home, the home I share with Alice. I know what will greet me as I head down the stairs: first Carrot, winding his way around my legs, and then Alice with the offer of a cup of tea if she’s up before me. Lately Kevin has been there too, but it doesn’t bother me like the presence of Mum’s boyfriends did. He doesn’t scowl at me or scratch himself with one hand while buttering his toast with the other. Alice and Kevin are my family now, more so than Mum was ever capable of being in any capacity other than blood.
Waking up this morning, I instantly know I am not at home. The bed is too narrow, the room too dark due to the thick curtains at the castle rather than the flimsy ones at home that let too much brightness in first thing in the morning.
Ah, yes. I’m at the castle.
Last night was the bonfire and fireworks display.
Tom…
I stretch out in the small bed, keeping my eyes tightly closed to put off the moment I have to face reality.
‘Good morning, honey.’ Alice’s voice is warm and familiar, but I’ve still been dreading it. I cover my face with my hands and give my eyes a rub with my fingertips. Colours in weird and wonderful shapes are dancing in front of my eyes, but I continue kneading at my eyelids just to delay the inevitable, awkward chat we’re about to have.
‘I saw you.’ I feel Alice’s weight on the edge of my bed. ‘Getting cosy last night.’
‘Oh, God.’ I force my eyes open and wriggle up into a sitting position. ‘You did?’
‘Yep.’ Alice draws her knees up to her chest and rests her cheek on them, sighing. ‘I wish Kevin was here to feed me toasted marshmallows by the fire. I don’t think our electric fire will have quite the same romantic feel, do you?’
My heart rate has been galloping, but it starts to slow as I flop against the pillows.
Archie! She’s talking about Archie, not Tom. Dreading the prospect of being alone in my bedroom with Archie last night, I’d convinced him I’d changed my mind about sleep and wanted to enjoy the bonfire for a bit longer. An image of Archie feeding me the marshmallows I was definitely not in the mood for pops into my head and I feel a bit queasy.
‘It really wasn’t as romantic as you think.’ I swing my legs out of the bed and shove my feet into my slippers. ‘I felt a bit sick after the first one.’
‘You didn’t look sick.’ Alice purses her lips as she watches me slip my dressing gown on. ‘You looked really happy.’
I didn’t feel it, believe me.
‘It was inspiring.’
Okay, she’s gone too far now. Romantic, I sort of get if you’re observing the couple in question and don’t know one of them is practically being forced-fed the sickly treat. But inspiring? Was the woman high?
‘Seriously, Emily. You’ve been so brave these past few days, putting aside your issues and giving Archie a proper chance. You’ve inspired me to do the same.’
‘You’re going to let Archie feed you marshmallows until you want to hurl too?’
Alice rolls her eyes. ‘Funny.’ She hops off the bed. ‘I’m going to be brave, like you. After the wedding, I’m going to tell my family about Kevin, and if they don’t like it, it’s tough luck on their part. I want what Carolyn has.’ Alice holds up a finger. ‘And no, I’m not talking about Piers. I want the wedding. The babies. The whole shebang.’
‘That’s fantastic!’ I wrap my arms around Alice and give her a squeeze. It really is fantastic, but it sucks for me. I can’t exactly come clean about using Archie as a human shield from her matchmaking now I’ve given her the courage to stand up to her family, can I?