38
I wake up without opening my eyes and lie still for a few minutes, waiting while my senses tune in to my surroundings. I know I’m not in the apartment, because the cushions below me feel squashy and unfamiliar, and I can just about make out the sound of a Spanish man shouting. I shift my head a fraction and sense rather than hear someone approach me and bend over. Lifting a tentative hand, the tips of my fingers encounter the firm thigh of someone solid, warm and unmistakably male.
‘Hannah?’
I freeze, taking back my hand as the person standing over me crouches down.
‘Are you awake?’
I open my eyes to find Tom’s face a few inches away from my own, his kind eyes regarding me with concern.
‘You fainted,’ he says. ‘Are you okay?’
I open my mouth to reply, but all that comes out is a croaking sound.
‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ he retorts, and I detect a smile in his voice.
‘Where am I?’ I manage, glancing around. I can see that I’m in a small, rectangular room. There’s a desk with a computer on it in the far corner, and two beaten-up old filing cabinets are hugging the wall next to a door.
‘The ice-cream parlour in the square,’ Tom says. ‘Well, the office behind it, to be exact.’
I hear the crash of a milk jug against the chrome body of a coffee machine, and in a flood, it all comes back to me: the conversation with Claudette, sitting down on the steps, someone catching me as I fell.
‘Who caught …?’ I begin, but stop as Tom stands up again, his knees creaking in protest.
‘Theo, of course,’ he mutters. ‘Like the big hero that he is.’
‘He’s not a hero,’ I say immediately, and again I see Tom smile.
‘He carried you in here,’ he admits, albeit begrudgingly. ‘You were mumbling all sorts of weird stuff the whole time, and then you just fell into a deep sleep. That was about an hour ago, and once we knew that you were okay, none of us had the heart to wake you.’
‘What stuff?’ I ask, shuffling myself up on my elbows so that Tom can sit down beside me. Someone had the foresight to cover me in a blanket, and I pull it up around my shoulders now, scowling at the air conditioning unit as I do so.
‘There was a lot of “I love you”s going on,’ Tom says slowly. ‘But you loving Theo is hardly news to anyone – including him.’
‘I don’t love him,’ I argue, my voice small. ‘I thought I did, but I honestly don’t.’
There’s a silence as Tom takes this in, his hand resting on my leg. It feels warm and pleasantly heavy, and I lean against him sideways with a sigh.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says then, turning his head so he can look at me. ‘I hate that we argued.’
‘I hate it too,’ I agree, letting the blanket slip down a bit.
‘Is Nancy okay?’ is his next question, and I automatically shrink away from him.
‘She will be,’ I say, reassuring myself as much as him. ‘We’ve sorted everything out, you’ll be pleased to hear.’
‘That’s great,’ he agrees, moving his hand off my leg and resting it in his lap.
‘I’m glad that you and Nancy didn’t … you know,’ I say then, and Tom takes a breath.
‘Oh?’
I nod my head up and down against the sofa cushion. ‘Nancy is still in love with her ex-boyfriend,’ I explain, telling him a half-truth. ‘She’s been trying to get over him by hooking up with other people, but it hasn’t worked.’
‘I see,’ Tom is nodding. ‘That makes sense.’
‘She didn’t mean to mess you around,’ I hurry on, keen to gauge his response. Rather than look forlorn, as I suspected he would, Tom seems lost in thought, and I pick up one of his big hands.
‘Are you upset?’ I ask. ‘About Nancy, I mean?’
He laces his fingers through mine, his thumb massaging the part of my wrist where my Indalo Man tattoo sits. ‘I know you think I’m crazy about your sister, but mostly I was just worried about her,’ he says. ‘I could tell something was going on with her that wasn’t quite right.’
‘I was jealous of the two of you,’ I whisper, making myself look at him.
He smiles. ‘I know, but you had no need to be.’
‘Am I that obvious?’ I murmur, staring at the smooth outline of his lips. I know his face so well, yet I haven’t studied it like I am now for years.
‘No,’ Tom says, not letting go of my hand. ‘But I know you, Hannah.’
He does, it’s true.
‘And?’
‘And what?’
‘Tom, I …’ There are so many ways I could end that sentence, but I never get the chance, because he chooses that moment to slide his arm around my shoulders and pull me to him, hugging me tightly to his chest. I think about the night by the apartment steps, when I was on the verge of tears over Nancy going missing and Tom had held me as he is now, with such tenderness. Then I recall just how bad I felt when I discovered that he and Nancy had kissed. At the time, I thought it was because she was stealing away my best friend, but perhaps I was jealous for a different reason entirely.
‘Claudette thinks we should get together,’ I blurt, watching his eyes for a reaction.
Tom screws up his face in amusement. ‘Really?’
‘Yep. Apparently the two of us are in love, but in denial about the fact.’
‘She said that?’
I nod. ‘Just before I fainted.’
‘Wow.’ He braves a nervous laugh. ‘So the idea was so horrible that it made you pass out. Well, there’s a compliment if I ever heard one.’
‘Oi!’ I poke him. ‘I don’t think she was joking.’
‘Claudette never jokes,’ he agrees, but his eyes are more serious again now. He feels so solid and safe next to me, so familiar and comforting – and so unlike Theo, who it was impossible to properly connect with even for a second. When I’m around Tom, I feel connected to him all the time. It’s as if the two of us have our own secret language that only we understand, and I realise now that I’ve missed it. I’ve missed him.
‘I’ve missed you,’ I admit, giving in to my thoughts, and he squeezes my hand.
‘I’ve missed you too.’
Leaning in, he kisses the top of my head, my cheek, and the tip of my nose.
‘I do love you,’ I say, for the first time since I’ve known him, even though I’ve loved him for years. It should be the easiest thing in the world to admit, but even now my limbs are burning red-hot with mortification.
Tom pulls back to study my face.
‘I love you, too, silly mare,’ he says with a chuckle, meeting my gaze.
Instead of replying, I just stare at his lips, willing them to do what I suddenly want them to do so badly that it’s making all the hairs stand up along my arms. Tom knows what I’m thinking, I can tell from the look on his face, but instead of desire I can only sense confusion.
Taking a breath, I shift around on the old leather sofa until I’m facing him.
‘Do you want me to fetch you a drink?’ he asks, his eyes straying to the closed door.
Back in Magaluf all those years ago, during that single week where I let myself believe that Tom and I could become boyfriend and girlfriend, I’d experienced lots of moments like this; moments where I imagined the very air between the two of us was bubbling with chemistry. I pictured myself kissing Tom, and him gathering me into his arms, so grateful that one of us had finally made a move. Back then I was too scared of being rejected and of ruining our friendship, and then the feelings I’d had that were so acute seemed to vanish overnight, so I put the whole thing down to a momentary lapse in brain function. Now, however, those thoughts are suddenly back, and this time I’m not scared of acting on them.
‘Are you okay?’ Tom asks now, his brow knotting as he looks at me. ‘You’ve gone very pink.’
‘Don’t you think it makes sense, you and me?’ I say, ignoring his comment about the colour of my face.
He looks at me like I’ve escaped from an asylum, but I blunder on.
‘Don’t you ever think about it?’ I whisper, and he nods slowly.
‘I suppose so – but you’re my best friend, Hannah.’
I don’t want to be like Theo, I realise. I don’t want to mistake true love for friendship and end up losing the most important person in my life. Tom has gone a strange colour now, too, but it’s more of a grey than a pink. He’s never going to kiss me, I know that, but that doesn’t mean I can’t kiss him. Taking a quick, deep breath, I lunge myself forwards and close my eyes just as my lips connect with his. At first his mouth is hard and unyielding, but then he relents and his tongue collides with mine, our kissing hard and urgent and …
Oh. Dear. God.
‘What’s the matter?’
I’ve pulled away and am staring at him in horror.
‘That was … We are …’
Tom pulls a face. ‘Terrible?’
I flop backwards until I’m sitting down again, the abandoned blanket crumpled on the sofa between us.
‘That was so wrong!’
There’s a small beat of silence, and then the two of us are laughing, him with definite relief and me with a high sort of hysteria. What the hell was I thinking? Of course Tom and I aren’t a thing. We’re friends – we always have been.
‘You really know how to flatter a guy,’ he jokes then, and I laugh even harder.
‘You must have thought I’d lost the plot!’ I cry, and he smiles.
‘You lost the plot years ago.’
‘Oi!’ I give him a light-hearted slap. ‘At least pretend to be a gentleman.’
‘Difficult when you’re throwing yourself at me,’ he quips, pulling a stupid face.
‘Oi!’ I scold again. ‘You were the one kissing my nose and cuddling me.’
‘I was just being affectionate!’ he argues. ‘God, can’t a man enjoy a hug with his best friend without being made to commit a sexual act?’
‘Hardly a sexual act,’ I scoff, and he laughs.
‘Oh, Tom,’ I groan, headbutting him lightly on the arm. ‘What are we like?’
‘Fools,’ he states, and we exchange a look that speaks volumes.
‘We would have been great together, though,’ I say sadly.
‘We would,’ he agrees. ‘You’re beautiful, Hannah, you should know that. And sometimes I wish I did fancy you as much as I love you. I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve looked at you and imagined what it could be like.’
‘You want to try kissing again?’ I ask dubiously, but he holds up a hand and laughs.
‘No, thanks – I think I’m done.’
‘You’re an idiot,’ I grin, and he winks at me.
‘Takes one to know one.’
‘We’re going to be okay, though, aren’t we?’ I ask, all of a sudden overcome with worry. Losing Tom is not something I’m prepared to do – not now, and not ever.
‘Of course we will,’ he says, pulling me back across the sofa for a proper Tom hug. ‘Now that you’ve finally stopped obsessing over Theo, you can go out and find yourself a proper boyfriend.’
I can’t imagine anything more unlikely at this moment, but I let him think that his words have comforted me.
‘And you?’ I say, snuggling up against the reassuring bulk of him.
‘Oh, you know,’ he replies, digging me in the ribs with a finger. ‘There’s bound to be a woman somewhere in the world who enjoys bad dancing and even worse kissing. I just have to find her.’
‘Good luck with that.’
‘You’ll laugh at this,’ he adds. ‘But I read this article the other day about soulmates.’
‘Ha ha!’ I joke immediately, but he cuts across me.
‘It basically said that your soulmate could be anyone. It doesn’t necessarily have to be someone that you are romantically involved with, just someone that you have a connection to which feels unbreakable and unique.’
‘That’s nice,’ I agree.
‘Like a best friend,’ he adds, and I turn to face him.
‘Like me?’
‘Yes, Hannah,’ he kisses the tip of my nose again. ‘Exactly like you.’