I can’t stop shaking.
Before I realise what I’m doing, I’m up and running. Fuelled by panic, I run faster than I ever have on the rugby field, sprinting across the lawn and into the safety of the trees. I need to get away. When I hit the beach, I keep going. I scarcely know where I’m headed, don’t much care. Everything is too bright; blades of sunshine bounce off the sand, the surface of the water, stabbing at my eyes until I’m half blinded. My breath comes in ragged gasps. I can’t breathe. It’s as though my lungs have shrunk, making it impossible to draw in enough air. Still, I keep going. Mustn’t stop. Mustn’t think. It’ll all be fine so long as I don’t think.
My foot connects with something, a rock partially submerged in the sand. I go down hard, falling to my knees. The impact jars along my thighs. I don’t get up again. What’s the point? There’s no running from what just happened. Christ, what did just happen? I bury my face in my hands, eyes screwed shut, willing the reality away.
Immediately I’m back by the pool, Theo’s body thrusting me into the grass, his tongue in my mouth. And I’d wanted him. Fuck, I’d wanted him more than I can remember wanting anyone in my life.
“Are you really surprised?” A voice, soft but insistent, whispers in my ear. “You honestly never saw this coming?”
My mind presents an image of Max, muscular legs caked with mud and sweat, eyes bright and triumphant. I groan against my palms, fingers digging into my eyelids. Steel ropes have my chest in a strangle hold. I drag in a breath, try to calm down, because what does it matter? What does any of it matter?
The connection I shared with Theo from my first evening here, all the complicit smiles and soul-baring, the fact that my attraction to him goes beyond anything I’ve ever experienced…it’s all irrelevant. Despite that kiss, Theo wants nothing to do with me. His coldness over the past couple of days has told me that loud and clear. The question is: where does that leave me?
***
By the time I’ve composed myself and trudged back to the cottage, the others are finishing breakfast on the patio.
“There you are.” Zara’s face brightens, and she pulls out a chair for me.
I collapse into it, careful not to look at Theo. For his part, he keeps his head down, staring into his mug.
“Where were you?” Zara asks. “We were starting to worry.”
“Walking.” My voice comes out croaky, as though I’ve swallowed a beach load of sand. I clear my throat. “Woke up early, thought I’d get some air.”
For the briefest instant, Theo’s eyes skim mine. Something flickers behind his indifference. Relief? Was he worried I might throw myself into the waves like some jilted bride? More likely he was afraid I’d bring up what happened between us in front of his friends. “Hey, enjoyed the snog, Theo. Fancy doing it again sometime?” I suppress a grim smile. That would shake things up a bit, that’s for sure.
“Want some coffee?” Meredith proffers the pot. “And Theo made bacon sandwiches.”
My stomach stages its objection at the mere mention of food. “Coffee would be great. Thanks.”
I accept the mug Meredith pushes across to me with the ghost of a smile, grateful she’d done the pouring. I wouldn’t trust a pot of hot coffee in my hands right now.
“Before you graced us with your presence, Luke,” Giles drawls, “we were discussing what we should do today.”
He glowers at me, his expression even more sour than usual. I get the feeling he would have liked nothing better than for me to disappear, for my bloated corpse to be discovered washed up several miles along the coast.
“It was hardly a discussion,” Zara says. “You and Meredith decided we’re going to Clovelly. End of conversation. What’s so special about it, anyway? It’s only a village where some author just so happened to live a zillion years ago.”
“Not quite that many,” Meredith rolls her eyes, “and you must have heard of Charles Kingsley. Didn’t you ever read The Water Babies?”
“No hot vampires and not enough sex. Are we really going to waste a whole day paying homage or whatever to some long-dead author?”
“I’d like to,” Meredith says. “That book was such a big part of my childhood. Still, if you’d rather not—”
“We’re going.” Giles puts his arm around her. “It’s already decided. Of course,” he throws Zara a dirty look, “no one’s forcing you to come. You can always stay behind.”
“Maybe we will. Luke?” She lays a hand on my thigh.
I flinch; can’t help it. My every nerve is charged, sensitised, so that the merest touch sends electricity crackling through me. Confusion shadows Zara’s face.
“Sorry,” I say, meaning it. “I was miles away.”
Her smile is forgiving. “As usual. So, what do you think? Shall we take advantage of having the place to ourselves?”
She trails her fingers up my thigh. I resist the impulse to jerk away, but it’s an effort. I glance at Theo, who’s examining the dregs of his coffee with the concentration of a fortune-teller reading the tea leaves. “No, let’s go. Might be interesting.”
“If you say so,” Zara hides her disappointment well, “but you’re the one who’ll have to give my parents the tragic news when I die of boredom.”
Theo shakes his head as if to clear it, then gets up and begins stacking the plates. “Shall we get ready, then?”
His tone is light, measured. It’s as if the kiss never happened. Maybe, as far as he’s concerned, it didn’t.
The others head indoors, leaving me alone with the tangled mess of my thoughts. Coffee mug cradled between my hands, my gaze drifts to the pool, to the spot where Theo flipped my world on its head. I sit there, enveloped in a curious kind of numbness, until a movement behind me catches my attention.
“You know,” Giles drops into Zara’s vacated chair, “for a moment there, when we woke up and couldn’t find you, I thought you’d done a runner.”
I shrug, turning away. “Sorry to disappoint.”
Giles snorts. He rests his elbows on the table, cupping his chin in his hands. I can feel his eyes on me. “This thing with Zara, you do realise it won’t last.”
I swallow a mouthful of lukewarm coffee, barely listening.
“She’s toying with you,” Giles says. “You’re a novelty, the unsuitable boyfriend she can flaunt in front of her parents. It’s her way of rebelling.”
On any other day, his idea of a heart-to-heart would have been quite entertaining. Now, the words collide and meld into one another, a meaningless buzz in my ears.
Giles persists, undeterred. “You must see there’s no future in the relationship. Zara’s out of your league, and sooner or later she’s going to wise up.”
I stare into my mug, swirling the remains of my coffee, watching it slosh about like a storm-tossed sea.
“Ignore me all you want,” Giles says. “It doesn’t change the facts. Stay with Zara, and you’re going to get hurt. If I were you, I’d end it now and get it over with.”
Christ, he’s worse than a fucking bulldozer. I round on him. “And if I were you, I’d shut up before I get the wrong idea.”
His eyes narrow. “Meaning?”
“Meaning, if you don’t watch out, I’m going to think you only care so much because you want Zara for yourself.”
Giles rocks back in his chair, expression hardening. When he speaks, it’s clear he’s making an effort to keep his tone even. “Why don’t you leave? You’d be doing everyone a favour, including yourself. You don’t fit in here. You should go home.”
“Back to my own friends, you mean?” The irony of Giles echoing my words of yesterday isn’t lost on me.
“Exactly.” His smile is conciliatory. “You know it makes sense. I’m sure you’d have a much better time.”
I consider him; smug complacency oozes like treacle from his every pore. In a sudden movement, I get to my feet. “And why don’t you fuck off?”
Shock passes over Giles’s face. With a surge of vindictive triumph, I leave him sitting there and head inside.
***
Giles gets his revenge on the drive to Clovelly. He insists we go in his car, a gleaming red Audi A3 Cabriolet, even though it’s much more of a squeeze than in Theo’s Golf. His way of flaunting just how little I belong in their world. He rolls the top down, so that the slipstream blows the scent of leather and money into my face. Like I needed another reason to despise him. I fix my gaze on the window, pretending to be unaware of Theo crammed into the back seat on Zara’s other side.
Clovelly has no vehicle access—it must be one of the few settlements in the developed world that doesn’t—so we leave the Audi in the car park at the top of the village and walk. A cobbled slope, so steep it has steps carved into it at intervals, descends between rows of Hansel-and-Gretel cottages. The front doors open directly onto the footpath and barely reach my shoulder. I guess people were much shorter back then. On another day, I might have appreciated the quirkiness of this place. Not today. Today I feel weird, disconnected, like my body’s here, but my spirit has buggered off somewhere else entirely.
Theo walks ahead with Giles and Meredith, keeping his distance from me with a diligence that verges on obsessive. I try not to look at him, but every now and then I catch myself staring at his tanned thighs, the down of short hairs on the back of his neck. I remember the soft prickle of those hairs against my palm as he kissed me. Heat floods my belly. Christ, that kiss. Theo can play Mr. Indifferent all he likes, but that kiss gave him away.
“OK?” Zara loops her arm through mine. Her eyes are anxious, protective, and I know she’s picked up on my tension.
“OK.” Unable to look at her, I concentrate on absorbing our surroundings. What would it be like to live in one of these cottages, to have a never-ending trickle of tourists tramping past your window every summer?
We locate the Charles Kingsley museum in the heart of the village. Zara shows no interest in going inside, so we arrange to meet the others at the harbour and continue the descent. Neither of us says much. Zara takes my hand, interlacing our fingers, and I have to resist the impulse to pull away.
By the time we reach the foot of the slope, the midday heat has plastered my T-shirt to my skin. A welcoming breeze blows in off the sea, cooling the sweat on my brow. We perch on the harbour wall and look out along the quay, at the boats bobbing gently in the swell.
“Sure you’re OK?” Zara asks. “You’re very quiet.”
“I’m always quiet.” I try to smile at her.
Zara scans my face, forehead creased. “You’re not still thinking of leaving?”
I avert my eyes, staring at the scuffed toes of my trainers. Honestly, I haven’t given it a thought. Not since the kiss.
“Luke?”
“No.” I rub the bridge of my nose. “I’m staying for now.” I have to, at least till I’ve had it out with Theo. He can’t kiss me like that, can’t throw my life into chaos, without some kind of explanation. He owes me that much.
The others join us a while later, Meredith buoyed up with enthusiasm. “You two should’ve come in. It was really interesting.”
“Whatever.” Zara hops down from the wall. “Can we eat? I’m starving.”
We order sandwiches and a cream tea at the Red Lion, a hotel overlooking the quay. The tables are crowded with tourists, parents coaxing their kids with ice creams before dragging them back up the slope. I pick at a scone, forcing it down with several cups of tea. It churns unpleasantly in my stomach.
“I read about this place in the guidebook.” Meredith spreads strawberry jam on a scone. “It used to be three cider houses, apparently, where the fisherman would meet up to boast about their catches.”
“And their mistresses,” Zara says.
“That, too. And of course Salvation Yeo from Charles Kingsley’s book Westward Ho! was born here.”
Zara snorts, almost spitting out her mouthful of tea. “What sort of name is that? Bet his mates called him Sally for short.”
***
After dinner that evening, when we’re all languid with food and too much alcohol, Zara disappears inside. She re-emerges a minute or so later, waving a book at us. “Hey, Theo, do you remember the party we had at mine a couple of years back? Ollie’s boyfriend, the one who worked at Bar Basco, mixed cocktails for everyone until half of them passed out on the floor.”
“I’m hardly likely to forget, am I?” Theo grimaces. “Your parents trusted me to look after you while they were away. I thought they were going to kill me when they came back and found the house trashed.”
“Don’t exaggerate. It was only a bit of puke on the carpet.” Zara drops into her chair besides mine and flips through the book she brought with her. “So, what shall we try? A Goodnight Kiss? Sex on the Beach?” She winks at me, pressing her thigh against mine.
“Get a room.” Giles leans over to scan the page. “Look, here’s one for Theo.” He adopts a Texas twang. “A Piece of Ass.”
Theo rolls his eyes and gets to his feet. “I’ll see what we’ve got and surprise you.”
Once he’s gone inside, the others take turns leafing through the cocktail recipes, seeing who can spot the ones with the most obscene names—Liquid Viagra, Slippery Nipple, Cock Sucking Cowboy.
I’m jittery, on edge. My leg bounces as if to a beat only it can hear, and I keep darting glances towards the kitchen. This is it, my chance to get Theo on his own. I stand, heart pounding like a sledgehammer against my ribs. In my clumsiness, I knock my chair to the patio with a crash.
“Where’re you off to?” Zara asks.
I bend to right the chair, heat burning like red-ant bites over my skin. I can hardly think straight. “I, uh, thought I’d see if Theo needs a hand.”
“Adios, motherfucker,” Giles says.
“Giles!” Zara and Meredith’s shocked voices follow me up the terrace steps and into the cottage.
“What? It’s a cocktail. Here, look if you don’t believe me.”
I slide the glass door shut, muffling the conversation.
Theo shoots me a look, then goes back to arranging glasses on a tray beside a jug of something dark. “It’s OK. I was just about to bring these out.”
I swallow against the dryness in my throat. “We need to talk.”
No response.
Slowly, as though wading through deep sand, I cross the room until I’m standing right behind him. He grips the edge of the worktop.
“Theo?”
Still nothing. Only the convulsive tightening of his fingers shows he even heard me.
“Theo,” my voice cracks, “don’t do this.”
Theo sucks in a breath. When he replies, his tone is even. “Do what?”
“This. Shutting me out.”
“I’m—”
“And don’t say you’re not, because we both know that isn’t true.” I’m aware of my voice rising, and lower it with an effort. “Just…don’t.”
Theo exhales in a long sigh. He turns to me, his expression distant but not unkind. I wish he’d glare at me, shout, whatever. Anything to show he gives a damn.
“Luke, I’m sorry about this morning. It was a mistake. If you got the wrong impression—”
“The wrong impression? You kissed me. What impression was that supposed to give me?”
He casts a nervous glance at the window.
“What’s wrong, Theo? Worried Giles might hear? I don’t blame you. He’d probably make you bathe in disinfectant for a year if he knew you’d kissed scum like me.” Theo starts to protest, but I shake my head. “You know what? Forget it. So sorry I embarrassed you.”
I need to get out of here. Humiliation, hot and clammy, coils like tar through my veins. Still, what did I expect? Theo’s made it perfectly clear how he sees me, that he thinks I’m beneath him. I grab for the nearest glass, intending to pour myself a liver full of whatever’s in that jug, but my hand shakes so much it slips through my fingers. Glass collides with oak in a minor explosion, glittering fragments flying.
“Shit.” I drop to my knees, begin picking up the larger pieces. I fumble, a jagged shard slicing my palm. “Shit.”
“Luke?” Theo crouches beside me.
“I’m fine.” I turn away from the phony concern in his eyes, fist clenched around the cut to hide it from view. Blood trickles through my fingers and onto my jeans. The pain is almost a relief.
“Let me see.” Theo holds out his hand, but I jerk away.
“I said I’m fine.”
He ignores me. With gentle firmness, he takes hold of my wrist, uncurling my fingers to examine the wound. My body stills. I scarcely breathe. Every nerve ending, every particle of my being is aware of him, the pressure of his fingers on my wrist, his warm palm supporting the back of my hand.
“What’s going on?”
Zara’s voice filters through to me from a long way off. In slow motion, I twist my head to find her framed against the evening sky.
As though it’s the most natural thing in the world, Theo lays my hand in my lap and stands, motioning to her. “Whoa, blood alert.”
“Oh.” Zara pales. “We heard something break. Are you OK?” Her gaze seeks mine, expression concerned. She keeps her eyes on my face, averted from the blood.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
“He’s fine,” Theo says. He lifts the tray from the worktop and carries it over to Zara. “Here, get started on these while I patch Luke up.”
He nudges the door to and reaches down to take my uninjured hand. I’m beyond resisting. I let him help me to my feet and steady me as my legs threaten to give way. He lowers me into a chair at the table and tears off a square of kitchen roll, which he wads up and presses against my cut, folding my fingers over it.
“Just hold that there. I’ll clear up the glass.”
“I should do that. It was my fault.” My tongue feels too big in my mouth, and the words emerge indistinct.
Theo shakes his head, glancing at my hand with a faint smile, and turns to rummage in the cupboard under the sink.
I stay where I’ve been put, watching Theo sweep the broken glass into a dustpan. The quiet wraps itself around me. Voices waft in from the patio, muted and indecipherable, snatches of dialogue from another planet. A clock I’ve barely noticed before ticks from the wall behind me. If not for its hands counting off the seconds, I could have been fooled into believing time had halted, waiting. I picture myself perched on the edge of a cliff, unsure whether I’m about to step back from the precipice or fling myself forward into the unknown.
Glass dealt with, Theo returns to me with the first-aid box. He turns his chair so that he’s sitting at right angles to me, his knee a whisper from mine. “Let me see.”
This time, I don’t even pretend to object. Theo takes my hand in his, peeling the kitchen roll aside to inspect the cut. “I think you’ll live.”
Will I? It seems to me I’ll die if he lets go of my hand, and die if he doesn’t.
He does let go, but only for a moment to rummage in the first-aid kit. Then he’s back to cradling my hand in his, while he smoothes a plaster over the cut. It’s the lightest of touches, a mere brush of fingers against my palm, but it sends all the blood to my groin. I bite my lip on a gasp. I’m trembling, or perhaps it’s Theo. Impossible to tell.
He should have released me by now, but he hasn’t. His thumb keeps rubbing my palm, although the plaster must be well and truly stuck. Has he any idea what he’s doing to me? I look at him, and he returns my gaze, his expression softer than it’s been since that night, the night of whisky and confidences.
“Theo?” It’s all I can croak out, but it’s enough. I’ve never begged in my life, never needed to. It’s always been the other way around, girls chasing after me, doing the running. All I had to do was stand still and wait for them to catch up. It’s only now that I realise the power they were giving me, the power I’ve just handed over to Theo.
He knows what I’m asking; it’s obvious in the way his eyes flicker to my mouth. I moisten my lips with my tongue. Theo leans in, and I sway towards him. He’s so close his breath mingles with mine.
In a sudden decisive movement, he drops my hand and gets up, stepping away from the table. “I’m sorry.”
I don’t know what I expected. I’m here with Zara, Theo’s cousin. I was wrong to ask, just as he would’ve been wrong to give in. All the same, his rejection punches me in the gut. The air whooshes out of me. I can feel my face hardening, shutting down. I let him see my vulnerability—Christ, I practically threw myself at him—and he chucked it back at me like it meant nothing.
I push my chair back, heading for the door to the hall. When I speak, I’m amazed how composed I sound. “No problem. Sorry if I…how did you put it? Got the wrong impression.”
“No.” Theo puts out a hand, then lets it fall to his side. “Don’t apologise. It was—”
“A mistake. Yeah, you said.” Without looking at him, I escape from the kitchen and up the stairs before I can humiliate myself any further.
* * * * *