One second I’m a virgin and the next I’m not, and the sharpness lasts for the briefest time, like when you pull off a plaster before revealing new skin underneath.
I gasp.
‘Are you all right? Did I hurt you?’
Now my body feels unfamiliar. He is me and I am him and this is right.
‘You didn’t hurt me.’
‘Should I stop?’
I murmur a no because I definitely don’t want that. Joel starts to move faster, finding his rhythm, and I move against him, finding mine. In his neck, a blood vessel pulses and I think, Without me that wouldn’t have happened ever again. None of this would.
His body feels strange next to mine but also familiar. The muscles of his back are smooth under my hands but I don’t grip too hard. I don’t want to hurt him or put pressure on the implant. He shimmers in the light of the wood burner and I know this is how I will remember him when I am old and this is a distant memory. This glorious glow, rather than the grey pallor underneath my outstretched palms on Hove Lawns.
A night breeze rattles the window. The feeling that’s building up between me and him begins to grow, like another pulse circulating between us, the look of concentration on his face deepens and
I know what this is, what it’s called.
But I hadn’t expected . . .
Hadn’t realized . . .
Hadn’t guessed . . .
it
would
feel
this
incredible . . .
‘Kerry!’
His voice seems to come from somewhere a long way off. I open my eyes. I am no longer Kerry, just sensation. The noise I make doesn’t sound like me.
Joel’s eyes flicker and for a moment I remember how he looked when he wasn’t breathing.
‘Joel?’
His eyes snap open but I don’t think he’s seeing me, then he comes and all the tension goes and he kisses me and I think:
I love you, Joel Greenaway.
Instantly the thought changes to I am an idiot. That wasn’t love.
He reaches down to move a strand of damp hair away from my eyes, kisses my forehead. ‘You are not the girl I thought you were, Kerry Smith.’ He’s still slightly out of breath.
‘No. I’m not the girl I thought I was either.’
I hear Tim’s voice in my head. Biology is deceitful. Post-coital contentment is not the same as love. Oxytocin, the bonding hormone, helps couples pair up for long enough to reduce the death rate in their offspring.
I don’t care.
Joel sits up and his arm around me pulls me up too. There’s beer left in his bottle and we share it. He kisses me, gets up, fetches two more bottles, and lays them against my back, the glass deliciously cold.
‘Was everything OK for you?’ I ask, even though I know I shouldn’t because it sounds needy.
He smiles but instead of taking the piss, he says, ‘I wasn’t sure I’d ever have the nerve to do that again, but everything still seems to be in working order.’
‘I’m no expert but I’d say it is. Were you really scared?’
He seems to be about to say something but instead he hands me my beer and takes a sip from his own. ‘Nah. And as long as I can still score goals, too, it’ll be as if I never died in the first place.’
Before my own doubts about his future spoil the moment, I put down my bottle. ‘How many condoms do you have?’
Joel grins. ‘Why would you ask a question like that?’
Don’t chicken out now. Be cool. Be wild.
‘Well . . . we’re both here. I’ve been a late starter and you’ve been out of action for too long.’
‘I’m definitely back in the game tonight, but at least give me a minute to get my breath back.’ He puts down his beer and reaches over to pull me close enough to kiss. ‘Happy birthday, Kerry Smith.’
I sneak home around four thirty. When I undress, my underwear looks prissy, like it belongs to a younger girl, not the woman I am now. As I climb into bed, I’m sure I won’t sleep, but I do, deeply.
In the morning, I shower and I touch my body tentatively under the flow of water. My muscles ache in new places.
Why didn’t I slow down last night? It’s pretty extreme to go from first kiss to full sex in under an hour. I remember seeing shock cross Joel’s face before desire replaced it . . .
I’ve always wanted more adventure, but this urge to act on my desires has only begun since I saved Joel’s life. That night changed us so much. He doesn’t feel like the old Joel anymore – and I almost don’t recognize myself either.
‘Kerry, do you want a cuppa?’ my sister calls up the stairs.
I make my way down to the kitchen.
‘Not like you to start the day singing, Kerry.’
I hadn’t realized I was.
‘Young love is so adorable,’ Marilyn says. ‘Did Prince Charmless finally get into your knickers last night?’
I shake my head but can feel myself blushing.
‘Aha, did you get your hands in his?’
I’d love to tell my sister what happened, but it would be the big news around all her mates before midday. I might as well take an ad out in the Argus.
‘Some things should stay strictly between a man and a woman,’ I say.
‘Ha! I knew it!’ she says, and as she takes me in her arms to waltz around the kitchen, I smile to myself. Last night was perfect. Joel was so different to what I expected: careful and sweet and . . . well, loving, I suppose. Right up until the last moments we were together.
As I dressed before I left, I was already rationalizing it as a one-off, even as a kind of favour, him sleeping with me in exchange for me saving his life.
Except when he walked me home, we stopped on the corner and he kissed me like he really meant it and whispered, How soon can I see you again?
The answer to Joel’s question is eleven hours.
I only wait that long because the thought of leaving the house and bumping into Tim is so horrifying. After all the trouble he went to organizing my party, I don’t want to hurt his feelings.
So I stare at his bungalow and wait until he and his mum leave, her pushing the upright shopping trolley that helps her walk, on the days she’s strong enough to venture outside without her wheelchair. The second they’re out of sight, I sprint to Curlews and the security gates open before I have to buzz. Joel has been watching out for me, too.
‘Dad’s in London for a meeting,’ he calls from the doorway.
I almost have another orgasm in anticipation. I definitely have another two before we finally lie down on the sofa in his den to quench our thirst with some beer.
‘You know, I still remember the very first time I saw you,’ Joel says. I’m nestled against him, careful not to lean on his left side so I don’t put pressure on his scar or the box underneath. ‘The day we started at the Comp.’
I twist my head up to look at his face. ‘I never thought you noticed me at all.’
‘Even though I followed you home most days?’
‘Yeah, because you live here so of course you’d come through the estate . . . hang on, are you saying you stalked me, Joel Greenaway?’ Saying his name makes me tingle.
‘No. And it wasn’t love at first sight or anything –’
The word ‘love’ sends a warm wave through me. He said it wasn’t love, Kerry, get a grip.
‘– but I was in the tutor group room with Ant, and you came in with Tim trailing behind you like a puppy. You caught my eye and I knew you were . . . different.’
‘Nerdy, you mean!’
‘Not like that. You looked around like you were sizing us all up. When you got to me, your eyes seemed to see everything about me. Like you were some wise owl or something.’
I remember that day. I stood outside the classroom for ten minutes, trying to persuade Tim that it was all going to be OK, that the stories we’d heard about ‘big school’ were exaggerated, even though I was scared too.
I did walk in ahead of Tim. Joel was sitting on a desk, already the centre of attention. When he looked up at me, it freaked me out. We’d never met, but there was such a strong recognition between us. As soon as I looked away, I felt embarrassed, as though I had no right to look at someone so special, never mind think we had a connection. I understood, without question, that throughout school, he and I were going to move in different worlds.
I trace my hand along his arm, sensing the power in his muscles, despite everything that’s happened to him. ‘Twit-twoo. I’m a wise owl!’
‘Not like that.’
‘You’re making it up, Joel. If you noticed me at all, it was because you knew I was the kind of girl you’d never talk to in case it damaged your street cred.’
He pulls a face. ‘Fair point. But it was my loss.’
I close my eyes and let myself imagine what it would have been like if he had climbed off that desk and come over to me and asked my name. If we’d been friends, first loves . . .
It’s so ridiculous that it makes me giggle.
‘Worth the wait,’ Joel says and when he reaches down to kiss my forehead, I think he might mean it.
Falling in love is not what I expected it to be. Yes, it’s intense and sexy and like being on a drug that makes you want everyone to be as happy as you are. Ecstasy without the risk of a seizure in the middle of a cornfield.
But love is also farcical: I have to creep out of the house as though I’m in a Carry On film, because I don’t want to hurt Tim’s feelings. Love is frustrating. I want to be spending all my time with Joel, touching him, leaning against his chest, listening to that magical heartbeat. Instead, I am meant to be revising for my A levels. Even when I force myself to come home, I can’t focus on my work because I am replaying our time together.
Love is troublesome. Whenever we touch on what happened to Joel, I hate myself for the lies Tim and I told. One day, soon, I have to explain to Joel what really happened, that it was me who did the CPR as well as the rescue breaths. Not because I want credit, but because now we’re so close, it feels wrong to keep any secrets about the night when everything changed.
Most of all, love is scary.
Because the rational part of me knows this cannot last. Even if we stay together till I go to medical school, some other girl will pounce on him the instant I board the train to Manchester.
But for now, my brain chooses to ignore the inevitability that Joel will hurt me one day.