‘Jesus. Not at all,’ he says. ‘I don’t care who bought them or when – it’s what’s underneath that’s piqued my interest.’
It’s pleasing when people say things like that, however hard it is to believe them.
‘Have you changed your mind?’ He has his hands in his pockets, looking at me across the bed.
‘I don’t think so.’ I don’t know what to do with my hands, or what I should be doing in general. ‘I’ve kind of forgotten how this works.’ I feel like the light’s all wrong, so I pull the curtains, and then it’s dark. Too dark? The dressing-table mirror glimmers, reflecting light from down the hallway. Edward is a dark figure, large and shadowy. God, this is difficult.
‘Candles,’ I say, ‘that’s what… Hang on.’ I rummage in the drawer of the bedside table. I’m sure there are – yes. Tealights. And matches. I light one with an unsteady hand. The softer light makes me feel better.
Edward takes his jumper off and lays it over the chair. We stand and look at each other. Taking your clothes off in front of someone for the first time is always difficult. The idea that shortly he’ll be naked, in my bed, is hard to imagine. Shit. It’s exciting but also scary.
I climb into bed. Still in my pyjamas, which are sort of protective. I’ve got my socks on as well – he’ll need to be keen.
‘Candles are good,’ he says. He begins to unbutton his shirt and I pull the duvet up to my nose so he can’t see me grinning.
‘Flattering,’ I agree. ‘Which is a bonus. Um. This is weird. Is it weird? And worse than weird, is it horribly predictable?’
He laughs. ‘Some people will think so.’
‘I hate being predictable.’
He slides into bed and leans to kiss me. I don’t think I could ever get bored of kissing him. I suppose I’d forgotten what it’s like, kissing someone. Kissing someone when it’s all still new and thrilling.
He pulls away eventually and we stare at each other. It’s different, knowing you can look at someone as much as you like, none of that careful politeness of the outside world. When you’re this close, you can really see someone’s skin, and the lines on their face, and their stubble. He doesn’t shave every day, and his beard grows through much greyer than his hair. The skin on his cheeks above the stubble is smooth, and he’s still tanned from the summer. He always looks quite rumpled, uninterested in his appearance to some degree. I imagine he scrubs up well though, because he’s got good bones. And those eyebrows. I put my finger on one, following the way the hair grows, touching the lines between them, his frown lines.
‘There were lots of men in paintings at Hollinshaw with these,’ I say.
‘Ah yes, the Maltravers brow.’
‘Some of them looked a lot like you, your ancestors.’
‘Poor bastards.’
I snort. ‘Yeah right. Because firstly, being hideous doesn’t matter when you’re rich, and secondly, you’re not hideous are you?’
‘I’ve got a gloomy sort of face, I always think.’
‘No, you’re just a gloomy sort of person.’
‘I am not.’
‘Well, cross then.’ I grin at him. ‘You know what you were saying earlier, about when we went to the Shed. I remember thinking maybe that’s what you’re really like, how you were that day. The real you. Not so grumpy.’
‘I am not grumpy.’ He moves his hand under the covers, warm on my hip.
‘You’re not grumpy at the moment,’ I agree. ‘It makes a nice change. I mean you were terribly grumpy when you got here. And I assume since last week.’
He looks away. ‘Yes, that’s fair. I was – I got myself into a bit of a state.’
‘You could have just talked to me about it. Why on earth didn’t you?’
‘I didn’t think I could. I didn’t think… Well, bloody hell. I’d never have believed I’d ever be here, in your bed.’
‘No, it is quite unexpected, I think.’
‘I’m pleased though,’ he says, ‘it’s much better than being upset and by myself.’
‘No one wants that.’
‘No. So. What do you want?’
‘I don’t know.’
I think I’m afraid. Not of him, no – of this, of the potential of this moment. I don’t know what shows on my face, but he frowns again, and strokes my cheek lightly with one finger.
‘If you’ve changed your mind–’
‘No, no, I just… It’s odd.’
‘Why is it odd?’
‘I’m not sure. Mostly I think it’s because I never imagined, truly imagined, that I’d ever be in bed with someone else. So that’s odd. And then I never imagined I’d be in bed with you.’ I laugh. ‘Ah. That’s a massive lie.’
‘What is?’
‘That I’ve never imagined this. I tried not to. I tried so hard not to.’
‘Oh yeah,’ he says, nodding. ‘I remember, ’cos you wouldn’t fuck me if I begged you?’
This makes me laugh a lot. ‘Ha, oh lord. Well, I might. If you really begged. Mind you, that was mean, but what you said was much worse.’
‘It was. I’m sorry. It was a horrible thing to say. I just wanted to say something awful. I didn’t want you to forgive me, so I said the worst thing I could think of.’ He takes my hand and kisses it. ‘Because I’m an arsehole, you remember.’
‘Oh yeah.’ I think for a moment and put my hand on his chest. ‘I’ve just thought of something.’
‘Always thinking, you.’
‘I am, yeah.’
‘And?’
‘Well, we can’t have sex.’
He frowns, then opens his eyes wide. ‘We can’t? That’s a blow.’
‘I know, isn’t it? I hadn’t thought about the logistics.’
He laughs. ‘The logistics? There’s a romantic phrase. What on earth do you mean?’
‘I mean I’m not… I wasn’t expecting to ever have sex again. And certainly not while I’m up here. So I’m not prepared.’
‘Prepared? Psychologically?’
I think he’s teasing me.
‘No condoms or cap or pill or anything. No contraception.’
‘Ah, yeah, fair enough. I’m not prepared either. If we were at mine, it would be okay, but I didn’t – I really didn’t – expect that this would happen.’
‘You haven’t got a useful wallet full of condoms then?’
‘Sadly not. We’ll have to improvise,’ he says. ‘But this might mean we have to stop talking. Will that be okay?’
‘I suppose so,’ I say, and then we’re kissing again.
* * *
Sometime later, Edward says, ‘So here’s an idea.’
‘Mm?’
‘We could drive into town. To the flat. There are condoms at my house.’
‘Oh yeah. You did say.’
‘And although I think we did okay without–’
‘Yeah, it was all right, wasn’t it?’
We grin at each other.
‘Not bad. Not bad at all. But you know, we could…’
‘Properly do it.’
He laughs again. ‘Yeah.’
‘I admit that’s tempting. But it’s warm in here, I don’t know if I want to get up.’
‘You don’t have to get up immediately. It’s only – what time is it?’
I turn so I can see the clock. ‘Nearly six.’
‘Hm. So we could stay here a bit longer. And then go to mine. If you wanted.’
I think for a moment. ‘Can I have my job back?’
‘Is that what this is about?’ He shakes his head. ‘Mercenary.’
I laugh. ‘Wouldn’t it be? Watch me progress my so-called career by sleeping with my boss. Soon I’ll take over the company. It’s very exciting. So?’
He looks at me long enough for me to think perhaps he’ll say no. Then he grins. ‘All right then. If you behave yourself.’
‘I’ll be extremely professional, don’t worry.’
‘Not too professional, I hope. I’m going to be flirtin
g with you pretty much constantly.’
‘Pfft. I’m not sure I’ll be able to tell that’s what you’re doing. Does it just involve you not shouting at me?’
Twenty-Three
We get dressed and drive into town. We take both cars because I don’t want to be trapped with no escape route. He looks at me seriously when I say this. I explain that I don’t think I’ll need to escape, but I just spent two days without access to my car and it was tedious. I’d prefer we drove in together, but I’m trying to be – what, sensible? I don’t feel very sensible. I can hardly concentrate on driving for thinking about what it was like in bed earlier.
I park away from the shop, by the town hall. I couldn’t tell you exactly why I do this. It means I get wet, running across the square. Luckily, he’s unlocked the door and is waiting for me. We stand in the darkness, surrounded by the books. I realize I genuinely thought I’d never be in here again. I’m full of joy to be back.
He closes the door behind me and locks it, pulling down the blind. Usually when we close the shop, I’m outside. Tonight, though, things are different. I’m not going home later – I’ll be locked in for the long haul. It’s exciting.
‘D’you know what?’ he asks.
‘Nope, what?’
‘I am incredibly, stupidly, madly, absurdly happy.’ He grabs me and whirls us round the room in a breathless and hilarious approximation of dancing. Eventually we knock over a stepladder and have to stop because we’re laughing so much. Then he kisses me.
‘I’ve never been so happy. I can’t believe it.’
My eyes fill with tears, and I’m glad it’s too dark for him to see. ‘Oh God. How lovely. If strange.’
‘Come on, let’s go upstairs. Are you hungry?’
I follow him out into the hallway, careful not to bump into the shelves beside the door. ‘I am a bit. I didn’t have any tea, for some reason…’
Climbing the stairs in the half-dark is a strange feeling. I wonder if I’ll do this often. I might. Or not. It’s all a mystery, isn’t it? You can’t know what will happen. The future stretches away into the distance, almost entirely occluded, a series of veils, some thicker than others.
I’m not sure how I feel about this, about earlier, but I recognize that sensation in my belly: lustful, hungry. I’m glad we’re going to do it again, and soon. I’m glad I don’t have to wait until next week or tomorrow to know it worked okay and that he, too, is keen to do it some more.
‘No, I didn’t have any either,’ he says. ‘Were you distracted? I know I was.’ He looks back at me. ‘Hey, I’ll be able to cook for you. I’m looking forward to that.’
I suppose it’s quite sad, the warm feeling this gives me, like he’s hugged me. ‘Are you?’
He nods. ‘Hardly ever get to cook for anyone.’
‘You need more friends.’ I disapprove of his empty life.
He shrugs at me. ‘Whatever. Anyway, there isn’t time to do anything too exciting this evening.’ We’re in the kitchen now. He flicks on the light and opens the fridge, rummaging. I lean against the wall. This is only the second time I’ve been in the flat with him here too – how strange it all is.
‘Okay, so, there’s cheese and ham and eggs. You could have a croque monsieur. Or an omelette. Or a croque madame.’
‘Oooh, I like a croque madame. Yes please. Actually, I’m starving.’
He grins at me. ‘Me too. Need to keep your strength up.’
‘Can I do anything?’
‘Put the kettle on? Or you could open some wine. There’s some in the fridge if you want white; the red’s in the dining room.’
Do I want a glass of wine? Maybe I do. Shit. Now I’m nervous again.
I open cupboards, looking for glasses. ‘You have a lot of kitchen stuff for a man who lives alone.’
‘I know, I’m a pack rat,’ he says, beginning to assemble the ingredients for our supper.
I regard the five sets of wine glasses. ‘Are these for different wines? I’m afraid I don’t know about stuff like that.’
‘It doesn’t matter – pick ones you like.’
‘Will you pity me for drinking white wine out of a red wine glass?’ I look over my shoulder at him.
He snorts. ‘Hardly.’
‘Good, I don’t wish to be pitied.’ I smile at him.
‘Yeah, I don’t pity you. Oh,’ he adds, coming closer, ‘except what’s going to happen later will be pretty awful.’
I don’t get what he means, and frown at him. ‘Why, what’s…’
He rolls his eyes. ‘You know. When you have to go to bed with me. Again.’
‘Oh! That. Yeah well, I’m terribly brave,’ I tell him, and begin to open drawers, looking for a corkscrew.
‘You are. D’you want me to do that?’
‘I can open a bottle of wine.’
‘I know. I’m just offering. To be nice, you know.’
‘I barely recognize this version of you,’ I say. We grin at each other. But then I’m serious again. I clear my throat. ‘I’m a bit worried that suddenly all my eggs are in one basket. And, like, twenty-four hours ago I didn’t even have a basket, let alone any eggs.’
‘What, when this goes tits up, you mean?’
‘I’m not saying it will.’
‘I won’t sack you.’
‘Oh right.’ I snort. ‘You so will. You sacked me once already, remember? I think’ – I lean back against the worktop and look at him – ‘you’d drop me like a shot if you felt it was awkward.’
‘No, I–’
‘Oh, come on. But maybe you’d be right to. I don’t know, if this goes pear-shaped, I probably wouldn’t want to work here. I mean, if you turn out to be a bastard.’
‘That’s not fair, you already know I’m a bastard.’
I wrinkle my nose. ‘Only sort of. You pretend to be worse than you are. Don’t you?’
‘Jesus,’ he says, ‘I think I pretend to be better, not worse. I’m afraid I have huge concealed depths of awfulness.’
We were joking before, but I feel like he’s not anymore – he believes this. I suppose he’d be insufferable if he had more self-confidence, or whatever it is that’s missing. But I think it’s sad that he thinks – or seems to think – he’s so awful.
‘I suppose I’ll have to find out about that,’ I say, ‘and see what I think.’ I laugh. ‘Don’t forget whose shoes you’re filling. Someone who stood up in front of all their friends and family and made lots of promises and massively failed to keep them.’
‘I don’t suppose I’ll ever forget whose shoes I’m filling.’ He’s serious again. ‘Someone you’ve known and loved for twenty years.’
‘Oh, well. You shouldn’t think of it like that. Really.’
‘Mm. Difficult, though. Because you love him, don’t you? Still. You miss him.’
‘It’s not quite as straightforward as that.’ I frown. ‘I’m afraid it’s more complicated than I’d choose for it to be. I don’t want to short-change you, or offer you less than you deserve.’
‘I shouldn’t think that’s possible,’ he says.
It makes my heart ache when he says things like this. And I’m not sure what to say. I put my glass down and step towards him, put my arms round his neck, stand on tiptoe to press a kiss against his cheek.
‘Don’t say that,’ I say. ‘You deserve nice things, don’t you? You deserve to have someone give you all the things you’ve never had.’
‘Do I? I’m not sure.’
‘Hey.’
He squeezes me and puts his face in my hair. ‘Mm. You always smell great,’ he says, ‘I’ve thought that before.’
We hug for a long time, standing silent in the brightly lit kitchen. Eventually he sighs.
‘You said you were hungry.’
‘I did. I am.’
‘Better get you fed then.’
* * *
I’m trying not to feel anxious. It’s hard to tell the difference between excitement and anxiety, but I’m tryi
ng not to be anxious. That would be silly. After all, we’ve done the difficult bit, which is being naked. It’s a long time since anyone but Chris has seen me naked but at least Edward didn’t run off screaming or anything. And neither did I, which is a bonus.
Is it harder to have actual sex, penetrative sex, with someone than, you know, that other stuff? Only when you’re young, surely. I find myself remembering… all kinds of things. Scenes from my life. The first time I slept with this person or that person, the first time I went into a boy’s bedroom with the intention of… I think of damp and sweaty afternoons, deep in the Christmas holidays of my final year at school, nearly but not quite sixteen, doing things with Andy Bracewell. A good choice, I felt at the time; he was nice, and although he’d been out with Rachel Palmer it seemed they hadn’t got up to much, so it was mostly as new to him as to me. We never had sex, we were much too young and nervous. But we did lots of other stuff. Some of which Edward and I repeated, this afternoon. I think of the way I felt then, and the way I feel now. It’s not dissimilar, really.
We eat our croque madames by candlelight in the kitchen. Holly Hunter has come in, wet from the rain, and crunches biscuits beside us.
‘You know,’ he says, ‘the first time we met – I know this will sound like hindsight, but even then, I thought, I don’t know. I noticed you, when you first came into the shop.’
‘Isn’t it your job to notice everyone?’
‘I don’t though. I ignore them usually.’
‘You ignored me, as I recall.’
‘Faking it,’ he says, and I laugh. ‘I liked it when you leaned on the desk to speak to me. I could tell you were amused. And then when you said who you were, I was amazed. And now I feel like…’
‘Like what?’
‘This will sound stupid,’ he says.
I grin at him, encouraging. ‘Go on?’
He sighs. ‘Well. That Andrew sent you.’
I blink at him. ‘That doesn’t seem like the sort of thing you’d think.’
‘I know, it really isn’t. I know it’s silly. But we were quite good friends. Lots of people don’t like me, but he did. He was similar to you, I think. Or you’re similar to him. I think he’d have expected us to get on. Be pleased, I hope, that we do.’
The Bookshop of Second Chances Page 26