The Little Vintage Carousel by the Sea

by Jaimie Admans

  I should stop, I know that, but he closes his eyes again and a blissful smile crosses his face, and I just keep letting the strands of his dark hair slide through my fingers, brushing it back, enjoying the way he seems to be enjoying it.

  ‘You let that put you off for life?’ I say eventually. ‘You don’t trust anyone now?’

  ‘No. And I would never, ever make myself that vulnerable again. Love never lasts, no matter how much you think it will. When we got married, I was so in love. I thought we loved each other enough to overcome anything life threw at us. How would I ever know that I wasn’t making the same mistake again?’

  ‘Older and wiser now?’

  He laughs. ‘Definitely older, not sure about wiser. As evidenced by the fact I’m lying here in a very precarious position with you.’

  ‘Sorry.’ I pull my hand away from his hair but his eyes shoot open and he reaches up and catches it, curling his fingers around mine and lifting it to his mouth to press a kiss to them, and it’s a good job I’m lying down because my knees would’ve definitely threatened to buckle at the intensity in his eyes.

  ‘Please don’t stop,’ he murmurs against my fingers. ‘I was just trying to explain that I thought love was enough, but it wasn’t. I can’t take that risk again because it won’t be next time either.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I bite my lip. ‘Me neither.’

  ‘God, we’re a pair, aren’t we?’ He gives a thick laugh that doesn’t sound remotely genuine.

  I squeeze his fingers where his hand is still around mine, and when he lets go, I reach up and slide my fingers through his hair one more time and let them trail down and come to rest on his chest.

  ‘Do you want to really get your mum going and put it underneath my T-shirt? Or would that be crossing a line?’ He hesitates. ‘And I’ve just realised that makes me sound like a creep trying to get a free grope, and I’m really not, and if I’m having to reassure you that I’m not a creep then something has gone seriously wrong in my life and I probably am a creep. Non-creeps don’t have to tell people they aren’t creeps.’

  I dissolve into giggles at his flustered rambling. ‘Well, as subject changes go …’

  He laughs – for real this time – and the tension eases.

  ‘It’s a tough job but someone’s got to do it,’ I say, because there are really far worse places to put your hands. I lift his black T-shirt and carefully slide my hand under the hem, letting my fingers rest on his stomach, and laying my arm carefully across his lap to ensure Mum won’t miss the rare sight. I can’t remember the last time I had my hand under a man’s T-shirt, but there’s definitely been a blue moon since then. Several blue moons, probably.

  It should be weird to do something so intimate with a guy I’m not dating, but it feels ridiculously natural.

  ‘I feel like this isn’t as weird as it should be,’ he says, putting my thoughts into words.

  The thing with his warm skin underneath my fingers is that there’s a natural instinct to touch it, and I’m powerless to stop my fingertips gently brushing up and down, feeling his muscles rippling with every breath. ‘This isn’t weird at all,’ I say, and the irony makes us both laugh, the movement making my fingers slip even further across his skin.

  He stretches and exhales, letting his body relax as he melts into the sofa and lets out that sigh from deep within his chest again, the one that I’ve only ever heard as he was falling asleep last night.

  His arm tightens around me and he reaches up to tangle his fingers in my hair like he did in bed this morning, playing with the split ends that suddenly don’t seem like such a big deal in Pearlholme. Two strangers have even told me they like my hair since I got here, like it was intentional and not the best way to disguise a budget highlights disaster.

  ‘You’re making me realise how much I need to go to the gym,’ he whispers, sounding groggy.

  ‘No, you don’t. You’re perfect.’ I suddenly realise what I’ve said and go bright red. I duck my head against his chest to hide my blush, even though I’m pretty sure he’ll be able to feel the heat from my face through his T-shirt. ‘Er, I mean …’

  ‘Don’t correct yourself just yet. Let me have that for one moment. No one’s ever called me that before. Just let it linger for a bit and then correct yourself. Please.’

  He might not have a six-pack, but he’s muscular, solid, and gorgeous, and more importantly, kind and caring. I slot my hand around his ribs and give him a gentle squeeze. ‘I’m not going to correct myself. You’re perfect.’

  I can’t see his face but he can definitely feel mine burning. I’m never usually that honest about things and I’ve gone so red that probably even my fingertips are on fire and he can feel that as I go back to stroking his stomach.

  Thankfully, I hear the click-clack of Mum’s shoes on the road outside, and the rattle of wood as they undo the door.

  ‘So are you.’ He leans forward to press a kiss into my hair and quickly lies back down again.

  It’s just the adrenaline of hearing the door open, I tell myself. It doesn’t mean anything. He couldn’t have made it any clearer that he doesn’t want a relationship, and no amount of little affectionate touches changes that.

  His other arm comes up and wraps around me too, his rough fingertips resting against my upper arm in the nick of time as we hear the front door click shut and the voices of my parents in the hallway.

  Thankfully, they distract me from how much I want to kiss him as I hear Mum come to a halt in the living room doorway and the ‘oof’ as Dad barrels straight into her. You can’t think about kissing someone when every fibre of your being is focused on trying not to giggle at the ridiculousness of this situation.

  My breathing is shallow and I don’t realise I’ve forgotten to breathe through my mouth until I’m panting for breath and have to furtively part my lips without being noticed.

  His toes curl against my calf and I know he’s done exactly the same thing.

  ‘Aww,’ Mum whispers, elongating the word. There’s a soft clap as she clasps her hands together.

  I chew the inside of my cheek to stop myself laughing.

  Dad grunts as she obviously elbows him. ‘What did I tell you?’

  I can feel the shake in Nath’s chest as he tries to suppress laughter, and knowing that we’re both doing the same thing makes it even funnier.

  ‘I’ve never seen Ness so happy.’

  It surprises me because it’s Dad saying it. Mum would say anything if she thought it might lead to a grandchild, but when Dad says something, I believe him.

  ‘They’re such a lovely couple, aren’t they? They bring out the best in each other.’

  Dad murmurs his agreement, and I suddenly don’t feel like laughing anymore. I can feel the extra tension in Nathan too and the way his heartbeat has sped up underneath my ear.

  Mum shushes Dad as his footsteps go back into the hallway and I hear her pad across the living room carpet. She wouldn’t really check we actually are asleep, would she?

  All she does is turn the main light off and tiptoe back out and I feel incredibly grateful to have such lovely parents.

  We don’t move as we listen to the floorboards creak as they go upstairs and across the landing, one to the bedroom and one to the bathroom.

  After a few minutes, Nath’s fingers start drawing mindless patterns on my arm and I let mine trail up and down his ribs again.

  The floorboards are old enough that you can hear almost every step from downstairs, and we can easily make out when they cross the landing again and swap places between the bathroom and bedroom.

  When it seems relatively safe from either of them venturing back down, Nathan starts humming ‘If I Loved You’ as quietly as a breath, his mouth moving gently against my hair, as we wait until the floorboards stop creaking when they both get into bed.

  It’s probably fine to move anytime now, but neither of us do. After ‘If I Loved You’, he moves on to ‘Soliloquy’ and ‘When the Children Are Asleep’,
and I know he’s doing it for me because I love Carousel. Although if my mum catches him singing about children, being caught out in our ruse will be the least of our worries.

  And I lie there enjoying his closeness, surrounded by his body heat and the fruity aftershave that reminds me of sun-warmed driftwood on tropical beaches. I love that he’s silly enough to think this would work. I love knowing that if I was to try explaining this moment to Daph, she’d think I’d lost the plot more than when I put up a fight for Coco Pops being a legitimate breakfast for an adult, but it makes sense with him.

  Eventually, it seems stupid just to lie here. There hasn’t been a noise upstairs for ages, and even if my parents are still awake, it’s quite reasonable that we’d have woken up by now. I reluctantly peel myself away from him and sit up, pushing one of his legs down so I can get my feet back on solid carpet and regain some control of this situation.

  ‘Are you happy?’

  I glance back at him where he’s still lying against the sofa arm. ‘I guess,’ I say, because I don’t know how to tell him that I am happy but I think a large part of it is to do with him. ‘Everything seems a bit nicer in Pearlholme.’

  He makes a noise of agreement.

  ‘Are you? I know you like it here.’

  ‘I don’t ever want to leave. Camilla was saying her next booking has cancelled so I could have the cottage for longer if the job overruns, but …’ He swallows hard and trails off.

  I can tell what he’s thinking. It’s not enough. I know he hates London, and I know he’s in his element here. He wants more than an extra week or two. So do I. And I also know that Zinnia gave me three weeks and I’ve had two of them. I’m going to be on a train back to London by this time next week.

  ‘It’s getting late. We should head for bed.’

  He groans as he stretches and I watch his body arch and then collapse back against the sofa. ‘I’ll stay here.’

  I’ve still got one of his legs across my lap and I rub his navy jeans. ‘You know she’ll be down in a few hours to drag you upstairs again, don’t you? If you could give my mum an award for anything, it would be persistence.’

  ‘Are you asking me to share a bed with you, Miss Berton?’ He puts a hand on his chest and does a scandalised gasp of mock indignation.

  It makes me laugh and eases what could’ve been an awkward moment. ‘No, but the alternative is to be dragged out of bed by a surprisingly strong pensioner and bundled up there anyway, and you didn’t look like you enjoyed it much last night.’

  ‘You make a compelling argument. One that is obviously the only reason for us to share a bed.’

  I giggle. ‘Obviously.’

  ‘I don’t know why you complain about your mum’s meddling. I’ve enjoyed everything she’s meddled in so far.’ He thinks for a moment. ‘Well, maybe not the sperm-count boosting vitamin powder – that tasted like something you’d put down the plughole of a blocked sink.’

  I don’t tell him I’m thinking exactly the same thing. Well, maybe not about the sperm-boosting protein powder, but I dread the day she finds one for making ovaries more productive.

  * * *

  ‘I’m so glad you came,’ I say as I hug Mum goodbye on the doorstep the next morning.

  ‘I know, dear, quite surprising after how annoyed you were at first.’

  ‘I wasn’t—’

  ‘I’m a meddling old fogey, Ness. I know you don’t like me interfering in your life, but I just want to see you happy.’ She glances at Nathan. ‘And I don’t think you have been until recently.’

  I go to protest but she moves on to him.

  ‘Now you will come for Christmas, won’t you?’ She pinches his cheeks in a move usually reserved for people under the age of five, and he doesn’t even pull away.

  ‘Mum! It’s not even July yet!’

  ‘Yes, but he’s coming, aren’t you, pet?’ She gives him her most beseeching smile. ‘I want to book him early in case he gets a better offer.’

  ‘He’s not a children’s party clown, Mum. You can’t arrange someone’s Christmas for them—’

  ‘Oh, Marilyn, there couldn’t possibly be a better offer. I’d love to spend Christmas with you three.’

  I’m pretty sure most blokes would be terrified by my mum, but Nath just hugs her and tells her she can’t make him wait until Christmas to see her again, and she blushes and flaps a hand in front of her face as Dad hugs me goodbye and then they both get in the car.

  I don’t realise I’m crying until Nathan puts his arm around me and pulls me in to his side.

  ‘I’ve never been good at goodbyes. Sorry, I know I’m a daft sod.’ I sniffle and scrub my hands over my face, then paste on a smile and give them a wave as they pull out of the grassy verge beside the cottage and pootle off down the promenade. They toot as they go and some passing villagers wave, and I’m not sure if Mum’s made friends with them or if people are just that friendly around here. ‘Thank you for inviting them.’

  ‘I didn’t, but I don’t mind taking credit for it.’ He squeezes me again. ‘Thank you for letting me see how parents are supposed to act. It’s eye-opening.’

  I look up at him but his eyes stay firmly fixed on the retreating orange car and he doesn’t look like he’s going to expand on it.

  ‘So were you just telling her what she wants to hear? Because she will hunt you down on Christmas Eve if you don’t turn up.’

  ‘No, I’d love to.’ His arm drops away from my shoulders and he kicks at the pavement. ‘I just want an excuse to see you, Ness. I don’t want to lose touch when we get home. We live on opposite sides of London, and we’re busy. You’re always up against a deadline and I’m often away for weeks at a time. I don’t want to lose what we’ve found in Pearlholme. And I don’t want to scare you off by being too honest about it—’

  ‘I feel exactly the same way,’ I say quickly before I can chicken out.

  I feel better just knowing that he feels it too. Even though I’m not quite sure what it is. We’ve had a few near-miss kisses, but no actual kisses. He’s still steadfast about not wanting a relationship, but I can’t imagine him not being a part of my life from now on, even if that’s all it is.

  His eyes are lighter than usual, reflecting the grey stone under our feet, and his gaze is intense as he looks up from the pavement and a smile spreads slowly across his face. ‘So we’re both on the same page. You know what the answer to that is, don’t you?’

  ‘I didn’t realise it was a question,’ I say, knowing exactly what the cheeky glint in his dark eyes means.

  ‘It wasn’t, but the answer is always ice cream.’

  It makes me laugh as he locks the front door behind us and offers me his arm, and I slot mine through it as we walk down towards the ice cream parlour on the promenade, and then lean on the blue railings and look out across the beach, the squawk of gulls overhead and the splash of waves rolling further down the sand as the tide comes in. I watch him breaking off tiny pieces of his cornet and tossing them to a seagull that’s pecking around the pavement, and I think about the first time I saw him on the train, the surprise of making eye contact with another human being and the complete shock when not only did he not look away but he actually smiled as well. The way I nearly missed my stop because I couldn’t take my eyes off his dimples.

  Maybe the question of the dropped phone and coincidence and fate doesn’t have an answer, just like I don’t always need an excuse not to do the things I really want to do. I just need the courage to throw caution to the wind and say yes, and it’s always so much more difficult to find that than an excuse to stay in my comfort zone …

  Or maybe the answer is always ice cream, which is something we will both always agree on.

  Chapter 19

  ‘Hello, this is Nathaniel’s phone,’ I say a few mornings later, smiling automatically when his number comes up on the display.

  ‘Do you know how much I’ve always hated being called that, and yet, I look forward to hearing it ever
y time you answer my phone?’

  As if my smile could get any wider. ‘Yeah, you do know I still have your phone, right?’

  ‘Well, since you moved into the cottage, it’s not exactly a mile away, is it? I’m still enjoying the break from it. Pearlholme isn’t the place for technology.’

  He’s absolutely right on that. ‘So, what’s up?’ I’m unable to resist poking my head out the back door to see if I can see him at the tent, and sure enough, he’s standing outside it and looking up at the cottage. I grin and wave, and I hear the smile change his voice when he sees me too.

  ‘I’m about to have a make-or-break moment in the restoration of the carousel. I could do with my lucky charm …’

  ‘Sure, I’ll fetch it down. Where is it?’ I step back inside and look around for something charm-like, wondering where he’s managed to leave it.

  He laughs. ‘It’s you, Ness.’

  ‘Oh!’ I giggle, snort, and choke at the same time, glad he wasn’t here to witness such an undignified display. It’s bad enough that he had to hear it.

  ‘Sorry, that was so corny.’ He sounds flustered. ‘Do people even use the word corny anymore? Am I corny for saying corny?’

  ‘That’s too many “cornies” to keep up with.’ I step back outside into the sunshine.

  ‘I know you’re on a deadline. I don’t want to disturb you if you’re working.’

  I glance in through the door at my laptop on the coffee table. I expect it to start screaming in despair, if it’s not too busy groaning under the weight of the unanswered emails in my inbox, but it does nothing more than blink its green Wi-Fi light at me. Even an inanimate object has recognised the sound of my deadlines whooshing past and has given up on me.

  ‘I’d love to,’ I say without a second thought.

  Zinnia told me to give myself time. Daph told me to throw myself headfirst into things. Surely there’s some work-related spin I could put on this, because not only have I not started the next part of the article, but I’m now behind on my fact-checking work too. If Zinnia thinks 4.59 p.m. is too late for a five o’clock deadline, she’s going to love the story I’ve just started checking that was due at eight a.m yesterday morning. All those missed calls on my phone are probably Zinnia calling to say how impressed she is with my initiative. Most likely.