Love Song

by Sophia Bennett

  ‘Come on,’ he said, getting to his feet and holding out a hand for me.

  Our sophisticated evening descended into chaos, shrieks and laughter, more like an eight-year-old’s birthday party than a posh soirée. Running through the darkened rooms, up and down the broken staircase. Bumping into furniture and each other in unfamiliar places. Getting dusty searching under old four-poster beds; bravely opening creaking cupboards; standing, terrified, in pitch-black corridors, listening to the sound of pounding feet far away.

  After a few minutes, the sounds died down. Some of the runners must have found Angus already. Was I the last? I didn’t want to be the one to swim in that freezing lake. For a moment, I stopped to think more carefully. Where would Angus go? This house was enormous. There were any number of cupboards and spaces he could choose. I’d looked in all the obvious ones already. He was being clever.

  OK. So narrow it down. If I was hiding, where would I go?

  To the Fluttering Room. Because it was strange. And it reminded me of twisted love.

  And Angus?

  To somewhere that reminded him of death.

  I thought of the fascinated look on his face this evening as Issy described the priests’ hole, and their discovery and torture. Where better than a priest hole, in fact? A space built especially for hiding.

  Issy said it was in one of the oldest bedrooms – one with a big fireplace – and there were a couple like that on the east wing corridor, low-ceilinged and dark, with thick walls and inglenook fireplaces big enough for a person to stand inside them.

  I was one staircase up, but I ran down it fast, treading lightly so as not to give away my position to the other searchers, though I had a vague sense of someone not far behind me. The first bedroom I tried was empty and silent, but somewhere close, I was sure I heard the sound of someone sneezing. In the room next door, the fireplace was even larger. When my right foot hit a creaky floorboard, I could have sworn I heard a giggle.

  I walked up to the fireplace, and into it, ducking my head. To the left-hand side of the ancient grate, something pale and ghostly glowed in the darkness, level with my eyes. I gasped. It grinned. It was Declan’s face.

  ‘Come on!’ he said in the faintest of whispers. I sensed bodies behind him, but couldn’t tell how many.

  ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘Angus and Issy.’ He winced. I heard the sound of kissing. Another giggle. Something like a moan. Declan rolled his eyes. ‘It’s been nasty. Thank God you’re here.’

  More footsteps outside. The floorboard creaked again, and a darker silhouette appeared against the general darkness of the room. He stepped in close and I smelt the fire smoke on his shirt. My heart raced.

  Jamie whispered in my ear: ‘Hello.’

  He must have been following me.

  Now only Connor was still searching. We could hear him running around upstairs, thudding on the floorboards and shouting out. Issy laughed. There was the sloppy, slurpy sound of another kiss. Declan sighed in frustration.

  All the time, Jamie was pressed up against me in the fireplace, his chest against my back, his arms around my waist so he could stay out of sight. His hands found mine in the darkness and it was like coming home. The feel of his breath on the back of my neck. The warmth of his skin, his smell, the chemical connection.

  I knew why Issy had suggested this game. It was more for her benefit than mine, but the result was the same. I felt Jamie’s heart, beating in time with mine. We said nothing. We did nothing, except touch. But what was going on between us felt a thousand times more exciting than the slurpy PDA going on behind Declan in the priest’s hole. My temperature raced. My body was a silent fireworks display.

  This is it. I’m gone. Off the precipice. In freefall. You idiot, Rory Windermere – of course this was going to happen.

  Connor found us soon afterwards, (‘Man, guys, it was like Nightmare on Elm Street out there – I’m never doing that again’) and we all piled out of the fireplace, laughing.

  We drifted back downstairs. Angus had his arm around Issy. Jamie reached his hand out for mine. I took it naturally and we walked down the staircase together. In the drawing room, Declan put on another record – something slow and bluesy. The fire spat and hissed. It wouldn’t last much longer. I should do something about it, but Jamie’s arms were around my shoulders now.

  The lights were low and the room was full of moving limbs and the sound of guitar. Angus danced with Issy, and Jamie danced with me. I looked around at us all and realized this was one of those moments that would live for ever while the world kept turning.

  We swayed gently, hardly moving, bodies close. Maybe this was wrong, but I was sure – absolutely sure – that it felt as natural to him as it did to me. Now the connection was made, we couldn’t break it. He rested his hand on the back of my neck. We were soft skin and warm flesh and the world was a cocoon around us.

  His head dipped. Warm breath on my skin. I raised my face up to his and ran my hand through his hair. Those lips. After about a hundred years of slow anticipation, they gently met mine, and it was as good as I knew it would be.

  Kissing Jamie Maldon was like flying through the night sky, for ever. It was heady and dangerous and all I wanted was more.

  For a while, there was nothing except him and me, and the taste of his lips, and the feel of his fingers on my skin, and the sound of our kisses.

  Jamie Jamie Jamie Jamie. He wanted me as much as I wanted him.

  Then gradually, my other senses returned. The music was still playing. When we finally surfaced, the others were all watching us, smiling.

  Jamie’s heart was beating fast; his eyes were hooded with desire. He murmured in my ear, ‘I’ve wanted to do that for so long.’

  And so had I. Why hadn’t we done it before? I couldn’t remember. My brain fought through the fog of wanting him. Like this, with his arms around me, in about seven seconds I wouldn’t be able to think about anything at all.

  Then, with the roar of a banner going up in flames, I remembered what was really happening here.

  This was the boy who could have anyone. Rock star. Temptation. Tragedy. The inevitable broken heart.

  I’d fallen over the edge, but like a cartoon character madly running in mid-air, I thought maybe somehow it wasn’t too late. I had to do something to save myself before I hit the ground, because I’d been there before and I couldn’t do it again. Not like this. Not with him. When this stopped, it would hurt more than I could imagine.

  I pulled away.

  ‘I have to go. Upstairs. I—’

  I couldn’t think of a reason. I just knew I need some air. Away from the dying firelight, the hall was cold and dark. I shivered, pulling his jacket round my shoulders. He ran out after me.

  ‘I know this is tough for you, Nina.’ His breath was warm on my neck as he pulled me back towards him in the dark. ‘What I am is tough for you. And it should be, because … I come with all this baggage, and you don’t want it. It’s why I love you so much.’

  Blood pumped in my ears as my heart pounded. He said the L-word. I couldn’t believe it. Boys never say the L-word. Not after just one kiss.

  ‘I don’t know … I’m sorry …’

  He held my hands and pulled me back towards the drawing room, and the firelight, and the sound of blues guitar. ‘Don’t go yet. Stay with me. I love you, Nina. It’s simple.’

  ‘I … just ... I can’t … It’s complicated.’

  Iran up the stairs before I had any more time to think. My feet caught on the folds of my dress, tripping me with every step. I was Cinderella, running from the ball. There was even a clock chiming dimly from the kitchen.

  It’s complicated. It’s complicated.

  I ran down the corridor and to my cold, dark room, pressing my back against the rough surface of the ancient dressing gown as I shut the door behind me. My breath was ragged. My body ached.

  It’s complicated.

  Except, now that I was here on my own and my frenz
ied mind was slowing, it wasn’t complicated at all. In fact, it was so stupidly simple it took my breath away. I slumped to the floor.

  I wanted him. And he wanted me. I wanted him so badly. Whatever the reasons for us being here, our skin was made to touch. We were a chemical reaction waiting to happen. He knew that, and what had I proved in the last five minutes? I’d just made two people unhappy. I had to learn to stop thinking so much, and just unlock my heart.

  From where I sat, I could see myself by moonlight in the wardrobe’s silvered mirror. I looked a mess. My smoky eyes were smudged and my hair was half falling down. I took out the clip Issy had given me and let it fall completely. Without really thinking, I fixed my eyes with a dampened finger while I worked out what to do.

  I wanted him. When he kissed me, every cell in my body was happy. Something magical was happening, and I’d stopped it. For what? For no good reason at all.

  I’d go downstairs. I’d say I’d just needed some air … to fix my hair … anything. I’d find a way to touch him again. I’d ask him to dance. Whatever it took. I could not let this perfect evening end this stupid way.

  But halfway down the stairs, I heard them talking. Issy’s voice, then Angus’s, then Jamie’s … They were all together around the embers of the fire now. Their voices were low, but I heard my name. Shame flooded through me. It was like being back at school, after Jez. I’d made a fool of myself and now they were talking about me. I couldn’t go on.

  So I slunk back to my room and lay on the bed, wide awake with longing.

  He said he loved me. How many boys say those words at all? What was I waiting for? A diamond ring? He gave a girl one of those once, and I thought it was ridiculous.

  Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! I banged my head on the pillow. He must have thought I was such a little girl. I thought I’d got over Jez so long ago, but it turned out he’d messed me up more than I ever knew.

  The moon shone pitilessly through the open curtains, leaving a pattern of cold blue light across the bed. I thought of us in the fireplace, fingers touching. The anguished look he gave me in the hall. Who said he would let me down? All he’d done so far was write me love songs.

  Should I go to his room and wait for him there? I wanted to, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Too many girls had tried to sneak into Jamie’s bed over the last few years. If I went to him, I didn’t want it to be some rock music groupie cliché.

  So what should I do? I was burning up. I couldn’t sleep. I grabbed a torch and wandered the corridor until I reached the Fluttering Room. I scanned the yellowed pages under the torch’s weak circle of pale light, reading and discarding, until I found what I wanted: a poem by Yeats called ‘Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven’.

  But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

  I have spread my dreams under your feet;

  Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

  That’s what I wanted to tell him. I ripped the page from the wall.

  Back in my room, I grabbed a pen from my desk – a red felt tip, the first one I could find. I ringed the words of the last line. They held my fears, my hopes, everything.

  I’m sorry, I wrote. It’s simple. I love you. N.

  Pausing at the top of the stairs, I could still hear them talking. I went to his room and slipped the paper under his door. Tomorrow, I would do things differently.

  I don’t remember falling asleep, but I suppose it must have been shortly before the dawn. The sun was high in the sky when I woke up. The first thing I felt was the imprint of his lips on mine. I’d made a fool of myself last night, but today felt different. I had the strength to make it better. Besides, there was my note. By now, he must know I’d changed my mind.

  I ran a bath, then slipped into an old evening shirt and a pair of shorts from the Chuck bag. I put my dirty hair up Issy-style, with a pencil. I was about to do my make-up when I noticed something strange out of the far edge of the bathroom window: a long, flat object seemed to be balanced in the air about three metres above the ground. It took me a moment to work out what it was: the tip of a rotor blade.

  I looked closer. Sure enough, there was a helicopter parked on the grass outside. I could hardly believe I hadn’t heard it land. I must have been sleeping deeply.

  Windy was here. It was the only explanation I could think of. And even though his timing wasn’t perfect, it would be so good to see him. He’d probably be annoyed when he found out about me and Jamie, but the other boys had seemed happy enough about it last night, so hopefully he wouldn’t mind too much. I ran downstairs, hoping to catch him before the others woke up, so I could explain.

  Orli was banging pots around in the kitchen, putting things away from last night. She looked glum. But then, she’d worked really hard to prepare the feast. Maybe she was still recovering.

  ‘I don’t think we thanked you enough for dinner,’ I said, giving her a squeeze. ‘It was incredible.’

  ‘Oh!’ She waved me away. ‘It’s what I do, Nina. I wouldn’t do this job if they didn’t ask me to be a bit creative.’ She gave me an odd look. ‘I mean, we’re both here to do what we’re paid for, aren’t we?’

  If I wasn’t in a hurry, I’d have tried to make more sense of her grumpy mood. Orli never talked like that. I was sure they paid her well, but she never mentioned the money. Or my strange status here.

  ‘Where’s Windy?’ I asked.

  ‘Windy? He’s not here. Why did you—?’

  ‘The helicopter on the lawn. Then who—?’

  But before I could finish my question, the door flew open. Issy came in, wearing Angus’s slippers and a rose silk robe, with Angus himself not far behind her. She held out the glass cafetière.

  ‘Darling Orli. We’ve run out of coffee. Would you mind terribly …?’ She froze when she saw me. ‘Oh.’

  First, I was amazed that they were up already. I was usually the first one to come downstairs, regardless of when we’d gone to bed. Then last night came back to me with full force. Those conversations they must have had about me after I’d run away. I blushed to the roots of my hair.

  ‘Hi.’ It came out as more of a whisper.

  Angus gave me a long, steady look. ‘This is going to be interesting.’

  I had no idea what he meant. It must be something to do with the helicopter.

  Issy looked super-awkward – the exact opposite of how she was last night. ‘Yeah. Nina. Um … hi. Come and join us.’

  ‘You go. I’ll bring the coffee,’ Orli said grimly, like she was announcing battle plans.

  The atmosphere was weird and I could feel a ball of fear growing in my chest with every step as I followed the others to the dining room. If not Windy, then ...?

  I had come downstairs the back way, straight into the kitchen corridor, so I hadn’t walked past the dining room yet. If I had done, I’d have heard the sound of loud voices carrying across the hall.

  The sound of one loud voice.

  ‘So where’s the studio? I want to see EVERYWHERE! This place is just so historic I could DIE!’

  I stumbled and nearly fell. Thank goodness Orli hadn’t trusted me with the cafetière. I felt sick.

  Sigrid Santorini was sitting at the far end of the table, facing the door. A designer peasant top that probably cost a thousand dollars hung loosely over one shoulder, emphasizing her skinny frame. Her shining hair was in braids. Her skin was tanned and sparkling. She looked like a visitor from another world.

  Somehow, I crossed the hall and walked into the room. Jamie sat across the corner of the table from her, his back half-turned to the door. He didn’t turn around when I came in. Instead, he raised his coffee cup to his lips like this scene happened every day.

  It was clear from Sigrid’s happy, happy face that they hadn’t had The Conversation. It was clear from the way nobody looked at me that The Conversation wasn’t even on the agenda. He and Sigrid were still together. I was just an awkward, embarrassing leftover from last night.

  Angus and Issy slipped
back into their seats, holding hands. Isabella Otterbury clearly had none of my hang-ups about hooking up quickly with a boy she liked. Although I suddenly felt grateful for all those hang-ups – every one. The best thing I’d ever done was say no to Jamie last night. I’d just been saved the most embarrassing moment of my life.

  In favour of the second most embarrassing. Which was to be standing here, now, like this.

  Sigrid looked up at me. Her perfect forehead crinkled in confusion. Her eyes flashed fire. She turned to Jamie.

  ‘You didn’t say she was here. Why is she here?’

  Jamie’s back was still turned to me. He was dressed in a crumpled tartan shirt and jeans, and his hair was ruffled, like he’d just rolled out of bed. I’d worn that shirt two days ago. A part of me still wanted to reach out and touch him. The rest wanted to disappear.

  ‘Windy hired her. She’s been helping us out,’ he said dully. ‘Issy, could you pass the butter?’

  He didn’t even say my name. My heart folded into a tiny ball and armoured itself in brass, like an unwanted snitch in a game of Quidditch.

  ‘And ’ave you been here aw’ the time?’ Sigrid asked me, her mouth a tight smile, her eyes narrow. Still practising the Croydon accent, then. She hadn’t lost her touch.

  I blinked and nodded. I couldn’t trust my voice.

  ‘Windy thought she made a good assistant,’ Angus said in a casual drawl. ‘She walks the dog. Helps out with the housework …’

  Issy flicked me the briefest of pitying glances.

  ‘Oh,’ Sigrid said, ‘Cause when I spoke to Windy, several times, he said there were no girls allowed here. No distractions.’

  ‘Well, yeah,’ Angus agreed, gulping from his favourite mug. ‘Exactly. No girls. No distractions. Just … staff. You know.’ He shrugged. ‘We’ve been working so hard, you wouldn’t believe.’

  Still, I said nothing.

  ‘They played me some of their demo tapes,’ Issy added. ‘They’re simply gorgeous.’

  ‘And you just got here?’ Sigrid asked her, focusing her suspicious gaze on Issy’s calm, fine-featured face.