Chapter Thirteen #2
‘We can’t do any of those things,’ Ethan said quietly. ‘The build is too solid. And for some reason that I don’t understand, there are things stopping us getting out , as well as anyone getting in.’
‘So that means we …’ I blinked a couple of times as darkness slid into the corners of my vision, blurring the edges of Ethan standing in front of me. ‘We’re trapped?’
‘We might have to wait it out a little.’ Ethan’s tentative tone told me he was hedging.
‘Wait out your automated Smart system until it gets bored and gives up existing? Wait until someone misses us, and traces our movements back here?’ I wondered how long it would take Spence to worry.
I was supposed to see her tomorrow, to update her on the event, but if I was a no-show, how long would it take her to realize something was wrong?
‘Sarah will get concerned.’
‘Even though you told her you’d be back later, on the train?’
Ethan glanced away from me.
‘She won’t start worrying for hours, then.’ Dread gnawed at my stomach.
‘Eventually, she’ll—’
‘We’re trapped,’ I said again. ‘We’re … not going to get out.’ I sucked in a breath, then another, wondering why the air wasn’t reaching my lungs.
‘Georgie, it’s OK.’ Ethan squeezed my shoulders. ‘We’re fine. We’re safe here. It’s not ideal, but it’s OK.’ He bent his knees, so he was on my eye level. ‘You’re all right, I promise.’
‘It’s just that I-I—’
‘I know,’ he murmured. ‘You don’t like being shut up anywhere. But we have space here, and—’
‘How do you know that?’
His eyes widened in surprise. ‘Because you said … When we were together, you told me. We were here, and I was worried about the ghosts, and told you that story about the figure in the alleyway in York, and you said you hated the thought of being trapped – you panicked when some dickhead shut you in a stationery cupboard at school.’
‘You remember that?’
He brushed his fingers across my forehead, where there were a few runaway strands of hair. ‘Of course I remember.’
‘Oh.’
‘I haven’t forgotten anything,’ he said, and his tone was firm, as if he was annoyed that I would have even considered him forgetting a moment of our time together. He’d been distant, closed-off when I got here, but now …
‘Neither have I,’ I admitted, and even though my pulse had started to settle and my breathing was levelling out, I didn’t feel a whole lot better, because I was suddenly faced with something a lot more daunting than being trapped in a glamorous house: being trapped with a quickly defrosting Ethan.
My sanity-preserving plan of avoiding him as much as possible, of getting in and out as painlessly as I could, was lying, torn and tattered, on the plush rug at my feet.
Dear Connor,
I met someone today, in the village. I was in the shop, buying some biscuits (are you surprised?) and I walked round the end of an aisle and bumped into this man.
There was a flurry of apologies, and I dropped my custard creams. I heard them break, and I must have looked forlorn, because the man asked if I was OK.
He asked me if I’d broken anything, and when I frowned, he pointed at my biscuits and said, ‘These guys.’ (I have to admit, I liked that he called the custard creams ‘guys’. Is that weird?)
Then he said he had some time to kill, and he asked if I wanted to have a coffee with him.
I hadn’t seen him before; I thought he might be a visitor, here for work or on holiday, and for a moment I was tempted.
But there were several reasons why I didn’t say yes.
I’ve thought about it since I got home, so here they are.
One, he had thick shoulders, and I know I’m being judgemental, but I couldn’t help wondering how he got them.
Does he have difficulty buying T-shirts that fit?
If it progressed beyond one coffee, then …
reason two, is he going to regale me with stories about lifting concrete posts or doing hundreds of press-ups a day?
Would that be my future? Three, he wasn’t great at eye contact.
He would look at me for a second then glance away, as if he wanted to check out who was watching us – as if our little moment was a noteworthy scene – or he was keeping an eye out for someone more interesting.
That never makes anyone feel special. Four, he winked at the sales assistant.
He was buying a loaf of white bread and a bottle of skimmed milk, and when he paid for them he said, ‘Thanks, love’ and winked at her. I shuddered. Five, he wasn’t you.
OK, so number five could have been number one, and then I wouldn’t have needed any of the others.
He wasn’t you, and he didn’t even ask my name.
I imagined you winking at the woman serving, and I knew it would have been so much classier.
I’ve seen you do it, seen how you make it work, despite the odds.
It led me down a rabbit hole to the first time we met, and how I was caught off guard by your calm confidence.
We shouldn’t have been there, but you weren’t worried, and you didn’t hurry.
You were perfectly in control and I think, in that moment, I fell for you …
hard. I was already on the floor for you, and then somehow, every day, there was further for me to fall.
It’s been almost two years since we last saw each other, and I’m not even close to moving on. I wonder what you’re doing right this moment. I hope you’re happy.
I love you and I miss you.
Yours always, Amelie xx