Chapter 20 – Simo #2
We don’t get the chance to speak, as Anna picks this moment to launch the event.
There’s a welcome speech from Graham, the band is introduced, the buffet opened, but the words don’t reach my ears.
As the night goes on, Luca’s presence sets me afloat, and it takes a while for me to realise that I’m tipsy.
I could do with a break, and not just to clear my head.
Turns out champagne, once it’s released its alcohol into your blood, rushes straight to the bladder.
I excuse myself and weave my way through the throng of people. Like a breeze that lifts the fine hairs on my neck, I can feel someone’s gaze on me, but I don’t need to turn to know it’s Luca. The feeling doesn’t fade, even as I walk away.
Once I’ve washed my hands, I don’t head straight back to the party.
A pint of water in my hand, I find myself in the shadow of the manor, just off the patio.
Ahead of me, Clifford Island rises from the moonlit waves.
To my left, music spills from beneath the canopy.
Two shadows detach themselves from the crowd and hastily make their way across the midnight lawn.
I tense, thinking they’re headed in my direction, but they stop several feet away, caught in an argument.
‘You can’t stop us from giving him gifts, Matthew.’
I recognise Graham’s voice and make myself smaller, hoping the darkness will keep me hidden even in my white outfit.
‘I’m not trying to stop you from giving him gifts,’ Maz replies. I can tell he’s fuming. As much as I don’t want to hear this, I’m scared to draw any attention to myself, so I daren’t move a muscle, staying exactly where I am.
‘Then I don’t understand why you’re throwing a fit,’ Graham says haughtily.
‘Because I’m his father, and you can’t go over my head and bestow him with a bloody trust fund! I’m responsible for that kid, for his health, for his finances, and his future.’
‘You ought to be more grateful then, because his future is safe now, thanks to us.’
Maz’s next words almost come out as a hiss. ‘His future is safe and has always been safe, thanks to me and Polly, his parents.’
‘You’re mad because you hate that we could be involved in his life in any way, big or small.’
‘And you’re trying to pay off your guilt!’ Maz shouts.
‘He’s our grandson – we should be allowed to be generous with him!’
‘Oh, now he’s your grandson! That’s quite the change of tone to when Polly was pregnant.’
‘You love to lay the blame on us, but don’t forget that it was you who ran away, and you who told us to stay away from Luca. We sent gifts every year for his birthday, which you returned unopened.’
‘Nobody wants your unsolicited cheques! Not then and not now!’
‘So what do you want, Matthew?’ Graham asks, exasperated.
‘One of two things: you either leave and never return, or you start to care. Like, really, truly care. But let’s be honest, you’re not able to act in anyone’s best interest except your own.
You didn’t give two shits about raising your own son, and when you found out about Luca, you didn’t want him either. ’
‘That was seventeen years ago. You can’t still hold that against us.’
‘You wanted to force Polly into having an abortion, tried to bribe her with money!’
The glass in my hand slips. I barely manage to keep it from falling. Water sloshes over my hand and on to my shoes. I swallow a curse and pray they didn’t hear.
‘Now you’re making things up.’ The dismissal in Graham’s voice is cold and practised.
‘You’ve always been good at lying to yourself,’ Maz spits. ‘Rather than admitting your mistakes, you bend the truth, no matter the cost.’
‘Don’t you tell me about truth, Matthew. You should be grateful that we’re sticking with you after everything that our private investigator dug up. Lying to Luca about his dead grandparents is bad enough. What do you think will happen when he finds out that you and Polly were—’
‘Don’t you dare finish that sentence.’
Maz’s warning squashes the argument. In the sudden quiet, the two men stare at each other.
I hold my breath until Maz turns. His silhouette bleeds into the darkness and only Graham is left, standing alone on the patio.
He makes a sound, the beginning of a moan that never makes it past the lips.
He moves towards the house, but I don’t move until I’m sure he’s gone inside.
Thoughts in shambles, I chug what’s the left of the water and stumble into the night.
My feet carry me away from the manor and towards the noise of the party, but I slow down before I reach the circle of light, unsure if I’m collected enough to face anyone.
But Luca finds me first, and the voice telling me to avoid him shuts up.
‘I want to show you something,’ he says, and steers me away from the canopy, deeper into the gardens of Hidden House.
I refuse to think about what I just overheard. I don’t dwell on that conversation or let the meaning sink in. If I did, I’d have to tell Luca, so I gladly let him distract me.
Following a trail of glowing baubles, we forge our way through the trees.
The music dwindles but doesn’t die. Another sound begins to build; one that I’d recognise anywhere, having grown up by the sea: waves lapping at the shore, and beyond that the gentle roar of the ocean.
A heartbeat later, we step into the small private cove.
At first, I think it’s the moon that sets the pebbles alight, but it’s more than that.
Rock formations jut out of the water and inch up the small stretch of beach.
Not an unusual sight, except for the fact that they’re clear like ice and emanating a silver glow.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say Anna Brandenburg personally hired someone to carve stones from the moon and artfully rearrange them in her backyard. It’s surreal.
‘It’s magical,’ Luca whispers.
‘It reminds me of the volcanic beaches in Iceland,’ I whisper, ‘where the tide carries chunks of ice from nearby glaciers and drops them on the beach. Boulder-sized diamonds on black sand.’
‘There’s no way that’s real,’ Luca says with wonder in his voice.
‘I’ll take you there one day,’ I promise. ‘But this comes pretty close.’
We stand shoulder to shoulder, marvelling at the sight before us. I feel Luca shiver beside me.
‘Here, give me your hands,’ I tell him. When he offers them up, I guide them beneath the layers of my coat. He raises both eyebrows, but when I pull him closer, he gives in. The weight of his embrace settles around my middle, but the question in his gaze remains.
‘If you wanted a dance, you could’ve just asked,’ he jokes.
I cross my arms behind his neck and begin to sway our bodies from side to side.
‘I’ve been wanting to ask that all night,’ I reply, more candidly than planned.
It dawns on me that I didn’t think this through.
With Luca’s hands pressing into my lower back and our hips touching, I might be in over my head.
The moment is very intimate and very real.
Unable to hold his gaze, I stare at the pearl against his chest. A few seconds pass, then Luca lowers his forehead and leans it on mine.
‘I’ve been wanting to ask you too.’ His breath grazes my skin. Now I’m the one shivering, but not from the cold. Once again I’m reminded that it’s one thing to be so close when we’re asleep, but a whole different story with my every cell in my body wide awake.
‘What was the family thing about?’ I ask, grasping for a distraction. Anything to keep me from going into cardiac arrest.
‘They gave us our Christmas presents. Or more like seventeen years’ worth of Christmas presents. I can’t even think about it. Makes me dizzy. I’ll tell you another time.’ I realise I’m staring at the shape of his lips as he speaks.
I close my eyes, as if that’s going to save me now. I can’t shut out his scent though, or his nose grazing mine.
‘You know I’m leaving tomorrow,’ I remind him.
‘Don’t ruin it,’ he whispers, and tightens his embrace. We don’t speak, only sway from side to side, to the faint melody trickling through the trees.
An ache awakes in my stomach that has nothing to do with hunger.
It spreads to my chest and pushes against my ribs, wanting to break free.
One thing is becoming painfully clear: Lying in darkness, hiding in the familiar shape of our friendship, is no longer an option.
I miss him too much, and I haven’t even left yet.
Later that night, I find myself on my bedroom floor, heart heavy and head buzzing, the notebook on my knees.
The flight leaves in a few hours, but my mind is too loud to find sleep.
I pour my thoughts on to the pages, and with each line breathing becomes easier.
I nod off at one point, though the sky is still dark when Dad wakes me.
The notebook lies open in my lap, and with dizzy eyes I reread the words, my midnight thoughts captured in black ink:
I have seen the moon a thousand times but
nothing
can describe the feeling of seeing it
reflected on water.
A beam of light as
beautiful as it is brittle
because it stretches
across skies and oceans
to reach you
and still it evades your touch.
Close but never close enough.