27
There’s shuffling on the other side of the door, and when it opens, Alex is standing in the doorway, completely nonplussed. His hair is a tangle of amber waves around his freckled face, his green eyes containing multitudes of emotions. He’s wearing an old T-shirt with Ramones on it, his long, freckled arms braced against the door in tension. He’s more like the old Alex than ever.
He scans my drowned state and homes in on my injured hand that I’m trying to hide behind me.
For a moment that feels like an eternity, I’m convinced he’ll close the door on me. When he steps to the side to let me through, my knees almost buckle with relief. ‘Let’s ice it before it swells up.’ His voice is business-like, but his stiff body and the dark circles under his eyes tell me he’s anything but calm.
Alex’s flat is everything that mine is not. It’s spacious, light and immaculately clean. Everywhere I look there are thick carpets, comfy cushions and there’s even a knitted throw over the cream sofa. It’s like I’ve walked into a Scandinavian living catalogue. I’m worried that my socks will leave wet footprints on the lush beige carpet, so I hover by the closed door, staring longingly at the sofa.
He looks down at my feet over his shoulder, understanding my predicament. ‘Don’t worry about it. Sit down. I’ll bring some ice.’
I pad towards the sofa and when I sink into it, my eyes close without volition. When Alex is gone, I cradle my hand in my arm like a baby. The knuckles have turned pink and red, and the area around them is puffy.
He comes back with a bag of peas hastily wrapped in a tea cloth in one hand and a towel and a pile of clothes in the other.
He immediately kneels by me and starts helping me out of the soaked jumper, disposing of it on the coffee table. He lifts my foot and then peels the sock off. Then he proceeds to the other. He’s very systematic like this is something he’s done hundreds of times before. Then he pushes to his knees and rubs the towel in my wet hair, obscuring my vision for a few moments. I try to empty my jumbled mind and just savour the feeling of his hands in my hair, but I cannot deny the fact that after everything that has happened, he’s still here, taking care of me. Stripped of all my defences, I choke on all the emotions pushing up my throat at the same time.
When he’s towelled my hair, he takes the wet pile to the kitchen.
‘I’ve found you some fresh clothes if you wanted to change. I’ll dry the rest of your clothes when you take them off,’ he offers, sounding oddly hoarse.
Wordlessly, he shows me to the bathroom. I quickly remove all my clothes except for my knickers because the idea of Alex drying my underwear is unsettling and pass it to him through the gap in the door. A moment later, the tumble dryer starts whirring in the distance.
I lock the door behind me and have a good silent cry. Once semi-composed, I pull on his jogger shorts and an old blue T-shirt with the London skyline and the words London Marathon on it. It smells of Alex, and I stand there with the T-shirt glued to my nose for long minutes, just inhaling and memorising his smell.
I stare in the mirror. It’s an old antique piece with carved fish and sea creatures around the wooden frame. I love it. The image in the mirror isn’t that great. My short hair lies floppily around my face. I look tired, my lips are almost blue, and the tip of my nose is pink from the cold. Plus, Alex’s clothes are ridiculous on me. They’re too big around my shoulders and waist, but I’ve never worn anything this comfortable.
Eventually, I come out and find a steaming cup of coffee waiting for me on the table, and a stiff-looking Alex sitting on the only armchair in the room. I sit on the sofa opposite him and cradle the coffee in my hands.
He reaches over the space between us, holding the bag of peas out to me until I take it.
For long moments, we’re just sipping our coffees. I’m so tongue-tied I don’t think I could speak even if I wanted to.
‘What are you doing here, Holly?’ he asks carefully.
I abandon my cup and the bag of frozen vegetables, locking my eyes with his. All I want to do is to memorise every centimetre of him. All I see is this kind, beautiful and selfless man. I see his strengths and his flaws laid out in front of me because neither of us is perfect, but I don’t want perfect.
‘The day before I walked in on you and Vicky, I saw my dad cheat on my mum. After I broke up with you, I went to Meg’s party to make things right. There’s no excuse for what I did after I saw you and Vicky. For what it’s worth, I wanted you to understand why I did what I did. I guess I’m here to say sorry.’ I’m a coward. I promised myself I’d stop coming up with partial truths where Alex is involved.
Picking up the peas off the table, he stands up and sits next to me on the sofa. I forget to breathe as he takes my hand gently between his.
‘It looks worse than it is,’ I say, but when he presses the bag to my knuckles, I hiss. ‘Actually, it might be as bad as it looks. I might need to make a short stop at the hospital on my way back home,’ I babble.
‘I hated you so much.’ Alex finally speaks but doesn’t let go of my hand. His eyes are now trained on my battered knuckles, his shoulders lift and fall with deep breaths.
‘I didn’t know that you saw us that day, and I didn’t know about your dad,’ he says heavily. ‘After, all I wanted to do was to tell you, but then I saw you with that boy.’ He drops my hand and pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment like this conversation is causing him pain. ‘It confirmed all the things that Vicky made me believe about myself. That I was unimportant and worthless, and you could do so much better. I knew logically that you didn’t do anything wrong because you broke up with me the day before but… God, I hated you for it for years, and then you came back into my life.’ He’s silent for a full minute. The bag of peas slips from my hand onto the carpet. ‘I told myself you were a different person, and it wasn’t fair to compare you to the person you used to be. I convinced myself that I would be fair and impartial, but I know I was the opposite and made things hard for you. I’m the one who should be apologising.’ He slumps against the back of the sofa, dispirited.
I crave his touch, but I feel that’s the last thing he wants right now. ‘Alex, what I did ten years ago was awful. The only reason I broke up with you was that I worried you were seeing someone else because Vicky made me believe it. You were so distant at times.’
He studies me, and I try not to fidget under his gaze. ‘I kept you at arm’s length on purpose. I was terrified that you would realise what a screw-up I was. I put you on a pedestal. You were so perfect and clean .’
I can’t help myself and utter, ‘Thank you. I’ve always prided myself on my personal hygiene.’
His eyebrow arches. ‘That’s not what I meant, but maybe it is…’ He breaks off. ‘I meant your life felt uncomplicated and perfect compared to mine. You never had to go to a lesson twenty minutes early so you could snatch a back seat so nobody could smell your smoky clothes. You never had to hide a bottle of vodka from your mum and stash it in your schoolbag because that was the only place she wouldn’t look. You never had to pretend it was your bottle so the teacher who found it didn’t call social services on your mum. I didn’t want to tarnish your life like that.’
I feel suddenly bone-tired. ‘Nobody’s life is perfect. Everyone’s flawed. It’s not fair to put somebody in that position. It’s not an easy place to be and far to fall if they disappoint you.’ I shuffle in my seat but don’t make a move to touch him.
‘I know that now. Trust me,’ he says with bitterness, and his focus shifts to his hands gripping the armrest. ‘If I had been more open, maybe you would have told me about your dad and things would have turned out differently.’ He sounds self-deprecating. ‘I should have been honest, and I should have told you things about myself. My mum wasn’t always an alcoholic, you know.’
His voice takes on a strange vulnerable quality. ‘She used to be a decent mum until my dad died when I was ten. Then the drinking started, and she couldn’t hold down a job for more than a month. We had to move out, and then we moved to that atrocious flat.’ His tone turns bitter. ‘Quickly, I became a carer. I did all the shopping and cleaning. I made sure that the bills got paid. I even got a part-time job at Tesco. I had no time or desire to think about girls.’ He pauses. ‘I knew that Vicky was always on the outskirts, but I never liked her. Then I noticed you, and I was undone. I was a mess, and so when you noticed me and even liked me back, I couldn’t understand why. When we started dating, I tried to keep it together and look like I was cool. I pretended I wasn’t a screw-up. But Vicky never stopped following me. She became persistent, turning up at places I went to, messaging me and calling me late at night. She told me I was nothing, that I was worthless, and that eventually you’d get bored of me. My worst nightmares were confirmed when you messaged me that things weren’t working out.’ He averts his gaze in shame.
‘I spoke to Vicky. I know what happened at the party,’ I admit.
He nods towards my knuckles. ‘Spoke to her? Is that what you call it?’ For the first time, there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, but it disappears in a flash. ‘She came to apologise earlier. It’s turned out we’re all screwed up one way or another.’ He laughs humourlessly. ‘To her credit, she didn’t realise I wasn’t a consenting party until I pushed her away. But it didn’t stop her from threatening me after and warning me if I ever told you she’d deny it and say that I forced her.’ My stomach twists in disgust.
I will myself to be brave.
‘I never thought you were worthless. You’re the best thing that has happened to me.’
‘You say that even after the way I have behaved to you these last few months?’ Disbelief fills his eyes. ‘I knew that you got a job at the school. Jane spoke to me straight after she decided to employ you. I convinced myself I was OK and that you didn’t mean anything to me any more.’ He clears his throat loudly. ‘That is until you walked into the classroom following John, and I knew that I wasn’t OK.’
‘At least you were better prepared than I was. Imagine my shock seeing you there and then finding out you were also my mentor.’
‘I asked to be your mentor,’ he rushes out, stunning me.
‘Why?’ I hold my breath.
He moves in his seat but doesn’t breach the distance between us. ‘I’m not sure. I convinced myself that I needed to keep an eye on you. I was so resentful and thought you were a spoilt brat, and then I heard you on the phone with Catherine talking about your life. I felt miserable about the way I spoke to you but not miserable enough to stop being unfair to you.
‘I was convinced you were sleeping with John,’ he confesses, his cheeks colouring in mortification.
I can’t stand the distance between us and hesitantly take one of his hands in mine, hissing at the pain that shoots through my knuckles.
A moment later he rears back, and my hand slips from his with the movement, breaking the precious contact. Dread takes over. Maybe I haven’t read the situation right. I feel sore on the inside, like all my organs are bruised.
‘Was any of it real between us? Or were you just trying to prove something to yourself?’ I must know. His face is tilted away, and I take that for an answer. I ready myself to go.
‘Holly,’ he rasps and grabs my cheeks with heart-shattering gentleness, his hands warm against my chilled skin. I lean into the touch like a sunflower to the sun. ‘I’m a mess. I have control issues and I’m a miserable person to be around.’
‘That’s not what I asked you,’ I whisper, unable to focus with him this close. ‘I find it hard to trust people, and I can be withdrawn at times. Who doesn’t have issues, Alex?’ He’s about to pull away, but I clamp my hands over his to keep him in place. ‘Let’s not misunderstand each other again. I’ve never been interested in John because I’ve never wanted anyone but you, despite my best efforts at times.’ My breathing is harsh, but I push through. ‘You said you wanted me. Does that still stand?’
He nods slowly, and if I were standing, my knees would have buckled underneath me in relief.
‘Ever since you walked back into my life, I have felt angry and resentful, but I have never stopped loving you, Holly. I loved you even when I hated you.’
‘As confessions go, this one is an awful one.’ I’m choked with tears and laughter.
‘I’ve always been better at actions than words,’ he quips, and I have to agree with him on this one.
He bends his head towards me and pauses. Tentatively, he meets my lips and fireworks go off in my belly. He pulls me closer, and I end up sitting in his lap, his arms circling around my waist and back. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and neck. I hiss as pain shoots through my hand, and he pulls away, his eyes so close to mine, I feel like I’m drowning in their green pits.
‘What exactly happened to your hand?’ His lips are an inch away, and I want to kiss them again, and so I do because I can now. I never want to stop kissing them.
‘I punched Vicky in the face,’ I confess in between kisses.
‘Oh,’ is all he says and kisses me again, immediately deepening the kiss until we’re both breathless.
When we pull away, he confesses, ‘I like you wearing my clothes.’
‘Wouldn’t you rather I didn’t wear any clothes?’ I ask and immediately feel embarrassed because I didn’t mean to say that out loud. He laughs, his chest rumbling against mine. A shadow passes across his features, and I stroke his arm. ‘We can go slow. We’ve got time; I’m not going anywhere. In fact, the only way you can get rid of me at this point is a restraining order.’ I try to lighten the atmosphere.
‘Holly,’ he says hoarsely and stands with me in his arms, one hand under my knees and the other behind my back. I make a strange whoop sound of surprise as he carries me to what I assume is his bedroom. ‘I’ve waited ten years for this. Trust me, I don’t want to go slow.’
I make a relieved sound. ‘I’m glad to hear that.’
His bedroom is like the rest of his flat, light and cosy. When he deposits me gently on the bed, I stretch like a cat because it’s the softest bed I’ve ever been on. He just watches me with amusement.
I spread my arms wide, my fingers skimming across the smooth silk of the bedding. ‘What? You’ve seen my flat. Your place is amazing, I want to stay in this bed forever.’
‘That can be arranged. I’ll speak to Jane on Monday.’ He smirks, and I can’t stop the laugh from forcing itself out.
He pulls his T-shirt over his head and my breath gets stuck in my lungs at the wide expanse of his freckled skin. He self-consciously climbs on the bed and stretches over me. The weight of his body settles against my frame, and I anchor my hands on his hips.
He kisses me again, his hands exploring my body through the T-shirt. At first, the curve of my shoulder, then the indent in my hip, and finally, the roundness of my breasts. Before long, I’m panting shamelessly.
‘Not that I don’t like you in my T-shirt but is it OK if I take it off?’ he asks in between kisses. I nod and anticipation and nervousness tighten my stomach because I’m not wearing a bra underneath it. What if he’s disappointed? What if I don’t look the way he imagined me all these years?
He slowly peels off the T-shirt like he can sense my nervousness, and when I end up naked to the waist underneath him, he presses his lips together like he’s trying to compose himself. Immediately, he kisses my left breast and then moves to the right. His lips are warm and my sensitive skin puckers as he explores every centimetre of it. When he nips me, I shiver and arch against him. He moves to my collarbone while his hands replace his mouth. I can’t stop writhing underneath him because it’s too much, and yet, not enough.
He takes his jeans off, and my shorts follow. Then he slides my underwear off, and I’m completely naked underneath him, but he’s still wearing boxers. Reverently, I explore his back and his powerful thighs, but I need more. I pause at the band of his boxers.
I don’t want to get it wrong this time. I’m scared to hurt him.
Unaware of my fear, he pulls me closer while his hand draws torturously slow circles between my legs. I can feel every part of him against me. I know he wants me, but I’m scared if I go too fast, he’ll freak out.
‘What can I do? I don’t want to do things wrong,’ I whisper, my hand still hovering at the elastic band of his boxers.
‘I want you to touch me. I trust you,’ he whispers back, and so after some hesitation, I pull his boxers down. Then we’re completely naked, and it’s everything I always thought it would be and more.
He pauses as I reach between our bodies. The feel of him almost undoes me. His gaze is serious and dark. But he doesn’t look hesitant, and all I see is want and love.
‘I love you,’ I rasp, and he kisses me fiercely. He whispers I love you into my ear, my hair and into my skin so many times it makes me dizzy. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of hearing it.
We touch and stroke, and it’s so perfect, I think it can’t get any more perfect, but it does. He reaches into the bedside table and takes a condom out of it. We go slowly at first and then fast when we lose control, moving together like we’ve done this a hundred times. Our bodies are in sync, our limbs entwined. Eventually, tension builds in my body, but this time I’m not scared to let go. When I do, it’s the best feeling in the world.
After, we lie in bed, panting and content. My body is languid and warm everywhere Alex is touching it. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me even closer.
Still breathless, Alex says into my ear, ‘It was definitely worth the wait.’ He rolls on top of me and gazes at me with a mock-serious expression. ‘Maybe we should wait another ten years.’
I push against his chest playfully, but he tightens his arms around me. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be now. ‘Sorry, I can’t let you go. You’re stuck with me,’ he says as he leans down and gently kisses me.
But I’m OK with that. After all, we have ten years of catching up to do.