Chapter Twenty-Seven
Belle
I wait a second longer, my hands in his, my eyes closed, before I open them.
I allow him to think I’m not fully back yet, savouring the touch of his palms, how his fingers are curled around mine.
When I crack my eyes open, his are still shut.
I don’t move. I stay as still as possible, letting myself feel the weight of him on the cushion next to me and how our breathing has found the same rhythm.
The paper is still there, tucked against my ribs. I don’t take it out.
Outside, a bare tree creaks in the wind.
Apart from the rise and fall of our breaths, everything else is quiet.
I look to the bed and expect to see a Jake-shaped dent in the centre of it, but there isn’t one.
Just layers of cushions that only exist to be removed at bedtime.
Behind him, on the wardrobe door, hangs my wedding dress.
The edge of it catches the light from a lamp, and for a second it looks like something living.
I look to my lap. Even in death, Jake is still a lamp guy.
He opens one eye, checks mine are open, then opens the other one.
We sit smiling at one another, awkwardly, still holding hands.
I feel a flutter of butterflies that feels both incredible and devastating at the same time.
The same ones I had before my first kiss: the particular apprehension of not knowing what comes next.
Nothing like the ones I wanted but didn’t feel with Timothy under the fireworks this evening.
‘I just have one question,’ Jake says, hands still in mine. A knot ties itself in my stomach. I brace myself for it.
‘I couldn’t tell, just wanted you to clarify …’ He looks deep into my eyes, very serious. ‘When you dumped Joe … Was he wearing a silk robe, or a towelling one? I feel like that changes things.’
I blink at him. It takes a second to land.
‘Towelling,’ I say. ‘With a hood.’
He nods slowly, as if this is significant, critical information.
He exhales through his nose. ‘Okay.’ A pause. ‘Okay.’
Something releases in my chest that I didn’t realise I’d been holding.
I start laughing, properly laughing – the type that bubbles up seemingly out of nowhere – and then he starts too.
For a moment, we’re just two people in a hotel room laughing late one evening at nothing and everything, wiping tears from our eyes, slapping our knees, and clutching our chests.
My body seems to buzz.
We did it. I did it. I got through reliving the bad ones.
‘Thank God that’s over,’ I say. We both slump back onto the sofa in sync.
‘Hmm, you’re not getting off that easy, darling,’ he says, eyes to the ceiling, ‘We still have to see the start of your and Timothy’s journey.’
I nod slowly, then shuffle and stretch my legs out from under me. Almost without thinking, as if acting on reflex or muscle memory, Jake picks up my legs and places them across his lap. His thumb strokes my thigh. My stomach flutters.
A soft curl of his dark hair falls to his brows and, all of a sudden, it feels like we’re in our early twenties again and I’m here getting lost in the way his blue eyes are skimming my legs, still jealous at the unfair length of his lashes.
I’d spent ten years avoiding pictures of him, knowing that looking at his face properly – those eyes, that jaw, the dimples embedded in his cheeks –would, simply, break me.
Knowing that those lips, soft and pink and always on the verge of a joke or a kiss, would never skim confidently across my skin again.
I cross my legs to stop myself throbbing.
Except, I’m not twenty now. And I know better. I shuffle forward to sink deeper into the sofa, my head resting on a tassel-covered cushion propped up on the armrest, and make a conscious decision to look at the ceiling instead of him.
It’s very plain up there. Painted a shade of wispy white probably called something like Chantilly Cloud.
The lampshade looks like it’s made from antler horns, which is the ceiling’s single contribution to the room’s otherwise fussy enthusiasm.
It’s like the ceiling was an afterthought.
Like whoever decorated this room ran out of ideas the moment they looked up.
Jake pulls my dress down over my thigh. I hadn’t realised it had ridden up. He does it without comment, without being asked; he just smooths it down and fixes it the way he used to. I’d forgotten he used to do things like that, I missed it more than I realised.
I bring a hand to my forehead and scan the room.
Maybe it’s time to tell him the truth. What I’ve been holding back all evening for fear that he’ll judge me, that he’ll look at me differently.
This evening has taught me that in some strange, impossible way, I can still trust him.
He’s still here, by my side, taking care of me after everything he’s seen today.
And despite seeing me throw myself at his best friend … at his own funeral.
I rub my eyes. ‘Honestly, it’s not the fairy-tale romance you’re probably imagining.’
Jake looks from my thigh to me.
‘You’re telling me Timothy didn’t pull up with a horse and carriage for your first date?’
I give him evils, chin to my chest.
‘That he doesn’t have a parade of tiny mice and birds following him around, smoothing his hair down, ironing his shirts?’
‘You and your Disney films.’
‘You’re telling me he doesn’t have a little rat under that chef’s hat of his.’
A snort escapes my nose, but I don’t attempt to cover it this time.
It makes me laugh harder. Jake hits my leg as he throws his head back.
I wipe a tear from my eye, unable to breathe.
Our laughter dies down, and we smile, gazing at the window, Whitby Abbey in the distance.
Jake massages his cheeks, the way he used to after one of our old laughing fits.
‘In all honesty, I don’t really know how we ended up here. Or, rather, I do, but it’s hard to admit.’
‘That sounds really cryptic,’ he says, frowning.
‘I think we’re both … Timothy and I are just practical people.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, we’re in our thirties.’ I shuffle up on the sofa, so his hands are on my shins now.
He doesn’t stop stroking. ‘We both want kids and see a family in our future. Also, there’s respect there.
’ I sigh, very aware that these are pathetic reasons to be with someone.
‘We both respect each other … and each other’s space.
And it’s nice to have someone to share your life with, you know? ’
‘Hm.’
I stop. Am I listing all the reasons we’re right for each other in an attempt to tell myself that we are? Also, a part of me worries that I’ve offended Jake with this. He’s dead and will probably be lonely forever, while I’m here moaning about settling.
‘It’s nice to have someone to take care of you, if you need them.’
Jake nods, slowly. We’re silent for a moment.
‘I feel like there’s a “but” coming,’ he says.
The engagement ring on my finger sparkles.
My dream one – a vintage, one-carat diamond trilogy ring, chosen together on a Sunday stroll through Hatton Garden.
He’d done his research, of course. Three jewellers shortlisted, budget agreed in advance.
So I knew it was coming but hadn’t known exactly when.
And the proposal, of course, was beautiful – incredible, in fact: candles, a speech, roses under a blue whale.
But the one thing he couldn’t plan for was missing.
My heart had been full. My stomach hadn’t done a thing.
‘But …’ I pause. A drop in my chest as the words form on my lips. My eyes prickle now, but not from laughter. ‘I’m just not sure the feelings are there.’ I clear my throat, feeling my voice wobble.
Jake pulls my legs closer to his chest. ‘The spark?’ he asks.
‘The spark.’ One nod. It used to be there … Didn’t it? Where did it go? And how did it go so quickly?
The windows rattle and howl as a gust of wind pushes against the glass.
‘Sounds a bit like Arthur 2.0.’ Jake taps his finger on my leg.
‘Ah, but no. Because Timothy doesn’t game. And Timothy has money.’
‘Gotcha …’ he says. ‘Also, Timothy doesn’t have a cat called Gavin,’ he adds, squeezing my thigh.
‘Oh, Gavin.’ I feel his chest bounce with laughter and wish I could bottle that feeling.
We’re still a moment more. I lean into it, the quiet. With Timothy I always rush to fill the silences. I’d forgotten how different it was with Jake. How we were comfortable, so similar that we could sit still together, not saying a thing yet already knowing what the other was thinking.
Below us, the music has stopped. I hadn’t noticed until now. The party is over. The night is ending.
Jake shifts beside me; his thumb stops moving on my leg.
He looks outside the window, scrutinising the dark nothing beyond it, and he’s doing the same maths I am, I know.
How many hours till morning, before tonight starts being tomorrow.
He has something to say, I’ve sensed it for a while now.
Something more serious than his usual jokes.
His eyes are searching the room, he’s biting the inside of his cheek; he’s looking for words, trying to find the ones that matter.
‘Belle, I’m …’ He stops and rubs his face before trying again. ‘I just want you to know that I …’ He stops again, his breathing heavy. ‘I’m glad you showed me, all of it. I needed to see it.’
I nod at what he’s said, or tried to say.
It’s not an apology, but I can feel one behind the stumbling.
I don’t push it. I just focus on this moment instead.
His eyes are on mine but they keep dropping to my lips, and I shy away, look at his hands instead.
How strange it is that someone who has been gone for ten years can still make me feel like a nervous teenager.
And now he’s here again, sitting in front of me like no time has passed. And I miss us.
‘I was so young, when you died. I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t.’