Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
LUCY
Bram turns to look at me with a start. I don’t know where his mind went a moment ago, but I sure as hell recognised the expression on his face. It was something I’ve felt a lot in my life.
Someone’s hurt him.
I want to help, to comfort him, but it would be too intrusive to ask what happened. I figure that he’ll tell me if he wants to, if he’s ever ready, and in the meantime, I’m going to do something that feels a little bit crazy.
I’m going to share more of myself with him.
I have told exactly one person in the world – Mina – the truth about Millie. It’s so easy when people find out she’s my mum to say, ‘Oh yes, she’s away at the moment, yes, she’s on a book tour, yes, I’m ever so proud of her.’
But even Mina doesn’t know the full extent of it.
And it sounds crazy to share these things with someone I’ve only just met, but sometimes it’s safer that way.
I’m really enjoying Bram’s company this weekend, but when I go home in two days’ time there’s every chance we’ll never see each other again.
So I’m going to take this opportunity to offload some of my trauma onto someone who genuinely seems to get it – who tried to fix my broken heart in the most wholesome way I could possibly have imagined.
He’s looking at me now with a curious expression, lips pursed, eyes wide. One hand sweeps his hair out of his eyes where the wind has whipped it.
‘I’m listening,’ he says, so quietly that I almost don’t hear him, and after that he says nothing.
That’s when I know this is the right thing to do.
I take a deep breath before I speak, summoning all my fears and all my insecurities, and then I set them free on the breeze as my story comes pouring out.
‘My relationship with my mum is … difficult,’ I start.
That’s an understatement, but we are where we are.
‘She left me with my grandparents when I was little, and they raised me.’ I hook a finger round a stray curl that’s caught on my eyelashes and pull it away.
‘We talk now, but it never feels real. It’s more like keeping up appearances. ’
There’s a beat before he speaks, and when he does, his voice is a low growl. ‘She left you?’
I nod. ‘When I was six. She flew out to LA when one of her books was being made into a film, and she never came home. Just left me a note.’
I still remember every word.
You’re going to stay with Nana and Grandpa for a while. Love you forever x
It hit different once I realised she was never coming back. If I’m really honest with myself, I don’t think she ever wanted me in the first place.
‘She told me once that I was an accident,’ I say, and I laugh a little, even though it isn’t funny at all. ‘That was the actual word she used. She took it back almost the second it left her mouth, but it was too late then. The word was burned into my brain forever.’
He doesn’t say anything that time, just keeps watching me, his eyes only just visible over his glasses.
‘My dad was her first editor,’ I continue.
I’m on a roll now, might as well get it all off my chest. ‘He was married and sleeping with her behind his wife’s back.
He told her that it was basically over with his wife – that he was going to leave her.
You know, the usual. But she called him when she found out she was pregnant with me, and he never spoke to her again.
The publisher dropped her and her books.
’ I shrug. ‘I guess I was just a lasting reminder of that failure.’
I see him flinch then. It’s just a tiny movement – the slightest flicker of one eyelid. He nods for me to continue, and I do. I thought it would feel terrible to share this with someone, too vulnerable to bear, but it doesn’t.
I actually think I feel relieved.
‘My nana and grandpa were the best people in the world,’ I say, unable to suppress my smile at the thought of them.
‘They did such a good job raising me.’ My smile falters, lost to the truth that’s always with me.
‘But it was never quite enough to stop me from feeling like I was disposable. Like if I don’t go the extra mile to please people, to not let anyone down, they won’t want me. ’
Bram’s gaze burns into me, and I look away, out to the roll of the waves.
‘My dad didn’t.’ My voice is almost a whisper now. ‘Neither did Millie. Now Jon doesn’t either.’
I take a deep breath as I say his name, but it’s easier than I thought, and I look down to see that at some point Bram has taken one of my hands in his, his fingers stroking slow circles over the back of my knuckles. When I look back up at him, his eyes meet mine with quiet conviction.
‘Lucy,’ he says, his voice deep and steady. ‘Anyone who doesn’t want you needs their head examining.’
I open my mouth to counter his point, but he raises his hand before I can even get a word out.
‘I’m serious,’ he says, an edge of something in his voice that makes me shut up and listen.
‘You don’t need to worry about letting people down.
You’re the one who’s been let down.’ His hand tightens on mine, just a little.
‘You can’t choose your parents – God knows I can’t help you with that.
But you sure as hell can choose who you give your heart to, and if I get even the vaguest sniff that you’re trying to give it to someone who isn’t completely into you, I’m gonna be raging. ’
A small smile tugs at my mouth. ‘Raging?’
‘Ra-ging,’ he repeats with a nod, over-enunciating the syllables. ‘Like an angry bull.’
I want to make a joke, but he’s so earnest that I just can’t bring myself to.
‘Luce,’ he says, carefully, the casual shortening of my name suddenly making my stomach flip over. ‘You probably shouldn’t listen to ninety-nine percent of the crap I spout, but you need to listen to this.’
His eyes are blazing, intense and fixed on me, and for a moment it feels like I can’t catch my breath.
‘You don’t want to give yourself away to just anyone,’ he says. ‘You want someone who’d die for you.’
There’s a moment then, like the one we had in the fish and chip shop.
His eyes, which had been locked onto mine like a homing missile, slip down to my lips for a second before jumping back up, and when our eyes meet again I feel it like a shockwave.
There’s something in the air, like the crackle of electricity, and it’s so intense in that moment that I panic.
‘That’s a bit dramatic,’ I say with a smile, trying to stem the tears that are inexplicably blurring my vision, but I think he sees them, because his face softens.
‘We’re in a graveyard, Lucy,’ he says, with the slightest of rasps in his voice, and his lips tug into a smile. ‘If ever there was a time to be dramatic, this is it.’
‘You know,’ I reply, suddenly filled with gratitude for this man I barely know, who somehow feels like less of a stranger than anyone I’ve ever met. ‘You’re surprisingly upbeat for someone who dresses like Death himself.’
And then he throws his head back and laughs harder than I’ve heard from him so far, and it’s a beautiful sound – rough and messy and unapologetically loud – so loud that some of the people near us turn to glare at him, and I remember where we are.
I turn to look at the church behind us, old and beautiful.
I remember reading that it was built almost a thousand years ago, and something about that fact humbles me.
‘Hey,’ I say, squeezing Bram’s hand lightly. ‘Can you go inside this church?’
He hums in reply. ‘I don’t know, actually.’
‘You’ve never been in?’
‘Nope,’ he says, flipping his hair out of his face. ‘Kinda feel like I might burst into flames if I cross the threshold.’
Something shifts in my brain then, hazy puzzle pieces shifting and moving into place.
Ever since that post-shower jump-scare on the first night, I’ve suspected there was something different about Bram, but I could never put my finger on what.
I thought perhaps it was just because he’s so different to anyone else I know, but what if it’s something else entirely?
Something more … supernatural?
My chest tightens. ‘What?’
‘I’m not christened,’ he says, a rumble of laughter behind his words.
‘Right.’ I nod. ‘Just an absolutely normal human person that was never christened.’
But that only makes him laugh harder, and soon I’m laughing too, half convinced I’m going crazy as I cling on to his hand for dear life and we sit together on an old windswept bench in the October sun.
It’s a little after three when we skip out onto the beach beside the West Pier, ice creams in our hands.
After we’d outstayed our welcome on the bench, we walked back down into town, weaving our way through throngs of jubilant and slightly drunk goths, and, after a small detour to blow five pounds’ worth of small change on arcade machines, ended up at an ice cream stand.
Still half full of fudge, I opted for a pastel-coloured unicorn cone, while Bram went for an entirely on-brand scoop of black vanilla.
‘Only vanilla thing about me,’ he said with a wink, and I laughed at his ridiculousness.
I’m still chuckling now, as we scurry down onto the beach.
The tide is coming in, and in an hour or two the water will be at our feet, but for now we have a huge strip of sand ahead of us.
I can’t resist kicking off my shoes and socks and rolling up my jeans as best I can with one hand so I can feel the sand between my toes.
Bram watches me for a moment or two before he does the same, and then we set off walking, shoes in our hands, down the beach to the surf.
‘So what does black vanilla taste like?’ I ask, the wind whipping against my grin.