Saying goodbye to Millie and making sure to stay as far away from Garrett as was possible in the same room, I made my way to the exit. It was taking people longer than usual to leave and I could feel frustration building. Didn’t they know I was a woman on a mission? No, because they were all distracted by something else. Someone else. Standing outside the door, holding a bunch of heart-shaped balloons. Remembering him doing the same thing on Valentine’s Day outside school, I grinned.
I fought my way through the group and threw myself into his arms, giving him no choice but to let go of the balloons and catch me. Gripping my legs around his waist, I leant back, oblivious to the whistles and catcalls around us, and looked up. I watched the hearts floating, playing, flirting with each other, until they disappeared into the clouds. Free.
“How come you’re here? I thought you weren’t going to be here until—” He put his hand over my mouth.
“Sshh. Let’s find somewhere more private.” He lowered me to the ground, took my hand in his and strode off in the direction of the car park. When we got there, he leaned me against the side of his van, pressing what felt like every millimetre of his body against mine. I kissed him and groaned, desperately clawing at the back of his shirt. Desperately pushing myself into him. Desperately everything.
“As much as I want to take you to your room right now, and remind myself how bloody amazing it feels to be wrapped up inside you, we are going for lunch. Get in.” He moved away and opened the door. Happy to go along with the plan, and his bossy attitude, I was a good girl and sat down. I knew my time would come.
Jake parked up close to the spot on the beach which had become so significant to us. He wasn’t to know why it had a separate, less-positive meaning to me. He unloaded a carrier bag and an old blanket from the back of the van.
“Are you going to be warm enough? I’ve got a spare hoodie here if you want it.” Taking advantage of any opportunity to surround myself in him, I took the hoodie and put it on under my denim jacket.
We carefully made our way down to roughly the same spot we had sat that dawn morning in August. Jake lay the blanket down and, once we were sat, emptied the bag to reveal a supermarket-sourced picnic of sandwiches, drinks, crisps and fruit.
The next half hour was a low-key mix of eating and chatting. There were a few people jogging or walking dogs, which meant there could be nothing more than the occasional kiss, but that was a good thing. He told me about having been thrown out of home and Bill’s kindness; it made me ache that I hadn’t been there for him. I told him about Mickey and going to Seventh Heaven. Neither of us said anything about what life had been like in the aftermath of the break-up; it was too raw, too likely to provoke upset or blame. I wondered if, how, I could tell him about Garrett.
Once the food was finished, we huddled together on the blanket, me nestled under his arm. “I love listening to your heart; it soothes me,” I said, drumming out his heartbeat with my fingers on his chest. “Da dum, da dum, da dum.”
“That’s not what I hear,” he replied, moving his hand over mine. “Myr-tle, Myr-tle, Myr-tle.”
“Oh, you smooth-talker, you. But they’re amazing when you think about it. Hearts. One muscle which keeps us alive. I can remember Dr Collins showing us one in a biology lesson. They beat a hundred thousand times a day. A hundred thousand! Imagine how many that would be in a lifetime.”
“But that’s just the science-y part of hearts. Your heart isn’t just a muscle pumping blood: it’s your essence, your spirit, all the parts which make you love. After all, without those, you might as well be dead anyway.” I kissed him for the romance and seriousness of his words, knowing we both had realised some truths about love over the last few weeks.
“Well, I heart you, Jake.”
“And I heart you, too, Myrtle.”
As we sat and watched the sea, I was aware of how much still needed to be said, to be resolved, but I had to wait until I was confident that our hearts were strong enough to cope with that. I had to believe that they would be; I couldn’t contemplate the alternative.
“Neve, before we go back to yours, I want to ask you about something.” His tone had become more serious and he shifted on the blanket so he was facing me. “About the American.” My heart sank. Not with the idea of telling Jake the facts, but with what he would think of me. I already knew what I thought of me for having got caught up with Garrett and that was bad enough.
“What American?” Way to go, Neve, try to look like you’ve got something to hide. “Sorry, that was stupid. I assume you mean Garrett?”