Why couldn’t he read her mind now? When she really needed him to. When he smelled of coconut sunscreen and the sea. Now the twilight was playing its tricks again, making his skin glow. She felt for a moment as she gazed at him like she was looped in the loops of his soft curls, now darkest brown under the darkening sky.
Monty wasn’t looking out through the sea-sprayed screen now. He was looking directly at her, and the boat seemed to be slowing.
Under his gaze, her consciousness opened in a way she hadn’t felt before and suddenly she could imagine what he might be seeing right now: a straight-lipped, rabbit-in-the-headlights thing standing stiffly by his side, giving off the worst standoffish vibes.
There was no way he could be seeing her the way she saw him, all shiny and new, bright eyes and clear summer skin. And yet he was looking so intently at her. His eyes had fallen to her mouth.
Was he thinking of kissing her? The very idea of it made her spine freeze up so she couldn’t move. Ridiculous, she thought, and so typical of her, getting trapped in her head, made up of warring instincts of wanting and shame and alarm…
‘Joy?’ he interrupted her spiralling.
She gulped and let her eyes lock with his. ‘Yes?’
‘I liked spending time with you.’
‘Oh,’ was the best she could do. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re thanking me?’
‘Yes, I guess. For not thinking I’m… I’m completely…’ She didn’t finish her sentence. She saw his eyes flit from her eyes to her mouth and back again. His expression was quizzical, his head tipped, like he was trying to figure her out.
‘I don’t think you’re anything like that,’ he said, low and level, obviously reading her mind again. ‘Joy, I’m sure you’re onlygoodthings. I think you’re… I think you’reallthe good things.’
An abashed laugh burst from him as he seemed to think about what he’d said, giving his head a shake. He looked away to check their course.
They stayed like that; Joy bewildered and wide-eyed, replaying what had just happened, wondering what it meant, and Monty concentrating on navigating round the buoys at the harbour mouth, smiling at his own awkwardness, but not looking sorry at all.
Somebody had to tell the truth and, Monty knew instinctively, it would need to be him.
Nobody but Joy had ever carried Radia, not since the surgeon had handed her over the screen and put her on Joy’s chest. Yet, here they were, climbing Up-along with Montague Bickleigh carrying her sleeping child in his arms.
There was so little air in her lungs she couldn’t tell him the things she wanted to: to please slow down, to not trip, that he was holding the most important thing in the world against his chest, theonlyimportant thing.
Instead, she gulped at the air and rabbited on, saying anything but.
‘Have you ever thought about the last time you were picked up?’
Monty kept his eyes fixed on the slippery cobblestones and shook his head. ‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, there was a time when you were picked up multiple times a day, and then one day you were just too big and that was the last time you were ever picked up?’
Monty stopped and turned to look at her. ‘I hadn’t thought about that, butnowI am. Man, that’s sad.’
‘But nobody can remember when it was, if they’re lucky, that last time, so it’s not so sad really, is it? ButI’mgoing to remember.’ She had her eyes on Radia’s closed eyelids and her cheek all squashed up against Monty’s jumper. ‘I’m going to look out for it and I’m going to make sure I know it’s happened. That last time.’
‘Joy?’ Monty looked stricken.
‘What?’ Her eyes lifted to his.
‘You’re crying.’
‘I’m not!’ With a gasp of realisation, she scrubbed her wrist down her cheek. ‘Well,’ she tried to pass it off. ‘Mums cry all the time.’
‘Do they?’
‘Yes, it’s the love, it’s too big. It comes out your face in big bursts.’ She was smiling now, her eyes still misted. ‘I’m not being morose. I’m just being ready. I don’t want to miss anything. None of the firsts and none of the lasts either.’
‘Why do I want to rush to my mum and have her sit me on her knee like a baby?’ said Monty, falling further into his feelings.
