I’ve reached a hand out to him before I can tell myself that’s a dangerous thing to do, and he’s smiling and moving towards me, and within seconds we’re running together around the little parterres. Patrick twirls me under his arm and we’re laughing quietly, our boots making all the noise, swinging our free arms about, my posy of berries and waxy flowers up in the air above my head, our bodies activating every light in our little private world, red then vibrant green, and so many shades of purple and the occasional burst of gold.
When we come to a halt, we’re in the corner of the parterre at the point furthest from the gap in the beeches where we came in. I’m out of puff and holding in the last bubbles of laughter. Patrick’s eyes shine in the dying lights before we’re left in the silent darkness.
I daren’t move. Patrick’s breathing settles long before mine.
I feel him shifting closer until I can make out the outline of him against the tree trunks that enclose this magical place.
In the shadows, his hand reaches for mine.
‘Margi,’ he says, and there’s a soft glow of lavender colour at our feet.
My name, when he says it, sets off electrical impulses in me too. I try, and completely fail, to ignore them.
‘Patrick,’ I begin, so scared of what I’ll say next, but in the white glow I find I have no words of protest whatsoever.
My hand in his feels absolutely right. Him this close to me and getting closer is exactly what I want.
I swallow hard. He’s breathing close to my ear.
‘Let me,’ he says, and his voice is so low only the darkness hears it.
I only hesitate for a second before I let my eyes close and I lean into him.
His lips find mine softly and slowly and with so much deliberate self-control that my mind falls dark and silent like the garden where we’re hiding, afraid to move too much, and I don’t know anything else but this kiss.
I pull him nearer, letting him wrap me up in his arms. When I let my hands roam through his hair, a thick moan escapes his throat, like he can’t help himself, I lose it completely and gasp out a sound I’ve never made for anyone, and it only makes his kiss wilder. He gathers me up in his arms so I’m pressed tight against him. Our hitching, gasped breaths released in low, ragged sounds send a thousand sparks of coloured light racing around us.
I’m barely aware of them, but they surround us where we stand, pulsing and dying, burning and lilting as we melt together, getting as close as we possibly can through layers and thick coats, and we light up the winter darkness.
‘That was not planned, I promise,’ I tell him untold moments later – what is time when you’re being kissed like that? – after we heard a noisy family approaching and we slipped out of the colour garden, scurrying down a dark path to rejoin the crowds.
Ahead of us, a slow stream of people are gazing up in wonder at the entrance to a broad tunnel of silvery lights.
Patrick doesn’t say anything, and when I look at him, there’s a curl at the edges of his rosy, kissed mouth and a look of abandon in his eyes that say it might have been part ofhisplan.
We’re inside the tunnel now, drifting along with the crowd. I’m floating.
‘Should we…’ I begin, feeling all kinds of elated and brain-numbed from the kiss – it was such a good,goodkiss. He has the side of his thumb raised to the point below his lips like he’s feeling the same way. ‘Should we talk about it?’
He pulls me to a stop at the end of the tunnel just before we emerge onto a wide path between lawns lit with big red toadstool installations.
‘What is it?’ I panic, thinking he’s going to call the rest of the night off. ‘What are we stopping for?’ I don’t want to stop.
He only smiles and shows me his phone. ‘Everybody else is taking selfies. Look.’
He’s right. Literally every adult behind us in the light tunnel is either filming themselves or snapping photos of loved ones. ‘Oh, OK,’ I say, quickly straightening my bobble hat. It hadn’t occurred to me to document this moment at all. It’s not like I’ll be able to forget it, is it?
He gets ready to tap the button, but not before he puts his arm around my shoulder.
‘Is this OK?’ he asks before he pulls me back into the sweet, warm nook of his body, which feels oddly gentlemanly after the way he just set my entire nervous system on fire back there.
‘Yes, it’s OK.’ I can’t help laughing, and he joins in.
The picture, when he shows it to me, has caught something lovely. My nose and cheeks are pink, the same as Patrick’s. My eyes are crinkled, our faces are turned towards each other, and we’re wrapped in a big arc of blazing light all around us like it’s us that’s emitting it. Like we’re glowing.
‘I’ll send it to you,’ he tells me, typing already, and I feel the picture’s arrival buzzing in my coat pocket.
‘Where next?’ I ask, trying to fight off the dazed sensations that are making me feel wide-eyed and light as a feather.This can’t be right, I tell myself.You’re getting carried away, but the rebel in me wants to see what’s going to happen next.
