My eyes are on her mouth, and God, I have to. I have to kiss her—I have to, I have to, I have to. I can feel her pain and I can’t bear it. I’m still holding her tight. We’re so close to each other that our jackets are touching. I’d just have to bend over slightly and our lips would be too.
Emma’s stopped breathing. I know because I’m holding my breath too. Her mouth is slightly open, and her eyes flit over my face. She digs her hands into my jacket pockets, maybe by accident, maybe on purpose. In the end, it’s hard to say which of us leans in. Maybe we both do, at the same time. Because wecan’t help it. Because I want her closer—because I need her closer. Because it’s pointless trying to convince myself otherwise.
There’s only about an inch between our mouths.
But I can’t. It’s not right.
I remember Grace. Oh, hell, I remember Grace.
And I pull back.
20
Emma
We catch the last train back to Edinburgh and don’t speak another word to each other. We sit side by side but with a safe distance between us, and I feel dirty. This whole stupid evening, my pathetic father, cold smoke, stale air. And Henry so close to me that I couldn’t help myself and just leaned in at the exact moment he did too.
We didn’t kiss because he stopped us. Just as well, because I wouldn’t have stopped. I don’t think I would. No, I know I wouldn’t. There’s no way I’d have stopped him because I’m weak, a failure. God, what was I thinking?
Henry pulled back at the last second, and it was a slap in the face. Because for a tiny moment, I thought he actually wanted it.
He should never have come. It’s ridiculous. Just friends... He said that and I nodded. And I’d have let him kiss me. Because I’m a stupid arsehole.
There are too many thoughts, and they’re all driving me mad.
That crappy pub, my dad, that horrible conversation with him: All of it seems a lifetime ago by the time we reach Edinburgh.We’re the only passengers on the bus to Ebrington, and I want to cry. If Henry weren’t here, I would. But he is here. He’s sitting next to me, and I can’t look him in the eye.
Not even when we get off the bus, walk down the lane, and slip through the gate. Almost all the windows are dark now.
“You can go through here. Nobody will see you this way,” says Henry, pointing to our left.
I nod. He doesn’t say, “I’ll walk you to your wing,” like he normally does. Of course he doesn’t.
And I don’t say anything. I don’t thank him for coming with me. I don’t say sorry for almost kissing him. Which I should. I have to: We can’t part like this, for God’s sake!
Henry stops as I turn back.
“Henry, I’m sor—”
“No,” he says quietly. “Emma, please...”
He looks at me, I see the pleading in his eyes, and I understand. We’ll never speak of it again. Because it never happened.
I’m not sure if anything has ever hurt as much as it does when I turn away again. No, that’s not true. I’m pretty sure it hasn’t. This evening’s in a class of its own. Because I’ve lost hope twice.
I don’t cry until I’m lying in my bed. Nobody caught me, and if they had, I wouldn’t have cared. Because, let’s be honest, what’s the point of me being at this school now?
Henry
My head is empty when I ring the Whitmores’ doorbell the next day. I should have planned exactly what I’m going to say to Grace. She deserves that. A proper conversation. Not this. Not this absolute panic reaction. This feels like impulsive damage limitation, when actually, it’s way too late.
I’ve fallen in love with Emma. I’ve known that since she was standing in front of me in Glasgow and I couldn’t kiss her. I’ve known that since I slept beside her, since I haven’t been able to forget the scent of her. I’ve known it since she gave me that mildly skeptical Emma look and my heart skipped a beat.
I’ve fallen in love with Emma, and I have to split up with Grace, and there’s no way of doing that without hurting her. And Grace deserves better than to be hurt. She’s always done everything right. But she deserves better, and it’s breaking my heart that I can’t be the guy to give it to her.
I shiver as the door opens. Grace is wearing jeans and a yellow T-shirt.
I wait for her to say, “Oh, hi,” and kiss me, then step aside for me to walk in. But she just looks at me, and I’m sure she understands what all this means. She looks me in the face, and something flickers in her eyes. A tiny emotion, a tiny spark of fear that tells me she’s been waiting for this. That Grace knew that eventually, I’d be standing at her door looking at her like this. We both knew it. We’ve spoken less to each other in the last few weeks than ever before. The end was in sight. It was just a matter of time. But neither of us expected it to happen. Not yet anyway.
