Henry’s choice of words surprises me a little, but I kind of like it too. So he isn’t always polite and correct. This evening is the living proof that he can also kiss me furiously and press me, full of desire, up against some random wall. I need more of this Henry.
“Did he ever text you?” he asks, out of the blue.
“Who?” I reply, but then I realize he must mean my dad. “No. He hasn’t got my number. I’ve only got his.”
Henry says nothing, and somehow it still works: I keep talking. His presence is still like some kind of truth spray that I breathe in, then want to tell him everything.
“It was horrible, Henry. He only talked about himself, the whole time.” My throat tightens in that grim way, like any timeyou might cry. But I’m not going to shed any more tears over Jacob Wiley.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “that it didn’t go well and that I wasn’t there after that.”
“You were.”
He shakes his head ever so slightly. “You know what I mean.”
I keep quiet, but then I raise my chin a little. It’s enough, Henry understands. I recognize the question in his eyes and put an answer into mine. He holds my cheeks and kisses me. It’s different this time. So damn gentle that the tears sting in my eyes.
This must be a dream. Henry in my bed. Henry’s lips on my mouth, his thumbs running over my temples. He puts his hand on my back, between my shoulder blades, and pulls me to him until my head is on his chest and I can’t look at him anymore. Maybe that’s intentional, because he gets that it’s easier for me to talk that way. For a while, I just lie there. Breathe in his scent and feel his fingers, which are drawing little patterns on my back.
“He just dumped on everything,” I whisper into Henry’s T-shirt. “Bad-mouthed the school, Mum. And I didn’t say anything.”
“I think that says more about him than about you.”
I feel the slight buzz of his chest as he speaks. I love it. I have to shut my eyes as he presses his fingers into the back of my neck.
“He really isn’t the way I thought, Henry.”
“And he really had no answer as to why he left back then?”
“He said Mum suffocated him. He couldn’t stand things in Germany with us. And he said he’d do it again. He’d leave again.”Henry looks at me as I raise my head and budge back a little way. “I think I understand now what Mum always meant. Why she was so cautious and wanted to keep me from getting my hopes up. He’d leave and come back as it suited him. He promised me things and just forgot them. I bet it was the same for her. And she had me and her job. I thought she was bitter and broken and trying to make up for it all through work. But I was wrong. She’s way stronger than him.”
Henry doesn’t take his eyes off me.
“She wasn’t building a career for anybody else but herself. Because the only life you can control is your own.”
I swallow. It’s strange the way everything suddenly makes sense the moment I’ve said it aloud. How could I seriously have thought that Mum was the one in that broken relationship who needed pity? Why did I have to see how lost my dad is before I could understand that he doesn’t live some exciting rock-star life but is trapped in a dream that will never come true? Why did I think Mum was forcing her values on me when all she wanted was to offer me opportunities? Suddenly I understand it. That she didn’t want me to learn and grow for her sake. That it was all for mine.
I only notice how deep I am in thought when Henry tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His very-dark-green eyes are warm as I look at him.
“What are you thinking?” he asks quietly. “I want to know.”
“What is this between us?” I ask without a second’s thought.
And Henry answers without hesitation. “I think it’s serious.”
“Yes.” I swallow. “I think it is too.”
“Even if you’re leaving in a year.”
“Maybe I won’t leave,” I say. Henry raises his eyebrows and I keep talking. “Maybe I’ll finish my A levels at Dunbridge Academy.”
I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything as cute as Henry trying to suppress a smile.
“You could apply to Oxford or Cambridge if you were here...”
“Or St. Andrews,” I add.
“Or St. Andrews,” he repeats. “If you wanted. They do sports science now—I saw that the other day.” Henry rests his head in the crook of his arm. “It kind of made me think of you.”
