“I think it really was.”
“And could he believe his eyes? What did you talk about?” asks Mum, and I can feel how much effort she’s making not to sound reproachful.
“He didn’t even recognize me at first. And then it was... disillusioning. He mainly talked about himself... Somehow, I’d hoped for more.”
“I’m sorry, Emmi.” She sounds genuinely upset. “I really am so very sorry that your father isn’t here for you. I wish things were different. And I hope you aren’t blaming yourself for it.”
My throat tightens. “I hope you aren’t either.”
When Mum smiles at me, her eyes are sparkling, but maybe I’m imagining that too.
“Aren’t you angry with him?” I ask. “I’m only asking because I’m angry. I’m so angry, and it’s tiring.”
“I know, Emmi. It’s exhausting. But you can let it go and make better use of your energies.”
“How did you let it go?”
“I don’t know. It took a long time, and I still haven’t completely. I’m angry with him for doing this to you. But nowadays, I mainly feel sorry for him because he threw away the chance to see you grow up.”
Mum looks at me, and I know it’s the truth. That she’s stopped hating him. Because it doesn’t do any good. And I really wish I could too.
It’s true that I’ve done more than my fair share of crying in the last little while, but I think I have my reasons. This is just a superintense phase. But this time it feels different. These aren’t hot, furious tears, they’re lighter. I’d got myself so invested in this idea of finding my dad that I couldn’t see I have Mum. That she’s always been there and working her arse off to give me every opportunity. I just took it all and I wasn’t satisfied. It wasn’t enough for me. But in these few seconds, it’s like everything just slides into place.
24
Henry
Emma’s been different since her mum came to visit. More together, and more kind of unbuttoned. Or, at least, it seems that way to me when she gets back to school on Sunday evening after spending the day in Edinburgh with her mum. We spend hours kissing in her room; the only reason I don’t spend the night with her is that Ms.Barnett catches us just before wing time and is sure to pop back later to check that I’ve definitely left.
It’s a surreal time. Lately, I’ve been asking myself if I’d ever really been in love before, because nothing compares to this. I never felt so fluttery and light when Grace looked at me. I never spent minutes at a time not paying attention in lessons because all I could think of was how soft her mouth was. I never wanted so badly to know everything going on inside her head, every single thought—it feels almost like I can’t survive without knowing. I even look forward to the training sessions that Emma and I have started again. I missed them during our little break. Seriously. This is what things have come to.
It’s like we’re living in a transparent bubble, and I wish itcould never burst. I’m actually physically addicted to being close to Emma. Maybe I ought to be worried about this crazy magnetic attraction. Sometimes it scares me when I think how much we still have to tell each other. How many things I don’t yet know about her and urgently need to find out. I only know the Dunbridge version of Emma, and I forget way too easily that there’s a completely different Emma out there. One who speaks German and had a life before she switched schools. A life that she’d been intending to go back to next summer. There’s a long time to go until then but it still makes me nervous. I suppose I ought to be a neutral nontoxic boyfriend, who supports her every decision, whatever it looks like, but the fact is that all I want now is for her to stay here. There’s no point in denying it. She means way too much to me for that. We haven’t spoken about it again, and I haven’t got the guts to raise the subject. Not while everything’s so pink and perfect.
These days, we’re not just running in the mornings: We sometimes go out in the evenings too. Like this Saturday, for instance. At around halfway, we stop in the woods because we have to kiss. It really is a matter of considerable urgency. My heart rate doesn’t drop the whole time, so I’m sure we can count it as part of my training, though Emma would probably disagree. It doesn’t really faze me that we’re dripping with sweat—it’s actually kind of hot. My knees are soft, and there’s no way it’s a coincidence that her mouth fits mine so perfectly. Emma’s way of moving is almost more than I can stand. I can feel everything through this thin sports kit. Her warm body, every movement—I can’t get enough of it because Emma was always so far away and now she’s here.
I’m too distracted to pay any attention to the weather, but I guess I should be grateful when at some point the sky chucks an ice-cold shower over us. We run back, we laugh, it’s unreal, and it eventually gets unbelievably cold, so I pull Emma toward the gym. She’s shivering as we run through the empty corridors—the whole place seems dead, the boys’ changing rooms are deserted, and we keep kissing as we pull off our shoes.
My head switches off as Emma pulls me to her by the waistband of my shorts. It’s a fluid, self-confident motion that takes my breath away. Her hips meet mine. I’m hard right away, and I have to bury my hands in her hair. It’s damp on my fingers, I pull her head back slightly and forget my own name as a stifled groan escapes her. She pulls her hands back from my waistband and runs them over my belly up to my chest.
Our eyes meet. Her pupils are wide, her cheeks red and, God, I have to kiss her. I have to kiss her right now. She raises her hands to my head as I run my thumbs over her cheeks. I don’t know who’s pulling who closer. Maybe we both are, simultaneously, equally desperate, equally relieved when it happens.
This is no gentle kiss. It’s hungry and greedy. It’s everything I could ever imagine and more. It’s this weightless feeling in my stomach as I pull her toward the showers.
I can taste her sweat, salty and damp. My fingers slip over her skin. I can’t stop. It’s a kiss that has only a beginning, no end. Breathing through the nose so we don’t have to stop, her hot tongue in my mouth, and nothing else matters now.
I stumble backward against some wall in the team showers,and I can’t breathe as Emma’s warm body presses against mine. She gasps, right in front of me, as she feels my erection. She hesitates very briefly. Then, tantalizingly slowly, she moves her hips against mine. My eyelids flutter closed, she kisses me more, my head sinks back against this cold tiled wall, and Emma lets her fingers wander over my jaw. Over my throat to my collarbone. When her hands reach my chest, I lay mine on her bum. I press her against me, but it isn’t enough. There are too many clothes, there’s too much fabric. We gasp all the same. I blink. It’s only a tiny glance as she looks at me, and I understand. My hands slide lower, I grab her and lift her up. I turn with her, Emma wraps her legs around my hips, and then I press her back against the wall as I move against her.
“God, Henry.” She groans, and I can’t stand it. It’s just too much. There’s too much heat, too much attraction, as she presses her legs more firmly against me and lifts her hips.
Her hands run through my hair as we keep on kissing, and then she grabs the neckline of my running top. She hesitates for a tiny moment, and it drives me out of my mind.
My eyes find hers, we look at each other, and for a second, we freeze motionless, facing each other.
“Have you got...?” she begins, her voice hoarse.
“No, but Sinclair has. Wait.”
Reluctantly, I leave her on the floor. I feel dizzy. We’re going to do this. I know the combination to Sinclair’s locker, but the damn thing doesn’t open until I give it a thump with my fist. Emma’s standing in the doorway to the showers wearing nothing but her skintight leggings and a blue sports bra that hugsher figure perfectly. My tongue tingles as I think about what’s beneath it.
