He freezes. Then he kisses the spot behind my ear and whispers, ‘Yes.’
‘Come on.’ He pulls me up.
Emma says something to Henry and they wave us goodbye, grinning to each other. They’re impossible.
Charlie doesn’t let go of my hand as we leave the greenhouse and step outside.It really is spring, I think, because the air is warmer than I expected. Suddenly, I can hardly wait. Summer nights with Charlie, wing time while it’s still light outside, creeping out to swim in the loch in the last of the daylight, never sleeping, never waking out of the dream.
I start to guess what Charlie has in mind when he pulls me into the north wing and we walk down the dark corridor towards the theatre. It’s not locked. I giggle quietly as Charlie pushes me into the dark auditorium. The middle of the night. Just the two of us. The heavy door falls shut and the silence in here is different. It wraps itself around us like a heavy cloak as we walk down the steps. The faint light of the emergency exit signs is enough for me to know where to put my feet. Down below, in the front row, Charlie switches on the little lamp that Mr Acevedo uses to make notes when we’re rehearsing in small groups.
‘Ever been here at night before?’
I jump as Charlie comes to stand behind me. Close behind me. His voice sounds clearer in the amazing acoustics, but that’s not what’s giving me goosebumps. It’s the way it cracks slightly, which I find endlessly attractive.
‘No, have you?’ I turn so that the edge of the stage is at my back. And Charlie’s right in front of me. The light falls sideways onto his face.
He answers me with a kiss, and I thank my lucky stars. It’s a different kiss. It’s deep and thoughtful, slow, intense. It’s a perfect kiss. And perfect hips are part of a perfect kiss, pressed together, and the suppressed trembling that’s making my knees weak.
‘Tori,’ he whispers, as his lips glide over the corners of my lips. He pauses just a few centimetres from my face. I can hear him gulp. Another of those sounds that will now always drive me crazy. Charlie, at night, swallowing, aroused, the two of us in the theatre. ‘About last week . . .’
Last week. When I think about last week, I mainly think about our trembling bodies in my bed. Did he notice something?
‘Yes?’
He moves away a little.
‘Do you think it counts as a first time when it only lasted about thirty seconds?’ he asks, and my blood runs cold.
OK, then. He knows.
My laugh sounds high-pitched, awkward, and I want to cry. On the spot.
‘I wanted to tell you,’ he continues.
Hold on . . .
‘What did you want to tell me?’
He looks at me, just for a moment. He’s nervous, I can see it. I see him bite his lip gently before he answers. ‘I’d never done it before.’
‘What?’ I blurt out.
Hewhat?
Is he pulling my leg? Had he really not? What about Eleanor?
I open my mouth, but I don’t speak.
‘Say something,’ he begs.
‘It was your first time.’
His jaw muscles tense. ‘Yes.’
‘Why didn’t you say?’
Yeah, why didn’t he? We’d probably both have been more relaxed if we’d known it was a debut for both of us.
And he knows that. Doesn’t he?
