He looks tired; the restless wind never ceased last night. So we managed only a couple of hours’ sleep, if that. Purple smudges mar the translucent skin under his eyes, there’s a faint outline of stubble on his cheeks, and his hair is sticking up on one side from where he’s lain on it. But after coming to my rescue, he’s more attractive than ever, and I wish I could wrap my arms around him. But it doesn’t feel right, not here in front of the hotel as Klint could appear at any moment.
‘Well, take care,’ he says, giving me a lopsided grin. ‘No more wandering out on the moors by yourself, OK?’
‘Definitely not,’ I reply. ‘Thank you. For everything. I’m not sure how I can repay you.’
‘Knowing you’re safe is all the repayment I need. Just send me an update later.’
‘OK, I will.’
I open the door to go into the hotel, but Dain steps forward. ‘Lizzy?’
I look up at him expectantly.
‘About what you said last night ... I’m probably out of line saying this ...’ He hesitates, chewing on his bottom lip. ‘But if at any point you need another option, a place to figure things out, or some time to yourself, you’re welcome to stay at mine—I have a spare room,’ he adds when he sees my quizzical expression.
‘Oh, er, thanks,’ I say, feeling a stab of guilt that he’s deemed my relationship problems the sort that require him to provide accommodation. ‘That’s kind of you, but I should be fine. I’ve ... we’ve ... got some issues. But we’re working through them. It’s all good.’
‘OK, well, the offer’s there. It’s a bit of an unusual set-up, but I think you’d like it.’
He turns and strides up the road back towards the village, and I watch him go, feeling taken aback. That sounded very much like he asked me to move in with him, which is completely impossible under the circumstances. Or is he simply being a good Samaritan and offering me refuge because I clearly haven’t got my shit together?
With a mix of emotions churning in my gut, I enter the hotel and head up to room 9. As predicted, Klint’s joy at me turning up damp and rumpled, but alive and well is short-lived and tempered with mistrust because he knows I spent the night in a tent with Dain. He hugs me, but I’m kept at an emotional distance. I’m hoping, once I explain, Klint will appreciate that it was an exceptional circumstance. Now all I want to do is have a hot shower, don some dry clothes, and have a large breakfast—only then will I be in the right mental state to deal with his suspicions.
However, shortly after breakfast, Klint pries it out of me that Dain and I were in the sleeping bag together; and he hits the roof despite my attempts to plead innocence. He strides back and forth in the limited space next to the bed, clenching his fists.
‘Nothing happened!How many times do I have to say it?’ I kneel on my bed, clutching a pillow to my chest in case he decides to use one of his fists as a battering ram.
‘Why was he in there too? It wasn’t necessary! You obviously have no respect for me!’
‘It had nothing to do with you. It was purely a survival technique to get my core temperature up. Would you rather I’d died of hypothermia?’
Klint doesn’t answer and looks like he’s actually considering the pros of that.
I hug the pillow and slump against the headboard dejectedly. ‘Well, that’s wonderful! My own boyfriend wishes I were dead!’
‘Of course not. Don’t be silly. I just wish you’d survived withouthimbeing involved.’
‘Dain saved my life. You should be thanking him, not acting like a jealous dimwit.’
Klint takes a deep breath. ‘I’ll ignore that insult. Anyway, it’s pointless arguing. We’re off tomorrow morning. My funding came through, so I’ve booked us on the 10.31 train from Keighley.’
‘What? I’m not ready to go. I’ve got a solid idea for my thesis topic.’ I’ve decided to give up on Emily’s second novel and focus on the depression aspect instead. Reading about Charlotte’s pain through her novel and letters has given me an insight into the Brontës’lives, and it’s forged a bond. Things weren’t easy at the parsonage. They all struggled with melancholy, poor health, and an uncertain future. Exploring the subject further and seeing how each of the sisters coped with it through their writing will be fascinating—and possibly cathartic for me. Last night, when I couldn’t sleep in the tent, I even came up with a fitting title: ‘Black Dog: Expression of Depression in the Brontë Novels’.
‘What about your documents? Don’t you need to stay for your meeting?’ I ask, feeling panicked. He’s going to ruin everything now that Dain and I are back on track.
Klint gives me a sly look. ‘I’m getting them scanned and sent to me instead. I had a lot of time to arrange things yesterday evening while you were camping out on the moors withlover boy.’
I bite back a churlish reply. There’s no point reiterating my innocence. I know from experience it’s like flogging a dead horse.
I take a deep breath. ‘Why is it all about your research?’
‘Because it’smyfunding. The fact that you’ve decided on a topic out of the blue is completely irrelevant.’
‘But you encouraged me!’
However, Klint has made up his mind. ‘You don’t need to be in Haworth for your research, Lizzy, do you?’ he says in a placating tone.
Silently, I shrug my shoulders and look away. He’s right. I don’t, but it feels like he’s punishing me for something I haven’t even done.
