Waiting for Dain to return from his ablutions or whatever he’s doing, idly, I pick up a slim book of poetry from his nightstand lying next to the photo. It’s a copy ofThe Complete Poems of Emily Brontë. I smile to myself; he loves her poems. I flick open the flyleaf and see something written there in light pencil.
The lamp has been turned down low, so I dial it up and peer at the handwriting closely. I can barely make it out.
To Dain,
All my love,
Gareth (p.166)
I stare, my gut twisting. What the fuck? With a shaking hand, I flip to page 166 and discover with dread it’s the poem‘Stars’. The last stanza has been underlined with the same pencil.
Why did the morning dawn to break
So great, so pure, a spell;
And scorch with fire the tranquil cheek,
Where your cool radiance fell?
Footsteps pad along the corridor; and I hastily return the book to the nightstand, turn the lamp low, and lie there as stiff as a board with my heart thudding in my ears. Surely not, that’s absurd—Dain andGareth?But I’m having a visceral reaction, and somehow, I just know. This is the thing.The thing he doesn’t want me to find out about.
Dain pops his head through the curtains and smiles at me. He’s holding a plate with a peanut butter doorstep sandwich cut into halves and a large glass of milk.
‘I got hungry. Thought you might be too.’
I nod mutely.
Shivering, he climbs into bed, holding the glass, and deposits the plate between us on the bed. ‘Brrrr. Luckily, we’ve got an indoor toilet now, or we’d be freezing our arses off!’
I flinch at the word ‘arses’ and resolutely take a bite of peanut butter sandwich.
Maybe it’s nothing ... a close friendship ... But ‘all my love’ isn’t something you’d write to a guy friend, and I know there’s friction there. I’ve seen Gareth’s face shut down whenever Dain’s name is mentioned. Does he have a crush on him? Is that why Dain didn’t want to go into the hotel after he rescued me? There’s another possibility, but my mind refuses to contemplate it.
I close my eyes, chew automatically, and swallow. But the lump of bread is like a bullet in my throat, and I gag.
‘Shit.’ Dain whacks me between the shoulder blades, and I cough as the lump disappears slowly.
‘Here, have some milk.’
I swallow it down, cold and creamy, as he rubs circles on my back.
Dain takes the sandwich out of my hands. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t eat any more of that.’
I nod. But tears well, and another lump forms in my throat, one that won’t be eased by drinking milk.
‘Are you OK?’ he asks, peering at me since I haven’t spoken a word since he came into the room.
‘Yes, I-I’m good, thanks. Just tired.’ My voice sounds hoarse to my ears, and I feel so weird and out of it, like I’ve got shell shock.
‘We should get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning,’he says.
Reader, I don’t think I will ...
Dain turns out the lamp, and we sink down under the black coverlet, as if into the bowels of the earth. Gathering me in his arms, he kisses me on the temple and whispers, ‘Good night, my sweet Lizzy.’ But I feel like I’m being held by a stranger.
He’s off to dreamland in what seems like a matter of minutes, yet I can’t sleep. It’s pitch-black in the curtained space with no reassuring chinks of moonlight. Rain starts beating relentlessly against the windowpane.
Why oh bloody why, when I’ve found the man of my dreams, does there have to be ahuge fucking catch?
