Maybe, when the shock of it all had passed and she had got used to living with the virus, then these thoughts wouldn’t even cross her mind. So what? She had HIV. But itdidmatter. What if she were to cut herself badly, like she had done during the Albie debacle on Christmas Eve? Then, out of respect, he would need to know.
Jerico put his hand on hers. ‘I’m sorry you’re going through a difficult time. And who is this fool to let such a beautiful creature go? I’ve a good mind to set Mr Pigeons on him.’
Despite Vic’s breath hitching at his touch, she was brusque in her delivery. ‘I don’t want to talk about it anymore.’ Then more softly, ‘If you don’t mind.’
‘Of course not.’ Jerico refilled her plastic glass. ‘Cheers.’ He held his glass to hers.
Vic’s mind darted elsewhere. ‘I love the Vettriano book you gave me – thanks again. I haven’t read the text yet – just flicked through the paintings – amazing. And… how thoughtful of you to remember that I liked him.’
‘Rarely happens – that level of thoughfulness on my part, that is – so make the most of it.’
When Jerico laughed and the skin around his eyes crinkled, he looked even more attractive, Vic thought. He had lips that would give Mick Jagger a run for his money, too. Full and kissable. She suddenly had an image of them pushed against her own well-defined ones, today coated with a slick of peach lipgloss. They both shared the same thick, dark wavy hair, too. They would have made beautiful babies, she thought sadly.
Vic took a sip of wine.
‘So tell me about Victoria Sharpe then. Are you from around here? Are your parents still about?’
Vic took another drink. ‘Yes, born in Windsor and I guess I have to thank them for my path to creativity.’
‘You don’t sound very enthused by that.’ Jerico wiped his mouth on a napkin.
‘Oh, just, it wasn’t always easy – a drunk mother, an absent father…’ Her voice tailed off. ‘It was by drawing in my room that I got through some of the darker days of my childhood.’
Jerico’s voice softened. ‘And out of the darkness came a beautiful light.’
Vic was sure she actually felt her heart flutter.
The ebullient man drained his glass. ‘It’s really quite divine here today, isn’t it? We needed this sunshine.’
‘I’ve just realised you said you wrote a book in three months, but last time we met you mentioned that you wanted to write full-time, so how on earth do you find time to work?’
‘If you have the will, you will find a way, my dear.’
‘Wow, you must never sleep. What do you do for work, anyway?’
‘Oh, a bit of this and a bit of that, mainly for charities. Anyway, enough about me – we need to talk about Mr Pigeons.’
Once they had agreed on a sketch for the new cover, hours passed in what seemed like a matter of minutes, with fun, easy chat and banter. Until Jerico suddenly checked his watch and started furiously packing his rucksack with the empty plastic containers. ‘Shit, I’m late. Shit. I’m really late. I have to go. I need to be somewhere. Shit, shit, shit!’ He shoved a piece of chewing gum into his mouth. ‘I can get to Slough on the train from here, can’t I?’
‘Yes, yes, it’s just six minutes from the central station.’
In his haste to jump up, they bumped heads. And then Vic found Jerico awkwardly pulling her up towards him, and then he was cupping her chin in his hand and then looking right at her. Then without inhibition, they were kissing. Clumsy at first, and then curious, passionate, meaningful. Lost in the moment, not caring, or knowing who or what was around them, until, ‘Shit, I’m sorry, Vic, so sorry. I really do have to go.’
With his rucksack on his back, Jerico Flint careered off to the station, leaving Vic standing looking out over the river, feeling like she had literally just had her socks blown off. A lone swan appeared on the bank next to her and she burst into tears.
Jake was smoking a cigarette, Norman sunbathing quietly at his feet, when Vic appeared on deck, sobbing her heart out. Ignoring the annoyed bark from Norman for the interruption, Jake butted his cigarette and stretched his arms out wide to her.
‘Victoria, sweetheart.’ He ushered her inside and onto an armchair. A cool breeze rushed through the boat. ‘You sit down there. I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.’
Vic, slightly drunk from the half bottle of wine she had just consumed on the riverbank, began to gabble. ‘I kissed him, and I liked it, but I can never be with him. It’s not fair.’
‘Slow down – what’s not fair? Who have you been kissing?’ Jake put a mug down on a side table. ‘And have you been drinking?’
‘You judge me, too; that’s right. You’re all the same. I’m going.’ She went to get up, but Jake put a firm but gentle hand on her shoulder.
‘Victoria, stop. I judge no one – you should know that by now. All I care about is if you are OK. And you don’t have to tell me anything, but I’m not letting you leave this boat until you’ve calmed down. All right?’
‘OK,’ Victoria said, her voice small. Jake handed her a pieceof kitchen towel and she blew her nose noisily. ‘It’s fine. You wouldn’t understand, anyway.’
