Had it been a mistake, the kiss? It hadn’t felt like one. It had gripped something deep in the pit of his stomach – quietened the ticking sensation that coiled in his chest.
Because she doesn’t know who you are, hissed the voice again – his father’s voice.She doesn’t know how you’ve lied to her.But she will…and when she finds out…
He pushed a breath through his teeth, ignoring the seeping cold that was worming its way beneath the damp wool of his coat, into his chest.
And then…
And then what? She would think it was all a lie – even the moments that hadn’t been. She would see it as a betrayal – because that was what it was, wasn’t it? Betraying her confidence. Working for Lillian, taking her coin – all so that he could leave here. Leave Liverpool.
Leaveher.
And then he would go back to being alone again. He would go back to wearing one face for the world, and another in private. He would go back to his rules, his order, and the hollow feeling inside him would grow once more.
At that moment, Mr Jane placed an enormous teapot on the table, alongside two cups and saucers, and a bottle of amber liquid, which he uncorked with a satisfyingpop. Then he poured the tea, adding a generous splash of rum to Damien’s cup.
‘So, tell me,’ said Mr Jane. ‘What’s troubling you?’
Damien pulled the cup towards him, wrapping his hands around the warm porcelain. ‘I think I’ve made a mistake,’ he said quietly.
‘As has every other human on this earth,’ said Mr Jane. ‘What did you do?’
Damien looked up at the man – at the scar that tracked down his face like webbing – and the words died on his lips. ‘Something foolish.’
For perhaps that was what the kiss had been. Foolishness.
‘Well, this’ll right whatever’s wrong,’ Mr Jane said, pouring a slightly less generous splash of rum into his own teacup.
‘So this is a time-spanning teapot?’ Damien asked humourlessly. ‘One that can rewrite all my sins?’
Mr Jane’s eyebrows arched, and he slid into the seat opposite Damien. ‘Is there a particular sin you’re wanting erasure for, or is it—’
‘All of them,’ said Damien, lowering his voice as he brought the cup to his lips.
‘Well, it’s good,’ said Mr Jane, fixing Damien with one of his searching stares. ‘Not sure it’sthatgood, though.’
‘No rum is that good,’ said Damien, taking another drink.
Mr Jane nodded, tapping one enormous finger against the porcelain of his cup. ‘But if she cares for you,’ he said carefully. ‘It won’t matter.’
Damien felt the liquid burn his throat. Felt the alcohol settle in his stomach and begin to thrum there. ‘Ifwhocares for me?’
‘The woman,’ said Mr Jane. ‘For I’ve seen that fish-eyed stare in a man before. There’s a woman.’
Damien kept his expression carefully neutral. ‘There’s no woman.’
‘No?’ Mr Jane’s lip twitched upwards infuriatingly, as though he and only he were privy to some great secret. ‘Then you have another reason for wishing to rewrite your history?’
‘Givenmyhistory I could have a hundred reasons,’ said Damien. ‘A thousand.’
‘Still, I reckon there’s only one,’ said Mr Jane, hiding his smile behind his teacup. ‘Why don’t you tell me about her?’
‘There is nothing to say,’ he lied.
For there waseverythingto say.
She was the only one who had looked past his disguise, and seen the real him.
And she hadn’t judged him for it.
