The only one who could stopper the hole that’d grown within him.
And her eyes.
She was the only person he’d ever known whose eyes changed colour. Grey when she was frustrated, or focused, or serious. But when she was sad, they would turn the most beautiful, brilliant shade of cerulean blue.
‘I see,’ said Mr Jane, one eyebrow raised askance. ‘But she’s why you want to scrub out your past?’
Damien didn’t answer, though he felt his cheeks colour a little in response.
‘Can I let you in on a little secret?’ Mr Jane said, leaning forwards, tilting the table ever so slightly towards him. ‘Our past is what shapes us. You wouldn’t be who you are without all those things you did.’
‘That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,’ Damien muttered. ‘For it makes mepreciselythe wrong kind of person.’
Mr Jane’s eyes widened slightly, and he took a long sip of his drink. In his bear paws, the porcelain cup looked as though it had been made for dolls. ‘You know,’ said Mr Jane. ‘I had a chap in here who said the same thing, once. Thought he was rotten through and through because he’d done rotten things.’
Damien drained his cup, and ignored the teapot entirely – filling it with rum alone. ‘And let me guess,’ he said. ‘You plied him with liquor too, until he felt a whole lot better about himself.’
‘No,’ said Mr Jane. ‘But do you know what he got told?’
Damien watched the amber liquid in his cup ripple. ‘Hopefully that he was a monumental fool.’
‘He got told that everyone has a future before them. We just have to choose it.’
Damien huffed a humourless laugh between his lips. ‘And hebelievedthat?’
‘Not at first,’ said Mr Jane. ‘But eventually. And I’ll tell you now – if she cares for you, then—’
‘She can’t care for me,’ Damien said quickly, for the very thought of it had lit something deep in the pit of his stomach, something searingly hot. ‘She doesn’tknowme. Doesn’t know—’
The half of what he’d done. Who he was.
‘Then show her,’ said Mr Jane firmly. ‘And know that she’ll see the man you are today, and not the one you were yesterday. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
Damien stitched his lips into a line. ‘Not really, no.’
‘I’m saying don’t bewail your past. Look ahead, instead. To your future.’
‘What future?’ Damien muttered, taking another sip and feeling the alcohol sting his tongue.
‘Whatever future you wish to make,’ said Mr Jane, tapping his knuckles upon the table. ‘Because it’s a choice, you know. Whether you believe it or not. Sochoose.’
Damien looked past him then, to the scarlet leaves dancing in the wind behind the teashop’s window, at the rhythmic way they fluttered back and forth.
Choose.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ava walked slowly to the theatre the next day. It was the route she and her mother had always taken together, past Custom House, and along the river – today a glittering thread of grey against a roiling sky.
As a child, Ava had taken all the stories she’d heard about ancient civilizations and lost cities and assumed Custom House, too, was as precious as the Athenian Acropolis, as steadfast as the Roman Forum. Dark, stone pillars watched out towards the docks, and Ava removed her glove – running her bare palm against the bevelled stone. It was cool against her skin, but somehow it did nothing to soothe her as she thought of what Damien had said, all those weeks ago.
I know your kind, Ava.You shape the world into the place you wish to see.
He’d meant that she saw sunshine when there was only cloud – but now Ava knew he was wrong. She saw cloudsdespitethe sunshine. She looked up at a cerulean sky and saw only the storm that would follow.
It wasn’t that he had kissed her. That she had kissed him back. It was that it had felt …
Different.
