‘I love you.’
His eyes flicker in surprise and his mouth opens slightly. ‘Really?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I love you.’
He leans forward and lifts me towards him and I shuffle higher up the bed, kneeling over him, pinning him to the bed under his duvet.
‘Tell me again,’ he says softly. ‘I want to hear you say it again.’
‘I,’ I put my lips on his, kiss him gently and pull back. ‘Love,’ I kiss him again. ‘You,’ I say finally and let my lips linger on his longer this time, let his mouth caress mine, let him move underneath me so that the duvet is no longer between us, and he flips me so that I’m underneath him on the bed, so that my jeans and jumper are slowly being removed, releasing me from my outfit and into the warm arms of a naked Ben as he holds me, kisses me, touches me. After weeks and weeks and weeks of teasing, he makes love to me, looks into my eyes and tells me, ‘I love you too.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Nine years ago
Ollie runs down the stairs two at a time in our new house-share, with his flatpack boxes stacked up, at exactly the same time as I try to go up the stairs with mine.
‘We’ve been here before,’ I tell him as I reverse backwards quickly. ‘I nearly died, remember?’
‘Bit dramatic,’ Ollie says with a smile as he hurtles past me and into the tiny entrance hall of our narrow terraced rental. ‘You didn’tnearly die,’ he calls back. ‘I caught you.’
‘Just before I fell to my death,’ I shout back darkly, before brightening. ‘I can’t believe that was a year ago. I can’t believe it’s been awhole yearsince we all met each other,’ I go on, and then turn back to see that Ollie is long gone to the wheelie bins to recycle his empty boxes, leaving me to reminisce alone. As I take my remaining ones up the stairs to my room, I find Ben unpacking my flatpack bookshelf and analysing the instructions, because they make no sense to me. He’s made zero start on his own room, so it’s sweet that he’s trying to help me first.
The four of us agreed months ago that we’d find a house-share together. Ollie nearly didn’t join us, as some of hismedical crew were putting in for a house and asked him to join them. In the end he decided, ‘You guys are way more normal. They’re a bit …’ he narrowed his eyes and finished with, ‘intense.’
In my mind, it was never in doubt that we’d be together. We’re a foursome, a flat-share dynamic that we know works. Why mess with it when it’s so good?
‘Celebratory fish-and-chips and a bottle of fizz?’ Liv cries from her room. ‘Isn’t that what you do when you move into your first house?’
‘Not sure it counts when it’s a university rental,’ Ollie yells up the stairs as he re-enters the house, slamming the door behind him.
‘Don’t be a killjoy, Ollie,’ Ben yells back. ‘Liv’s already got the prosecco. It’s in the fridge.’
‘Oh, in that case …’ Ollie calls as he takes the stairs two at a time. ‘Right. I’m done. Thank God. Shall I go pick up the fish-and-chips?’
‘I’ll come and help,’ I tell him, keen to escape the flatpack battle of Ben versus a screwdriver.
‘I can’t believe we’re in oursecond year,’ Ollie says as we round the corner in the darkness of an autumnal evening. I pull my parka around me firmly in the chill breeze as a police car whizzes past us at speed, siren blaring, lights flashing.
‘I’ll never get used to the noise,’ Ollie comments, more to himself than to me. ‘Makes me miss the quiet life.’
‘Want to go back to your little village in Oxfordshire and sit in silence?’
He smiles. ‘Sometimes.’
Around us leaves fall gently to the ground in shades of ochre and burnt orange from this tree-lined street. ‘I mean … it’s almost the countryside,’ I say.
‘I can’t tell if you’re trying to convince me or you?’ he asks.
I ignore him. ‘I always find it odd that when trees need warming up the most, in Britain’s inclement weather, they become strangely naked, vulnerable.’
‘Hmm,’ Ollie agrees and we stop for a moment, glance around us again in the quiet, although I can still hear that police car as it drones away from us.
‘Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,’ I say idly as Ollie and I cross the road, spying the fish-and-chip shop next to a quaint-looking boozer.
‘What’s that from?’ Ollie asks, equally idly.
‘Keats.’
