When he lets out that low laugh there are slices down his cheeks. But way worse is when he tips back his head to swig from his bottle, and I watch his throat contracting.
I take a deep breath. ‘So I thought we could do the Hub, the Balcony Bar, Hot Jacks, the Ship and the Jolly Sailor, then move on down to the Beach Hut and Jaggers via the Smugglers’. I’m leaning strongly on Nell’s singles’ pub crawl, with a couple of extras thrown in. So long as we keep moving and drinking, I’ll stay focused on the job.
He’s more engaged with this than I’d expected. ‘I don’t mean to sound like a light weight, but it’s a shame to use up all the pubs in one go. We could do this again later in the week. Showing me the sights could be your project.’
As if there weren’t a thousand and four reasons for me not to leave already, here comes number a thousand and five. ‘That might be difficult.’
He’s grinning like he’s got me. ‘You can’t cookallthe time. With your new rules on finding happy places I expected we’d be out in town every other night at least?’
I refuse to spoil the evening by thinking about tomorrow, so I grin back. ‘We’re training you up to be independent here. At least we could walk through the bars then you know what they’re like.’ My fallback coping mechanism here is blocking out the reality of what’s careering towards me at a million miles a second. If I actually considered how much I’m going to miss Sophie and Milla and Maisie and Nell and George and Plum, I’d scream. And that’s before I even get on to thinking what it’s going to be like not to have Charlie and Diesel popping their heads in every ten minutes. I’ve come far enough this summer to know I’d like the grown-up stuff, but I haven’t quite made it all the way. George and I both know if I had I wouldn’t be going. I’d still rather choose the easy way out than stay here and tough it out to get the goodies. To do that I’d have to be another, better, stronger person. As it is, I have to live with the limitations of who I am.
Charlie looks at his watch. ‘How about you speed talk me down the hill, then when we get to Jaggers we’ll bag a chill-out space and drink ourselves under those on-trend perspex tables.’
He’s catching on fast but I’m not giving in that easily. ‘Fine, so long as we pull in a late night hot chocolate at the Surf Shack on the way home.’
He’s already leading the way towards the door, forcing a path through the crowd of surfers and their board piles. ‘I thought we were sleeping under tables not going home? You won’t have great times if you don’t putallthe effort in, I thought you’d know that.’
He’s joking here, but for a second I’m letting myself wake up on the deck at Jaggers, sand drifts in my hair, curled up against the heat of his body. Even the sensation of an axe-in-the-skull hangover head doesn’t take away the thrill. That’s how badly I’ve got this. And as if to underline the problem, accidentally rubbing elbows as we dodge the crowds of summer holiday makers along the High Street is sending crazy tingles through my torso.
I’m not under any illusions. I’ll miss everyone here like crazy, because I’ll be one person in a city of strangers, missing a whole bunch of people. But when I leave, I’ll be one tiny person gone from this buzzing place. The water will close over the space I was in, and there won’t be a trace. The strangest thing is that I’m going back to a place I once loved so much I didn’t want to leave it. Those few short months ago when I first arrived here I’d have swapped St Aidan for Paris in a heartbeat. Remembering that is what’s getting me through. The minute I’ve done it, going back again should be a-okay. Really, why wouldn’t it be?
At some point, I must have inadvertently let Charlie take the lead. You know what guys are like once they set their minds on a mission. Before I can say Swedish cider, we’ve been in and out of every bar on my crumpled paper, had a few proper local ciders along the way, stampeded down the cobbles to the sea front and grabbed ourselves a velvet sofa in an alcove at Jaggers. Halfway down our second giant pitcher of strawberry daiquiri I decide there’s no point in holding back and swap my teensy cocktail glass for something bigger.
I wave my full jam jar at Charlie, then I chug my way to the bottom. ‘This is pretty much like drinking strawberry smoothies, I might as well try for my five a day.’
He’s laughing more easily now. Or maybe that’s me. ‘Go for it. So long as you don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow.’
‘Nowhere important.’ It’s barely eleven. I’ll think about the flight later.
He eases back against the plush lilac cushions. ‘We’ll come here next time, it’s very civilised.’
Of all the surprises, Charlie embracing Jaggers is unexpected. I stare across the empty bar. ‘I’m not sure where everyone is, it’s usually busier.’ Like my Sardine evenings, times a hundred and then some. Then as if on cue, a crowd surges in.
As Charlie tips the last drips from the jug into my jar, he’s yelling in my ear over the noise. ‘What happened there, a pitch invasion? Shall we drink up and head home along the beach.’
I throw down the last syrupy mouthful, follow him out of the bar and down onto the sand, dragging my feet, not wanting the evening to end. Then I kick off my ankle boots, loop them over my fingers and try to take mental screenshots of the soft cool sand trickling over my toes as I walk. The inky glitter of the water. The muted splash as the frill of the tide rushes up the beach towards us.
His voice is soft in the shadows beside me. ‘It’s cloudy tonight, there are more stars on your dress than in the sky.’
I’m trying not to remember that everything I do and see here is for the last time. As we come to a standstill and stare up at the dark clouds moving across the crescent of the moon I can sense the heat of his body radiating to mine. That last-night snog I fantasised about weeks ago has never been far from my mind, and it’s there again now. But however much I’m aching to touch him the woman who would grab what she wants on impulse is the same one who’d be staying. Whereas the real me wraps my hands around my chest instead, and shivers. In any case, I can’t shake off the feeling it’s best to save it for a long way down the line.
‘Are you cold?’ Charlie’s voice is low, but he doesn’t wait for an answer. He simply steps in front of me, and the next minute he wraps his arms around me and all the air whooshes out of my lungs. His body is hard against mine, and I’m staring up at the planes of his face in the darkness. And then out of nowhere, his fingers are clasping my hair, his face is coming towards mine. As I open my lips, close my eyes, and drop my shoes, I’ve done this a thousand times before already in my head. Except the heat and the strength of his body is so different from anything I’d imagined and this time my head’s spinning and I’m seeing stars even if they aren’t there. Even though I know I should push him away, my hand slides up his cheek and around his head, and I’m pulling him towards me. When his mouth collides with mine, his kiss is deep and velvety and delicious. It’s like swirling salt caramel and chocolate strawberries that goes on forever and makes my whole body thrum. And when he finally breaks away, I’m left clutching my lips, staggering backwards.
He brushes my hair off my cheek. ‘Okay, Clems?’
I’m still dizzy. ‘Yes … I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to …’
‘Didn’t mean to what?’ He lets out a low laugh. ‘Thereweretwo of us involved there.’
It’s like the kiss has acted like a truth drug. ‘You see, you’re actually on my Wish List …’
That amuses him more. ‘I’m pleased to hear it. I’d put you on mine – if I had one.’
I’m shaking my head. ‘But I never meant to grab you now, I promised I’d save you for the very last night when I was definitively never coming back, in the world ever. Not the night before I went away for a while when I did want to come back at some point.’ Out loud it sounds a lot more incoherent than it did in my head. When people say ‘never apologise, never explain’, this is why.
He’s still laughing. ‘Why, who’s going away? I thought we’d cleared that up – you knocked it on the head on Saturday.’
Even though I’m still leaning my hands on the heat of his chest, my body goes cold. My throat’s so dry my voice is a croak. ‘ActuallyIam. Tomorrow.’
