“Was I sleep talking?” I ask, eyes still closed.
I feel him nod, his chin pressing into my forehead.
His voice is low as he says, “I woke you before it got bad.”
The fact that he knows it gets bad is horrifying on its own. What has he heard? What has he chosen not to mention? With the panic attack at the start, the sleep talking and now this, he must think I’m insane.
“What did I say?”
“You just kept saying ‘Mum’,” he murmurs.
I groan, slowly untangling myself from him and rolling my head back. Most other passengers on the coach seem to be either sleeping themselves or have headphones on. It doesn’t appear as if anyone cares about my mishap.
Gus rearranges himself too, twisting towards the aisle again. He insisted on me taking the window seat this time. I could’ve leant that way, used my bag as a pillow, but no. I used the popstar as a human mattress.
Great. Good. Just brilliant.
“Sorry,” I say again.
“Stop apologising. It’s fine.”
“It’s embarrassing. I’m nearly thirty,” I whisper-hiss.
Gus leans forward, grabbing a bottle of water we bought at the bus station and offers it to me. I take a sip and hand it back.
“What was she like?” he asks.
“Who? My mum?” Nobody ever asks me about her. I don’t think I’ve spoken about her out loud in years, except for with Dad and my sisters. Gus nods.
“She was… fierce. But funny. And outrageously creative. None of us inherited that from her. I haven’t got an artistic bone in my body; it’s why I like what I do. It’s structured and clean and I can tidy all the loose threads up into a contract. Mum was messy and chaotic. A lot like my sisters, I guess.”
“You miss her,” he says, peeking down at me, his face so close to mine I can feel his breath brushing over my nose.
I nod, swallowing.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to but talking about it might help,” he says, his voice muffled so that only I can hear. “What is the dream about?”
I close my eyes again and press my face into the top of his arm. I realise, as soon as I’ve done it, that it’s an intimate gesture, especially when he presses his chin to the top of my head, the light bristle there sending shivers from my scalp racing down my spine.
“She leaves me. We’re driving towards a roundabout. Then, every time we reach it, she disappears and I’m the one driving.”
“Makes sense,” he says.
I sit back, frowning. “No, it’s doesn’t. She leaves me going round and round until I wake up crying. None of that makes sense.”
Gus reaches out and tucks some of my messy, loose hair behind my ear. He’s so gentle with me, I feel that hardened heart of mine soften, tears building at the back of my eyes. “You took over, Sara. At least from what you’ve told me. She leaves, you take the wheel, and you keep on going round and round, right?”
I swallow the spiky lump in my throat. I hate how it feels like he’s taken a knife to my chest in the most careful and sweet way. It’s entirely contradicting. I want to hate him for it, but maybe he’s onto something.
“I don’t know how to get off.”
“Maybe the exit hasn’t revealed itself to you yet?” he says. “But it will come.”
His eyes are so hooded, I watch as he finally drifts off to sleep himself, head leant back against the chair. Moments later, as the coach turns a tight bend, his body shifts and he ends up leaning his head against my shoulder.
Just as well he’s out for the count as it means he can’t see me furiously wiping tears from my eyes with my new J4S t-shirt.
TwentyCruise Location – TaorminaNext Port – RomeTime of Arrival – 10:00 (GMT+1)
