|
Thirty-six
‘So, were you ever going to tell me?’
Adam regards me grimly from his perch on the edge of the chair. ‘It was difficult.’
‘That’s a no then.’
He shrugs. ‘I tried a couple of times. It just felt so unfair, like how come I get to have a life?’
I sit forwards in the bed. ‘Don’t you dare feel sorry for yourself because you get to stay
behind!’
‘I’m not.’
‘Because, if you want to die too, then here’s a plan. We go out on the bike. You take a hairpin
bend really fast just as a juggernaut’s coming the other way, and we’ll die together – loads of blood,
joint funeral, our bones entwined for eternity. How about that?’
He looks so horrified it makes me laugh. He grins back at me, relieved. It’s like breaking
through fog, as if the sun comes out in the room.
‘Let’s just forget about it, Adam. It was bad timing, that’s all.’
‘You threw everything out the window!’
‘Not just because of you.’
He leans his head back against the chair and closes his eyes. ‘No.’
Dad told him I’m finished with the hospital. Everyone knows. Philippa’s coming in the
morning to discuss options, although I don’t think there’ll be much to discuss. Today’s transfusion
is already wearing out.
‘What was it like at university anyway?’
He shrugs. ‘It was big, lots of buildings. I got a bit lost.’
But he glows with the future. I can see it in his eyes. He got on a train and he went to
Nottingham. He’ll go to so many places without me.
‘Did you meet any girls?’
‘No!’
‘Isn’t that why people go to university?’
He gets up from the chair and sits on the edge of the bed. He looks at me very seriously. ‘I’m
going because my life was crap until I met you. I’m going because I don’t want to be here when
you’re not, still living with my mum and nothing being any different. I wouldn’t even be thinking
about going if it hadn’t been for you.’
‘I bet you forget me by the end of the first term.’
‘I bet I won’t.’
‘It’s practically the law.’
‘Stop it! Do I have to do something outrageous to make you believe me?’
‘Yes.’
He grins. ‘What do you suggest?’
‘Keep your promise.’
He reaches over to lift the duvet, but I stop him. ‘Turn the light off first.’
‘Why? I want to see you.’
‘I’m a pile of bones. Please.’
He sighs, switches off the main light and sits back on the bed. I think I’ve scared him because
he doesn’t try to get in, but strokes me through the duvet – the length of my leg from thigh to ankle,
the length of my other leg. His hands are sure. I feel like I’m an instrument being tuned up.
‘I could spend hours on every bit of you,’ he says. Then he laughs, as if it wasn’t cool to say
that. ‘You really are gorgeous.’
Beneath his hands. Because his fingers give my body dimension.
‘Is this OK, me stroking you like this?’
When I nod, he slides off the bed, kneels on the rug and holds my feet between both his
hands, warming me through my socks.
He massages them for so long I nearly fall asleep, but I wake up when he pulls off my socks,
lifts both feet to his mouth and kisses them. He swims his tongue around each toe. He scrapes his
teeth along the soles. He licks the run of my heels.
I thought my body wouldn’t feel heat again, not the kind of urgent heat I’ve felt with him
before. I’m amazed as it comes surging back. He feels it too, I know. He pulls off his T-shirt and
kicks off his boots. Our eyes lock as he unbuckles his jeans.
He’s astonishingly beautiful – the way his hair is short now, shorter than mine, the arc of his
back as he pulls off his jeans, his muscles firm from gardening.
‘Get in,’ I tell him.
The room is warm, the radiators piping hot, but still I shiver as he lifts the duvet and climbs in
beside me. He’s careful not to put weight on me. He leans up on one elbow to kiss me very gently
on the mouth.
‘Don’t be afraid of me, Adam.’
‘I’m not.’
But it’s my tongue that finds his. It’s me that moves his hand to my breast and encourages
him to undo my buttons.
He makes a noise in the back of his throat, a deep groan, as his kisses move down. I cradle his
head. I stroke his hair as he gently sucks, like a baby might, at my breast.
‘I missed you so much,’ I tell him.
His hand slides to my waist to my belly to the top of my thigh. His kisses follow his hand,
work their way down until his head is between my legs and then he looks at me, asking permission
with his eyes.
It spills me, the thought of him kissing me there.
His head is in shadow, his arms scooped under my legs. His breath is warm on my thigh. He
very slowly begins.
If I could buck, I would. If I could howl at the moon, then I would. To feel this, when I’d
thought it was over, when my body’s closing down and I thought I’d have no pleasure from it again.
I am blessed.
‘Come here. Come up here.’
Concern flickers in his eyes. ‘Are you OK?’
‘How did you know how to do that?’
‘Was it all right?’
‘It was amazing!’
He grins, ridiculously pleased at himself. ‘I saw it in a film once.’
‘What about you though? You’re left out now.’
He shrugs. ‘It’s all right, you’re tired. We don’t have to do anything else.’
‘You could touch yourself.’
‘In front of you?’
‘I could watch.’
He blushes. ‘Seriously?’
‘Why not? I need more memories.’
He smiles shyly. ‘You really want me to?’
‘I really do.’
He kneels up. I might have no energy left, but I can give him my gaze.
He looks at my breasts as he touches himself. I have never shared anything so intimate, never
seen such a look of bewildered love as his mouth opens and his eyes widen.
‘Tess, I love you! I really bloody love you!’
Do'stlaringiz bilan baham: |
