Page 97 of I Love You, I Love You, I Love You

He’s already making his excuses anyway: ‘No, no, thank you, I honestly just wanted to say congratulations to Ella. I won’t stay—’

But he’s met with my colosseum, the loyal pillars of my family and friends staring back at him, unimpressed. Lowe, the speechless showman in the room, famous for wowing crowds (and stomping all over my heart), is now flustered, in the spotlight at his toughest gig yet. He clears his throat, sweetly with his fist, and goes to speak—

But Bianca gets in there first, pointing: ‘Excuse me, you can’t just come in here, Lowe, and take over Ella’s night. I know you think you’re some hot-shot celeb these days but this isn’t about you, mate. Ella – tell him?’

Lowe looks at me apologetically.

I fold my arms and grin. ‘It depends what he’s going to say, doesn’t it?’

Lowe’s face falls as the jury of my loved ones await his words.

‘Ummm. OK. Let me just think … ’ Lowe puts his left hand on his chest and rubs it over his hammering heart. The room quietens. Then he says, faintly, ‘If you know Ella, you know she’s a storyteller, always exaggerating, embellishing and making everything around her a poem or fairy tale. What she doesn’t realize is that she is a poem. She is the fairy tale and we are just characters in the story of her.’

GULP.

‘GORGEOUS!’ heckles Mum. And the room claps.

Lowe then puts his arm up, to stop the clapping; he’s not finished. ‘I’m sorry, sorry … I … err, maybe I have to say what I actually came here to say tonight … I just didn’t expect to do it in front of so many people.’ He doesn’t take his eyes off me. ‘Ella, I thought that you’d be home after your launch, alone, so I could tell you that … ’ He takes a deep breath like it might be his last and says:

‘ … I love you, Ella.’ He speaks, loud and clear, firm, like his life hangs on these very words. ‘I’ve always loved you—’

Mum gasps. (CRINGE.)

I grip onto the fireplace to hold myself up, not even caring that my fingers are definitely touching some old jar filled with something rancid.

He reaches for his bag.

‘He’s pulling out a bag – oh no, what is that bag?’ Ronks whispers.

And inside is everything I’d ever want to see. Proof. Evidence. Like the photo of ‘Jase’ I found in the unwanted roadside drawers as a kid but for real this time. He holds the items up one by one. All the letters I ever sent him. The mixtapes too. A scrap of leather from my shoe. And a lace. A bottle top. A travel card with my lipstick marks on it. My hat. Even my dad’s hoodie that I assumed he’d lost. His old wallet, in front of the worn travel cards, a passport photograph of me aged nineteen.

‘I’ve been holding this stuff at my studio for years,’ he says. ‘You were sitting on top of it!’

The trunk!

‘Oh God.’ Aoife bursts into tears.

‘That’s done it. I’m absolutely finished,’ says Bianca, pulling a stained tea towel off the oven to stop her make-up from running.

Lowe clenches his jaw, straight into my eyes like it’s the most real anyone’s ever looked at me and says, ‘Ella, I think about you every time I play guitar, every song I hear – I think about you when I’m awake, and when I’m asleep I dream of you. Every time an aeroplane flies over my head it’s you I think about. When I eat. When I’m with my friends, I’m thinking about you. I think about you when I’m driving. Even when I was on stage – I was thinking about what you were up to. When I had to go to the dentist and had an injection in my gum, I thought about you. I think about you when I ride my bike. And when I’m not thinking about you, although I’ll admit these moments seem to be less and less these days, I’m wondering why I’m not thinking about you and go back to thinking about you again … I love you, Ella. Everything about you. I just … love you. I’m completely ready if you are.’

And … he moves in for a kiss; I move in for a kiss; he moves in, I move in, heads tilted, eyes closed. … Is this EVER going to EVER happen? WILL YOU JUST KISS ME FOR GOODNESS SAKE and … he does. He kisses me.

‘Fly Away’ plays and the volume of the world drowns out. And the universe has done something right for once. And that star will grin. And the kid versions of us are caught in the rain, hugging. And holding. And laughing. And jumping up and down on some trampoline somewhere in the past, celebrating like they’ve pulled off the greatest of stunts: We did it! We did it! Look what we made happen!

I like you. I like you too.

But the kiss is kind of in front of everyone – including both my parents – so it’s weird and awkward. I laugh and say out loud, ‘Why does this feel like a wedding?’

Chapter 40

The next morning, I feel like I’ve woken from a fever dream. Aoife and Bianca lie head to toe, passed out on the couch, Dom and wife-to-be Soph on the floor as they missed their train back to Brighton. It’s like bloody Glastonbury in here. Then, I turn over to see Lowe, fast asleep.

All these years of searching for him in the corner of every room, in the cavity of every party, every gig, every festival, every window of every passing train, every alcove of every pub, subconsciously waiting for him to sit down next to me on every bench in every park, half an eye on every door, only to find him here, on the pull-out sofabed at 251.

He opens his eyes and says, ‘Oh, it’s you.’

I say, ‘Yeah.’

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