Page 4 of Forever Mr Black

“It doesn’t feel right, leaving you here.”

“Go on. You’ve got your own problems to deal with. Go back home and put things right with Art.”

I stare down at the ring and twist it round on my finger. I’ve got to find him first. “He left. I don’t know where he’s gone.”

“Men are simple creatures. He’s upset. Think where he’d go. For Martin, that’s up in the loft with his trains. For your dad, it was his shed.” She smiles fondly at the memory. “Ask yourself, where’s Art’s special place?”

And suddenly, I know exactly where he’ll be.

Two

It’s dark by the time I pull up outside the wooden double gates at the entrance to the drive. After taking a few wrong turnings down a couple of country lanes, I’ve surprised myself that I managed to get here. I’ve only ever been here once before after all—as a passenger—and didn’t pay too much attention to the route. The last time, Art drove.

Art.

My heart twists with sadness.

He has to be here.

Please let him be here.

Before I get a chance to buzz the intercom, the gates open.

I put my car into first and creep up the winding drive. The house stands in shadows against the darkness. A deep breath of relief leaves my body at the sight of the familiar grey sports car parked up out front.

As I pull up beside his car, I realise I haven’t really thought the next bit through. What am I going to do now? Knock on the door and explain to his mum that Art and I have had a bit of a falling-out and ask to speak to him, please? How embarrassing—not to mention, juvenile.

There has to be another way. My eyes drift to the side of the house.

The cold night air clings to my arms and legs as I climb out of the car and walk across the gravel drive. Lush green lawn stretches onwards in the darkness, and no fence or gate means it’s easy access to the rear. Cold, dewy blades of grass tickle my toes, and I wrap my arms around me to try and keep warm. My light jumper and shorts are no match for the chilly evening air as I hurry to the back garden.

I round the corner of the house, relieved to see the paved patio and line of stepping stones Art led me across the last time we came. Nerves swipe away my relief as I head across the path towards the hedge of conifer trees. I’ve found him, but I’ve no idea how he’s going to react to me turning up like this.

My heart leaps in my chest. He’s sitting on the bench, bent forward with his elbows on his knees and hands clasped tight together.

What do I say first? Where do I begin?

Sensing my presence, he lifts his head, and I’m hit with a flurry of fresh nerves. His face is partially obscured by darkness, so I can’t tell whether or not he’s pleased to see me, which isn’t helping. I take the fact that he hasn’t told me to leave as a positive sign. But now that I’m actually here, my brain’s not working in tandem with my mouth. There are so many things I need to say, but no words come. I take a steadying breath in and concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other as I head towards him.

His dark eyes follow me. His mouth is drawn into a tight line, giving me no clue how he feels. I don’t know how this is going to go.

Goosebumps prickle across the bare flesh of my thighs as I sit down on the cold wooden bench beside him. A tense energy zaps between us, and my stomach tightens with anxiety. We could be strangers right now. How is it possible for us to sit so close yet feel so far apart?

Silent seconds tick by into strained, unbearable minutes. One of us needs to speak, and I know it should be me.

I’m about to when Art sits up and tears his jumper off over his head. He yanks down the khaki T-shirt that’s ridden up over his abs and offers me his jumper.

I stare at the black cashmere in his hand.

“You’ll freeze,” he mutters without looking at me.

“But so will you.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

“Just wear the bloody jumper, Sophie,” he snaps, clearly in no mood to be tested.

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