Page 21 of Too Busy for Love

‘Blessed are the pessimists, for they shall never be disappointed.’

He laughs, and the sound of it fills the empty room.

‘I’ll have to remember that one for Fergus. He’ll love it. Shall we clear up and have a nightcap before bed?’

‘You’re a terrible influence on me. I don’t think I’ve ever drunk as much as I have this week.’

‘Me neither, but we’re on holiday, aren’t we?’

It’s accepted now that I’ll be spending the night in Jock’s room, and I no longer bother to remove my pillow each morning. We’ve also given up trying to work out which of us is the phantom spooner; as soon as we’re both in bed, I nestle into him and he puts his arm around me. Normally, I’m asleep within minutes, but I can’t stop my brain churning tonight.

‘I can hear you,’ Jock murmurs sleepily.

‘What?’

‘You’re thinking. I can hear the cogs in your head.’

I roll over to face him. He hasn’t moved his arm, so our noses are practically touching.

‘I’m scared, Jock. I’ve tried the not-worrying-about-stuff-I-can’t-control thing, but it’s not working. What if I go to prison tomorrow for a really long time? I’ll never see the things I want to see, do the things I want to do, love the people I want to love.’

He brings his hand up and strokes my cheek. ‘You will do all of those things.’

He’s so close that I can’t focus on him, but I don’t need to. Something powerful is stirring deep inside me, and I’m both energised and terrified by it.

‘Jock?’ I whisper.

‘Yes?’

‘Do you think I’m attractive?’

His eyes snap open. ‘Is that a trick question?’

‘No.’

‘Of course I do. You’re beautiful. Why?’

‘Kiss me.’

‘What?’

‘I’ve realised that you’re right. I can’t control what happens to me tomorrow, but I need to seize everything today. I want to feel alive. I want to feel powerful. I want to feel desired. I want…’ I tail off.

He stares at me for the longest time without moving and I’m on the verge of fleeing to my room in humiliation when he inches forwards until his lips brush against mine. We lie there for what feels like an age, our lips just touching, and I can feel the heat building up inside me until I’m fizzing. Just when I think I can’t take any more, he pulls me against him and deepens the kiss, lifting my sleep shirt and slipping his hand underneath. I sigh with pleasure at the sensation. There is no doubt where this is going and, although a tiny part of me questions the wisdom of it, given that we’ll be separated in a day or two whatever happens tomorrow, I want this. In fact, it’s more primitive than that; I need this.

8

Having sex with Jock turned out to be just the tonic I needed, and I slept soundly until he woke me at seven thirty. I was initially anxious that he might have regretted it and there would be an awkward atmosphere, but he obviously sensed my unease as he held me for a long time and told me it had felt like the most natural thing in the world. I agreed, and we ended up doing it again. Despite a good night’s rest and the endorphins that are probably still floating around my body, my heart is in my mouth as we leave the hotel to make our way to the custody centre where we will learn our fate. Having studied the Tube and bus routes, we agreed a taxi would be the most reliable option, and I’m drinking in the view as it trundles along, just in case this is my final glimpse of freedom. I feel like I might throw up at any minute. We’ve given ourselves plenty of time; better to be early than late for something like this. I wonder how long they give you before they decide you’re a no-show and issue a warrant for your arrest. Ten minutes? A couple of hours?

I’m shivering with nerves when the taxi pulls up outside, and Jock has to help me out as my legs are feeling so wobbly. He’strying to appear relaxed, but I can feel the tension radiating off him. Underneath the façade, he’s just as scared as me.

There’s a different custody officer on the desk today, and he looks at us quizzically as we make our way through the door.

‘Can I help you?’ he asks.

‘Andrew McLaughlin and Beatrice Fairhead,’ Jock tells him. ‘We have a bail appointment at ten o’clock.’

The officer glances at the clock behind him. ‘You’re a bit early, it’s only nine thirty. Did you want to wait or come back?’

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