Page 170 of When We Were Young

He follows me inside and looks uncomfortable as I kick off my shoes and unbutton my jeans. He busies himself drawing the curtains and getting a bottle of water from the mini fridge. I’m under the covers when he puts it by my bedside. He says nothing but climbs onto the bed and lies alongside me on top of the duvet, fully clothed. I expect he still has his shoes on.

He strokes my hair like he used to for Liv when she was poorly.

Then he lies down with his arm over me, and I drift into a dreamless sleep.

I wake to the sound of my phone ringing. Scott is gone. I rummage through my bag but get there too late. FHD missed call.

I feel a pang of guilt, but I can’t deal with that now.

I text Scott:Where did you go?

A moment later, my phone rings. ‘You’re up?’ he asks.

‘Yes.’

‘Feel better?’

‘Much. Where are you?’

‘In my room. I had to make a few calls. Can I come over?’ His voice is husky down the line.

‘Give me five.’

I brush my teeth, splash my face, and pull my jeans back on before he knocks.

I let him in and close the door behind him. We stand facing each other.

The sound of suitcases trundling past echoes in the hallway outside.

He goes to say something but changes his mind.

I open my mouth to speak but the words die in my throat.

‘Give me a chance,’ he says at last. ‘Please. Let me make it up to you––’

‘I don’t want you to feel guilty anymore.’

He closes his eyes for a moment. ‘I wish I’d given you that note.’

A door slams down the corridor. Distant voices.

‘Neither of us is to blame for what happened,’ I whisper. Seeing someone else’s guilt so plainly, helps me see my own more objectively. Everything has changed. I couldn’t have said these words before. And I know, even before I speak, that this time I believe what I’m saying. ‘We both made mistakes, but we’ve more than paid for them.’

He steps closer, cups my face in his hands, searching my eyes for answers.

Then he’s kissing me. Gently, carefully like I might break. As I close my eyes, I sense an energy vibrating beneath his skin, like he’s holding back. But I want him to let go.

I want to let go.

I get wrapped up in his kiss, but a ball of panic forms in my gut, and I pull away.

‘What is it?’ he asks.

‘I’m afraid,’ I whisper.

‘Afraid of what?’

‘I’m afraid I’ll make you miserable.’