Page 69 of The Christmas Express
My heart thuds, confused. Is she coming back in?
‘Ember,’ she whispers, her voice nearly lost in the dark, it’s that quiet.
‘What?’ I take a step back too, moving my forehead from hers, but she stays looking down. ‘Is it the Bryn thing? You . . . you don’t have to worry about that any more. I think you know that you’ve changed how I felt when I first started this trip?’
‘It’s not that,’ she says, and her shoulders slump. She won’t look at me.
‘Can you tell me what it is back inside, later, once we’ve kissed? It can’t be that important.’ I’m half joking, half covering the worry which is threading its way into my happiness. Despite the worry, though, I’m still pulling myself towards her, longing for the kiss, for the moment, to keep going. I think I might need this, for some reason.
Alex looks up at me then, pain in her eyes, her head tilted, and she scans my face like it might be the last time she sees me.
‘What is it?’ I ask, a little more forcefully this time, the cold creeping under my coat now.
She swallows, taking her time, stretching out the moment, looking at me like she wants to take me somewhere where we can forget about the rest of the world. Finally, she licks her lips, and says, ‘I need to tell you something.’
Chapter 36
Luke
‘Joe? Mate? Can I talk to you about something?’
My old friend stops what he’s doing and gives me all his attention. ‘Always.’
The wine has made us all break down the walls we’ve built a little, for better or worse, and Joe, for one, seems tired of holding onto any past animosity. So despite the sway, which we can’t put down to the train any more, he feels like one of the most level-headed among us to talk through what’s on my mind.
We’re huddled in one corner of the celestial carriage, the lights low and the storm howling outside, an undercurrent to the festive music. The snow is still pummelling outside, settling over everything from near to far.
The two of us haven’t talked much this trip, about anything deeper than a light dusting of surface conversation at least. ‘How are you finding all this?’ I ask him.
‘This trip?’ Joe laughs and puts his phone down on the side. ‘It’s . . . a good thing? I think?’
‘I think so, too. We’re a stubborn bunch though, aren’t we?’
Joe nods, yawning. ‘We really are. Can we move on?’
‘We can.’ I smile. ‘Sorry for everything.’
‘Ditto. What do you want to talk about? As if I don’t know – should I say “who”?’
I groan. ‘I’m so transparent.’
Joe nods. ‘What do you want to do? What do you think she wants to do? You’ve both grown from the people you were, don’t you want to know if things have changed or stayed the same?’
I think about his words, watching Cali from across the carriage as she talks with Joss. I can’t keep away from her. We’re fused together somehow, bonded, and I can’t tell what the future looks like but I know I need her in it, in some way.
When she walks by me, she lights everything up like sunshine.
When I talk to her, I can be myself.
When she goes off on her random tangents and catches herself, it feels like the greatest story ever told.
When I saw her in the airport, walking up to the gate, it was as if no time had passed and I had to force myself not to get up and go over there and fit myself around her like I always used to. Because what if she didn’t want that any more? Where would that have left us? A memory, abandoned on the tarmac?
That time I saw her in London, standing among the autumn leaves, I wanted to stop the traffic just so she’d have to keep waiting for the lights to change.
And now, I don’t want the train to start moving again. I want to have another week with her, like that week before Spain, to tell her how I’ve always felt. I want to see her first thing in the morning, and last thing at night.
I sigh, an ache in my heart as my mind fills with thoughts of her that never really went away. I look back at Joe. ‘She’s trying to rebuild these friendships. Her friends mean everything to her. It broke her when everything fell apart, and I think it was my fault.’
