Page 46 of Milo
“I was twelve and I told you at the time that it was for the sex scenes,” I say crossly. “And may I remind you that we swore an oath never to mention it again.”
He mimes zipping his mouth but breaks the solemnity when he bursts into peals of laughter. Eventually he straightens up. “I’m sorry. Let’s go back to the fact that you and Milo are obviously destined to be together.”
“Good luck with spinning that. He thinks I’m as bad as Thomas,” I say morosely, that idea still having the power to stun me with how much it hurts.
His laughter dies immediately. “What?Really?” I nod and he shakes his head. “Rubbish,” he says stoutly. I sneak a look at him. He’s gazing at the field, but I can almost feel all his attention on me now like it’s an invisible shield deflecting blows and protecting me.
“You don’t think I am?” The question is hesitant and comes from the quiet times this week when I’ve lain with Lo’s sleeping form curled against me, his head resting on my shoulder and my nostrils full of the scent of lemon and rosemary, that sharp, sweet aroma which is so him. From those quiet times that worry has grown and flourished. “I mean, I’m loud and confident and I do ride roughshod over people sometimes.”
“Shut up,” he says fiercely, and I subside. I need him to tell me because Silas always tells the truth. “Yes, you’re loud and of course you’re confident. That’s not a sin. You just have a lot to beconfident about. But you’re also kind and generous, blisteringly honest and eminently trustworthy. I would trust my heart to you.” He smiles. “I did, and she came back safe and sound.”
“In the spirit of honesty, that was probably more Milo than me. He has an affinity for babies.”
He turns and grabs my arms. “Listen carefully, Niall, and really hear me. You care about people deeply, but you offset that with flippancy, so people don’t spot it immediately. And I know that if you were to upset someone it would wound you terribly. You could no more do that to Milo than you could cut off your own arm.”
I swallow hard, feeling those impassioned words drift over the sore part of me like a soothing ointment mending a crack that was bigger than I thought. But the biggest doubt remains.
“You see that because you know me. He can’t see it, and what if he never does?”
“Then you’ll be hurt,” he says quietly. “Badly. And that worries me, Niall, because I love you and I don’t want to see you hurt. But then again, I’ll rejoice because you’re finally experiencing true feelings and that’s good.” He pauses and cocks his head to one side. “But I don’t think I need to be worried.”
“Why?”
“Because Milo can’t see you properly for who you are at the moment but deep inside, he knows you. He understands that he can trust you.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because he’s trusted you with this. He’s given you a side of him that only one other person knows, and he’s done it with the innate knowledge that you’ll treat that gently and you won’t harm him.” He smiles. “So, have a little hope, Niall. I have enough to spare.”
He leaves me soon after that, muttering about how he’s home early enough to bathe Cora for a change, and I smile as I watchhim go. I couldn’t be happier for him because in Oz he’s found someone who loves him completely and watches out for him. Makes me feel like I can set that down now because it always used to be my job.
I settle back against the fence in my idle watching pose, and I’m so deep in thought that when his hand comes down on my arm, I give a rather high shriek and jump in the air. I whip round to find Milo looking at me. His face is split into a wide grin and his eyes are alight with amusement.
I straighten my clothes. “I did that for you,” I mutter.
He snorts. “Thank you. It was quite lovely.”
I shake my head, trying to conceal my grin, and settle back against the fence, gratified when he immediately leans into me. I savour the feeling of his warm body against mine and the fact that a week ago he’d have hesitated to touch my hand, and now it’s as if he has part ownership of my body. Whenever I’m near him some part of him will immediately touch me, whether it’s his hand on my arm or side or the way he’ll swing his legs over mine when we sit watching TV. And I like it. No, I love it, and that’s a huge revelation to me. I’ve always thought of myself as very open and I’ve obviously had many sexual partners, but their touches were usually the prelude or finish to a sexual act. Milo’s touch comes quite simply because he wants to touch me.
We stand quietly for a while until he shivers and I turn to him. He’s wearing black skinny jeans, old Vans, and a thin black jumper under some sort of oversized grey woollen hoody. I frown. “No wonder you’re cold. You’ve got hardly any clothes on for gallivanting about in the woods.”
He smirks. “You okay there? Did you enjoy your trip back to Victorian England?”
I smile and shake my head. “Your pertness is quite frankly over the top nowadays.”
He laughs and settles his body further into me, and I kiss the top of his head and inhale the scent of lemon and rosemary that clings to him. He stiffens as if surprised and I immediately launch into counter manoeuvres. “Milo, your hair is extraordinary. It’s expanding as I look at it.”
“Shut up.” He nudges me. “I can’t help it. It’s flyaway.”
“But it isn’t,” I say patiently. “Because it’s all still here rather than flying off somewhere.” I savour his laughter about something he was so worried about at one time and drag him close. He mumbles objections, but they’re so fainthearted they’re laughable because the truth is that Milo is a cuddler too. In bed he’s like a human octopus when he goes to sleep. All arms and happy snuffling.
I fish my thick gloves out. “Here, put these on. You’re freezing.”
He shakes his head but lets me help him and only raises his eyebrows when I remove my beanie from a pocket and pull it down over his mass of hair, loving the way it accentuates his winged eyebrows and sharp chin. With his eyes sparkling with mirth he looks so cute I can’t stand it, so I go back to my view of the field.
“Why are you watching Phil plough?” he says after a few minutes of silence. “Are you looking for tips in case the estate managing gig falls through?”
“The only way I’m falling through anything is in a big hole and I’d still have to dig it because Phil can’t do anything right,” I say tartly. “This morning I asked him to turn over the ground in the east field. It’s only pure chance that I managed to stop him ploughing up the Kayling Lawn.”
