Page 42 of A Midnight Kiss on Ever After Street
‘I’d have tidied up if I’d known you were coming.’
‘I wouldn’t have wanted you to. I like it here. It’s very you.’
Ebony says things like that, but they’re disparaging commentaries on my clothing or appearance. When Witt says it, it sounds like a true compliment. ‘Not quite a castle with a thousand rooms.’
‘Only ninety-three actually.’
‘Oh, that must make itsomuch easier not to get lost.’
He laughs, his eyes on the view through the bedroom window as clouds cover the early-evening sun, and then he pulls a dress form around in a waltz to get across the hazardous living room and holds his hand out to me. ‘Shall we?’
I laugh and push him towards the door.
At the bottom of the narrow stairs down to Ever After Street, he holds the door open for me and looks back up at the flat window as I lock up.
‘This is where you made the Cinderella dress, isn’t it?’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘Yes, I do. It’s a dress made with love, and it’s been a long time since you made anything youlovedfor work.’ He holds his arm out. ‘Hasn’t it?’
‘I’m not going to dignify that with a response.’
‘Okay.’ His voice is soft and his arm isright there, and I slip my hand through the crook of his elbow, always surprised by his simple acceptance.
It’s been many years since I invited a man into my flat, back in the days when it was tidier and I still made dresses I loved as a day job and my nights were devoted to actually sleeping. Those were the good ol’ days.
Even at this time in the late afternoon, we’re dodging people as we head towards the woods at the end of Ever After Street. The carousel is turning, filled with laughing children and grandparents clutching screaming toddlers. In recent months, the carousel has turned maybe once or twice a day, but so many more people have visited this week that it’s otherworldly organ music to the tune of ‘When You Wish Upon A Star’ has been an almost constant soundtrack.
A fizzle of excitement builds when we’re swallowed up by the woods as we head up the wide, steep path and get closer to the castle. From this part of the forest, the main building is obscured by trees and you can only see the tallest blue roofs and spires.
‘How are you getting on at the castle?’
‘There’s something about the place. So many memories that aren’t mine, does that make sense? I feel like I’m trying to untangle someone else’s life. Like, um…’ He stutters on the last bit of the sentence and frustration crosses his face. ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t apologise. I love the way you speak. You sound like a prince.’
‘Yeah, a frog prince.’
‘No, Witt.’ My hand spreads out across his inner forearm and I let my fingertips rub his skin softly. He’s got a gorgeously deep and silky voice and I hate the undercurrent of self-loathing I can suddenly sense in him. ‘Will you tell me about it?’
He sighs and I squeeze his arm gently, trying not to push him but desperately wanting to have a better understanding.
‘It’s taken me years to learn how to control it, to speak slowly and focus on every syllable, visualise each word as a physical thing between my lips, but it still catches me off guard sometimes. It really comes out when I’m nervous, or tired, or stressed, or if I’m ill or if I’ve had one too many, so basically if I’m on anything other than top form, I’m a stammering wreck.’ His voice is starting to waver and he shakes out the hand that's not holding mine as though he's trying to loosen himself up and pushes a long breath out through pursed lips. ‘Sorry. I’m not even used to talking this much.’
I hug his arm closer to my side and give him all the time he needs.
‘I get so angry at myself because the words are there but theywon’tcome out, and that frustration makes it worse. And the self-consciousness. I can feel people looking at me, getting annoyed at how long it’s taking, the “helpful” claps on the shoulder and “just spit it out, lad,” like it can be solved by encouragement. The humiliation that I can’t do something that everyone else does without a second thought. I dread phone conversations with every fibre of my being and my greatest fear is public speaking.’
I’m holding his arm so tightly that he’s going to have five crescent-shaped fingernail marks in his skin when I eventually release him.
‘It’s why I went to the ball. Usually I don’t talk to people or mix with people, and Inevergo to parties or gatherings, but the mask made me feel brave. At least if I embarrassed myself, I could slink away unseen and even if people laughed at me, they wouldn’t know who I was.’
‘I get that. It’s a shame we can’t wear masks every day in real life.’
He unwinds his arm from mine, drops it around my shoulders instead, and squeezes me into his side. ‘Or meet people who make you feel like you don’t need one.’
When I look up at him, his eyes hold mine intently and my breath is suddenly coming in sharp pants. ‘You’ll never need a mask with me.’
