Page 55 of A Wonderland Wish on Ever After Street
The bell above the door tinkles as a customercomes in, but I turn back to Bram quickly before I go to greet them. ‘You know what I said last night about you being either one of the greatest philosophers of our time or a complete nuthatch? It’s the first one.’
He lets out a loud laugh. ‘I’m still fine with it being both.’
‘You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t a bit bonkers too.’ I bite my lip as I consider it. ‘And that would be unthinkable.’
The width of his smile makes my knees feel weak. I don’t think he expected me to say that, and it’s probably a good thing there’s a customer, because otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself going over to hug him.
I never realised just how much I needed someone like him in my life. After the past couple of years of hiding away, being alone and ensconced in a ball of grief, regret, and injustice, growing lonelier and more bitter, resenting the world, and hating myself for the mistakes I made when it came to my mum and the trust I put in my ex, what I needed more than anything was a different perspective, and I never thought the barmy Mad Hatter who knocked on the door all those weeks ago would give me that, but he makes me feel glad to be alive again.
What I needed was someone who, by the sheer size of their presence, doesn’t let you dwell on negativity, who is so bright that it’s impossible to feel dark in their company, and Bram is that in spades. More than anything, he makes me want to give this tearoom everything I’ve got and remain a part of this special street full of wonderful people.
The customer orders tea and tuna and cucumber sandwiches and then there’s a rush as Marnie’s after-school reading group leaves A Tale As Old As Time and parents bring children in for an evening treat in the twenty minutes before closing time, and I feel like I’m herding sheep as I shuffle after them to shut the door and turn the sign over to closed. It has been alongday.
I tidy up the tearoom and take the next batch of washing up outto the back, where Bram is still in his pink Marigolds, waiting for it, and no matter how much I try to tell him he doesn’t need to, he grins and ignores me. By the time I’ve wiped down all the tables, mopped the floor, and cashed-up for the night, he’s washed every dish, as well as dried it and put it away, cleaned every countertop, and now he’s sitting on the unit, his head leaning against one of the cabinet doors, looking half-asleep.
‘What are you doing here, huh?’ I say gently. ‘You should be at home.’
‘I don’t know. Just wanted to see you. Spend time with you.’
I love how he wears his heart on his sleeve. He says things aloud that other people wouldn’t dare to vocalise. It doesn’t seem to cross his mind to be dishonest about anything.
‘How are you feeling?’ I go over to stand in front of him and reach up to fit my hand against his forehead. He takes his cap off and ducks his head to give me better access. I’m no longer worried about his temperature, it’s just an excuse to touch him, and I’m sure he knows that.
‘I’m fine. Just tired, and really, really hungry, but my twenty-four hours before eating again isn’t up until tonight.’
I can’t feasibly get away with holding my hand to his forehead for any longer, but as I reluctantly drop my arm, he reaches out and catches hold of my hand, his fingers folding around mine and squeezing. ‘Thank you for last night.’
‘Bram, I gave you food poisoning!’ I don’t know how many times I’ve repeated that, but he doesn’t seem to have understood it. ‘It’s not something people usually express gratitude for.’
‘Well, thank you for making last night better than it would have been if you weren’t there. I felt pretty rough and you made me feel better than I would have otherwise, and that was no easy feat. No girl wants to see a guy like that, so thank you.’
He jiggles my hand and then lets go to run ahand through his hair and tug awkwardly at the back of his neck. ‘I need to say something else as well.’
There’s a serious tone to his voice that makes me take a step back and look up at him.
‘When I opened my bag this morning, I understood why you asked the squirrel question. I’d never seen that before in my life, Cleo. I don’t know how it got there. I know what you must be thinking, but it isn’t mine. Someone else must’ve put it in there.’
‘Tabby wasn’t even in yesterday.’
‘It could’ve been there for days. I don’t look in my bag from one day to the next. I only went in there this morning to get the toothbrush out. Without working lockers, my bag was in the staffroom. Anyone could’ve opened it…’ He sighs long and hard, sounding just as fed-up as he did last night. ‘I meant what I said – I can’t make you believe me and I’m not going to waste energy in trying. You either do or you don’t, and nothing I say will make any difference to that. And it’s okay if you?—’
‘I believe you.’ I wasn’t sure myself, not really, but he looks so utterly wretched that it’s impossiblenotto believe him. There’s something about Bram that’s infinitely trustworthy, especially now, when he’s not playing a character, and trusting that I’ll trust the real him.
He holds his hand out to me, inviting me to slip my fingers over his again, and when I do, his curl tightly around mine, and he uses his grip to tug me nearer and holds his other arm open, silently asking for a hug.
Hugging him,properlyhugging him, is the one thing I’ve been desperate to do since the moment he started looking so ill yesterday afternoon, and I take my hand from his and push his knees apart on the counter so I can stand between his legs and reach up to slide both arms around him, and I get a delicious little thrill when hebends to meet me and pulls me tight to him and one of his legs hooks around mine to hold me in place.
He lets out a long and deep exhale and I can feel the tension draining from his body even as his arms tighten around me, and after a day of stress and worry and being rushed off my feet, I can feel myself sagging against him. His hands spread open on my back and his stubbled jaw grazes against my neck as he tries to get closer. My knees are braced against the lower cabinet door, and my hands naturally find their way upwards, cupping the back of his head, and my fingers slide down to play with the ends of his hair, and it sends a shiver through him, and he makes a little contented noise.
And we just… don’t move.
Long minutes pass and I could happily stay put for many, many more. It’s the kind of hug that shuts out everything outside of his arms, and each one of my senses is consumed by him. The touch of his body, the sound of his breathing, the scent of his aftershave, and I’m so relaxed that I could fall asleep standing here. His body is deadweight against mine, his arms around me are heavy, and even his hands on my back have gone limp.
I squeeze him tighter and he mumbles something incomprehensible and snuggles in closer. And the thought of making himthiscomfortable makes my heart swell. I know he’s not good at letting people get close, and neither am I. This is the closest I’ve been to anyone in years, and I thought it would feel scary, but thelastthing I want to do is disentangle our bodies.
It takes me a long time before I whisper again. ‘Are you asleep?’
‘No, just having a really long blink.’
