Page 50 of The Start of the Story
‘I keep thinking I’m over it.’ I sobbed out the words. ‘But then it finds another way to get me.’
Connor adjusted his hold so that he could poke the corner of a tea towel into the hug for me to wipe my face on. ‘That’s a big life change to get used to, widowhood, and you so young. You’re allowed to feel that life can be a proper feck when something like that happens.’
I cried on for a bit longer. Oddly enough I didn’t feel embarrassed at breaking down in front of Connor, and the way he seemed to take my tears in his stride was reassuring. I blew my nose on the damp tea towel, noisily.
‘My mother thinks it was my fault for marrying him.’ I sniffed loudly. ‘If I’d married some history graduate with a professional pathway and a life plan, we’d have four children by now and a Georgian rectory in a village somewhere. I wouldn’t be a widow with a precarious grant writing books about things nobody believes in any more.’
‘Hey,’ Connor said again, taking half a step back and putting a hand under my chin so I had to raise my face to look at him. ‘Youbelieve in it. Ah, you might not believe in the fairy folk or the black dogs walking the night, but you believe the stories are important, and that should be enough.’
His eyes were smiling, but his mouth was serious, as though he was teasing me lightly.
‘That’s not what my mother thinks,’ I said.
‘Ah, well, y’see,mymother thinks I’m a wild lad for heading off to England. I’m the black sheep already for what happened with Saoirse, so I believe she thinks I’ve gone right off the rails. I suspect Eamonn has only been invited for Christmas to try totalk sense into me.’ He was still holding me close, tipping my face so he could see my expression. ‘So maybe it’s not just you that needs the new traditions and the new memories. Maybe webothhave to start new lives.’
My heart started to beat very hard, as though it had enlarged and was forcing twice as much blood through my body.
‘Connor, I…’ I began, and then all the lights went out.
We stood in the dark for a moment, and then disengaged slowly. ‘Power cut,’ I said, not sure how I was meant to feel about this. ‘It happens. Snow brought down the power lines, probably.’
Connor stepped towards me, crashed into me in the pitch black of the kitchen and rebounded to hit the table. ‘Ow! Have you any candles?’
‘Of course. And a big torch. I’ll dig them out if you can put your phone torch on so I can see.’
There was a moment of fumbling and the bright light of Connor’s phone torch illuminated the side of the kitchen. I bent down and pulled the candles, matches, torch and holders out of the drawer where they lived, ready to hand for the not-infrequent moments like this.
‘There. That’s better.’ I lit several tealights and dotted them around the kitchen. ‘But we’d better get to bed – the cottage gets quite cold when the heating goes off.’
‘We could light the logs?’ Connor sounded hopeful.
‘We could, but we should save them really, in case the power stays off.’
‘Itstays off?’ He sounded indignant.
I was busy being practical, moving candles, fussing around with saucers to stop tealights dripping wax. I didn’t even want to think about what I might have said to Connor if the lights hadn’t gone out. I didn’t want to think about what I might have suggested, or how it might have gone down. Even I didn’t know what I’d been about to say. ‘You’re squashing me.’ ‘Have I gotsnot all down my face?’ ‘Will you take me to bed and help me stop thinking?’
No. I’d only been going to ask how new memories got made. How, given that we were stuck here without proper Christmas food or preparations, we were supposed to make any memories at all, other than those occasioned by malnutrition and hypothermia.
‘Well. All right, then.’ He sounded reluctant, although quite what he thought the alternative might be I had no idea. We were hardly going to be sitting here by inadequate candlelight reading peer-reviewed journals to further our studies, were we? ‘Goodnight, then, Rowan.’
‘Goodnight, Connor.’ I blew out the candles. I’d leave them there for tomorrow, in place ready to be lit once darkness crept back.
There was a brief moment of kerfuffle as we both tried to leave the kitchen at once, carrying our phones, torches beaming in front of us like a couple of techno Wee Willy Winkies, and we squeezed our way through into the living room with the lights whirling and causing shadows that loomed in a terrifying way.
‘So, walk tomorrow?’ Connor asked.
‘Oh, all right.’ I sounded less than excited about the prospect.
‘It could be a new tradition.’
‘I suppose it could.’
We were both standing at the bottom of the stairs, but neither of us moving to go anywhere. After a few seconds of this, Connor lowered his torch, so it lit up his feet.
‘To hell with it, Rowan.’ His arms came around me, unbalancing me so that I had to put one foot on the bottom stair so as not to fall over. ‘Would you mind very much if I kissed you, now?’
I froze. ‘I… I’m not sure,’ I said, suddenly wanting him to kiss me very much, but not sure if my face would allow it. It had beena long time – alongtime – since anyone but Elliot, as though I’d forgotten how my lips worked with anyone but him.
