Page 65 of All the Forbidden Things
She blinks, and I feel the breath she releases against my cheek as I move past her. Her shoulders slump slightly, and I wonder for a moment if she wanted me to kiss her as badly as I wanted to deliver that kiss. Did her shoulders slump in relief or disappointment?
We eat dinner, drink wine, and talk and talk. We laugh, and we talk some more.
Her music tastes are eclectic, everything from Roy Orbison to Eminem, who she believes the world will one day recognise as being as crucial to the English language for his words as Shakespeare, to Carnage, Marley Layton being one of her childhood crushes … I’m not jealous, to Ed Sheeran and Billie Eilish. She also plays the guitar. I actually gave her first lesson back when she was a kid.
Her favourite city is London, and Melbourne is a close second. As for films, oddly enough, she hates musicals, except forGrease. She loves horror, and her favourite film ever—she has a few—but three of them are the different versions ofA Star Is Born. And according to “Billie Law,” which apparently is most definitely a thing, they technically only count as one.When a Man Loves a Womanis her other choice since Andy Garcia is another of her first ever crushes . . . I lied. I’m jealous!E.T. the Extra-Terrestrialis her third favourite film choice.
We even spoke about politics. She’s a left-wing Nationalist with some right-wing views, explaining that if you live in a country, you should adapt and respect the culture and laws. Work hard, pay your taxes, contribute. Born to an English dad and American mum, she’s spent a lot of time in both countries but considers herself English. And religion: she believes in good and evil and that we all have the right to love whomever we want to love.
We coverallof the subjects. Billie has strong opinions on almost every one of them, and her argumentsforher views oragainstmine are expressed eloquently. So much so that I found myself seeing her point of view on the few things we didn’t agree on … except how hot she thinks Marley Layton is.
It’s after midnight when I watch her from my back door as she makes her way across my gravelled driveway to her flat above the garage. She turns and waves as she reaches her front door, and I wave back and watch her go through it.
Since she came into my life, Billie Wild has been the owner of a piece of my heart. She’s the first newborn I ever held. I’ve collected her from school and babysat her and Kenzie when Cal and Mel took a much-needed night out shortly after Billie came to live with them. I taught her how to drive a quad when she was about eleven and we were all staying down at Jay’s place on the edge of the New Forest. I showed her how to swing a golf club when we were all on holiday one year in Portugal. Until the age of thirteen or fourteen, she was an integral part of my life and features heavily in most of my memories from those times.
Tonight, though, not only did we create memories that will forever be etched on my very soul, but she left my house, crossed my driveway, and went through her front door in possession of more, so much more. A more significant piece of my heart, a different part that contains a different kind of love. The grown-up type that involves wants, needs and desires the like of which I’ve never felt for any other woman, and there’s nothing I can do, nowhere I can go with any of it.
Billie is a ripe, juicy, very forbidden fruit, but what I feel for her is far too important to me to involve her in the shitshow of my life.
Billie
Ithought he was goingto kiss me. I wanted him to. God did I want him to. And I thought he was going to, was sure he would. Until he didn’t. Why didn’t he? Am I imagining what’s happening between us? I might be nowhere near as experienced as Max Young, but I know enough about men to be aware of heated stares, lingering touches, and when someone's out-and-out flirting with me. I also didn’t miss the hard-on he was packing when I woke up on his sofa this afternoon.
I know the timing sucks. He’s a single Dad with a young baby and a looming divorce, but there’s no denying the attraction between us. Ishouldtake a step back, but I’m not sure if I have the will power, or the inclination to do that.
We polished off almost two bottles of red tonight. My brain is wine-drunk and my body bone-tired, so despite my overthinking mind being in overdrive, once I snuggle down under the duvet, in the freshly made bed, Wendy put the clean sheets on earlier, and with an ache down low in my belly and a pain in my chest, I fall asleep.
Despite the wine-induced coma,I’m awake bright and early, determined to start today professionally. Max and I haven’t discussed yet what he wants or expects from me as Layla’s nanny, but I’m assuming he’ll want me there most of the day.
I shower and wash my hair then realise I don’t have a hairdryer with me. I message Mel and ask if she can arrange to have everything from my room, and all of the boxes of my stuff from her garage sent over.
I’ve not really got a lot of options with regards to what I can wear. I even had to wash my knickers out in the shower yesterday morning, so they’d dry in time for me to wear today.
I pull on the jeans I wore Sunday, an old-band T-shirt Mel packed for me, a long cardigan, and my converse. I pull my still damp hair up into a messy bun, brush my face with BB cream, swipe my lips with a tinted balm, grab my keys and phone, and head out the door.
It’s freezing, especially with wet hair, so I hurry towards Max’s back door, but it’s not until I reach the door that I notice the car sitting in the drive.
The back door’s unlocked, and I suddenly feel unsure as to whether I should go around to the front and knock or just let myself in. Because Max gave me a key and the code, I opt to let myself in.
When I enter the kitchen, the sound of a breakfast television show fills the air, and there is a woman around the same age as Wendy, feeding Layla. My steps falter as she looks up and smiles.
“Billie!” She says my name on an exhale, and I immediately recognise her as Karen Young, Max’s mum. “Look at you all grown up.”
I feel heat creep up my neck and know for a fact it’ll be staining my cheeks pink.
“Karen, hey, how are you?” I move in and kiss her cheek before brushing my lips across Layla’s head. Her big eyes track my movements as I unwrap my scarf and hang it over the back of a chair.
“I’m good, it’s been such a long time since I saw you last. You forget other people’s children grow up.”
“Well, I got older, but I’m not sure I grew much. I inherited my dad’s short-arse genes.”
“Well, you know what they say about small things. Is your hair wet? Did you walk across that drive with wet hair? You’ll catch your death of cold wandering around like that.”
My hand instinctively moves up to the damp hair piled on top of my head. “I don’t have a dryer. Mel’s sending the rest of my stuff over—” I stop, wondering if Max has told his mum yet that I’m moving into his flat. She doesn’t appear shocked to see me, so I assume he has and carry on. “Max did tell you I’ve moved into the flat, didn’t he?”
“Yes, love. Great idea. You’re exactly what these two need. Perfect.” Her blue eyes shine as she looks up at me.
“Well, it was all a bit last minute. I came for lunch on Sunday and haven’t been home since. Mel brought me some fresh clothes and toiletries yesterday but not a hairdryer. The rest of my stuff will hopefully get sent today.”
