Page 36 of The Moon Also Rises
“Yeah,” I say.
There’s a beat of silence in which Jake plays with his lips in his mouth and I can’t read his thoughts.
“How long did you live over there?” he asks eventually.
“Nearly ten years in total, but before then I travelled a lot for work, so until two years ago, I hadn’t really lived in the UK for nearly twenty years.”
“That’s a long time,” Jake says. “Wait, that must mean you didn’t see your youngest sister growing up?”
“No, not really,” I say both saddened by my confession but also touched by the way he remembered Roxie’s age.
“Your family must be happy to have you back. Are you really going to go up to Birmingham tomorrow to see them?”
“Taxi to the train station is booked for seven o’clock.”
“Jesus, I hope you don’t expect me to be conscious to wave you off.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I smile.
“It’s good that you’re making up for lost time. With your sister, I mean.” His words sound heartfelt and that makes them all the heavier to hear.
“Yeah,” I say, and I can feel how heavily my features have fallen. “I’m trying to do what I can.”
“Oh, I get it now,” Jake says like something has just clicked. I turn to look at him because I don’t know what he’s referring to. A shard of icy panic straightens my back as I wonder if he’s finally figured out who I really am or what my real story is. The possibility is utterly terrifying.
“You also said that your dad died,” Jake says, his eyes fixed on mine. “Four years ago. So, you weren’t here, when he died?”
You don’t know the half of it,I want to say. But I don’t.
“That’s right,” I say instead.
“That sucks too.”
“Yep, it really, really does.” I focus so hard on one particular window on the back of the stately home that I start to see two of them. But at least I don’t cry.
Chapter Eleven
Jake
In my humble-ish opinion, I do really well during the meal and during the drinks in the bar as they set up the ballroom for the band and dancing. I would even go so far as to say I transform into my most social self once we return to the ballroom and a live band starts playing a range of soul and disco songs from the last five decades. Rami and I stick to the outskirts of the dancefloor, chatting with some of the guests we got to know at our table during dinner and I’m about to give Marco and Salvatore tips for their upcoming visit to Marrakech when I am grabbed by Melanie and swept into the growing number of dancers. It doesn’t take long for my feet to find the beat, for my hips to sway, and for me to start enthusiastically singing the lyrics at Lionel’s mother who returns the favour.
A moment later, Lionel is dancing with us both. It delights me an irrational amount when Luigi steps into our small circle and starts dancing with all the grace and rhythm of a drunk sloth, and in response I concentrate a little harder on busting out some of my best Britney, Beyoncé and Madonna-inspired moves; I like to have something for everyone.
By the time a thin layer of sweat covers my whole body, I realise what’s happening. I’m having fun. I don’t know why this makes me look up and search for Rami, but when I do eventually spot him, I see him standing against the wall on one side of the room, staring down at his phone and occasionally touching the screen. I look away and dance some more, this time swinging Melanie around. A couple of songs later, I look over at Rami again and see he’s doing exactly the same thing. Indicating to my dancing companions that I need a drink, I walk over to him.
“You know, you’ve been on your phone so much people will start thinking you’ve got a bit on the side,” I say as I sidle up to him.
“Yeah, sorry.” Rami pockets his phone. “I’ve been making a note of the songs people have enjoyed the most and trying to find others similar that will work for my set later.”
“Set, hey? Are we taking it a bit seriously?”
“Probably.” He shrugs in a way that I instantly think is adorable. Just as promptly, I blame that reaction on the champagne.
“So, you like music,” I say.
“Love it,” he replies and his face lights up again.
“But you can’t dance?”
