Page 89 of Snow Falls Over Starry Cove

He means the Coastal Girls.

‘People with lots a money and clout. You don’t fit in with them.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Yer grandmother may well be a rich harridan, but you’re different.’

‘As in I’m not rich or I’m not a harridan?’ I find myself saying.

He surprises me with a smile. It’s a nice smile and I’m surprised to see he has very straight teeth. I don’t know why it strikes me. Perhaps I truly am a stereotype kind of person. But my entire subject is based on stereotypes. Literature is so full of tropes and themes and arrogant lords and damsels in distress. I spend so much more time in that world than in reality that it’s difficult not to expect the same in the real world. Oh, if someone saw the inside of my head, they’d back away in horror.

Yes, I am that kind of girl – old-fashioned and romantic, in case you haven’t figured it out by now. I don’t know why, but I think, apart from some of my students, I’m the only romantic person I know. I mean, mealy-mouthed, shamelessly romantic. The kind whowantsthe fairy tale.

‘So that didn’t last long,’ he says, nodding to my new phone.

‘No, it didn’t,’ I huff.

‘Is it over? With your beau?’

I hesitate. What does he care? ‘Yes.’

‘For good?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good for you. But let me tell you now, if you did it for some bloke, you’ll come up empty-handed.’

I gawp. ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’

And that’s when he turns to look at me, leaning in, his face solemn.

‘Aww, Emmie,’ he murmurs as his hand rises to my face. ‘You and me… it’s a mess…’

Without any warning, my heart begins to hammer as his fingertips near my cheek and even before he touches me, I realise I’m breathless. And waiting for his touch. And when his fingers caress my face with a gentleness that I could never have imagined, it’s a revelation.

Never in a million years would I ever have thought that Jago Moon could be anything more than contemptuous, sarcastic or sardonic. Never would I have thought that he was able to stop his endless deprecation of himself and others, and that we’d be standing here, face to face, talking about feelings. Weaknesses. Anything at all deep. And yet, here he is, gazing into my eyes with a strange kindness. Almost resignation.

‘I suggest you go back to London,’ he says out of the blue. ‘Starry Cove is too small for you. You’ll never meet a man here.’

‘What makes you think I need a man?’

‘Everyone needs someone. Except for me, of course.’

‘Of course.’

‘For me, relationships are too draining. You always have to be on the ball, attentive, never make a mistake, never lie. You have to be patient, and also a good listener. I’m none of the above.’

The magical moment has dissolved, even if my heart is still hammering away with… I don’t know what. I’m probably just tired and vulnerable right now.

‘I’m no good for you or anyone,’ he says.

Now I recognise him again.

‘You must be very lonely,’ I reply.

‘You’d say that, Emmie. You’re absolutely in love with the idea of love, aren’t you, you poor misguided soul. Now, a one-nighter, that’s worth expending all of your energy for. For that, you give your best like there’s no tomorrow. Which there isn’t. You treat her right, like there’s no one else in the world like her. You make her feel like a queen. And then the next morning you go your separate ways. Absolutely brilliant.’

‘But what if your lady friend doesn’t agree with you? What ifshewants more?’ I ask.

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