Page 4 of Second Song

He doesn’t seem to notice. He only studies my face and makes another steely promise. “There’s still time. Hold tight and tell me about it.”

And like a complete sap, that’s what I do—I cling to him with my eyes closed, telling him all about my second chance at a school called Glynn Harber.

“Second chance? What happened to your first one?”

Last night, I didn’t manifest telling a complete stranger all the different ways I’ve fucked up. I don’t get time to spill all that detail, only getting as far as mentioning a different school—one that I hated, one that wild horses couldn’t make me revisit—and how I thought I’d escaped it at seventeen only to win myself the stupidest prize ever. Our spinning stops abruptly, surprising me into silence.

I don’t know how he manoeuvres all three of us, but one minute, I’m hanging over sure death and the next I’m flat on my back and grass has never felt softer.

It tickles everywhere it touches.

So does this lamb, who stops wriggling and nuzzles under my chin, which feels like fluffy kisses. I almost kiss the lamb back, along with the man who saved us. I’m so happy I could kiss him senseless, but what comes out is more of that hitching laughter that chokes me, because what the fuck?

Kiss him senseless?

He’d push me straight back over the edge.

For now, he blinks down from where he’s braced over me and the lamb, and who knows what he sees. One thing’s for sure, it isn’t a singer dressed to win a national contest or a trainee teacher who should be dream-job ready.

Ready?

I must look a wreck. I have to—he still has an arm around me like he thinks I’ll fall apart at any moment. Or that’s what I assume until I tune into his murmur. “You can let go of me now.”

I nod because yes, I can, and I would if my arms didn’t think that was the worst idea since I slammed on the brakes of my car and hurled myself headfirst to disaster.

Forget my nails leaving shallow crescents. I can’t release this death grip or tell him sorry.

For once, my voicelessness isn’t down to feeling out of my depth and drowning under spotlights. Nor is it due to being chest-to-chest with someone who has more power than me. I’m locked to him by relief so acute that my ears ring, and I’ve never felt safer.

Never.

Between us, the lamb burrows closer, as if it feels just as secure. Its nuzzling still tickles. I laugh again then, the sound still hitching, but at least my voice returns with it. “Sorry. Sorry. I’m?—”

“Going to let me go now, so you can still make it to your interview on time?” he suggests, and for a first time I see the ghost of a smile, gone before I can be sure I saw it. There’s no mistaking his next one—the lamb lifts its head to nuzzle at him too, and his grin is a brief flash.

“Stop it, you daft beggar.” He’s still above me. Still braced between my legs so we only connect where my arms band us. “You know you’re safe now, don’t you?” he tells it. “You can feel it. You’re safe too.” I only grasp that he’s talking to me when he adds, “You really can let go.”

Here’s some more of that shaky laughter. “I really can’t.” I close my eyes, but all that does is replay rocks and crashing water.

“Look,” he urges. “You’re nowhere near the edge now.”

“Oh, I’d believe it if I could see it. Only I can’t. Lost my glasses, remember?” I open one eye and crane my neck. “Nope.”

“How do you plan on driving to your interview?”

“I’ve got a spare pair.”

“In your car?”

I let go of him then, and if my head hit stone instead of grass, I’m sure it would sound hollow. “No. They’re in my wash bag back at my hotel. Shit.”

“Shit,” he agrees after kneeling up. “You’re covered in plenty of that. We both are. But at least I can hose off my wetsuit. Can’t say the same for your suit.”

He isn’t wrong about that. It’s another mark against me, another reason maybe today isn’t the day for my phoenix to unfurl its wings. It also isn’t a day for rational reactions. It can’t be because this man saved my life, I’m certain of that, but when he reaches for the lamb, telling me to give it to him, I let go of something different.

“No way.” I sit bolt upright. “You told me to drop it.”

Scrambling to my feet is a head rush. So is keeping hold of the lamb when it struggles all over again. Each high-pitched bleat plucks at a tight string inside me. This is what I should have done the last time someone barked orders I knew I shouldn’t follow. I’ve always regretted not standing my ground sooner. I should have yelled right away until the whole world listened.

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