Page 82 of Save Us
I gulp hard. I haven’t even let myself think about this kind of conversation. Not after everything we’ve been through. I didn’t want to face the next challenge so soon after we’ve got through the last one.
“I’d like to buy this flat, Ruby,” James blurts out.
My heart starts racing, and I can feel my pulse pounding in my ears. “What?”
There’s a certainty in James’s eyes that I find unsettling, while at the same time, it makes me feel safe. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his leather wallet. He opens it and slips a folded piece of paper out of one of the compartments. It’s brown at the corners now and looks like it’s picked up some of the dye from the wallet. Even so, I recognize it instantly as James unfolds it.
It’s his list. The one we wrote in Oxford, that night when we talked things over, confided in each other. That night when we were closer to each other than ever before.
It looks pretty tatty now, like he’s folded and unfolded it countless times.
“Do you remember this?” James asks.
“Of course,” I say.
“You’re the first person who made me feel like there were dreams worth fighting for.”
“James…” I whisper.
He waits for me to go on, but all I can do is stare at the paper in his hand.
“I want to stick to this. Properly, I mean,” he says after a while. “I’d like to see what the world has in store for me. And I know that your road ahead is planned out and mine isn’t, but I’ve spent ages thinking about how we can still be together after we leave school. How we can both live out our dreams without losing each other.” I see him swallow.
My heart is beating faster and faster. I grip James’s hand so tightly that it must be painful, but he doesn’t show it.
“Can I show you something?” he asks.
I nod, feeling kind of numb and yet drunk on his words. James goes over to the desk and sits down. Then he gets his MacBook out of his bag. He opens the lid, enters his password, and clicks on the browser.
I stand behind him with my hands on the back of the chair. James types in an address, but it’s so fast that I can’t read it. In less than three seconds, the page comes up. It’s a blog, with the title in large, clear type at the top:
Beyond Beaufort’s
The design is simple and uncluttered, all in muted shades of gray and blue. The top half of the home page is taken up by a slider with landscape photos and text.
I scroll down—then catch my breath.
There’s a box with the headingAbout James Beaufort, showing a picture of him that I’ve never seen before. He’s wearing a plain black T-shirt, and although it’s in black and white, I can tell at once that it was taken in our garden. Even if the apple tree hadn’tbeen there, the copyright notice in the bottom right corner would have been a dead giveaway: © Ember Bell.
I stare at the screen in disbelief, then look down at James. He takes a deep breath.
“I’d like to try this, Ruby. I’d like to work through the list we made together, a bit at a time. I’d like to find out what I’m passionate about, and I’d like to take my time with it. I’d like to travel and see the world,” James says. The words just tumble out of him. He half turns toward me in the chair and looks up at me. “But more than anything, I’d like to be with you.”
I’m lost for words. I try to make sense of the thoughts whirling wildly around my head, but James has taken me totally unawares. I attempt to speak several times, but keep breaking off because I don’t know how to express what I’m feeling.
In the end, the only reaction I’m capable of is a breathless laugh.
“So when did you learn to use WordPress?”
James blinks in surprise, then smiles. “I’ve been having lessons with Ember.”
I shake my head and study the page. I lean forward and scroll all the way down to the bottom again. There’s not much there, just a bit of dummy text and sample travel reports of different kinds, but I can vividly imagine James filling this blog with his experiences. The thought of what this step must mean for him makes my heart beat faster.
At once, I step over to the chair and sit in James’s lap. I put my arms around his neck, shut my eyes, and hold him tight.
I can’t help thinking about the boy I met in September. So closed off, and almost crushed by his family’s expectations. Thatboy would never have thought it possible that he’d ever be able to shape his own future.
“This is a great idea,” I whisper.
