Page 36 of A Cornish Love Story
‘I was convinced, for years, and then I found …’ He sucked in a breath. ‘But I didn’t really believe that …’
‘I thought you’d forgotten about me,’ I admitted. ‘I thought that you’d got over me quickly, and so I tried to forget aboutyou, but then there was Instagram.’
‘What about Instagram?’
‘My username is nondescript,’ I explained. ‘I didn’t expect – or want – you to realize that I’d followed you.’ He’d posted a photo not that long ago, a shot of the beach at Porthgolow, where there was a vintage double-decker called the Cornish Cream Tea Bus. I remember the jolt it had given me, knowing he was back in Cornwall, but I’d never considered that he’d come back for the house. ‘Then, when I had already agreed with my editor that I’d write a piece on the open house, my friend showed me the article, and I realized this was yours. There was the bit about the name, and I—’
‘I never forgot about you.’ Ethan had gone from surprised to bleak. ‘I thought you were done with me. Even after …’ He shook his head, picked up his glass and took a long swig.
‘Afterwhat, Ethan?’
‘It was all too late. I didn’t know if I’d be welcome, and the thought of knocking on your door and you closing it in my face …’
‘Hey. Ethan.’ I moved closer to him, but he shifted away from me, the movement almost too small to notice. ‘It was all such a long time ago.’
He put his glass on the table and stood up. ‘I’m going to check the panel again. See if I can get us out of here.’
He walked off and I flopped back on the sofa. I had imagined this moment so many times – admitting that I’d forgiven him almost immediately – and in all my daydreams, he’d been happy or relieved, wrapping hisarms tightly around me. He hadn’t been angry, like he was now. I rubbed my face and tried to think, but my mind was blank, so I got up, took another of the mini quiches, and went to find him.
Chapter Fifteen
April 2012
After that first time, we went on more excursions to the house. We were emboldened by our ability to make it inside, to not run screaming in terror or get caught by the local police or a curious neighbour. When it was too cold to go to the beach and we didn’t want to stay in our rooms where our parents could eavesdrop, we would find sanctuary there. It wasn’t a whole lot warmer, but it had solid walls that shielded us from the wind, and it was somewhere we could escape to. But it was always the five of us, never Ethan and I on our own.
We had become boyfriend and girlfriend without labelling it, but I had never felt like this before, so wholly consumed by a person, interested in everything about him – what he was thinking; what he was doingafter we said goodbye. I’d told him that he made me happy, and that I could kiss him all day, but we hadn’t made it much past kissing – though that was down to lack of opportunity rather than anything else.
There was one evening when he’d come to meet Mum, and while she’d been finishing the spaghetti Bolognese I’d taken him up to my room, and kissing on my bed had turned into me sitting astride him, his hands on my hips, fingers digging into my flesh as I’d writhed inexpertly on top of him. He hadn’t seemed to mind my lack of sultriness, had groaned into my ear and whispered my name, his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed. When Mum had called up the stairs that dinner was ready, we’d both needed five minutes to get our breathing – and other things – under control. He’d stroked my thigh under the table, and I’d been a ball of heat and pressure, distracted from the conversation for the whole of the meal. Mum had declared, once he’d gone, that she loved him, and I was close to agreeing.
But then, one Friday in April, when the evenings were lighter, the sun had a little bit of warmth to it, and the house on the cliffs was calling to us more frequently, Mum said she was spending the evening with her friend Helen, so I told Kira I couldn’t make it that night, and that Ethan wouldn’t be able to either.
‘Oh, OK,’ she’d said blithely, then elbowed me in the ribs and pulled me in for a hug in the sixth-form corridor. ‘I’m so happy for you. Make sure he treats you right, OK?’
‘I will.’ I wasn’t confident about a whole lot of things at that point, but I knew I could rely on Ethan looking after me.
I met him after my English class at the end of the day. He was wearing jeans and a grey T-shirt that showed off his tanned arms, his eyes hidden by sunglasses, and I sucked in a breath before greeting him with a kiss. He seemed effortlessly cool, whereas I had tidied my already tidy room to within an inch of its life, taken the bus to a pharmacy three villages over to buy condoms at the weekend. I would tell him – because I already told him everything – but not until afterwards. I wanted to be his sexy, seductive girlfriend.
‘Ready to go?’ I asked.
He pushed his sunglasses onto his head. ‘You’re absolutely sure about this?’
‘Absolutely,’ I said, and took his hand.
When we got to mine, I had to undo both locks, which confirmed that Mum was still out. Ethan followed me in, hovering in the hall behind me. He was quiet, and I wondered if he was vibrating with tension like me, or if he felt completely calm about the whole thing. I knew that neither of us had done this before, though he’d done a little more than kissing with a girl called Bethany in York. I tried not to think about her or anyone else as I faced him, the afternoon sunlight filtering in through the glass panels in the door.
‘Do you want a drink?’ I asked.
‘No. I just …’ he stopped. ‘But if you do, we could—’
‘I don’t,’ I rushed out.
I took his hand and led him up the stairs, my arm twisting uncomfortably behind me but not prepared to let go – I thought this would be awkward enough anyway. But people our age were having sex – Kira and Freddy, and there were girls at school who bragged about it all the time. And the way I felt about Ethan, I wasn’t doing this out of any need to catch up. I had always imagined I wouldn’t sleep with anyone until after school, until I was far away from Alperwick, but he’d changed that.
I tugged him inside my room and closed the door, trying to see the space through his eyes: the lights around my mirror, the cuddly turtle on a shelf above my bed, along with some framed photos of me, Kira, Freddy and Orwell. There was a pair of jeans trapped in my wardrobe door as if they’d been trying to make a run for it.
But then Ethan closed the gap between us, cupped my face and tilted it so he could kiss me, and I realized he wasn’t looking at the room, only at me. It was addictive, my blood heating as his kiss got firmer, more urgent, and I leaned into him, sliding my fingers under his shirt. He flinched, and I tried to back away, but he held me firmly.
‘I’m ticklish there,’ he whispered against my mouth, ‘that’s all.’
