Page 72 of The Truth About You and Me
He pulls back, his eyes hooded, dark eyes almost black but searching that I’m still OK.
‘I’ve waited for my whole life to be kissed like this,’ I reassure him.
‘Same.’
I wrap my arms around his neck. All thoughts of taking things slowly have left both our minds.
We’re lost in each other… and it’s some kind of wonderful.
31
FRIDAY 8TH NOVEMBER
Jack
‘So, what did you think of the film?’ Maggie asks, toggling up her coat before punching in the code and locking the doors. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’
‘It wasn’t what I was expecting, when you said Adam Sandler I was expecting something more, I don’t know…’
‘Goofy?’
I laugh. ‘It’s an interesting dilemma, isn’t it? How, for her, each of their fifty dates are first dates and yet for him, he’s falling deeper and deeper in love. It’s a great hook.’
In all honesty, though, my mind hasn’t been on the film, it’s been on the way that Maggie has started to let her guard down around me. We haven’t touched since last week but there has been a lowering of her barriers. To an outsider, Maggie sitting straight, rather than leaning away, wouldn’t even be a footnote in an observer’s recollection, but this is a big step for her. For us.
‘I love that even though she’ll never be able to remember him properly, he sacrifices a normal relationship because he loves her so much.’
I don’t miss the hope in her voice and I wonder if she asked Romy to play this film this week, so I could see how our relationship could work. It’s timely, that’s for sure. And if I’m being honest, I have been having… not doubts exactly, but I do wonder how this could work in the long term. I could never keep anything from her. I’m jumping ahead though. All I know is that it’s working. That I’m happy. And that’s enough, for now.
She stops, bends down and untangles the bottom of her skirt, which has snagged on the top of her boots.
We begin walking towards the White Lion, having figured going on a Friday night might give us more of a chance of finding out if anyone was there that night. But as we approach, Maggie tenses. The pub is packed. A football match must have finished, going by the sport shirts and people holding pints spilling out onto the kerb.
‘I…’ Maggie looks over. ‘I can’t go in there, Jack. Drunk thoughts are so unfiltered…’
I turn to her. ‘We’ll come back another time.’
‘No!’ she says. Despite her reservations, there is a gleam of encouragement in her voice. ‘This is good. Someone might know something. This is the perfect time.’ She nods to a bench across the road. ‘I’ll wait here.’
I hesitate.
‘I’ll be fine.’
I look to the pub, the Tudor frontage, the white lion rearing up on the sign swinging in the breeze.
‘Shoo!’ She wafts me away with a grin.
‘I’ll be five minutes.’
‘Ten,’ she challenges. ‘Ask as many people as you can.’ She pulls out her phone and wiggles it. ‘I’ve got the Kindle app; I’ll carry on withThe Girl on the Train.’ She pauses, looks up at me, almost embarrassed. ‘Can I kiss you good luck?’
I smile and lean in, her mouth meeting mine briefly, lips soft and smiling.
‘Now go!’
The air is warm inside, filled with the smell of perfume and beer, a loud cheer as a glass smashes to the floor. Conversations noisy and theatrical. She was right not to come in.
I shoulder my way through the bar. ‘What can I get you?’ the bartender asks through his perfectly groomed beard, his tattooed arm pulling a pint.
