Page 86 of The Art of Loving You

This cannot be real.

My fingers found the skin of my forearm and I pinched it as hard as I could.

‘Libby?’ Jack looked at me with concern.

‘I was checking if I was asleep. Dreaming.’

‘And if this was a dream you’d want to wake up?’ He looked utterly bereft.

‘I want … you.’ It was the truth. ‘I’ve always wanted you. Can you stay here? With me?’

‘I don’t know how long I’ve got, Libby. We need to make the most of this, whateverthisis.’

‘I wish … I wish that you could touch me, just once more.’

‘I wish that too, Libby. Lie with me.’ He shuffled down on the sofa until he was horizontal and I did the same.

We were curled onto our sides, our faces close. There was no telltale warm breath spilling out of Jack’s mouth and yet there was a movement of his ribcage reminiscent of his lungs drawing in and then expelling air. I raised my hand and there was a whisper of a breeze as he placed his palm flat against mine but I couldn’t feel him, not really. We were together but divided.

I closed my eyes. Sensibly, I knew that he couldn’t be here, this couldn’t be real, and yet when I opened my eyes again he was still there, a sad expression on his face. ‘I don’t understand this either, Libby.’

‘But it is you,’ I whispered wanting proof, not trusting what I was seeing. ‘Tell me …’ I needed something that no one else would know. ‘Tell me the story of our first kiss.’ As the memory came to me I touched my lips; they felt cold without the cover of his. Would they ever feel warm again?

‘The first time I kissed you was at the end of our first date, in my flat, as you left—’

‘It was not.’

‘Back five minutes and I’ve pissed you off.’ He laughed.

‘You haven’t. It’s just you should remember the details like I remember how to make you the perfect cup of tea. Let it steep for four and a half minutes and then a splash of milk and two sugars.’

‘Three. I take three—’

‘Gotcha.’ For a scant second it felt so normal, I couldn’t help grinning at him. ‘Hurts doesn’t it? Forgetting the small things.’

‘Like when you forgot who I actually was—’

‘Youknowthat isn’t what happened.’ I knew what he was remembering.

‘Are you sure, Libby? Because I could have sworn the first time I came to one of your exhibitions you stood behind a complete stranger and slid your arms around his waist because you thought he was me.’

‘He didn’t seem to mind.’ I had been so embarrassed when Jack had tapped me on the shoulder with a confused ‘Excuse me.’

‘I could never forget you,’ I said, serious once more.

‘And I’d never forget our first proper kiss. Not the kiss on the cheek at the end of our first date. I so badly wanted to kiss you properly then but thought that after my disastrous peanut butter and banana on crackers dinner I’d be pushing my luck. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d see you again.’

I knew how that felt.

‘I couldn’t believe it when you texted and said you’d arrange our second date. That was the first time we kissedproperly.’

I nodded.

‘You had driven us out to the middle of nowhere and when you opened the boot I’d thought you were going to get out a picnic hamper and a blanket, but instead you handed me a camera.’

‘Not just any camera, my Canon A1.’ It was my favourite camera. ‘You’d told me why you paint, how music inspired you and I wanted to share something with you.’ I had felt self-conscious, shrugging my rucksack on my back, fiddling with the settings on the camera looped around my neck. Wondering if this was too much. Too soon. I had led Jack through the trees, away from the well-trodden path of the weekend ramblers and daily dog walkers. We’d stumbled over rough terrain, clambering up steep hills, climbing over fallen trees, thorns snagging at Jack’s black jeans – ‘Sorry, I should have told you to wear something old’ – until Jack was breathless.

‘I’m embarrassed at how unfit I am. I’m usually standing behind an easel’. And then suddenly it was the sight in front of him snatching his breath. Water cascading over rocks into a lake which on that day looked brilliant blue but I knew sometimes could be green, grey, colourless.

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