Page 73 of The Art of Loving You

‘You brought it back. No harm done.’

‘And you really want me to help? This isn’t a wind-up is it?’

‘No, Liam. I promise.’ I offered my hand and he shook it.

‘To being more Jack.’ He smiled.

‘Bring some old clothes because you’ll probably get filthy,’ I said.

His smile dropped and too late I took in his too-short tracksuit bottoms and tight shirt, realised he wore virtually the same things all of the time.

At home, in my bedroom, I slid open a drawer, my breath catching in my throat at the sight of Jack’s things: neatly folded jumpers and T-shirts, clothes for seasons he would never see again. Rhonda and Bryan hadn’t asked for them and I hadn’t offered.

I unfolded a blue-and-white-striped shirt, remembering the time I had slipped it on after a shower,hair in a loose bun, padding barefoot to find Jack, leaning against the wall as I watched him paint, noticing the contours in his muscles each time he moved his arm from palette to canvas. He’d caught sight of me and gasped, he actually gasped, and that one sound was so full of wanting I could scarcely breathe as his frenzied fingers undid my buttons, his mouth on my neck, my mouth, back to my neck. My back arching, the shirt crumpled on the floor.

Now I hugged it tightly to me. I couldn’t bear to see someone else wearing this, but the rest?

That pebble in the pond, the ripple effect. A small gesture that might mean the world to Liam.

‘Should I give some bits to Liam, Jack?’ I closed my eyes, focusing on the extraordinary experiences I was obsessed with reading about. I felt a change in the air. A sudden drop in temperature.

I thought I heard Jack whisper ‘yes’ but when I opened my eyes there was nobody there.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The sky was cloudless, an optimistic blue, the sun gilding the edges of the buildings. Liam was outside his block of flats, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet while he waited for me. He looked far younger than sixteen as he walked uncertainly towards the car, rucksack slung over his shoulder, his expression a blend of anticipation and nerves. I thought about The Hawley Foundation Prize, how a photo of Liam right here, right now, would capture the theme of hope perfectly.

‘Morning,’ I said brightly, while he clipped in his seatbelt.

The radio was playing Nineties hits.

‘Do you want to change the station?’ I asked him.

‘Nah.’ He scratched his chin. ‘It’s fine.’

‘This can’t be your sort of music?’

Liam shrugged. ‘I really don’t mind it. Faith played this old stuff at the studio.’

‘Did she?’

‘Yeah, she was obsessed with S Club 7.’

He lowered his gaze to his mobile, thumbs flying over the keypad and as I drove my thoughts wandered to Faith. Since she’d emailed me her notes on hers and Jack’s plans we’d exchanged multiple messages, grown closer in a way than we were when she lived here.She was lonely, not having yet made new friends. Was it strange that I knew her new neighbours argued late at night, that she hadn’t yet fallen pregnant and was worried she had left it too late at almost forty to have a baby, but I didn’t know she loved sugar-sweet pop songs?

Do we ever properly know someone?

At the house I could feel the tremble in my voice as I said to Liam as nonchalantly as I could, ‘I’ve put some things of Jack’s in the bathroom so your stuff doesn’t get ruined. Some joggers and tops.’ I shrugged as though it wasn’t a big deal, as though my heart was not hammering out of my chest.

‘Cool. Thanks.’

By the time Liam came back downstairs, I had steeled myself for the fact that he’d be wearing Jack’s Levi’s T-shirt but the reality of it almost floored me, the knot of grief inside of me pulled tighter and tighter by the sight before me. Self-consciously, Liam fiddled with the drawstring around the waistband of the joggers.

A knock on the door was a welcome relief.

‘Noah …’ I ushered him quickly inside. ‘Meet Liam. He is … he was one of Jack’s painting students. He’s going to be helping us out. Liam, Noah’s a decorator.’

Noah held out his hand and Liam hesitated before he shook it. There was an awkwardness I couldn’t quite decipher. It was up to me to put them at ease but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from that T-shirt. It had rendered me mute.

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