The waitress arrives next to us, carrying a tray with a jug of water, various small picky bits to keep us going until our mains arrive and three carafes of red wine.
Paul’s eyes light up. “Now we’re talking.”
—
I’m at home later that evening and decide I’m going to call Davey. I’m not brave enough to risk a video call. I feel that trying to FaceTime or WhatsApp video-call someone, unannounced, is a bit rude. It gives them no time to prep. What if they’re on the loo? I’m tired, ready to sleep, but instead of heading to bed I’d rather talk to Davey. This is how I know that I like him. Has that feeling crept up on me or did I have it from the start? I call and he picks up immediately. I knew he would.
“Hey, you beat me to it,” he declares.
“I’m sure my turn to call was overdue,” I state.
“It was, but I didn’t want to push it.”
He asks after my night, and I ask after his day. We’ve both been busy with the minutiae of life and the magnificence of friends, and then he asks if he can video-call me. I’m ready this time. I’m wearing more makeup than usual. Just in case.
We reconnect and I hold my phone out in front of me, hoping I’m at a flattering angle. I’m probably not. I’ll never get the hang of this.
A message dings audibly and I see George’s name flash up, before I swipe it away.
I watch Davey settle back against the pillows on his bed as I do this.
“Sorry,” I say. “Only George.” Davey smiles and doesn’t ask, but I feel the need to explain anyway. “My friend I’m going on holiday with.”
Recognition sweeps over his face. “Are you friends with him the way you and I are friends?”
I sit back on the sofa. “No.” And it could be the three carafes of wine I shared, alongside the few beers I’ve once again downed in the pub even though I don’t like them, but I become brave. “Areyou and I just friends?”
“No,” he says and lifts one corner of his mouth in a half-smile I find adorable. “No, I don’t think so.” Everything in my torso tightens expectantly as he continues, “I don’t know what this is, Hannah. But it’s cool and easy and…nice, and I really like it.”
“Me too,” I say in joint recognition that what started so platonically is moving so very gently toward something else. It’s moving toward thepotentialto be something else. But it really isn’t there yet. Would I allow myself to think all this if Davey wasn’t about to move here? I have no idea. My mouth chooses the worst time to yawn.
He looks at his watch and I see him do some simple maths. “It’s really late for you.”
I nod.
“You want me to go, so you can sleep?”
I shake my head. I really don’t want him to go yet. “I might get into my pajamas and climb into bed for a bit, though. Is that weird?”
It’s his turn to shake his head. “No. You can turn me around to face the wall, if you want to change, or leave me here or…something.”
“I’ll take you with me,” I say, but I have no intention of letting him see me change. Whatever this is between us, we are notthereyet. I turn off the lights as I go and check that the front door is locked as we talk, and then I apologize as I put him facedown on the bed. When I’m in my pajamas I pick the phone back up again, pull up the duvet, and lie on my side, propping the phone against the pillow next to me so we can see each other. He’s lying on his bed, the light from his window letting in the bright Texan sun and, as we talk, my night rolls gently into the next day and his midafternoon turns subtly toward early evening.
I yawn. I’m in serious danger of falling asleep. Yawning is infectious, and I watch him stifle one from the other side of the world. We’re in a comfortable silence that I’ve never had with anyone else I was dating. Although this isn’t dating. These accidental weeks we’ve had, getting to know each other from thousands of miles away…this will never happen again. Soon he’ll be here. I should enjoy whatever magic this is, while it lasts.
I’ve turned the brightness down on my phone so it’s not so blinding, and the dim glow from it is the only light in my room. Davey’s so at ease with himself, just being there on his bed. And lying in bed on a video call with someone I’ve never actually met is possibly the weirdest thing I’ve done in quite a while. I find my eyes closing and blink them rapidly awake as Davey starts saying something.
I try to focus on his mouth as he talks, in order to stay awake.I wonder what it would be like to kiss him. Would he be a good kisser? What else would be good with him? God, I bet everything would be. I do my best to banish from my mind unladylike thoughts about Davey in bed. I close my eyes. I really am tired. Behind my curtains, dawn is breaking and my eyes are already stinging from tiredness. I open them quickly as I feel myself drift off. He looks tired too. I think I really like him. And then I can’t help it, but slowly, and without realizing it, I fall asleep.
Chapter 7
Whitstable at Christmasis heaven. The high street is lit up with shooting-star Christmas lights and I’ve spent the last couple of days shopping in the independent boutiques for things I don’t need but love, and catching up with a couple of old school friends over coffee in the Whitstable Coffee Company or quiet drinks in the Old Neptune, a Dickensian-looking clapboard pub that stands all alone across the end of the pebble beach toward the Thames Estuary, to which the river falls widely into the North Sea. I never realize how much I miss it here until I’m actually home again.
By Christmas Eve I’ve only been here a few days, but I’ve already drunk more Baileys with Mum and Dad in that short space of time than I’ve drunk in my entire life. It goes down like nectar, and Mum and I are dancing around the kitchen as Dad wanders in and inquires if we should move on to Mint Baileys. The answer is a unanimous yes.
I really love my parents and miss them both in equal measure. Dad’s busy all year round as a GP and hardly ever ventures into the city, but Mum comes in a bit, although not as regularly as I’d like. I could come home more often, but for some reason I don’t. Life is busy.
Our house is in a postwar terrace a few streets away from the main drag and, other than parking being a complete nightmare,returning here is my solace. It’s where I grew up. Mum and Dad have never felt that urge to move around. They’ve stayed settled together and, in some small way—no, in some large way—I think that’s what I want eventually. I’ve never had a big family. Mum’s and Dad’s parents are long gone and I’ve no siblings. Apparently they tried to have me for nearly ten years and, after I arrived, Mum spares no pain in telling me I was a handful of a baby and it put them off having any more. She always makes up for it by saying I was an easy child, though. I doubt this very much.
