He quirks one eyebrow, and answers: “I’m glad. Where have you been?”
I let out a breath, and know I have a lot to explain. A lot to apologise for. A lot to make up to him. That I can’t expect everything to just go back to the way it was; he is a human being, not a museum exhibit, and his life might look different now.
“I’ve been staying with a friend,” I say. “I’ve been trying to fix the roof.”
“Oh. And…how has that worked out?”
I laugh, and decide on honesty: “Well, it’s still a bit leaky to be honest – but a lot better than it was. It’ll definitely cope with a light shower, but I might need to do a bit more work if there’s one of those storms-with-names coming up. Maybe I’ll need some new tiles, or some patching-up, or maybe a bit of a repair on the guttering…”
I trail off, and he says: “Ready to give up on the whole roof analogy?”
“God yes! I don’t know enough about roofs to carry on. Anyway. You get the picture. I’m so sorry, Jake, about the way I left. About shutting you out. About all of it – but it was necessary. If I hadn’t left, then I wouldn’t have been able to come back.”
He nods, but doesn’t respond. I start to feel a rush of desperation, of hurt, of need, and tell myself to breathe. That I have had time to prepare for this moment, and he hasn’t. I can’t expect too much, it wouldn’t be fair.
“How have you been?” I ask, longing to take his hand, to touch his too-long hair, to bridge the gap between us.
“I’ve been…busy,” he finally says. “After you left, it was rough. I’d forgotten how it feels, living with that kind of pain. I woke up in the morning still expecting you to be there. You left a hairbrush in my room that I couldn’t even throw away. I missed you so, so much. So I did what I usually do to cope…”
“Did you finally buy Jupiter?”
“No,” he says, grinning, “but I did decorate my apartment, and install a home gym, and help out with Miranda’s new place. Her lease ran out and she had nowhere to go, so the gods of Starshine – by which I mean Connie and George obviously – decided to step in. We converted one of Trevor’s stock rooms for her. There were chainsaws and claw hammers involved; it was very exciting…are you staying?”
The last question comes out in a rush, disconnected from the rest of his comments, as though it snuck up and ambushed him.
“I could,” I reply, risking a touch to his arm. “I’ve done a lot of work, and I’ve done a lot of thinking, and I’m trying really hard to make some changes. I’d like to stay. I’d like to come home, be back here with everyone. Be back here with you. But I know I can’t just waltz back in here and witter on about my new roof and expect you to—”
“Shut up,” he says abruptly, his tone firm. “And come here.”
I blink in surprise, and do as I am told. He runs his hands through my hair, holds my face between his palms, and kisses me. I melt into him, throwing my arms around his neck, trying to show him how much I love him in the simplest way possible.
When we finally move apart, I am breathless, and flushed, and also crying. He wipes away the tears, frowning, and says: “That’s not the response I was hoping for…”
“No, it’s okay,” I reply, laughing, holding his hands tightly. “It’s the good kind of crying. The kind that keeps the roof patched up. Jake, I love you, and I want to try and make this work. But I have to be honest. I’m not perfect, and I don’t know how this will all turn out…”
“And that’s scary,” he says, completing my thought. “Yeah. For me too. The worst thing about it all, after you’d gone, was that I felt stupid – like I’d imagined the whole thing was more than it was. That if you didn’t trust me when times got hard, then I couldn’t be as important to you as you were to me.”
“That’s not true,” I reassure him. “It really isn’t. I just…couldn’t reach out to you, no matter how much I wanted to. I was too messed up. I might still be, sometimes, but at least now, I’m willing to try, to really try…if you are. I know I’m asking you to take a chance, and I completely understand if you don’t want to…”
He nods, and keeps hold of my hands, and gazes out towards the dark entrance of the cave.
“I do want to,” he replies eventually. “And I have a feeling, you know, that things will actually turn out just fine. I think the signs are all there.”
“Signs?” I say, as he pulls me next to him, puts his arm around my shoulder and holds me close. “What signs? You’re not the sort of person who believes in signs!”
“Maybe you’re not the only one who’s changed. Just wait for a minute, and then you’ll see what I mean. I’ve been waiting here for an hour to see this, and I thought I’d be doing it alone. Do you remember when I first brought you here, and I told you that on some nights, when the angle of the moon was right and the stars were aligned, that this place came alive?”
I nod, and my eyes follow the finger he points towards mouth of the cave. At first, it is just the edge – a perfect slice of moonlight silvering its way inside. Then, moment by moment, inch by inch, it appears – the huge perfect circle of the moon, hanging right before our eyes.
I gasp out loud as it happens, as the whole cave is flooded with natural radiance, as the walls and the roof burst into full, glorious colour.
“You see,” says Jake, his face alive with joy as we sit and stare in wonder, “signs.”
He’s right, I think, nestling deeper into his arms. It is a sign – and everything looks better in the light.
Epilogue
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Jake whispers, his face close to mine. “Neither of us has done this before. You don’t have to, if you’re not ready.”
