But then he smiles and pulls me into him, tucking his body behind mine.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers. ‘I will always be so, so sorry.’
‘Please don’t,’ I whisper back. ‘We can’t be sorry for ever. That’s what forgiveness is for, isn’t it?’
He pulls me in with the arm that’s looped around me, the way it always was when we slept like this. The smell of him makes my throat tighten with emotion.
‘I’ve got you,’ he whispers, as he tucks me in. It’s something he used to say, I can’t even remember why. I know what it means, though: I’m here. I’ve got your back. I’m yours.
I lace the fingers of my good hand through his, pulling his arm into my chest. I used to just kiss his hand when he said it, maybe, or smile. But I’ve had a lot of time to think over the last year and a half and when I remember all the times he said he loved me and I didn’t say it back, it makes me furious with myself. As if I was winning, somehow, by holding that back. As if there was some weakness in showing him I cared.
‘I’ve got you,’ I whisper. ‘I’ve got you too.’
I’m woken by the buzz of my phone. It’s in the pocket of my pyjamas. Dylan is still holding me, fast asleep. I smile. I start to second-guess – what was I doing, climbing into his bed like that – but shut myself up before I can really get going on it.
The message is from Deb.
Are you OK? Xx
I’m good. I’m in bed with Dylan xx
I hear her exclamation over the other side of the room and bury my smile in the pillow.
Well what does that mean?!
Haven’t a clue. But . . . ?
But smiley face, eh? Did you . . .
We just cuddled.
Disgusting.
Deb hates the word cuddle. I used to agree, until I didn’t have anyone to cuddle me, and then I realised hating the word cuddle was a luxury of actually getting them.
‘Are you messaging Deb?’ Dylan whispers beside me.
There’s a moment. I can feel the decision waiting to be made. Now that he’s awake, should he let me go?
He shifts as if to pull away. I drop my phone and lace my fingers through his again, the way I did before. I can feel him smiling as he settles back into position.
‘I said cuddle. She said disgusting,’ I whisper back.
His laugh is so low it’s almost inaudible, just a rumble against my hair. I feel almost panicked with happiness, and I tighten my grip on his hand so it doesn’t slip away.
‘Are you OK?’ he whispers.
‘I’m good. I’m really good.’
‘I’m glad we talked. That wasn’t exactly how I imagined that conversation would go, but . . .’
‘Less vomiting?’
‘Fewer bystanders.’
I smile.
‘But I’ve wanted to say all of that to you for a really long time,’ he says.
He tightens his arm against me for a moment in a brief hug. Obviously I’ve no idea what any of this means. It’s just cuddling, and when we leave this bed, God knows where we go from here. Dylan and I had all kinds of problems aside from Etienne and Marcus. There’s a hundred reasons why we . . .
‘Stop,’ Dylan whispers. ‘It’s OK. Relax.’
I loosen my shoulders. I hadn’t even noticed I’d stiffened up.
‘Let’s just enjoy the last few minutes in this bed,’ he says. ‘And we can deal with the real world when we get out of it.’
‘Dylan Abbott,’ I whisper. ‘Are you telling me to live in the now?’
Dylan The morning is a flurry of activity – we plan to set off at seven, but Deb loses track of time Skyping her mum and Riley, and Marcus has locked himself in the bathroom and fallen asleep so none of us can get in to shower until he wakes up, and Addie can’t find her glasses. Behind it all, I can hardly think straight for the joy of catching Addie’s eye across the chaos and watching her smile. A poem begins to grow as we settle in the car and Rodney cheerfully hands around slabs of his flapjack for our impromptu breakfast. The new words come spooling: the quiet blossoming, the rebloom/the hint of a wish of a chance.
Addie, Rodney and I are in the back; Marcus is sitting up front, uncharacteristically quiet, his bruised face turned outwards towards the day that’s just beginning through the window. If I was aware of Addie’s skin against mine yesterday, today it burns me. I can hardly think of anything else, and I’m dangerously happy, so very hopeful, and then she reaches across and takes my hand and I really think I might cry with joy.