Always and Only You

Chapter Fifty-One

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Five years ago

Are you awake?

The message lights up the phone on the windowsill beside his bed. He blearily rubs his eyes and picks it up. It’s just gone five. He’s a bit of an early bird, so he’ll be getting up soon, anyway. Can’t seem to stay asleep past six, even if someone offered to pay him.

Yeah he taps in. What’s up?

Had a nightmare.

She doesn’t say any more than that. Doesn’t need to. She’s told him all about her nightmares, how they crawl into her brain in the early hours of the morning, their bony fingers swirling dark mists inside her head. It has to be … what? Midnight or thereabouts on her side of the Atlantic?

He doesn’t ask about the subject matter. It’s always the same. That night. Megan. He had dreams like that for weeks afterwards, but they seem to have left him alone now.

What do you want to talk about? he asks.

Not about the dream. It’s too soon, although she might tell him later, or in a few days. Right afterwards, she likes to chat about something light, something happy that’ll take her mind off it. He racks his sleep-blurred brain for the right topic, but before he can come up with anything, another message arrives.

Tell me about Lapland. About the Northern Lights.

He feels as if a bowling ball has landed right in his gut. She keeps going back to this. And it’s the last thing he wants to talk about. He hated lying to her about Christmas. But he couldn’t tell her the truth. Not yet. And maybe not ever. Because he’s got himself in far too deep and he doesn’t know how to get out again.

But how could he have done anything else? She needed someone to talk to. Even if she didn’t realize it fully, she’d needed him. No one else. He’d already been more than half in love with her when she went away. And now …?

Well, now he was in big, big trouble. Neck deep. Only just able to keep his head above water, and that might not last long, because he was falling hard and deep for Erin Ross, and that would be a wonderful way to drown.

He’s never been to Lapland. He’s never seen the Northern Lights outside of the TV or a YouTube video. But he’s watched countless reels of them now, drawn to them because she’s fascinated by them. So he pulls the images from his memory banks and starts to weave words about inky night skies, stars like shards of ice and dancing unearthly lights in shades of green and pink and blue.

She interjects now and then, asking him questions, and he answers every one. When the questions finally stop, he knows he has lulled her back to sleep. His job is done. It doesn’t matter if he’s lost what he’s given her. He’d give her anything.

If only she’d let him.

He places his phone back down on the windowsill and opens his mouth wide with an enormous yawn. He punches his pillow to get it how he likes and rolls over, but then his bedroom door crashes open.

‘Mate! You won’t believe the night we’ve had!’

He rolls back over to face the door. His housemate is standing there, coat hanging off one shoulder and a half-drunk bottle of something gripped loosely in one hand.

‘I bet I can fill in some of the blanks.’

The guy laughs. ‘Well, you know me!’

Another yawn, but he can’t help smiling. Yes, he does know his friend.

‘Come and join us! Hopper is going to make us bacon butties.’

He considers it. He loves a good bacon butty, but he’s still enjoying the gentle afterglow of the conversation with Erin. His housemates are too loud, too full-on. They’ll scrub it away and then he’ll have to wait for the next time the soft tinkling of chimes he reserves just for her light up his phone. Besides, Hopper always burns the bacon.

‘Nah. I think I’ll catch some more Zs.’

‘Sure? We can cook extra, just in case you change your mind.’

‘Sure.’ He yawns again as the door closes. ‘Thanks, Simon.’

‘Sweet dreams, Gil.’