Page 83 of If We Were Young

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for—” He broke off.

“But?”

“The fact you are sorry my marriage ended burns.”

“Oh.” I took another mouthful of sandwich and opened the crisps. Our conversations didn’t seem normal. Our words were a smoked mirror of what we were both thinking.

“It’s so hard now.” I almost jumped when he spoke again.

“What is?”

“Life. Being old. I hate the fact I can see an end now, that whatever this life is I’m almost halfway done. It’s all vanished, and I have nothing to show for it.”

His declaration gnawed at the edges of my heart, pulling on strands and fibres until the ends wept with hurt.

I needed to see him. I always needed to see his face. Putting down my food, I leant over the bunk, my short ponytail loosening as the rubber band slipped. “You’ve got your children, your company. You’re only thirty-five.”

“It’s not the same.” His fingers pinched the bridge to his nose like it hurt to speak.

It hurt to hear.

“It’s not what I thought it would be.”

“I know. I get it. Sometimes I feel like life has just seeped out of me. I remember the girl I used to be, but I can’t find her anymore. Every time I look in the mirror, I don’t even recognise myself.”

He dropped his hand from his face and stared up at where I hung with the blood rushing to my head. “Ronnie. You are just as beautiful now as the first day I met you.”

My grip on the bed loosened.

He sighed and for a long moment our eyes met. “Can you please come down here so we can talk without you impersonating a monkey?”

“Talk?”

“Just come down, will you?”

Memories

I crawled along his side, like pulling your car up on the driveway of your childhood family home. Everything about it screamed homecoming.

It reminded me of the one time we went camping when I was young. It was so cold at night I crept into the sleeping bag with all my clothes and then zipped it right up, my head settled deep in the hood, so only my face was showing.

That’s what crawling into his arms felt like. Strong and firm, they cinched around my waist tucking me tight into him, so my face pressed against his T-shirt and I was inhaling that scent of his like it was a perfume priced at a million pounds per ounce.

His deep sigh pushed against my chest and I shivered.

He held me in a way I’d dreamed of too many times.

“God.” He groaned. “I’ve thought far too often about you lying in my arms. I can say they were not pure thoughts.”

“You have?” My throat thickened. “We used to do this all the time. With hindsight we probably shouldn’t have done.”

“Hindsight is right up there at the top of my list of things to despise. Along with being a grown-up.”

I didn’t move as his lips pressed against my temple. I’m sure he inhaled me the same way I did him, sharp and desperate. “It used to be hell,” he murmured.

I struggled to wiggle free, utilising my elbows.