‘Rains more than I thought it would around here,’ said Jim.
‘Atlantic hurricane season,’ she explained. ‘I mean, we don’t often get hit in Savannah, but it’s peak time around now.’
They were soon back at Casa D’Or, and as the house grew closer and closer at the end of the long drive, she felt a sense of a ticking clock, an urgency to do something though she didn’t know what.
Jim was only in Savannah for one more weekend, and besides, Connor was coming back for her twenty-first. And then he would be gone.
‘You know, I’ve never really thanked you,’ she said, feeling more and more sentimental.
‘What for?’
‘I think I might have been pressured back to New York if it wasn’t for you and your idea of the documentary.’
‘You’re no pushover. I had nothing to do with it. I should be thanking you for keeping me company all summer. At least I can now put “documentary research assistant” on my CV, because I haven’t got anything else to go on there beyond “enthusiastic drinker” and “Students’ Union darts champion”.’
‘Darts?’
‘I’ll have to show you sometime.’
They sat there, just a couple of feet apart, and looked at each other.
‘You are going to keep in touch, Wyatt,’ he said, not moving his gaze.
‘I know I am. It’s you I’m worried about. Once you get back to college and your friends and Emma—’
‘Emma’s gone. I told you,’ he said without his usual good humour. ‘It was never really that serious, if I’m honest. In fact it was never really anything at all.’
Jennifer frowned in puzzlement. ‘It was never really anything?’
‘I only said it because, you know, you had . . . have Connor. And I wasn’t sure if you’d want to be friends if you thought I was single. You might have thought I was just after you.’
‘After you?’ she said, feeling a little gallop in her heart.
‘You know. Liked you.’
She could feel her cheeks burning hot.
‘I wouldn’t think that. We’ve always been just friends.’
‘Of course,’ he said quickly.
The taxi stopped and Jennifer got out. Well that’s it then, she thought as she rifled in her bag for some money. When she looked up, the taxi was heading off down the drive and Jim was standing next to her in the dark.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I can walk from here,’ he said, looking embarrassed.
The rain had stopped. It was as if the thunder had pushed the clouds out of the sky and let the creamy moon spill its light over the grounds.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and lingered.
‘Do you want to come in?’
‘But your mum bites . . .’
Jennifer glanced back towards the house. There was little sign of life inside, just the faint glow of a lamp that had been left on somewhere. She racked her brain for another suggestion of something to do.
‘Most likely to be on the front cover of Rolling Stone . . .’ she said, quite easily imagining his handsome face on the cover of a magazine. ‘And you’ve still not written me a song.’