She pushed her way through the crowd, up the sweeping hall staircase, then looked back, trying to catch Jim’s eye, wanting to reassure him that she would be back almost instantly. Instead she saw Connor, and she felt guilty, furtive, with the mix tape in her hands. Connor mouthed some words to her, and she smiled as brightly as she could, nodding to indicate that she would be back in a moment, and ran the final ten steps to vanish out of view.
She relaxed when she reached her bedroom and closed the door, kicking off her high heels for a few moments, enjoying the sensation of having her feet liberated. Perching on the edge of her bed, she opened the piece of paper again, her eyes scanning the list, her heart looking for secret meanings in the titles.
There were a few tracks she recognised. Happy tunes like De La Soul’s ‘The Magic Number’, which they had played in the truck; others were more soulful fare. Thankfully there was nothing sexually suggestive – no ‘Let’s Get It On’ or ‘Feel Like Makin’ Love’ – or had that left her strangely disappointed?
Her eyes drifted to the bottom of the page, and she stopped in her tracks.
‘Oceans’ – Jim Johnson.
She almost laughed out loud as she realised that Jim had written a song for her. Her heart was beating hard as she remembered that night in Savannah by the Bonaventura cemetery.
You’ll have to write me a song.
If you play your cards right.
He had been flirting with her even then, but Jennifer had not allowed herself to believe it. She could see now what she had been denying all summer. She hadn’t spent time with Jim because of her documentary; she had done the documentary because of him. And yes, she had found a creative passion, something that she loved, that she could see herself doing professionally one day, but it had been Jim by her side, cajoling and inspiring her, that had made it so special.
She took a deep, steadying breath and decided she would not be missed downstairs for another few minutes.
There was a small tape player on her desk and she slotted the mix tape inside. Her finger pressed the fast forward button and she ran the tape until she reached the song she was looking for. The track before, an REM number, faded out, and then it was Jim’s song.
There was a simple guitar intro, then other instruments were laid on top. A piano, and something with a soft and haunting timbre that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Jennifer knew little about music, about music production, but she could recognise the effort that had gone into the recording.
He was singing now, and she immediately realised how good he was. His voice was delicate, but it had a depth and strength that was mesmerising. She listened to each word as he painted a picture, a story with his lyrics.
Never knew how big the ocean was
So wide it makes me blue
But I won’t let it stop me
From thinking about you . . .
Emotion shivered in her throat, tears welling in her eyes as she felt, for the first time in her life, beautiful and loved. Although her looks were often commented on, she had never really felt desirable. Connor made few remarks about her appearance these days; her mother was generally only critical.
But right now, it was impossible for Jennifer to deny that Jim was speaking to her through his song, and as she closed her eyes, lost in the warmth of his words, she knew that all she wanted was to be with him, to feel his arms around her, his lips on hers. She didn’t care that he was leaving tomorrow, because if she could right a whole summer of wrongs – denial and fear and naïvety, all those things that had stopped her from acting on her desire – then perhaps they could work out a way of being together. An ocean didn’t have to come between them.
She wanted to listen to every word, every bar, but she knew that she had heard enough. Her finger pushed the stop button and she stood up with a renewed sense of purpose.
She knew that her mother would go mad about her daughter starting a relationship with the boy next door, but Jennifer didn’t care any more. Sylvia had lied to her and manipulated her, but she wasn’t going to let her hold her back any longer.
As Jennifer descended the long, sweeping staircase, she saw David Wyatt at the bottom, beaming at her. He held out his hand, palm upwards, as if he wanted her to place her hand in his. She smiled at her beloved father, although she was impatient. She wanted to find Jim, and from her vantage point on the stairs, her eyes surveyed the crowd, trying to search him out.
‘We’ve been looking everywhere for you,’ said David as she reached the bottom step. It was a further moment before she noticed that more people were assembled in the hall than had been there ten minutes earlier. Her mother, very upright, was standing next to Connor, locked in clandestine conversation. Jennifer met their gaze and they both smiled, but she felt a sudden ominous sense that something was happening that she did not yet know about.
She heard the noise of the party fade as her father tapped a spoon against his wine glass.
‘I was going to say a few words to wish my beautiful daughter the happiest of days,’ he began. ‘But it appears that we are celebrating more than Jenny’s twenty-first this evening.’
He beckoned towards Connor, who stepped forward, proud, triumphant, as the words rang in Jennifer’s head and the room seemed to spin.
‘Please raise your glasses to Jennifer and her boyfriend Connor, who have just got engaged . . .’
The whole party erupted into applause. Glasses were clinked, and in the distance Jennifer could hear the sound of champagne corks popping. The cacophony of sound faded as her vision homed in on one face in the crowd. Jim Johnson was standing at the back of the room, a full head taller than everyone else. Their eyes met, but his expression was flat, unreadable, and then he turned away and disappeared out of the front door that was open like a portal into the darkness.
Jennifer took a step forward, but in her haste she fell into Connor’s arms. He caught her and didn’t let go. There had been times when his bulk, his solidity, was safe and reassuring, but now his grip felt like a vice.
‘Are you OK?’ he whispered through her hair.