‘Good. I’m a hundred times sexier than him anyway.’
‘A thousand,’ I confirmed, prodding the delightful springy flesh of his calf.
‘But seriously,’ he said, locking my ankle around his so I couldn’t move it. ‘I have mentioned you to my mother. You think it’s too soon. Why?’
; ‘Oh, well.’ I had to think about this. ‘I suppose … I can’t get my head around this being a thing. Us. Being real. Like … a relationship. It’s just been so strange and so … Well. Just so strange.’
It didn’t sound much of an explanation, I realised. It was hard to put into words. In a funny way, what I had with Jasper felt too precious to share with the mundane everyday world of family and friends. It was mine, a bubble that I had to hold in my palm and protect from the slightest breath of air.
‘You don’t think this is a relationship?’ Jasper’s face contorted with confusion. He looked a little offended. ‘What the hell is it then?’
‘Something more special,’ I said, trying to appease but feeling like a clumsy foot-in-mouth oaf. ‘Something so amazing that I’m scared of tarnishing it – like an incredible piece of plate or crystal or something you find in an antiques mart that you’re terrified of dropping or breaking.’
It was an analogy that appealed to both of us.
‘Oh, I see,’ he said, reaching for my fingers. He stroked them with something like reverence. ‘I see. You think of this as a fragile thing?’
‘I only know I’m scared of ruining it, because it’s like magic. It’s so close to fantasy. It just doesn’t seem real. I know I keep saying that …’
‘Sarah, it’s real. I’m real, you’re real. What we have has substance. Can you believe it?’
‘I want to believe it.’
‘What we do requires a closer and stronger level of intimacy than most of those oh-so-real and solid relationships you’re comparing us to. We have to trust each other absolutely. You don’t trust some fly-by-night, do you?’
I shook my head. He was right – on a profound level, I had trusted him from day one. How had I done that? Why had I done it? At that point, there must have been a strong likelihood that he was seducing me for the sake of a bit of kinky fun and nothing more. I should also have considered the possibility that he would turn out to be a nasty and abusive piece of work.
I must have known that he wasn’t. But I couldn’t make sense of how I had known. Was it instinct? Any agony aunt worth her salt would have warned me against getting too involved with him. Yet here I was. That old familiar voice in my head said that old familiar thing. You can’t analyse it. Just go with it.
‘No.’ He spoke for me. ‘And I’m not some fly-by-night. I had plans for you from before we even met. I’ve told you that.’
‘That’s absurd, though. You couldn’t have known we’d be … like this …’
‘No, a real spark is hard to find. I suppose I just got lucky.’
‘What have you told her? Your mother, I mean.’
‘Nothing too specific. Met a nice girl … hoping it all works out … that kind of thing.’
‘You’re hoping it all works out?’ I didn’t dare hope again. I was always trying to stop myself hoping, it occurred to me. Perhaps I should just let go of my fears and allow hope in. But when things ‘worked out’, didn’t that have a sort of ‘for ever’ connotation? Happily ever after.
No. He couldn’t mean that.
I kicked hope back out and girded my sorry excuse for a tough exterior.
‘Yes. Is there anything wrong with that?’ He sipped his drink.
‘Of course not. I mean, I feel the same.’
‘Good. Because she wants to meet you.’
‘Fuck, no!’
‘Sarah!’ He dropped his voice to the minimum. ‘Six strokes,’ he whispered, tightening the ankle lock to near-painful proportions.
‘Why? What? I can’t!’