“You’ve just told me why he married you. Not why you married him.” His voice is almost too soft. I have to strain to hear it. “That summer, God, Beth. Everything changed. I hoped you’d gone off on an adventure, followed your passions. Not once did I think you’d just go and settle.”
I whip my head around. “You don’t know anything about me and Simon. Nothing.” My voice is thick with fury. “Somebody died, Niall. I don’t know about you, but I didn’t get over it that easily.” I’m finding it hard to breathe. Memories of those summer days, nine long years ago, assault my thoughts. The aching, the longing, the stupid choices I made. The shock, the fear and the ambulance. All of it was our fault. I lost everything that summer. Including myself. “I noticed you never called me. You just disappeared.”
“I didn’t disappear. They sent me away, just like they did to you. It fucked me up, all of it; I couldn’t even think properly. I wanted to call you, to talk to you, to check you were okay. But after you pretended you didn’t know me…”
I feel sick. Nausea starts to clutch at my stomach with a vice-like grip. “I didn’t know what to do. My dad was so angry. Everything was fucked up. And you just showed up with a bloody joint in your mouth.” We’ve stopped walking altogether. Standing in the middle of a lamp-lit London street, we stare at each other accusingly. I wrap my arms around my waist as if to ward him off.
“You broke my heart when you said you didn’t know me. I spent the first few weeks in a drunken fucking stupor.” Niall averts his gaze. His expression changes. Suddenly, he looks like a young boy; lost, afraid, alone. ?
??And then I ended up in hospital, too. Whenever I think of that time, about Digby, it messes me up all over again.”
Tears sting at my eyelids. My throat is so tight I can barely get the words out, but somehow I manage. “Me, too.”
It’s dark in here—shady and damp, loud and alive. Sweat hangs in the air like mist. We dance wildly, our hair whipping across our faces in wet, ropy tendrils, beads of perspiration peppering our foreheads and upper lips. Bodies press in on me from all sides as we raise our hands in the air, laughing and screaming and dancing to the hypnotic beats.
I love them. I love everybody in here. I can’t understand how wars ever happen, how hatred exists, because these people are perfect, beautiful, amazing. I don’t know most of them, but when we catch each other’s eyes we grin with bared teeth and a surge of emotion rushes through me. My heart is so full I think it might burst.
I feel arms encircle my waist, a hard body pressing against my back. I melt into him, reaching behind me, pushing my fingers into short, wet hair. I can smell him so clearly. His soft, musky skin is mixed with the faint aroma of aftershave. He runs his hands up from my waist, brushing fingers up my sternum, then cups my breasts, pressing his thumbs into my already hard nipples. When I arch my back in gasped response, I can feel his erection digging into the side of my hip. He starts to kiss the sensitive skin of my neck, and I think I’m about to explode.
I love him.
That’s all I can think of as he grinds himself into me, and I twist my head until my lips meet his. They’re soft and gentle and move slowly against my mouth until I’m practically begging him to slide his tongue inside. He takes his time, breathing into me, tasting my skin, murmuring words against my lips that I can’t understand.
Suddenly, he spins me round until our bodies are meshed together, pushed into one mass by the people surrounding us on all sides. He laces his fingers through my damp hair, angling my head until it fits his like a glove. Then we kiss and we touch and we roll for long minutes or hours or days until we are both breathless and needy. We both know we should leave or we’ll have sex right here, in this club, and he curls his hands around mine and pulls me through the crowd. It’s similar to walking through thick mud; we’re fighting against the tide and more than a few times we have to stop and make out again. Each time we do I feel my heart race a little faster as Niall’s fingers push into places that throb and undulate and beg him for more. Every time we kiss, colours explode in my mind, and I feel them burn me from my scalp to the tips of my toes.
Somehow we make it back to his room. He switches on the lights and I blink rapidly, the brightness hurting my brain. I stumble across the floor, my path impeded by a myriad of half-painted canvasses propped against walls and chests of drawers and even the bedstead. The riot of colours assault my senses and make me want to cry.
Then he’s touching me again. Pulling me onto his half-made bed, kicking the crumpled covers down until there’s only us and the mattress and peace and love. He spends hours undressing me, kissing and licking each newly exposed inch of skin. When his eyes meet mine I can see the concentration behind his glassy expression, as if he’s determined not to miss a single piece of my body. His lips are slow, smooth, gentle, and they feel like heaven.
When we’re both naked, he presses his body against mine. It feels as though we are liquid flesh, melting into each other, and the concept of us seems a foreign thing. We are we, me, him, Niall and Beth, one person, one body, one heart, one breath.
As he pushes inside I can feel every inch of him sliding into me. I cling to him tightly, my mouth pressed against his, kissing him, feeling him, taking him. When he grinds against me, his cries rough and breathless, I know it’s going to feel better than any drug.
Then we’re coming and coming, with liquid bodies and aching muscles. His breath is mine as our mouths move together, and the pleasure is so intense it almost hurts. Then, as the fireworks exploding inside my closed eyes fade into the shadows, I feel his lips pressed to my cheek, soft and gentle. Warm moans wafting against my skin.
“Beth.”
The way he says it makes my eyes sting. Reverent. Amazed.
We are all arms and legs, tangled together; bound by crazy, sticky-sweet love. And a hundred tiny jolts pulse through me as he pulls out, my body still buzzing with pleasure. We fall asleep, a mess of hot flesh and deep sighs, our bodies drenched with sweat. When we wake in the morning, the pale light of dawn piercing through the half-shut curtains, we are still twisted together as one.
Even as we come down, I can feel everything has changed. I’m no longer the girl I used to be.
Because now, I’m his girl.
5
I spend the next morning bent over the toilet in Lara’s cramped, old-fashioned bathroom, vomiting in the bowl as she scoops my damp hair away from my face. She holds it in a ponytail so it won’t get splashed. In between heaves I tell her I’m never going to drink again, that beer is the work of the devil, and she’s a terrible influence on me.
She just laughs and passes me a damp facecloth. I press it to my skin, feeling it cool my overheated flesh.
By lunchtime I’m almost passing for normal. My head is pretty fuzzy, but at least I can walk without bending over in two. I don’t remember hangovers being this bad when I was younger. Even coming down from an E is a walk in the park compared with this nausea.
“I’m too old for this,” I moan as Lara bundles me up in a jacket and drags me to the nearest cafe. “I shouldn’t have drunk that last glass of Baileys.”
“Oh, you remember that, do you?”
I close my eyes, and wish I could shut my nose off, too. The cafe smells of bacon and greasy chips and I feel my stomach churn again. Lara orders us both a full English breakfast and I’m too exhausted even to refuse.