Come Back To Me (16 page)

I possess not to lose control. It’s been so long since I’ve

been with a girl, and the heat from Jessa’s mouth, the

press of her fingers and the sound of her sighing when I

run my fingers along her thighs is pushing me to the

limit.

With a huge amount of self-possession I break away

and heave myself off her, then flip over onto my front. I

rest up on my elbows and stare at Jessa, who’s lying with

one knee bent up and her arms sprawled by her head. She

looks like a half-ravished siren − her hair is spread across

the sand, her cheeks are bruised red, her chest is rising

and falling fast. I place my hand on her stomach and feel

the muscles tremble as she takes a sharp breath in.

‘You’re going to get me arrested,’ I murmur, leaning

over and kissing her belly.

She holds my head on her stomach and I roll so I’m

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lying perpendicular to her, my head resting just by her

hip. Her fingers stroke my hair and I close my eyes and

listen to the sound of the surf and the call of gulls. I’m so

fucking happy right now I wish I could freeze-frame this

moment and stay in it for the rest of my life.

‘You know,’ Jessa murmurs after a few minutes.

I’m drowsy, my heart only just slowing to a normal

rhythm. I turn my head a little to let her know I’m listen-

ing.

‘I used to dream about this,’ she says.

That captures my attention. I lift my head and see she’s

thrown one arm over her eyes to shield them from the

sun. I move so I’m on my side facing her, my hand resting

on her hip.

‘I used to imagine that one day you’d notice me,’ she

continues, her eyes still hidden from me. ‘And we’d hang

out like this in public.’ She raises her arm a little and

squints at me with one eye open.

‘You did?’ I ask, surprised. I had no idea.

‘Yeah,’ she says, smiling softly. ‘When I was about fif-

teen. Remember that summer? Just before you and Riley

joined up?’

I nod, stroking my hand from her hip to her waist. I

think it’s the part of her body I love the most . . . so far. I

haven’t explored all of her yet. I’m sure there are other

parts I’m going to like just as much, if not more. ‘You

liked me back then? I was a punk.’

‘You still are,’ she laughs.

I catch her hand in mine and pull her arm away from

her face, pressing it into the sand and then kissing her. ‘I

was an idiot for never noticing.’

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Mila Gray

‘I was fifteen. I had braces and no boobs. I’m not sur-

prised you didn’t notice me. And besides, you were busy

with some other girl. Mercedes I think her name was. It

broke my heart watching you two together.’

I rack my brains. Mercedes? Oh my God. She’s talking

about my cousin’s friend. Some girl from Baltimore who

was visiting for the summer. Yeah, I think I had a fling

with her. I don’t even remember if I slept with her or not.

Jeez, Jessa has a scarily good memory.

I try to remember what Jessa looked like at fifteen, but

the only memory I can dredge up is a time we went bowl-

ing together. She didn’t smile once all night or say a

word. She hid behind her hair and I remember thinking

she looked a little like Cousin Itt from
The Addams Family
.

The truth is I hardly noticed Jessa at all until Riley

dragged me to see some play she was in. I guess she was

about sixteen. The first five minutes she was on stage I

didn’t even realize it was her. It was only when Riley

whacked me in the stomach and asked me whether I

understood a word Jessa was saying that I figured out

that the golden girl on stage who had me mesmerized

was actually my best friend’s sister.

She owned that stage, and when I got to my feet to

applaud at the end and saw her smiling as she took her

bow, I remember wondering what it would be like to kiss

her. But the day after the play ended she was back to

being the quiet, introverted Jessa of old, as if the character

was a costume she’d been wearing and had now set

aside.

Now I know that that’s the real her and the quiet Jessa

who hovers in the background and hides herself from the

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world is the costume, the armour she wears in order to

protect herself from her bully of a father.

‘Sorry,’ I say again, tracing figure eights around her

belly button, enjoying the way her stomach muscles flut-

ter in response. ‘If I’d have known . . .

‘No, don’t apologize,’ Jessa says, smiling at me. ‘I hid it

pretty well. I didn’t want Riley to guess. Or you, for that

matter. I knew you wouldn’t be interested.’

I shake my head at her. This is exactly what I’m talking

about. ‘You’re good at that, aren’t you?’ I say.

‘At what?’ she asks.

‘At hiding the way you feel.’

She cocks her head at me and a hurt look crosses her

face. I get to my knees and pull her up so she’s facing

me. I take both her hands in mine. ‘Never hide the way

you feel from me, OK? I want to know everything you’re

thinking and feeling. If you’re scared. If you’re unhappy.

If you disagree or don’t like something I say or do. You

don’t need to hide it from me. I want to know. I don’t

want there ever to be any kind of untruth between us.’

I’m not your father, is what I want to add. You don’t have

to hide who you are when you’re around me.

She looks startled and I’m not even sure where I’m

going with this, so I kiss her hard on the lips, snatching

her words and her breath.

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Jessa

Kit tells me to stay where I am and runs back to the truck

to get something. When he’s gone I muse on what he’s

just said to me about always telling him everything. And

what did he mean about me being good at hiding how I

feel?

I guess there’s some truth in that. I’ve learned to mute

myself around my father, to hide my anger at him, my

hurt at my mom for putting up with it and not standing

up for herself or us, my feelings of betrayal towards Riley

for enlisting and leaving me to deal with Mom and Dad

all by myself. Maybe I hide my feelings because I don’t

feel that they’re justified. Didi would claim that no feel-

ings are unjustified, that they are what they are and that I

need to unpack the thought processes behind them in

order to deal with them, but I’m scared of what might

come out if I do that. It might be like opening Pandora’s

box.

The only time I feel I can truly be myself is when I’m

on stage. Or, I’m realizing, when I’m with Kit. At school

I’m the good Catholic straight A student who never

messes up. At home I’m the good, quiet, studious and

respectful daughter who doesn’t cause trouble. On stage

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or with Kit, though, I get to throw off all these identities

and inhabit another person. I can be angry, passionate,

funny, tragic, playful, seductive, powerful. I guess it’s

ironic that the only time I’m ever myself is when I’m not

myself. My usual self, anyway.

Kit’s walking back towards me across the beach smil-

ing at me, and as I watch him I feel a warmth spreading

through me that isn’t just from the sun. It’s that unfurling

feeling I felt before, like a flower is blooming inside my

chest.

‘OK,’ says Kit, sitting beside me and unpacking a

picnic basket. He lays out several containers on top of a

blanket. ‘You hungry?’ he asks, taking the lid off one of

the containers. Inside are the same type of pastries he

brought when we went stargazing. In another are some

bread rolls. He hands me one.

‘Try it,’ he says.

I take a bite. ‘Wow,’ I say, brushing crumbs from my

lips. ‘This is amazing. Did you make it?’

He nods, grinning.

‘It tastes like a cloud. Like a sugary cloud.’

‘Try this,’ he says, handing me a thick wedge of

Spanish potato pie.

He holds it while I take a bite. It’s so good I snatch the

rest from his hand.

‘Kit,’ I say, licking my fingers. ‘You’re going to make

someone a great husband one day.’

He smiles and rolls me onto my back, holding me by

the wrists.

‘How about boyfriend?’ he asks.

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Mila Gray

I freeze, uncertain what he’s implying. He stays hover-

ing over me, staring down at me.

‘Yeah,’ I venture, ‘you’d make a good boyfriend, I

guess.’

‘You guess?’ He tickles me under the ribs and I buck

against him, trying to get free. He holds me tighter.

‘OK, OK, yes, you’d make an amazing boyfriend.’

He kisses me, and once again my body responds in -

stantly, melting against him, a magnetic pull from deep

inside me drawing me towards him.

‘Want to find out just how amazing?’ he murmurs in

my ear, before kissing my neck just below my jaw, an area

of skin that seems especially sensitive, and, given how

often he kisses me there, something he seems to have

figured out. My breathing stalls. All I can do is nod.

Kit pulls back to look at me, his eyes sparkling. He

kisses me, keeping his eyes open. I do the same, struck

dumb by the fact that we seem to have segued into being

boyfriend and girlfriend without any awkwardness, with-

out tiptoeing around the issue. It’s just a fact. Bold and

obvious. And every doubt and anxiety about what I mean

to him and whether I’m just another girl who means noth -

ing to him gets swept away.

When we stop kissing and draw breath, I’m humming

with happiness. I can’t stop smiling. I can’t wait to tell

Didi. I feel like I want to shout it from the rooftops, brand

his name on my skin. I want everyone to know.
I’m Kit’s

girlfriend.
I always used to scoff in private about girls who

defined themselves in association with a boy, but now I

get it. Then I remember I can’t tell anyone about us.

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‘Guess we have to keep it quiet,’ Kit says as though

he’s read my mind.

We’re lying on our backs, holding hands, staring up at

the sky.

‘I guess,’ I say, wishing we didn’t have to.

Kit rolls onto his side to face me. ‘For now, at least,’ he

says. He props himself up on one elbow. ‘I know I’m

leaving in three weeks.’

I put my finger against his lips. ‘Shhhhh,’ I say. I don’t

want to think about that or talk about it.

‘So I know it’s only going to be a short-term thing.’

I frown at him. ‘Shhhhh,’ I say again.

He closes his mouth and nods before rolling onto his

back again. He brings our clasped hands up to his lips

and kisses the back of my hand.

‘I’m going to be the best boyfriend you ever had,’ Kit

says.

‘You’re the only boyfriend I’ve ever had,’ I answer

drily. And if my dad finds out about him he’ll be the only

boyfriend I ever do have.

Kit turns his head. ‘Really?’ he asks.

I nod. ‘Yep.’

‘But where’d you learn to kiss like that?’ he asks.

‘I have kissed boys before,’ I say. ‘Last summer in

England when I went to stay with my cousin. I was

seeing a guy there.’

‘An English guy?’ Kit asks, his nose wrinkling.

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘But don’t worry, he had nothing on you.’

‘Good,’ Kit says.

‘Anyway, like you can talk,’ I say. ‘You’ve been with

hundreds of women.’

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Mila Gray

Kit pulls me into his arms so I’m lying on his chest, my

hair hanging over us like a curtain. ‘I don’t remember any

of them any more,’ he says, kissing me. ‘Only you.’

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Kit

I can’t believe I just did that, asked her to be my girl-

friend. It kind of came out of nowhere, but once it was

out of my mouth I realized it was what I’ve wanted all

along. And I meant what I said, too − I’m going to be the

best boyfriend ever. Not that I have any experience of

being one. But I’m a fast learner.

‘I’m going to cook you dinner one night next week,’ I

say.I can feel her smiling even without looking at her.

‘I like it that you can cook,’ she says. ‘It’s sexy.’

‘You should see what I can do with a whisk,’ I murmur

against her ear. ‘And a palette knife.’

Suddenly the image of Jessa covered in whipped cream

flashes into my mind.

‘I’m really turned on by that,’ she answers drolly.

I reach for a pastry with my spare hand and press it