Take My Breath Away by Ali Ryecart
Chapter Eighteen
PERRY
When Rory and Jack say they need to leave, we swap numbers and they both say I can talk to them any time I want. They’ve given me so much to think about. My head’s full of new ideas and a new way of looking at the whole issue.
“Do you want another drink, or go elsewhere?” I ask James.
The pub’s very quiet and a bit dull, but it’s been the perfect place for the four of us to sit around and talk, or rather for Rory, Jack and I to talk, because I’m suddenly acutely aware that James has said very little. If he has opinions on what’s been discussed tonight, he’s keeping them close to his chest.
“No, to both suggestions. But don’t let me stop you if you want to go on somewhere.”
His voice is clipped, almost brusque, and to be honest I’m a little taken aback.
“There’s nowhere I want to go.” Other than home, with James, but I keep that to myself.
“Then let’s go.” He throws back the last of his drink before he’s on his feet and heading for the door, leaving me to rush after him.
The short walk takes us to the tube station. I want to talk about what Rory and Jack have said, I want James’ view, and I want more than anything his enthusiasm, but he seems preoccupied, distant and kind of annoyed. The fizz of the evening’s discussion turns flat.
The northbound platform of the Northern line is busy and when the train pulls in it’s packed. We get separated, but he’s in my line of sight. I want to know why he’s suddenly cold, why the muscles around his jaw have tightened, why his eyes are unreadable.
And then it comes to me, it hits me right between the eyes.
He can’t be thinking that I’m thinking…
The suggestion that James’ home was the perfect place for me to set up had been a joke. Rory and Jack knew it, I knew it, and I’d assumed James knew it too. But what if he thinks it’s what I’m angling for?
Working from home, even though at the moment I don’t technically have one… Jame’s huge kitchen in an affluent area…
He can’t be thinking I’d seriously consider asking him if …?
No, I’d never do that. I’d never put him in the position to refuse, or me to be refused. I need to shove that idea right out of his head, even though there’s a little bit of me thinking it would be perfect and not just for reasons connected with elaborate tiered cakes, buttercream, and vanilla pods.
As soon as we’re out of the underground station, I launch in.
“What they were saying, about your kitchen being perfect for me to start up, it was only a joke so don’t worry that you’ll find me refusing to leave when the time comes.” I’m laughing as I say it, because I want to keep this lighthearted. “But they’ve got a good point, though, looking first and foremost for somewhere to live and making it my base. I need a decent kitchen, it goes without saying that’s the key, but the more I think of it the more it makes sense, and that means the location won’t be such an issue. I could find somewhere a little bit out of town, maybe further inland. It’d certainly be cheaper, which would make my parents happy.”
The idea’s taken hold and I’m running with it so it takes me a while before I realise James hasn’t said anything as we stride towards his house, with me having to almost run to keep up with him.
“James?” I say, as we get inside and close the door, “are you okay? Honestly I don’t want you to think I was taking what they said seriously, about setting up here I mean. It really was just a joke.”
“I realise that, Perry. I’m not stupid.” James hangs up his overcoat in the hall cupboard, banging the door closed with more force than it warrants. I have no idea why he’s suddenly so distant — it was his idea to introduce me to his friends, after all.
“I’m sorry if you were embarrassed by it, or if it made you uncomfortable.” I honestly don’t know what else to say.
“I was neither embarrassed nor uncomfortable.” He sighs, and as he does so the ice that’s marked his face thaws a little. He gives me a vague smile, which is something, but I can’t pretend to read it. “In fact, what they said made a lot of sense. This area is perfect for you, and my very large, very underused kitchen is also perfect, and would give you everything you’d need to set up from home.”
“But this isn’t my home.”
“No. Do you want a drink?”
“What? Erm, yes. Yes, please.”
His abrupt change of subject has left me off balance. This wonderful house that deep inside does feel like home, isn’t, and his stark no is a blatant reminder of that.
I follow him into the kitchen, and even though it’s the last thing I should be doing, that doing it is so, so stupid, it’s impossible for me to not look at it in a new light because it is perfect, just as James said. But it isn’t mine, because this isn’t my home…
“What’s that?” I say, blinking at James. He’s standing by the counter where he’s holding the kettle up, and watching me.
“I said, what do you want?”
I can feel heat flood my face, because his slightly narrowed eyes tell me he knows exactly what it is I’m thinking, and that makes me feel, I don’t know, a little cheap, a little shabby, because maybe he does think I’m looking at him and his home as something I can get something from. There’s no way on earth I’ll let him believe that of me. I clear my throat.
“A cup of tea, please. James,” I say again because I really do want to clear the air between us. “They weren’t being serious. I want my own place, somewhere I can reset my life and strike out on my own.”
“Somewhere by the sea.”
“Well, yes, that’s the idea,”
“Why? Why go somewhere where you have no connections of any kind?”
He’s leaning back against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest, the drinks forgotten. I feel like there’s a big spotlight on me and I hesitate to answer. But I’m also annoyed by his reaction because I’ve done everything I can to make it clear that his home, his sodding but perfect kitchen, plays no role in any of my plans.
“Because I want and need a new start. You’ve seen why. I’ve always been drawn to the coast so why not try and make it a reality now my life’s become a kind of blank slate that I can draw and write on any way I want? Working for myself, working from home — my own home — excites me. Now I’ve got no ties, nobody telling me what I should or shouldn’t be doing, nobody telling me I’m — I’m useless—” I cough the word out, like it’s a gob of phlegm that’s been stuck in my throat. Useless, weak, a waste of space, it’s what Grant called me so many times. He wasn’t the first man to do so, but I’m determined he’ll be the last.
“You’re not those things.” James, in a sudden burst of hot energy, springs away from the counter. The muscles in his face are tight, and an angry frown tugs down his brows. A few strides, and he’s in front of me, his hands clamped to my shoulders. “Don’t ever let me hear you say that about yourself again. Do you understand?”
His eyes drive into me. They seem even greener than normal, more intense, and emerald hard, and I look away.
“Perry?” There’s command in his voice, forcing me to raise my gaze. His face is softer now, all hard edges gone. “Never believe that. Don’t let others say it of you, and don’t let yourself say it, either. A man who’s determined to take control of his life and forge his own way through it is not those things.”
His hands on my shoulders are solid and sure; they’re not pushing me down but holding me up. His fingers move, a light kneading motion, round and round, tiny circles, easing out the tension that’s made every muscle in my body tight and taut as piano wire. I sigh beneath his touch as my muscles begin to soften.
“Better?” James asks, his voice little more than a purr. “Good. Sit down and I’ll make the tea.”
His touch loosens and falls away and it’s everything I can do not to grab him, not to pull him back to me, but he’s out of reach and I sink into a chair at the table.
“For what it’s worth,” he says, as he places a steaming hot mug of tea in front of me a minute or so later, “I think the idea of basing yourself at home’s a good one. Less of a risk. Even if it is on the dark side of the moon.”
“The dark side of the moon? Brighton?” I can’t help laughing. “It’s not much more than an hour from Victoria station.”
“Like I said, the dark side of the moon.” His lips curve up in a languid smile, as he gazes at me through the tendrils of steam floating their twisted way upwards from the mug he’s holding. “But if you really are determined to bury yourself miles away, don’t rush into anything. Take your time.”
“You said that to me before, when you insisted on coming to look at those rooms with me.” I can’t contain the shudder that runs through me.
“And I’ll be by your side again. But wasn’t I right about those places? Anyway, steering you away from those dreadful rat infested flea pits kept you here, didn’t it?”
“And is that what you’re trying to do this time? Keep me here with you?” I say it as a joke, I swear I do, but something stops me from laughing as my heart beats out a jerky, hard rhythm.
The hesitation’s there, tiny, so tiny I could tell myself I’m imagining it. But why tell myself a lie?
“We’ve no need to rush anything, Perry, no need at all.” His voice is a low rumble, the idling engine of a sleek, shiny car.
“We?” It’s no more than a croak, and he’s not heard it because he’s already up at the sink, throwing out the tea he’s barely touched, before he puts the mug in the dish washer, the jangle of crockery and knives and forks discordant and jarring.
“Goodnight, Perry. I need an early night.” His touch on my shoulder is fleeting and light, but it doesn’t stop the nervy tingle that runs down my spine, taking my breath away with it.
He’s gone before I can answer. Alone in the kitchen, the aftershock of not only his touch but that one little word, we, shudders through me.
In some indefinable way, my world has tilted.
