Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

J ackson

Within a couple of days, we settle into a pattern. I arrive early after a visit to the bakery for breakfast. It probably isn't a good idea to have pastries for breakfast every day, and I should switch to a healthier option. But I'm burning them off, and it won't hurt Luca to have a bit of fat and sugar for a while. Sometimes Luca is up, and sometimes not, but he usually appears by the time I've made some coffee. After breakfast, I head out and start work in the garden. Then around mid morning Luca usually finds me and brings a coffee.

We often sit on one of the benches that are placed round the garden and I tell him how it's going, then I work for a few hours until lunch. Sometimes I bring lunch with me—either another offering from the bakery or some sandwiches. I'm hoping to bring up the idea of buying supplies so I can make it myself. I'm happy that, so far, Luca has eaten everything I've brought for him. Whether or not he eats in the evening, I don't know—it's not my business. After lunch, I work again for a few hours and then head home, or rather, back to the pub.

After a shower, I usually go to the bar for something to eat and a pint. Sometimes I read a book. Sometimes there are a few villagers I've gotten to know and will talk to, like Ben and Keith. It feels very good to be busy. I try to ignore the number of times my mind wanders to Luca—when I'm digging and clearing in the garden, or when I'm alone at night in my room. How I find myself looking out for him bringing me a coffee, and the small smile he gives when he hands me the cup. But there's no repeat of that day when he almost had a panic attack. Maybe because we never stray into talking about our pasts. We stay on safe topics—we're both becoming quite good at small talk.

One morning, on a beautiful spring day, the sun is shining and there's a slight breeze that rustles only the higher branches of the trees. Luca doesn't get up and leave straight after we finish our mid-morning coffee—he stays on the bench. I rise and go back to the flower bed I'm clearing and digging over. I want to get it finished if we're going to get any flowers in for this year. After a few minutes, he's still sitting there. I turn and catch him watching me, an inscrutable expression on his face. I go back to my digging, and still, he stays there. This time when I look at him, he's biting his bottom lip. It is thoughtfully rather than nervously, but I kind of wish he wouldn't do it—though, not really. I'm just confused at the effect it's having on me.

"If you're going to sit there all day, you could at least help," I call.

"I don't know what to do."

"Sure you do. You've watched me enough." That gets a smile, and he rises with a challenging look.

I dig some soil over, and show him the quickest and easiest way to weed and pull out the dead and seeded plants. We work for a while—he's actually quite good at it. The day is getting a lot warmer, so I take off my check shirt. I have a t-shirt on underneath, but Luca's wearing his trademark long-sleeved shirt—it's usually that or a hoodie. He pushes up his sleeves and I see he has marks all up his forearms. I don't mean to stare, but I've seen nothing like it before. He sees me looking, and when I glance at him, he slams his mask down. I hate that he feels he needs to do that with me. I hate that he has a mask at all. He gets up and spins round, setting off back to the house. I jump the flower bed to catch up and grab his arm.

"Luca, stop." He stops, but doesn't turn around. His head is lowered, his hair falling over his face. I reach for his other hand and lift them both so I can look at his arms. They're covered in marks, criss-crossed all over them. He looks like he had a fight with barbed wire and lost—badly.

"What did this to you?" I ask as gently as I can. I feel him tense, ready to flee again.

"I did." He doesn't raise his head, and it's barely more than a whisper. I desperately want to ask why, but I also don't want to know. I know it won't be a happy tale, and I'm going to be angry at whoever caused him to do this.

"Still?" I realise how tense I am. I'm sad and furious at the world, that someone I know could do this to themselves.

"No." I see the shake of his head more than I hear the word. Relief floods through me and I manage to take a breath.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

A shrug. Well, it's not a no. I figure this might be one of those occasions where a hug might be appropriate. Hell, I need a hug. I fold him into my arms. It takes a few seconds before he puts his arms around me, too, and I feel him relax.

"It's okay," I whisper into his hair. He's a few inches shorter than me, which makes him fit perfectly for a hug. He smells of coconut and citrus. I try not to inhale deeply, to imprint the scent in my memory, but fail.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but please don't close yourself off from me. If I can help, I will."

I feel a small nod, and he slowly starts to pull himself away. I'm strangely bereft when there are a few inches of distance between us. He looks up. His mask is gone, but those bottomless eyes remain.

"Thank you," he croaks and then tries a small, sad smile. My chest hurts. I catch his hands again and lift them.

"You don't need to hide them from me, and it would be good to get a bit of sun on your skin. Not too much, you know, skin cancer and all, but we all need a bit of vitamin D." Again, a small nod and a sad smile. He turns and leaves. This time, I don't call him back or stop him.