Chapter 47 Kier

47

Kier

Devon, July 2018

‘K? You there?'

As Zeph walks in, I snap the laptop closed. He's in a vest and jeans, sunglasses pushed onto the top of his head. He smiles, but it takes me a minute to return it.

It's odd looking at him. Destabilising.

For a moment, I don't see the Zeph I fell in love with, but someone else entirely. It's like when the snow comes down and covers all the familiar things in your garden. All still recognisable, but at the same time, something entirely new.

I ache. I ache for what we had, what we've lost. For something I'm unsure we'll ever get back.

‘How was Exeter?' I make my voice light.

‘Good. Too hot for shopping, so tempers were fraying, but I managed to avoid most of the aggression.' He gestures to his bag. ‘Got some new books.' Looking back at me, Zeph frowns slightly. ‘You okay? You look red.'

I hesitate, glancing up at the mirror to the left of the sink .

He's right. My skin is pink, clammy, sweat plastering strands of hair to my forehead.

‘I'm fine. Couldn't concentrate, so I went for a walk. Way too hot like you said, and people were talking about those girls killed on the boat.' My voice sounds unnaturally high, but he doesn't seem to notice, coming up behind me, his hands finding the back of my neck. He starts to knead the tight knot of muscle above each shoulder.

‘You're stressed,' he murmurs.

I nod, and for a moment I lean back, mould myself against him as he presses harder. Neither knot yields at first, but he's persistent, the warmth from his fingers and the pressure gradually working the muscle loose.

Then I remember, panic surging up inside me.

‘I'd better get some work done.' I shrug his arm away.

Zeph nods, oblivious. ‘If you get done early, maybe we can brainstorm some ideas for the book. I made some notes on the train on the way back.' Pulling out his phone, he shows me the notes he's made. Watermelon gazpacho. Grilled artichoke. Green tomato tartare. He talks about a focus on regional foods, organic, the overarching narrative he wants the book to take.

His words, words I usually love because they are full of his passion for food, are too much. They're weighing heavy, pressing down on me.

The van feels small suddenly, the walls closing in.

I feel like I can't think. Can't breathe.

I need him out, I decide, panicked. Need time and space to see things clearly.

‘Look, I wanted to talk about the cookbook.'

Zeph laughs. ‘Sounds serious.'

I plough on. ‘I'm not sure I should commit … I need time to work on my own stuff.'

‘But we've been talking about it.'

‘I know, but I've been thinking that I need some space to work without any distractions, that maybe we should do our own thing for a bit. '

I hadn't planned these words, or that I'd even say them, but they're out there now.

‘ Space? You should have made that call before you decided we travel together.' He smiles, but it snaps back to nothing likes a piece of elastic. ‘Look, if you need more time to work, I can always take Woody for longer walks in the mornings.'

‘No.' I can't meet his gaze, the words lumpy in my mouth. ‘It's not that, I just think we shouldn't be together, not now, anyway. Coming here, for Penn's wedding, it's meant to be a happy time, but it's been … stressful. I need some time on my own.'

The real reason is there, on the tip of my tongue.

Tell me about Portugal. The photos you took of Romy .

‘This isn't about me trying to find you the other day, is it? Or the Romy thing?'

I shake my head. ‘No. I've just felt things are different. We're different since we've got back here.'

‘ We're not different. You're different, Kier. That's what's changed. Being back here, it's triggered something.'

I find myself nodding. He's right. Being back here does trigger something. What if how I'm feeling, what I've learnt, is because of being here?

Penn's words echo again. Picking people to pieces. What if I'm doing that now? Misinterpreting things?

All at once, I hear my father's voice, speaking to Mum, echoing alongside Zeph's.

You've got this wrong, Annie. Why are you making this into something it's not?

Zeph's still talking. ‘I know what this is about, we've talked about it, and you know what? I get it. I get what it's like to have your parents let you down. That trust … it's gone, and when you look around, instead of seeing the positive, all you see is dirt. But it doesn't have to be like that. We're good, you and me. All good. Look at what we've built. What we're going to build.'

His voice is silken, seductive. Warm honey drizzled on toast .

It's the voice I fell in love with. The voice that can take you on a ride not just from the here and now but to the future, where everything is golden.

I squeeze my eyes shut, and I can see it. I can see our future. New maps.

The trip to the south of France as we'd planned. Ramon and Luis's wedding in Spain. Flea markets in Sicily.

I can even see us driving, that beautiful moment when the silence changes from the light, heady silence when the scenery flashes past so fast, each part of the topography bleeds into the other and neither of us would be anywhere else, to the heavy silence once we're settled into the journey, Woody between our legs, cosying us up like a blanket.

When we're good, we're what I've been craving my whole life.

But as I open my eyes, I don't see it any more.

My mind slips to his hands against my chest, Romy's haunted expression.

‘We're not good, Zeph. We haven't been for a while.'

When he looks at me this time, there's something strange in his eyes. ‘Don't say shit like that, shit you don't really mean. We've got plans, Kier. You can't just snap your fingers and make all that go away .'

‘I'm not making any final decisions.' I clear my throat. ‘Like I said, I just need space.'

He changes tack. ‘But it's not safe, you being here alone. You said you thought someone was watching you, and what about all that stuff, those girls killed out on the water?'

‘I'll be fine, really,' I stammer. I make a move to go past him, but he sidesteps with me and then stops, feet firmly planted so I can't get past. ‘I've got Penn and Mila.'

Zeph shifts his weight and the floor of the van creaks. In the corner, Woody stiffens, his stubby tail rigid, quivering at the end.

A strange buzzing in my chest. An alarm. I feel my heartbeat rising.

‘Tell you what, let's start the conversation again.' His eyes are red, watery. ‘You're probably tired.'

He makes a move towards me. A single step. The van floor creaks again.

A cold prickle shoots down my spine .

I open my mouth to reply but no words come out.

More images flash through my mind. Romy dancing in the video, making shapes in the air. The necklace and the tiny, rusted droplets.

Zeph's arm jerks out towards me and I reach up, put up my hand to push it away.

It comes up harder, faster, than I expected, brushing the underside of his jaw. He reels back, grunting, as if my touch were enough to wind him.

We stare at each other, breathing heavily.

He looks down and away, and for a minute I think he's going to cry but he just looks me dead in the eye. ‘I thought the other night, outside the club, was a one-off, but no.' His voice is barely more than a whisper. ‘This, with me … it isn't the first time, is it?'

‘I don't know what you're talking about.'

‘I saw it, Kier. The painting.'

‘The painting?' I croak out the word.

Zeph slowly nods. ‘You told Mila you didn't paint for yourself any more, but you lied.'

It's like I'm there and I'm not there. I breathe and breathe but everything's gone blurry, black spots dancing in front of my vision.

He'd found the painting. He'd found the painting.

He'd found the painting, and he knew exactly who I was inside.