Chapter Twenty-Two

Ingrid's idea to write down my memories of being in the house quickly spirals in an unexpected way. It starts off like that, sure. I find myself giggling as I recall the time Lil became utterly convinced she'd seen a mermaid and the three of us went out with peanut butter sandwiches and the fishing nets we used in the local rock pools to try to catch her. The peanut butter sandwiches had been my idea because I thought it must be extremely sad that you couldn't grow peanuts underwater.

This led to a rather fraught conversation about what mermaids could eat. When Serena suggested fish, Lil's face had paled. ‘Like Flounder?!'

All our future viewings of The Little Mermaid had taken a dark turn as Serena yelled, ‘DO YOU THINK MERMAIDS INVENTED SUSHI?' at the screen.

Only, when I'm writing it down, the story changes into something else. Something about three sisters with magic. Ones who really do find a mermaid and bring her home to meet their grandmother. I hardly even know what I'm writing, just that it's fun and it's funny and it makes me think of my sisters and our time here.

The next morning I wake up and am surprised that I'm looking forward to working on it again. Dimly, I have an idea that I will finish it – whatever it is – and share it with Serena and Lil, that they'll get a kick out of this twisted version of our past. I like the feeling of making something. It's a million miles from the book outline I've been staring at and tinkering with for years. I suppose it's just another act of procrastination, but it feels nice, it feels light.

I'm still haunting all the job listing websites, so it's not like I'm not doing anything. It's more like a sabbatical for my brain. For the first time in five years the pressure of hustling for academic work is lifting off me, and until that happened, I don't think I realized how crushing it had been, grinding me down inch by inch.

As we move firmly into the second half of our six weeks in Northumberland, I'm no nearer to a plan over what I'm doing next, and though I still find that scary if I let myself think about it too much, it's certainly not the full-blown panic I was experiencing before. I have money in the bank, thanks to my job here and the zero expenses I've had. I know I can go and stay with Mum while I keep filling out applications, which – while not ideal – is a soft place to land and regroup.

After a couple of days, clearly noticing how absorbed I've been, Theo asks me how my work is going.

‘It's… going okay,' I say, shifting in my chair.

‘Why do you look guilty?' Theo asks, amused.

I hesitate. ‘Because I'm not exactly working on my research.'

‘What are you working on?' Theo asks, and I squirm again. The laughter lines around his mouth deepen. ‘Ahhhh, I know. You're writing smutty fanfic, aren't you?' There's a pause and he asks, hopeful, ‘Is it about me?'

‘No!'

He sighs heavily. ‘Well, I don't think I like the idea of you writing smutty fanfic about anyone else, Clemmie.' His bottom lip juts out in a pout. ‘It's the vampires, isn't it? I get it, I do. Damn them and their chiselled jawlines.'

‘It's not fanfic,' I laugh. ‘It's… actually, I don't know what it is. It started off as the exercise Ingrid gave me to write down some of my memories of being here, and now it's…' I trail off, hesitate again. ‘Why don't you just read it?' I turn the computer screen towards him.

‘Really?' His eyes light.

‘Why not?' I say awkwardly, because I suddenly realize that I want to share this with him, and isn't that the strangest thing of all?

Theo pulls out a chair beside me at the table and sits, bends over the laptop, eyes already scanning the screen. I try not to watch him read, but what else am I going to do? There are moments when I think he's smiling, and there's definitely one point where he chuckles under his breath, a rich hum of laughter.

I don't realize that I'm nervously jiggling my leg until his hand comes down on my knee. ‘Stop,' he murmurs, and he leaves his hand there, his palm warm against the bare skin exposed by my shorts.

This at least proves to be a distraction from freaking out over him reading my silly story.

‘Clemmie,' he says finally, his voice serious, dark eyes sober. ‘This is so good.'

‘What?'

His smile is slow and lovely. ‘It's so good. It's properly funny; it's charming. It's totally weird. It's you.'

‘Er… thanks?' I say, flushing. ‘I think that's a nice thing.'

‘It's the nicest thing.'

‘I don't really know what it is.' I feel flustered by his praise, by the earnest way he delivers it. I don't think I had expected him to take this, me, so seriously. ‘I'm just putting off doing my real work, but I thought maybe I'd finish it and give it to Lil and Serena as a gift.'

‘You should definitely do that.' Theo rubs a hand across his jaw. ‘They'll love it. But I know exactly what it is.'

‘What?'

‘It's a book, Clemmie. It's a children's book.'

‘What?' I say again.

‘It's the beginning of a children's book. I love it.'

‘You do?' I am not being eloquent, and I know that, but my brain feels like a stuck record, skipping across his words, over and over.

‘Yes,' he says firmly. ‘I do. And other people would too. You should do something with this, something real.'

I rear back. ‘Don't be an idiot,' I say.

Theo shrugs. ‘I'll stop being an idiot when you stop belittling yourself and how talented you are. I see how you try to protect yourself, I'm even starting to understand why you like to play it safe, but it's okay to put yourself out there once in a while, to throw yourself into something.' He leans in and, hypnotized, I find myself leaning in too. He reaches out and carefully tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle. We're so close that I can see every golden freckle in his irises. We're so close I can feel his breath across my own lips. For a second I think he's going to kiss me and my body thrums with something painfully close to desperation. His eyes roam my face. ‘It's okay to take risks, Clemmie,' he says quietly. ‘Creative or otherwise. Remember that.'

And then he stands and strolls off, like he hasn't just absolutely obliterated me.

My hands are trembling and I ball them into sweaty little fists. I force my attention back to the computer screen, to the words there.

A book.

I don't know what I think about that, but I let the idea settle around me, and after a few more minutes I go quietly back to writing.