Chapter Five

There's a boy in my room. Those are the only words my scrambled brain can seem to latch on to as I stand with my back against the door, heart pounding, bottle of tequila clutched in my hand. There's a boy on my bed.

And he's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

‘What are you doing in here?' I manage. I'm still reeling from the encounter with Sam, and now this? Someone is definitely messing with me. Just what exactly did Lil put in that frying pan?

‘Sorry,' the boy (who is actually a man) says. ‘I couldn't stand another minute of that lot. Do you live here?'

‘N-no,' I say, because that is true, at least for the time being, and I'm clinging to the fact. I'm also trying to catch up with the scene in front of me.

Mum has left my bedroom untouched since I moved out and it's still the room of my childhood: a bookcase full of battered books about ballet dancers and pony clubs, a small dressing table crowded with crusty Rimmel nail polishes and dried-up tubes of mascara. Beside the single bed, a poster of Geoffrey Chaucer is pasted on the wall next to one of Ryan Gosling in The Notebook. The bed itself is currently occupied by the beautiful man sprawled across my soft floral duvet cover.

He moves now, swinging his legs so that his feet hit the floor and he's sitting up, his back against the wall, the top of his head brushing the bottom of the Ryan Gosling poster. He looks like he's in his late thirties, inky hair that curls slightly in a way that makes you want to plunge your fingers into it, dark eyes lit with mischief, which stops the rest of his face from looking too severe – otherwise he's a series of sharp corners, straight lines, perfectly symmetrical.

I realize he's the pall-bearer from the funeral, and once again I feel that keen-edged slice of lust. It's not helping with the shock of finding him in here. On my bed.

‘I'm Clementine,' I blurt.

‘Clementine?' The hard line of his mouth softens, and his smile causes all the air to leave my body.

I nod, before continuing inanely, ‘My mum says she chose it because clementines are the friendliest fruit.'

The smile widens, revealing the ghost of a dimple in his left cheek. Not totally symmetrical after all. ‘And why,' he asks, ‘did you have to be any kind of fruit at all?'

‘Believe me, I have asked that question many times,' I grumble, regaining a little of my poise. ‘And the reasoning remains unclear. Imagine being a small ginger girl called Clementine.'

He laughs, and the sound zings through me. I instantly want to hear it again.

‘My mum still calls me Teddy,' he says. ‘If it helps.'

‘It does,' I reply. ‘If even a very sensible name like Edward can be got at by embarrassing mums, then maybe I don't need to feel so bad.' His mouth opens as though he's going to say something, but I press on nervously. ‘Most people call me Clemmie, anyway.' I hold up the bottle of tequila. ‘Would you like a drink?'

He pats the bed next to him. ‘I won't, thank you, but do you want to join me? We can hide out together?'

‘Who says I'm hiding out?' I take a step closer. ‘Maybe I was having a great time down there.'

‘The giant bottle of tequila suggests otherwise.'

‘Fair enough.' I take a deep breath and plonk myself down on the bed beside him, careful to leave space between us so that we're not touching. I undo the bottle and take a short swig, wincing.

‘So, how did you know Carl?' Edward asks.

‘He was an old family friend,' I say. I sit back underneath the poster of Chaucer, lean against the cool wall, my feet dangling off the side of the bed.

‘I'm sorry,' he replies. ‘Were you close?'

‘I actually hadn't seen him for a long time. He was a nice man though, from what I can remember.'

Edward smiles. ‘Yeah, he was a good guy.'

‘You were a pall-bearer, weren't you?' I ask awkwardly. ‘I mean, I think I saw you in the church. How did you know Carl?'

He shifts a little. The sleeve of his shirt brushes lightly against the side of my arm and my brain empties apart from the sound of white noise. I notice that he's taken off his dark suit jacket and tie – they're folded over the back of my pink desk chair. The top button at his collar is undone, and my gaze snags on the tiny triangle of skin I can see at the base of his throat.

‘We'd known each other for years,' he says finally, and I drag my attention back to the conversation. Good grief, where's a good crucifix to focus on when you need one? Staring at an earnest and lovelorn Ryan Gosling is simply not going to have the desired effect.

‘But I was surprised to be asked to be a pall-bearer to be honest,' Edward admits. ‘I guess I just didn't realize he didn't have any family or anything. It's sad.'

‘Yeah, it is,' I agree, ‘but there were tons of people at his funeral, and hundreds here at the wake. He obviously touched a lot of lives.'

Edward is silent for a moment, and his mouth is firm again, the humour gone from his eyes. He looks unhappy and I hate that.

‘And at least you didn't drop him,' I say, the words coming out quickly before I can think about them too much.

That surprises a crack of laughter out of him. ‘Exactly.' He turns so that he's looking straight at me. ‘I was so worried about that. You know when you just get a terrible thought stuck in your head? I should have been concentrating on feeling sad about Carl, this big honour or responsibility or whatever, but inside my head there was just this chant going, Do not drop the dead man, do not drop the dead man. And then that sat nav started going off…'

I groan, my hands flying to my face.

‘No!' He sits forward now, voice gleeful as he gently pulls my hand away. His fingers wrap around my wrist and I half expect my skin to start throwing off sparks. ‘That was you?'

‘Of course it was me.' I groan again. ‘My life is just one giant disaster at the moment.'

‘Oh God, that was so funny,' he chuckles. ‘I mean, I know it was a funeral, but when that voice started yelling Make a U-turn, it took everything I had not to burst out laughing. I had to focus all my attention on this giant Jesus hanging on the wall who looked like an Action Man figure who'd been put through the microwave…'

‘That's exactly what he looked like!' I exclaim. I realize he's still holding on to my wrist, and his face is closer to mine now. He's grinning at me, and the dimple has deepened. I can't look at him straight on; it's like looking at the sun: so dazzling it hurts. I shift, pulling my hand away and taking another sip from the tequila bottle. It burns down my throat.

‘So why is your life one giant disaster, Clemmie?' Edward asks.

‘Oh, you know, the usual story,' I say, fiddling with my skirt. ‘Got dumped by my cheating boyfriend who is having a baby with the other woman, lost my job, soon to lose my flat.'

‘Oof!' Edward winces, his head falling back against the wall. ‘That is very, very shit. Your boyfriend is clearly an idiot.'

‘He took my cat,' I say in a small voice.

‘Bastard,' Edward says flatly.

‘Yup.' I close my eyes. ‘And as if that's not enough, I've just bumped into another ex.'

‘Another bastard?'

I laugh, but it's a hard sound. ‘The king of them, actually.'

‘Ah,' Edward says knowingly. ‘First love?'

‘Something like that. I didn't handle it the way I would have liked… I know I'll regret that later. And then I've got to deal with my family situation and that's… complicated.'

‘Family can be complicated,' Edward agrees. ‘My sister once played an extended prank on me where she pretended to be a poltergeist called Colin who lived in my bedroom.' This surprises another laugh out of me, a real one this time, and I'm grateful for the change of subject.

‘Do you have siblings?' he asks.

‘Two sisters,' I smile. ‘And we've all played a fair amount of tricks on each other, though I don't think any of them were poltergeist-related.' The slight buzz from the tequila triggers a rush of warm affection for Lil and Serena. ‘We are possibly magic, though. We did a spell.' I don't know why I say that last bit, but there's something about Edward and being in my old room that has me feeling comfortable.

‘What do you mean you did a spell?'

‘It's something we used to do when we were kids, pretending to be witches, and when my sisters came round the other night we dug out an old spell we had cast. The breakup spell. We set fire to a frying pan and cursed Len.'

‘Len?' There's a quiver in Edward's voice.

‘My ex-boyfriend,' I explain. ‘We read out the same spell from when I was seventeen and cursed him, which was extremely cathartic, and then we made three wishes for me, one each.'

‘What were the wishes?'

‘The wish I'd made back then was for a job I love, which actually felt a bit like the universe playing a mean joke given the current circumstances.' When I glance at him, he's already looking back at me. His eyes are so dark, but now I see there are flecks of a lighter, golden brown around his irises. ‘I've been working really hard to get to where I am in my field, and it constantly feels like one step forward, two steps back.' I feel a soul-sucking weariness crash over me at the thought of more job applications in my future. ‘But I guess focussing on your career is the best course of action when your love life is in the toilet,' I say, like I'm trying to convince myself.

‘And what were the other wishes?' he asks.

‘Oh, um, one of my sisters wished I'd fall in love – big, soulmate love. She's the optimist in the family.'

‘And the other one?'

I feel a flush rising to my cheeks. ‘She wished for hot sex.'

‘Hot sex?' His eyebrows lift, but otherwise he seems unaffected.

I nod, trying to appear equally nonchalant. ‘I've been with Len for a long time,' I shrug. ‘I've always gravitated towards serious relationships. And my sisters, they think I need to be a bit more… sexually adventurous, I suppose, a bit more casual. Have the odd one-night stand.'

‘I see,' he murmurs. And there's something in the way he says the words that has heat unspooling in my belly. ‘And is that what you want?'

‘I don't know,' I whisper. ‘Maybe.'

We're so close together now that it would only take the tiniest movement for my mouth to be on his. I don't know how that has happened, we must have been leaning towards each other, increment by tiny increment, without my noticing.

But I'm noticing now. I can smell him, and he smells delicious, like cool, clear sea air cut through with something citrusy and what must presumably be a shit ton of super sexy pheromones because my whole body feels like it's lighting up. I want to bury my face in his neck and just inhale him, and something of that crazy desire must show in my face, because there's a change in the air around us, crackling like the feeling before a thunder storm, and he stills.

‘Maybe we should find out?' he asks quietly.

My heart is hammering, and I see his gaze drop to my mouth. Before my courage can desert me I lean forward and press my lips to his. It's a quick kiss, hardly anything, the softest brushing of lips, and yet I feel it all the way down to my toes. I jerk back.

‘Sorry,' I blurt. ‘I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have done that. Not without asking. It was rude, bad idea, I—'

‘Clemmie,' he interrupts. Then he plucks the tequila bottle from my hand before placing it carefully on the nightstand. ‘I think it was a very good idea.'

Then – so gently – he cradles my face, his thumb stroking along my cheekbone before he pulls me in and kisses me.

And he really kisses me. It starts slowly, as if there's all the time in the world. Lazy, drugging kisses that melt into one another, leaving me dizzy. I can feel him smiling against my lips. I'm floating out of my body, delighted. My mouth opens under his and I let out a sound like a sigh.

The angle changes, and the kiss suddenly deepens. I grab onto his collar, his fingers spear through my hair, and then I'm climbing into his lap like I can't get enough of him. The way he tastes, the way he feels – in my mouth, under my hands.

Desperate, urgent want, like nothing I've ever experienced, is barrelling through my body in waves. My teeth nip his bottom lip and he growls, kissing a light trail from the corner of my mouth round under my ear, and down the side of my neck. He pauses on my collarbone and I have never previously realized what an erogenous zone that is but now it's all I can do not to scream. I yank him back, wanting more of him, wanting this wild, electric kiss that's searing into my bones to carry on forever. I twine my hands around his neck and press myself against him, the pressure of my chest against his sending us both further over the edge.

Finally, we pull apart. We are both breathing hard. His pupils are blown wide, and I'm sure mine are as well. Two more of his shirt buttons are open though I have no memory of undoing them. His hair is deliciously rumpled. He has my red lipstick smeared across his face.

‘I-I—' I stutter. ‘I mean that was… I… we…'

‘Yeah,' he breathes. ‘Yeah.'

His eyes are on my mouth again, and then they drop to my chest which is actually heaving like I'm the lusty heroine in a spicy regency romance novel.

‘Where are you staying tonight?' I ask him.

He shakes his head, as if trying to clear it, frowning at me in confusion. ‘Er – some hotel in town.' He manages. ‘Why? Where are you staying?'

‘With you?' I try to throw the words out confidently, like a statement, but they come out a slightly quavering question.

Edward's eyes widen and that smile takes over his face again, the blinding one that shows off his dimple and does strange things to my insides. ‘Yes, Clemmie,' his voice is husky, kissed rough as he pulls me to him again. ‘With me.'