And I don’t want to let go. I don’t want this to end. Even though I’m stumbling and cold and in the middle of nowhere. We’re in a place that we won’t ever be again.
On impulse, I type:
I’m glad it was your phone I picked up.
A moment later his reply comes:
So am I.
I feel a tiny glow inside. Maybe he’s just being polite. But I don’t think so.
It’s been good. Weird but good.
Weird but good would sum it up, yes.
He sent another smiley face! I don’t believe it!
What’s happened to the man formerly known as Sam Roxton?
He’s broadening his horizons. Which reminds me, where have all your kisses gone?
I peer at my phone, surprised at myself.
Dunno. You’ve cured me.
I’ve never sent kisses to Sam, it occurs to me. Not once. Strange. Well, I can make up for that now. I’m almost giggling as I press the X button down firmly.
Xxxxxxxx
A moment later his reply arrives:
Xxxxxxxxxx
Ha! With a snuffle of laughter, I type an even longer row of kisses.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox
xxx xxx xxx
I see you.
I peer through the gloom again, but he must have better eyesight than I do, because I can’t see anything.
Really?
Coming.
I lean forward, craning my neck, squinting for a glimpse of light, but there’s nothing. He must have seen some other light.
Can’t see you.
I’m coming.
You’re nowhere near.
Yes I am. Coming.
And then suddenly I hear his footsteps approaching. He’s behind me, thirty feet away, at a guess. No wonder I couldn’t see him.
I should turn. Right now I should turn. This is the moment that it would be natural to swivel round and greet him. Call out a hello; wave my phone in the air.
But my feet are rooted to the spot. I can’t bring myself to move. Because as soon as I do, it will be time to be polite and matter-of-fact and back to normal. And I can’t bear that. I want to stay here. In the place where we can say anything to each other. In the magic spell.
Sam pauses, right behind me. There’s an unbearable fragile beat as I wait for him to shatter the quiet. But it’s as though he feels the same way. He says nothing. All I can hear is the gentle sound of his breathing. Slowly, his arms wrap round me from behind. I close my eyes and lean back against his chest, feeling unreal.
I’m standing in a wood with Sam and his arms are around me and they really shouldn’t be. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know where I’m going with this.
Except … I do. Of course I do. Because as his hands gently cup my waist, I don’t make a sound. As he swivels me around to face him, I don’t make a sound. And as his stubble rasps my face, I don’t make a sound. I don’t need to. We’re still talking. Every touch he makes, every imprint of his skin is like another word, another thought, a continuation of our conversation. And we’re not done yet. Not yet.
I don’t know how long we’re there. Five minutes, maybe. Ten minutes.
But the moment can’t last forever, and it doesn’t. The bubble doesn’t so much burst as evaporate, leaving us back in the real world. Realizing our arms are round each other; awkwardly stepping apart; feeling the chill night air rush between us. I look away, clearing my throat, rubbing his touch off my skin.
“So, shall we—”
“Yes.”
As we pad through the woods, neither of us speaks. I can’t believe what just happened. Already it seems like a dream. Something impossible.
It was in the forest. No one saw it or heard it. So did it actually happen?.87
Sam’s phone is buzzing and this time he takes it to his ear.
“Hi, Vicks.”
And just like that, it’s over. At the edge of the wood I can see a posse of people striding over the grass toward us. And the aftermath begins. I must be a little dazed from our encounter, because I can’t engage with any of this. I’m aware of Vicks and Robbie and Mark all raising their voices, and Sam staying calm, and Vicks getting near to tears, which seems a bit unlikely for her, and talk of trains and cars and emergency press briefings and then Mark saying, “It’s Sir Nicholas for you, Sam,” and everyone moving back a step, almost respectfully, as Sam takes the call.
And then suddenly the cars are here to take everyone back to London, and we’re heading out to the drive and Vicks is bossing everyone around and everyone’s going to regroup at 7:00 a.m. at the office.
I’ve been allotted to a car with Sam. As I get in, Vicks leans in and says, “Thanks, Poppy.” I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or not.
