‘I’m not sure if you’re one of the greatest philosophers of our time or just a complete nuthatch.’
‘Can’t I be both?’
I was trying to suppress my giggles, but this makes a full laugh burst out, and I contort myself until I can lean down and kiss his forehead. ‘Yes, you can.’
Long moments pass in which I’m grateful for the darkness because he can’t see how red my cheeks have gone, although his head is still on my thigh, and I’m so embarrassed that even my thighs are blushing. Why did I do that? What possessed me to kiss his forehead like that? It’s a protective, motherly instinct because he’s not well, I tell myself, even though my maternal instincts are usually similar to that of an iguana.
‘We didn’t lock the back door, you know.’
‘What, now?’ I say, because no matter how confused I am by the random observation, I’m glad of the subject change. ‘I can run down and do it…’
‘No. Last Monday. I thought I’d locked it when we went to the shopkeepers’ meeting, but when I went out of it later, it was open. Anyone could have come in while we were outside with everyone else.’
‘And Tabby was suspiciously early that day.’ I realise what he’s saying. On the day that something was done to those brownies, Tabby could have come in and done it without us knowing. And so could anyone else, for that matter. It doesn’t narrow it down, but surely it’s more likely than Bram being involved, because we were together at the Ever After Street meeting that whole time.
‘She was telling me about your break-up,’ I say casually when silence has settled over us again. ‘About how close she was to your family…’
‘Yeah, she was, but…’ He pushes out a long breath. ‘What am I supposed to do – invite my ex for Christmas because my sister got on with her? Have her round for Sunday lunches so my family can have a catch-up? Break-ups don’t work like that. What if there was someone else?’
My heart is suddenly thundering in my chest and it feels like my whole body is pounding. There’s no way he can’t feel it too. ‘Is there someone else?’
He shifts over onto his back until he can look up at me, and when our eyes meet, he reaches up to tweak the black bow of my headband and rubs his fingers over the velvet material. His arm touches mine and the spot is burning heat, and it has nothing to do with his body temperature. ‘You’re the only woman in my life, Alice.’
It’s physically impossible to take my eyes off his. He doesn’t mean it in that way, but it still makes my breath catch. It’s nice to hear that. It’s been a while since I felt special to anyone.
He drops his hand with a sigh. ‘Relationships end, and unfortunately, other facets of those relationships get caught in the crossfire. I know she’s bitter, I know she thinks I ended it out of the blue, but I didn’t. I ended it after years of being picked at and criticised. It’s not wrong to want to be with someone who wants to be with me. Tabby didn’t. She knows that, really. Besides, she’s seeing someone now. She’s moved on. I’ve never tried to stop her keeping in touch with my family, but it’s awkward, and it’s always going to be awkward. I don’t want to hurt her, or them, but I don’t want to pretend we’re still friends, because we’re not. I don’t want to spend time with someone who made me feel the way she did.’ He sighs again and shifts back onto his side. ‘Families should come with an instruction manual.’
‘Tell me about it.’ My mutter makes him glance up at me.
‘Will you tell me about your mum?’
‘How about you go back to sleep instead?’ I suggest, scrunching my fingers through his hair again, and then sigh when he gives me the same look that I gave him earlier. ‘There’s not much left to tell. It was a fractured relationship. In the handful of times I saw her over the years, I never let her get close. I never opened up to her because I thought she’d leave again. I thought we’d have a big emotional reunion, and then she’d go back to her life in Greece without a second thought for me, so I kept her at arm’s length, and yet, I’d always thought we’d repair the relationship somehow. That I’d go out there or she’d come here, and everything would be forgotten and we’d go on mother-daughter shopping trips and go out for lunch together and do all the things that I spent my life watching my friends do with their mothers, and when she died, the grief was really about the fact we’d now never have a chance to do that. And regret, too. I wished I’d made it a priority to go out and see her. I was always resentful that she wasn’t there while I was growing up. I held it against her. She sometimes invited me to visit her and I always had something better to do because of that petty resentment.’
He doesn’t say a word as I speak, but he’s taken hold of the hand that’s not in his hair and he’s playing with my fingers, running his fingers up and down them, pressing his fingertips against my nails. Soft reassurance and gentle encouragement, like he knows I’ve never told anyone that before.
‘When she died, I felt like something was broken inside of me. It suddenly seemed so childish and stupid to have pushed her away and put my fear of being hurt again above the chance to reconnect with my mum, and now the chance was gone. I didn’t know what to do with the unexpected emotions. At first, I channelled it into starting up the tearoom, and when that fell through, it made me want to back out of the world, to get away from people and shut myself away and stop connecting with anyone because I clearly couldn’t be trusted to handle relationships and other people’s feelings.’
His fingers slot between mine and curl over and he pulls my hand up until he can press his lips to the back of it, which makes me feel overheated and shivery and very glad I’m already sitting down.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says gently. ‘Grief comes in different forms and I don’t think anyone would know how to handle that kind. You seem like you’re coping better now?’
I let out a bitter laugh, because some days, it still feels like swimming against a tide of emotions that are going to drown me if I stop kicking my legs for half a second, and other days, especially in the last six weeks, it’s got easier to face the world each day. Doing something I love, getting to live a Wonderland fantasy every day and seeing how happy it makes other people… It’s made me feel like life is worthwhile again.
‘It’ll probably sound weird, but finding Ever After Street and connecting with Marnie made a huge difference, and then I got to know the other shopkeepers too, and they all made me feel like I belonged here. They wanted me to get a shop here. Feeling unwanted was something I’d been struggling with my whole life, and feeling like they wanted me kind of made me understand that and confront it.’
‘It’s a powerful thing, feeling wanted,’ he murmurs. ‘Not many people understand how it affects someone to grow up feeling unwanted or not good enough.’
I know it’s a sentiment he understands all too well, and I squeeze his fingers between mine, and for tonight, it feels like the only thing either of us wants is to sit right here with each other.
It’s later still when he stirs again, shifting and groaning at the ache of lying on a hard floor for so many hours. He disentangles his hand from mine and pushes himself up into a sitting position, holding still for a long few moments in case any internal organ is going to object to the movement.
My backside is aching so much that it went numb hours ago and I get myself onto my knees and lean forwards to see how dark it is outside the staffroom window. Pitch black. My phone screen tells me it’s nearly 10 p.m.
Bram scrubs a hand over his face and winces at the brightness of my phone lighting up our little corner of the room.
‘Your colour looks better. Earlier you looked like a ghost. Now you only look like a zombie who’s been dead for about five years.’ I reach over and press my palm against his forehead. ‘You feel… less warm. How do you feel?’
‘Like I might make it home tonight after all.’
‘I’ll drive.’
‘Cleo—’
‘You’re in no fit state to get behind the wheel, and I’m not leaving you alone, end of story.’
He doesn’t agree immediately, but he’s obviously exhausted, and after it takes both of us a good few minutes to get him onto his feet and he’s clinging onto the wall and panting just from that small exertion, he relents. ‘My car’s in the car park round the corner. Keys are in the front pocket of my bag.’
It feels like a teeny-tiny win. ‘You don’t need to be a fun and frenzied Mad Hatter all the time. Sometimes you can just be Bram, and that’s okay.’
He waits for me to meet his eyes and then swallows before he speaks. ‘I always am with you.’
It warms me inside and that fluttery feeling comes again, especially at the intensity in his dark eyes when he doesn’t drop eye contact. I know I’ve seen the real, unguarded Bram tonight. The one who’s quiet and vulnerable without ever losing his sense of humour. The one who manages to be just weird enough to make me feel at one with my own weirdness. The one who wants to be loved for who he is – not in spite of it.
Eventually he blinks and looks away. ‘Sorry, I must look an absolute fright.’
‘You’re beautiful, you know that,’ I say without thinking.
He scoffs. ‘I’ve got blue hair, I wear eyeliner, have got both ears pierced, and wear clothes that make me look like I get dressed inside a box of Liquorice Allsorts every day. “Beautiful” is not a way to describe me.’
