The It Girl(51)

A sound escaped her, a kind of soft moan, and Will’s lips were on her throat, and his hands under her shirt, and she was pressing herself into him, feeling him against her, and she knew, she could feel that he wanted this just as much as she did.

And then something happened—a sound from the corridor—and they both broke apart at the same time, panting and horrified, staring at each other with wild dilated pupils and mouths still soft and wet from kissing.

“Fuck,” Will said. His face was white in the moonlight streaming through the window, and he looked suddenly much older than nineteen. He turned away, frantically tucking his shirt back in, shaking his head like he was trying to shake away the memory of her touch, the memory of what had just happened. “Fuck. God, what—I’m sorry—I’m so, so sorry—”

“Will,” Hannah managed. “Will, it wasn’t just you—we both—”

“Fuck,” he groaned again, and somehow she knew that it wasn’t only what he had just done, what they’d both done, but what it meant—the impossibility of them ever being together now, because their joint betrayal of April would surely destroy her.

She stood, watching him helplessly as he crossed the room, snatched up his jacket from the back of the sofa, and then stood for a moment in the doorway, looking back at her.

“Hannah, please—” he said, and then stopped. She wasn’t sure what he was going to say. Please don’t tell April? Please don’t hate me? Please don’t come near me again?

She waited. Her heart was pounding in her throat.

But he only shook his head.

“Take care of yourself,” he said at last. And then he left, closing the set door very gently behind himself, as though he was frightened to make a sound.





AFTER


The bell above the Bonnie Bagel’s old-fashioned door gives a tinkling chime as Hannah pushes it open. Inside she stands for a moment, catching her breath and waiting for her glasses to unfog. As the lenses clear she glances around the little cafe; there’s no one here, even though she’s ten minutes late.

For a second her heart lightens. Maybe he’s given up, gone home? She won’t hang around to find out. She’ll send him an email—I’m here, but I must have missed you. She’s about to turn on her heel, breathing more easily with a palpable sense of having discharged her duty to the young man, when a woman hurries out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Hello love, sorry I didnae hear you come in. Where would you be wanting to sit?”

“Well…” Hannah hesitates. “Actually I was here to meet a friend, but I think I’ve missed him. I should probably—”

She’s turning towards the door when the woman interrupts, cheerful and happy to be of help.

“Young man with sandy hair? No, no, you havenae missed him, he’s just in the back room, there. Said you’d be wanting to talk so could he have a quiet table. Mind, they’re all that way today! I don’t know what’s making the tourists so shy, it cannae be the rain for we’ve had none to speak of.” She gives a comfortable laugh. Hannah feels her face fall, and then tries to rearrange it into something more appropriate for someone who’s just avoided a wasted journey.

“Oh, good. Thank you,” she says weakly.

“Will I bring you up a cup of something? Tea? Coffee? Or a scone maybe?”

“I’ll… um… I’ll just have a bottle of mineral water, please,” Hannah says. “Flat.”

The woman nods. “I’ll bring it up, love. It’s just through there, up the stairs.”

Hannah nods back, then hitches her bag up over her shoulder and makes her way through the arch the woman indicated and up a half flight of stairs.

Geraint is sitting at a table by the window, though he stands as she comes in.

“H-Hannah, hi.” The sun is shining through the window and it turns the tips of his ears pink, making it look as though he’s blushing, though she’s not sure if he is.

“Hi,” she says awkwardly. He pulls out a chair and makes a little gesture and she sits, feeling like an idiot and beginning to wonder if this was a huge mistake. She’s grateful for the privacy, but she hadn’t bargained on being tucked away at the back of the cafe like this—it’s going to be very difficult to make a quick getaway if the conversation takes a turn she doesn’t like. There’s a brief pause.

“Do you want to see the menu?” Geraint asks.

Hannah shakes her head. “No, it’s fine, thank you. I already ordered downstairs. How are you?”

It’s a stupid question, meaningless really, but she doesn’t know what else to say, and apparently neither does Geraint because he seizes on it gratefully.

“Yeah, good, I mean, really happy that you agreed to come and meet with me. I just wanted to say that—I know it was, well I mean, I wasn’t expecting—”

You didn’t really give me any choice, she thinks resentfully, but she’s finding it hard to resent him now that they’re face-to-face. He looks so anxious and unthreatening. So… nice.

“You said you’re a friend of Ryan’s?” she says at last when he runs out of steam, and Geraint nods.

“Yeah, he was working at the Herald when I started there after uni, and he was—well, I guess, you’d call him my mentor.” He looks down at his hands, his face suddenly seeming years older. “He’s such a good bloke. I felt terrible about what happened.”