Just Last Night(15)

I felt the tears rise up and threaten to close my throat, and I said in a thick voice, flapping my hands at my face, as if cooling myself in heat: “Oh God, this is so silly, we’ll be home again in a few weeks!”

Our parting hurt so acutely, I realized, not because we thought the geography was insurmountable or that the Christmas break was so far away, but because we didn’t know the people we were about to change into.

Maybe we wouldn’t be friends anymore, or not close ones. What if everyone returned, being all “had such a great time” and behaving subtly differently, to make it clear priorities and intimacies had shifted? Acting like things were the same, but there was a new distance around each of us, like castles with moats? Name-dropping strangers with whom we’d forged mysterious, exciting, impenetrable new alliances? Nothing held the same power and mystique that the unknown did.

“Fuck, I am going to miss you so much, Evelyn Rose Harris,” Ed said. His face had fallen, and his flat tone of voice was not one I’d ever heard him use before. Ed was usually Mr. Laidback Sunshine.

Not many people knew my birth certificate name. There was a particular tenderness to him using it at this moment.

“I’m going to miss you,” I said. “Don’t make me cry!”

“Will you? Miss me, I mean.”

“Yes, of course.”

I swallowed and tried to read his intent expression.

Ed cast a glance down at his parents’ car and blew air out of his cheeks. “Give Yorkshire hell, won’t you. I don’t know why I’m saying that, I know you’ll smash it.”

He smiled in a sly way, and my insides twitched. Was he . . . flirting? He looked lightly sweaty and also great under the music-video disco-orange of the streetlamp. Ed was classically handsome, really, I wasn’t sure why I’d been so keen to neuter and deny that fact.

Uncharacteristically, I was completely lost for words, tucking my hair behind my ears and blushing.

“Fuck. Eve,” Ed said, shaking his head. “I love you, OK. As in, I’m in love with you. I’m not sure what I expect you to do with this information. But, there it is. I feel like I can’t let you go without telling you.”

I was stunned.

“Say something! . . . Are you disgusted?” Ed said, looking simultaneously hunted, bashful, and yet triumphant at his own courage.

Without even thinking, by way of an answer, I stood on tiptoes and kissed him. Ed kissed me back, with the eagerness of it being something he’d been hoping and waiting to do, springing into action. He wrapped his big arms around me, and I’d never felt so perfectly where I was meant to be in the universe as with our tongues entwined.

Wait: this was what falling for someone, real passion, was supposed to feel like? With Weed Dealer Jez, I hadn’t really fancied him organically. I fancied him on principle. I fancied his persona. I wanted him to fancy me, basically. In a split second with Ed, I understood there was an experience available that was far more instinctive, whole, and multi-sensory.

“Oh my God, I didn’t think you liked me like that,” Ed breathed, when we came up for air, and obviously I didn’t reply, Well, I didn’t know I did until a few hours ago.

“I didn’t know you liked me like that!” I said, which got me out of the trap and had the benefit of being true.

“Oh, me and an army. Loads of us have the ‘mysterious Evelyn Harris’ crush and I’m no different,” he said, which was mind-blowing on two levels. Everyone fancied Susie, surely? There was an Eve Harris constituency? “We don’t dare try as you’re so smart and aloof. The comebacks would be awful.”

I laughed, in amazement at how my world had completely turned on its head in seconds.

BEEP BEEP.

We looked over and his mum was flashing the headlights on and off and trying to peer into the murk over the steering wheel.

“Write to me?” Ed said, urgently, gripping my waist. “You’ve got my address?”

“Yes, and you have mine. Write to me!” I said.

“OK, I will,” he said, eyes shining in the dark. He kissed me again, fast and hard, and raced off to the car. I felt like my heart was going to explode with joy and my groin was going to explode with want.

Woah? What WAS that? I’d decided I was in love with one of my best friends, the night before we both moved to different cities for three years?

That evening, I laughed out loud in the dusk—the timing seemed so comical.

As opposed to what it actually was: catastrophically bad.





7


I still have the letter, the only proof—to be Ziploc-bagged as evidence, or put inside an illuminated glass box in a museum. It’s on lined paper torn neatly from a pad. When I’m feeling sentimental enough about old times—or angry enough to want vindication—I open the envelope and unfold the sheets, and I’m right back in my cupboard-size room at Leeds, hands trembling. He’d sent it in the first week, no playing it cool.

There is the inscription, in black pen, that proves Ed Cooper’s heart once belonged to me.

Dearest Eve (E.R.H.),

As promised! HI. Wow, I couldn’t wait to write to you and now I’ve got writer’s block. Or whatever the equivalent is when you’re not a writer, but sat here chewing your pen in the Refectory worrying you’re going to sound like a total idiot. OK, so—I picked my moment, didn’t I?! Hope you’re settling in. Newcastle’s great but it’s cold, and there’s no Eve, which makes it seem colder.