The Switch(85)

But I am drunk on mango daiquiris and dizzy from very inexpertly dancing around the maypole, and I am happy. Happy happy happy. We reckon we’ve raised over a thousand pounds for charity today, and that money will go to help people like Carla, their families, their carers. Right now that feels like the most wonderful thing in the world.

I weave my way down to the big bonfire in the field where I first walked Hank. Most of the stalls are still up and running around me, lit with lanterns and the dappled light of the central bonfire; the tropical cocktail stands are the most popular, with queues snaking away from each one. The hills of the Dales stand dark and beautiful behind it all and I will miss this place, God, I’ll really miss it. I don’t want tonight to end.

‘Someone’s cheerful,’ Arnold says, raising his glass to me as I approach the bonfire.

The fire spatters and crackles behind him; I walk forward and feel its warmth with a whoomph, stretching my hands out towards the heat. Jackson wanders over and passes Arnold a cup of something with a slice of melon floating in it. They stand together, comfortable, like father and son. I like that they’ve stayed that way even after Jackson’s mum left Arnold. Family can be so complicated, but if you just pick your own way of doing it you can end up with something pretty perfect all the same.

Jackson squints up at the sky. ‘Going to rain tomorrow,’ he says.

‘My stepson,’ Arnold announces, ‘here to rain on your May Day parade. The lady was feeling cheerful, Jackson! Don’t ruin her good mood.’

Jackson coughs. ‘Sorry.’ He leans to put his empty cup down and staggers slightly as he straightens back up.

‘Are you drunk?’ I ask. ‘Ooh, this is fun. What’s drunk Jackson like?’

‘Actually,’ Jackson says, pulling loose flowers from his wreath, ‘drunk Jackson tends to overshare.’

Arnold makes his excuses, waving vaguely at the treeline. Jackson and I move towards one of the makeshift benches set up beside the bonfire. It’s dark; his face is starkly masculine in the firelight, shadows collecting beneath his browbone, below his jaw. As my heart starts to thunder, I know I shouldn’t be sitting down with him alone – I’m thinking about this man too much, I’m too aware of him.

‘Samantha loves you,’ he says, pulling off his wreath and setting it down beside him. ‘Though she definitely still thinks you’re the Easter bunny. She explained to me that you’re off duty until next year now.’

I relax a little – if we’re talking about his kid, it doesn’t feel so dangerous. ‘That outfit. She’s such a great kid.’

He looks sidelong at me. ‘You know she got icing in your hair when you let her sit on your shoulders?’

I lift a hand to my hair and groan. ‘God, that’s going to be a nightmare to get out,’ I say, picking at it. ‘Why didn’t anyone tell me?’

‘I think everyone’s too tipsy to notice. Except me.’

‘Except you?’ I raise my eyebrows. ‘I thought you were at oversharing levels of drunk.’

‘I am.’ He turns to face me, his eyes bright and intense in the firelight. ‘I just tend to notice you more than average.’

I go still. My heartbeat’s in my ears now, in my throat, everywhere.

‘Leena …’

‘I should get back to—’

His hand covers mine on the bench between us. A flush of hot-cold energy goes through me as he touches me, like the moment when someone pulls you in for a deep kiss, but all he’s done is place his fingers over mine.

‘I think you’re amazing, Leena Cotton. You are kind, and beautiful, and absolutely unstoppable, and God, that thing that you do, running your hand through your hair like that, it …’ He rubs his mouth with his spare hand, jaw clenching and unclenching.

I lower my arm – I hadn’t realised I’d even reached to touch my hair.

‘I think you should know,’ he says. ‘I like you. Like I shouldn’t. That sort of like.’

My breath is coming fast and shaky. I want to reach for him. I want to lace my fingers through his and pull myself towards him and kiss him hard on the mouth in the firelight, and he’s so close, closer than he should be, so close I can see the pale freckles under his eyes, the dusting of stubble across his jaw—

‘I’ve not known what to do,’ he says, his voice so quiet it’s almost a whisper. His lips are inches from mine. ‘For weeks I’ve thought about it. I don’t want to break up a relationship, that’s wrong. But I also don’t want you to leave without knowing.’

My brain kicks in the moment he mentions Ethan. I pull my hand away and back up, swallowing hard. My body’s slower – I’m hot with wanting.

‘I shouldn’t – I’m sorry, Jackson, I should have stopped you the moment you started speaking. I don’t see you that way. I have a boyfriend. You know that.’ It comes out wobblier than I’d like; I try to sound firm and decisive, but my mind is foggy with tropical cocktails and my pulse is still pounding.

‘And he makes you happy?’ Jackson asks. He winces slightly as he says it. ‘I’m sorry. I’m only going to ask you that once.’

I take a deep breath. It’s Ethan we’re talking about. Of course I know the answer to this question.