Poppyland (29 page)

To distract himself he dredges up some more local information, wondering as he opens his mouth how he thinks he is going to get away with being so boring, but comforting himself with the thought that at least it's less desperate than jumping on her in the churchyard.

‘And the cliffs will be eaten away so there will be less of here. In fact, here will move over there.' Ryder gestures vaguely to the west.

Grace grins. ‘Oh. Are you still talking?' Her face is close to his, her breath against his collarbone, she smells of warmth and flowers and possibility in the sea air, but with a kick of musk that jolts inward and flashes sex like a beacon in his mind.

He opens one eye. ‘Are you still listening?'

She blushes, meets his eye then glances away. Ryder strokes the hair off her forehead and his voice runs over her. ‘Anything can happen, and we will have no warning. It's like love, appearing out of nowhere and slicing right through everything that went before.' He
turns over, he is nearer, he can't help it. She slides back from him; disappointment leaps like a jumping fish inside him.

‘Oh my God,' says Grace under her breath, and suddenly she is close again. Ryder is still. Grace puts her hands on his chest, the base of her palm on his sternum not far from his beating heart. ‘I can feel your heart,' she whispers.

It is impossible not to respond to her. Ryder tries, but when her hand is on his chest and she is just above him, he strokes her hair and rolls her over so she is flat on the grass and he is kissing her, his body so near hers that he is aware she is trembling, and he pulls her towards him and it is irresistible.

This is so much more of a result than Ryder was anticipating. Well, of course he wasn't anticipating any sort of a result, so this is great. But it's more than great, this is the beginning. Isn't it? Grace is lying on top of him now, the weight of her making him aware of the earth beneath the grass underneath him. He needs to pee and he has a hard on. But practical matters aside, he is elated and excited and fearful. Be careful what you wish for, he thinks wryly, rolling her over and off him and standing up.

A familiar voice inside him is suggesting it's time to get out before it gets messy. It's too intense with this girl. He wants to interrupt the flow because it is so delicious, and he cannot believe it will last. He cannot bear it to end. He stands up. She is lying on the grass, Ryder is standing facing away, wondering where he can go to pee. The hedge is straggly with a few gaps.
He pushes through one of them as a cloud moves over the sun.

Grace has her arms around her knees when he returns to her.

‘It's cold,' she says.

‘I'll keep you warm, and the sun will be out again in a moment.' He lies down next to her and pulls her on top of him.

She laughs and wriggles. ‘Am I too heavy? I must be squashing you.'

He shakes his head. Actually, he feels a panic of exposure – she is so close, he can hide nothing. There is a moment when he fights this internally, then he breathes out, grinning because of the weight of her on top of him dropping with his deep breath, and says, ‘This may sound odd, Grace, but I mean it. I have thought about you so much since we met in Denmark. I want to be with you, to get to know you.'

Ryder has never wanted to say this to anyone before. Not wanting to say it has never stopped him, though. He has, of course, said versions of it and so much more. How many times has the average guy said, ‘I love you' without meaning it? Or meant it when he says it for that moment, post-sex, caught up in a tangle of sheets and hot skin and desires. There is a spell which weaves impenetrably around the desire to please and be pleased which can never be sated. Now, though, Ryder hears himself and it is as if he is on the other side of a glass window. The tenderness within him, behind the language, is new, he feels as if he is stepping out into thin air. No rope, no platform,
no protection, just a drop to the depths of his feelings, previously unplumbed. Not a place he wants to go. His thoughts move from unplumbed depths of feelings, to the bottom of the ocean. The mountains beneath the sea that form a jagged edge around the coastline of America. The canyon, twenty miles wide and unfathomable that lies beyond those mountains. The unknown is always more exciting than the known, and the sea bed in that canyon is unknown. His feelings for Grace are unknown. Jesus Christ, he's back on the subject he thought he was escaping from. But under the sea, at its deepest point, it is unknown to anyone on earth. It is a mystery, a reality no one has experienced. It is the best thing and the worst thing about it.

Grace

We stroll back towards the village and the house and I don't know how long we have been out, but the light has changed to a rich evening gold and around us trees hum with the whir of swallows' wings swooping past after a fly and the bittersweet tune of a blackbird, liquid and intense. I am panicking. What do you say when a man you want actually wants you too? Is it allowed to be easy? A dream coming true is hard to handle, and I am caught up with desire – desire for love as much as desire for sex. My past experience screams ‘No!' at me. ‘No, don't trust it, you cannot have what you want.' But I don't have to believe that any more. We get back to the garden, and all the
guests have departed, and empty chairs sit around in congenial groups, a pair of shoes lolling under one, a semi-clad Barbie doll beneath another. I am strung out and nervous, and I feel trapped. Mac comes out of the house and says, ‘Who's here for supper?'

‘I think I've got to go,' I answer before I have thought anything through, it is just a reflex of self-protection. But as protection it is useless.

‘Oh.'

Ryder and Mac look at me amazed. Ryder's expression is concerned. I backtrack as fast as I can. ‘I mean, yes, but I think I've got to go,' I mumble. What am I talking about? Of course I haven't got to go. Ryder begins stacking chairs, pacing about. He coughs and I can tell he is trying to sound casual.

‘Well, if you leave it until tomorrow, I can take you.'

‘Er, I'm not sure. I'm . . .' I am midway through refusing when Mac puts his arm around me and draws me towards the kitchen.

‘That sounds perfect,' he says. And I am grateful. He is right. I can't believe I was about to throw all this afternoon with Ryder away because I feel scared. Ryder stops pacing and comes and sits at the table. Mac passes him a chopping board and some muddy vegetables.

‘OK, we're cooking for Lucy and Grace tonight. What's it to be?' says Mac. Ryder has a look of panic on his face as he confronts an aubergine.

‘Er . . . Not sure. Grace, I bet you can cook. What works for an aubergine?' He is smiling, looking at me. He holds out his hand, he squeezes mine, and with a
rush of surprise I realise he is not angry, and he is not trying to duck out from anything. I smile a grateful apology and squeeze his hand back and, raising an eyebrow at the aubergine, I say, ‘Well, we can do a lot with it, shall I help?'

‘Definitely. I can do breakfast, and steak, but living vegetables are different.'

Mac pours wine into glasses and takes two to the door. ‘I'm going to give Luce a hand with bath time,' he says.

‘That's fine, we can do this,' I tell him. Gratefully, Ryder moves along and passes me half his vegetables.

‘I'm all yours,' he says, ‘show me what to do.'

Mac has left a pan hissing with frying garlic and onion. ‘Stir it and add this.'

I pass him the sliced aubergine. His hand rests on my waist as I slide the slices into the pan and stay close to him. He looks sad.

‘Is it difficult for you seeing Mac with Lucy?' I wonder as soon as I have said it if it is intrusive, but he rubs his forehead and meets my gaze.

‘No, it's not that. Not at all, it's lovely seeing them together, they are a bloody good advertisement for couples. I'm tired, though, and I didn't like the thought that you might go.'

‘I'm glad I didn't.'

He leans over and kisses the hollow of my neck. ‘Yeah, so will the others be. Dinner is going to be a lot nicer with your input than if it was left to me. What shall we do with the beans?'

I slice them with a huge smile because I feel so happy in the kitchen with him. I think I could feel happy anywhere with him.

‘Tell me your favourite sport?'

‘Boxing,' he says promptly. ‘Oh, and pool of course. Yours?'

I giggle. ‘No one usually cares about girls and sport. I like yoga, if it's a sport to do, or cricket, if I am in England in the summer.'

He puts down his knife and twirls me into his arms, kissing me in a ham dramatic way.

‘Perfect girl. You like cricket,' he says, then begins chopping again.

In mock alarm I nudge him. ‘What's all that about?'

‘You'll see as you get to know me that you have touched something very dear to my heart,' he says solemnly then winks and passes me my glass.

‘A bath-time toast to Mac and Lucy for bringing us here to cook,' he says, and we raise our glasses towards the ceiling, above which a herd of small elephants seems to be charging back and forth squealing with laughter.

‘To Mac and Lucy,' I agree.

The next day Ryder drives me to London. To his boat. It is sad leaving Mac and Lucy, and I am nervous as I hug my sister goodbye. She holds me tightly and whispers, ‘Just have a nice time, Grace, that's all you need to do.'

Ryder opens the car door for me and passes me an earring as I get in. ‘You left it in the bathroom,' he says.

‘Thank you.' I am very touched that he noticed. We drive away from Winterton with Ryder beeping the horn and the windows open to wave. Ryder drives calmly, and without a map.

‘How do you know where we're going?' I ask after a while, when we have turned at yet another tiny crossroads with no signposts.

‘Oh, I don't know, really. I came this way yesterday a bit, and I know which direction London is in, roughly.' He breaks off to pass me a bottle of water. ‘Here, sorry it's not cold. Yeah, anyway, don't worry, we're not lost yet.'

On the motorway, he drives fast, but I feel safe. He reaches over and puts a hand on my thigh. I am watching his profile, enjoying his ability to focus. A lazy sexy saxophone plays on the car music system and I drift into sleep. When I wake up, we are almost there.

‘I can't believe I was asleep all that time.' I shiver, rubbing my eyes. We are at traffic lights somewhere on the edge of London. He touches my cheek.

‘You're lovely, Grace,' he says. I look sideways at him grinning, dazed and still sleepy.

He winks at me, laughter escapes between us and I stretch and yawn. ‘Mmm, this is so nice.'

He looks pleased. ‘I agree. And now we're nearly there.'

Before we get out of the car, he turns to me. ‘Grace, if you can stay on with me for a bit, I could take you out, or keep you in. Whatever.'

My heart pounds with excitement. I was dreading leaving and now I don't have to just yet. On a deep breath I try to speak and give up and just nod my head.

He kisses me hard and murmurs, ‘I think you need to go back to bed, jet lag is getting the better of you.'

‘Sounds perfect,' I follow him away from the traffic. Ryder's boat is tucked down by a bridge on the canal in a part of London I have never been to before. It is like another world, stepping down off the pavement and on to the towpath where the boats lie waiting, like trains in a station. The geraniums on the boat next to Ryder's catch my eye as we cross the small bridge and enter. He opens the door and the space inside is bigger than I expected. A sofa covered in a Mexican rug and a table made from a slab of walnut fill the main room. Ryder takes my bag through another door and puts it on the bed. I have another rush of panic at the thought of staying here with him, and then I remember he must be nervous too, and I flop on to the sofa and make myself be calm.

‘Why do you live on a boat?'

‘Because it can be anywhere, and I didn't really want to live in London so this seemed a good way to pretend I'm not.'

‘It's lovely.' Although the space is small there are photographs and pictures and odd objects everywhere. A yellow boxer's punch bag hangs in a corner above a teetering pile of books. Squinting at them I realise they are all the same, or, rather, different editions of
Wisden Cricketers' Almanack
. In another
corner a pale blue bicycle frame hangs on the wall, its tyres spooled over the handle bars, and on the floor by the sofa are two skin-covered drums.

Ryder sits next to me, then he puts his arm around me and whispers in my ear, ‘Shall I make you a cup of tea, or shall I take all your clothes off and make love to you?'

‘Both,' I whisper back, pulling him closer. We draw the curtains around the little port holes and stay in bed. It's Sunday, and there isn't any reason not to. In fact, we need to do it.

Ryder is lying on top of me, brushing my hair from my face. ‘We have five years to catch up on, Grace,' he says, ‘so please stay here with me for a while.'

I love the way he is able to say what I need to hear, I love his steadiness and his passion and his gentleness. When I try to tell him he puts his finger on my lips. ‘We found each other, everything else can come later.' I thought I would be nervous, but every moment I am with him deepens my sense that I have always known him and there is nothing to fear. Later, we walk west along the canal as the sun sets, and the water is so still that the houses and warehouse buildings are reflected as if in a mirror. A plane curves through the sky and Ryder puts his arm round me.

‘I'll come and see you in New York soon, but I'm hoping I can persuade you to come back here.'

‘To live?'

‘Yes.'

I feel as though he has lifted the blanket I have been hiding under all my life and he is seeing me as I am,
and he still wants me. It is uncomfortable, like taking off your sunglasses to look at a beautiful day. And of course I want him too.