The Day We Met (26 page)

“Mum!” Caitlin exclaims. “Oh my God!”

“Ha, yes,” Zach admits ruefully, never taking his eyes off Caitlin. There's a part of me that feels like I should give him a speech, tell him how precious she is, and how he mustn't hurt her or mislead her, or let her down—because if he does, I will haunt him, even if I'm not dead. And yet I look at him, looking at her, and I am overwhelmed by the feeling that such a speech is simply not required. Both young people look at me sharply, and I realize I've let out an audible breath of relief that came with the sudden certain knowledge that Caitlin is going to be okay, with or without Zach—but, for the foreseeable future, with the boy that has made her “happy.”

“I think I should leave you to it,” I say, getting up. “It's about time I went back to room 409 anyway.”

“No.” Caitlin stands up too, and catches my hand. There is a tremor in her voice. “No, Mum, don't go. I'm not ready for you to go.”

I reach out and touch her cheek. “I'll see you in the morning,” I tell her.

She leans her face into the palm of my hand, and nods once.

“Goodnight, darling,” I say. “Goodnight, Zach. You are a
very handsome young man. Caitlin is right: it really is quite ridiculous.”

Zach closes his eyes, mortified, and I hear him burst into laughter as I walk away from them both.

I'm waiting for the lift doors to slide open when I hear his voice.

“Hello, Claire.”

Turning slowly, I see him standing there, smiling at me. The same look in his eyes as there was in the café, the library, the garden this morning. A look that makes me want to sing to the world about my happiness and good fortune.

“It's you,” I say.

Last night I sat and talked with Zach in the bar for a long time. I told him all about seeing my father again. About not knowing whether I should stay and try to get to know Paul better, or go home to be with Mum. I told him what she said to me before he came in, and that somehow I felt as though something had ended, as though we'd said goodbye.

“I don't know what to do,” I said.

“Are you sure you don't know what to do?” Zach asked me. “Or is it that you don't know if what you want to do is the right thing?”

It took me by surprise, what he said, because I knew what I wanted to do when I looked at him.

“What do you want to do?” he asked me.

“I'm not sure I should say,” I said. “I'm not sure….”

“Be sure, Caitlin.” He laughed. “Look at everything you've
done, everything you've come through already, and all the choices you've already made. Life-changing choices. If there is one person in the world who can be sure, it's you.”

“I want to stay near you,” I said. The words rushed out before I could censor them. “I want to get to know you more. It seems crazy to me, because of everything that is happening to my family and me, but I feel like…I feel like there is something here to find out about. I mean more than just getting to know Paul. I mean between us?” I paused, but Zach didn't respond. He just sat there, looking at his drink, which was a whisky and coke. Not a pint or a bottle of beer, even. A whisky and coke. A girl's drink.

“Oh, look, I'm sorry,” I rushed on. “I'm such an idiot. Obviously, I am an idiot and you are nice, really nice. And for some reason there just aren't a lot of really nice boys around. It's like there's a rule that they have to be pricks until they hit at least thirty, or something, because I don't think I've met a nice boy before you in my entire life. Well, not one that I also fancied, anyway, because normally if a girl says a boy is nice, well then, that's the kiss of death, right? And why? Why would we prefer a person who is not nice over one who is nice, and what's wrong with nice anyway, and…”

“Caitlin.” Zach put his hand on my wrist to stop me talking. “I'm sorry.”

“It's fine,” I said, feeling really like the most stupid person that has ever lived for putting myself out there like that to get knocked down again, but also at the same time sort of wonderful and brave and happy. “You've been so kind to me.”

“I haven't,” he said.

“No, you totally have,” I said. “Unless…you are the sort of pervert who fancies pregnant girls and wants to get me in his cult?”

“No, I mean, yes, I have been kind to you. Yes, I have. But not because I'm better than any other bloke…”

“You are, though,” I said, stupidly, but sort of enjoying just liking someone, out loud, and not having to pretend like I didn't care either way.

“Okay, okay, fine, maybe I am nice and good, and hell yes, I suppose I do try to be those things, and they are partly the reason why I wanted to help you. But the other reason is because I really, really, really fancy you.”

I snorted my orange juice all down the front of my floral print dress, and then laughed, and then snorted again. “Really?” I asked him.

“Yes, although I don't know why that surprises you,” he said.

“Because I'm pregnant, and confused, and a dropout, with a really complicated and sad life that is about to get more complicated and more sad. I'm not the sort of girl who boys would normally fancy right now—not even nice ones.”

“It seems to me that you can't decide to like a person based on their personal circumstances,” Zach said. “It seems to me that sometimes you can like a person because of who they are, despite their personal circumstances.”

And that was when I said, out of the blue, with no warning at all: “You would have made an excellent Knight in Shining Armor…not that I need one.”

Which was when he kissed me, and soon after that I kissed him back, and soon after that we realized that the kind of kissing we were doing probably wasn't appropriate in a public place. We walked to the lift, hand in hand, and when I pressed the button for my floor, we kissed again, right there in the foyer, and I realized I didn't care who was looking at us—I didn't care about anything but kissing him. I've never felt that unselfconscious before
in my life, except for that one time when I was dancing with Mum.

The lift came, too soon.

“Goodnight, then,” Zach said.

“I'm a dancer,” I said.

“That's nice.” He grinned at me.

“I don't want you to go,” I said. “Come upstairs for a little while.”

“I'm not sure,” he said.

“About this?” I asked him.

“I'm not sure if I come upstairs it will be just for a little while,” he said.

“Then come upstairs for all night. It's not like you haven't slept over before.”

We kissed in the lift, me pressing him up against the wall, my hands running over his torso, up and under his shirt. I felt bold and brave and powerful with happiness. When we reached my floor and broke our kiss, he looked at me like I was something really special. I opened the door to my room and let him in, and he walked over to the window, far away from me.

“Caitlin,” he said. “Think about this. About if you are ready—if this is the right time for you. Because you know I am happy to wait, to take things slow, to just get to know you at your own pace. This thing, between us, it isn't something that has to be rushed. This is something that will last.”

And I don't think I have ever felt as clear, or as strong, or as certain about something before in my life. “I don't want to wait to feel this happy,” I said. “Do you?”

“God, no,” he said.

And then it was a long time before we talked again.

And now the sun is up, and his arms are wrapped around me, and I can feel the graze of his stubble against the back of my neck, and the warmth of his thighs against mine. And then suddenly there is a knocking at the door, urgent and low. I sit up, dragging a blanket around me, and open the door.

“Caitlin, is your mum with you?” Gran peers round the door, and sees a foot.

“Um, no,” I say. “Why, has she gone out?”

“I don't think she ever came back,” Gran says, too anxious to mention the foot. I step out into the corridor and see Esther, in her pajamas, raiding the chambermaid's trolley for biscuits.

“That's not possible,” I say. “It's not. I texted you last night to tell you she was with me, and she was completely together, just like the old Mum—nothing missing, no gaps. She was wonderful, actually. She called Greg, left him a message, and then said she had to get back before you worried about her. She knew the room number and everything. I mean, she came back to the room last night, right?”

“I don't know,” Gran says unhappily. “I fell asleep with Esther, and when I woke up this morning, she wasn't in the room with us. Her bed hadn't been slept in. I'm so stupid. I should have made myself wait up for her. I don't why I didn't! What if she's wandered off up here? She doesn't know anyone, or anything. She'll get lost or hurt or…”

“It's okay,” I say, and I don't know why, but I know that's true. “It's fine. Hang on, I'll get dressed. She's probably just having breakfast.”

I hurry back inside, the sick feeling tilting the room as I rush to get dressed.

“What's happened?” Zach sits up.

“Gran thinks Mum hasn't been in their room all night,” I
say, dragging on leggings and last night's dress. “I knew I shouldn't have let her go off. I should have taken her upstairs….”

“It's okay,” Zach says, leaping out of bed and pulling on his clothes. “We'll find her.” And I pause for a second, watching him get dressed to come and help without even a second thought. A few seconds later and he's buttoned up his shirt and slipped on his shoes. We go outside and Gran is there on the phone.

“I keep calling Greg,” she says, eyeing Zach curiously. “But I just get his answer phone.”

I make brief introductions before Zach takes charge. “Right, well, the first thing to do is to ask at reception,” he says. “Your mum is really beautiful…. I mean, distinctive-looking, with her hair and everything. I'm sure they will have noticed her.”

The four of us travel down in the lift, Esther staring at Zach from under Gran's arm, her eyes wide and round, probably because he looks like a Disney prince.

The second the lift door opens, I all but run to reception, my hand placed over my bump as I jog. Gran's not far behind me, with Esther a few steps ahead. But before I can ask anything, Zach calls my name. He's looking into the restaurant. He beckons me over.

“Your mum's in there,” he says calmly. “With a man.”

I gasp, horrified. Oh my God. Sometime between her leaving me last night and before she got to her room, someone spotted her and took advantage of her. I've heard about things like this happening, but she just seemed so happy last night, so normal and so
her
. I don't want to look. I don't want to know, but I have to.

I walk into the room, and it's easy to find Mum: her shock of hair burning like a beacon. She's leaning in to kiss someone over coffee. I feel sick. If Greg could see this now. If Greg ever
found out, it would kill him. Steeling myself, I walk over to the table. And then I see him.

“Caitlin!” Mum looks so pleased to see me. “This is my lover,” she tells me. “My hero. My library lover, my garden dancer, the one person who can see past everything and still see me. This is him, Caitlin. This is my dream man. He came to find me—he always comes to find me. I don't know how, but he does. I hope you like him. I want you to like him.”

I look at the man holding Mum's hand across the table, and I know that I am crying, with happiness and relief.

“Hello, Greg,” I say.

“Hello, Caitlin,” he says. “Just taking some breakfast with Ms. Armstrong here.”

“I don't think I want to be Ms. Armstrong anymore,” Mum says. “I want to be Mrs. Ryan. Mrs. Greg Ryan.”

Her fingers close around his, and they look like they will never part.