A Likely Story

9. endpapers

 I couldn't sleep that night, and I couldn't stop crying. I didn't know the reason for either of those things.

My mum found me sobbing at the kitchen table at two in the morning with an almost empty carton of orange juice in my hand. She eased it gently away from me and put it back in the fridge, although there were only a few drops left. Then she put her arm around me and led me upstairs to her room. We lay down in my parents' bed and she put her arms around me and stroked my hair until I was half-asleep, my cheeks cold and stiff with tears.

“Don't be sad, my baby. Life is too short to be sad.”

***

My phone buzzed in my back pocket as I walked into the shop, the bell tinkling above my head, and a strong pair of arms encircled my waist. I felt a kiss pressed onto my neck, and I ignored the tingles and grabbed hold of Charlie's hands, twisting around to face him with his hands clasped in mine. He grinned at me, his eyes dancing.

“You can't do that!” I whispered, looking around frantically.

He smiled lazily as he replied, “She's gone home quickly to get her purse,” and I found myself trapped into counting the scattering of freckles across his high cheekbones as he traced a finger slowly across my bottom lip, leaving fire where ever he went.

Then before I could even take another breath, let alone reply, my phone was dropping to the floor with a light thunk as his lips fell onto mine. He tasted like oranges as he moved a warm hand along my back, pulling me closer. I felt so lightheaded that I was positive I would have fallen if he hadn't been holding on to me, and my senses were going mental as I wondered dazedly how the hell kissing Charlie always seemed to make me feel like I had never felt anything, ever, up until that point. Then I finally managed to grab hold of a colossal amount of willpower and pulled away, putting both of my hands on his shoulders and holding him at an arm's length so that he couldn't come any closer.

“We have to stop!” I gasped, feeling like my cheeks could have melted antarctica.

“Why?” he said breathlessly, taking my arms off his shoulders and looping them around his neck. “You smell like apples.” He leant forward to kiss me again, and I put my hand over his mouth hastily.

“And you smell like oranges, but what if Maureen comes back?”

“Do I?” he asked curiously, trying to bury his face in the crook of his neck and sniffing. “I can't smell anything.”

“No one can smell themselves, idiot,” I said, smiling in spite of myself, and he took to opportunity to plant a quick kiss on my mouth, which turned into a very long kiss as I found myself sliding my hands up the back of his shirt, feeling the bumps of his spine under his soft skin as he twisted my hair around his fingers and grazed his thumb softly over my hipbone. Then I remembered, and broke away again, taking a step back for good measure, which felt like stepping out of a warm bath into the middle of winter.

“You cannot keep doing that,” I said, tugging my shirt down, feeling like my head was about to float off my shoulders.

“Doing what?” he laughed, reaching for me.

“That!” I said, pushing his hand away.

“Why?” he asked again, just as the bell rang.

“Hello my loves!” Maureen bustled in, rooting around in her purse, dressed in a dark blue jumper with a canary yellow collar showing through. I gave Charlie a that's why look. He leaned against the white wall behind him, his slender frame effortlessly making it look like some indie photo shoot. I smiled and rolled my eyes.