Page 102 of Carousel

It doesn’t budge. And I’m too close to his neck. It’s too risky.

Oh, Sisters.

Changing tactic, I lift myself up, and gently, very gently, lean my whole body over him, to reach him from the other side. I steady myself with one hand by his head. I slide my fingers under his pillow – and the tips touch leather.

My breaths feel louder – too loud. I decide it’s safer not to breathe at all. The next breath I take, I hold.

I move my fingers forwards a fraction.

I know I can wrap my hand around the belt. Definitely.

But I can also feel the black strip of fabric I’d noticed earlier.

What is it?

Feels like silk. Like –

A silk ribbon.

I wait a beat. Two.

I jerk – but so does he, with a gasp of air – and, in that split second, I make a choice.

I grab the piece of fabric, not the belt – at the same time that he grabs my arms. He yanks them up and over him, pinning our fists against the wall.

“Can I help you?” he asks, looking up at me through the dark.

I try to prise my fingers out of his, but his grip only tightens.

I’m very aware I’m now lying flat on top of him. There’s barely any space between our bodies. Just a sheet, and our clothes.

“Let me go,” I say, firmer than I feel.

“Why? So you can rob me?”

“I wasn’t trying to rob you.”

It’s not quite a lie. I was planning to give the radio back. But the words still taste sour in my mouth.

What am I doing? Sneaking around like this, stealing from someone who was my friend?

This isn’t me.

For a moment, we just lie there. I can feel his every breath through my body. I’m aware of the heat of the room closing in on my neck. I open my mouth to speak – say something, anything, that will get us out of this stalemate.

And, as I think through the events of the last two days, I realise I already know what to say.

Because I know exactly what the piece of silk in my hand is.

I say to the shape of him, “This is my ribbon, isn’t it?” I shake it so that it floats between us. Tickles his face.

“Your ribbon,” he states.

“You took it out of my hair the day you boarded the ship. I wondered why you did, but now it makes sense. You wanted to remember me up here, didn’t you? Remember who you were going hungry for, in your Sacrifice.” I speak like this is urgent. Because it is. “Maybe you even wanted it to remember why you came up here in the first place. And you kept it with you, close to you, all this time...”

He says absolutely nothing.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” I prompt.